#i found ONE box of matches out in plain sight on the kitchen counter and its full of spent matches. like its MOCKING me

[theygender]

I told myself that if I opened all the windows and lit incense I'd be okay but now I can't find any matches or lighters and I can't scream my frustrations while digging through every drawer in the house bc the windows are open. One of life's many trials

[itsgothgirlthyme]

Chapter 1: City Style

Ken Doll

Chapter 1: City Style

Word count: 2805

cw: g/t (duh!), swearing, hints of fearplay, but it's all just fluff mostly :) 

Note: This story has been brewing in my mind ever since I saw Barbie with my friend :) i've been adjusting to living in my new home and job! Things are going pretty well btw!

Anyway! honestly kinda challenging writing about 12 inch characters since i’m used to writing about smaller (my tiny 5inch steve harrington). lol. BUT IT'S BEEN FUN! This is ryan gosling’s ken btw, bc i said so. 

...

Anna rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to focus her dry eyes on her computer screen. Her brows furrowed and she let out a deep sigh. She shut the computer and rubbed her eyes. She got up from the dinner table and slammed her window shut. The muffled traffic outside eased her mind. Instead of, not staring at a screen that irritated her mind and body, she scrolled through her phone. 

Her text notifications were highlighted in big red blobs as she swiped past them. Eventually, doom scrolling her way to a toy company page on Instagram. Large letters in fun fonts were colored brightly. She raised a brow at the celebrity appearances which increased their likes. After a few minutes of research, she found out their orders had even tripled recently. All for a new line of robot toys, making her frown. 

“Shit,” she scratched her brow, “might need to work for these guys.” 

The thought of a bigger paycheck did make her smile. It was tempting to leave the company she’d been contracted with for years. Though they’d kept her and accommodated her needs when her accident happened. Except now her paychecks were slimming, she was pulling out of her savings, and she’d only now got insurance to cover for her meds. Then the problems just piled on from there. 

“Damn… mood ruined,” she said to herself. 

Anna shook her head as if her thoughts would disappear with the motion. They didn’t. She deeply sighed and set her phone down on the kitchen counter. Anna’s glasses fogged when she opened a bag of steamed vegetables. She dumped the veggies into her bowl of rice and meat before diving in. Every full spoon of food in her mouth was met with a harsh critique. She scrolled through the comments on the graphic designs she’d submitted. The latest one was for a doll in Mattel. Trying to do Barbie justice seemed harder every day for some reason.  

A light knock on her door caused her to jump in her seat. She slowly walked up to the door and looked through the peephole. The apartment door across from her was the only thing in sight. Anna opened up the door and looked downwards. There was a white parcel waiting with her name on it. She picked it up and placed it on the dinner table. She examined it but realized there was no return address. Confused, she set it aside and scrolled through her emails. 

Anna got lost in her work and remembered the package at midnight. Her dark short hair was wrapped around large curlers. She wore matching green satin pajamas and fluffy socks. 

“Right…” she eyed the mystery box and grabbed a pair of scissors. 

The box revealed a familiar product. 

“Okay, Ken,” she said to the doll staring back at her through plastic, “let’s see what you’re here for.” 

She set the box to the side and started to scroll through her email. She searched, and searched, and searched. Nothing. She furrowed her brows and realized she’d never gotten a Ken to advertise in her career with Mattel. Anna snorted. Someone would have to do some insanely good marketing to get a single Kens sales up. 

She looked at the basic model of Ken. Blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing soft pastels. Her brow raised at the color choices. She liked them. He had a plain pink pastel shirt, and beige pants alongside white shoes. The more she stared she swore she could see more detail. The plastic looked textured and she swore his hair looked coarse. Anna blinked and rubbed her eyes. 

“I think I’ve actually lost it,” she said under her breath. 

She got up from her chair and shut her computer. Anna decided she would just call work tomorrow and figure it all out. Except when she started to step away some curiosity swirled in her mind. She looked over her shoulder at the box face up on her table. She’d already stepped into her room and could just fall into bed. 

“Ah, shit. It doesn’t hurt to look,” Anna said. 

She took a seat again and started to cut off the tape around the box. Then she gently pulled the cardboard latches. She slid out the flimsy cardboard printed with a blue cloudy background and the Ken doll attached. She picked it up into her hands and her thumbs were beside his ziplocked hands. 

Anna truly believed she was losing it because this Ken was heavily detailed. Too detailed, too human-like and it was bugging her. She rubbed her eyes with one hand and adjusted her glasses. Then she heard a breath that wasn’t her own. She once again looked down at the doll. 

Ken blinked. 

What. 

The.

Fuck. 

Ken blinked, again. His brows shot up before letting out a shout alongside Anna who dropped him. Her chair smacked against the floor as they both continued to scream. After a minute they’d both gone quiet. Anna with her hand over her thumping chest and Ken frantically looked around him. A pang of guilt hit her chest as she realized he was still trapped in ziplock cuffs. 

She bit the inside of her cheek realizing she was referring to a toy. Yet he was so… lifelike… and his confused face was making her heart sting. She silently reached for the scissors as her shadow covered Ken. She hovered over him, still standing, and moved the scissors near his right hand. He turned his face to the sharp tool and then looked away while squeezing his eyes shut. 

She frowned but Anna snipped off the first ziplock cuff. After that, he turned his head back to the spot. He looked surprised and then he smiled widely at being able to move his hand. She smiled softly as he curled and uncurled his fingers in front of his face. While he was distracted she snipped off the rest of the ziplock. When he’d realized he was free he looked up at her with a smile. 

“Thank you!” he said. 

Anna still unsure of what the fuck was happening, hesitated before responding. 

“You’re welcome,” she said. 

She opened her mouth to say something as Ken got up. He looked at his surroundings with his hands on his hips. Anna just couldn’t find any words as she watched his beaming face falter. He still stood on top of the cheap cardboard and mumbled to himself. His brows were scrunched up in confusion and his lips were pressed into a thin line. 

“Okay, it has to be AI,” she told herself, causing Ken to look up at her. 

“What’s AI?” he asked just as Anna set her chair back and took a seat, “And uh where am I?” his voice went up a pitch. He kept up a brave face but his body language said otherwise. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and started to over-fix his hair. Anna felt another pang of guilt in her chest. She tried to push it away and wondered if this was a part of the appeal for a new toy. Its awareness was off the charts, and again seemed so human. 

“You’re at my apartment,” she said, not wanting to explain Artificial Intelligence to something that was most likely AI or close to it. 

“Oh,” he blinked like it wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “It’s nice,” he complimented, “and really big.” 

She smiled at that, “Even I feel like it’s kinda big sometimes,” Anna said. A decent-sized kitchen was behind her. She sat at her dining room table. To her right was her living room with lots of furniture and personality. Three doors spread out in the apartment. Once was for the entrance, the other door next to it belonged to the bathroom. The open door to the right of the couch went into her bedroom. It was a score honestly, she’d gotten lucky before inflation hit and managed to keep the place. 

Anna looked at Ken who again was looking around with wide eyes. She snapped the laptop open causing him to jump and let out a squeal. She muttered an apology while he tried to play it off like he hadn’t been scared. Her ringed fingers clacked against the keyboard as she started to type keywords into a search engine. Ken had leaned his pretty self to look at the screen. The flashing of colors made his eyes hurt as it felt like she was scrolling 10 miles per hour. 

“Nothing…” she muttered. 

All she saw was some shitty Barbie AI filter, a Mattel babysitter bot, more Barbie models that were problematic and cute little robots. Then she moved to her emails, but there was nothing. 

“Nothing? What is nothing?” Ken asked, causing her to remember he was still there. Not a dream or a figment of her imagination. He had this display of confusion written all over his face, and couldn’t seem to stress what he was confused about. Anna dragged her hand over her face. 

“I’m trying to figure out what you are, or who sent you… or anything,” she explained and then perked up. “Wait! Do you know what you’re doing here? How did you get here? What are you?” she bombarded him with questions. Ken froze up and gave her a blank look. 

“You don’t know… do you?” she deadpanned. 

He shrugged with a pitiful smile but then he lit up. Anna felt hopeful as he opened his mouth to explain. 

“Well, I know I was in Barbie Land,” he started and Anna’s hope shattered. “… and I’d been trying to y’know… find what it means to be Ken. I-I can’t remember when I got in that box, and why I’m so… small,” he let out a defeated sigh. 

Anna let out a dramatic groan startling Ken again. That was a lot to unpack but nothing useful to her. 

“Sorry,” she said. 

Ken just blew out air from his mouth and put his hands on his hips. “Not a big deal,” he said and she raised a brow at that. He attempted a look of *whatever, it’s cool* but he did not seem cool with it, at all. 

“Right right,” she said amused. 

She eyed him and he looked away when she started to stare for a long time. She reached her hand out to him and wrapped her fingers around his waist. He snapped his eyes to her hand as she lifted him from the table. 

“Woah uhh,” he fumbled for words as his fingers wrapped around hers, “can you put me down?” he asked. 

She held onto him with one hand and used the other to take his shirt off. Numerous protests came out of Ken’s mouth yet he had no choice but to comply. Anna held the piece of fabric between her fingers which was soft and didn’t have the typical plastic shine. Meaning the stuff wasn’t cheap, that was for sure. He wasn’t cheap, it made her feel like she shouldn't even be holding him. The pale pink colored shirt even had a tiny tag, it said, Mattel. She set it aside on the table and then turned to Ken. 

His back was facing her as she traced her thumb over it. She reeled her head back in surprise at the warmth under her thumb. She could feel the grooves in his spine and he felt fleshy. Fleshy yet smooth, like plastic. She squinted to see if she could find anything to explain all of this. The outline to a compartment box or serial numbers. 

There was nothing and tiny hands around her finger grew tight. She let out a huff and the puff of air gave Ken goosebumps. He looked at his arms in surprise at the chilling sensation he’d felt. When he looked up he was met with her face. His face was inches away from hers as she examined him. He could feel the heat rising to his face at the proximity. 

Damn, his abs are crazy defined she thought to herself. She used one hand to prop up his upper back with one thumb over his chest. Her other hand was on his lower back with her thumb to his left side. A pulse under the pad of her thumb caused her to blink again. The pulse under her thumb on his chest wasn't coming from her. 

“What the fuck…” she whispered. This was getting far too weird. She got an incredibly advanced doll with no return address, opened it (like an idiot), and had zero information on it.

“What are you?” she asked. 

“I’m Ken,” he said. 

He’d slid his hand over her green-painted nail and held it there. He wasn’t sure what to do, it was a completely new situation for him. Sure, he’d had memories of being taken out of the box. Then he was in Barbie Land, that's how it was. It was never this literal. 

Maybe this was a punishment or a new beginning. Yet that didn’t explain anything. His head was going to explode from racking through his brain. 

Anna let out a noise of frustration after finding nothing other than well-defined abs on Ken. She set him down and he sat on the edge of her table. He was quick to pull his shirt over himself as she went through her computer. Click after clack, nothing. Meanwhile, Ken was swinging his feet back and forth trying not to think too hard. 

“Nada, zero, zulch,” she said. It had already been a bit over 2 hours and 3 am was nearing. “I give up. I’ll call work tomorrow and maybe they’ll know what the hell you are,” Anna tilted her head down. 

“But I’m Ken,” he said, again. He didn’t even seem confident saying those words. 

“Yeah I know you’re Ken, but what does that mean?” In this specific situation, Anna thought to herself. 

That earned his silence and his shoulders slumped. She hesitantly gave him a finger tap on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s my fault for opening up your box in the first place actually… Shouldn’t have been nosey.” 

He looked up at her which made her chest squeeze. Those puppy dog eyes were convincing her that he was so real, it was weird. Anna yawned a second after and pushed her chair back. She shut the laptop and turned off the kitchen light. She tidied up a bit and then plugged in her computer at the table. 

Immediately Ken stood up and she turned to him. 

“Do you sleep or charge?” she asked. 

“I sleep,” he said snappily. Probably insinuating that he isn’t a toy, but a real Ken doll with sentience. 

Okay. Sensitive much?

Anna hummed and racked up her 3 a.m. brain to think of something. She didn’t recall having much Barbie furniture so… she decided her bed would do. 

“Wanna join me in my bed? I don’t think I have anything for your size,” Anna said. 

“Like sleeping together in the same bed?” Ken asked with brows raised. 

“Yeah,” she said. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

She squinted at him and tilted her head. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Are you sure?” she asked. 

He thought about it for a moment before looking up at her with a smile and nod. She actually could feel the wave of cuteness overload and tug at her heartstrings. He gazed up at her as she hesitantly put her hands around him. This time aware of what she was doing. She used one hand to pick him up by his waist and pulled him close to her chest. She used her free hand to shut the lights off and strolled into her room. Her unmade queen-sized bed awaited them and she set him down on the side she never slept on. 

Anna went to her bedside and turned on the desk lamp. She fixed a couple of hair rollers and then slipped her glasses off. She turned off the light and caught Ken staring at her. He was sitting on top of the bed sheets and leaning his back against the pillow. He was quick to look away and she’d noticed his hair was out of place. She smiled to herself before switching off the light. 

Her head sunk into the pillow and with half-lidded eyes watched Ken. He was fidgeting with his fingers and was looking at everything but her. She decided to pull the sheets over him and he’d jerked back for a second. Realizing it was her hand in the darkness he relaxed and turned to her. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

Anna hummed and then dozed off into sleep. Ken was left awake but he found himself fighting off sleep. Finally, he slept as well, hoping he’d wake up in Barbie Land. 

...

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

[imaginativeamateur]

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] Burnt Eggs

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x gn!Reader

Note: HELLO! This is my debut:)) Enjoy!

In the breezing morning, without any tasks waiting, you felt extra relaxed as you strolled through the empty streets, heading to a nearby market. It was still early for the sun to shine its ray through the clouds, you unconsciously appreciated the surrounding dimed with little lingering lights from the lampposts.

Humming as you made your way through the food stalls at the market, hands gathering any ingredients that came across your eyes, making a mental note of what you were planning to make later. On your way back, you noticed people starting to set up tables and chairs in the morning cafes as the humid wind slightly passed against your cheeks. It was summer, the flowers were blooming wide between the green leaves, bright red, white, and yellow flowers weaved your way back home.

You opened the door to your apartment and dropped your grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Taking a few steps to the window sill, you slid the clear panel aside and allowed the natural sunlight to beam inside, dancing on the floor. Little specks of dust rose from the sudden disturbance, glimmering in the morning’s light. Pulling your hair up into a messy bun, you switched the fan with your toe and as you waltzed to the kitchen. You enjoyed the wind billowing into your apartment, a morning like this was rare, the office hours and piles of paper had been dragging you for a long, long time. You started by washing the fresh vegetables and set them on the counter to dry, moving on to cooking rice, beating eggs.

