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starkercrossedlovers · 5 years

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Road trip to Paradise

—————————

In a world where Peter is Spider-Man but isn’t part of the Avengers and Tony is still Iron Man, they have a fateful encounter on the side of the road as Tony leaves everything behind for a much needed road trip to clear his head. Peter is looking to escape too, and though he knows better, takes the ride Tony is offering.

——————————

Tony tosses another bag into the trunk of his car, ignoring the protests Pepper is still trying to make. He’d told her a week ago that he was going away, for how long he didn’t know, until he was ready to come back probably, but she hadn’t taken him seriously until he had handed off team leadership of the Avengers to Steve and told the SI board not to contact him unless the company was in imminent danger of collapse or hostile takeover.

Given that neither of those things are likely, he’s looking forward to a couple of weeks of silent bliss.

“I just, Tony, what if something happens?”

Tony shoots her a wry look, “Like the end of the world? Pep, we already did that. Got the shirt and everything,” he drawls before slamming the trunk closed. When he looks at her more closely he sighs, seeing the fear in her eyes always makes him hurt. She’s never quite forgiven him for going to space and almost dying, and it’s him leaving now that hammers the final nail in the coffin for their relationship.

He loves her, always has and always will, but she can’t accept him for who he is, and he’s not sure there’s anyone who ever could. Steve couldn’t, and it had very nearly destroyed them both.

So he was leaving. Taking some time to heal, leave the weight of Avengers and Iron Man behind and find out who he was without all the trappings of that life surrounding him.

He takes one of Pepper’s hands in his and squeezes, smiling gently at her. “I have to go Pep. After Thanos and the end of the world and almost dying, I need space. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, believe me that’s not what I wanted, but I can’t stay. I’ll be back, and if you need me, you can call me.”

He squeezes her hand again when she sniffles, eyes lined with red as she nods and leans in to kiss his cheek softly. Her forehead presses into his temple and they stand together for a long time, quiet and steady and he almost asks her to come with him, almost thinks they can fix this thing, but he knows deep down, it won’t be fixed this time.

Gently, he turns his chin and kissed her, soft and fleeting and nudges her nose with his. “I love you. Always will.”

She makes a soft wounded noise and nods, pulling back so he can see the tears gleaming in her eyes, the grief in her face like a punch to the gut. She cups his cheek and sighs, nods, and lets it trail away.

“Call me every few days?” she asks, voice hoarse and low.

“Of course,” he agrees—it’s easy enough and he knows eventually he’ll miss her and want to hear her voice, so it’s a smart agreement for them both. He swings the car door open and gives her one last smile, “See you when I see you,” he murmurs before sliding in and closing the door.

She watches him as he pulls away, her figure impossibly small in the rear view mirror before he looks away, turns his gaze forward, to what lies ahead.

———————

Peter hauls the backpack onto his shoulder and stuffs the last of his belongings into a duffel bag, glancing around the empty apartment with a heavy heart. When the world had unexpectedly ended, May had turned to ash right in front of his eyes, and when everyone else had come back, she hadn’t.

He’d gone through most of the savings May had left behind trying to pay bills and stay ahead of rent, but with school and patrolling, he didn’t have time for more shifts with Mr. Delmar, and eventually he’d fallen so far behind he’d received an eviction notice.

He’s got nowhere to go and no one to help him, so he’s sold everything of value in the apartment, stowed the cash in various pockets and bags, and with nothing more than one look back, leaves his whole world behind.

He walks, for hours and hours, with no real destination in mind, only the idea that he has to find somewhere new to start over. The city holds too many ghosts—MJ and her family are gone, moved to Connecticut, and Ned is just gone, ashes in the wind.

He heads west, hitching rides with families and walking when he can’t find anyone who doesn’t look serial killer-y. He wonders if he can walk the whole way to the other coast, hands in his pockets as the sky darkens overhead and thunder rumbles. He imagines reaching the shore and kicking off his sneakers, toes in the sand as the water washes over him.

He’s somewhere outside Indianapolis and his sneakers are starting to wear thin, his socks squishing grossly as he tries to avoid the largest puddles along the road. He hasn’t seen a car in hours and he’s shivering, soaked to the bone despite his jacket, hungry and exhausted, when in the distance he hears a car approaching.

He glances back and sighs, it’s an expensive looking Audi which means the owner definitely won’t stop for someone as bedraggled looking as Peter. He hunkers down, waiting for the rush of wind and spray of water as it goes flying past, but instead he hears it slow and then in the periphery of his vision sees the the sleek silver vehicle following him slowly.

A window rolls down and a deep voice calls out. “Hey kid, you need a ride?”

He hesitates and then turns, bends to peer into the car, heart lurching at the familiar face peering at him.

Tony Stark

His crush and idol and what the hell is he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?!

He realizes he’s standing there with his mouth hanging half open when Tony raises a brow and smirks, “Well? You gettin in?” he asks, “Last call.”

Peter glances back at the empty road and the lonely one ahead and then back to where Tony’s dark eyes are watching him. Nodding slowly, he opens the door and slings his backpack into his lap, wincing as his wet clothes squeak against the leather.

“Sorry, I’m going to ruin your seats,” he murmurs, hunching to try and make himself as small as possible. Tony scoffs and reaches back, digs for a moment and then passes him a warm flannel blanket.

“Bundle up kid, you look frozen.”

Peter takes the blanket and wraps it around himself, glancing up in surprise a few moments later when the seat under him grows warm. Tony shoots him a grin and then refocuses on the road ahead, hands draped casually over the wheel.

“Where you going?” he asks, glancing over at Peter quickly.

“I don’t know. Thought I’d try and make it to the west coast,” Peter admits. “Maybe go and see the Grand Canyon, some national parks.” He shrugs, “I don’t really have a plan.”

Tony nods and taps his fingers on the wheel, “Running to or away from something?” he asks, far too insightfully for Peter’s comfort.

He turns away and peers out the window, breath fogging the glass slowly.

“I don’t have anything left to run from or to. It’s just me.”

With that, silence falls, deafeningly loud in the small confines of the car as the wipers slap against the windshield, steady and monotonous. The rain patters against the glass and Peter’s eyes flutter as he warms and falls asleep slowly.

————————

The kid is a mystery, Tony decides. Unwilling to talk about his life before the moment he picked him up on the side of the road, he knows little more than his name and age—Peter Parker, 18.

He resets his GPS for the Grand Canyon and points the car northwest, avoiding well used roads in favor of side routes and scenic winding highways. The landscape changes slowly in places and abruptly in others.

When he’s too tired to drive he pulls to the side of the road and nudges the kid and rouses him from his sleep, biting back a grin when he looks up with sleepy eyes and mussed hair, cheeks pink and lips parted around a yawn.

“You have a license?” he asks, humming appreciatively when the kid nods. “Good your turn,” he mutters before getting out and stretching, groaning as his vertebrae pop and strain. He leans against the car as Peter stumbles out, blinking and glancing around curiously.

The air is wet and warm, and in the distance he sees mountains on the horizon. They’ve still got a few days till they’re at Yellowstone, but he finds himself enjoying the way the kid looks around in curiosity, a small smile curling up his lips.

Peter glances over the hood of the car at him and blinks; “Where are we?”

“Good question. Somewhere in Illinois. Got another day or so till we’re at Yellowstone.”

The kid blinks in surprise and then frowns, “You don’t have to take me to Yellowstone, I’m sure you have other places you want to go.”

Tony just shrugs because he really doesn’t. That’s the whole point of this trip—no end goal, just wandering and letting himself relax for the first time in a decade. God, has it really been that long? Has he really not been able to breathe for so many years?

Something in his chest loosens at the thought that he doesn’t ever have to go back if he doesn’t want to, that he can just keep driving, leave all of it in the past.

“I, uh, I don’t have a plan kid, don’t have anywhere I need to be, and frankly, I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon either. So if it’s ok with you, I’d like to go.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Peter nods uncertainly and crosses around the vehicle to stand by him, peering up at him for a moment before grinning and holding out his hand for the keys.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me drive a car this nice,” he jokes as Tony drops them into his palm.

He rolls his eyes and saunters away, feeling the kid’s gaze still on him and then shoots him a grin, “It’s equipped with an AI and a baby monitor protocol for anyone other than me driving. It has a steel reinforced body and protocols that make it nearly impossible to crash. FRIDAY literally won’t let you crash or go over 80 miles per hour.” He laughs at the disgruntled look on Peter’s face and slides into the seat, still warm from his body and pulls his seatbelt on while the kid does the same.

He fiddles with the seat for a minute and then glances at Tony before checking his mirrors and pulling back onto the road, blinkers going despite the empty highway around them. Tony smirks at his obvious adherence to the rules and files it away as another piece of the mystery that is Peter Parker.

So far he knows the following:

Peter snores when he sleeps

He likes pop music over classic rock

Won’t ask for, but will accept rides from near strangers—Tony’s not sure this counts since he’s literally one of the most famous men in the world, but still, the kid doesn’t actually know him

Hasn’t seen the Grand Canyon

Is from Queens

Likes Starbucks and matcha tea

Follows the rules

He watches the scenery pass by as the kid drives, some pop xm radio station playing in the background while fields of wheat and herds of cattle flash past. When he wakes up it’s dark out, well past midnight and the kid looks as exhausted as he still feels.

After a quick search by FRIDAY he finds a bed and breakfast in twenty miles and has the gps reset. It’s late when they pull in but to his surprise there’s still someone at the desk—a grey haired woman who smiles pleasantly at them and offers them the last room she has—“You and your son will have to share I’m afraid,” she tells them, rambling right over their protestations as she points out the amenities along the way.

When the door shuts behind them the silence is nearly overwhelming before Tony glances around and spots that there’s just one bed and a couch, which the kid is already heading towards with slumped shoulders and a weary air.

“We can share,” he offers, before he really has a chance to think about it. Peter stills and turns to stare at him, wide eyed and scared looking and shit, yea, that sounded like the opening line to a bad porno, so he tries again. “We’re both exhausted and need to sleep in a real bed. I’m not trying to seduce you, I promise.”

Peter stares at him for minute before laughing shyly and ducking his head with a nod, “Yea, okay. Mind if I shower first?” he asks softly, waiting for Tony’s nod before he heads into the bathroom and the door shuts with a soft click behind him.

Tony kicks off his sneakers and flops onto the bed, groaning at the firm support on his tired spine. Maybe he and the kid can take a day tomorrow...today...whatever...and just walk around, see what this little town holds in store for them. He has FRIDAY run a search to see what’s interesting in town and is surprised to find three places to eat with four stars and a local museum on aeronautics and engineering that looks mildly interesting.

Tossing his phone aside, he curls on his side and closes his eyes—just till the kid is done in the shower he promises himself—and for the first time in days, relaxes to the sound of another person in his space. He can hear the rush of the shower and what sounds like Peter singing to himself, and the wind outside rustles the branches and he’s asleep before he has a chance to realize it’s happening.

——————

When Peter steps out of the bathroom he stills, staring at Tony where he’s fallen asleep on top of the covers fully dressed. The older man’s face is softer in sleep, unlined and open—so different than the public face he’s worn in the news clips he’s watched over and over again.

Dressing quickly in an oversized sweater and briefs, he shoves his dirty clothes into a bag and grabs his phone and charger. He turns off the lights and uses his enhanced senses to make his way to the bed, biting back a groan of delight at how good the bed feels to his weary body.

“Kid?”

Peter startles for a moment and then nods, “Yea?”

“You okay?”

He frowns, “I’m fine, why?”

He senses Tony’s shrug as the older man sighs, “Jus checkin’...get some sleep,” he urges before rolling off the bed. Peter can see in the faint gloom his outline as he strips off his clothes till he’s down to his briefs too, the par moonlight falling across his shoulders and hip in a sharp slash, revealing the numerous scars he’s earned over the years as Iron Man.

When he turns and Peter sees the arc reactor containing the bleeding edge armor he’s famous for, his heart skips a beat. There’s more scars here too, painful ones, and he remembers seeing the video of his captivity in Afghanistan a few years after it happened.

Tony’s gaze meets his in the dark and there’s a long moment where neither say anything and then Tony grins grimly, spreads his arms and gestures at himself, “Take it all in, the glory of being Iron Man,” he says bitterly, “is it what you thought?” he asks, “Do you wanna touch them too?”

Peter sits up and leans forward, frowning deeper, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs—

“What? Why?”

“Because, people have made you feel like you’re only valuable because you’re Iron Man. You bleed too—nearly died to save the universe, and they treat your scars like some fetish to be petted and drooled over. They’re your pain and you deserve to keep them private, to deal with them how you want. So I’m sorry.”

Tony stares at him, hands falling to his sides as his gaze darkens, then turns away.

“Most people don’t see it that way.”

“Most people can go suck a dick.”

Tony looks up at him sharply and then bursts out laughing, the weary, lonely look washing away in a tide of relief and amusement. “Kid, I couldn’t say it better.”

Peter grins, happier now that he’s made Tony smile and laugh. “Well, I’m happy to tell you that as often as you need,” he offers, leaning back against the pillow as Tony slides back into bed beside him.

“You’d tell me to go suck a dick?” Tony teases, eyes crinkling around the edges as he grins at Peter. The bright look in his eyes, playful and warm, has Peter blushing and avoiding his gaze.

“N-no! I mean, I’d tell you that other people should...god, sorry, let’s go to sleep,” he mutters, hoping Tony can’t see his embarrassment in the dark. To his unending gratitude, Tony hums in agreement and they shuffle around for a few minutes before settling.

It’s oddly intimate, even though there’s a good foot of space between them. He can feel Tony’s warmth behind him, sense his shoulders rising and falling with each breath, smell the warm scent of his skin...

When he shifts and realizes he’s hard he flushes harder and buries his face in the pillow. Ignore it and it’ll go away he reasons, counting slowly backwards from three thousand.

By the time he’s at fifteen hundred he’s too tired to pay attention to his dick and by the time he hits a thousand he’s falling asleep.

——————

Warm. Blissfully, deliciously warm.

That’s the first thing he notices as he wakes. The second and third are his dick(hard) and Peter(in his arms).

Fuck

Rolling away carefully, he dislodges himself and heads to the shower, letting the water pour over his head as he tries to ignore his body’s reaction. It’s not Peter, he tells himself, it’s just because it’s morning....but a small part of his brain helpfully supplies the fact that it’s been months—almost a year actually—since he’s woken up hard.

He’s clean and there’s no excuse not to get out except he’s still hard. Gritting his teeth and bracing a hand against the wall, he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes, slow and firm like he likes. His thumb scrapes along the edge of his head, foreskin pulled back so a wave of heat rushes up his spine at the touch.

Unbidden, images of Peter blushing in the dark, gazing at him intently flash behind his closed eyes. He recalls the sound of his laughter and the way his eyes sparkle when he gazed up at him, longing and sweet sorrow shining in their depths.

He strokes faster and twists his wrist at the top, groaning as he pulls harder, recalling the weight of Peter in his arms, the scent of his hair and skin, the hot brand of his stomach beneath his palm where he had shoved a hand beneath that bulky sweater in the night and then he’s spilling against the tile, panting and shuddering, and oh god, he’s fucked.

——————

They head out for breakfast, a small diner that smells like bacon but has vegan options, so he orders both and calls it balance. He watches the kid debate before trying to order and nudges his ankle with his foot, drawing those wide eyes up to meet his.

“Get what you want kid, I’m paying.”

Peter tries to protest and he smirks, shakes his head, “You drive and I’ll pay, cool?” he offers, grinning when the kid mutters no, but lets the topic lie.

To his surprise Peter orders pancakes, a green smoothie, sausage and eggs, and black coffee. What’s even more impressive is the fact that he manages to eat it all.

They do end up going to the museum, and he’s a little blown away by how intelligent Peter is—he hauls Tony around the museum, babbling excitedly about the inventions and the inventors and what the modern day applications have yielded...

And it’s the nicest day Tony’s had in a long time. Peter is sweet and eager and so goddamn smart that he’s half tempted to hire him on the spot and send him back to Pepper so he can change the face of the world with that brilliant beautiful mind of his—but he sees the grief in the kids eyes as he stumbles over names(MJ and Ned) and clams up when he tried to get more details—so he knows that like him, the kid has scars, he just isn’t ready for them to be bared to the world.

——————

They stay another night and then get up early, Peter behind the wheel again as they get closer and closer to Yellowstone.

“Favorite food” Peter prompts him, taking the easy route in this game of 20 questions they’ve been playing for fifteen minutes.

“Shawarma.”

“I heard the Avengers had shawarma after the battle of New York, is that true?” Peter asks eagerly, glancing over at him with a grin.

His hands tighten on his knees as he recalls the aftermath of that day—panic attacks, extremis, Thanos—and shudders.

“Yea, we did,” he answers as evenly as he can. “Why’d you leave Queens?” he asks quickly, turning the tables with a question he knows the kid doesn’t want to answer.

Peter stares out the window at the road ahead, face stoic and blank, silence settling uneasily between them. Tony sighs and turns to look out the window, wondering if he’ll ever be able to ask the right questions and stop hurting people.

———————

Tony pays the entrance fee to Yellowstone and they drive in campsites and trees and mountains rolling past. It’ll take five hours to get to the south rim of the Canyon so they decide to get a camper for the night and go out hiking—the Audi horribly conspicuous next to trucks and suvs splattered in mud and dust.

A few people notice him but don’t take photos, and when they head out for a hike, he’s got a ball cap and sunglasses on against the glare of the setting sun. Peter is still quiet—after their game of 20 questions ended abruptly, he’d kept quiet through the drive.

He’s a little out of breath when they reach the Lake Butte Overlook, and then he’s breathless for another reason entirely. He’s seen a lot of amazing things in his life, but this, this is astounding.

They stand together, watching the sun slip over the horizon so the clouds turn a bruised blue in some places and a burnt pink in others.

“My aunt died.”

It’s abrupt, and when he glances over, Peter is staring out at the lake intently. He nods and turns his gaze away, waiting to see if he’ll say more.

“When everything ended? When Thanos murdered half the universe? He took my aunt.”

He hears Peter’s breath hitch before he continues and fights the urge to reach out in comfort, hands clenching by his sides.

“My parents died when I was a kid so my aunt and uncle raised me till he was killed by muggers, and then it was just me and her.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then—“Then it was just me.”

His eyes fall shut as grief swells within him and it tastes like copper and gags him, he swallows hard to try and push it back, deep uneven breaths until he can open his eyes and calmly speak.

“I’m sorry. It took too long to get everyone back, some people just didn’t come back, I’m sorry kid.”

Peter looks over at him finally, brow furrowed, “I don’t blame you Mr. Stark, you did everything you could. I just wish things were different,” he says with a sad little smile and Tony’s heart breaks.

“Me too kid, me too,” he murmurs, smiling just as sadly back at him.

God, how he’s wished things were different.

———————

The camper is quiet that night, the small space leaving them bumping into each other and apologizing, the awkward air growing with each minute. Eventually Tony heads outside, builds a fire and stares up at the stars overhead. Peter lingers inside for a few minutes before joining him, wrapped in a blanket and shivering, but smiling softly.

It’s so dark here they can see the Milky Way overhead, and the sight of the stars sends a shudder over his skin—it’s too easy to recall how they look up close, how cold space is, silent and empty and lonely when you’re dying.

He tears his gaze away and breaths slowly, trying to calm himself. When he looks up again Peter is watching him with a curious, knowing gaze.

“I almost starved to death in space, actually, oxygen deprivation would have gotten me first, but yea, can’t look at the stars without feeling it again.”

Peter just nods and pokes the fire with a stick, silent for the moment.

“I left Queens because I was evicted and I knew I couldn’t survive there. There’s nothing left for me there anyway,” he mutters, shadows darkening his face.

Tony bites back the urge to offer to pay for an apartment, knowing that throwing money at the kid won’t actually solve the problem—money can’t bring back the dead—and that’s what the kid needs more than money, is family.

They sit in silence until the fire burns down and he throws water on it and rakes it for a few minutes to make sure the embers die before he follows the kid into the camper. He shivers once the heat of the fire bleeds out of his skin and glances over to where Peter is curled in a ball in the sleeping bag on the opposite side of the camper.

He strips his jeans and replaces them with a soft pair of cotton pants before he crawls into his own sleeping bag, shivering as he shuts off the lantern. The fabric of the sleeping bag whispers as Peter rolls over and he can see the pale skin of his face in the gloom, staring over at him.

“Do you...”

He trails off and Tony hums, “Do I?”

“Believe in god?”

That’s a surprise—but then, given what they’ve been talking about, it isn’t.

“I dunno kid. People say Thor is a god, but he’s not, he’s just an alien with fancy technology and science we don’t understand. If there is a god, I’d sure as fuck like to know where he gets off letting Thanos destroy the universe he created.”

His voice is bitter and Peter nods, face softening with something that looks like relief. He sees the shudder that runs over the kid and counts to ten as he weighs the cost/benefit ratio of inviting the kid to come slee next to him and share body heat.

Fuck it, he decides—“C’mere kid, we’re both freezing and we don’t have to be,” he murmurs, sitting up so he can unzip his sleeping bag and wave Peter over. There’s half a moment of hesitation from the boy before he’s hurrying over with his pillow and sleeping bag, murmuring a quiet thank you.

They curl close under the warmth of the flannel lining of the sleeping bag and after a few moments Peter’s icy feet press against his shins, eliciting a sharp curse and a breathless laugh from both of them. When Peter edges away with an apology his arm shoots out to grab his hip, pulling him closer without thought.

“It’s fine kid, c’mon,” he whispers, chest tight as he tries to stay calm. Peter nods and edges back, the curve of his back pressing into Tony’s chest slowly. They both still, stiff and wary, and then Tony’s hand at his hip slides around his waist to band him against his body, every inch of them pressed together searingly hot.

“This okay?” he asks hoarsely, breath whispering out against Peter’s neck. He doesn’t miss it when the kid shivers and his stomach tightens beneath Tony’s palm—he’s unconsciously slid it beneath the sweater the kid is wearing, so it’s skin to skin and he can feel how taut his body is.

“Y-yea, s’fine,” Peter murmurs breathily, curls shifting as he adjusts his head on the pillows, a waft of his scent filling Tony’s nose. He bites back a groan and wills his cock to behave, thankful he hasn’t gotten hard—yet.

They’re both stiff and uneasy until Tony starts to fall asleep and then Peter rolls over and nuzzles into him and his hand curls in his hair, pulling him closer as he falls asleep.

——————

Peter wakes early the next morning, warm and snuggled into Tony. His thigh is hitched around Tony’s hips, and to his horror, he’s hard. Tucking his head under Tony’s chin, he takes slow, steady breaths and tries to will it away, praying Tony stays asleep so he can deal with this.

He isn’t so lucky though, because just a few minutes later Tony is waking with low, sleepy noises that only serve to make him harder. It’s not fair really; anyone would be aroused if they were in his position, pressed against Tony Stark, the object of his affection since he was seven and arguably one of the most attractive men in the world.

He’s petrified still, breathing as slow and steady as he can to fool Tony into thinking he’s still asleep. The hand at the base of his spine slides up and he loses control, shudders and whines brokenly, trying to keep it in, and failing. He can feel it when Tony stills, hand pressed to the knobs of his spine, heart beating rapidly beneath his cheek.

He wonders if Tony will say something, try and play it off, or maybe, he’ll touch him again. He wants it, badly, and then it seems like Tony’s heard his though because his hand slides down to the small of his back and then back up, but this time his nails drag over Peter’s skin and he can’t help the broken gasp that shudders out of him, nor the instinctual stutter of his hips.

Burying his face in Tony’s neck, he burns with shame and arousal until the hand at his back slides down to his hip and tightens. “‘S it feel good sweetheart?” Tony asks, voice low and hoarse and another shudder runs over him.

Nodding, he gasps against his neck wetly, “‘M sorry, it’s wrong, I didn’t mean to,” he pleas, hoping Tony won’t hate him for rutting against him like an animal in heat.

Tony hushes him softly, free hand reaching down to wrap around his thigh, the strength in his grip and the callouses on his fingers making him tremble, imagining the way they’d feel on the rest of his skin.

“Shh sweetheart, it’s okay,” Tony murmurs, his voice low and rough in Peter’s ear. “You want me to keep touching you?” he offers, and yea, Peter wants that, but he’s scared, so scared that Tony’s going to think he’s just some kid, that he’ll tire of him and leave him behind when he gets bored of him or finds someone better.

He doesn’t know what to say and now he’s frustrated and aroused and he shakes his head and presses it into Tony’s throat, breathless. “I don’t, I don’t know,” he pants, “I don’t...want you to, to see me as some kid. I don’t want you to go,” he whimpers pathetically, tears burning in his eyes.

“Hey, woah, why would I go?” Tony asks, shifting so he can stare down at Peter in confusion and concern. He lifts his hand from Peter’s thigh to cup his chin and tilt it so their gazes meet, “What’s wrong Pete?”

A tiny sob hiccups out of his chest and he clings to Tony, “Everyone goes! Everyone! I just found you—don’t go!” he begs, tears blinding him as they finally fall. Tony curses and rolls toward him, gathering him into his arms and hushing him gently.