After one hour of diligence, you found yourself staring at a full table of food, not to mention the slightly burnt pans in the sink. This had always been your bad habit – making more than what you could probably eat. You planned to get Ino or Sakura if they wanted to come over and share the food with you, only to realize that they were both on their missions. Being extraordinary Shinobi they were, you sometimes could not help but compare yourself with the young girls. Even though you had only been friends with them for around a month or so, they saw you as a sister and helped you a lot in making this place feel like home. Naruto was off with Jiraiya already, Kurenai was definitely with Asuma and you did not want to third-wheel their date, it was the weekend after all. You could certainly refrigerate the food, only if you would be home that night, unfortunately, you needed to attend a random dinner with your committee.

Sighing, a thought came across your mind, maybe you could bring some over for Kakashi next door. You heard he was back from his mission yesterday night.

“But I don’t really… know him!” your inner-self doubted.

“What if he thinks I am poisoning him?” You asked yourself, rolling on the couch.

“This is ridiculous! It’s just a normal meal, it should be fine!”

“What will I reason if he asks?”

“Well, just say that you made some extra food, there’s no need to freak out!”

You hesitated slightly as you knocked on his door, once, twice, and waited for the silver-haired Ninja to open it. You had seen Kakashi before, conversed with him quite a few times, but you two were not especially close for you to do something this intimate. You had known his students, but not especially Kakashi himself. At least, you considered cooking for him to be intimate. At this point, you started to regret your decision when the door remained still, with no signs of movement. Just when you were about to turn your heels, Kakashi opened the door, his masked face poked out through the thin creak. You jolted at his sudden appearance, not knowing what to say. He stared at you, shifting his gaze to the container you are holding in your quivering fingers, the mood grew more awkward as none of you decided to speak.

You could not deny that you find the masked Ninja oddly attractive, especially the way he held his gaze half-lidded. Yet, you were determined to affirm yourself that it was only a mere thought of arousal and that it would go away soon.

After you made up your mind, you get up from the couch and scooped heaps of food into a plastic container, secured the lid, and dawdled your way over to Kakashi’s.

Finally, you parted your trembling lips, not able to sustain his intense stare, “I made some food earlier. Ugh, I guess we can eat to…, I meant I wanted to bring you some. Um, hope you will like it!”

You briefly shoved the container into his hands and bowed with nervousness before you sprinted back to your apartment. After two long strides, you stumbled upon your slippers and headed straight to the ground, bracing yourself for a rough landing. This was another reason why you would never belong to the Shinobi world: you would likely shove your face into the dirt before the opponent could even pull out a kunai. But when you were about to kiss the ground, a strong grip pulled you back to your feet. Kakashi fully appeared… in his tight, sleeveless tank and long pants, his half-lidded eye still cloudy from being wakened up early in the morning, you assumed. His tank’s material hugged perfectly to his lean built, outlining the defined muscles underneath. You could not help but be flustered at your thoughts and blamed the summer’s heat for them. You glanced down to his hand holding onto your arm and gulped, “Thank… thank you!”

Thoughts were going wild in your head. How did he know that you had not eaten yet? Did he stalk you or something? That was creepy! What did you get yourself into?

He released his hand, fixed his posture straight, and murmured under his mask, “Bring your breakfast over and join me!”

You look up, stuttered, you did not hear it wrong, did you? “I’m fine, I… already ate, I’ll take my leave now!”

The silver-haired Ninja tilted his head to one side, “What do you get by lying to me, Y/N?”

What happened to Kakashi? What were you supposed to do?  Was he literally asking you to eat with him? What if he kidnapped you to some weird places? While questioning, you still could not deny the butterflies welling up in your stomach as you get back to your apartment, maybe it was not bad at all, to spend your breakfast with a mysterious yet attractive Ninja of Konoha.

Seeing the confusion written all over your face, his visible eye crinkled, “You had your curtains opened.”

You closed your eyes, wanting to escape this great embarrassment, “You have been watching me?” You, of course, did not want to use ‘stalking’, especially in this context, but still shuddered at the thought that he had been observing you for Kami knows how long.

Still giving you his eye smile, Kakashi dropped a bombshell, “Right when you burnt the eggs.”

You froze, asking yourself what you did to get into this situation. Looking at his smile made you want to dig yourself a hole and disappear right away. You raised your voice a bit, “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry if I -”

“Nah, I just went back to sleep. But whatever you have in here smells good,” he shrugged, eyeing you, “why are you still here? Go back and get your breakfast!”

You exhaled heavily and take your leave, “Okay, I will be back shortly.”

It took your eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness inside his apartment. Kakashi was seated – actually perching would be a better word to describe his posture – on the edge of his sofa with his Icha Icha firmly in hand. You silently wondered how he could possibly read with such little light.

“So you’re not going to turn on the light,” you chirped, “at least open your curtain, Kakashi-san.”

You finally got his attention as he placed the book on the low table beside and went for the window, “Welcome to my apartment!” The radiating light now allowed you to fully capture his apartment in sight, simple, and a bit… plain if you were to say.

“I saw you beating eggs earlier,” he raised an eyebrow, “what did you make?”

Opening your containers, you both settled down on the sofa, sitting across from each other. You amusedly explained, “Just traditional dishes, healthy and delicious, I hope!”

You clapped your palms together before starting to dig into your food, you were starving and practically drooling at the smell of your own crafts. “Oh, I don’t have my chopsticks,” you looked up, smiling warily at the masked Ninja. He pointed to the kitchen and motioned you to go get a pair of chopsticks. You made your way into his kitchen, there was literally nothing present on the kitchen counter, except for a kettle in the corner, a small, single stove, and a sink with bowls neatly stacked on the drying rack.

“Kakashi-san, I don’t see the chopsticks!” you called out to the Ninja.

“Sixth row from the left, second last drawer from the bottom,” he elucidated in a neutral tone, “make sure you are pulling it out, not swinging it open.”

It would be an easy task locating the right one until you glanced down at his endless rows of drawers, all matching in design and color. Mumbling his direction, you traced your index across the rows and counted your way through, and stopped at the one that seemed to fit his description. You were just about to pull the drawer open, he added, “Be careful, you don’t want to open the wrong one!”

You flinched at his words and lifted yourself up, starting to count once again, this time, paying closer attention. “It must be some weird stuff that he stores in there, maybe deadly weapons” you whispered, “or Icha Icha, maybe. Why on Earth does he even store such things here?”

“Can you locate the chopsticks?” he rang from outside.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” you quickly pulled on a drawer after already making sure that it was the right one twice and sighed in relief to see chopsticks lying in a metal box. You grabbed a pair and hurried outside without forgetting to push the drawer back in its place.

When you plopped yourself onto the sofa, Kakashi brought his palms together and bent his upper body down to the empty container, “Thank you for the meal, it was delicious!”

“Wow, that was fast,” you acclaimed, the thought of seeing his bare face shattered into pieces, “is my cooking okay?”

“Not bad, it somehow reminds me of something familiar…” he drifted off.

Seeing the man in front did not one to further the topic, you began eating, feeling glad that the burnt eggs turned out edible. “Do you often cook?” you initiated.

“Not that frequently, but I know how to cook though,” he replied.

You nodded at his answer, eyes wandering around the apartment to fully take in the sight, this time more carefully. “Do you especially like a certain dish, Kakashi-san?” The questions slipped out before you actually noticed and smiled hesitantly. Too fast, you noted.

“I’ve grown attached to eating basically anything for survival,” he shrugged, “but I recently found Ichiraku’s quite good of a ramen shop.”

You saw his lips curved under the mask at the implicit mention of his student’s obsession with ramen. You had heard of Naruto before, and of course, Team 7, well, without Sasuke.

“How about you?” he suddenly asked.

“Oh,” you shifted and leaned back a little bit, “food is my guilty pleasure.”

“Hm,” Kakashi looked up in question.

“I like anything from curry to sushi, or any kind of soup and noodles,” you exclaimed in joy, delighted to talk about your love for the place’s varied cuisine, “Konoha is such a great place for gustatory satisfaction!”

“Glad that you like it here! How long have you been here for?”

“Not very long, probably three months?” you tilted your head to one side and tapped your chin.

“It must be difficult to adjust to the place at first.” He commented.

“It was, I grew up in a rural area and Konoha seemed to be a busy place when I first came,” you admitted, “but I was lucky to meet, well, Sakura-chan and eventually Naruto-kun and their fellow Shinobi friends.”

“Sakura mentioned you several times, how did you two meet though?” the silver-haired Ninja leaned back onto the couch.

“Not in a very optimistic circumstance, I suppose,” you inwardly spoke, “I got myself into some villagers’ heated argument and one of them threw a punch in my face when I was trying to pacify the situation.”

Kakashi’s eye sparked a light but he did not speak.

“I ended up in the hospital with a swollen cheek, slightly fractured bone, and Sakura eased my pain.” You unconsciously reached for your face and rubbed against your cheek, silently admiring Sakura’s skills as a young, successful Medic.

You two kept talking for a long time, Kakashi did not reveal his past too much, it was mainly you answering his random questions. You were quite surprised that you both shared many similarities, the same dislike for sweets and crowded places, the same love for dogs and silent strolls in the forest, to have the same background as orphans and self-reliant individuals. He even promised to bring you to their training session one day. Within that mere hour, you sparked a strong bond that you never knew would last for a long time, neither did Kakashi.

[stiltonbasket]

Nielan fathers day prompt! Sorry if its late, but how about finding out they're going to be parents on Fathers Day? (mpreg, adoption, surrogacy, your choice).

anon: the first fathers' day after jingyi is born, modern lxc and nmj both set up a present for each other "from Jingyi." It's very cute. Baby Jingyi magnanimously chews on his foot and accepts giving two presents and meals.

this is for the art thief au, so lxc is trans here!

(ao3 link)

----

What should I give Xichen for Father’s day?

Nie Mingjue has been puzzling over gift ideas for the past two weeks, with no luck whatsoever. Jingyi is still too small to make them gifts, so he and Xichen use the occasion to exchange presents with each other and label them with their little boy’s name; Xichen probably picked out his gifts already, since he knows Nie Mingjue’s tastes like the back of his hand, but Mingjue keeps flipping through mail-order catalogues and crossing off their entire inventory as he goes.

“I have present,” Jingyi insists, as Nie Mingjue carries him down yet another aisle of their local department store. “A-Die, look!”

Mingjue looks. A-Yi is holding a six-pack of orange bath sponges, since Xichen mentioned that they needed some more earlier that morning.

“That’s not a Father’s Day gift, A-Bao,” Mingjue chides, kissing Jingyi’s forehead. “Last year, I gave your Ba a brooch with his initials on it, remember? It has to be pretty.”

Jingyi wrinkles his tiny nose. “Starfish?”

“Mm, the starfish brooch.” Lan Xichen has an impressive collection of jewelry, with most of it coming from gifts Nie Mingjue gave him over the course of their fifteen years together; and nearly all of the pieces are sea-themed to go with his husband’s wardrobe and his clear, moon-white skin.

Perhaps he could buy pearls, this time?

“A-Yi,” he says slowly, “what do you think about going to the discount shop across town?”

A-Yi is happy enough to go wherever his father goes, so Nie Mingjue drives to the discount store--full of discarded, overstocked, and secondhand merchandise from all over the city--and digs through the bins of jewelry until he finds an antique bracelet, strung with pearls carved into the shapes of starfish and clam shells. Jingyi nearly loses his little mind at the sight of it, and he squeals at the top of his lungs while Mingjue pays for the bracelet and bundles him back to the car.

“I know them,” he declares, when Mingjue gives him the bracelet to play with on the way home. “Diedie, it’s a clam!”

Mingjue glances up at his son’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Can you count how many clams there are?”

Jingyi flings himself headlong into the task, counting twelve starfish and eleven clams, and then he peruses the Learning Reader books Xichen keeps in the back seat until Mingjue carries him into the house.

His husband runs to meet them at the door, and it is this, not the driveway or their well-worn doorstep, that means Nie Mingjue has finally come home.

______

To Nie Mingjue, stepping into his woodworking studio feels like stepping into another world.

It isn't that the studio looks very different from the rest of the house--in fact, Nie Mingjue had a tiny nursery built into the north corner, since he set the studio up with A-Yi’s needs in mind--but Mingjue feels different here, more sure of himself, and aware of his own thoughts and hopes as he scarcely is anywhere else. He had only to enter, and he was changed: his hands steadier, his heartbeat slower, and his mind somewhere distant and immediate all at once. It is here that he pays homage to his heart, his muse, and the dearest friend he has ever had, or ever will. It is here that he pours pieces of his love for his husband into everything he touches, and everything he makes, and emerges with pieces of polished art like testaments to the husband he vowed his life to. 

“That isn’t a metaphor,” Nie Mingjue said once, when Huaisang asked what he meant. Mingjue has carved everything from furniture to lamps into shapes reminiscent of his husband’s lips, perfected the stems of wooden sunflowers to match the sweet arch of Lan Xichen’s neck, and burnished every last one of his creations until they shone like sunlight falling on the apples of his husband’s cheeks. He etches A-Huan’s expressions into the faces of statues intended for the foyers of upscale hotels, and into a thousand quarter and sixth-scale figures commissioned by model collectors, since he rarely has any excuse to sculpt his husband directly. But today he does, so he sits down at his bench and gets to work with a block of oak and his favorite gouge and chisel.

He will love this, Nie Mingjue thinks, as two bowed heads and a pair of smiles take shape under his hands. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever made.

He glances over his shoulder at Jingyi, fast asleep in the glass-walled nursery with his feet up in the air, and turns back to the sculpture with his heart quivering in his chest.

______

The sculpture takes about a fortnight to complete, almost exactly the span of time between the day Nie Mingjue begins working on it and the holiday it was intended for. Nie Mingjue wakes up early on Father’s day, leaving Xichen asleep behind him, and bundles A-Yi out of bed and down into the studio. They wrap the sculpture up together in Jingyi’s favorite gift wrap, and then Nie Mingjue carries him to the kitchen just in time to catch his husband as he comes stumbling down the stairs.

“Good morning, love” Lan Xichen sighs, burrowing into Nie Mingjue’s arms. “What should we have for breakfast?”

“Eggs?”

For some reason, Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“Noodles, then?”

This suggestion is met by a drowsy nod, so Mingjue goes to the fridge to dig out  a few ingredients while Lan Xichen hops onto one of the bar stools with Jingyi in his lap. He chops the scallions and garlic for plain noodle soup around their son’s little body, leaving Mingjue to boil noodles in one pot and stock with soy sauce and sugar in another until three blue bowls of yang chun mian are steaming on the counter.

“Smells yummy,” Jingyi yawns, while Xichen spoons fresh green onions into his soup bowl. “Baba, feed A-Yi?”

“He’s forgotten about the presents,” Lan Xichen mouths, as Nie Mingjue tries not to snicker. They eat quickly, slurping down the noodle soup with cups of soy milk on the side, and then Jingyi scrambles to the other side of the room before running back with Mingjue’s wrapped box in his arms.

“Father’s Day gift!” he squeaks, wriggling like a happy worm as Xichen laughs and tries to remove the gift wrap without tearing it; because Jingyi never lets either of them cover gifts with anything but Pingu penguin-printed paper, and he cries if anyone rips it up in front of him.

Mingjue used the weakest tape he could find, so that Xichen could extract the box with the paper left mostly whole. He hands the paper to Jingyi, watching as his husband’s slender fingers close around the base of the sculpture, and then--

“Oh!” Lan Xichen gasps, pulling it all the way out into the light. “A-Jue, I--”

The sculpture depicts him and Jingyi at the beach near their house--in fact, at the same beach where Mingjue and Xichen first met. Mingjue was sitting on a sandy rock, catching his breath after running around behind a hyperactive Nie Huaisang all day, and then he looked out over the foggy water and saw what looked like a water spirit drifting out of the darkness in a rowboat.

He sculpted Xichen seated on that very rock, with his long hair tangling in an invisible gale, and a little heap of shells (the pearls from the old bracelet he found at the discount store) piled up in his lap. Jingyi is standing on the ground at his feet with a wave of seafoam brushing his ankles; and in his hands is a small pearly starfish, offered up to his baba as Lan Huan leans forward to cup A-Yi’s cheek in his palm. Both father and son are smiling, with heart-breaking happiness in A-Huan’s eyes, and sheer pleasure at finding the starfish in Jingyi’s.

Nie Mingjue looks up at his own flesh-and-blood husband, tearing his eyes away from the wooden figure, and finds Lan Xichen sitting there, frozen, with tears rolling down his face as he traces the tiny ridges and dimples of stone and sand and water.

“It’s beautiful,” he chokes, rounding the corner of the table to throw his arms around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. “It’s the most precious thing you’ve ever made, sweetheart.”

“The most precious thing I helped make is over there,” Nie Mingjue teases, tilting his head at A-Yi. “But I think this one comes pretty close.”

Xichen opens his mouth, and then closes it again; but Jingyi interrupts before he can say anything else, impatient to present his diedie’s gift from his baba.

“Now this one!” he shouts, diving into Xichen’s pocket for a small present in a wooden box, labeled with Jingyi’s name just like Nie Mingjue’s gift was. He all but shoves it into Mingjue’s hands, leaping up and down on the spot while he snaps the lid open--and then he screeches with delight as Nie Mingjue goes crashing to the floor, staring at the contents of the tiny box until his eyes blur over.

He had expected some kind of memento or trinket, like he usually gives to Xichen. But the box was so light, impossibly light--and it holds a pair of hand-knitted baby socks, set neatly on top of a black and white photograph with his husband’s name printed in the upper left corner.

Nie Mingjue has already been a father, already accompanied his husband through the endless doctors’ visits and checkups that came before Jingyi was born. He saved all of Jingyi’s ultrasound pictures, even the ones where A-Yi looked like a chubby white bean on the sonogram, and he stared at every photograph for so long that reading them comes as second nature to him.

"A-Huan,” he says, after a long pause. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming this.”

“You’re not,” Lan Xichen laughs, wiping Mingjue’s face. “I had my first doctor’s visit last week when you and A-Sang took Jingyi to the park. And the clinic ran a few blood tests just in case, so I already know it’s going to be a girl.”

“And you’re okay? Both of you?”

“Very okay, darling. I haven’t even had any morning sickness yet, and the baby’s perfectly healthy.”

Nie Mingjue only cries harder, at that; but Xichen is crying too, clasped in his arms while A-Yi climbs all over them, so perhaps it doesn’t really matter.

All in all, this is the sweetest father’s day he has ever had.

[talkfastromance4]

when i’m dreaming--calum hood oneshot

yeah so i’m going through something so this is very, very self-indulgent. 

word count: 2.3k

warnings: drinking linked a little with coping, going through a depressive low, best friend!calum

feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

***

Calum notices something is wrong the minute she steps outside. He was about to take a drink of his white claw, but his eyes went to her nails when she pulled Crystal in for a hug. She typically paints them to match her mood and today they’re opalescent pink, barely noticeable but still there. In plain sight but still visible while she secretly wants to be invisible.

She smiles and cracks jokes with everyone she says hello to then when she steps in front of Calum, he sees the sadness in her eyes. They’ve been best friends for awhile now, they’ve shared secrets, stories of first loves and heartaches, their fears, their wildest dreams. But there was always something she kept hidden, tucked away in a box welded shut.

“Hey bud,” she sighs.

“Hey short stuff,” he grins playfully pulling her in for a hug. Her arms wrap around him and he makes sure to give her an extra tight squeeze.

“I’m not that short,” she grumbles in his chest.

“You’re shorter than me,” he reminds rubbing her shoulder with his thumb. Although her arms are loose around him he can feel the tension in her shoulders that she’s carrying.

“Stop hogging her! I haven’t seen her in weeks!” Ashton exclaims and Calum pulls away.

He knows it was too soon to break the hug but to keep up with her own façade he doubts anyone else sees, he does it.

“Hey, you’re the one who disappeared into the desert for all those weeks,” she jokes rising on her toes to loop her arms around Ashton’s neck.

He gives her a big bear hug that lifts her a few inches off the ground, Calum sees her nails digging into her arm as she squeezes him.

“Had to recenter myself, you should try it sometime,” Ashton teases right back. As if she was shocked, she removes herself from the hug then accepts a bottle of Mike’s from Luke.

“I can take something stronger than this, Hemmings,” she takes a large chug regardless.

“Yeah? Like tequila? I got some limes,” he jerks his thumb behind him towards the drink table.

“I said stronger not deadly. You know I can’t handle tequila,” she scrunches her nose.

Everyone else laughs but alarms are going off in Calum’s head.

“Yeah, the floor of my Tesla doesn’t like tequila either,” Michael chimes in with a tray of shots.

“I told you to pull over,” she shrugs lifting up a shot. She takes a whiff and nods in approval at his selected alcohol choice.

“I was going 75 on the freeway!”

“And that’s why I threw up. Ready?” she lifts her glass.

Calum meets her eyes as over the hands of their friends as Ashton gives an impromptu speech about friendship and long rides. He wasn’t really paying attention because when their eyes locked, he saw the panic, he saw the fear of whatever was going on in her head.

**

The next time he sees her is at the movies. Her eyes are darker along with her nails that are now a hunter’s green; camouflaged but still visible. While they’re waiting in line for snacks, he lifts her hand in his and runs his thumb over the color.

“This is a pretty color, I’ve never seen it on you before,” he says.

“Yeah, um…wanted to try something different,” she shrugs. “Do you want the blue icee?”

“Is that even a question?” he raises a brow, and she laughs.

Once they’re settled in the seats the previews start. Calum opens up the bags of sweet and sour treats while she opens the boxes of milk duds. The large bowl of popcorn (with extra butter) is settled between them, long red straws sticking out of their frozen drinks.

Throughout the whole movie, it’s an action romantic comedy, Calum keeps glancing at her. He watches her fingers disappear in the popcorn bowl, her hunter’s green nails appearing black in the dark theater. Calum’s seen enough movies to know this moment is foreshadowing the darkness she’s slipping into. He’s preparing himself for the fall but he’s not entirely sure she is.

**

Two weeks have gone by and he hasn’t seen her since the movie. Their schedules didn’t align so he decided to surprise her with takeout from her favorite Asian restaurant and chocolate cake from her favorite bakery.

When he opens the door, he hears Friends playing on her tv and he finds her horizontal on the couch. The hood of her sweatshirt is over her head, her arms wrapped around her torso, her black nails clutching the fabric.

Calum braces himself for what he’s walking into, sets the food on her counter and crouches in front of her. He pulls her hoodie back a little so he can see her face a bit better, her eyes are distant and staring off behind him.

“Hey,” he says softly then touches her hand. It’s very cold. “Y/N.”

Upon hearing her name does she finally look at him. Her eyes have filled and spilled with her tears in a matter of seconds. He links her fingers through his.

“Hi,” she mouths, her voice barely registering.

“Is this about…him?” he asks delicately.

About a year ago he chipped away at the welding on the box. He knows it involves a guy. He knows it’s about bad timing. He knows it’s about deep emotions.

She nods and the tears erupt more. She buries her face in her hands then adds another layer by hiding in the pillow.

“Nope, nope, hey,” he tugs on her arms. She’s pliant and allows him to drag her in a sitting position. He takes the place where her head was then brings her onto his lap. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He murmurs and pulls her hoodie down so he can rub at her hair.

She sobs loudly into his neck. Calum holds her as tight as he can, murmuring comforting words in her ear. Her sobs would subside, but he wouldn’t let go until she did. She’s very good at keeping her emotions at bay and even better at keeping people further away from her harbor. She doesn’t ask for help often, she doesn’t open up too much and when she does it’s always the footnoted version.

Three episodes of Friends later, her hold lessens, she gives a big sniff and peels herself away from Calum. He uses the sleeves of his shirt to wipe at her tears and nose.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “I brought food. I’ll heat it up for you.”

She nods and falls back onto the couch. He rubs her knee then heads into the kitchen. When the food is prepared on plates he brings it to her and she takes it, scarfing down the first few bites heartily.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally speaks when her plate is empty.

“I know,” he nods looking over at her until she meets his brown eyes. “It’s okay.”

Calum ends up staying the night, his mind reeling from what the history is with this mystery guy. His thoughts get away from him as he stares at the ceiling above the couch. Was he some celebrity that kept her under the radar and broke her heart repeatedly? A Prince from some far-off country that got her hopes up and crushed them again and again?

He’s tossing and turning until he hears the shower turn on. Sad songs play over and over on her speakers, her voice singing along with the yearning words. Ghostin’ by Ariana and When the Party’s Over by Billie replay one after another.

She’s really hurting.

Calum bounds off the couch and opens the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he makes sure his voice is a little louder than the music.

A sniff. “Yeah?” her voice is thick.

“Just want you to know I’m here,” he shuts the door and sits next to the shower.

His heart aches when he hears her crying again, the vocals echo and bounce off the tiles. Her sadness fills the room just as it’s filled in the hidden box of the guy who’s making her feel this way.

Four more repeats go by and the shower is finally shut off. Calum scrambles off the floor, sees her tug the towel from the door of the shower. Her shadow figure wraps it around herself and she opens the door. Her skin is red from the hot water, as are her eyes and cheeks from crying more tears. He grabs another towel and helps dry her hair while she stands there avoiding her reflection in the mirror.

“It’s been five years, why do I still feel like this?” she asks quietly.

“It hurts the most when it meant something.”

He left the bathroom after he dried and brushed her hair then waited for her in her bedroom. There’s pictures on her desk from high school. Her and some guy at prom. Her and the same guy a little bit older posing in a selfie on a couch, drunken smiles on their faces. Her and the same guy a little older again posed outside.

This must be from that box. She’s cracked it open and Calum is staring at some of the pieces that have broken her wholly.

“His name’s Henry,” she explains suddenly behind him.

Calum turns to her voice. The drastic change from the happy girl in the photos to the sad girl before him startles him. He remains silent to let her speak or to go into silence again. She moves onto her bed, sitting in the center and tucks her legs against her chest.

“We never dated. But we were always…together. Together in the physical sense for four years,” she continues. Calum joins her cautiously on the bed and listens. “Back and forth always. After every relationship we fell back into each other. He’s the longest relationship I’ve had, and it wasn’t even a real one.

“We cared about each other, and…I think he loved me. Time wasn’t on our side. It was too much or too little, I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Just when I think I’ve let go; I dream of him. Then he’s on my mind for days. And now this time…” she shakes her head and Calum pulls her against him. “I went on socials and I found out that he um…he’s a dad now. And I feel so stupid because that could have been me if we kept what we had. I feel stupid because a part of me wanted it to be me.”

Calum doesn’t fully understand the ins and outs of their relationship, but four years of physical affection and a rock to lean on, that’s a lot of history. He also doesn’t fully understand how this guy didn’t make it official with Y/N. She’s the perfect best friend with a big heart.

Calum wishes he knew her in school because he would have been the one to take her to prom. He would have been the one take her to movies and dinners and surprise her with flowers. He would have made it official rather than keep her guessing.

“I’m really going through it and I don’t know how to get out,” she whispers sadly.

“I think…” Calum heaves a big sigh and kisses her wet head. “I think you’re just cracking the surface of breaking free. I can tell he meant a lot to you and you meant a lot to him. Even if he never said it, you’ll always be a part of him just like he’ll be a part of you. Someone that important won’t just poof away.”

“But I want him to, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart. I’ll help you in any way I can, okay?”

“You’re so understanding and you’re so good, but I don’t want to cry over another guy when you’re here.”

“That’s what best friends do.”

She turns her head and gazes up at him. He notices the storm in her eyes aren’t as dark, her lips are chapped from the cracking of memories she spilled out.

“Calum, you’re more than my best friend.”

He hears a deeper truth in her statement, and it causes his breathing to quicken. The subtle yet very noticeable flick of her eyes to his lips causes him to react. He gives her a quick peck, but that smallest touch sent an enormous shock through his system.

They settle against her pillows, the kiss wasn’t awkward, but it filled them both with questions. Questions that will be answered at a different time because right now he wants to hear this most vulnerable part of her life. She takes his hand in hers first and plays with his fingers while she talks.

He makes comments and asks questions to try and understand a bit more. Calum kisses her head when her voice starts to shake. Hours go by and the sky starts to lighten, birds are awakening.

“Hey,” she says right as he’s about to fall asleep. They talked all night, but she quieted down about twenty minutes.

“Hm?” he opens his eyes.

“We match.”

He looks down at their intertwined fingers when she taps on his nail. His polish is chipped away from chewing on a hangnail then smiles at the black color. He lifts their hands and kisses their knuckles.

“I feel what you feel.”

“What exactly do you feel?”

“I felt you slipping. I can sense your emotions when no one else can, and I guess I painted my nails subconsciously because I didn’t want you to be alone in the dark,” he explains. She’s quiet for a moment and he thinks she really fell asleep this time.

“Thank you. I don’t think I’ll be this bad again.”

“If you are, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“Cal?”

“Hmm?” he sighs. It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want her to stop talking. He doesn’t want her out of his arms.

“When I’m dreaming tonight it will be of you.”