“I’m not going anywhere kid, I promise. I’m staying with you.”

————————

They don’t talk about it.

They talk about everything else; engineering, biomechanics, the Avengers, his aunt May, which Godfather movie is the best (the second, obviously), where to get the best slice of pizza in manhattan, and on and on until they finally arrive at the south rim of the canyon, just as the sun is setting.

They climb up from the car to the overlook and watch it together, sitting in the red dust as the sky turns crimson, silently leaning into each other as Mother Nature puts on a fiery display. As the sun sets further Peter’s head falls onto Tony’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, because he enjoys the weight of it, soft scent of Peter’s hair in his nose, the way Peter sighs softly, like he’s finally happy and relaxed.

“Where do you wanna go next?” he asks softly, not wanting to break the tranquility of the moment. Peter sighs and shrugs a shoulder, breath warm on Tony’s neck.

“Wherever you’re going,” he finally answers, “I want to go with.”

Tony nods, sliding an arm around his shoulders to hold him closer, turning his chin so he can inhale the sweet scent of the boy next to him, comforting and familiar. Before he can question the action, he presses his lips to his temple and hums softly, happier than he’s been in a very long time.

———————

Weeks pass.

They spend a few days at Yellowstone, swing down and visit Yosemite, then back up to Portland, Seattle and keep going down through California wine country.

Tony pays for everything and Peter drives, and slowly, they come to know each other.

The list of things Tony knows about Peter grows and it gets easier to share his own life with the young man. He tells Peter about Howard—the abuse, the emotional manipulation and neglect, and in turn Peter tells him about watching his Uncle Ben die right in front of him.

They’ve stopped in Monterey, renting out a house that overlooks the ocean, taking a break from living on the road, sleeping in hotels and eating shitty diner food at 3am. It’s a nice break, and both men are grateful for it.

Peter stares out the wide bay windows to where Tony is on the phone with Pepper—his one time assistant and fiancé, now his....well, Peter isn’t sure exactly. Tony’s said she’s his best friend and someone he’ll always love—but where that leaves them, Peter isn’t sure.

Tony glances up and smiles at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, handsome face tanned from the sun, hair shot through with silver in places and Peter shivers, blushes, and ducks his chin.

There is this aspect to their friendship that hasn’t been addressed; how they sleep in the same bed despite it no longer being necessary. How Tony pets his hair when they’re sitting or laying together.

Most days one or both of them wakes up hard, and usually when it’s Peter, Tony holds him close and runs his hand over his back, murmuring soft sleepy words of assurance and affection till he’s coming in his boxers, untouched.

It should be weird, or awkward, but it’s not. If anything it’s comforting. He knows Tony will take care of him, and in return Peter gets to make sure Tony sleeps, eats full meals and joins him for runs and yoga. The stress lines around Tony’s mouth and eyes have disappeared in the last two weeks, and everyday he smiles more.

His hands move independently from his busy mind and when he hears the patio door open, he glances up to find Tony leaning on the bar across from him with an amused smirk on his face.

“You know you’re better with those knives than some chefs?”

Peter nods but doesn’t reply—he hasn’t told Tony yet about being Spider-Man and the advantages that come with it—namely, enhanced senses that allow him to handle weapons with ease.

“Looks good,” the older man muses and reaches out to steal a cherry tomato, a little dribble of juice turning his lips red. Peter stares at it for a moment, heat building in his stomach before he turns away and shoves the kebabs into the fridge, letting the cool air wash over him.

“How’s Pepper?” he asks, turning back around to hand Tony a sparkling water, mimicking his posture and leaning forward onto the granite of the island.

“Good, I think she’s surprised by how good she is when I’m not there to fuck everything up,” Tony says, smirking as he sips his water. Peter frowns reproachfully at him and shakes his head.

“You didn’t fuck everything up. You made mistakes, like every other human does. Even Captain America made mistakes, so don’t hold yourself to some ideal that no one can actually meet.”

Tony stares at him for a long moment and then exhales slowly, looking away as he nods. “I...thanks kid. I guess I still need to hear that every once in awhile.” He looks up in surprise when Peter’s hand covers his where it’s resting on the counter, smiling softly in return at the warm affection in Peter’s gaze.

Peter’s stomach flutters and he nods nervously, peeling his hand away from Tony’s with a sense of loss. “Are you uh hungry?” he asks, turning half toward the fridge, “Dinner is ready whenever we want.”

Tony stares at him a second and then nods, straightening with a carefully neutral smile, “Yea sure kid, let’s eat.”

—————

They eat on their little strip of beach, skewers charred from the open flames of the fire. The waves crash further down the beach and Peter sips from a glass of sparkling water, seated beside Tony in deck chairs, watching the sunset.

It’s a comfortable silence stretched between them and as the sun slips lower, Peter finds his gaze on Tony more and more. For his part, the older man doesn’t seem to mind, meeting Peter’s gaze with a warm smile and soft eyes that make his stomach flip.

He’d be lying—has tried to lie—if he said he doesn’t want Tony, but he’s not sure what Tony wants from him. He picked him up on the side of the road and taken him on an extended road trip, bought him new clothes and shoes and paid for everything he’s needed, and hasn’t once asked for anything in return except for friendship and company.

So maybe, maybe this is something he’s allowed to ask for.

Tony stands and smiles down at him, “Think I’ll head to bed, you enjoy the fire a bit, hmm?” he murmurs, and before Peter can do more than gape at him stupidly, he’s walking into the house without a glance back.

—————

Tony scrubs a hand over his face as he leans against the shower wall, picturing the look on Peter’s face when he had left him, sitting by the fire, alone.

Hurt didn’t even begin to describe it.

It killed him to do it, but he’s started to wonder if the kid even has any interest in him, because despite their continued closeness and the odd morning hard on pressed against his hip, the kid hasn’t tried anything.

Shutting off the water, he towels at his head as he walks back into the bedroom, pausing, wide eyed when he finds Peter sitting on the bed, gaze fixed on his naked body before he looks up and blushes spectacularly.

“I uh, I want you,” Peter mumbles, blushing harder as he runs a hand over his arm nervously, “Um, I don’t, do you?”

Tony stares at him dumbfounded because, yea, this is apparently happening right now, and it’s not a dream, the kid is actually looking at him with wide hopefuls eyes and a nervous smile.

He takes too long to respond because Peter shoots to his feet, head bobbing anxiously, “Right, no, of course not. I’ll uh, ok, I’ll be down the hall,” he babbles, making for the door.

Tony’s brain finally catches up and the towel slips from his fingers as he strides across the room and grabs Peter, yanking him back around and into his chest with a soft huff. He kisses him, graceless and hungry, desperate to prove how much he wants him. When he pulls back, Peter’s got a dazed expression on his face and he smiles softly, thumb caressing his jaw.

“Stay, Peter, please.”

Peter nods slowly and gazes up at him through his lashes, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this just because I want to,” he assures Tony and it hits him then, that Peter doesn’t realize how much he likes him. So he kisses him again, deeper this time, fingers tangling in his hair as he tilts Peter’s chin so he can devour him.

“I’m sure baby, you’re all I want,” he whispers against his lips. “That good with you?”

Peter makes a strained high pitched noise and nods, “Y-yea, very good,” he agrees before surging up to kiss Tony.

They fumble back towards the bed, stripping off Peter’s clothing till they’re skin to skin and trading hot, hungry kisses. The kid moans as he bites and kisses his throat, beard leaving a burning sensation as he goes and before he gets a hand on his cock, the kid struggles away and blurts—

“I’m Spider-Man.”

————

Part two coming soon!!

@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody @sbiderslut @legless-fish-on-rollerskates @sw111452 @yaoi-secret-s @tomanyfandomss101 @delicateavenuenacho @the-mad-starker @sbiderslut @dreamingstoriesinoursleep @severelybitchychild @is-it-avideo @heyheyheymymemeydudes @depressedbitch5 @gypsy-witch-fangirl

#starker #starcrossedtalks #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #tony stark #nff #peter parker

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josephmozzerellaswife-blog · 5 years

Text

Expecting the Unexpected Part 3

Sorry this chapter took so long, it is way longer than the others and I have been super busy so I could only write for a few hours a night.

Warnings: angst, tons of fluff, JOKES FINALLY, childhood illness/ treatment, vomit

Word Count: 5.2K

Summary: When Joe gets back from his recent business trip he notices something is up with your new little one. Can an urgent ER trip can change your lives for good?

*3 weeks later*

The sound of your pounding alarm could be heard all throughout the apartment. Your phone lit up and read 5:30 AM Treatment Day. It took you and Joe almost no thought that treatment was Scarlet’s best option and his mom helped you both decide the best course of treatment to take. The price didn’t matter to either of you one bit, nothing was worth more than your precious little girl, who by the way, was still sound asleep down the hall. Her first treatment was scheduled to be in Los Angeles because of the Oscars and Joe didn’t want to miss her first appointment. Joe reached over your exhausted body, tapping the snooze button on your screen.

“Five more minutes pleeeease.” he muffled, head face down into his pillow.

Mornings like these were some of your favorite, most intimate times with Joe. You sat up from the cozy spot you once laid, eyes stuck on Joe’s body. You were wearing one of his Yellowstone t-shirt’s that you had stolen from the laundry almost every week, it might as well be your shirt by now because he has like five. You couldn’t help but roll on top of him like a sack of potatoes, attempting to wake him up and make him laugh all in one.

“What on earth are you doing?” he giggled, trying to hold it in but couldn’t resist.

“Well what do you think i’m doing?”

“Mhhh... turning me on?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Over the past 7 years of your relationship and 5 years of marriage he still managed to give you butterflies. He rolled you over to his side, keeping ahold of your waist in his hands.

“Maybe.” you teased, his smile only growing larger by the minute.

He grazed your thigh as he pulled his hand up to your lower back, the other hand upon your cheek.

“Well why don’t you just kiss me already.”

You both fell into the most passionate kiss. One after another, melting into his touch, your lips never parting from his.

“You know I don’t HAVE to go to the Oscars tonight..” he said.

“Joe, you and I both know that isn’t true.”

“Well I can make it true, tell the boys that something came up.”

“You still haven’t told them have you. It’s been 3 weeks Joe.”

“I know love but I just don’t know how to tell them, it’s hard.”

You totally understood how he felt. It took you almost a week before you could tell your parents, afraid they would think you were a failed parent, letting this happen to your child. But in fact, it was the complete opposite. They were nothing but supportive, even offered to help cover the expenses although they knew it wasn’t necessary.

“Joe you’re going. This isn’t a discussion. It’s Scarlet’s first time watching the Oscars, don’t you think her daddy should be the one she is looking at on the big screen.” You tried to persuade him back into his original plan.

It wouldn’t be the first time she got to see her daddy on the big screen, well she probably won’t remember it but you went into labor the night before Bohemian Rhapsody’s big premiere at Wembley. As much as Joe didn’t want to leave your side, it was in his contract that he attend the premiere. So even though Scarlet hadn’t even been a day old yet, Joe wanted to make sure you got to see your husband on the big screen of a stadium, so he facetimed you, through the WHOLE movie, commentating with his own silly jokes when Ben or Gwil would appear on your screen.

Just before your lips part, you could hear Scarlet from the monitor resting on your side table.

“I’ll get her. After all I won’t be around much today now. I have to get ready before noon so I won’t get to stay for her whole appointment.” he pleaded with a saddened look on his delicate face, brows furrowed.

“Babe it’s ok, I will still be there and you will be there all but an hour. You don’t need to worry.”

“I know but darling it’s her first treatment and I don’t want her to think I don’t love her.”

“Joe are you serious right now? First of all she’s only 4 months old, secondly there is no way on earth she would ever think you didn’t love her. You give her and I the world Joey.” you comforted him, his doubts only crushed your heart. Why would he ever think these things?

You could hear the rustling from down the hall. Joe probably decided to just get her ready seeing as you both snoozed the alarm for almost 20 minutes. When he came back Scarlet was in the cutest outfit EVER. He had dressed her in one of her pale pink onesies with the most adorable lacy details on the back and a small pink hair bow to top it all off. He had brushed her beautiful auburn hair, just like his, to create the cutest curls off to the sides. Sometimes you felt like Joe had better taste in baby fashion than you, well beside the dinosaur costume he bought her for halloween later this year.

“Hi sweetie, daddy did a good job dressing you today didn’t he?” you smiled.

“Just today?” he giggled.

“Really Joey?”

“Hey i’m just saying.”

At that point you couldn’t help but laugh. Anything to lighten the mood was helpful in taking your mind off of the hours to come. While Joe took care of the rest of the baby stuff, you quickly threw on a floral cream cami dress and ran downstairs to get breakfast started. The stove top read 6:30 and only caused you to rush even more. Eggs were your last minute decision because you needed to leave the house by 6:50 to make it to the treatment center on time. As you poured in the raw egg whites into the scolding hot pan, you felt the familiar hands of your husband slowly grasp your waist, spinning you into his arms.

“You look absolutely stunning my love.”

“Joey I do not-“

Before you could even finish your sentence, his lips were pressing onto yours once again, the passion still thriving between you. It was almost as Scarlet’s diagnosis made you both realize how much the little things meant, although your love for Joe grew more and more everyday, giving you a new reason to fall madly in love with him all over again. A burning scent spread through the air, you turned only to see that the eggs you were so frantically cooking were now burnt.

“Crap I totally forgot that they were still on the stove.” you whined.

Joe quickly pulled you close to him again.

“It’s ok love don’t stress, we can just get something later.”

“I’m sorry Joe.”

“Babe it’s just eggs, i’m not mad.” he pleaded. He hated seeing you sad like this. He couldn’t tell if it was from the stress about Scarlet’s first treatment or just your anxiety taking control again.

“We should get going love, it’s already 6:55.”

By the time you gathered all the things you needed and Joe got Scarlet all buckled into her car seat, it’s was already 7:05. You hated being late, especially for something like this. What if just these few minutes affected the way the treatment worked for Scarlet? All this time was more precious than ever.

Joe could see the worry in your eyes as he pulled out of the driveway and past the front entry. Before he pulled onto the highway, he swiftly pulled out his phone and put on the playlist he made for you when he knew you were feeling anxious. The first song to play was something that would definitely lift your spirts and you both could rock out to for the whole six minutes, Bohemian Rhapsody. Fitting, seeing as the very replica of John Deacon was sitting just to your left. All doubts and worries quickly fled from your mind as you turned to look at Joe.

“You know exactly what I need just when I need it don’t you Mazzello?”

“That’s my job isn’t it?” he joked, causing you both to let out the loudest of laughs.

The famous Brian May’s Red Special rift flooded throughout your car and not long after were each of the Scaramouch, Galileos and Bismillahs. Just after that is when you looked to you husband only to see him head banging like no other with the biggest smile on his face.

Nothing really matters to me.

Any way the wind blows.

“Man, Roger can really hit that gong can’t he?” Joe laughed.

“Sure can Mr. Deacon, bass wasn’t too bad either.”

He gazed at you with his loving eyes, absorbing everything about you.

“If you say so Mrs. Mazzello.” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

The rest of the drive consisted of all yours and Joe’s favorite music and some of Scarlet’s too, after all she did have a great taste in music for a four month old.

Joe signed in for you while you ran to the restroom with Scarlet to quickly change her.

“You are gonna do so good today sweetie. You are such a brave little girl.” you expressed, your eyes never parting from your little girl’s.

You knew today was going to be hard for all of you, especially with Joe having to leave a little early but his mom offered to come and wait with you while he was gone. When you walked back into the waiting room Joe could tell that you were back into that anxious state again, but he could blame you. He was just as scared as you were.

“She’s gonna do great love don’t worry. She’s a Mazzello and Mazzello’s are tough.” he tried to reassure you.

You glanced at him, your eyes becoming glassy.

“I’m just so scared. I know that she is getting the best treatments possible but I feel so helpless not being able to help her.” you sobbed, tears now slowly running down your cheeks.

“We are gonna get through this love. All of us.” His words always comforted you, like a warm blanket of reassurance.

When the nurse finally called your names, the walk down the hall seemed forever, passing by each new chart or poster. She guided you all into a private treatment room where you would be spending the next few hours. It was painted in many fluorescent colors with butterflies and flowers running across the borders. She quickly asked Joe if he would sit on the bed with her while she got started. Scarlet never seemed scared, she always enjoyed being around people and loved the attention, but once the nurse cleaned her a with the cold rubbing alcohol, it was over. Scarlet just looked up into her daddy’s eyes with the saddest of looks on her face, tears quickly forming. Joe tried to keep her distracted while holding her arm straight for the nurse to place the needle carefully and quickly so your little one wouldn’t move. The needle didn’t seem to bother her much surprisingly, but it was soon after when the nurse started administering the treatment that made her cry, tears swiftly streaming down her face. It killed you and Joe, every inch of your hearts aching at the sight of your sad little girl, her pain clearly painted across her face. It took everything in you not to get upset but Joe had already started silently crying, no emotion from his face but tears falling from his cheeks. He held her so close to him, hoping her pain would soon suffice as she adapted to it. Joe gazed at you with sorrow in his eyes. You sat down next to him, gripping his hand as your placed your other against Scarlet’s little cheek, lightly kissing her forehead. She gave a small smile, knowing that you both loved her so much.

About two hours into her treatment, Joe was contacted by his stylist that he would need to come in. He hesitantly passed your now sleeping daughter off to you, hating that he had to leave you both. His mother had just walked in the door as Joe was gather his things.

“Hi mom, I was just about to leave.” he said with a sad frown across his face.

“Oh don’t worry dear, I’ll be here to keep them company. They will be fine.” she reassured him.

“I know, I just hate leaving them. They are my whole world you know.”

“I do Joey, that’s exactly how your father and I were. That’s how you know you both can last forever.”

His frown soon turned to a smile at his mother’s comforting words.

“Well I better get going, can’t be late for a fitting like this. Can you believe it, i’m actually going to the Oscars.”

You gazed at him with such a passion. Not only were you proud of your husband, but you knew so many other people were too. His family. His friends. His fans. He was finally getting what he deserved after all these years of hard work.

He walked over to you and placed a kiss upon your baby’s head, rubbing her back as he did. Then looked to you and you could feel yourself melting into his touch, a kiss filled with so much love, and then another. Just as he was about to walk out the door he turned around and whispered,

“How did I get so lucky to have such strong women in my life?”.

The rest of Scarlet’s treatment wasn’t as bad, she slept for most of it which worried you, always watching the steady rise and fall of her chest to assure she was breathing. Joe’s mom could see the paranoia right through you.

“Sweetie you do know that you’re allowed to rest too right? You’ve been watching her like a hawk for almost three hours.”

“I just hate seeing her like this. I hate not being able to help her. She looks so lifeless.”

“She just fine dear, the medication is supposed to make her tired. That means it’s working in her system.”

Her words of comfort only helped so much but your motherly instinct still couldn’t pull you from your state. You could feel your phone start to vibrate in your back pocket which gave you an instant feeling of comfort.

Hi sweet, I’m on my way back to the hospital, i’ll be there in 10. Love you.

No matter what was going on he always managed to put a smile on your face.

As you cuddled up to your little one, still sound asleep, you hear a faint knock at the door. In comes your husband, all dressed in his Oscar outfit, the sparkle from his suit matching perfectly with his eyes. Your gaze never left his sexy body as he shuffled closer to you.

“Hi love, how’s she doing.”

“She holding in there, mostly sleeping the whole time. Also how can you just casually walk in here without warning me that my hot ass husband was already Oscar ready.” you both giggled.

“I wanted to surprise you. Seems like I did my job well.”

“Indeed you did Mr. Mazzello.”

“Anything for you Mrs. Mazzello.”

You could hear Joe’s mother laughing from the corner of the room. Soon everyone was laughing, but still trying to be quiet from waking the baby. You slowly passed Scarlet off to Joe so he could spend time with her before he dropped us off at the house after her treatment. You loved the way he would look at her, he looked at you the same way. His passionate eyes following your ever move as if it was his last time he would ever see you again.

When the nurse came in to remove the IV, Scarlet had been asleep for almost the full 4 hours, which caused you to worry.

“If you don’t mind me asking, is it normal for her to have been sleeping this much?” you worried.

“Yes, it’s completely normal. The medication is different for everyone but can cause drowsiness from the fighting of toxins.”

Her words eased your anxiety. As long as everything was normal, you could worry a little bit less.

The nurse quickly removed the needle and took a quick exam before we were free to leave. She said that Scarlet would probably sleep for a little while after and some side effects might kick in within the next 5-6 hours. Joe found comfort when he was with you, your perfect little mix of the both of you resting in his arms. He was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, your hand soon to cover his while leaning against him.

The drive to the aparment was quiet. Joe glanced over to find you sound asleep, your head resting against the window. His mother told him how you never left Scarlet’s side which made him worry for you. He didn’t need you getting sick from trying to help your daughter, but he knew you couldn’t help it. Mother’s instinct.

Just as he pulled into the driveway, a familiar buzz went off in the cup holder. It was Ben letting Joe know that they would be there to pick him up in an hour. He gently rubbed your thigh, trying his best to wake you. Your eyes felt heavy as you glanced at your adorably hot husband, his suit still shimmering from the sunlight.

“We’re home love.” he spoke softly.

He helped you out of your side and ran around the car to unbuckle Scarlet from her car seat. Your legs had been wobbly from how tired you still were and Joe was quick to hold your arm as he helped you both inside.

He refused to let you help him as he got everything ready for Scarlet that she might need for the rest of the day, bottles, medication, blankets, he even threw in a load of laundry. He always made sure that you both were taken care of before he left, even if it was just for the rest of the night.

As you lied on the couch, Scarlet sleeping peacefully in one arm and you lying back to be wrapped in Joe’s, you almost felt like you would fall asleep again. His warm body always felt like home, like a safe place where everything was ok. It was only until his phone buzzed that you knew this warm, fuzzy feeling would end.

“The guys are here love.” he said, gently kissing the top of your head as he rubs your arms. You didn’t want this moment to end, you didn’t want him to go again.

“I wish you could stay but I know you are gonna kill it out there babe. Go show those actors that sparkle.” you spoke passionately about him, like you always do. A smile quickly formed on his face just before he placed a tender kiss to your lips, a feeling that you never wanted to part.

You walked out with him to the car, Scarlet lying snug in your arms while Joe had one arm around your waist, gently rubbing your side.

“No Oscars for you two tonight?” Gwil said with a puzzled look to his face.

“Nope not tonight, this little one has been a bit uh- tired lately.” you hesitated, remembering that Joe had yet to tell them.

“It’s a shame really. I’m sure you would have looked incredible.” Ben quickly flirted.

“Are you hitting on my wife again Hardy? Don’t make me go get Cardy B because he can be my plus 1.” Joe was fast to snap back, laughter soon filling the air.

“What can I say. You did good Joe.”

“I know. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He cupped your cheek as he placed another kiss between the two of you, and another soon after causing you both to fall deeper into each other.

“Uhh don’t mean to interrupt but we do have an award show to attend.” Ben blurted.

“Oh shut up you weasel. Let them have their moment.” Gwil shoved Ben from the front seat.

Joe placed a quick kiss against Scarlet’s head, and your lips once more before jumping into the backseat.

“I love you Y/N.”

“We love you to Joey. We’ll be watching all night.”

You watched them drive off until their car soon became just a small speck before walking back inside. Joe had set up a travel crib in the living room for you to be able to see Scarlet while watching the Oscars. He knew you would worry about her so he ensured that she would be close to you all night.

Just before the red carpet was about to start Scarlet had finally woke up from her nap and you both began to watch all the amazing outfits of the night. Scarlet didn’t quite understand but you kept your eyes peeled for that sparkling husband of yours. You did however spot Lucy and Rami walking the carpet and noticed something so touching to your heart. They were both sporting tiny gold ribbons pinned to the designer outfits in support of childhood cancer. It didn’t take long for the tears to fall from your cheeks. Looking down at your child, she was absolutely adorable as usual, so in love with all the colors on the television, and decided to take a quick snap for instagram considering you and Joe have been so private lately.

You soon spotted Joe with all his cast mates as they strolled up to the next interviewer.

“So Joe are you the spokesman of the group?”

“Umm no I think we’re all pretty good at this.” he giggled in reply.

He seemed back to his normal self once he hit the carpet and that made you feel so much better. You both had been having a really rough time with all of this.

“So Joe any news we should know about? The hospital photos for example?”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You didn’t want the whole world to know, especially before the boys.

“That was just a normal check up. Scarlet’s pediatrician is based out of that children’s hospital.”

The boys looked a little confused noticing the hesitation from Joe. It was quite unusual for him especially during events like this because he was a natural during interviews. They knew something was up. That was the last you saw of them.

“Joe what was that back there?” Gwil asked.

“I can’t talk about this here.”

“Talk about what Joe?” Ben chimes in.

Joe felt the vibration of his phone in pocket. It was a text from you.

Joe it’s the baby. She won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t want to bother you with this but I can’t get ahold of anyone. I can’t get her to stop what should I do!!

A rush of panic flooded his body. He quickly grabbed both the boys arms and dragged them into an empty room in the building.

“Listen, Scarlet she- she has cancer. That’s why we went to the hospital. That’s why she has been so tired. That’s why Y/N couldn’t come with me tonight. It’s why i’ve been so distant and I’m sorry for that. I just didn’t know how to tell you guys and-” he was quickly cut off by Ben.

“Joe i’m so sorry mate. Is there anything we can do.”

“Yeah Joe you guys don’t have to go through this alone.” Gwil continued.

You could tell the news was heartbreaking for Ben and Gwil. They both loved every bit of your little one.

“It’s been really rough guys. Today was her first treatment and I couldn’t even be there the whole time to support my girls because of all this Oscar prep and now Y/N just texted me telling me that Scarlet can’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help them.” Joe was sobbing at this point. His heart breaking into a million pieces as he finished his last sentence.

“Joe you should go be with them. This isn’t as important as them even if it’s the Oscars. I know being here is killing you, we could tell all night.” Gwil convinced Joe.

“Yeah Joe, we hate to see you go but family is more important and we understand. Bri and Rog would understand. We are all here for you buddy.” Ben pleaded.

Joe didn’t think twice before wrapping them both in a tight, well-needed hug and running of to catch a car back to your apartment.

“Good luck guys! Don’t party to hard without me ok? We’ve got this!”

“Love you Joe. Kisses to the baby and Y/N for us!” Gwil yelled.

Paparazzi must have caught you running off the property in a hurry because it didn’t take long for a story to come out.

“Joe Mazzello seen running out of the Oscars in a panic. Another hospital visit ahead?”

You got the notification as soon as it hit the press. Thousands of messages poured into your dms all worried about you and Scarlet. You had finally gotten Scarlet to stop vomiting and gave her a quick bath to help sooth her discomfort. Her poor eyes still red and puffy from all the previous events. You didn’t even bother cleaning yourself up, all you cared about was Scarlet and making sure she was ok. You could hear the Oscars playing in the background, hoping Joe was still there enjoying all the winners. You soon collapsed into the couch before feeding Scarlet a bottle so she would fall asleep easier. After she finished and had dozed off, you felt yourself soon follow.

Joe frantically opened the door to find his two girls sleeping sound on the couch. He smiled in relief as he shuffled over to scoop Scarlet from your arms, careful not to wake you. Just before he went to put Scarlet down in her crib, he draped your body with your favorite blanket and placed a light kiss on your forehead, slightly waking you from your sleep. When he came back, he found you lying on the couch covered in baby vomit and clearly exhausted.

“Hi love, I came back as soon as I could.” he whispered.

“Joey you didn’t need too. I just didn’t know what else to do, I’m so sorry.” you wept groggily in his arms, tears sinking into his suit.

“Love it’s ok. You both are so much more important to me than some silly award show.” he tried to reassure you.

“Come on lets go jump in the shower and get you cleaned up.” he quickly guided you down the hall and helped you undress as you held his body close.

“Join me? I need the company.”

“How could I refuse?”

You both climbed into the shower, the warm water quickly running down your back. Joe insisted he help you wash your hair, his gentle touch massaging your scalp with both the shampoo and then conditioner. Your kisses consistent with every move. The passion you two shared never failed to shine. Your love growing stronger with each and every moment you spend together. The warm water pulling you both closer, almost inseparable.

He grabbed you a towel and wrapped it around your body, kissing your shoulders then up your neck to your lips as you guided his hands to yours. It didn’t take long for you to throw on one of his old hoodies, which he didn’t mind. He loved seeing you in his clothes, seeing the comfort they brought you, making you feel closer to him. When you ended up in the living room again, the Oscars were still playing and you decided to finish watching them with Joe. Your back leaning into his arms with your knees tucked close to your chest. His hand sliding up and down your arm while the other remain across your waist. The final award of the night was up, best actor.

“He’s gonna win I know it.” you said to Joe, he just smiled at you, amazed at your every move.

“And the Oscar for Best Male Actor in a Drama film goes to... Rami Malek in Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Brian’s guitar solo surrounded the entire room as Joe looked to you.

“He did it. I always knew he would do it.”

You loved the friendship they shared. The support they both gave one another.

Joe held you tight as he kissed your lips. The both of you having your own little celebration of kisses. He quickly ran to put We Are the Champions on the record player and lifted you off your feet. His hands wrapped around your waist as he guided you into a slow dance, your head swift to lie on his shoulder. A sudden familiar buzz hit the side table once more. It was Brian.

“Dearest Joe and Y/N, Rog and I have just heard the news. We can’t image the pain you both must be going through during this time. If you need anything don’t be afraid to give us a quick phone. I believe that your little one will beat this bully of a disease. She is a strong one after all, she gets it from her mommy. Lots of love to you all. XX -Bri.”

Joe read the message aloud to you. You both fell into a moment of sadness again. Tears not yet showing from your faces. Brian’s words were comforting to the both of you though. His soul almost connecting with yours. Maybe that was his intention, after all he was the legendary Dr. Brian May. He could do just about anything.

Joe could feel you begin to fall asleep in his arms. His eyes locked onto you. He delicately picked you up bridal style and guided you into the bedroom. He slowly placed you under the covers and set a quick kiss on your forehead before he went to brush his teeth. When he came back you were all snuggled into the comforter before he soon came to cuddle with you. His arm became encased around yours, his lips placing light kisses across your shoulders.

“I love you Y/N. I love you with everything in me.” he whispered, not knowing you were still slightly awake.

“I love you too Joe. More than you could ever know.” you whispered back.

For a day filled with many emotions, this was the moment you had been waiting for all day. To be loved by your husband, your child sleeping soundly down the hall, and all you could ever want lying right there next to you, holding you close and never letting go.

Taglist:

@onehystericalqueeen @queens-n-roses @soberandfurious @sevenseasofky @toger-raylor @sincereleygmg @mrsmazzello @myfreakydeaky @readdyyfreddie @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank @misterbrianmay @heartsarecompatible @ixchel-9275 @benmeadowstaylor @slutfordeacy-mazello @winnielinleigh @everybodyplaythegame @radioxtaylor @deakyspuff @okiegirl24 @imagines-xxx @classypaintercolorcowboy @super-heros-are-my-life

I hope you all enjoyed Part 3! I put so much into this chapter.

Also it might be a week or so before the next chapter because I am very busy right now!!

Send in Request for more stories!!!

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagines #ben hardy x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fanfiction #joe mazzello fluff #joe mazzello imagine

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drtanstravels · 5 years

Text

When I finished my previous post we had wrapped up the Midwest Ocular Angiography Conference at the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Jackson, Wyoming the previous night and were just about to begin the holiday leg of our trip through the Pacific Northwest of the USA.

Wednesday, July 10, 2019 We had our lunch at the Four Seasons with Tony, the pharmaceutical representative from Chicago we had met at the conference, and now it was time for us to hit the road. We got in our white, rental Toyota Corolla and it needs to be said, Anna does a great job of driving on the opposite side of the road and there were some confusing roads and intersections to deal with in this area. Wifi was almost nonexistent so we had to either try and make the most of the one bar of connection we had while in a town to find our destination on Google Maps or simply resort to paper maps, something I would have to do a lot over the coming days in order to navigate, making me sometimes feel more than a little carsick. In fact things were so remote we couldn’t even get a radio reception and it looked like we’d just be listening to static for the next couple of hours until I was finally able to get my phone to pair with the car’s stereo via bluetooth, allowing us to listen to the music I had saved on iTunes. If we had to rely on Spotify, we would’ve been screwed. It really didn’t take that long to make our way deeper into Grand Teton National Park, where we would be spending that night:

Grand Teton National Park is an American national park in northwestern Wyoming. At approximately 310,000 acres (480 sq mi; 130,000 ha; 1,300 km2), the park includes the major peaks of the 40-mile-long (64 km) Teton Range as well as most of the northern sections of the valley known as Jackson Hole. Along with surrounding national forests, these three protected areas constitute the almost 18,000,000-acre (7,300,000 ha) Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the world’s largest intact mid-latitude temperate ecosystems.

The human history of the Grand Teton region dates back at least 11,000 years, when the first nomadic hunter-gatherer Paleo-Indians began migrating into the region during warmer months pursuing food and supplies. In the early 19th century, the first white explorers encountered the eastern Shoshone natives.

Grand Teton National Park is an almost pristine ecosystem and the same species of flora and fauna that have existed since prehistoric times can still be found there. More than 1,000 species of vascular plants, dozens of species of mammals, 300 species of birds, more than a dozen fish species and a few species of reptiles and amphibians inhabit the park.

One of many meese in the area

To be honest, neither Anna nor myself is particularly interested in fly-fishing, which is extremely popular there, but we do like the outdoors, hiking, and checking out the wildlife so we would be doing plenty of that over the coming days. In fact, we learnt an easy way for spotting animals almost immediately; if you see a whole heap of cars pulled over on the side of the road and a bunch of people staring and pointing into the distance, there is usually something worth pulling over and seeing. On the first occasion it was a female moose (above, right) grazing in a small body of water. It was obviously female, because it didn’t have antlers, but this got us immediately wondering if there might be more moose around, particularly male ones. Then I got a little irritated when it occured to me that the moose is a member of the deer family so the name is an invariant, the plural form still being “moose”, not “meese.” It seemed like such a wasted opportunity, but never mind, that wouldn’t stop me from referring to them as “meese.” Nothing could.

Another stop en route to our destination would be Jenny Lake, a popular hiking area through some of the tallest peaks in the Teton Range, in order to trek a portion of the Cascade Canyon Trail. We would take a boat, the humorously named “Beaver Dick Leigh” (which I later discovered was named after Richard “Beaver Dick” Leigh), from South Jenny Lake across to the the entrance of Cascade Canyon and hike up to the well-signposted Hidden Falls, then past the Jaw and the Rock of Ages, down to Lake Solitude, along the way passing that family from Oregon with whom we went whitewater rafting the previous day and Anna having to keep the sole attached to a busted hiking shoe with a hair-tie, before finally making our way back down to Jenny Lake and catching the “Beaver Dick Leigh” back across to our car. Besides squirrels, we didn’t really see any wildlife, but the scenery was pretty spectacular. See for yourself:

Entering Grand Teton National Park

Token panoramic shot

Our ride across the lake

And we’re off

It looks cold but it surprisingly wasn’t

I guess that’s one way to stop lake pirates

Almost there

following the river

Hidden Falls isn’t all that hidden

I’m dressed like I work there

The beginning of the trail

Still going

Anna getting a bit ahead of me

Not a bad way of spending an afternoon

One of many squirrels we would see

Looking down on some trees

Teton Range

We didn’t encounter any bears… yet!

To say the water is clear would be like saying it is also damp

Now that we were done with the hiking we had to find our way to the ranch where we were staying. That’s right, ranch. We were staying at the Heart Six Guest Ranch, which claims to be “One of the oldest dude ranches in America,” located just outside Grand Teton National Park and right near the south gate of Yellowstone National Park. Another fact to add was that the ranch stunk strongly of horse manure, an odour that you could almost taste, one that never disappeared, but also one that permeated everything until you just became acclimatised to it. One good thing about staying in this region is that it stays light until about 9:30pm each night so we didn’t have to worry about locating the ranch in the dark, but when we eventually found it, we were surprised to also see covered wagons and teepees on the grounds. We would definitely have to explore them a bit more in the morning, because I want to know how Native Americans could tolerate the cold nights here in just a teepee! When we arrived we checked in, noting the wildly swinging ceiling fan in the ranch’s reception, along with the multitude of mosquitoes and other insects in the general vicinity. Once done we didn’t go to our room, instead opting to drive down to a nearby river in the hope of seeing some animals, as dusk is apparently the prime time for spotting wildlife. Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter a whole lot, just a couple of female deer enthusiastically spotted in the distance by some fellow tourists, a large, slowly moving mound on the opposite bank of the river that was apparently a beaver (but realistically it could’ve been almost anything), and some spiders. I did, however, manage to snap the photo of the mountains with the purple sky that I used for the featured image for this post while we were there.

We returned to the “Dude Ranch” and asked the guy working in reception where there was to eat. There were apparently two options, one of which the receptionist said in no uncertain terms was “shit.” We walked outside and there was a man in a cowboy hat passing us so we asked him for his recommendation, to which he replied the other option out of the two was “shit.” We weren’t expecting to find ourselves in a culinary hotspot, but in our experience there people were more willing to tell you which was the worst out of the two restaurants, as opposed to which one they preferred, and thus far the consensus was split 50/50. Not a good sign so we opted for the closest which was on the grounds of the ranch — It was shit. There was probably only about 15 minutes until the kitchen closed and there was a family on a table behind us where the mother, similar in appearance to what you see in ‘Karen’ memes, was going to snap. She was constantly complaining to our waiter and bitching at her kids, but it was the waiter that I felt bad for. This tall, gangly guy with long, blonde hair in a ponytail with a fringe, a curly moustache, and suspenders over a t-shirt was frazzled — It can’t be easy being the only hipster in a tiny town, as well as the only employee in the town’s restaurant. When the family was ordering, the mother asked if there were any gluten-free options, to which the waiter replied that nothing they serve would be truly gluten-free, because they cook everything on the same grill and don’t really clean it. She just let out an audible, dissatisfied sigh and ordered a random dish. I’m not sure if he was cooking the food too, but it took quite a while to come out and it most likely wasn’t because they were busy cleaning in the kitchen. That family were there first so their food arrived before ours and the mother still wasn’t happy, going on a rant about the poor quality of their dinner. Ours eventually arrived and it was pretty bad too; a tough steak each and french fries that weren’t just crunchy, but hard as if they had kept all of the leftover, uneaten fries aside over the course of the evening and then refried them all at the end for our meals — It’s pretty hard to screw up fries, but they managed somehow. Still, we just smiled and gnawed on our steaks and crunched our fries, because we didn’t want to ruin the waiter’s night any further, he seemed close to tears.

Once we had got through the bulk of our dinner we decided to have a look around this part of the ranch, including the lounge area and the bar. As had been the case in Jackson and is probably a theme running through all ranches, there was a heap more taxidermy within those walls. Inside the lounge there was a kid being shown how to play pool by an older man, people sitting around reading books, and a stoned-looking guy admiring a stuffed animal head mounted on the wall, looking at it in the same way that a person takes in a renaissance masterpiece in a European museum. He giggled and pointed out to me that it had a weird horn in the middle of its head that would block its vision when it looked to the side. I mentioned that its eyes were on the sides of it head so it probably wouldn’t have had true peripheral vision anyway and the horn could just be the result of poor taxidermy. He seemed to take this onboard and continued to study this felled beast. Anna and I decided to take in other areas of the building such as the small bar with incredibly uncomfortable looking saddles on top of the barstools, when the guy staring at the head came running up, appearing relieved to have finally located me. “It’s a caribou!” he yelled while laughing hysterically, obviously having asked someone else, because he wouldn’t have been able to Google it unless he could get on one of the two occupied computers in the lounge.

We weren’t going to be staying in a teepee or a covered wagon, we just went up to our ugly room and hit the sack for the night. We were told when we checked in that the rooms in the part we were staying had only just been completed and when we got up there we saw that it was really basic; the walls were just plywood and everything appeared to be unfinished and really cheaply done so we could hear everything happening in the neighbouring rooms, all the while trying to make contact with as few surfaces as possible in order to avoid getting splinters. It also smelled of turpentine and there wasn’t a TV or wifi for a distraction so we just showered and went to sleep. A look around the ranch and our room:

Part of the outside area of our ranch at dusk

Me in the ranch’s restaurant with the angry mum behind me

Anna from the other side of the restaurant

Inside the lounge area

Some heads on the wall

The caribou with its weird centre horn

Inside the bar

Those stools don’t look comfortable at all

Our bed for the night

Thursday, July 11, 2019 Maybe it was just the jet-lag catching up with me, but I had a mild epileptic seizure that morning in my sleep. It wasn’t anything major, I still remember waking up immediately afterward and snoring heavily while trying to get back to sleep, but it would leave me feeling kind of lethargic, however, I wasn’t going to let it prevent me from making the most of the day. We also couldn’t sleep much, because there was construction going on outside our room from the early morning onward, as well as people speaking loudly just outside.

We knew that the restaurant in the ranch was terrible and we hadn’t heard sparkling reviews about our only other option so we didn’t bother with breakfast, we just went down to a convenience store, breathing in the fragrance of horse shit the entire way and passing our waiter from the previous night, a defeated-looking man now hanging out towels. We just hoped for better results than the last time we were in a convenience store and we didn’t do too badly, just a couple of average cups of coffee and I grabbed a Hunter’s Reserve Roadkill meat stick. It may sound like a bad double entendre and due to the word “roadkill” being a registered trademark, I have my doubts that it did contain any actual roadkill, however, “meat from feral swine” was one of the listed ingredients. Anyway, I ate the roadkill stick and stuck the wrapper in my pocket, because there were no bins around. We did one last look around, taking in the covered wagons and teepees around Heart Six Ranch and was surprised to see that they were actually quite modern on the inside, almost to the extent of our room, except for the fact that the people staying in them needed to use a communal toilet, something that is kind of a dealbreaker for Anna and I. A better look around the ranch in the light of day:

This doesn’t just apply to cowboys, there is crap EVERYWHERE!

The wagon accommodation

That’s where the smell is coming from

Some of the teepees

I don’t think it would be big enough in one of those for the both of us

So long, poop ranch

About to gnaw on some “Roadkill”

Before long we were back in the car, bound for the world famous Yellowstone National Park (no, not Jellystone):

Yellowstone National Park is an American national park located in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. It was established by the U.S. Congress and signed into law by President Ulysses S. Grant on March 1, 1872. Yellowstone was the first national park in the U.S. and is also widely held to be the first national park in the world. The park is known for its wildlife and its many geothermal features, especially Old Faithful geyser, one of its most popular features. It has many types of ecosystems, but the subalpine forest is the most abundant. It is part of the South Central Rockies forests ecoregion.

Yellowstone National Park spans an area of 3,468.4 square miles (8,983 km2), comprising lakes, canyons, rivers and mountain ranges. Yellowstone Lake is one of the largest high-elevation lakes in North America and is centered over the Yellowstone Caldera, the largest supervolcano on the continent. The caldera is considered an active volcano. It has erupted with tremendous force several times in the last two million years. Half of the world’s geysers and hydrothermal features are in Yellowstone, fueled by this ongoing volcanism. Lava flows and rocks from volcanic eruptions cover most of the land area of Yellowstone.

Hundreds of species of mammals, birds, fish, and reptiles have been documented, including several that are either endangered or threatened. The vast forests and grasslands also include unique species of plants. Yellowstone Park is the largest and most famous megafauna location in the contiguous United States. Grizzly bears, wolves, and free-ranging herds of bison and elk live in this park. The Yellowstone Park bison herd is the oldest and largest public bison herd in the United States.

That all sounds pretty cool and if you took the time to read that Yellowstone background information, you would have seen that it mentioned a geyser called Old Faithful, the eruption of which we wanted to witness that day:

Old Faithful is a cone geyser located in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, United States. It is a highly predictable geothermal feature, and has erupted every 44 to 125 minutes since 2000.

Eruptions can shoot 3,700 to 8,400 US gallons (14,000 to 32,000 L) of boiling water to a height of 106 to 185 feet (32 to 56 m) lasting from 11⁄2 to 5 minutes. The average height of an eruption is 145 feet (44 m).

The time between eruptions has a bimodal distribution, with the mean interval being either 65 or 91 minutes, and is dependent on the length of the prior eruption. Within a margin of error of ±10 minutes, Old Faithful will erupt either 65 minutes after an eruption lasting less than 21⁄2 minutes, or 91 minutes after an eruption lasting more than 21⁄2 minutes.

The drive to Yellowstone took us through some gorgeous scenery, bringing us within six miles (10 km) of the Idaho state line, through mountains and alongside rivers until we were finally where we needed to be. Old Faithful wasn’t due to erupt for another 30 minutes or so when we arrived, but remember there is a ±10 minute margin of error, meaning it could be anywhere between 20 and 40 minutes. We had a look around the stores nearby, used the bathroom and grabbed a drink, then we went outside and pulled up a seat on the wooden, colosseum-like benches and waited for the show to begin:

Anna killing time

A lot of people show up to see this thing erupt

youtube

Once the geyser had finished doing its thing the bulk of people watching began applauding for some reason, however, a lot of people here do that when their plane lands as well and you know for a fact that that pilot has successfully landed every single flight he’s flown. Others complained that the geyser was three minutes early which was kind of amusing, mainly because it doesn’t follow a set schedule, rather people make educated guesses with reasonable accuracy as to when it will erupt and within three minutes is a pretty decent guess.

We then spent the bulk of the day hiking around the grounds, although this left me a little breathless at times, probably a combination of the altitude and the seizure that morning, but we saw some incredible sights. Photos don’t do justice to hydrothermal features so before I post the pictures from around the park, I’ll add some more videos of individual ones we came across:

youtube

Anna and a pool

Me on a pathway

A closeup of the pool

Looking over the general vicinity

Another closeup

Something erupting

Overlooking some of the pathways

That’s a really bright flower!

Once we were done in Yellowstone National Park it was time to start driving toward the state of Montana, our home for the next couple of nights, and twice along the way we saw a bunch of cars pulled over to the side and people staring out at something. As I mentioned, that means there is something worth seeing and we wouldn’t be disappointed on either occasion.

First we would be stopping by one of the numerous geyser basins that follow Firehole River to see yet more hydrothermal spots. This area was crowded and the features there were incredible yet again. On this occasion I had a middle-aged guy with a big beard start laughing at my “Let’s Summon Demons” t-shirt, asking his 14-year-old daughter over to admire it. As it would turn out, she and a group of friends had recently got in a bit of trouble with both teachers and police for conducting satanic rituals and dad was more than proud, both him and his daughter wanting to find where they could get the shirt as well. Ultimately just settling for a picture with me.

We ended up stopping further along the river, this time to stop and watch and entire herd of elk that were making their way upstream. At this point we hadn’t seen a whole lot of wildlife so it was a sight for us to behold:

At the geyser basin

Flowing into the river

This shirt got me a bit of love

A panoramic shot of the area

Another part upriver

Just a small portion of the elk from a distance

Some of them feeding

The next stop would be our last one for the day, we would be traveling to Bar N Ranch, but we wouldn’t be staying in their regular accommodation, not by a long shot. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, or May 23 until September 8, when there isn’t too much snow, the ranch opens Under Canvas and Anna had booked for us to go glamping in a tent in the middle of nowhere. That’s no typo, for those unaware of the term, “glamping” is a conjunction of “Glamorous Camping.” I mentioned earlier that Anna doesn’t tend to like roughing it and despite the fact we were going to be staying a tent, she would by no means be getting in touch with nature. We were going to be staying in a Stargazer tent, described on their website as:

Stargazer

The Stargazer has its own viewing window above the king bed to stargaze at night. The ensuite bathroom in your tent includes a shower, sink and toilet. A wood stove keeps the tent warm at night and a private deck allows you to enjoy the outdoors.

Sleeps up to 4

Private bathroom

Key Features

Superior view with night sky viewing window

King size bed with luxurious linens

Private bathroom complete with shower, sink & flushing toilet

Additional camp cots and bedding can be provided for up to 2 people

Definitely an upgrade from staying in a sleeping bag under a tarpaulin, the type of camping that I was used to. Hell, it turned out our tent even had its own indoor fireplace with a sealed flue going outdoors. We drove down there, but there are a lot of cattle surrounding the entrance due to a cattlegrid stopping them exiting the premises so we couldn’t enter until a woman coaxed all of the cows away from the road. Once down the path we checked in and were chauffeur-driven in a golf cart, along with our luggage, to our super-luxurious tent and this wasn’t like anything I was expecting. We got everything arranged, then went to the main area of Bar N Ranch to have dinner, which turned out to be a great meal, and then it was back to our tent. It was a cold night and our shower had hot water, but it took a little while to kick in. Also, the only way to keep the hot water running was to be continually pulling down on a handle, otherwise it it would just cut off, leaving you standing there naked and wet on a freezing night. Anna discovered the best approach was to put soap on the sponge and toothpaste on the brush before getting in, that way you never had to release your grip on that handle. While I was in the shower, she also thought she had found some biscuits on the fireplace, but wasn’t really hungry — It was a good thing, because they turned out to be firelighters. I was pretty tired by the time I got into bed, our tent had a clear panel above the pillow area so I put on an eye-mask and we both went to sleep. This is where we would be spending the next two nights:

Waiting for the cattle to move

Anna out the front of Bar N Ranch

The view from our tent

Inside the restaurant

Another area of the restaurant

…and another

Glamp Montana

Inside our tent

Looking toward the bathroom

Anna ready for bed

Our shower

Pretty luxurious for a tent

Another part of the bathroom

Anna’s biscuits

Friday, July 12, 2019 Anna was already awake and reading by the time I awoke, which was still quite early. She hadn’t worn her eye-mask to sleep so she woke as soon as the sun rose over the clear panel above us in our tent, but no mask could block out the glare, waking me not long after and helping me avoid getting sunburnt. Factor in the jet-lag that was still affecting us and it becomes clear we yet again weren’t really destined for a long sleep.