**

Taglist: @calpalirwin @myloverboyash @loveroflrh @cxddlyash @princesslrh @spicylftv @notinthesameguey @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @devilatmydoor @thatscooibaby @suchalonelysunflower @dead-and-golden @mymindwide @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @karajaynetoday @quasighost @i-like-5sos @creampiecashton @calpops​ @littledrummeraussie​ @sexgodashton​ @f-mu​

[jlalafics]

“Baptism”-an Everlark one-shot

Hello! Was it possible? Could I fit all three requested sentence prompts into one story?

I did.

Anyway, the three prompts I was given are:

“Oh god, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” (Anon request)

“What took you so long? I missed you…” (From @omercilessmoon​)

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.” (Anon request)

I hope I did all of you justice.

Happy Reading!

Also, thank you to @keelaree​ for my bomb cover. Love you!

Summary: “Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.”

_______

Baptism

The Baptism of Josephine Lily Hawthorne

The church bells rang atop the Church of St. Anne as people gathered inside dressed in their Sunday best. In the first few pews sat the excited parents, Gale and Madge Hawthorne, along with their families.

Madge, in a rose dress, smiled in greeting to anyone who came into the church, showing off the dark-haired Josephine dressed in a multi-tier white dress and matching bonnet. Beside her, Gale greeted everyone stoically, a hint of pride in his smoky eyes.

However as soon as they were alone, his face fell into a mask of anxiety.

“I’m going to kill him,” Gale whispered to his wife.

“Not if I get to him first,” Madge replied through clenched teeth. “Thank God, Katniss is always a stickler about being on time.”

They were twenty minutes past their allotted time. Besides them, there were two other families waiting for their babies to get baptized.

Gale turned to the entrance doors behind them just as Katniss peeked in to shake her head.

“Dead,” the man swore to his wife. “There’s going to be a funeral right after this baptism.”

++++++

In the church vestibule, Katniss paced as one of the parish attendants closed the door so the service could begin.

“Every fucking time,” she swore quietly.

Why did Peeta always do this?

On the other hand, why were they always picked?

Actually, Katniss already knew why.

She was single. Peeta was single.

Everyone else in their group of friends had already put a ring on it and then reproduced.

Finnick and Annie Odair were first, getting married right out of university. Gale and Madge’s wedding happened two years later to which she played Best Woman to Peeta’s Man of Honor.

Recently, her own sister had betrayed her by marrying Cato, Peeta’s former roommate. The two were currently finishing up their Hawaiian honeymoon while the rest of them celebrated the blessed event of watching Joey Hawthorne getting water splashed on her sweet little head.

The sounds of rushed footsteps broke her from her reverie, and she turned to see Peeta running over to join her.

Katniss crossed his arms as he slowed. “What took you so long? I missed you…”

Peeta raised a brow as he buttoned his suit jacket. “You did?”

“Fuck no! I’m just tired of freezing my tits off waiting for you to show up,” she growled at him. “They want both godparents there before they can bathe the baby!”

“Katniss, please. You’re in church and God doesn’t appreciate your filthy mouth,” he replied, his tone heavy with snark. “Though it is one of your better attributes.” Peeta grinned. “Your tits too, but I’ll only admit that because we’re in the house of God—”

He was quickly silenced as Katniss grabbed his crotch and squeezed…hard.

“Listen,” she hissed, her face inches from his. “You are a giant pain in my ass but, for some reason, we are always stuck together. I would appreciate it if you would just do me the courtesy of not making me and the entire party wait while you do whatever the hell you do.” His mouth opened in an attempt to speak and she tightened her grip. “Do you understand?”

Peeta’s face had gone stark white, though his glare was as biting as ever. “You bit—”

“Hey guys?”

Katniss quickly released Peeta from her death grip and turn to find Gale peeking his head out.

“We’re ready for you,” he said. Gale’s face suddenly went scarlet. “Also, the sound really carries through the whole church…”

Katniss’ jaw dropped. “How much did they hear?”

“How much should I donate?” Peeta asked as he tried to smooth down the creases in his pants.

“Everything and enough to pay for Joey’s first year of college,” Gale told them. “Now, get in.”

Chastised, the two followed their friend down the aisle and to the baptismal font where Madge waited with their goddaughter. The woman glared at Peeta before handing Joey to him carefully.

From across the font, Katniss watched him as he gazed down at Joey, a smile lighting up his face. In turn, Joey cooed at her godfather.

She couldn’t help but smile at the charming pair—

“Katniss?”

Her eyes went to Gale, his grey eyes panicked as he leaned towards her.

“Father just asked if you renounce Satan…and you didn’t respond.”

“Oh—" She looked to the priest. “I totally renounce him!”

Her eyes went to the ground, trying to ignore the quiet snicker coming from across the baptismal post.

Katniss didn’t know if it was kismet or just plain bad luck but she and Peeta Mellark always found themselves on the opposite of a baptismal font, one of them holding a white clad infant and wondering which one of their idiot friends thought they would make good godparents.

++++++

The Hawthorne Residence

“That shit was hilarious!” Annie cackled as they sat at the kitchen table, eating some leftover cake from the reception. “They asked you if you renounced Satan and there was twenty-second pause!”

“I am horrified.” Katniss forked a hefty piece of cake before plopping it into her mouth. She looked to the woman loading dishes into the dishwasher. “Your parents must be horrified, Madge. I am so sorry.”

“It was actually kind of funny,” Madge told her easily. “I told my side of the family that you were Gale’s first choice for godmother. Hazelle, however, has probably lit a dozen candles for you.”

“Well, she’s known me since I was kid so I’m pretty sure she’s lit more than a dozen for me,” Katniss retorted.

There was a flurry of tiny steps as Nolan Odair rushed into the kitchen, jumping into his mother’s lap and burying his little face into her chest. She, in turn, affectionately caressed his dark locks and placed a kiss atop his head.

Another set of footsteps followed as Finnick stepped into the kitchen, a smirk rising on his handsome face as his green eyes settled on Katniss.

“Hey Katniss! Do you renounce Satan?”

“If he’ll help me get rid of your annoying butt,” she deadpanned before digging in for more cake.

Gale walked into the room along with Peeta. “Be nice to him.”

The latter still held their Goddaughter in his arms and Joey, now fully awake, looked pretty content. Katniss had to admit that Peeta had that special charm about him. She watched him through their college years captivate women, both young and old.

No one was immune to Peeta Mellark.

Except for her.

“And, why should I be nice?” Katniss asked her friend.

“Because he’s going to be a Dad again,” Peeta informed her.

Annie looked to her husband. “I thought we were going to tell them together!”

“We were!” Finnick turned to Peeta. “How did you know?”

“Annie hates chocolate cake,” the man replied. “And she’s wolfing it down like there’s no tomorrow.” Leaning down, Peeta kissed their friend’s cheek. “Congratulations Annie. Here’s hoping that you’ll have the girl you want so Finnick will finally leave you alone.”

Finnick looked aghast. “How dare you. She seduced me!”

Annie grinned, looking to her husband. “It’s true. Couldn’t keep my hands off him.”

The rest of the group all congratulated the couple, each one raising a glass of wine or, in Nolan’s case, a juice box, to the second time parents.

Afterwards, they all settled back, and Katniss reached to get another piece of cake.

“This tastes amazing,” she mused, her eyes closing and a content hum vibrating against her lips. “I just want to rub up on the person who made it.”

“Oh God, how can you manage to switch from cute to sexy in under a second?” She opened her eyes to find Peeta staring, his blue eyes full of mirth at the sight of her. He handed Joey to Madge before removing his suit jacket. “Do you really mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About rubbing up on the person who made that cake,” he replied as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves to fold them up.

Katniss watched; each fold revealed his forearms for her perusal. “Why?”

He sat across from her, taking her fork to cut a piece of cake before placing it in his mouth.

“Because I made it.”

She was faintly aware that the fork had previously been engulfed in her mouth; that she had licked chocolate off the same spears that were between his lips.

Katniss shook her head. “You lie.”

“It’s true,” Madge told her from the counter as she rocked Joey. “Peeta’s family owns a bakery.”

“No kidding.” She couldn’t help but smile as Peeta’s cheeks colored. “Why did I never know this when we were in college?”

“Because you were too busy in college to even look at me,” he replied quietly.

Katniss grinned. “If I had known, maybe I would’ve sucked up to you more.”

Peeta groaned, trying not to smile. “You’re killing me.”

“Plus, Peeta was getting enough sucking in college, if you know what I mean,” Finnick informed her gaily.

The smile fell off her face. “Moment over.”

“Damn you, Finnick!” Peeta looked to her, crestfallen. “So…no rubbing?”

Katniss snorted. “I’m afraid not today.”

However, she left with half the cake.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

“Hello, Mags. I’m Dr. Katniss Everdeen.” She sat beside the older woman’s bed. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright, I suppose,” Mags replied softly. “Do you know when my husband is visiting?”

Mags’ husband had passed away several years ago.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to check with the nurses—do you know what month it is?”

“September,” the woman answered.

It was July.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Katniss gave her a smile. “It’s about lunchtime. Did you have any requests?”

“I’m fine,” Mags told her kindly. “My Harris will be bringing my lunch. We eat every meal together, you know.”

“Alright.” Katniss stood up. “I’ll give you some time to get ready for your visit. Thanks for speaking with me.”

As soon as she stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Dr. Haymitch Abernathy, her mentor, joined her side.

“How was she today?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“Better in terms of her mood as she was completely stable during our interaction,” Katniss told him before frowning. “However, she’s forgotten about Harris’ passing again. When she remembers, it’s going to be difficult.”

“If she remembers. Her memory has deteriorated quickly in the last six months.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Abernathy,” she replied. “I know how much she means to you.”

“She was a fine neighbor who was always kind to the wayward young man next door,” he said with a grin. “And she did introduce me to her pretty niece.”

“Yeah—I mean, Effie is way too good for you,” Katniss replied with a snort.

“Watch yourself, Dr. Everdeen, or I might not be so favorable when it comes to next month’s shifts,” he told her, though a smile played on his lips. “Effie is expecting you over soon, by the way.”

“I’m off next Sunday,” she replied. “I’ll be over for brunch.”

He nodded as they reached the nurses’ station. “I have a new case that I’d like you to shadow.”

“Sure,” Katniss said easily. “Where’s the chart?”

The elevator behind them dinged. “Actually, I can just introduce you now—”

“Katniss?”

She whirled at the voice and found Peeta approaching them. He gently guided the man he was with until they stood in front of her and Dr. Abernathy.

The man looked to her and gave her a shaky, yet kind, smile. “You know my son?”

Peeta’s father—they had the same smile.

“Yes, Mr. Mellark. Peeta and I went to the same university.”

“Katniss is loads smarter than me,” Peeta informed his father. He looked her over in her doctor’s coat, her printed blouse and bootcut dress pants peeking out from beneath. “Obviously.”

“She is my prized intern,” Haymitch informed the men. “Dr. Everdeen, this is our new patient, Brian Mellark. Brian, Dr. Katniss Everdeen will be shadowing me on your case.”

Katniss took the man’s hand, clasping his fingers between hers. She felt the tremble, already knowing that she was looking at someone who was suffering from Parkinson’s. However, Katniss could tell that Brian had a fighting spirit.

“Nice to meet you officially, Mr. Mellark,” she said.

“Brian please,” he insisted. “Any friend of Peeta’s is a friend of mine.”

“Well—” Her eyes went to the man who stood beside Dr. Abernathy. “—Peeta and I just happen to share a goddaughter, so we’re practically family.” She began to guide him towards the exam rooms, making sure to follow his pace in order to gauge his current mobility. “I have a feeling we’ll be sharing another one in about seven-ish months.”

They made a slight right into the exam room and she helped Brian into a nearby chair.

“I actually really hope that they don’t pick us,” Peeta told her. “I mean, you’re practically banned from the last church we were in.”

Dr. Abernathy guffawed. “Why is that?”

“Because when they asked if she renounced Satan…she paused.”

“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I was momentarily distracted by a certain tardy godfather!”

“So, you were looking at me.” Peeta smirked at her. “Katniss, I’m flattered.”

Katniss looked to Brian. “How do you even deal with him?”

The man chuckled, briefly giving his son an affectionate smile. “He grows on you eventually.”

She raised a brow. “Like a fungus?”

“Exactly.”

“Dad!” Peeta cried out in embarrassment as they all chuckled at him.

Dr. Abernathy grinned. “I think we’re all going to have fun.”

++++++

“So, does anyone know?” Katniss asked as she and Peeta stood outside of exam room. “Madge? Finnick?”

Peeta shook his head. “It’s new.” He leaned against the adjacent wall. “My mom noticed the tremble about three months ago, so she took him to his primary doctor. He ran some tests and then recommended that we see Dr. Abernathy.”

Katniss nodded. “Your Dad is in good hands. Dr. Abernathy is the best.”

“I feel like I know nothing about you,” Peeta suddenly said. “How long have you been working here?”

“I’ve been an intern here for about two years and I hope to stay as long as I can,” she told him. “The world needs more neurologists.”

Peeta reached over, straightening her coat for her.

“I’m impressed.” His gaze went to neat braid resting against her shoulder and her breath caught as his fingers grazed the tip. “Dr. Everdeen.”

“I’m impressed by your cakes,” she offered. “I can’t bake for the life of me.”

“I guess that’s why you’re going to have to keep me around,” he quipped. “After all, the cake that I made for Joey’s christening was the whole reason I was late and earned your ire. I had to help my Dad close the bakery and then spent the night making the cake. The bakery is about two hours away from the church and I overslept.”

“You should’ve told me,” Katniss said, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Brian’s condition was serious, and it was obvious that he would have to completely cut back from working at the bakery sooner than anyone thought.

“It’s fine,” he told her easily. “I am glad that you liked the cake.”

Katniss chuckled. “I owe you a rub down, too.”

She did not just say that.

Oh God—was she actually flirting with Peeta?

A grin rose on his lips, making her forget her faux pas.

“I’m going to make you five more cakes just for saying that.”

++++++

The Baptism of Alice Riley Odair

“I’m sorry!” Katniss rushed to the front of the church, removing her coat, and tossing it on a pew before joining the rest of the group. “I got held up at work.”

Finnick went to her, placing the infant in her arms. “Isn’t she the most gorgeous baby?”

Katniss’ eyes went to the baby and she leaned down to sniff the baby’s strawberry-colored hair.

“She is very beautiful…” Her words caught and everyone looked up at her show of emotion. However, Katniss gathered herself and looked around the nearly empty church. Besides Finnick and Annie’s parents, their group—which now included her sister and Cato—was the only one in attendance. “I guess it’s a solo baptism?”

Annie smiled. “Finnick insisted that no other babies take up his princess’ spotlight.”