The plan for the day was to do a little backtracking from Montana into Wyoming to Gallatin National Forest, an area near where we were the previous day, first stopping off at Gibbon Falls and then making our way down into the Mammoth Hot Springs area of Yellowstone National Park for some hiking, hopefully encountering something a little bigger than an elk this time. Before we left we took a look around where we were staying, this time in the broad daylight, me realising as we were walking that the previous day I hadn’t discarded of the wrapper of my roadkill jerky, instead just stuffing it in my pocket. This wasn’t a particularly bright move because, although we were hoping to see some bears from a reasonable distance, I didn’t want the smell of meat attracting any to me directly. I’ve never even really been in a fight before so I don’t like my chances of fending off a grizzly bear, I’d more than likely just instinctively play dead. Probably should pop that wrapper in a bin. The place where we were staying felt bad about some of the food we had been served in the area so far so they allowed us to buy packed lunches from their really good restaurant and we were off. We drove down to Gibbon Falls, a waterfall currently with a drop of approximately 84 feet (26 m) and constantly growing as it erodes the rock below, and we noticed what we had seen time and time again not only the day before, but had also noticed on several previous trips spent exploring the outdoors — That a lot of women traveling from a country that shares its name with the material from which fine teacups and saucers are made choose fashion over function. We particularly noticed it in Turkey where these women would be walking around caves and other geological features wearing high end dresses and heels when hiking attire is far more appropriate, preventing injuries and allowing you to access more areas. Now a lot of them had been wandering around Yellowstone, some even rocking a pair of stilettos, and we hadn’t seen the last of them. Anyway, Gibbon Falls was really nice, here’s a look at our morning up until that point:

Anna waiting outside our tent

Some of the other tents in Under Canvas

An area for outdoor dining

Not the worst heels we saw, but still not appropriate outdoors footware

Gibbon Falls from the side

Looking over the falls

Gibbon Falls from the front

Next we were going to make our way to a kind of unnamed town in the Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District, first to eat our packed lunches, then to go to the Horace Albright Visitor Center to get us some information about where we could go hiking and potentially see some big furry things. A little more about the Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District, an area that looks a hell of a lot like a town, operates like a town, but apparently isn’t a town:

The Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District in Yellowstone National Park comprises the administrative center for the park. It is composed of two major parts: Fort Yellowstone, the military administrative center between 1886-1918, and now a National Historic Landmark, and a concessions district which provides food, shopping, services, and lodging for park visitors and employees.

Fort Yellowstone is a carefully ordered district of substantial buildings that clearly indicate their military origins. The U.S. Army administered the park from 1886 to 1918 when administration was transferred to National Park Service. The park headquarters is now housed in the original double cavalry barracks (constructed in 1909). The Horace Albright Visitor Center is located in the old bachelors’ officers quarters (constructed in 1909).

The concessions district contrasts with the military district, with a less formal arrangement and style and includes the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel and Dining Room, a gas station, and retail stores. The Yellowstone Main Post Office, itself on the National Register of Historic Places sits just north of Fort Yellowstone. The residential area includes houses designed by architect Robert Reamer.

So despite having a residential area, retail stores, and even a post office, it still doesn’t qualify as a town, just a “Concessions District.” That explains why I was so confused trying to figure out the location when I first started writing this part of this post, even the locations on the photos I took aren’t accurate.

Anyway, as we were driving into the town concessions district our path to the main parking area was obstructed by a couple of deer making their way across in front of us, which was not a bad start. We ate our packed lunches from Under Canvas then, as we were making our way to the Visitor Center we had to walk pass the town concessions district square, a patch of grass between the two main streets that was teeming with female elk, all just hanging around, some laying down, others eating. I took some pictures, but as I went in to get a slightly closer shot I was accosted by a park ranger. “You must remain 25 yards or 22.8 metres away from all wildlife at all times!” he screamed in a well-rehearsed fashion, but you would think that if it were really that important they would put up at least one sign in the town concessions district. In fact, the only place it was even mentioned was on a flyer from the Visitor Center, however, you needed to walk past the animals to get the flyer. Once in the Visitor Center we stocked up on some supplies such as sunblock and insect repellent as the mosquitoes and horseflies in this area are awful! Anna wondered whether we should get some bear spray, but to me it all seemed like a bit of a scam; the stuff is US$50.00 (currently about AU$72.50) per can and we hadn’t even seen any bears! It was also possible to rent bear spray from some places, but the stuff doesn’t act as a repellent, more like a form of mace for use on bears, and I figured if a grizzly bear was intent on attacking you, spraying mace in its face would only piss it off more so we opted against it.

We got ourselves some maps and were soon on our way, hiking on an uphill path, walking for about 15 minutes when we were approached by an excited looking tourist from New Zealand and her two young children coming the opposite direction. She told us that just a bit further up the hill was a female grizzly bear with two young cubs and it was a bit angry, scaring her kids. We asked her if she thought it was safe for us to continue and she replied, “Oh, sure, you’ll be fine as long as you have your bear spray.” Shit. We walked back down into the town concessions district, forked out the US$50.00 and got us some bear spray.

Take two. We started to make our way uphill again, this time equipped with our bear spray in a hip holster, a liquid with its ingredients listed as 2% capsaicin and 98% “Other ingredients”. This stuff must be pretty strong, possibly even working on the power of suggestion, because after over an hour of anticipating encountering a defensive grizzly bear and its cubs we came to the conclusion that there were now three possibilities:

The bears were substantially further away than the woman had led us to believe,

The bears were gone, or

The woman was working for the bear spray company

I even began to wish I had now kept the Roadkill wrapper in my pocket in the hopes of attracting one. Still, we kept going, hiking for about five hours, covering over 15 km (9.3 miles) of rugged terrain, getting caught in the rain and mauled by mosquitoes, just to see a couple of does, which quite possibly could’ve been the same one multiple times, one male deer, plus a couple of squirrels here and there. As our hike continued, I became more and more annoyed at how anticlimactic it had been; I was now exhausted, wet, and extremely itchy, yet we had seen hardly anything, encountering not only more wildlife, but cooler-looking animals in the town concessions district! We stopped off briefly to have a look at the Mammoth Hot Springs and then decided to head back. To add insult to injury, there was a female elk sitting right next to our car, but screw that 25 yard rule, I wasn’t in the mood to let this thing stop me from getting in our car. If I needed to be 25 yards away from the wildlife, it could do its part on this occasion and move away from me. Some scenes from the town concessions district centre and the little we saw on a disappointing, albeit trying, hike:

Parking the car

Interesting name

The centre of the “Concessions District”

A closeup of some elk

Looking over the concessions district as we begin our hike

Heading back to the store

Now equipped with bear spray

Seems like there’s some around

It’s all good, I’ve got bear spray

2% capsaicin, 98% other ingredients

Safety first

How to use our spray

A small portion of the area we hiked

A doe we saw

Possibly the same doe later

Mammoth Hot Springs

A nearby deer

Mammoth Hot Springs from a distance

She can get 25 yards away from me

That night we went into a real town, West Yellowstone, Montana for dinner with the intent of eating a bison or bear steak out of spite, because we sure didn’t encounter any on our hike. Instead, we settled for a ribeye and some damn good devilled eggs, all of which we shared between us, and then we headed back to our tent for a final night before moving on to the next stop.

Initially I was going to try and tell the story of this trip in two parts, but it turns out I will need a third and final post in order to tell it properly. Where would we be staying next? Would we encounter any wildlife worth writing about? And would I have to wear that hideous cowboy shirt again to a rodeo? Stay tuned for the conclusion of our journey through cowboy country!

Embarking on the vacation leg of our trip through Wyoming and Montana When I finished my previous post we had wrapped up the Midwest Ocular Angiography Conference at the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Jackson, Wyoming the previous night and were just about to begin the holiday leg of our trip through the Pacific Northwest of the USA.

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emeraldwaves · 6 years

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Title: #pinkwall Chapter 5 Pairing: Promptis Rating: T Word Count: 2,250 Read on Ao3 Summary: As a last hurrah before graduating college, Prompto suggests he and Noctis take a road trip to L.A during their 2 week spring break. Prompto is desperate to snap pics in front of the infamous Pink Wall of Instagram and Noctis is hoping to finally confess his feelings for his best friend. Will either of them find what they’re looking for on their impromptu cross-country road trip?

Thank you to @lizibabbles for reading this over!

Full fic under the cut!

It's almost 1 PM and Noctis is currently still regretting that one drink. His head is pounding and even though he's already had at least 2 cups, he thinks one more will definitely do the trick.

"Can we get coffee?" he blurts out, slamming the door behind him.

"Coffee?!" Prompto yells, twisting his lips. "Noct, you've already had two whole cups and you hate coffee! You're gonna be a jittery mess all day at Yellowstone! Old Faithful is right there!" he whined. "I don't want to miss it!"

It's true, Noctis does hate coffee. He's gotta dump massive amounts of sugar into it to make it taste even remotely good, but he'll suffer the bitter taste to wake himself up a bit.

Noctis stares at his best friend. It was another long day in the car, a little over 7 hours, and he feels like he's physically dying. "Prompto. It's called 'Old Faithful' for a reason. It erupts multiple times a day. If you miss this one, you'll see the next one."

There's a small gift shop and cafe right next to the viewing area, and Noctis starts heading that way. He hates how tired he is on this trip, and it's not just from all the driving. He thought he could handle being around Prompto this much, but it turns out he sucks at it.

Take, for example, last night. After swimming in the hotel pool, Prompto showers and walks around the hotel room in a towel. The water rolls down his chest, his blond locks pressed against his forehead, and Noctis hates knowing there's nothing underneath the towel.

He knows he shouldn't stare... but he can't help it. Prompto's got such defined muscles, ones Noctis is well aware he worked hard for, and he can't stop ogling him and Prompto's going to notice one of these nights and then Noctis will be unequivocally screwed.

He breathes.

No more thinking about that.

Right now, he's on a mission to ignore Prompto and get some flipping coffee.

He walks towards the building, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I'm literally dying, Prom. Just give me this one reprieve," he says.

"Alright, alright," Prompto sighs. "I guess it's the least I can do since you're driving around so much."

"Yeah, give a guy break!" he chuckles.

"You know, I was reading about it on my phone and it said Old Faithful erupts in different ways. Sometimes it doesn't even erupt when it's supposed to!" Prompto explains, glancing over at the large crowd of people gathering around a bench.

"What does that mean?" Noctis raises his eyebrow, turning to his friend. As they step into the cafe, Noctis immediately wrinkles his nose. He really isn't a fan of coffee or the smell, but he doesn't want to be boring and exhausted while they look at stuff all day.

"Well it means we might have to wait awhile, depending on the eruption. One person said it just bubbled a little bit and didn't do anything for another two hours!" Prompto sighed. "I hope that doesn't happen. There's so much to see here!"

"Same," Noctis mutters and orders his drink of death... or life in this case, since hopefully it's going to keep him awake.

"Let's go!" Prompto says, and yanks him by the wrist, heading out the door.

Sometimes, Noctis wonders where he would be without Prompto. Probably still back in New York right now... but even looking back on his college experience; half the things he did, he did with Prompto… or because of Prompto.

He stares at his back as Prompto drags him towards the viewing area. He's always doing this; following behind Prompto, but he's never minded. He's happy Prompto breaks him out of his shell... gets him to do crazy things he never would've dreamed of doing before in his life! This whole trip feels a little bit like a dream, like he's going to wake up back in New York before he even knows it.

He wishes there was someway he could thank him. In a way, this trip sort of is a thank you...

"I gotta get my camera set up!" Prompto bounces, finding a spot on the bench. He plops down and gestures for Noctis to join him. He hops over the bench and sits down, staring at the empty geyser. Right now, it's just a tan mound, rising from the earth.

"You two must be tourists," A deep voice chuckles, and both boys turn to see a gruff looking man sit down next to them. His hair is dark, the sides shaved down to his head. He has a scar down his left eye. Noctis immediately wonders if this man wrestled a bear.

"Yeah? And what are you?" Prompto asks, narrowing his eye at the guy. "I mean, everyone here is pretty much a tourist right?"

"Nah," the guy shrugs. "I live here."

Prompto blinks. "You live in Yellowstone National Park!?"

The guy bursts out laughing. "No! Not exactly. I mean... I work here and I live nearby!" he explains.

"Oh... jeez... I thought maybe you lived here!" Prompto laughs.

"I basically do. Today is my day off, and I'm still here," he grins. "I'm Gladiolus, but you can call me Gladio," he says, holding his hand out to Prompto.

He shakes his hand, the man's grip moving Prompto's arm up and down almost like spaghetti. "I'm Prompto and this is Noctis!" Prompto wrinkles his nose. "Why would you come here on your day off, don't you wanna... y'know... relax?"

"I'd rather go for a hike. I've worked here for years and there's still so much to explore!" he chuckles. "So where are ya’ from?"

"New York," Noctis says.

"Ah. City boys," Gladio scoffs, a judgmental look crossing his face.

"Hey! We can hold our own out here!" Prompto snorts.

"Oh yeah?" Gladio raises his eyebrow. "What did you plan on doing today?"

"Well, we're waiting for the geyser to go off and then I wanted to be sure to get pictures of the hot pools for my Instagram," Prompto explains.

"Instagram? See! You are just regular tourists!" Gladio chuckles. "Look if you want some really cool pictures, I can show you some amazing places if you wanna go hiking with me," he smirks.

Prompto's eyes immediately start to sparkle and Noctis can tell his sense of adventure is tingling inside of him. "I'm documenting the entire trip! Eventually we're going to get to L.A. but we gotta get all the cool places along the way!"

"Huh. L.A. Never been. Not really interested," Gladio snorts. "But hey, after the geyser erupts, I'll take you up to the falls and you can take lots of pictures. The hot pools are amazing too, but if you don't see the falls, you're missing out," he smirks.

"Awesome! A hike led by a local, sounds great!"

It sounds terrible actually, and Noctis is still exhausted, but Prompto is so excited, he can't say no, and like hell he's going to let Prompto go off alone with this strange, ridiculously handsome, mountain man.

"How long you two here for?" Gladio asks, snapping Noctis from his daze.

"We're leaving in the morning," Noctis says, and he's kind of happy. He feels jealousy tug at his heart, seeing Prompto so excited to talk to this Gladio dude. "We only got two weeks to get this whole trip completed."

"Ambitious," Gladio smirks. "I like it! Ah-" he gestures to the geyser. "It's gonna start!"

"Alright!" Prompto cheers and immediately holds his camera up, watching as the water bubbles over the edge, shooting up in small spouts. It takes a solid few minutes for Old Faithful to erupt completely, a tall stream of water bursting into the air.

Noctis can see water particles floating on the wind, and a few of them tickle his skin, dampening his arms. He smiles, watching Prompto snap picture after picture. "This is incredible!"

"Yeah... it is," Noctis says, his head tilted towards the sky, watching the water fly high. Though he has to resist the urge to watch how excited Prompto looks the entire time.

The eruption doesn't last too long. There are 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from the crowd, watching as the water slowly falls back down, ready to heat up once again.

"Man..." Prompto says, lowering his camera. "I'm really glad we didn't get one of those dud eruptions!" he laughs

"Same," Noctis smiles.

Jumping up, Prompto turns to Gladio. "Take us on this hike! I'm ready to challenge the wilderness!"

"Great!" Gladio smiles. "You got water? Let's head for the falls!"

Noctis inwardly groans, not wanting Prompto to hear him. He pushes himself off the bench and makes his way after them following them on the path.

While they walk, Gladio starts spewing off facts about Yellowstone. It was founded it 1872, it stretches over three states, and he lists off various types of wildlife which live there. Prompto is totally enthralled, hanging on every word Gladio says.

Jealousy ripples through Noctis even more. How come Prompto is so easily able to just... talk to people? Noctis has always sucked at that. Prompto is charming and interesting and it's no wonder people flock to him. Even now, in the secluded woods, Prompto managed to make a new friend.

He stomps behind them, trying to keep up, but he's already falling behind. Always one step behind Prompto.

"It must be so interesting to live out here!" Prompto exclaims.

"It's incredible," Gladio sighs, turning his face up to the sky. "I always breathe in the cleanest air. Can't imagine livin' anywhere else."

Noctis rolls his eyes. He can't imagine someone like Prompto living anywhere but the city. He loves the hustle and bustle, loves getting the perfect shot and people watching. Yeah, Noctis has seen Prompto get anxious before, but he's come so far... Noctis thinks Prompto would get lonely if he lived out in the woods.

They continue on, traipsing up a large hill. The hike feels like it's lasting forever; they've been walking for at least an hour. Noctis wonders if his knees were built for this. As much as he's used to walking around New York, this is something else completely.

"Everything is just over this hill," Gladio says, pointing up. "I'm proud of you two for keeping up! Especially you, Princess," he smirks, pointing at Noct.

"Hey! I'm not a Princess!" he frowns immediately. Yeah. He's pretty done with this Gladio dude.

"Suuuure," he teases and pushes them forward.

Noctis hopes these falls are worth it.

Prompto makes it to the top before any of them, rushing ahead of Gladio. He looks like a kid, excited to discover presents on Christmas morning.

"Holy... wow!" he gasps, and immediately whips out his camera, holding it by his side.

Noctis can hear the rush of the water flowing nearby. The sound growing louder and louder the closer he gets to Prompto. His life often feels like this climb, desperate to follow after Prompto, no matter how tough the terrain gets.

And when he gets to the top, and actually catches Prompto; it's always worth it. Coming over the hill, Prompto still hasn't taken a picture, his eyes focused on the water in front of him.

The water rushes over the cliff side, pouring into the spring miles beneath them. Noctis peers over the cliff, feeling a little dizzy, but he can't stop staring. The water is clear as day; the rocks completely visible beneath the river. It's so beautiful and powerful, rushing over the edge. Noctis can't help but take it all in, and he's not surprised Prompto can't seem to take a picture.

Finally, he raises his hand and snaps a few pictures. "To be honest, I've never really seen a waterfall this big before," Prompto says. "It's... kind of incredible... maybe a little terrifying?" he chuckles, glancing at Noctis.

"Yeah..." Noctis says, and suddenly he doesn't feel so jealous anymore. Right now, he's experiencing this with Prompto and Prompto alone. Gladio's nearby, but Noctis isn't paying any attention to him.

They stand next to each other, watching the water dance over the edge of the cliff. That nature can make something so strong and beautiful, clearly leaves them a little speechless.

Noctis feels Prompto move a little closer to him and his hand twitches. His skin tingles, Prompto's knuckles barely inches away from Noctis'. He so desperate to reach out and touch him, can imagine it so clearly in his head. It could happen... it would be so easy-

"Do you want me to take one of you two together?" Gladio calls out interrupting them.

"Y-Yeah!" Prompto says, stepping back, the aura gone.

Disappointment sinks into Noctis' chest. As much as he wishes he could hold Prompto's hand, he supposes a picture of the two of them together will be a good memory to hold onto forever.

As they make their way back down the hill, Noctis walks in silence, glancing at his hand. He wonders what it would've felt like to wrap Prompto's fingers around his own, lacing their hands together. Warm, he imagines. Plus, it would've shown Gladio they were a thing... and he should stop flirting with Prompto no matter how cute he is.

Instead, Noctis follows them quietly, wondering if he'll ever get to experience Prompto's hand in his own.

#promptis #prompto argentum #Noctis Lucis Caelum #FFXV #Final fantasy xv #FFXV fanfiction #gladiolus amicitia #roadtrip au #instagram au #pinkwall

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dramallamadingdang · 6 years

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The longest reply post in the history of ever.

These go back, like, two weeks, because I am a very bad llama. An I should probably break this up into multiple posts, but I don’t wanna go through and select replies again. So...apologies to those for whom the “Read More” cuts don’t work?

These be for @getmygameon, @alicenorthernlights-blog, @eulaliasims, @penig, @tamtam-go92, @didilysims, @taylors-simblr, @mortia, @delicatesoul88, @twofingerswhiskey, annnnnnnd @immerso-sims...

getmygameon replied to your photo “Owen, running in terror from Olivia. …..Well, OK, really he was...”

Small miracles, dear. Small miracles ;) *pats*

Yeah. :) I’m actually surprised Owen made it to graduation. He didn’t have great chances of going to class/finals, according to my rules -- which is why he often ended up on probation -- but eventually his Fortune aspiration kicked in and worked in his favor. He rolled up wants to go to class because of it, and rolled wants override the manual rolls I do to decide that.

alicenorthernlights-blog replied to your post “I woke up this evening in one of those little dream-induced panicky...”

Hyperactive shield volcanoes. The scaries thing I can think about Hawaii.

I dunno...Hyperactive volcanoes aren’t bad. They are constantly letting off steam, quite literally, so they just kind of constantly belch instead of going, “Oh, hey, I think I’ll catastrophically explode this week.” I worry about the quiet ones. Like, the last time I was in Naples/Capri and visiting Pompeii/Herculaneum, Vesuvius -- which is overdue for explosion -- was all grumbly and belching smoke. Creepy! Or there’s all those up in the Cascades here in the States that are kinda overdue to explode. And then there’s Yellowstone, which is practically underneath me. If that thing ever goes, we all gonna die. :)

To me, the scariest thing about Hawai’i is...the cost of living. Yowza. Which, now that I think about it, might have factored into the dream. Cost of living at possible destinations is definitely a factor when it comes to emigration planning. :) Hawai’i would be a terrible option in that regard even if it wasn’t part of the US. :)

eulaliasims replied to your photoset “Oriana toddlerated into a crisp untextured white tux, some cheekbones...”

I love the combo of pure white tuxedo and enormous (for a toddler) bun. Oriana's got a real Look.

Ohgodohgod, 90s flashback to that Roxette song! :D

When my son -- who’s now a big, bad Army Ranger who’s killed people -- was around kindergarten age, that was his favorite song, and he sang it (with all the wrong words) while doing this hysterically-amusing dance to it. Which of course I recorded to keep as blackmail material. So now it’s like, “Behave, or your unit commander -- or, worse, your unit in general -- gets a copy of this, bucko.”

*ahem* But yes, she is totally fabulous! And Maxis fails at tuxedos.

penig replied to your photo “Amelia is Unthrilled about potty training. But at least she...”

Nobody's thrilled about pottytraining. Can't blame her for that.

But she’s a Family Sim! She’s supposed to love this stuff! She’s supposed to be so proud of her little precious darling using the potty! She’s supposed to be glowing with maternal contentedness that she gets to stand there and watch her kid poop!

...OK, OK, so in game-reality Family Sims are THE WORST at actually raising and interacting with their kids as opposed to just making/birthing them. (I’m tellin’ ya: Pleasure Sims are THE BEST parents...and Owen has a Pleasure secondary.) But, you know, they’re supposed to like this stuff. Ideally. Or at least theoretically.

tamtam-go92 replied to your photoset “Owen is, of course, excited to have another baby to cuddle, now that...”

Love how oriana's Shirt matches owen's skin.

HAH! It does, doesn’t it?

Which reminds me that I need to get baby clothes working in my game again. Since I dumped all my custom clothing and just defaulted most of the Maxis stuff, I’m back to diaper-clad babies...

didilysims replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

Wait, are *you* saying you caused this plague?? MURDERER!!!! (I'm kidding...sort of. ;) )

MEA CULPA! I AM A PIXEL MURDERER! :D

Although, I didn’t deliberately start the sickness in this household. Sage came home from work with it. So it’s all the game’s fault.

taylors-simblr replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

I’m very similar to this. I get super attached to my sims, but I still don’t coddle them. I do allow them to plead to the reaper otherwise I’d lose a lot more sims and I only have a small population. I just get very sad when my sims die, have a break from playing, them get over it. I always have the clones of them to play with anyway

I imagine it’s hard when Sims to whom you’re attached die. I mean, there are players who avoid it entirely, never allowing Sims to age past adult (or to age at all) and who use mods to make things non-deadly because they’re so attached. I confess that I don’t understand the mindset, myself, especially because you can make clones of them or resurrect them at will or whatever, but it does exist and is valid and all that.

But yeah, if you have or allow only a playable population, you don’t really need population control. :) I’m more of a “let ‘em breed freely, then cull the herd when necessary” sort of player, though.

mortia replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

I like this. I also use the Realistic Sickness mod but I DO get attached to my pixel people and find myself coddling the hell out of them the second they even start to sniffle. I need to stop doing that and just let life play out once in a while.

I can understand, intellectually, the desire to coddle. I don’t really feel it myself because I don’t “attach” to pixel people, but I understand that other people do. There are times when I’ve felt a need to coddle that have nothing to do with attachment, though. Like, if I really wanted a particular Sim to breed because of unique facial features or the recessive genes they have and stuff like that. And I think I have coddled a few of those at times, over the years. But generally, I’m of the opinion that it makes no sense to use Real Sickness if you’re going to coddle because it just makes the coddling more drawn-out and frustrating. :) Then again, I suppose I can see where you might want to coddle your faves -- or, say, those in higher classes who might have access to some sort of dubious “medicine,” in a medieval game -- and let everyone else die as they will.

penig replied to your post “But alas: It was not to be.”

What?! Nooooo!

YEEEEEES! :) Well, OK, kind of “no” because child ghosts are wacky in that they just teleport around instead of float because they don’t have the proper animations. (Which is dumb. I mean, they made it possible for children to die -- as opposed to the immortal babies/toddlers -- so you’d think they’d’ve given child ghosts the proper floating animations, but noooooooo!) So, I kinda wish she’d croaked after her teen age-up, but...such is my game.

didilysims replied to your photo “Yeah, that hike was definitely not a good idea. :( I’m bummed. :( Sage...”

Sickness is not to be taken lightly. You should know this!!!

Yeah, yeah, bad llama! BAD! NO PEAR 4 ME!

(One of our llamas goes absolutely insane for pears. She adores them, has since she was weaned. If she sees that you have one, she will follow you around and stick her head over your shoulder and poke you with her muzzle and give you little hums and long-lashed puppy-dog eyes until you give it to her. Only for pears, though. Other fruit she can take or leave, but she’s a total pear whore. And you can’t even trick her with pears that are oddly-colored or oddly-shaped. Like Asian pears, which are apple-shaped. She knows the difference between an apple and an Asian pear. Llamas -- camelids in general, but especially llamas -- are kind of scary-smart that way. I wish they could tutor the super-stupid horses. Seriously, if horses hadn’t been domesticated, I don’t think they’d still exist. They’re great big idiots constantly looking for new and interesting ways to die. Deer are geniuses compared to them. Sure, they’re loyal as all hell, and very trainable, and I love them to death, but...Dumb to the core, all of them.)

didilysims replied to your photo “Meanwhile, Gwendolyn exists and got gave herself a promotion! We’ll...”

ALlamaInEveryHome would make an excellent username...

It would be! Wish I’d thought of it, when I made this Tumblr. :)

didilysims replied to your photo “Heeeey, Cherry! I totally just knocked up your daughter, man. It was...”

Umm...tell me more about this (harvestable?) peach tree please. :)

‘Tis one of Sun & Moon’s seasonal fruit trees, from this set here. 12/10 would recommend. :)

mortia replied to your photoset “To get everyone’s mind off Sage’s death, Emmy took the girls on an...”

Ooh these are lovely!

didilysims replied to your photoset “To get everyone’s mind off Sage’s death, Emmy took the girls on an...”

This is such a gorgeous lot--and the background too!

It is one of my favorite lots that I’ve built. But it’s also kind of annoying. Since it slopes so much from road to waterline, much of the lot is pretty much unusable. Like, Sims trying to talk to another Sim just do a lot of stomping and yelling because of the slope. I kind of hate that in Sims 2 Sims can’t really interact with each other on anything other than flat ground. (They fixed this for Castaway, which is one of the things I love about that game, but not TS2. WHY??!) It’s one of the reasons why I (usually) build only on flat lots and why I’m (generally) fond of flattening beach lots from road to waterline, too. So...Yeah, that lot is very pretty to look at, but it’s pretty much only usable in the 10-tile-wide strip of flat beach. The rest just generates lots of yelling and stomping. So, it’s also kind of wasted space. :\

penig replied to your photo “Annnnnnd a couple hours later, this happened. *headdesk* I kind of...”

Everyone grieves in their own way?

I suppose one could see it as doing something life-affirming in the aftermath of death. Especially when you’re sick and possibly facing death yourself. Although I gotta say that sex is not high on my to-do list when I’m sick. :) But, to each their own!

eulaliasims replied to your photo “Yeah, that hike was definitely not a good idea. :( I’m bummed. :( Sage...”

Noooo, Sage. :(

I know. I was bummed. :( But, life -- or the game, in this case -- goes on. :)

tamtam-go92 replied to your photo “Stephanie does most of the gardening these days, while her dad’s at...”

What can you even do there?

Fishing, apparently. Which Sims can do pretty much anywhere there’s water, so what’s the point? :)

penig replied to your photo “Sage doesn’t do sitting still very well, and the next day he rolled up...”

This is what happens when you don't lock 'em in their rooms. You could have sent him out by himself, you know.

I could have...but my rule for hikes is that as many people in the household as possible go on them when any household member rolls a want for one and is able to take one. So, obviously toddlers get left behind as well as someone to care for them, and if anyone’s imminently due to go to work/school they don’t go, but everyone else, including pets, goes. Even if they’re sick.

penig replied to your photo “Stephanie does most of the gardening these days, while her dad’s at...”

It has major routing fails and a fishing hole. Also the hydroponic garden for some reason.

Yeah, I’m afraid I’m pretty unimpressed with the hobby lots in general. :\ The only one I ever really use is the Cuisine one, and that just for food contests. I think what I’m eventually going to do, instead of fussing around to make over the hidden hobby lots, is just build all my own “hobby lots,” but just make them regular community lots and then use the Visitor Controller to limit their patronage to Sims for whom the dedicated hobby is their OTH. I think that would make them busier overall, which would be nice. They won’t have the hobby leaders...but if I wanted to, I could make them owned by the game-generated leaders, so they’d still be there...although I don’t know if they’d retain their “leader” functions, since I’d have to make them temporarily playable to buy the lots. It’ll be something to experiment with...one day. :) A large community-lot garden would be nice for Nature Sims to grow/maintain/harvest...although I suppose they’d have to stay on it for a number of days. And it’d be better if gardening was autonomous...And...

Well, anyway! it makes sense to have the hydroponic garden on the Nature lot, I suppose. I guess when the devs were building the lots, they just threw in anything that was related to (or “assigned” to, via the coding) that hobby that existed at the time.

delicatesoul88 replied to your post “So Tumblr decided to unfollow a bunch of people for me. :\”

It does that to me too! All the time! I really wish it wouldn't...

Yeah, I’ve seen people complaining about Tumblr unfollowing people as long as I’ve had a Tumblr. (Four years, geez!) Honestly, I always kind of suspected that people claimed that it did that in order to “cover up” the fact that they’d unfollowed people deliberately. But then it happened to me! And I didn’t even realize it! I just assumed those people had gone quiet for a while, as people do off and on...until I saw reblogs of posts that I didn’t recall having seen. And then I looked through the blogs I follow and, sure enough, they were no longer there. :\ I knew I didn’t do it, even by accident, because I don’t think I’ve ever unfollowed anyone, even when they announce they’re leaving... just in case they come back like, say, Trapping did. I’ll mute reblogs, sometimes, if they reblog a lot of non-Sims stuff, esp. real-world political/social things that I use Tumblr to escape from for a little while, but I’ll still want to see any original stuff they post. Otherwise I wouldn’t have followed them in the first place.

Anyway, yeah, it’s very, very annoying, and I wish that Tumblr would address whatever’s causing it. But then, Tumblr seems to like to try to control what we see, don’t they? :\ Thank God for Xkit! :D

eulaliasims replied to your post “Replies, yay!”

I love the graying snouts on the dogs too. :) Older doggos are great. Cats too! Kittens are lovely, but older cats are highly underrated. Grumpy old lady cats are the best.

Yeah, I have a huge soft spot for grumpy old lady cats. My own RL grumpy old lady cat passed away rather recently. (She was almost 19 when she got really sick and I decided to have her euthanized, so she had a good long, but always kind of sickly life, probably since she was a very runty runt of the litter.) Once she got past kittenhood, she wasn’t the cuddly kind -- she appreciated being petted and scritched and she would curl up next to you of her own volition, but would never get in a lap or tolerate being picked up or held -- but she was very chatty. She’d sit near me, and we’d have long cat-sound “conversations.” I often imagined that she was bitching to me about all the annoying young ‘uns and all the damn dogs underfoot.

I kinda wish the cats/dogs in game had more varied behaviors like that, but I understand the coding limitations and all. *sigh*

penig replied to your photoset “Samantha, childified. She looks just like Sage, down to the Vulcan...”

Bathtub piracy is one of the most important traits its possible to pass on.

YES IT IS! Bathtub piracy is probably one of those things that annoy a lot of people but that I just love, love, love. :)

penig replied to your photo “Later, the other Emmy GilsCarbo called this Emmy GilsCarbo. :) (The...”

You could start calling Simon's Emmy Em instead.

I could, yes...but I rather like confusing myself. Messing with my brain is so much fun! S’why I appreciate hallucinogens. :)

twofingerswhiskey replied to your post “SO MUCH DEGRASSED, THEY COULD CALL YOU DEGRASSI. okay there's my joke...”

The show is actually super popular, everyone I know has at least heard of it - it's been around for more than two generations, so I mean, yeah :D

Two generations? Really? I thought it was just a 90s thing. But then, I haven’t really watched TV since the early 90s, so there’s that. :) Anyway, I know the name of the show, but I know nothing about it other than that, since I never watched it. Seemed like it was aimed at a demographic that...isn’t me. :) My kids, maybe, but not me.

immerso-sims replied to your photoset “Annnnnd the younger daughter, Samantha. ”

Goopy and Sandy's genes still going strong!

They are! Goopy’s nose seems to override Sandy’s, but Sandy’s lips and jawline seem to override Goopy’s, so it all comes out even.

immerso-sims replied to your photo “Heeeey, Cherry! I totally just knocked up your daughter, man. It was...”

I am laughing way too hard at this :D

Yeah, I think Sam is pretty much the most amusing Sim I’ve had in my game, ever, and he’s not even a playable. And really, I kinda hope he never becomes playable because then he’d probably become all boringly domesticated. It’s just, as an ex-llama-mascot, he’s freakin’ everywhere, and he’s apparently in a sort of eternally-adolescent hormonal overdrive. Don “Lothario” is a total amateur compared to this guy. Some folks will probably dislike him for that (and perhaps will dislike me “glorifying” or approving of his behavior or whatever), but I take this game not-seriously-at-all, and I have never had a Sim who’s made me laugh so much, sometimes in exasperation but also because he just does goofy things. I’ve had ex-llamas in my game before, but they’ve not been nearly so entertaining.

#getmygameon #alicenorthernlights-blog #eulaliasims #penig #tamtam-go92 #didilysims #taylors-simblr #mortia #delicatesoul88 #twofingerswhiskey #immerso-sims #replies

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stories-from-my-mind-to-yours · 6 years

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You don’t know you’re alive until you’re almost dead. Chapter Zero. Genesis.

Year 2061. July first. Yellowstone national park. Yellowstone Caldera.

The earth heaved and shook. The groundwater was made toxic by the sulphuric gasses that pushed up through the earths crust. The wildlife began leaving the increasingly inhospitable area, almost as if they knew what was to come.

Humanity had been warned, but wouldn't listen. Thankfully, the earth remained calm for now.

Year 2114. December 21st. 9:00 pm Friday. Northern Sweden.

31 year old Lars Karlsson, advanced physicist at I.a.c.e. (Institute for advancement of clean energy) had fallen asleep on the couch. They had left Stockholm 06:30 in the morning, and driven for 11 hours, to their cabin at lake Hornavan, just north of Arjeplog, for a 14 day Christmas holiday. His 26-year old wife Lena, pharmacologist and yoga instructor, was singing and dancing to the kitchen radio, while fixing some snacks. She looked out the window at the raging snowstorm, and was thankful to be home. On a clear day she could see the village where she was born and raised. And she was thankful to be out of the noisy, dirty capital for the first time all year. She put her hands on her growing stomach and smiled. "Thirteen more weeks till I can see you two." She couldn't wait to be a mom and show them all her favorite spots in the mountains.

She put away the bags with chips and candy, closed the pantry and the dishwasher, and reached for the bowl on the counter. She gasped and grasped for the edge of the counter as a sharp stabbing pain radiated out from her stomach.

Lars awoke to his wife screaming his name. "LAAAARS!" He stumbled into the dining room, his wife stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her grey sweatpants were stained dark red down the inside of both her legs. He froze. He didn't know what to do! "Could you possibly call 112 Lars? NOOW!" Her screeching voice jolted him into action. He fumbled desperately with his phone. He misdailed 112 three times before he got it right. Lena felt something warm slowly running down her legs. She didn't look, knowing full well what it was but she didn't want to see. She had to keep calm, she closed her eyes and thought of her babies. Seconds felt like hours. A woman answered and she heard "what's your emergency?" Lars stuttered, made some strange noises and couldn't form a single word, let alone a sentence. "Give me the phone Lars." He held it out towards her, across the entire dining room. Her patience had its limits tested. "Come here with it, please, Lars." He was not good in high stress situations. "Hello?" Said the voice on the phone. "Hi, I'm Lena Karlsson, we're up at Hornavan, I'm 29 weeks along with twins, and I just had a bleed. A big one." She listened intently to the woman on the other end, explaining that the helicopter couldn't fly in the storm, and the closest delivery room was at least 3 hours away on a good day. "Well we don't have a choice do we? I can't do this alone, and my husband is completely useless right now." Lars looked at her and nodded in agreement. "We'll get there, one way or another." She hung up the phone, her mind racing. She knew time was of the essence, but her fear kept getting in the way of her reasoning. She knew she had to solve this. Normally, their cabin was perfect in her mind, there wasn't even much of a road leading up to it. Their 4x4 Jeep had barely made it up to the cabin. That would probably get stuck in the snow somewhere. In the shed outside sat the Yamaha 360 Propulse snowmobile they bought last year. It was definitely fast enough. On flat hard snow it would do 140 mph. They'd be there in 80 minutes at that speed. Or crash and die horribly. Stay here and die for sure? Or save her babies? There was no doubt in her mind. "Lars, go start the snowmobile." He nodded and hurried out the door. Lena went to the hallway and opened the closet. Gloves, overalls, boots, helmets. Everything was where it should be. She heard the high pitched whine of the Yamaha turbine spooling up. Thank god the battery wasn't dead. She got out of her bloodied pants, put on the insulating inner suit, and stepped in the overall. Lars came back in. "It's just outside the door." "Good, get dressed." He didn't even think, he just did what he was told. He helped her with her zipper and helmet, then closed his own. They stepped out into the snowstorm looking like two inflated racing drivers.

Lars climbed on the front seat of the snowmobile. "Are you sure you want to drive?" She shouted over the wind and the idling turbine. He thought for a second, then scooted backwards. She climbed on carefully, and sat down as slow as she could. She wasn't in extreme pain, but she didn't want to push it. She put the dead mans grip on her wrist, turned on the lights and the heat in the handle and seats. She put it in gear and started the descent down the steep mountainside. She had picked this one for its superior handling in deep snow and long range. It's turbine engine used so little fuel they hadn't even filled it up last year, it had just under half a tank left. She hoped it would be enough. She steered carefully past the trees that marked their path down, winding slowly down to the main road. When the path ended she couldn't see the road, but she saw that there were no trees. She turned it in the right direction and pressed her thumb down hard on the throttle.

360 horsepower of supercharged nitrogen turbine erupted into life, propelling them forward so hard she almost lost her grip on the handlebars. Lars who couldn't really see anything wasn't ready and almost fell off. He was scared out of his mind, but Lena only thought of her babies. A stray thought crossed her mind as she saw the needle pass 120 mph. If we crash now, we won't even have time to feel it. We'll just be dead. She didn't look at the speedometer again.

Five days later, December 27th, Lena and Lars waited for the doctor to discharge her and the babies. Lars had fueled the snowmobile the day before and bought a sled to transport their babies in. He had been ambushed at the gas station by a reporter that had heard of the story about the speed demon mom on a quest to save her twins. They were in the papers today. After a quick chat with the doctor they we're on their way out to the parking lot, where the same reporter wanted an interview with Lena as well. She kindly declined, with a long journey ahead of them, she just wanted to go home.

"Please," he begged, "just one picture?" She looked at Lars. "Sure." he replied.

Lena held the boy, and Lars held the girl. "Have you decided any names yet?" Lena nodded and looked at her son. "Erik." Lars nodded and looked at his baby girl. "Sophia?" He looked to Lena. She nodded approvingly. "Sophia."

#sci fi #story time #earth is a death world #humans are space orcs #humans are weird

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theatrestruggles · 6 years

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Love, Death, Theatre, and Beer

“Instant gratification is not soon enough,” –Meryl Streep I’m cooling down now. Bit of a tricky week, but things have settled down a little. About to crack open a beer with my buddies, play a nice card game, and have a good talk about community theatre with a close friend of mine. What could be better? Of course, we are all united by the theater, and the aforementioned ill fate of it at our college–what with it being stomped into closure and all. Our Board of Trustees for the school decided the arts department was “just frosting,” and thought the community would be more well-rounded without the arts. Man, that beer tastes a hell of a lot better when you need it this badly. But it’s a Friday night, the shitstorm of our college is–in our minds–on pause, and now it’s time for a little game called Joking Hazard.

Joking Hazard is this game my buddy Matt helped crowdfund. It’s made by Cyanide and Happiness, and it’s a lot like Cards Against Humanity, but with illustrations and not just words. And I’m losing. I always lose at games like this. I like to blame the horrible cards in my hand rather than the possibility that I have the sense of humor of Lifetime movie scriptwriter. That’s not a good sense of humor. But it’s 7:46PM, and despite my questionable sense of humor, I find myself laughing at how silly I’ve been all week. Getting all worked up about politics makes me feel half-psychotic. There’s definitely a lesson to be learned, but still–being hesitant about my blog and what to share on it (and I go to great lengths to share the college’s political mess destroying our theater), it’s a feeling I’m not used to. So hopefully it was worth it. But tonight I’m in a contemplative mood. I’m wondering where I will be next week. Could we maybe find out that our theater is back in good shape, looking at a future brighter than LED lights in a gas station at 2AM? Or could we be finding out that the entire college has totally imploded, having no job to even return to? Or could a meteor come cascading down on top of Yellowstone, throwing us into a volcanic winter (if the meteor doesn’t just blow up the world alone) and forcing us to scavenge for food, eventually leading us to cannibalism and tribal divide? Sounds a bit like a Trump presidency. I hate these moods, but I have to admit that they bring oodles of creative inspiration… for better or worse. Enough to write a post at least. Nonetheless, tonight is fine. But the passing of time is heavier than usual. I think about the theater. It is my passionate lover, with all the heat and discord a passionate lover would bring. If I could drunk text the theater, I would. I’d tell it I wanna be inside it. I’d tell it I wanna perform Shakespeare inside it, speak a soliloquy between the curtains. She’s sexy, she really is. I don’t mean to be a dog, I’m usually not–but that theater, man. She brings out the best of me AND the worst of me. I love her, what can I say? I wanna take her out on a date, tell her some REALLY awful jokes, get to know her better. And then I wanna get to work in her, because it’s my passion. Wait a minute… what do you think I meant there? You devil, you. Seriously, though, if I could make her my wife, I totally would. Who wouldn’t wanna put a ring on that proscenium? Be a pretty big ring, though. Expensive, too. Shit. I might have to rethink this marriage thing. Not sure I’m ready for that level of commitment, anyway. But the thought of sitting in the park with her some years down the road, our tiny little baby theaters running around playing tug-o-war with one of their fly lines… it’s very enticing. That’s the dream, isn’t it? We’ll watch our little baby theaters grow up into comedies or dramas, or whatever else they feel like being–we wanna let them make their own path. Yeah. And there MY theater would be, we’d grow old together. Well, she’s already old, she was born sometime in the 3rd century BC, but she doesn’t look a day over 40. That would be happily ever after, if I could just drunk text her to get things started. Then… back to the current situation. She’s dying, isn’t she? Kevin Spacey once referred to it as “Doctor Theatre.” So why is she dying now? Suddenly, the picture shifts. Suddenly, I don’t wanna drunk text her. I wanna be alongside her, telling her everything will be okay. I can hear the sounds of monitors, the chimes and beeps of her life support. It will have to be pulled soon. The theater’s ceiling leaks from time to time when it rains, and suddenly it seems like tears. She’s crying, and her days are numbered. What, helpless as the lover by her deathbed, do I do? Do I tell her everything will be okay? Do I lie? Do I say that my days with her were ones that would live with me for the rest of my life? That I learned from her, lived with her, grew with her? Do I play Joking Hazard with her so she can laugh at how horrible my sense of humor is? But that’s just distraction. Distraction is like a slingshot; the longer the distraction, the farther it’s pulled back to shoot you in the eye the moment it’s done. I realize there is nothing I can do. I cannot even pull the plug and end it, because that responsibility belongs to her father, who has much more of a right to feel robbed and heartbroken than I do. What a mess. What a mess. DAMN IT! My friends are laughing at me, because I haven’t scored once in this freaking game! All the cards keep going to Moira, who’s sitting across the table from me. She just said she has a more “universal” sense of humor, and we’re all shifting in frustration. At least I’m not the only one. This will be something to gripe about on Monday. Monday. Suddenly, the upcoming week enters my mind yet again. It’s more uncomfortable every time I return to it. There’s a bit of solace though, because I’ve just remembered how strong the theater is. She is much stronger than I am. Much older, too. Much moodier, that’s for damn sure. She’ll be comedic for a few months, then downright tragic the next few, then maybe right back to comedic. She’s a seasonal bitch. Tight on money for a long time. Has many friends who come to see her. Does what she wants to do, whether it’s sunny or rainy or snowy, or if the flags are at half mast. Yeah. She’s a juggernaut if you don’t look too closely. If you part her black curtains, you’ll see what’s hidden there. She’ll give you the limelight, but just as easily turn it off. She makes you think you can tell her what to do, but in the end, it’s all her say. So many people have tried to be her lover–billions upon billions have, in fact. But in the end, you gotta be her type. So many people have tried to shut her down, even succeeding sometimes. But in the end, she comes back and changes the whole game. And yet. The one I love is dying. AH HA! Finally got a card! The first card the judge put down read, “Who even are you?” and the card I put down in response read, “By law, I’m required to tell you that I am a sex offender.” Killer. Everybody laughed at that one. Is it high brow? Of course it isn’t, but it got me a card and a laugh, so fuck off. She loves laughter, the theater. She’s been the home for a great many laughs. Also a great many fucking complaints. A great many tears. It’s funny how many facets there are to her personality. Her richer, more popular neighbor, Sports, is very similar–so many people can oftentimes forget about the theater. Sports has more friends in higher places around here. It seems now that does come back to bite you. Doing whatever you want doesn’t quite get you that kind of network, so the theater understandably has a hard time. There are times and places to be a loose cannon like theater is, but this is not the time–and it certainly is not the place. This community college… you’ve gotta be kidding me. You should have been smarter, theater. You should have known. How could you have been so blind? You’ve been here years and years, this has been a long time coming. Come on! Now the ones you love are feeling the hurt. Now the ones who’ve been with you all this time, the ones who watched you grow and built you up, now THEY are the ones who are gonna be lost when you’re gone. How could you…? We all gotta watch our backs in the world, what makes you so fucking different? What makes you invincible? You should have known. We loved you, lived with you, and now we gotta be the ones to pull the cord, NOT YOU. All our memories, all our books, scripts, all our friendships, connections, all our laughs, our cries, our whines, our complaints, our loves, our hates, our work, our passion, THROWN OUT. You should have played ball. Sports plays ball just fine, why can’t you be like Sports? Why couldn’t you have just been smarter? You should have known. Crap. It’s been my turn for a few seconds now, and everyone was awkwardly staring at me while I did nothing. Oh, well. I set my card down. Everyone begins shuffling through their decks, looking for that one that’s gonna make the table die with laughter. I wonder what they’ll pick. Probably something better than anything I’ve picked so far. I should know, I only have one point. Keizo sets one down. Matt does after. Moira (fucking Moira) sets another one down that’s sure to be a winner. Thomas does. Tirece does. Random guy I don’t know across the table does. I have all their cards now, and it’s time to judge. Who am I to judge you? Who am I to tell you to be something else? You’ve been around much longer than I have, worked with more people than I have, lived with them–and yet I’m trying to teach you? Fuck me. I can’t even win a card game, much less tell you what you should do better. I don’t know what it must be like, doing the work you do. I certainly have my criticisms, yeah. But you, YOU… you’re theatre. You’re the thing that has taught civilizations how to live, how to enjoy. You’re the thing that cultivated and raised your stuck-up children, Film, Radio, and YouTube. How the hell did you manage that, anyway? Yet here I am… I dared to say you should have been more like Sports to survive. What an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m just desperate. Comes with the love, you know. That desperation. That fear of losing what you love. Love brings out the best of us, up until it doesn’t. And I do love you. That’s what makes this tricky. That’s what makes this frightening. I’ve loved you for so long, and yet… you’re leaving. You seemed so invincible, I really thought you were invincible. It’s scary how intoxicating an illusion like that is. No matter how certain, permanent, invincible something seems–it isn’t. Everything changes. You change. When you are gone, I’ll have to gather my strength to remember again, to feel again that you are everywhere. You’re home. You’re in America. You’re in Canada. You’re in Istanbul. You’re in China. You’re in fucking North Korea, for Chrissake. And yet… YOU, my theater, will be gone. Tough pill to swallow, don’t you think? Are you comfortable, can I get you another pillow? Game over. Keizo wasn’t feeling well, so he left. That kind of ended the mood for the game. Shame, I was just starting to get good at it (I wasn’t). I think everyone’s about ready to go home, even though no one has said it yet. They will in a few minutes. Just watch. I’m telling you. “Nelson, can you drive me home?” Thomas asks. Told you, didn’t I? “Do you have any beer there?” I ask. If instant gratification were a concrete object, it would be beer. He nods. Thank God. Time to gather my things, which means this laptop too. Whew. Suddenly this feels like a eulogy. When I shut this computer, what will I be feeling the next time I open it? I might lose this feeling. I guess that’s kind of like theatre; you never always have it. You teach me so many things, you little shit. Wonder what you’ll teach me tomorrow. But, for now, it’s time to drive, then get suitably drunk and talk more about you with Thomas. Mind if I text you?