She nodded before her attention went to the priest to begin the ceremony.

However, Katniss knew he was watching her.

Because this time, Peeta forgot to renounce Satan.

++++++

The Odair Residence

“I brought you some cake.”

Peeta sat next to Katniss on the back steps leading down to the wide backyard of the Odair Home. Inside, the reception continued as servers walked about offering the hundreds of guests champagne and canapes.

No one even noticed the beautiful English-inspired garden outside the double doors—or the two missing godparents.

“They haven’t even started serving the cake,” Katniss replied softly. However, she took a piece from the plate that she was sure was part of the Odair family china.

“I might’ve brought an extra cake,” he told her, leaning back against the steps. “You’ve been crying.” Katniss looked to him in surprise. “Your eyes were shiny when you got to the church and your nose was a little red, like you’ve been sniffling a lot. You can talk to me if you want. I mean, I think our friendship has grown in the last few months.”

It was true.

Since his father’s first appointment, Peeta had become a constant visitor to the clinic, along with Brian. His father’s treatment was a combination of medications and lifestyle changes prescribed by Katniss and Dr. Abernathy. However, every patient usually needed some time to find the best dosage and medication for themselves; it took Brian three months before they found a working regiment.

While his father worked with her and Dr. Abernathy, Peeta had been his father’s constant companion and, after each appointment, they found themselves often talking by the nurses’ station until Brian was ready to leave.

Sometimes, she thought that Brian let them talk a little too long.

Katniss took a deep breath. “Mags died last night.”

“Katniss…I’m so sorry,” Peeta told her sincerely. “I know how much she meant to you and Haymitch.”

Her eyes welled up once more and this time, she didn’t brush the tears away.

“I knew that she was getting worse,” she explained in a thick voice. “But it just happened so suddenly. I was at the nurses’ station charting and she coded…” Her face fell into her hands. “Haymitch and I tried so hard to get her back…but we knew it was over.” She looked up at the man next to her. “I have never seen Haymitch look so defeated.”

She was suddenly engulfed in Peeta’s embrace.

“This all sounds like a good reason to cry. You cared for Mags and so did Haymitch. She will always be a big part of your life and career. She’ll be the patient that you’ll always remember.”

“I knew neurology was going to be hard. It’s all about dealing with the brain. All parts of it…the parts that effect the physical body…the parts that effect emotional parts. But Mags was more than a patient to me. I cared about her and she was my first patient at the institute.”

Katniss groaned into the balmy air in aggravation.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten into something easier? Like obstetrics?” She let out a wet laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard—”

“Prim is pregnant,” he finished for her. “They made the announcement about five minutes ago.”

“I guess this is our magic third,” she told him.

“I hope it’s a boy this time,” Peeta replied. “That way Finnick can freak out over Alice possibly having a future boyfriend.”

Katniss rested against his chest. “That might just cheer me up—a panicked Finnick Odair.” She looked up at him and gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

She was abruptly aware how close they were…how Peeta’s thumb caressed the top of her hand causing a zing of electricity to surge through her body. His nose was nestled in her loose waves and Katniss found herself wishing that he would just—

She liked him.

More than liked him, really.

Katniss could almost imagine herself waking up in the arms that held her; they made her feel safe and loved. She could see a life where they would spend Sundays making bread at the family bakery so that their children could visit Brian and Peeta’s mom Miranda and cheer up their ailing Grandpa. She imagined kisses that made her forget stressful days and conversations that lasted until they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

It all seemed wonderful.

But it wasn’t real.

Also, Peeta didn’t like her like that.

They were friends and they shared godchildren. If it didn’t work out, they would be splitting up the whole group.

She would lose him.

And her heart couldn’t take that.

Slowly, Katniss pulled away.

“We should go back in.”

She rushed away before he could even respond.

++++++

The Abernathy Institute of Aging

Katniss sat back after examining Brian; he seemed comfortable, his tremors under control. However, he did admit to struggling during workouts. She noted his discomfort but knew that it would be some time before he’d feel stronger.

“I think it’s the combination of medication that’s making you feel so tired,” Katniss told him. “Anyone taking that combination would probably feel the way you do. Give it time and continue working out. However, if you continue to feel this way in a few months, then we should consider looking into other regiments, maybe physical therapy.”

“I agree with Dr. Everdeen. Your symptoms seem to be side effects of your medications,” Dr. Abernathy told the man. “However, I also see a definite improvement with your tremors. Do you have any questions?”

“I do have some questions for you, Dr. Abernathy,” Brian replied.

The doctor nodded before looking to Katniss. “Why don’t you set up Brian’s next appointment up with Peeta?”

“He should be outside,” Brian told her with a smile.

“Nice seeing you, Brian,” she told him before giving him a quick hug. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station as usual.”

Gathering her things, Katniss stepped out into the hallway and found Peeta waiting expectantly for her. He approached as she closed the door, giving her a small smile.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she said shyly. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“The reception,” he finished, joining her side. “Do you think we could talk…privately?”

“Sure.”

Katniss led him down the hallway towards the opposite end as Peeta followed silently behind her. It had been a little over three months since they had seen one another. She had been busy at the clinic as well helping Prim and Cato move into their new house.

“Brian told me that you’ve taken over a lot of the day to day operations at the bakery,” she said as they walked into an empty conference room.

“Both my brothers were more interested in the business and marketing aspects of the bakery,” he explained. “I enjoy baking and we were able to hire a recent graduate from the Culinary Institute to assist me. Also, my mom is helping out in the front along with Susie, my sister-in-law.”

Closing the door behind her, Katniss went to the counter where a coffee maker and hot water dispenser sat next to a sink.

“Did you want any coffee? Oh wait—you like tea,” she said absently as she filled the dispenser before opening the cabinets. “We have chamomile, black, rooibos—”

“Katniss.” She turned to find Peeta right in front of her and instinctively she pushed back against the counter. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe,” Katniss found herself admitting. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. “I’m not good with vulnerability…and feelings, in general. I chose a career where I had to rein that all in.”

“Whether you like it or not, emotions tend to come out,” he replied. “Prime example is Mags. You never reined it in when it came to her, did you?”

“Towards the end I did,” she told him. “I had to introduce myself to her everyday and it broke me every time.”

“Just because you let someone in and it hurt, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let anyone else in,” Peeta pointed out.

Katniss met his eyes. “And by anyone, you mean you?”

“I like you!” he burst out, blue eyes frenzied. “Hell, I might even love you, but you can’t run away because you’re scared.” His hands went to her shoulders. “Katniss, you’re smart…and kind…and beautiful beyond words and I know that I don’t have a chance in hell with you—but I have to try.”

Her chest filled at his words. “You might love me?”

Peeta shook his head. “No, that’s a cop out. I do love you. Even when you hated me, I loved you.”

“I never hated you,” she said. “I might have been annoyed with your tendency to be late…and your complete lack of tact sometimes…and in college, the fact that there was always a different girl on your arm—”

“I tried and failed to compensate for the one person I wanted,” he explained. “All of us…you and me…Annie…Finnick…Gale and Madge…even your sister and Cato are so interconnected. I thought that it would go badly if I even approached you with the intent of becoming more.”

Her hand went to his cheek. “And now?”

Peeta let out a shaky breath. “I will gladly take their wrath just to be with you.”

“I wouldn’t let them hurt you,” she told him quietly. “But I am scared. It could all go to shit in a few months…or a year…or even tomorrow.”

Peeta stepped closer, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks.

“If we just have tomorrow, then we should make it a hell of a day, shouldn’t we?”

Katniss took a deep breath, her eyes tracing over his face and landing at the smoothness of his mouth before she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He beamed. “Okay?” His hands rested against the curves of her waist. “I’m not used to you being so agreeable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured as he gazed at her in soft reverence. “Peeta?”

“Yes?”

“If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter.”

Peeta smirked. “As much as I’d love that, I’ve waited much longer to do this—"

Before Katniss could respond, his mouth swept hers and she felt herself sag into him. Her arms reached around his neck and she anchored herself to the hard planes of his front. His tongue traced against the entrance of her mouth before gently dipping in to caress her own.

A hum escaped her mouth at the taste of him.

Peeta Mellark could be utterly annoying sometimes.

But he was also utterly addicting.

“Ahem.”

They separated quickly, righting themselves before looking to Dr. Abernathy.

“I’ve made Brian’s appointment because I couldn’t seem to find my intern,” he informed the two. His eyes went to Peeta. “However, your father seemed to think that you two needed to talk.”

“I apologize,” she replied breathlessly as she smoothed down her hair. Katniss turned to Peeta, still reeling over what had just happened. “Peeta, I’ll follow up with you about all of this…later.”

“Follow up?” Peeta chuckled before placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.” He went to the door and clapped Dr. Abernathy on the shoulder before stepping out.

Katniss looked to her mentor. “It won’t happen again.”

“Brian really didn’t have any questions,” her mentor informed her as they walked out into the hallway. “But I’m sure Effie will. She will never let it go if you and your boyfriend don’t come to dinner next weekend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she told him. The man eyed her. “At least, I’m not sure if he is.”

“With a kiss like that, I’m pretty sure he is,” Dr. Abernathy said. “I’m happy for you.”

Katniss felt her face heat. “Thanks.”

“And, I think that Dr. Katniss Everdeen-Mellark would look very impressive on your office nameplate.”

She whipped around at him. “What?”

“When your internship is complete, I’m offering you an official spot here,” he told her with a grin.

For the first time in her professional career, Katniss hugged her boss.

++++++

The Baptism of Lennox James Sloan

“Aren’t you worried?” Madge turned to Prim, who held her son. “The service is starting in five minutes.”

“I know my sister,” Prim insisted. “She’ll be here.”

“Yes, but Katniss has been a little off these past few months,” Annie added. “Kind of distracted.”

The women stood up front while Finnick, Gale, and Cato sat in the first pew along with the Everdeens and Sloans.

“She’s fine—” The slamming shut of the church doors cut her off and the subject of their discussion hurried in along with Lennox’s godfather. “—I told you she’d be right on time!”

“Sorry!” Katniss stopped at the first pew as Peeta helped her out of her coat, revealing a peach dress that brightened her complexion. “Got caught up—”

“We expect this from Peeta,” Finnick joked. “But this is a first offense for you.”

Katniss blushed, stepping up to join the girls. Peeta followed along as Prim handed Lennox to him.

“I overslept,” she explained. “My alarm didn’t go off—here let me fix your tie, Peeta—or I slept through it.” Peeta quickly turned to Prim to give Lennox back and she gave him a quick smile as he gently placed her son in her arms.

Katniss removed the tie, smoothing it out before placing it back around the collar of Peeta’s button down. The group gawked at the fluidity of it as Katniss created a Windsor knot before patting down the collar.

“I’ve hardly gotten any sleep,” she continued distractedly, her hands brushing at Peeta’s suit jacket.

Prim couldn’t help but grin.

Katniss had insisted on keeping her and Peeta’s relationship a secret until after the Lennox’s baptism.

However, in one obviously intimate gesture, Katniss had revealed their secret.

“And, why haven’t you been sleeping?” Cato asked as he joined them along with Gale and Finnick.

He grinned wickedly at his sister-in-law.

Of course, Prim had to tell her husband that the relationship he knew would happen eventually had actually come to fruition. She didn’t know which one of them was happier.

“I’ve been…reading,” she grounded out. “A lot.”

“Then you must be reading until you can’t keep your eyes open,” Cato replied, and Prim elbowed him.

Katniss looked at him in confusion. “Um…yeah?”

Peeta turned to Katniss, his blue eyes shining at her.

“I’m sure Katniss is an avid reader. Probably one of those readers who won’t stop until they’ve finished.”

Cato grimaced. “Gross.”

“What the hell am I missing?” Gale asked.

Madge finally caught on and so did Annie, both discreetly high fiving in celebration.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” his wife assured him. “Let’s go take our seats.”

The priest entered and Prim and Cato went to greet him.

Katniss and Peeta joined them, the latter’s hand not-so-discreetly on the small of Katniss’s back, his thumb caressing the spot as they listened to the man’s instructions.

Gale’s eyes widened in realization and he turned to the group, his grin wide.

“I call godfather!”

FIN.

[junie-bugg]

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter Two

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQbx-OkfN-M

(If you want to listen to this song on Spotify it's called Symphony No.5 in C Sharp Minor: 4. Adagietto (Sehr Iangsam))

Word Count: 3125

Chapter Two

Prim and I have the next day off of lessons. We’ve been homeschooled ever since we came to live with Haymitch, but the weekends are saved purely for whatever we see fit to fill them with. For me, that’s mostly hunting and being out in the woods, unless the weather is bad, and sometimes not even then. 

If I decide to stay at home I usually lounge around with a book and see what Prim is up to. It’s mostly knitting, dress-up, or playing with the ugly cat Haymitch let her keep a few years back. Prim named him Buttercup, claiming that his matted, ruddy coat matched the bright yellow of the flowers she so adored. I had wanted to drown the thing in a bucket when we caught him stealing scraps from the kitchen, but Haymitch had laughed, even picked the thing up by the scruff of his neck and shook him around. 

“Look at this little guy, sweetheart. He’s a survivor. We can’t kill him!” He had placed the dirty, mewling kitten into Prim’s arms and the thing had hissed at me. I was worried he’d give Prim some kind of disease but he never did. I don’t feel gratitude towards him though. Only suspicion. It could still happen. 

When I want to be alone I go to my greenhouse. Really it’s Prim’s and my greenhouse, but ever since she found maggots in the compost pile nearly two years ago, she hasn’t stepped foot in there.  The greenhouse is small, maybe a third the size of my bedroom, but it’s peaceful. Especially when it storms and I can hear every hollow beat of the raindrops on its glass roof. It’s situated on the edge of the grounds by the tree line that morphs into the large forested hill behind Victor Greene, Haymitch’s estate. Over the years I’ve planted herbs and flowers and medicinal plants I’ve found on my journeys into the woods. The plants do well here in the rows of dark soil I’ve fortified with compost and fertilizer. The whole place smells of earthy rot and there’s something about how sunlight scatters lazily through the frosted windows that calms me. There’s a nook on the far side of the greenhouse, past all the plants, where I’ve scattered some quilts and pillows on a wide triangular window ledge. It’s a perfect place to read or sleep. Or sing. 

This is the only place where I let myself sing. I don’t even do it in the woods, always afraid someone else taking a stroll will hear me or that I’ll scare away game. Ever since Prim and I were placed under Haymitch’s care, really ever since our dad died, I refuse to sing in front of others. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and I don’t like people listening to my voice swelling and breaking on the high notes. Or maybe I’m lying to myself and I don’t sing in front of others because it’s too painful to remember a time when my life was filled with music. Mountain aires and lullabies and love songs, all sung by my father. I guess I don’t like breaking apart when there’s an audience. But when I’m alone I can shatter beneath the notes for a time, before I’m needed back up at the house. 