For more true stories, check out my blog, Absurd But Original.

#absurdbutoriginal #stories #submission

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coyotequeens · 7 years

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My darling @blacktofade‘s birthday was, uh, two months ago, so here I am, ten years late with her birthday present. ILU BB!! If this lil au seems like it should be a full-length fic, that’s because it desperately tried to be, and I had to keep chopping at it to keep it under control, like some kind of rouge hedge on meth. (Now on AO3!)

In the hours after the fight, Stiles drives and drives and drives. At first it’s late, and then it’s so late that it’s early, but he keeps on driving, fueled by anger, mostly in silence, though somewhere around the middle of Pennsylvania he thaws enough to put on some music. He stops at a rest stop just past the Ohio border to get a breakfast sandwich, and as he sits at a dirty table and eats, he thinks: shit.

Doubt begins creeping into his thoughts; maybe he’d been too hasty. Maybe he should have given Jay a chance to explain - but no, no, fuck that. He’d always made it really fucking clear that if their relationship ever got to the point where cheating seemed like a good option, he’d rather just be broken up with and yet look what fucking happened. Stiles scoffs scornfully, chucking the wrapper to his sandwich in a nearby trash can. Two and a half years down the drain.

Refreshed by a new wave of anger, Stiles heads back to his car and gets back on the highway. He manages to wrangle his phone from his pocket and, ignoring the multiple text and missed call notifications, he calls his dad, who picks up with a sigh.

“You know what time it is?” his dad asks, and Stiles looks at his dash guiltily. He’s been so worked up that he forgot about the time difference - or the fact that even on the east coast, it’s early, the sun barely above the horizon.

“Sorry,” Stiles says with a wince. “I’ll call back later.”

“It’s fine,” Dad says with another sigh. “I just got home from an overnight shift. Everything all right? You’re not usually up before ten.”

Stiles opens his mouth and then closes his mouth, startled by the raw ache in his eyes.

“Stiles?” his dad presses, somehow gentle and sharp at the same time; Stiles is worrying him.

“I’m - ” Stiles clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Um. How would you feel about me moving home for a while?”

Dad’s silent for a long moment. Stiles keeps his fingers tapping nervously at the steering wheel, eyes on the road. “Where are you?” his dad asks eventually.

“Hit Ohio about an hour ago,” Stiles says, and his father sighs for a third time.

“Guess I got no say in it then, huh?”

“Well - I can probably stay with Scott,” Stiles says anxiously. “If it’s - ”

“I’m messing with you, son,” his dad says gently. “You know you’ve always got a place here.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles says quietly, that ache back in his eyes.

“You want to talk about it?”

“God no,” Stiles says, laughing to keep himself from - something. “Maybe in a few days.”

“All right,” Dad says ambivalently. “Well you keep yourself safe on the road, all right? And if you need money for gas or a place to stay along the way, let me know.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles says softly. “I’m - I will be fine. But thanks.”

“Just take care of yourself,” his father tells him. “It’s a long drive.”

“I will,” Stiles promises.

He makes it another two hours before he has to cede defeat; somewhere around Toledo, his anger ebbs and his eyes begin to droop, so he pulls off the highway and finds a motel where he can crash. The room smells musty but the bed feels like heaven; he’s asleep before he can think. When he wakes up in the early evening, he’s got more text notifications. Most of them are from Jay, and he sees the beginning of one message - look i’m sorry about what happened but you - before Stiles deletes it angrily; there aren’t any buts here. He might not have been a perfect boyfriend, but if Jay wants to try to blame this on him, he can get fucked. Stiles deletes all his texts, all his voicemails, and, for good measure, blocks his number.

Still. Stiles has to grin when he sees one message is from Scott: your dad says you’re coming back?! to stay?

For now, Stiles texts back. For a while.

Scott replies just as Stiles is crossing into Indiana: Dude we’re throwing you a party the moment you get back. Lydia’s already planning it

Stiles laughs, but it’s the last time he smiles for miles. The drive is long and boring, and without anything - or anyone - there to distract him, he’s left to stew. He keeps replaying everything in his head, remembers the stupid fucking look on Jay’s face when Stiles had picked up his phone and seen the texts from the other guy, remembers the way Jay had kept ricocheting back and forth between apology and anger while Stiles packed his bags. Stiles knows he did the right thing, but he doesn’t remember being single being this...lonely. He keeps seeing shit - a stupid license plate, or some driver makes an asshole move - and he keeps forgetting he’s alone, turns to point it out to Jay - and he’s not there.

The nights are worse. The lumpy motel beds seem huge when he’s got no one to share them with. He starfishes over the sheets and goosebumps break out on his arms, but he’s not cold. He’s furious and he’s hurt, and he knows he did the right thing leaving - he knows - but some small part of him can’t help but feel like he should be back in their cramped apartment, drinking warm beers out on the fire escape. He wonders if it’s him that’s fucked up; if his judgement is that bad.

It’s at least a four-day drive back to California, depending on how long he drives every day, and Stiles briefly entertains the thought that maybe he’ll take his time, see some sights; he hasn’t passed Yellowstone yet, or maybe he could wander down to Las Vegas. He’s spent too long in the car already, though, and he hates the silence. He just wants to go home.

It’s a good decision; when he comes down the Redwood Highway and sees the sign welcoming him to California, it feels like some of the weight comes off his shoulders. The rest of it disappears when he reaches Beacon Hills, and he turns down the street to his dad’s house and sees his dad waiting for him at the end of the driveway, all too casual with his hands in his pockets and pleased smile on his face. Stiles feels like he’s ten again, almost falling out of the car in his haste to get out and throw his arms around his dad.

“Can’t believe that old thing made it across the whole US,” his dad says, hugging him tightly.

“Twice,” Stiles says, his voice muffled against his dad’s shoulder.

“Twice,” Dad agrees gently, and claps him on the back.

Being back in Beacon Hills is strange. Stiles left for college and never really came back, just for a little while every couple of years for the holidays. It’s like living in a strange alternate universe version of the town he grew up in, familiar on the surface but different underneath; new neighbors in the houses on their street, different cars parked in the driveways. Old stores he remembers going to as a kid have closed their doors, standing empty and hollow, or new businesses have taken their place. There are empty lots where he remembers buildings, and buildings where he remembers empty lots. Main Street has traffic lights now, and the woods around the high school have been cut down to make room for more soccer fields.

Stiles seeks out his friends, and they’re familiar but different too. They all still live in town - some of them left for college, sure, but they all migrated back long before Stiles did. They throw him the party Scott promised, and Stiles gets absolutely hammered, and no one talks to him about Jay, and it’s perfect.

Life’s quiet in Beacon Hills, but he doesn’t mind. It’s strange to wake up every morning and not hear the constant grind of traffic and horns and sirens outside his window - takes some getting used to, after so many years in the city - but he likes that in the morning, he can go out onto the back steps with a cup of coffee, and all he can smell is fresh air, not the ever changing miasma that is New York City. Stiles doesn’t have much to do with himself; he called his boss and quit somewhere along the drive back - Ohio, he thinks - and he’s applying to jobs, but there’s not much call for a software engineer with a master’s degree up here, but it doesn’t really matter. This isn’t necessarily a permanent move, and he’s got enough of an emergency fund built up in the bank that he’s in no rush to find something.

Stiles mostly just hangs around the house, or at the station with his dad; he’s pulling a lot of night shifts to cover some gaps in staffing, and since the drive messed up Stiles’ sleep schedule like crazy, he doesn’t mind keeping his dad company. It’s nice to spend time with him, and the station’s one of the few places in town that’s mostly unchanged. There are a few new deputies, and the holding cells have been painted a pleasing shade of blue, but other than that, the biggest change is that the coffee maker in the break room has been replaced with a Keurig machine - life’s just that exciting in their small town.

Sometimes his dad picks him up at the house and they go out on patrol together, driving the quiet streets. If not, Stiles gets into the habit of swinging by the station around eleven with food; it’s quiet then, usually only his dad and someone running the front desk, with a skeleton crew out on patrol.

About a week and a half after returning to Beacon Hills, Stiles heads over to the station with a couple bags of food from the diner - in general, he tries to keep his dad eating as healthy as possible, but he’s all right with a treat once in awhile. He’s too busy trying to juggle the bags and their drinks to pay much attention to what’s going on in the station, so once he’s backed in through the doors, he just heads for his dad’s office, only to hear a sharp voice say, “Hey - hey!”

Stiles comes to a halt with a sigh, and turns to look at the deputy manning the front desk. He must be new, because Stiles has never seen him before, and he definitely would remember if he had, because the deputy is gorgeous, just straight-up angry underwear model gorgeous. Even the way he’s currently glaring at Stiles makes him a little weak in the knees.

Maybe he’s staring, because the deputy snaps his fingers and says, “Can I help you?”

Stiles blinks, a little amused and also now a little annoyed. “Did you just snap your fingers at me?”

The deputy gives him a belligerent look. “You want to answer my question? What are you doing in here?”

Stiles holds up the bags of food. “I’m here to see my dad.”

The deputy looks at the food and then at Stiles, and his frown only deepens. “No you’re not.”

Stiles stares at him, bewildered. “Huh?”

“His son lives on the east coast,” the deputy says suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles says, almost at a loss for words. “I just moved back. I - you want to see my license? I’m not lying.”

To his relief, his dad appears in the doorway to his office, looking amused. “Everything all right out here?”

“Dad,” Stiles says, aggrieved. “Tell Deputy Diligence here that I’m your son.”

His dad stares at him for so long that Stiles actually begins to feel a little nervous, and then he smiles and says to the deputy, “It’s all right, Hale. He’s mine. He moved back to town while you were on vacation.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at the deputy, who narrows his eyes at him. “Told you.”

“He’s just doing his job,” Dad says genially. “Stiles, this is Derek Hale. He’s been with us - what, a year now, Derek?”

The deputy nods, his eyes still narrowed at Stiles. “Nice to meet you,” he says sarcastically.

“A pleasure,” Stiles harps back, and his dad rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, will you get in here so I can eat?”

“Fine,” Stiles says, with a showy sigh, sidling into the office.

His father shuts the door behind them, rubbing his hands over his face wearily. “Please don’t start,” he says.

“Start what?” Stiles asks warily, dumping their food on the desk.

“I know you,” Dad says accusingly. “I know you, and that - “ He stabs a finger in the direction of the front desk. “ - was flirting.”

Stiles stares at him, mouth agape. “I - that was not.”

His dad just shakes his head as he drops down into his chair. “I know you,” he repeats.

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes a few times before he hazards, “Well, he is pretty hot - ”

His dad waves his hands around frantically. “No! No. The last thing I need is you getting mixed up with one of my officers. I’ve got rules, Stiles; I don’t mix work with my home life.”

“Yeah, but I don’t work here,” Stiles says with a grin. Dad glares at him, and he throws his hands up in defeat. “I’m kidding. I’m not really ready for anything right now anyway, c’mon.”

His dad eyes him, his face softening. “Everything all right on that front?”

Stiles shrugs, settling down in a chair across the desk from his dad. “Fine as it can be.”

And, thinking about it later, he really is fine. Maybe it’s the biggest sign that there were more issues with his relationship than he realized, because after that initial first week of hurting, Stiles doesn’t miss Jay. He misses intimacy and the feeling of sharing a life with someone, and he misses sex, but he’s weirdly not upset. Angry still, sure, but he’s not sad. He’s certainly not ready to leap into another relationship, but the more he thinks about it, the more he begins to believe that maybe their relationship was over long before he left. He almost feels relieved.

The new deputy is at the station the next couple of times Stiles goes over there, and every time, Stiles says hello, but Deputy Hale never says a word in reply, just narrows his eyes at him until Stiles disappears into his dad’s office. Stiles usually wouldn’t be bothered by someone not liking him, but the station’s basically a second home to him, most of the deputies like family, so he feels like he’s got to make some kind of effort to make amends.

The next time he stops by the station, he’s got coffee for his dad - and for Deputy Hale, too. The deputy glances up at him as he enters the station, but returns his attention to his paperwork, not looking up as Stiles approaches the desk. He carefully sets the coffee down on the counter, and only then does Deputy Hale look up, first at the coffee, then at Stiles, unimpressed.

“What do you want?” he asks, his tone uninviting.

“Peace offering,” Stiles says, nudging the cup a little closer to Deputy Hale’s keyboard. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Deputy Hale looks at the cup for a long moment. “There sugar in this?”

“It’s black,” Stiles says warily.

“Good,” the deputy says. He looks up at Stiles and a small smile plays around the corners of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles says weakly because wow, wow Deputy Hale’s smile has done something to him.

“You know, I knew who you were,” Deputy Hale says, picking up the coffee and taking a slow sip.

Stiles sputters, “What?!”

“He has a picture of you in his office,” Deputy Hale says dryly.

“You’ve been playing me!” Stiles says indignantly.

Deputy Hale just raises his eyebrows as the phone begins to ring. “Your dad’s waiting for you,” he says placidly, as he picks up the receiver.

“I’ve got your number, Hale,” Stiles says, starting to grin as he backs away from the desk. “This isn’t over.”

“Call me Derek,” Deputy Hale says, another faint smile hovering on his lips as he puts the phone to his ear. “Beacon County Sheriff’s Station.”

Stiles is still grinning as he steps into his dad’s office; he tries to hide it, but his dad still notices. His father sighs. “I warned you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says, with as much dignity as he can manage. His dad puts his head in his hands.

Stiles tries to feel bad, but he really doesn’t. He’s bored and he’s lonely - most of his friends in town have normal lives, with jobs and families - and he doesn’t mind hanging out with his dad, but after two weeks of seeing him every night, they’re basically caught up on all the things they’ve missed in each other’s lives, so it’s kind of nice to get to know someone new. Now he knows that Derek’s got a sense of humor, he’s a lot more approachable and honestly, Derek’s like god-tier hot, so Stiles will happily take any opportunity to lean up against the front desk and ogle him a bit.

He takes to stopping by the front desk for a few minutes before he heads in to see his dad, and to his private delight, Derek doesn’t seem to mind; he’ll put aside whatever he’s working on, whether it’s paperwork or a crossword puzzle and give Stiles his attention, which, if Stiles is being honest with himself, feels really fucking good. Derek’s not much of a conversationalist himself, but the person Stiles begins to glean from him is a dry, sarcastic asshole - a man after Stiles’ own heart, basically.

He’s not looking for anything. That’s what Stiles tells his dad, and it’s what he tells Lydia when she offers to set him up with one of her friends, and it’s what he tells himself, too. It’s sort of true; he not looking for anything, and he thinks it’d be kind of insane to throw himself back into dating only a month after breaking up with his cheating boyfriend of two and a half years. He could probably use some time to just be alone. And it’s not like he expects anything from Derek - if they just end up as friends, that’s perfectly fine, it’s just - Stiles is horny, like, a lot, and Derek’s super hot, not to mention he’s the kind of guy Stiles would want to date if, you know, he was hypothetically on the market.

He’s embarrassed because his dad is right; he flirts with Derek. But the thing is - and he’s a little rusty here, so maybe he’s way off base - he thinks Derek’s flirting back. He’s at the station almost every night because, as he explains when Stiles jokingly asks what he’d done to be punished with desk duty, he was struck by a distracted driver during a traffic stop and fractured his pelvis. He’d been out on leave for a month, then on desk duty for another two, but that isn’t important - well, it is, and of course Stiles feels bad for him, but the important thing is that when Derek tells him he should be cleared for full duty within the next few days, and Stiles pretends (hah, pretends) to look disappointed and asks, “So does that mean I don’t get to see you anymore?”, Derek’s cheeks go pink and he says “It doesn’t have to,” and that, that is the important thing.

Of course, that’s when his dad comes out of his office and strongarms Stiles into going out on patrol with him, but things aren’t over. Stiles grins as they drive along the quiet streets. Things are just beginning.

Three days later, Stiles is getting out of the shower when he’s hit by a wave of lightheadedness so strong it nearly knocks him on his ass; he catches himself just in time and manages to sit on the edge of the tub, his head swimming. Maybe the shower was too hot, he thinks dazed, and then his palms start to itch and his mouth begins to salivate, and he dives for the toilet in time to heave up what little he’s got in him. When the wave of nausea has passed, Stiles shakily picks himself up and sits back down on the edge of the tub, breathing heavily.

There’s a gentle knock on the door. “Stiles?” Dad asks. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Stiles breathes. He swallows hard and grimaces. “Must be those tacos we got at the gas station last night.”

His father chuckles ruefully. “Can’t say those sat too well with me either. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” Stiles assures him, wiping at his mouth. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“All right,” his dad says warily. “I’m going back to bed.”

“I’ll leave the Tums out for you,” Stiles calls, and hears his dad laugh as he heads back down the hall.

That night, Stiles heads into the station with a couple salads - for his dad and Derek, because he’s still feeling the gas station tacos - but he’s disappointed to see another deputy at the front desk. “Hey man,” he says, sidling up to the desk. “Is Hale off tonight?”

“He’s back on patrol duty,” Parrish says, shoving disconsolately at a pile of paperwork. “I sure didn’t miss this.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, dismayed. “Oh. You, uh, want a salad?”

“You don’t want it?” Parrish asks, surprised.

“Nah,” Stiles says, tossing it on the desk. “I’m not hungry.”

He goes and hangs out with his dad for a while, watches him grumpily eat his salad, and it’s fine, but he’s bored. He wanted to talk to Derek - knows he could have made Derek smirk about the gas station tacos. His dad’s bored too; after he’s finished eating, he sighs and says, “It’s quiet here tonight. You want to drive around with me?”

Stiles sighs too. “Nah. I think I’m going to head home and go to bed.” Sleep sounds like a good plan; he’s still not feeling quite right. He stops in to use the bathroom before he leaves, and has to lean up against the wall when he gets hit by another wave of lightheadedness. It eventually passes, but it takes long enough that by the time Stiles comes out of the bathroom, his dad’s already left to go on patrol, and the building’s quiet. He decides to step into the break room to get a glass of water, and he’s startled to find Derek in there, leaning up against the counter. Derek raises his eyebrows when he sees Stiles.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Your dad’s on patrol.”

“I know; he just left,” Stiles says. “Thought you were too.”

Derek nods toward the coffee maker. “I stopped in for a break.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “I was just heading out too - unless you want some company?”

He tries not to sound too earnest, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind; he gives Stiles a faint smile and says, “I wouldn’t say no.”

Stiles grins, buoyed, and steps up to the sink to grab the glass of water he originally stopped in for. “How’s it feel?” he asks as he fills a glass from the faucet. “Being back on patrol?”

“Not as boring as being here – present company excluded,” Derek says, picking up his cup of coffee. “I’m rusty. I’ve forgotten what my cop voice sounds like.”

“What, it’s not the voice you used when you accused me of impersonating myself?” Stiles teases.

Derek snorts and sets down his cup of coffee. He straightens, casually readjusting his utility belt, and it’s like something in him shifts; suddenly, he’s a cop, a tightness to his body that wasn’t there before. It occurs to Stiles that he’s never seen Derek out from behind the front desk. He swallows, struck by how even though they’re almost the same height, Derek’s wider in the shoulders, just the right amount of muscle on him. “What are you doing back here?” Derek asks softly, taking a step closer. There’s a note in his voice Stiles has heard before, plenty of times, when he’s watched his dad’s talk to suspects, but hearing it from Derek makes his whole body warm. “Civilians aren’t supposed to go past the lobby.”

Stiles swallows again. “But I don’t count, right?”

“You don’t count,” Derek confirms, dropping the cop voice. He’s still close. Stiles feels like a planet on a collision course with the sun.

“That’s - you got the voice down,” Stiles says, his eyes widening as Derek step in even closer. “Uh, do - do you want - ”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, the space between them suddenly gone, their mouths meeting. Stiles is lightheaded again and it’s not the gas station tacos; it’s the feeling of a body pressed up against his, Derek’s hands curled against his waist, his mouth against Stiles’, hot, hot. Stiles folds his arms around Derek’s neck, his whole body thrumming. Derek smells just as good as Stiles imagined he would, and he’s delighted to discover that it’s not the heady, spicy alpha scent he expected, but the softer, richer scent of a beta, the one that makes his toes curl. He breathes it in deeply, tilts his head back as Derek kisses along his jaw, teeth grazing his skin. He’s already getting hard, starved for touch, for any kind of positive attention - and the realization is enough to bring him crashing back down, make him remember where they are.

He pushes at Derek’s shoulders until Derek pulls back, his brow creasing. “This is - we’re in the station,” Stiles hisses.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Derek murmurs. “No one’s going to see us.”

“What about Parrish?”

“If he notices, he’s not going to say anything,” Derek says. “Do you want to stop?”

Stiles chews at his lip for a moment, but he already knows the answer. “Nah,” he admits with a grin, and Derek smiles in response. He leans in to kiss Stiles again, slower and sweeter this time, his hands sliding up and down Stiles’ sides; it’s oddly soothing. They kiss and kiss until Stiles’ lips begin to feel raw from rubbing up against Derek’s stubble, and like he knows Stiles needs a break, Derek tilts his head and moves to Stiles’ neck, his kisses growing wetter, breathier. Stiles exhales shakily, pressing into Derek’s touch, his hips rising without him realizing it - and he can feel Derek’s hard too.

Stiles exhales again and slips his hand between them, cupping Derek’s dick through the rough material of his uniform, and Derek makes a choked off noise against his neck, hips jolting into Stiles’ touch. And - god, Stiles wants him; he wants Derek to bend him over one of the break room tables and fuck him until he can’t breathe - but as horny as he is, he doesn’t think he has the balls to do it in the station. He just - he curls his fingers tighter, eliciting another muffled groan from Derek. Maybe he doesn’t have the balls to go all the way, but he’s willing to do something.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Can I blow you?”

Derek pulls back to stare at him, wide-eyed, and Stiles, staring back at him, can only think about how gorgeous his hazel eyes are. “You - you want to?”

“Mmhm,” Stiles nods, licking his lips pointedly.

Derek’s gaze flickers between his eyes and his mouth and - briefly - to the break room door and then he nods slowly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Stiles grins, hands going for Derek’s waist as he sinks to his knees, carefully setting his utility belt on the floor. “Trust me - this isn’t a mouth you want to miss.”

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Derek says sarcastically, though he looks a little nervous when he says it, stomach muscles tightening as Stiles unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants.

“Promise I won’t bite,” Stiles says, curling his fingers in the waistband of Derek’s pants and underwear. He pulls them down slowly, making sure Derek’s got plenty of time to stop him if he changes his mind, but Derek just exhales. Stiles is a little nervous too, mostly because he’s worried about his dad bursting in at any moment. He shakes his head a little and focuses on the task at hand, which is a really nice dick. He really wants to get his mouth on it, but Derek’s not quite fully erect, so Stiles curls his hand around him, jerking him off slowly. He watches Derek as he does, reveling in the way his lips part and his breath goes a little shaky, the way his eyelashes flutter like he’s fighting the urge to close his eyes. Stiles keeps watching him as he wets his lips and takes him into his mouth, and he grins at the way Derek groans softly.

“I’m not going to last very long,” Derek admits, closing his eyes.

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, pulling back to say, “Doesn’t matter, as long as you have a good time.”

Derek huffs out a weak laugh. “That’s already a guarantee.”

Stiles grins again before getting back on track, sinking his mouth down on Derek’s dick, just shallow little pulls at first, then deeper, testing how far he can go. He’s pleased to report that he can still deepthroat with the best of them, taking Derek in all the way to the base, the tip of his nose just touching Derek’s abdomen.

“Shit, Stiles,” Derek breathes shakily, one of his hands touching Stiles’ cheek then, tentatively, his throat.

Stiles pulls off him slowly, and grins up at Derek, lips slick with spit. “Told you,” he says cheekily.

Getting Derek to come is almost too easy; Stiles is nothing if not good at observation, and he tracks the different ways Derek reacts to the things he does. He likes the deepthroating, but if the way his breathing picks up when Stiles is blowing him shallow and fast is any sign, he likes that even more. Maybe he’s thinking about fucking Stiles, imagining his ass instead of his mouth; he’s certainly not alone in that, because Stiles is thinking about it too. He pulls at Derek’s hips, guiding him until he’s thrusting into Stiles’ mouth, holding his head in place with a gentle hand, and it feels so fucking good Stiles has to close his eyes and rub at the bulge in his jeans. He feels it when Derek’s getting close, because his thrusts falter, uncertain.

“I’m - where?” Derek pants. “Where should I - ”

“My face,” Stiles groans. “Fuck, please - “

“Shh,” Derek hisses. He takes a hold of himself, jerking himself off with quick, ruthless movements, breathing heavily between clenched teeth. Stiles gazes up at him, so turned on he feels like he’s on fire. Derek comes with a choked-off moan, striping Stiles’ mouth and cheek with come, and Stiles shudders with delight, gripping at his dick so he won’t come just yet.

Derek stands still for a moment after he’s finished, his chest heaving - then he lunges for Stiles, hauling him to his feet and smashing their mouths together regardless of the mess he’s left on Stiles’ face. His hands make quick work of Stiles’ pants, shoving them down to his thighs. Stiles nearly sobs when Derek gets his hand around his dick, hips jolting up into his grasp. Derek makes quick work of him, jerking him off until Stiles buries his face against Derek’s neck and comes with a muffled groan, legs shaking.

Derek holds him steady for what seems like hours, until Stiles’ heart stops racing and his legs feel steady again. “Holy shit,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s throat. Derek laughs quietly, taking a step back so he can look at Stiles, eyes lingering on the come still on his face.

“You sure are something,” Derek tells him quietly, pulling his pants and underwear back up.

Stiles grins weakly as he does the same. “Is that a good thing?”

“I think so,” Derek replies, smiling faintly.

Still grinning, Stiles turns to the sink, wetting a paper towel so he can clean his face off. Behind him, Derek picks his utility belt up off the floor and buckles it back around his waist. “Do you want a ride home?” Derek asks.

“I drove,” Stiles says, rubbing the paper towel over his face. “Thanks though.” He lifts his head. “All good?”

Derek snorts and takes the towel from him, dabbing at his forehead. “I made a mess.”

“I don’t mind,” Stiles says. He hesitates, watching Derek throw the paper towel into the trash, before offering, “If you ever get bored while you’re out on patrol, you could stop by the house.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “To play board games?”

Stiles grins. “Some kind of game, for sure.”

Derek laughs softly. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t make any promises - we do get busy sometimes.”

“Really?” Stiles questions sarcastically. He gestures between the two of them. “What was this, then?”

Derek smirks at him. “I got busy.”

Stiles tilts his head back and laughs. “Touché.”

They leave the station together - Parrish, at the front desk, waves them out; if he heard anything, he’s not saying - and head for their respective cars. Stiles grins as he drives out of the parking lot; he feels a little better knowing he’s still got game after two and a half years. It feels pretty good to feel desirable.

In the morning, while Stiles is brushing his teeth for a second time after having thrown up again - apparently the gas station tacos aren’t done with him yet - it occurs to him that if he’s going to start dating again - or at the very least, sleeping around, he should probably get an STD check because he’s got no idea how many other people Jay slept with while they were together, or if he was safe while he did it. He’s struck by a sudden flash of angry, and glares at his phone as if to dare Jay to try and call again, but the screen’s blank because he blocked Jay’s number, and there’s nothing from Derek because Stiles didn’t give him his number, just told him to show up to his house when he was free at an unspecified moment in time, like they’re in fucking middle school.

Stiles tsks and spits out his toothpaste. Not that there’s anything between them, he amends thoughtfully. He’s not even going to consider trying to figure out what they’re doing until they’ve actually done something. He’s fine with casual, he’s fine with just sex - hell, he’s fine with nothing. He just doesn’t want to worry about anything right now, except making sure he’s clean, maybe. And also, his job interview because hey, he’s got one of those this morning.

It’s just a phone interview, but he still dresses nicely in case they change their minds and want to Skype, and he makes himself sit at the dining room table for the whole thing so he won’t be distracted. It goes well; Stiles ends the call feeling pretty confident, and he lets that positive momentum get him out of the house and over to the walk-in clinic to get tested before he can start feeling bad about it - and he shouldn’t feel bad, because he’s not the one who did anything wrong. He’s just being a responsible adult. It’s easy; he talks briefly to a doctor, pees in a cup, they tell him they should have results in a few days, and that’s it.

That night, Stiles forgoes visiting his dad at the station, waiting around a little nervously at the house to see if Derek shows up. He ends up falling asleep on the couch; when he wakes up, it’s to his dad coming through the front door, early morning light filtering into the living room. Stiles tries not to be disappointed; they probably had a busy night - or Derek just didn’t want to come. He knows it was wildly out of line to even suggest it. He’s got more important things to worry about, like the results of his job interview. And his STD test. Every buzz of his phone has him grabbing it anxiously, but it’s mostly just messages from Scott; he keeps sending dog memes. Stiles finds them oddly soothing.

Derek doesn’t show up that night, or the next, so Stiles gives up; he’s got the message. Derek’s not interested, or maybe not interested enough to risk his job by hooking up with him while he’s on duty. Don’t worry man, we’ll get you laid, Scott texts, and then he sends Stiles a photo of a dog that ate a bumblebee. Stiles is still laughing at it when his phone begins to ring - not another text from Scott, but an actual phone call from a local number - and he sobers immediately, clearing his throat before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Stiles Stilinski?” says a female voice on the other end of the line. “This is Dr. Boyer from the Beacon City Walk-In Clinic. Is this a good time to talk?”

To talk? Stiles thinks uneasily, a pit opening in the bottom of his stomach. If it were a simple all clear, she’d wouldn’t have said that, right? “Sure,” he says cautiously. “Is - am I - is everything all right?”

“Your STD panel came back clean,” the doctor tells him. “Nothing to worry about there. However - “ Stiles closes his eyes, holding his breath. “ - as part of our testing process, we also run a pregnancy test, and that test did come back positive.”

Stiles’ eyes fly open. “What?!” he croaks.

“If you’d like to schedule a blood test to be sure, that’s something we can set up for you,” the doctor says, in a placid tone Stiles deems to be way too calm for him to handle right now. “Your regular doctor could also - “

He hangs up on her. He hangs up and then for good measure throws his phone across his bedroom. It hits the wall and falls behind his dresser and then Stiles is standing in the middle of the room with his chest rapidly rising and falling, breathing frantically through his nose. This isn’t happening, he thinks. He doesn’t even know how - when was his last heat? When was the last time he’d had sex? How had this happened?

There’s a gentle knock on his door and then his dad sticks his head into the room, hair ruffled from sleep. “You okay?” he asks, yawning. “Heard a bang.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says hurriedly, because he can’t handle this, and he definitely can’t have his dad see him break down. “Go back to bed.”

HIs dad grunts and disappears back down the hallway. Stiles waits twenty, thirty seconds before he goes flying out of his room and down the stairs, then out the backyard and into the trees, running until he can’t see any houses, and then he drops onto the damp ground and buries his head against his knees. He takes big, deep breaths, inhaling the smell of leaves and wet earth until his heart stops thundering in his ears.

Stiles flops back against the ground and stares up at the sky while he tries to work things through in his head. It has to be Jay’s; Stiles hasn’t been with anyone else, except Derek, and no baby could have come out of that encounter. His last heat was...Stiles counts on his fingers and curses. Eight weeks ago - two weeks before he left New York - and with everything going on, he hadn’t noticed that it was at least two weeks late. Fuck. As for the how - they’d played it safe...most of the time. Maybe a slip up here or there when they were drunk. Maybe a broken condom. Stiles scrubs his hands over his face. Double fuck. He needs to talk to someone about this.

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair,” Scott says later, at the bar.

Stiles isn’t drinking; he’s morosely chewing on the straw to his soda, though at Scott’s comment he scrubs a hand through his hair and feels a leaf crunch under his fingers. He sighs. “I’m a mess.”

“Aw, no way, man,” Scott says cheerfully, bumping his shoulder against Stiles’. “It’s a baby, not a life sentence.”

Stiles drags his hands down his face. “Do you not understand how kids work?” he asks despairingly. “They do tend to stick around for life, unless you seriously fuck something up.”

“Well, I mean, they don’t have to,” Scott says. “You could always put it up for adoption.”

Stiles sighs again. “I dunno, man.”

Scott takes a long swig of his beer and then watches Stiles for a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Okay,” he says abruptly. “What are you thinking - like, right now? This isn’t a commitment, just - tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t keep it,” Stiles says. “I live at my dad’s house - I don’t even have a job.”

“So let’s say you get a job,” Scott says. “What then? Do you keep it?”

“I - I don’t know,” Stiles says, confused. He shouldn’t, he doesn’t think; even if he finds a job, he’s still living with his dad, and Jay’s not exactly in the picture. Stiles had tried calling him; after his cool-down in the woods, he’d reluctantly unblocked Jay’s number and tried, but the call went straight to voicemail - Jay’s blocked him.

“Okay, okay,” Scott says, waving his hands around. “Step back. Big picture. Do you want kids?”

“I mean - yeah,” Stiles says. “But I always thought I’d be married first. I don’t really want to be a single dad.”

“Your dad’s a single dad,” Scott points out.

“Yeah, but - my mom was there for the first decade,” Stiles says, his throat tight. “She was there for all the formative stuff.”

Scott waves a hand dismissively. “My dad missed most of that, and I turned out all right, didn’t I?”

Stiles grins reluctantly. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “You just want me to have a kid so our kids can be best friends.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, man,” Scott says with a grin. “That’s definitely on my mind.” He takes another swig of his beer and adds, a little more seriously, “Seriously, though, whatever you choose to do, I’m here for you. We all are.”

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles says quietly.

“And you’re not going to stay single,” Scott says. “I mean, unless you want to, but you’re hot and smart - people love you. And if you have a kid, they’ll love your kid, too.”

Stiles snorts. “Why don’t you marry me, if you love me so much?”

“Already taken,” Scott says sadly, slinging an arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “Sorry man. But hey - you only broke up with Jay like a month ago and you already hooked up with that deputy. Maybe he’ll take you off the market.”

“Nah,” Stiles sighs. “I don’t think anything’s going to come out of that.”

Stiles leaves the bar without any real decisions made, but he feels a little better all the same. Scott’s got that kind of effect on him; he puts out so much confidence and goodwill that he can’t help but feel that everything’s going to be all right - and maybe it will.

It’s still relatively early when he gets home, and he briefly entertains the idea of going to see his dad at the station, but seeing as he was just out, as well as the fact that his dad can read him like a book, he decides against it, and collapses on the couch instead. He tries to distract himself with television, but his thoughts keep drifting and he really doesn’t want to be thinking right now.

A car pulls into the driveway, but Stiles doesn’t really notice; the deep hum of the engine sounds like his dad’s cruiser, and it’s not unheard of for his dad to stop by during a shift if he forgot something. The sound of a car door closing doesn’t catch his attention, but the knock on the door sure does. Stiles straightens warily, then slowly lifts himself off the couch and heads for the door. He peers through the peephole and his jaw drops; it’s Derek.

Stiles hurriedly unlocks the front door and pulls it open. “Hi,” Stiles says, and Derek offers him a small smile. “I, um, I didn’t think you’d show.”

“It’s been busy,” Derek says. “And I had to work up the nerve.” He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the quiet street. “Does your offer still stand?”

Stiles begins to grin. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah - I could use a distraction tonight. Come in.”

They don’t even make it upstairs. Many years ago, Stiles shoved a bottle of lube deep within the couch in case he felt like jerking off and was too lazy to go upstairs, which means he doesn’t even have to think when Derek guides him down onto the couch. He likes the way Derek strips him down piece by piece, methodical and unrushed, but with purpose. Derek doesn’t fully strip - and Stiles doesn’t blame him for that; he’s on the job, after all - but he leaves his utility belt and radio on the coffee table.

Stiles has never considered himself to have a thing for uniforms, because then he has to think about his dad and that’s not cool, but there’s something about the way the muscles in Derek’s arms flex against his shirt that gets Stiles’ heart racing. Although to be fair, it could also have something to do with the way Derek works him open in the same steady way he’d stripped Stiles, like this is just another part of his job - but he’s also breathing fast through his mouth, eyes flickering between his hand and Stiles’ face, constantly checking on him. It feels so good to feel wanted, like he can tell by the way Derek’s breathing that he’s trying not to go too fast, and being wanted makes Stiles want.

“Come on,” he breathes, because he can’t stand waiting, and he’ll be damned if the way Derek flushes as he fumbles with his belt in his hurry to get his pants down isn’t endearing. Stiles has to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from speaking when Derek leans over and pulls a condom out of one of the pouches on his utility belt because he wants to say it doesn’t matter, but that’s a road he wanted to avoid going down tonight.

Before he can start thinking about it, though, Derek’s kneeling there in front of him, one hand under Stiles’ knee, the other on his dick. He looks at Stiles for affirmation and Stiles nods, his body tight with anticipation. Derek pushes into him slowly, fingers digging into his thigh, and Stiles has to close his eyes, his head falling back as he sighs with pleasure; Derek’s dick’s just as nice as he’s daydreamed it’d be. Derek moves slowly at first, thrusting in and out of Stiles smoothly, but he falters when Stiles hooks his legs around Derek’s hips and opens his eyes, grinning faintly.

“That’s not really what you came here for, is it?” he asks.

Derek’s flush deepens, and he doesn’t say anything, but he puts his hands on Stiles’ hips and now they’re fucking, Derek driving into him hard and fast. Stiles groans happily, tugging at Derek’s shoulders until he leans down so they can kiss. This is exactly the kind of distraction he needed, and it’s just nice to get fucked stupid. Derek’s different from Jay in just about every way - his build, his smell, the way he fucks - and Stiles needs something new right now. Derek’s perfect.

“This is perfect,” he murmurs out loud, and he grins, pleased, at the way Derek’s hips stutter. He’s sensitive; Stiles likes that. He slips a hand between them, jerking himself off to that sweet flush on Derek’s face.

Derek breathes against his cheek, open-mouthed and a little frantic. “I’m - I’m going to come - “ he hisses.

“So come,” Stiles says. He grins at Derek, hand moving faster on his dick. “Do it for me.”

Derek exhales harshly, pining Stiles’ hips to the couch and punching into him, the sound of their skin striking loud in the quiet room. At the last moment, Derek sets his teeth against Stiles’ shoulder and he doesn’t bite down, it’s not a mating bite, but Stiles can feel the way his jaw flexes against his skin, and the shock of such intimacy is enough to send him over the edge into orgasm, his spine arching, pressing him harder against Derek’s teeth.

When that first glorious wave of pleasure passes, Stiles collapses back against the couch, boneless, small shudders of delight running through him. Derek half falls on top of him, catching himself by his elbows, and for a long moment they just look at each other, and it’s weird, but it’s not.

“That was good,” Stiles tells Derek. “Really good.”

Derek looks both pleased and self-conscious. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Stiles says. He looks down at their bodies, and the damp patches on Derek’s shirt from Stiles’ come. “Shoulda taken your shirt off.”

Derek follows his gaze and sighs dramatically, carefully shifting back onto his knees, Stiles grimacing at the loss of his dick and how gross he suddenly feels. “Next time,” Derek says, and then he seems to catch himself, looking at Stiles carefully. “If you want a next time.”

“Dude, yes,” Stiles says enthusiastically. Derek’s shoulders relax in relief. He gets to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants and examining his shirt ruefully. “You want to borrow one of my dad’s?” Stiles offers, watching him. “He’s got plenty.”

“It’ll be fine,” Derek says, still looking at his shirt. “I’ll be alone in my cruiser for most of my shift.” He glances up and catches Stiles touching the spot on his shoulder where Derek had not...bitten him, exactly, but it tingles. “Oh,” Derek says, looking embarrassed. “That - I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Stiles says, bending over to locate his clothes. “I liked it.”

“Oh,” Derek says, taken aback. “I’ll - remember that.”

Stiles slips on his boxers and looks up at him with a grin. “Good. Hey - you want a sandwich for the road?”

“Oh,” Derek says again. “I - “ On the coffee table between them, his radio crackles to life, the night dispatcher sounding out a code. “I should go,” he says reluctantly. “Can I...come back? Tomorrow, if I don’t get too busy?”

Stiles’ grin widens. “I’ll be here.”

Sex with Derek is the distraction Stiles needed it to be; he sleeps great that night, well enough that he doesn’t panic in the morning when he remembers that he’s pregnant. Even though he throws up in the shower - and the gas station tacos were consumed so long ago now that he knows they’re not to blame - he feels weirdly calm. He doesn’t really think about it; he lets it sit at the back of his mind and percolate while he adjusts to the idea of it, and focuses on finding a job instead. It works; two days later, he gets a job offer from the place he had the phone interview with, and he accepts. It’s nothing big, and it’s nothing challenging, but that doesn’t really matter to him right now. Derek comes over almost every night for two weeks straight, and Stiles just enjoys how free he feels.

Eventually, though, he has to make a decision about the baby. He’s been behaving himself since he found out - no alcohol, no coffee; he goes to his old family doctor and gets a second opinion, just to be sure. HIs doctor confirms it’s true - not that Stiles is really surprised, considering how much he’s been throwing up - but hearing it again out loud forces him to face the music: he’s got to make up his mind.

When he does think about it, it’s a surprise to him that it’s not black and white. Sure, he panicked when he first found out, and his first instinct was get it out of me, but now...he’s not sure. Logically, he knows this probably isn’t the best time to do it, and if he were still with Jay, it’d be one thing - but at the same time, part of him thinks why not? Yeah, he’s single, but his new job pays well, and the cost of living is a heck of a lot cheaper here than it is in New York City.

Maybe it’s the changing hormones or something, but Stiles feels weirdly zen about the whole situation. He always knew he’d have kids, so why not now? It’s not like he’s a teenager without any options; he’s got a good job and a support system, and half his friends have kids already. Stiles doesn’t rush into a decision, but the more he thinks about it, the more he finds himself leaning toward yes. There’s one morning where he wakes up and kills a little time daydreaming about what it’ll be like when his pregnancy’s further along - and it hits him: he’s already decided. This is happening.

Stiles exhales quietly and rolls onto his stomach, shoving his face into his pillow. He’s going to do it. Then he thinks no, no, this is crazy, right? It is crazy, but he wants this baby. He’s excited about this baby, god help him.

Stiles exhales again when he realizes that he’s going to have to tell his dad about this. No one knows yet except for Scott, and he’s put off telling his dad because he knows what his dad’s reaction’s going to be, and he wanted to come to a decision on his own. Dad’s not going to be happy with him; he’s always been very proud of Stiles for getting an education and building a career, and Stiles knows he’s going to think a baby’s going to derail all of that, but honestly, Stiles doesn’t think it will. For a little while, maybe, but Stiles fully plans on keeping his life on track, especially if he’s going to be doing this alone.

Still, he’s got to tell his dad; the truth’s going to come out eventually anyway, especially when he gets to the point where he literally won’t be able to hide it, so he might as well get it over early on and give his dad a chance to - hopefully - get over it. He could even do it right now - he can hear his dad taking a shower, but he’s going to be heading to bed soon, and Stiles would rather do it when he’s rested. He’ll do it tonight, he decides; he’ll stop by the station with junk food to soften the blow, and tell him then, and then he can bounce if his dad gets too upset. It’ll be fine, though...he hopes.

There’s another person Stiles knows he needs to tell, as reluctant as he is to make contact: Jay. It’s only right; even if what Jay did to him was fucked up, he’s still the dad, and Stiles doesn’t want him to find out years down the road and make a big deal of it. Stiles isn’t sure how he’s going to react - they once had a talk about kids, but it was in a vague, maybe someday way that wasn’t really conclusive. Jay’s still got his number blocked - Stiles has tried calling a couple times - but he’s convinced a friend of theirs to tell Jay to call him, and Jay does, while he’s sitting at work.

Stiles curses softly when he sees Jay’s number on his screen, but he steps out into the stairwell for some privacy and takes a deep breath before he puts to the phone to his ear. He’s not really ready for this; he’s still angry and hurt at what Jay did, but this needs to be done. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Jay says quietly, and the sound of his voice makes Stiles - he doesn’t know how to feel.

“Hi,” Stiles repeats tightly. He feels hot all over. He draws in a deep breath, but before he can speak, Jay gets there first.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What I did was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.”

Stiles closes his eyes, biting back the anger that swells in his chest. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says crisply.

“It’s not?” Jay asks, sounding startled. “But - ”

“We’re done,” Stiles hisses. “I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry or not. If it makes you sleep better at night - fine, whatever, but I don’t care.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I just wanted you to know I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Jay exclaims. “Are you serious? Is this - do you want to get back together or something, because I - “

“Fuck no!” Stiles snaps, then looks up and down the stairs guiltily. He says, voice lower, “I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’t want anything from you - I just wanted to give you the chance to decide if you want to be involved or not.”

“Oh,” Jay says blankly. “I - I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Stiles says irritably. “Just - think about it.” And he hangs up, his heart beating fast in his chest. He feels shaken; already, his time on the east coast had begun to feel like a lifetime ago, but hearing Jay’s voice had brought it all crashing back. He’s already regretting calling; what if Jay does want to be involved? What if he decides he wants custody? How would that work, with them on opposite sides of the country?

Stop it, he tells himself sternly. He hasn’t even had the baby yet; they’ll figure it out. He’s got bigger, more local things to worry about, like how he’s going to casually bring it up to his dad. Hamburgers are the best way to soften the blow, he decides; his dad would kill for a good hamburger, especially now that Stiles is back home and can monitor how much red meat he’s consuming, so that’s definitely the way to go. Maybe Dad will be so psyched about the burger that he won’t even mind that Stiles is pregnant.

When Stiles arrives at the station later that evening, he can’t help but look around for Derek. He’s nowhere in sight, though, and the parking lot’s mostly empty. He nods at the deputy on duty behind the front desk and heads for his dad’s office.

“What’s this for?” his dad asks suspiciously, when Stiles dumps the bag of food on his desk.

Stiles deflates a little; maybe his plan won’t work. “Can’t I treat my old man?”

Dad opens the bag and peers inside. “Not with - “ He inhales deeply. “Sweet potato fries. I thought I wasn’t allowed to have anything that’s touched vegetable oil.”

“Well, we all need a treat sometimes,” Stiles says defensively.

His father pulls out a hamburger and unwraps it, and there’s no denying the way his face lights up. “You’re up to something,” he says, and takes a big bite of hamburger, closing his eyes blissfully as he chews. When he’s swallowed, he waves the burger at Stiles and says, “What’s up with you? You’ve been more fidgety than usual lately.”

Stiles, who’d been anxiously jiggling his leg up and down, stills guiltily. “Nothing,” he says, trying to stall.

His dad shakes his head, taking another bite of hamburger. “Uh uh,” he says. “Spill.”

Stiles twists his mouth from side to side as he tries to work up the nerve. “Well, I…” He sighs. “I’m, uh, pregnant, Dad.”

His father stops chewing. He sets down the hamburger and then stares at Stiles, who shifts around in his chair uneasily. He looks down at his desk and then out to the lobby, gaze distant. He runs his hand over his hair and then looks at Stiles again. “Pregnant?”

Stiles nods nervously. “Yeah. I’m keeping it.”

“Pregnant,” his dad says again, almost to himself, thoughtful. “Huh.”

Stiles is confused - and a little concerned; this isn’t the reaction he expected. “Dad?” he says cautiously. “Did I break you?”

Dad shakes his head a little. “No, no,” he says. “I just, uh, wasn’t expecting that, I guess.” He considers his hamburger for a moment, brow furrowed. “It’s Jay’s?”

Stiles nods again.

“He knows?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re keeping it?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Dad squints at him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Stiles says defensively, a little irritated.

“Huh,” his dad says again. “Well - congratulations.”

Stiles blinks. “That’s it?”

His father frowns. “What do you want me to say?”

“I thought you’d, I dunno, try to talk me out of it.”

“You’re a grown man,” Dad says patiently. “You get to make your own decisions. Do you want me to try and talk you out of it?”

“No,” Stiles says. “I mean - no.”

“Then come here,” his dad says, getting to his feet and holding out his arms. Stiles gladly gets up and goes in for a hug. “Weirdest thing,” his dad says, patting Stiles’ back. “Your mom told me here too.”

“What, about me?” Stiles asks, surprised.

His dad nods. “Yep. Not in this office - I wasn’t sheriff yet - but she brought me lunch and told me in the break room.” He smiles. “Must be a family tradition.”

They settle back in their seats, but Stiles still eyes his dad with some surprise and trepidation. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks. “You’re not worried about me?”

Dad sighs. “Son, I worry about you every day - but I’m a parent; that’s what I do. You’re your own person now; if you’ve thought about this and decided it’s what you want, then I’ll support you.”

Stiles blinks, his throat unexpectedly tight. “Thanks, Dad.”

His dad smiles as he picks his hamburger back up. “I do reserve the right to laugh at you when your kid turns out to be as much of a hellion as you were.”

Stiles snorts. “Fair enough.”

He leaves later feeling lighter; his dad having his back is an unexpected but very much appreciated turn of events, and knowing that he’s going to be there for Stiles makes the thought of doing this so much easier. He’s still sure his dad isn’t as cool with it as he says he is, but Stiles will take what he can get.

Speaking of taking what he can get, Stiles has barely parked at the house when a cruiser pulls into the driveway behind him. Stiles grins as he hops out of the jeep, turning to watch Derek get out of the cruiser. “You’re here kind of early tonight,” Stiles says.