Today, however, instead of knitting or playing hide and seek in the gardens, Prim has informed me she wants to walk to the village. “You need new ribbons for the ball!” She squeaks as I button up her light pink dress from behind. We have servants available who help us dress or bathe or brush our hair but I always like helping Prim myself. She looks like a tiny little princess with her frilly dress and her curls pulled back with a pearl white ribbon. In contrast, I look plain in a forest green frock and my light brown shawl. 

“I told you, Prim. I’m not going.” I struggle with the last button. Prim has been going through a growth spurt and soon she’ll be too big for this dress. I feel sad, watching my little sister growing up so fast. 

“I heard Mrs. Winthrop and Ms. Trinket talking and they said you had to go,” She’s grinning so hard I can see the slight gap between her two front teeth. “Because Mr. Hawthorne is going to be there.” 

Ah, yes. My supposed husband-to-be. So even Prim has heard about Ms. Trinkets’ ridiculous arrangements. A man with that much money has his pick of the litter when it comes to choosing brides. I’m not ugly, but I’m no exquisite beauty either. Not like some of the girls I see around Whitley. I have no fortune of my own, really no status either besides being Haymitch’s ward and that will go up in smoke the second he dies. Most likely Mr. Hawthorne will look right through me and move on. But the news that I’m being forced to attend the public ball worries me. The whole village will be there. Including him. The baker’s boy. 

Maybe some new ribbons aren’t such a bad idea. 

We turn down an offer for the carriage and instead walk along the main road into Whitley. My boots have barely brushed the cobblestone sidewalks when Prim is dragging me into the seamstresses’ shop. The dressmaker, Cinna Ludgate, and the tailor, I think her name is Portia Peever, both turn to welcome us. Prim tells Mr. Ludgate about my need for new ribbons and in a flash he pulls down the display from the ceiling, winking at me as he walks back to the counter. 

There are so many to choose from. Streams of all colors flutter between my outstretched fingertips like butterfly’s wings. I see ribbons of frilly lace, satin, velvet, and even silk. My eyes land on a simple, white cloth ribbon with a delicate embroidered lavender pattern. I hold it up for Prim’s inspection and she declares I have to buy two in case I manage to get one dirty before the ball. 

I’ve just handed Mrs. Peever the money for the ribbons when the bell over the door rings. In walks Ms. Delly Cartright, one of Prim’s closest friends, and her older sister, Ms. Marianne Cartright. Their father is the village shoemaker, so they’re well known and well-liked by almost everybody. Delly is Prim’s age which gives them plenty to talk about. Prim grabs a hold of Delly and begins showing her the latest shipment of buttons Mr. Ludgate has displayed. 

Marianne is one year younger than me but we’ve never exchanged more than simple pleasantries. I dread small talk but from my personal experience, a trip into town wouldn’t be deemed official without at least one awkward encounter. 

“Are you coming to the ball, Ms. Everdeen? You missed the last one,” Marianne asks. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with big, blue doe eyes and a pouty mouth. Her nose is small and her figure slender. She is what they call a “country belle” in Town. I know at least five love songs written about girls like her. I expect in a few years Prim will grow to be one herself. 

“The dancing was splendid. I do hope you’re coming next week,” She continues.

I hold up my ribbons in response. “My tutor Ms. Trinket won’t let me miss it.” I force my mouth into a smile. 

“Oh,” Marianne’s eyes have settled on my ribbons. They’re probably a tad dull for her taste seeing as there were velvets and silks to choose from, but I like the simple flower design. The white cloth paired with the purple and green thread looks pretty. “Well, as my darling mother always says: simple never goes out of style.” She smiles up at me but the warmth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “My sister and I are here for my dress fitting. I can’t wait to show everyone what Mr. Ludgate made me for the ball. It’s a custom piece!” She practically squeals. I nod and bid her goodbye, waving Prim over so we can leave. I breathe a sigh of relief as we exit the shop. I hate girl talk. 

With our main objective for coming to Whitley carried out, my feet automatically turn towards home, but Prim has other ideas. “Can we look at the cakes, Katniss?” She begs. She’s like a little puppy. I can’t refuse, though I grow more anxious with every step closer to the bakery we get. 

I know what this is. A look at the cakes in the window leads to Prim asking to go inside. It’s happened before and I’ve been lucky enough to avoid him. He works alongside his parents and two older brothers anyway. What are the chances that he’ll be manning the counter and not the ovens in the back? 

Prim pulls me through the bakery doors and runs to press her face against the display case. I hear a call of “I’ll be right there!” from the back, followed by a grunt and the shuffling of boxes. I join Prim and am just starting to admire the selection of pastries when I hear a quiet gasp and look up. 

It's him. The baker’s youngest son. I don't know him by name but I remember him. Of course, I remember him. I can almost feel the icy sheets of rain and the hollow numbness of hunger from that horrible day as I meet his gaze. 

Our father had died three months earlier. He had been a poor wheat farmer but the income from the harvest was enough to support a small household. My mother traded plants and home remedies to supplement what our empty pockets couldn’t buy. One winter, my father had been kicked in the head by his horse. My mother did everything she could but even as young as I was, I knew he had died before he hit the ground. After that my mother stopped eating. She just sat in bed and stared at the walls while her children turned to skin and bone. I did everything to try and rouse her but it was no use. With our father dead so too was her will to live. 

At eleven I became the sole provider of the family. I ventured into town alone to sell that damn horse, some old jewelry, and even dresses of my mother’s from her merchant days, but the money ran out quickly and there was more to buy than food. Our hearth sat cold, unused, and wanting of wood, and we resorted to rubbing ourselves raw to keep warm. We stopped attending school in the village, afraid that a teacher would see how hollow we were becoming and would whisk us away to the orphanage. I had seen orphans in the schoolyard, their faces empty and their shoulders slumped in defeat. I would never let that happen to Prim. 

We had eaten nothing but dried mint leaves in water for three days before I decided to try selling some of Prim’s old baby clothes in town. The clothes were threadbare and faded so nobody had wanted them. My arms were shaking so violently from cold and malnourishment that I ended up dropping them in a puddle. I decided to leave them there, afraid that if I bent over I wouldn’t be able to get back up. 

I found myself stumbling around behind a row of brick buildings. The rain had started and I was soaked to the bone. The smell of baking bread carried over the frigid air and I realized I was behind the bakery. The back door was open and I stood, trancelike, basking in the warm glow of the ovens before a thought floated through my foggy head. Maybe they had food scraps in their trash. A crust of bread or rotting vegetables, something only my family was desperate enough to eat. I lifted the tops off of the bins and my hopes died when I saw that their insides were heartbreakingly bare. 

Suddenly, I heard a woman screeching. It was the baker’s wife. She spat remarks about how she was sick of people going through her trash bins and if I didn’t leave she would call law enforcement. As I dropped the lids and backed away I saw a boy peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts. I recognized him from school but we had never talked. 

With my final hope gone I slumped against a scrubby little apple tree in their yard. My knees buckled and I slipped down into the mud. I would rather die than go home empty-handed to Prim’s gaunt face and my mother’s sickly, unblinking eyes. 

I heard a commotion from the bakery and then the ring of metal on flesh. 

“Feed it to the pigs you worthless creature! No one decent will buy burnt bread!” The witch screeched. There was the boy again, come out the back door clutching two blackened loaves. A bright red mark shone on his cheek and my heart twisted when I realized his mother must have hit him. He looked between me and the pigpen, and then glanced back towards the door. His mother must have gone up to front to serve a customer because then I heard him sloshing his way through puddles to get to me. 

“Take them!” He urged, pressing the loaves into my skeletal hands. “Take them! Go!” As quickly as he came he was gone, back into the kitchens. I watched him disappear. As he closed the door only then did I realize what he had done for me. 

Two loaves of bread! And they weren’t even that burned, really only the crusts had been damaged. I quickly pressed them to the skin under my shirt and hurried home. The searing heat from the loaves roused something within me. I couldn’t die. Not when I had Prim to take care of.

I dropped the loaves on the table and stopped my sister from savagely tearing a chunk off for herself. I sat her down, forced our mother to join us, and then began scraping off the blackened bits. That night we feasted on two slices of bread each, afraid so much food might make us sick. The loaves were hearty, filled with nuts and bits of cranberry. I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life. 

 As I predicted, it was a teacher that found out about our situation. Upon our absence at school, she had come looking for us and found Prim and I living in squalor with a mother that was too sick to care. I thought that was it, that we were to be sent to the orphanage now and our mother taken away to an institution. But a man by the name of Haymitch Abernathy, wealthy and lacking a family of his own, intervened. He had heard of our misfortunes from hushed gossip around the village and had petitioned to adopt us. Our mother was eventually sent to an institution by the sea and we’ve lived with Haymitch, fed and clothed and taken care of, ever since. 

The baker’s boy saved our lives that day. Surely I would have given up and died under that apple tree if it wasn’t for the kindness he showed me. I owe him everything. And because of that, I will never be able to pay him back. 

I take him in now. He's taller than he was before. Much taller. His chubby child’s build has been replaced with an imposing stature that takes up almost the entire doorway. I guess a lifetime of hefting bakery pans and kneading dough has left him broad-shouldered and muscular. 

“Katniss,” he says. I can tell he’s surprised to see me. His voice is deep and I note that his blonde hair curls with sweat. There’s a streak of flour on his cheek and an apron tied around his waist.

“It’s Ms. Everdeen,” I correct him. It’s out before I can stop myself and as soon as I say it I want to bite my own tongue off. How pretentious I must sound. It's only after Prim has begun ordering a sugar-dusted fruit tart from the case that I realize with a start that the baker's boy knows my name. 

His face is flushed and pink when he turns his eyes to me. 

“I'll take four of those cookies,” I get out. “The orange lilies.” My voice sounds weaker than normal. I hate this. I feel fragile under this boy’s gaze. And that's when I realize: he must be waiting for his thank you. For the bread that he burned and took a beating for. But I can't do it, either because Prim is with me and it would confuse her and probably embarrass the boy, or because it's been five years and the time for ‘thank you’ is over. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he doesn't remember. He probably only knows my name because it was a source of gossip around town when Haymitch adopted Prim and I. He must remember me from then. 

He gives me a timid smile, deftly wraps the cookies in parchment paper, ties them securely with a piece of fringed twine, and hands the package to me. I suddenly feel the need to fill the silence so I blurt: “They’re beautiful. The cookies.” 

He manages to turn a shade pinker. “Thank you, I do most of the frosting around here. I made those this morning.” As I hand him the money for the treats, I assume that's it. That was the end of our conversation. But my tongue is moving again. 

“They look just like the lilies in the woods. I see them on my morning walks.” 

“Yes, exactly,” He grins and reveals a charming set of dimples. “I’ve seen them when I go to the woods to paint.” 

I don't know what else to say and Prim has started tugging on my hand. She’s probably anxious to get home so we can enjoy our treats with tea, so I give him one last look and utter one last thank you before heading back out into the crowded square. 

“Do you know him?” Prim asks as we begin walking towards home. 

“No,” I say, a little relieved to be leaving. I can't catch my breath and my heart is racing like it does when something frightens me. “I don't even know his name.”

“Well, I've never seen you be that talkative with a stranger.” She beams. “Wait until I tell Mrs. Winthrop!” 

Is that what he is to me? A stranger? I shake the thought from my head.

He knew my name. The very least I can do is learn his. 

[alleiradayne]

Cowboys and Angels

A COCKLES X READER RPF SERIES

Filming for the last season of Supernatural is underway and Y/N, long-time set photographer, finds herself the center of attention for two of her co-workers, Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles. A roller-coaster of emotions ensues over the year as the three of them attempt to balance work, the end of an era, and experimental love.

Part VII - Is Caring

Summary: Y/N hosts Jensen and Misha for dinner, drinks, and late Christmas presents. Warnings/Tags: Fluff, fun, emotions, and a boat load of sex. Characters/Pairings: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins/Reader Word Count: 4,982 A/N: Once again, please assume everyone involved is consenting and polyamorous. No spouse hate. No wife hate. No Cockles hate. No Misha hate. No hate whatsoever. If you don’t like RPF, don’t read it, and don’t complain to me about it. Update: The oh-so-lovely @atc74 made this stellar aesthetic for me in hopes that it wouldn’t get the Tumblr Ban Hammer™. Let’s test it.

Luck, it would seem, was on their side that night. When the opportunity for her to leave early presented itself, Y/N bolted like lightning. She had texted Jensen and Misha to let them know she would meet them at her apartment, but beyond that, she wasted no time in making her escape. An hour later, subtle, sweet aromas filled her kitchen as pots simmered and pans sizzled on the stove, and dulcet tones fluttered from the satellite speakers in the ceiling.

It was damn near perfect. Good food, good drink, good music, good company. And if her father’s recipe from the old country didn’t fill their bellies, at least she had tried.

Worst case scenario, she would have a hell of a lot of leftovers all to herself. Consolation prize.

The sudden thumping at her door startled Y/N so severely, she nearly dropped her stirring spoon in the pot. One cursory look ensured her everything would survive a few minutes unwatched, and so she headed for the door. There, trepidation pulled her up short, her hand hesitating at the handle. But a breath of resolve steadied her grip, and she pulled it aside to reveal her guests: Jensen in his usual trim sweater and even slimmer pants, and Misha in a light jacket over his t-shirt and jeans. They both bore a few wrapped presents and smiles bright enough to light up all of Vancouver.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Jensen teased.

She scoffed with an eye roll to rival Misha’s as she ushered them in. “You saw me two hours ago, gimme a break.

“To be fair, we’ve missed you something fierce,” Misha said as he crossed her living room and set his presents beneath the lingering Christmas tree. Jensen handed his over the back of the couch, then rounded on Y/N and wrapped her up in his arms.

“Fierce doesn’t come close,” he said under his breath. His full lips brushed hers as he continued. “Something smells good.”

“Oh no,” Y/N declared as she squirmed out of his grasp and headed for the kitchen. “You’re not pulling that shit again. We are eating this food when it is ready, and we are opening these presents after that. Before anything else.”

Jensen followed her, hot on her heels, but when she reached the stove, Y/N turned about and found him lingering at the threshold, pouting. Damn him. Nobody should be allowed to pout as pretty as Jensen did. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He grinned. “Okay, I get it. Misha even made me promise we’d eat first.”

“I’m starving!” Misha shouted from the living room. “And I’m opening one of my presents!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she turned back to the stove. “Which one?”

“This smaller, blue one,” he said as he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. He rattled the box as he held it to his ear. “Beads?”