Derek shrugs. “I wanted to see you,” he replies.

Stiles is glad the sun’s already gone down so Derek can’t see how red his face gets. It’s flattering, all right? Derek’s been coming over almost every night, and Stiles isn’t going to lie to himself; he’s into Derek, and if he were to mention being interested in trying something a little more serious, Stiles certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it. The only thing complicating things now is...the baby.

Stiles doesn’t know whether to tell him or not. Like, it’s going to obvious in a couple months anyway, but he’s worried that if he tells Derek now, Derek might bounce - which is fine, he’s got every right to do that, but, selfishly, Stiles wants as much of him as he can get. And what happens if they decide to get serious? Derek should know so he can decide if he wants to deal with that - but then again, Stiles doesn’t want to bring it up if they’re not going to get serious.

He’ll wait a couple weeks, he thinks. Maybe it’s selfish (okay, he knows it’s selfish), but he’s waiting a couple weeks longer to tell his friends anyway, just to be sure he’s clear of the first trimester, so he figures he can tell Derek at the same time. His dad’s already promised not to tell the station until Stiles is ready, so there’s no danger on that end. He just hopes Derek will be cool with it; maybe he’ll luck out and Derek loves kids. Who knows.

Most of a week slips by, and even though it’s minute, he’s beginning to feel his body change. The morning sickness has mostly stopped, for one thing - thank god - and while his pants still fit, it’s becoming a great relief to get home from work and immediately change into sweatpants. He feels...happy, happier than he’s been in months. He still thinks this is crazy, but at the same time he’s proud of his decision, and to further cement it in place, he goes to the doctor for a check-up and gets an ultrasound. He grins when he sees it on the screen: his very own vaguely baby-shaped blob. The nurse gives him a printout, and after he’s finished work that evening, he heads over to the station to show his dad.

It’s still early when he gets there, the parking lot still somewhat full; most of the day shift hasn’t left yet. He’s a little surprised to see Derek standing halfway down the sidewalk outside the building, his head turned to look at the lot. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Stiles, but Stiles will stop to say hello - after he’s hidden the ultrasound somewhere. Stiles has to twist to reach it; it’s fallen off the passenger seat and onto the floor. When he’s straightened, hand reaching for the door handle, he sees that Derek’s dropped into a crouch, and he barely has time to register how weird this is before a young voice yells “Dad!” and a little boy comes running down the sidewalk and right into Derek’s arms.

Stiles stares at them blankly, frozen in the movement of opening the car door as he watches Derek swing the kid up into the air, both of them laughing. The kid can’t be any older than seven or so, and he’s basically a younger, softer carbon copy of Derek - there’s no way he’s not Derek’s kid, even ignoring the fact that he called Derek Dad. There’s a sinking feeling Stiles’ stomach, though; why wouldn’t have Derek told him he had a kid?

The why becomes apparent momentarily, as a dark-haired woman comes down the sidewalk from the same direction the kid had appeared from and Derek turns to talk to her, still smiling. The pit in Stiles’ stomach turns into a chasm. Derek has a family. Derek has a family, and he and Stiles have been fucking behind their backs.

Stiles curls into himself, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. “Fuck!” he hisses frantically. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” How could this happen? How could Derek do this to his family? How the fuck could he stand there smiling when just the night before he’d spent twenty minutes eating Stiles out before fucking his brains out? What’s wrong with him? And what’s so wrong with Stiles that he keeps attracting these fucking asshole cheaters? Derek’s just as bad as Jay - worse, even, because at least he and Jay weren’t married, and kids weren’t in the equation at the time. Even worse, Stiles told Derek what Jay had done a couple weeks ago, and Derek had sympathized. He’d known exactly what he was doing, and how Stiles felt about it, and he’d still done it, what the fuck.

Stiles grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, struggling to pull in air. He can’t believe this is happening to him - again. And he’s not just the blindsided victim this time; he’s part of it, he caused this. He’s the one who flirted, who didn’t listen when his dad told him to stay away, the one who told Derek to come to the house. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking. He tries to calm down; he knows that stress isn’t good for the baby, but he can’t quite seem to catch his breath, the air rattling in and out of him. He can’t seem to catch himself; he’s falling down a hill, racing toward a panic attack - when a knock on his window surprises him into breathing again.

Stiles looks up, hoping to see his dad, but to his horror, Derek’s standing there, looking concerned. “Stiles?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the glass. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, no,” Stiles groans, scrambling to get his keys into the ignition. “No, no, no - “

“Stiles?” Derek says again. “Do - ”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Stiles yells, so loud Derek takes a startled step backward, giving Stiles the room he needs to throw the jeep into reverse and zoom out of the spot. He speeds the entire way home, fighting to keep his breathing even. When he gets back to the house, he makes sure all the lights are out and doors are locked before he goes upstairs and collapses into bed, because he’s got a feeling Derek’s going to try to stop by. Until that happens, though, he stays curled in bed, fighting off his thoughts. He wants to talk to Scott, but he’s too ashamed to even pick up the phone.

Stiles’ suspicion eventually proves correct; a couple hours after he gets home, he hears a car pull into the driveway, and a minute or two later, someone knocks on the front door. He doesn’t bother getting out of bed, because there’s no one else it could be except Derek. He knocks again after a minute or two, and a couple minutes after that, Stiles hears the car leave. Derek doesn’t get the hint, though; he comes back the next three nights, and Stiles ignores him every time he comes to the door. Stiles actually sees him the fourth night; he’s up in his room by the window and sees the cruiser come down the street, slowing by the driveway, but Derek doesn’t pull in, and Stiles sighs in relief.

It takes a few weeks - with no further contact from Derek - for the hurt and shame to wear off enough that he feels like he can talk to Scott about it, but when he does, Scott’s completely on his side.

“This is not your fault, man,” he says. “Derek’s the one who decided to cheat.”

“Yeah, but I encouraged him,” Stiles says miserably. “If I hadn’t flirted with him - ”

Scott shakes his head. “You thought you were flirting with someone who was single,” he argues. “Derek knew exactly what he was doing. That’s sick.”

Stiles sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Doesn’t feel good,” he says. “I liked him, man. I thought he was a good dude. I don’t understand how people can do shit like this.”

Scott slings his arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “Some people are assholes. Don’t give up; we’ll find you someone who’s actually nice.”

Stiles waves his hand wearily. “Don’t bother; for now, I’m just going to concentrate on having this kid.”

And for a month, that’s what he does. He works as much overtime as the new job will allow, because he’s determined to do right by this baby. It’s pretty easy to save money when he’s living at home and not paying rent. His dad insists that Stiles can live in the house as long as he wants, which Stiles will certainly think about, but part of him wants a space for himself and the baby, a little home just for them. Jay gets back in touch; he doesn’t want to be a parent, but he sounds guilty and worried enough about it that he offers Stiles money in support, which Stiles says he’ll think about accepting - he’s got his pride, but now he’s got a kid to think about, too.

Overall, things are good. The baby’s healthy, all his friends and family know and support him, and Stiles is happy - for the most part. He can’t help the way his thoughts sometimes stray to Derek - especially when he’s horny, but then he inevitably thinks about Derek’s family, and it makes him sick to his stomach. He avoids the station, scared of running into Derek there; he’s got an excuse now anyway, since he works a normal nine to five, and then the overtime on top of that, and he tells his dad he’s been going to bed early. He can tell his dad knows something’s up, but Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell him - not after his dad warned him not to get involved with Derek. He’d known, Stiles thinks glumly. That’s why he’d warned Stiles off, and he hadn’t listened.

It’s - whatever. He’ll get past it eventually; the longer he goes without seeing Derek, the easier it is not to think about it, although one night he’s at the grocery store after work and he sees Derek’s wife, girlfriend, whatever she is, and he nearly has another panic attack, bending almost in half to stare at the navel oranges so she won’t see him. She’s got their kid with her, and they’re so close Stiles can hear them talking, the little boy reading off the labels in the exotic fruit section.

“Papaya,” he says proudly. “Per - per - Mom, what’s that one?”

“Persimmon,” the woman tells him. “You want to try one?”

“What’s it taste like?” the kid asks curiously.

“I don’t know; I’ve never had one,” the woman says, reaching out and picking one up. “Let’s try it.”

Stiles wants to melt through the ground. There’s absolutely no denying it now - the kid called her Mom and he already heard the kid call Derek Dad - and the worst part is they have no idea what Derek’s done to them. What Stiles has done to them. He should tell the woman so she knows, so she can leave him if she wants - Stiles has been in her shoes and god knows he would have wanted someone to tell him instead of finding out by accident. What if he’s not the only one Derek’s been with? He should tell her so she can get checked for STDs - but he can’t move. He’s worried about how she’ll react - and he can’t do it with the kid there, watching him, listening but not understanding. They move off through the produce section and Stiles rubs at his forehead, nervous sweat prickling at his temples. Maybe...he can write a letter, steal her contact information from his dad’s files; if they’re married, she’s probably Derek’s emergency contact. That’s what he’ll do. He exhales and chooses an orange. That’s what he’ll do.

Stiles puts it off. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He sits at his desk at work and gazes off into space, trying to compose the letter in his head. Dear ma’am, he tries. Too formal. To whom it may concern. Too impersonal. Dear Mrs. Hale. Too personal.

I’m a scumbag, he thinks, and scrubs his hands through his hair anxiously.

He puts it off for several days, and then the situation is completely torn from his hands, because Derek shows up at the house. Stiles is in the kitchen cleaning up after his dinner, so he doesn’t hear the car pull into the driveway, but he does hear the doorbell ring. It doesn’t even occur to him that it might be Derek outside; he thought that Derek had finally clued in on the fact that Stiles didn’t want to see him anymore, and anyway, Scott had mentioned he might stop by later, so Stiles opens the door expecting to see him, not Derek. For a moment, Stiles just stares; Derek is wearing civilian clothes, just jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but Stiles has never seen him dressed like that, and it throws him. Then Derek opens his mouth to speak and Stiles remembers who he is - what an asshole he is - and tries to slam the door shut, his body flushing hot with anger.

Derek catches the door before Stiles can close it, though; Stiles pushes at it angrily, but Derek’s stronger than he is. “Stiles,” Derek says. “Your dad asked me to stop by.”

Stiles stops pushing at the door, but only so he can glare at Derek. “Why?” he asks shortly.

Derek holds up a plastic bag, putting it between them like a shield. “He said you’ve been working a lot and he wanted to make sure you’re eating well.”

“I don’t need food,” Stiles says flatly. “I just ate.”

“Well - ”

“Goodbye,” Stiles says viciously, and shoves at the door.

Derek doesn’t budge. “Stiles,” he says again, in a soft, careful tone that makes Stiles’ insides squirm. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry. I want us to be friends.”

Stiles lets go of the door so abruptly that Derek almost stumbles at the sudden loss of pressure. Friends, he thinks furiously, and something inside him snaps. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snarls. “What the fuck - friends? Are you fucking kidding me? After what you did?” He’s breathing heavily, all the rage and hurt he’d begun to pack away rushing to the surface, pouring out of him. “How could you do that to them? To - to me? I told you what Jay did to me!”

Derek looks bewildered and a little concerned. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “What did I do?”

“You can stop pretending like you’re innocent,” Stiles spits. “I saw you. I saw them - I saw your kid.”

Derek’s face darkens. “What about my kid?” he snaps. “That’s what this is about? You’re pissed because I didn’t tell you about him?”

“No, I’m pissed because you’re a fucking cheater!” Stiles yells.

Derek furrows his heavy brows at Stiles, his face flushed. “And just who did I cheat on you with?” he asks sarcastically.

“Your wife,” Stiles says coldly.

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “I don’t have a wife,” he says shortly.

Stiles shrugs angrily. “Fine, your girlfriend, then. Whatever.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Derek says. He folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Will you stop?” Stiles says, suddenly weary. “Just - stop lying to me. I saw you guys at the station. I saw her and your kid at the store - he called her Mom.”

Derek’s face slackens in sudden understanding. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Stiles echoes sarcastically, then sighs. “Look - just get out of here. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Stiles, listen to me,” Derek says. “That was my sister.”

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Derek says. “My son’s mom is out of the picture. Cora’s been helping me with him since he was a baby. A couple months ago he decided he wanted to start calling her Mom and we’ve been trying to break the habit.” He stares at Stiles, eyes searching his face. “I swear I’m not lying.”

Stiles shifts uneasily, not sure what to believe. He never wanted to believe Derek would do this to him or his own family, but he feels so raw he’s not quite willing to open himself up again, afraid it’s just more lies.

“Ask your dad,” Derek says, sensing Stiles’ reluctance. “He’s met them both a thousand times.”

That makes Stiles pause; Derek wouldn’t say that unless it was true, because Stiles’ dad wouldn’t lie about something like that. Maybe Derek is telling the truth. “Okay,” he says quietly.

Derek looks at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Do you really think I’m the kind of person who’d do something like that?” he asks.

Stiles shrugs unhappily. “I didn’t want to think that,” he says. “But I never thought my ex was, either.”

Derek’s face softens slightly. “I get it,” he says quietly.

“No. I’m the asshole here,” Stiles says, and laughs, too sharp and high. “I guess I’ve got some shit to work on.” He reaches for the door. “Look, I - I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s okay, Stiles. I can see how - I should have been more clear.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, smiling uncomfortably. “You don’t owe me any explanation. It’s not like we were dating, anyway.”

Derek opens his mouth and then closes it, looking a little hurt. Stiles doesn’t have the energy to try and parse that reaction. He begins to close the door, but pauses when Derek says, “I still mean it. About being friends.”

“I - I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I - don’t want to be your friend. I want - wanted - to date you.” He sees Derek begin to open his mouth, and hurries on, plunging over the edge of the cliff as it comes into sight. “It’s not a good time. I’m having a kid, so - ”

Derek’s eyes go wide. “A kid?” he says, and his eyes dart down to Stiles’ stomach, hidden under the loose tee Stiles is wearing. He looks back at Stiles. “Mine?” he asks hoarsely.

“Oh, no!” Stiles hurries to say. “No, no - it’s my ex’s. Not yours.”

Derek visibly relaxes, and Stiles finds himself irrationally offended by this, like he’d be so awful to raise a kid with; he’s a fucking delight. “Well,” he says tightly. “LIke I said, it’s not a good time right now, so…”

“Right,” Derek says quietly. He hesitates before saying, “If there’s anything you need - ”

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles says curtly. “You can tell my dad I ate the food.”

Derek gives him a long look. “If you were avoiding the station because of me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to anymore.” And with that he turns on his heel and strides off down the driveway, where an SUV - not his cruiser - is parked. Stiles doesn’t wait to see him go; he shuts the front door and then puts his back to it, sinking down to the floor. His hands are shaking as the adrenaline arisen from his anger leaves him; he feels cold suddenly, and small. He doesn’t know what to think or feel; he’s almost sure Derek’s telling the truth, but he doesn’t feel any better about the situation. He feels a different kind of guilt now, as well as regret for fucking up the possibility of any kind of relationship between them, even a friendly one - you don’t come back from something like this, you just don’t. Why would Derek want to be friends with a paranoid asshole who yelled at him in front of the whole neighborhood?

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Scott says a few days later as they stand in his backyard, flipping a row of burgers on the grill. “You made a deduction based off the information you had, and it was pretty damning. I mean, you heard the kid call him Dad and the woman Mom - what were you supposed to think?”

Stiles sighs heavily, watching Scott’s daughter stalk around the backyard with a super soaker, strategically assassinating her Barbies. “Yeah, but I could have just talked to him instead of, you know, avoiding him for weeks and then screaming at him like a lunatic. Like an adult.”

“You were angry,” Scott says. “You apologized.”

“Dude, you are being way too easy on me,” Stiles says. “I know you’re my best friend and you’re on my side, but I was an ass.”

Scott sets down his spatula and raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? It’s not like that’s out of the norm for you. Why’s it bothering you so much?”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest uncomfortably. “I dunno,” he says. Then he sighs again, giving up. “Because I like him.”

Scott gives him an exasperated look. “So why didn’t you tell him that when he said he wanted to be friends?”

“Because I was still mad at him,” Stiles says.

“And now you’re not?”

“Now I just feel bad. About everything.” Stiles shrugs helplessly. “What do I do?”

Scott clicks his tongue, turning back to the grill. “I don’t know, man. I guess you can try talking to him, but don’t expect anything to come of it - this is a bell that you might not be able to unring.”

Stiles heaves one last sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.”

“Is it even worth it?” Scott asks, flipping the burgers again. “I mean - what’s your goal here?”

Stiles hesitates. “I’m not sure.”

“You need to figure it out,” Scott says pointedly, “or else you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

Stiles blinks, a little candor - but then again, that’s what he’s here for. He knows Scott’s right. What does he want? “Thanks, man,” he says.

Scott grins at him as Kira steps out into the backyard, a bowl of pasta salad in her arms. “You know, your life seemed a lot less dramatic when you were on the other side of the country, dude.”

Stiles snorts, not offended. “You and me both.” He turns to say hi to Kira and sees it happen in slow motion: Scott and Kira’s daughter, having executed all her Barbies, turns to living targets, and shoots Kira right in the side with a cold jet of water. Kira shrieks in surprise and her bowl of pasta salad goes flying. Stiles ends up covered in oily spirals of rotini and veggies, but he’s laughing too hard to care.

Stiles gets his chance to find out the truth about Derek a couple nights later, when he comes home to find it’s his dad’s night off, and he’s made them a generous spread for dinner. Stiles raises his eyebrows as he comes into the kitchen and sees all the food.

“What’s all this about?” he asks.

“Made it all from scratch,” Dad says proudly.

“Yeah, but why?” Stiles asks, amused. “You planning on feeding an army?”

“I just want to be sure you’re eating right,” his dad replies, looking pointedly at Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles pats his little bump protectively. “I am,” he says defensively, narrowing his eyes at his father. “And you don’t need to set your deputies on me to make sure of it, you know.”

Dad at least has the grace to look embarrassed, but he says, “I told you, Stiles; it’s my job to worry about you.”

Stiles shakes his head, but he helps his dad set the table, keeping his mouth closed until they’re both sitting, plates full. He watches his dad scoop up a fork full of corn and then, before he can grab another, Stiles asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Derek has a family?”

His father looks surprised. “You two always talk when he’s at the station; I thought he told you.”

“You’ve met his kid, though?” Stiles asks.

“Sure,” his dad nods. “Will. He’s a good kid. Well-behaved. Likes bugs.”

Stiles smiles, trying to sound casual. “And - “ He thinks hard for a moment, trying to remember; he’s certain Derek said his maybe sister’s name. “Cora,” Stiles says with relief, almost snapping his fingers. “You’ve met her?”

“A couple times,” his dad says. “You can definitely tell they’re all related - a very solemn family, they are. I thought she and Derek were twins the first time I met her.”

“They’re siblings,” Stiles says quietly.

“That’s what I’m saying,” his dad says, waving his fork around. “And that kid of Derek’s, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree - ”

Stiles stares off into space, his dad’s voice fading as Stiles’ thoughts demand his attention. So he really was wrong. He’d freaked out and yelled at Derek, who hadn’t done anything wrong. No wonder he’d looked so confused and hurt. God, this is what Stiles gets for jumping - cannonballing to conclusions.

“Stiles?” Stiles blinks and looks at his dad, who frowns. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says awkwardly. “I’m fine. I’ve just - got a lot on my mind.”

Dad’s frown deepens; Stiles can almost see the gears behind his eyes begin to turn. He hurriedly shoves chicken into his mouth, but it’s too late; his dad asks calmly - too calmly, “Why all the questions about the Hales, anyway?”

Stiles swallows hard. He tries to reach for the dinner rolls, but his dad yanks the bowl away from him. “I was just curious,” he says innocently.

“Why not ask Derek?” Dad asks, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you two were friends.”

“Maybe not right now,” Stiles says, wincing.

His dad sighs and buries his face in his hands. “Stiles,” he groans. “I told you. I asked you for one thing - one thing - and you couldn’t listen!?”

“I - I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Stiles protests, which, okay, isn’t quite true. He wanted it to happen. But Derek was the one who made the first move, so it’s a little true, right?

“No wonder he looks so guilty every time I see him,” Dad says irritably. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stiles bristles at this. “You’re the one who told me I’m old enough to make my own decisions. It’s not your problem.”

“It is my problem when it’s one of my deputies!” his father says sharply. “If this gets messy - ”

“It already is,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Or - it was. It doesn’t matter now. He’s - professional, Dad. It’s not going to be a problem.”

Dad eyes him for a long minute, gaze sharp, too observant. “He hurt you?” he asks, some of the anger fading from his voice.

“No,” Stiles says, avoiding his gaze now, digging disconsolately at his chicken. “I hurt him.”

He can feel his dad watching him still, the dining room quiet. After another long moment, his dad asks, “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No!” Stiles says, horrified. “No - just - leave him alone, please. He’s probably had his fill of Stilinskis getting into his business.”

Dad forces out an unamused laugh, but he doesn’t argue; he looks relieved. “Are you going to try to work it out with him?”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Does that mean you’ll start coming by the station again?” his father asks hopefully.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You just miss having your dinner hand-delivered to you every night.”

“Caught me,” his dad says sadly.

Stiles does start going back to the stations in the evenings, though, because he does miss spending time with his dad. He doesn’t go almost every night like he used to, and the first night he goes back, he’s more nervous than he expected to be, scanning the parking lot for any sign of Derek (there is none), and breathing a sigh of relief when he steps inside and it’s one of the older deputies on duty at the front desk. He knows that he’ll run into Derek eventually, but in the meantime, he just enjoys the time with his dad again.

Inevitably, it happens; he gets to the station one night and he’s halfway up the walkway when the door to the station opens and Derek steps outside. Derek sees him immediately - it’s not like Stiles has time to throw himself into the bushes - and his mouth thins. Stiles stops walking, his body going hot; this is the moment he’s been dreading, and he has no idea what to say. Derek didn’t stop; he’s getting closer, so Stiles goes with the first thing that comes to mind, a weak “Uh, hi.”

Derek looks at him coolly. For a moment, Stiles thinks he’s not going to say anything at all, but then he says, “Hi,” and walks right past him.

Stiles stares after him, his heart racing in his chest. That’s it? he wonders, disappointed. It just doesn’t feel right. He trots after Derek, calls, “Hey, can we talk?”

Derek casts him an irritated look over his shoulder. “I thought you wanted space.”

“I don’t,” Stiles confesses. Derek stops in front of his cruiser and turns to look at him, his brow furrowing. Stiles plunges onward: “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I just need you to know I’m sorry.”

Derek looks exasperated. “I told you; it’s fine,” he says.

“It’s not,” Stiles says. “I was way out of line. I shouldn’t have treated you like that - I’m sorry.”

“I get it,” Derek says shortly. “What do you want from me, Stiles? You said you didn’t want to be friends. I left you alone. What do you want?”

“I know,” Stiles says wretchedly. “I know. I was still freaking out when I said that. I’m - things are really weird right now, all right? This - “ He gestures at his stomach, then at the world around them, as if to say everything. “ - is a mess. I’m a mess; I know that. But I really liked spending time with you - even before we started hooking up. So - I don’t know. You’ve got every right to tell me to fuck off, but I’d regret it if I didn’t tell you that I wanted to go back to the way things were - or just be friends. Whatever you want.”

Derek slowly sinks down to sit on the hood of his cruiser, brow still furrowed. Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and hovers there, watching him anxiously. “What about your kid?” he asks eventually, nodding toward Stiles’ stomach.

“What about it?” Stiles asks. “I don’t expect you to be a dad or anything. What about your kid?”

Derek snorts softly. “Touché.”

They’re quiet for another long moment, Stiles rocking on his heels to try and soothe some of his nervous energy. Eventually, though, Derek says, “I can’t do it.”

Stiles blinks, his heart sinking. “What?”

“I can’t do it,” Derek says again. “I can’t go back to where we were, and I can’t be your friend.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, disappointed. “Well. That’s fair. I - ”

“However,” Derek says, speaking over him. “I can take you out sometime.” He offers Stiles a faint smile. “Dinner, maybe?”

Stiles stares at him. “Seriously?” Derek nods, and Stiles starts to grin. “I - shit, man. That was sneaky.”

Derek looks pleased. “Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes,” Stiles nods, grinning widely now.

“Come here,” Derek says, gesturing at him, and Stiles closes the distance between them. Derek tilts his head back so he can meet Stiles’ eyes and says, “I’ve missed seeing you.”

“Me too,” Stiles says - and then, because he’s there, and because he can, he dips down for a quick kiss. Derek approves; he curls his fingers in Stiles’ belt loops and pulls him in closer and they kiss again, deeper, slower - only to jerk apart when a window bangs open somewhere behind Stiles and his dad yells, “Hey, hey - not in my parking lot! Cut it out!”

Stiles grins down at Derek, his face hot. “Dinner, then? Tomorrow?”

Derek smiles, his cheeks flushed. “It’s a date.”

#my fics #blacktofade #cw: mpreg #Sterek

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