She stirred a pot on the stove to find her concoction ready to serve. “Buffet style, dish up here and take your plate to the table.” As she withdrew plates from the nearby cabinet, she looked to Misha and said, “You can open it.”

Giddy as a child on Christmas morning, he tore the wrapping paper and opened the small box. “Aw, a mala bracelet. It's beautiful,” he said as he held up the beaded bracelet.

“Oh, look, now we match,” Jensen teased as he held up his wrist. “Wait, did you do that on purpose?”

Piping hot meat and sauce flowed over the small pile of penne on her plate. With great care she finished her serving and turned for the table. “Maybe.”

When neither responded, Y/N paused halfway across the kitchen and looked to them. Jensen gaped openly as he scrutinized both bracelets, and Misha appeared on the verge of tears. She pressed on to the table and set down her plate with a thump. “Hey, c'mon, it's not that important. Don't get all sappy on me.” Both men remained silent, but Jensen regarded her with a fond smile. Her nerves got the better of her in that awkward silence and she rambled, “Okay, who wants wine? Or beer, I have beer. Oh, I could make mules, mules are good. If you like ginger, do you like gin—”

Misha crossed the kitchen first and wrapped her in a bear hug. “I love it. Thank you.”

She returned his embrace and said, “I'm glad you like it.” He continued to hold her so tightly, she began to sweat in his arms. “Misha, honey, I can't breathe. And the food is getting cold. I thought you said you were starving.”

He released her with a rough breath and a shake of his head, then darted for the stove. “I am.”

Another pair of arms wrapped around her before she had a chance to speak. “Intentional or not, you gave us both a gift. I hope you realize that.”

“I do. And it was intentional,” she muttered into his arms. “But I'm about as ravenous as Misha, so let's save the presents and tears and dramatic expressions of undying love until after dinner. And dessert.”

That snapped Jensen out of his sappier moment, and he loosened his embrace. “You had time to make dessert?”

She wriggled free of his arms and shooed him towards the stove. “No, I didn't. But I had time to stop at the liquor store.”

Misha, full plate in hand, sat at the table to her right. “More wine?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Beer?” Jensen stated. “Beer counts as dessert. Depending on the kind.”

Y/N headed for a cabinet as she replied. “No, not beer, although I have some in the fridge if you'd like one with dinner.” Wine glasses in hand, she picked up the uncorked bottle of Pinot on the counter and returned to the table.

“If not beer or more wine then… whiskey?” Misha asked.

She grinned as she poured him a generous glass. “Technically it's whiskey.”

Jensen squeaked a gasp as he arrived at the table with a heaping plate. “Did you buy scotch?”

Finally seated, Y/N said, “I did.”

“I don't suppose you'll tell us the distillery,” Misha teased as he cut into his food.

Y/N followed suit, slicing a meatball in half and devouring it. Savory red sauce filled her mouth, the myriad flavors combining for a taste unlike any other meal to grace her pallet. After finishing that bite, she said, “I will not. You'll have to wait until after dinner.”

A mischievous grin spread across his lips as Jensen spoke.

“Presents and scotch. Sounds like a proper date to me.”

“So which bottle should we open?” Jensen hefted his last Christmas gift. “The Bowmore or the Balvenie?”

“Jensen!”

His wide-eyed stare snapped to hers. “What?”

“We are not drinking your Christmas present tonight,” Y/N declared. “It was a gift. Besides, I bought the Twenty-Six on a whim, and I feel absolutely disgusting having spent such an exorbitant amount of money on liquor. I'm opening the Bowmore.”

Jensen stood with her as he protested. “There's no one else I'd rather drink the Balvenie with.”

Of course, he would say that. Y/N crossed the room for the liquor cabinet and withdrew the bottle of Bowmore. “Fair, and while appreciated, I would really prefer if you held onto it for a special occasion.”

He covered her hands as she tore at the seal of the bottle. “This is a special occasion.”

“It's a makeup date.”

“It's what should have happened on Christmas,” Misha insisted as he rose. “But if you're sure,” he paused as he withdrew Jensen's hands from hers. “We'll drink the Bowmore.”

“In your bedroom.”

Her glare darted from Misha to Jensen. A dark glaze deepened the green of his eyes, wicked, haunting, and alluring all wrapped up in one piercing look. A look she knew, had grown familiar with it over the last seven months. She had learned his game in that time. That bet promised everything he could give her. No. More. Misha lingered beside him, inching closer with each passing second.

She would see that bet. And raise him.

The thick glass of the heavy bottle dragged across the top of the wooden cabinet, and the crystal drinking glasses followed as Y/N turned for her room. She ventured a single step unaccompanied, but by the second, their wide strides joined her. Over her shoulder, Misha towered with Jensen right behind. Confident. Cool. And yet, she could taste their want, smelled in the air she breathed, and witnessed it plain as day on their faces.

Her bedroom door swung wide at the push of her hand. Dull lamplight cast a subtle shade of yellow across the room from opposite corners, and the bed sat centered opposite the door. “I'd apologize for not setting any kind of mood but,” Y/N began, “but I'm pretty sure neither of you care.”

“We don't,” Misha agreed as he took the bottle from her hand and served three generous pours into their glasses. He took one from her and handed it to Jensen, then set the bottle on her nearby dresser. “I appreciate the thought.”

Jensen raised his glass. “To you.”

“To Y/N,” Misha echoed.

She touched her glass to each of theirs. “To us.”

They repeated her and drained their glasses in smooth swallows. Heat radiated from her throat to her chest, filled her stomach, and raced to her toes. The only warmth that rivaled scotch was Jensen's hands, bereft of his glass and wrapped around her hips. Her glass slipped from her hand, whisked away by Misha as Jensen picked her up with such ease, her cheeks stung.

“Only one drink?” she asked as he neared the foot of her bed.

“No need to get sloppy,” he replied. “I want to remember this for the rest of my life.”

As he lay her on the bed, Jensen pressed into her, his weight solid, secure. His thick thigh parted hers to grind against her core and his lips found purchase along her jaw. A slick trail of kisses dotted her neck, her collar, and down the plunging neckline of her t-shirt. In that wave of sensation, she sought balance in his hair, so soft between her fingers. But then the bed shifted, and her wide stare snapped to her right and found Misha crawling towards her from the foot of the bed. He wore nothing but his boxers, a pile of his clothes gathered at her feet.

“You don't get her all to yourself this time,” he stated under his breath. “Back up.”

Jensen froze and regarded him from between her breasts, his hands cupping them. “Whoa, slow down, you're way ahead of us.”

“Maybe you should catch up,” Misha suggested. A coy smirk curled the corner of his lips as his stare locked with hers. “I'll help Y/N out of her clothes.”

A second of hesitation stayed Jensen's hand but then he stood and stripped. He managed to discard his sweater and t-shirt and started on his belt before Misha had even moved.

“Now you're the one that needs to slow down,” she said.

His belt hung from his unzipped pants, slack on his hips. A peek of briefs and pale skin shown beneath the hem of his shirt. “Will you two make up your minds?” he said with his own coy wink.

For weeks, Y/N had imagined how that very moment might come to pass. Her bedroom had always played a part. But beyond that, she wondered how they might end up there, in what configuration, where and how and even a little bit of why. So many iterations of that daydream had played in her mind, each drastically different from the last. But what always remained constant was the ache. The yearning. The outright desperation to finally experience that culmination of sensations.

And yet, there in her bedroom with Misha peeling away her clothes and Jensen stripping himself, Y/N could hardly believe it was actually happening. It wasn't until Misha tugged at her pants that she felt the air of the bedroom cool her heated skin, chest bare and pebbled with gooseflesh. A shiver coursed down her spine as he slipped from the bed and discarded her pants, leaving her in nothing but her underwear.

Back on the bed, Misha sat beside her, still in his briefs, but they left extraordinarily little to the imagination. And much like Misha, Jensen stood before her as he tugged at the waistband of his own boxers. The hard ridge of his cock strained against the fabric as he drew them down his thighs. Inch by inch, he revealed himself, and Y/N watched, unblinking. How could she? It felt as though she were seeing him in all his naked glory for the first time all over again.

To her right, Misha groaned as though he read her thoughts. And bless Jensen's heart, he blushed. Pink from nose to navel, he looked as shy as a schoolboy. He halfheartedly attempted to cover himself with one hand as he turned his hips aside and said, “Quit ogling.”

A pointed look to her bare chest preceded her retort. “You first.”

“Never.” His wicked grin returned as Jensen knelt beside her. Hotter than the sun, his touch at her hips lanced fire through her body, and an unbidden sigh escaped her lips.

Misha must have taken that as his cue, for he followed suit and shifted behind her, deft fingers soothing the tense muscles of her shoulders and neck. Her head lolled from side to side and her eyes rolled closed as he explored, knots eased and mind calmed. In time, she breathed with him, and though Jensen teased the sensitive skin of her hips and thighs, nothing would distract her from Misha's presence.

Except for the sudden fullness of Jensen's fingers slipping inside her.

Y/N sucked in a gasp as her back arched in a spasm. “Fuck, Jensen, that was mean, you knew I wasn't ready.”

He withdrew his fingers and examined them in the bedroom light. A fine sheen of her arousal coated them both. “Your pussy suggests you are plenty ready. And I know you loved it.”

Though she tried to appear mad, Jensen slipped his fingers back in before she could speak. Only an indignant squawk left her open mouth, one that faded into a high moan and dragged on as he began to stroke.

Behind her, Misha released her and shifted on the bed. When he returned to her, he grasped her wrist and dragged it to him. The hot, firm length of his cock filled her grasp as her fingers wrapped around the shaft. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

She looked over his shoulder and found Misha kneeling over her, a deviant look in his eyes. “Turn over.”

“But Jensen—”

“Will move,” Misha finished for her. “He's a big boy.” He paused as he glanced at Jensen. “A very big boy.”

Y/N did as he said and turned to him, and Jensen's touch withdrew. On her hands and knees, she looked up to Misha and asked, “Here?”

Misha's too gentle touch cupped her chin. “Right there,” he said as he angled the tip of his cock to her lips. “I'd like to feel this again.”

Even on her lips, the aroused flesh of his cock seared, hot and throbbing with want. She enveloped him to the head, ready to take him into her throat until that familiar fullness returned. A muffled cry breathed through her nose as Jensen spread her, not with his fingers, but with his cock buried to his pelvis in her cunt.

“Holy shit, I missed this,” Jensen shuddered as he rolled his hips. “Tight, wet, and wrapped around my dick. Oh, baby, you look so good on me.”

Misha groaned and echoed him. “These lips.” He paused for a breath. “God, they are sex incarnate, sin and lust and pleasure all wrapped around my cock.” Subtle rolls of his hips sent him down her throat. “And you take it like such a good little slut.”

Jensen's hips faltered a beat, but when she moaned on Misha's cock, he recovered. “How long have you been calling her that?”

“What?” Misha breathed. “Oh, slut? We tried it out a couple times before break. Along with a few other things.”

The bite of Jensen’s nails shot arousal straight to her core, and Y/N quivered under the wave of sensations. Christ, but she had imagined this. Anticipated it. Planned on it. Spit-roasted by the two men she had always adored but had grown to love? That had been near the top of the list. And yet, in the midst of the act, she floundered in the torrent of sensations.

But then a new arousal slammed her consciousness back into the present. Jensen teased the rim of her asshole as he asked, “Like these kinds of things?”

Misha hummed his approval, and Y/N felt his erection spike with a hard flex of his cock. “And others. I think you'll be quite pleased. She'll give us a run for our money in the bedroom.”

Jensen grasped her ass harder, thrust a little faster, and a guttural growl rolled from his throat. “Good God, honey, if you let us abuse you like this, we'll do anything for you.”

“Be careful, Jen,” Misha sighed. “She'll tie you to the bed, tease you into the most painful erection you've ever had, then leave you there until you burst without anything touching your cock.”

A long groan sounded from behind her, and that time Y/N felt Jensen's extra jolt of arousal. “Baby, I'd pay you to do that to me,” he groaned. The slick, sweaty heat of his chest met her back as he leaned into her ear and whispered, “But only if you tie Misha to a chair and make him watch.”

She reared back and withdrew Misha from her mouth. “Lucky for you, I'd do it for free,” she said over her shoulder. “But if we keep talking about it, we won't get much further tonight. And I want the fullest experience. If you get what I mean…”

Misha grasped her by the chin once more and pulled her to his lips with a rough jerk. His tongue dove into her mouth for a rough kiss, only to tear her away the second she pressed for more. “Next time, I'm coming on your face.”

“Only if I get to ride yours first,” she retorted.

“Deal,” he stated. “Now, turn around. I've been dying to feel this, too.”

Jensen withdrew from her with a snap of his hips, and Y/N shuddered at the sudden emptiness. Cool air chilled her arousal that ran down her thighs, and though she knew what was about to happen, her fingers shook as she turned around. When she grasped Jensen's shoulders, a concerned furrow of his brow darkened his stare.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked. “It's absolutely fine if you say no. We can do something else.”

“Better say it now before I open this though,” Misha teased as he flicked the foil wrapping of a condom.

Despite her unsteady hands, Y/N laughed. “I'm just nervous. I promise, I can take you both.”

Jensen grinned as he hooked one arm under her left leg. “That's my girl. But if anything hurts or is uncomfortable, tell us immediately. We'll adjust. This should feel…” He paused, whether for dramatic effect or to concentrate on slipping his cock between her lips, she couldn't tell. “Amazing.”

Four. All four hands grasped her, greedy fingers biting into her flesh, and not a single coherent thought penetrated her mind. Heat enveloped Y/N from behind as citrus and leather filled her nose, Misha's presence overwhelming. He grasped her by the ass as Jensen hooked his other arm under her right thigh and lifted. Weightless between them, their strength bore her as if she belonged in their arms, perfect in every way.

“Ready?” Misha asked, lips brushing her ear.

She dared not speak, her tongue heavy and unwieldy in her mouth, so she only nodded. And then that full, spread sensation returned. Jensen eased into her inch by agonizing inch. More. She wanted—no, needed more. More of them both, immediately, more of their touch, their lips, their lusty stares. Everything they could give her she needed in the moment Jensen's pelvis met hers, his cock completely sheathed.

But then the world shattered. Ice flowed through her veins and fire seared her flesh. Her mind warred with every sensation ravaging her body as Misha slipped into her ass without any further warning, not even a preceding touch. Full, so full, Y/N had never felt such a completely overwhelming rush of arousal, she nearly wept her moan of pure ecstasy to the sky.

Jensen gasped with her, and his hips stuttered as he withdrew. “Fuck, Misha, I… I think I can-”

“Feel you,” Misha grunted. “Christ, that's insane. I mean… I knew it was a thing but… holy fuck, I didn't think it would feel quite like this.”

He moved before Y/N had a chance to think, let alone speak. Jensen's lips landed on Misha's so hard, she worried he had hurt him. But Misha clearly did not mind, for his hips thrust in a sudden burst of speed, and Jensen followed. Their lascivious sounds drowned out the cacophony of her reeling mind, the wet locking of their lips and laving of their tongues far more arousing than she thought possible.

More. Despite all that they gave her, she needed more. As though he had read her mind, Jensen parted from Misha and swiftly turned for her, his wet lips tasting of them both. Misha suckled at her ear, then down her neck as Jensen's tongue dove into her mouth, and the mess they made of her heated the arousal between her thighs to a rolling boil.

Jensen swallowed her moans as he thrust into her, and though she struggled to breathe, Y/N hardly cared. In their embrace, smothered, a surreal sense of freedom consumed her. Safe in their arms, she surrendered to their strength. Though Misha yet held her, his hands roamed, one over her hip to tease her swollen clit, and the other grasped her breast. All the while he, too, thrust into her, hips slapping against her ass in time with Jensen.

“I'm… I can't keep this up much longer,” Misha muttered into the crook of her neck. “Your… God, your asshole is fucking amazing.”

Jensen tore from her lips and Y/N's moan burst free from hers as he said, “You better keep at it for however long she lasts, or I'll bend you over the foot board—”

“Holy fuck, I'm gonna come.”

Misha's hips stuttered and Jensen nearly dropped her. She grasped his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle, and he sucked a sharp breath through gritted teeth. When they remained stilled, Y/N begged for them to continue.

At least, that was what she thought she had said. Maybe not the exact words. But the general idea had crossed her mind. She might have said it. Coherently, even. And yet, their response suggested otherwise. Jensen shifted her weight in his arms until she turned on her knees to face Misha. Beneath his stare, a long moment passed before she realized just how empty she felt. Then the room tilted until she landed atop Misha, tugged atop him as he collapsed to his back on the bed.

He smiled his brilliant smile, bright blue eyes wide as they stared at hers. Full of wonder, his gaze searched hers, but for what, she couldn't be sure. Answers? To what questions? She hoped he found whatever it was he needed, for she found the confidence and belief to assuage her earlier concerns in his.

“Ready?”

Foil crinkled from behind her, and when she checked over her shoulder, Y/N found Jensen tearing open a fresh condom. She turned back to Misha as a grin spread across her lips. “Are you?”

Fullness returned as Misha slipped between her lips and slid inside, bereft of his condom. A breathless moan seeped from her lungs as her back arched, fingers clenched, thighs flexed. Misha's groan accompanied hers, short rolls of his hips coating his cock in her arousal. That little movement—his thick shaft gliding between her lips, pelvis grinding against her clit—was enough to unravel her in a single moment. But that, she knew, was only the half of it.

A familiar pressure spread her asshole as Jensen slipped in, each inch easing the taut muscle. Nothing else compared to that sensation. Greedy fingertips bit into the meat of her hips, and a gentler grasp cupped her breasts, stiff nipples rolled between thick fingers. Rhythmic motion, syncopated thrusts, and timed breaths sang their song of pleasure, a sound no sweeter. The soft fullness of Misha's lips found hers with such a sudden need, Y/N whimpered.

“You seem to be enjoying this,” Jensen stated.

When she parted from Misha, delirious drivel dripped from her lips as she tried to speak, so tongue-tied by the moment. No matter how hard she focused, the physical sensations inundating her senses controlled every ounce of concentration she possessed. In perfect time, they alternated thrusts, their pace slowly, agonizingly speeding up.

In too few minutes, the apex of her pleasure encroached. Though she had imagined that release, the myriad minutia and diminutive details of every step along that path, with the moment upon her, Y/N resisted. If she held out, the night might last a little longer, their time together that much more complete. But as her moans crept ever higher, Jensen and Misha renewed their pursuit of her pleasure, thrusting harder and faster, bodies slapping, and lips plying her flesh. While they were both doing their best, it was Jensen's whisper in the crook of her neck that toppled her over the edge.

Tightly coiled arousal burst at the seams and crashed into her with such force, her cry clipped short, and her breath caught in her lungs. Fractured spasms stuttered her hips as Jensen and Misha continued to the thrust into her at their own disjointed paces. In the grip of her release, the multitude of sensations drowned out everything until a sudden combined thrust from both men filled her to the brim.

The shock of such fullness startled her into focus, where she found Misha's face contorted, eyes squeezed shut, and teeth clenched as a sharp inhale filled his lungs. His hips snapped down and withdrew from her completely as he reached for her hip. Between her thighs, he stroked his cock with short, quick flicks of his wrist. Deep grunts emanated from his tightly shut lips until his breath, too, stuck in his throat, and a hard flex of his cock lanced long white ropes of cum from the tip. Warmth ran in tiny rivulets down her ass, her cunt as Misha came on her. Beneath her, he shuddered in a final flex of release, grunting as the last of his orgasm dribbled beads of cum from the tip of his cock.

Not a heartbeat behind, Jensen withdrew from her and tossed the condom aside in one fluid stroke. The two men could be no different in their arousal; where Misha's harsh jerks and forceful hips ordered release, Jensen's long, graceful strokes and rolling thrusts into his firm fist seemed to gently coax his orgasm from him. He appeared almost as if he posed for a photographer, like some sort of statuesque art, his free hand smoothing his chest and thumbing a pebbled nipple. Proof of that poise softened his face, his eyes gazing longingly at her supine body—he seemed to be staring squarely at her ass—and his lips subtly parted. Faster, his deft strokes quickened until one final flourish bobbed the head of his cock, and a similar long white rope of cum flowed from the swollen head.

It landed on her ass in a graceful arc, followed by another, and yet another. Soft rolls of his wrist stroked the last inch of his shaft as Jensen sighed a soft moan, chin lifted, and eyes closed. His breath never faltered; hips never stuttered. The picture of poise, he remained still for a lingering moment, then opened his eyes as he smiled.

Without a word, Jensen slipped from her bed and darted into the bathroom. He returned a moment later, warm washcloth in hand. As gentle as she had ever felt his touch, he wiped away the evidence of their pleasure, then did his best to cleanse Misha and himself. He discarded the cloth, tossed in the hamper and promptly forgotten.

Y/N slid from Misha to lay on her side as Jensen returned to them. He curled in behind her, an arm draped over her hip as the other planted to support his head. Misha remained on his back, one arm under her head and the other flat on his chest. His bright blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing, and a soft smile played on his lips as he caught his breath. Behind her, Jensen curled in close, nose buried in her hair to nuzzle her neck.

Cast adrift, Y/N closed her eyes and surrendered to the undulating rhythm of their breath. Surreal, the deluge of sensations swelled and consumed her, until at last, her heart slowed, and her whirling thoughts quieted. In their arms, she had found something that she had missed over the years, a sense of peace, of tranquility. Serenity, even. All her worries faded away, tension seeped from her muscles, and sleep soon found them all. And in that deep dark nothing, Y/N found the solution to all her concerns.

Though the end of an era loomed, their story was only just beginning.

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COWBOYS AND ANGELS MASTER LIST ALLEIRADAYNE’S MASTER LIST

[an-unknown-writers-world]

The Little Things

Day Two: Decorating the Tree

Part of @panicfob​ 25 Days of Christmas Challenge

Warnings: Angst,  

Paring:  Bucky Barnes x Reader (First Person-nameless)

Word Count: 1798

A/N: Thank you fo all the wonderful feedback on Christmas Cookies, it means so much! If you missed it you can find it here, but for now, enjoy the slow burn.

 -------------------------------------------

**Crash**

A loud thud echoed through the foyers causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. Afraid someone might have been hurt I abandoned my post decorating the dining room. This was my first Christmas at the compound, and I seemed to be the only one with any holiday spirit even after making cookies with Morgan. When I asked Sam and Bucky to pick up a tree, I couldn’t help but laugh at the childish tantrums I was met with. Rounding the corner, I was met with Sam and Bucky’s bickering and the smell of fresh pine.

“You’re going to break it,” Sam grumbled.

“You can’t break a tree.” Bucky retorted.

“Why are you such an idiot? If you ruin this tree, she’s going to ruin your face.”

I laughed breaking up the argument.

“This better be big enough. We’re not going back.” Bucky eyeballed the tree.

Bucky stood the tree up giving me a clear image of it; a beautiful noble fir tree, perfectly shaped from top to bottom and standing near seven feet tall.

“It’s perfect.” I beamed.

“Perfect, then you can help him set it up,” Bucky grumbled before storming off.

“Thank you,” I called out as he walked away.

He waived his in response but never turned back.

“He hates me,” I mumbled to Sam in disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it. He hates everyone.” Sam reassured. “Where do you want it?”

I pointed to the tree stand already set up in the sitting room. It wasn’t commonly used in group settings, let’s face it, there aren’t many group events here. But I’m determined to change that this Christmas.  “Thank you, Sam.”

“You hold and I’ll tighten?” He smiled.

I nodded,

It only took a few minutes for him to situate the tree into the stand, there were several huffs and grunts as he tried to situate it. It probably would have been a little smoother if Bucky would have stayed to help. We stepped back to admire Sam’s handy work. He may not be in the holiday spirit, but he at least wasn’t fighting me every step of the way like Bucky was. I thought Bucky might have been a little more on my side after yesterday with Morgan, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Bruce came and went as needed, but he was gone more often than not; and Wanda, she tried her hardest to be present, but she spent a lot of her time alone or with Clint on his family’s ranch.

“Thanks again, Sam.”

“Sure thing,” He hesitated for a moment, “You’re not gonna make me help decorate it, right”

I laughed shaking my head, “No, I’ll do it.”

Sam kissed my cheek and disappeared down the corridor.

It left me alone in my own thoughts, standing to look at the plain tree standing in an already decorated room. I was questioning if I was making the right decision, this time of year was hard on most people, especially someone like Bucky who has lost everything. Christmas now days was incredibly different than it was in the forties, and I imagine Christmas wasn’t exactly a top holiday in Hydra bases. I tried to rack my brain on things that might make this special for Bucky, that may try to bring the Grinch some joy in this hard time.

I leaned against the archway and pulled out my phone to utilize the best piece of technology ever created – Google. It didn’t take long to find a classic recipe for Christmas cookies, it was one I actually remembered my Grandmother making when I was a child. Looking over it I found I had all the ingredients but one. I looked at the clock and decided I had enough time that I could run to the store, eat dinner and make cookies and have plenty of time to decorate the tree tonight.

 **** A few hours later ****

It was dark outside, city lights illuminated the skyline beyond the trees outside the compound, the only sound was Christmas music that played on my phone while took the lids off all the decoration boxes, they were a surprise from Pepper; when she found out about my love for Christmas her motherly instinct kicked in and she wanted to help spread the cheer with the team. They had been delivered this afternoon while I was the grocery store, Bucky was nice enough to at least get them into the sitting room, and either he or Sam had wrapped the tree in lights already.

A soft light fell in the room from the foyer, but it was still mostly dark, lit mostly by the beautiful white lights from the tree. I grew up decorating the tree with my parents and brother so the thought of decorating it alone was a little depressing. I grabbed my Mimosa glass and took a drink from it staring at the tree. All of the balls for the tree were red, blue, gold and white – an obvious nod to those we were missing this Christmas. One box had nine hand decorated balls, cleared painted by Morgan and seemed to pay tribute to those lost and those of us still around.

“You know it won’t decorate itself,” Bucky said walking in the room.    

I jumped feeling like my heart ripped right out of my chest.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He said coming to sit on the edge of the couch.

“It’s okay, I thought everyone was asleep.”  I shrugged.

“Tried.”

His presence was distracting, to say the least, his white V-neck clung to his chest and his black sweats hung low on his hips.

“Did I wake you?” I asked.

He shook his head no.

I put my glass down and picked up a strand of garland, “Wanna help?” I asked.

Bucky looked at me slightly unimpressed.

“Oh wait!” I exclaimed. “Stay right here.”

I ran out of the room before he could respond. Grabbing the plate of cookies from the counter I made my way back into the sitting room. It was hard to miss the smile that broke out on his face, it was a magical sight that was rarely seen.

“Are these?” He broke off.

“Nutmeg Cookie Logs.” I finished. “My grandmother used to make them when I was a kid.” I hesitated, handing him the plate. “I can only imagine how hard this time of year is for you, everything you’ve been through and lost.  These, I guess I just hope maybe remind you of some happy times in your life.”

He took the plate from me, our hands briefly overlapping.

“Thank you,” Bucky smiled at me genuinely, “This is great, really great.”

I couldn’t help the bit of pride the welled up in me, I was going to take this as a victory; a small one, but a victory none the less. Directing my attention back to the tree I started taking the Morgan painted balls out handing three of them to Bucky.

“I think you should be the one to hang these,” I said softly.

The Christmas balls had Caps Shield, Natasha’s hourglass and Bucky’s star on them. He looked down at them with a bittersweet smile, taking them from my hands.

“Pepper had to have helped with these,” Bucky said hanging them.

“Totally,”

“I saw what she did with those cookies,” He laughed, “This had to have been highly supervised.”

“Hey, we supervised.” I retorted hanging some of the plain colored balls.

To my surprise Bucky continued to hang ornaments on the tree, the colors balanced and beautifully arranged. He softly hummed along with the music that played in the background, it was a Bing Crosby Christmas album. It was sweet moments like this that reminded me why I stayed, through the terrible sleepless nights from both of our nightmares, the days that neither of us would talk, and the constant battle between him and Sam.

“Hey, Buck,” I asked moving the empty containers out of the way.

“Yeah, doll?”

I smiled at the endearment, “Did you hang these lights?”

He paused and looked at me, his hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck, “Yea, ‘s no big deal though.”

I smiled at him, “Thank you, I never could have gotten them so even and straight.”

He smiled back at me and grabbed a cookie from the plate.

“Growing up my dad was always the one who hung the lights and then left the decorating to my brother and me.” I laughed a little, “My mom always went back in behind us kids to rearrange the ornaments. But when we were finally done decorating us kids would lay under the tree and look up through the lights.”

“Sounds like a nice tradition.”

I sighed standing back to look at the now full tree, “It was.”

Bucky looked at me, “You miss them.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, “I’ve never been a touchy person, but my dad used to give the best hugs in the world. They were the kind of hugs that you could feel in your soul, they’d fix any problem you had even if it was just for a few seconds.” I looked up, “Steve’s were a pretty close match.”

Bucky smiled, “He must have been a pretty great man to have a daughter like you.”

“He was,” I smiled back. “He was my hero.

We both fell silent as we looked at the tree. I knew I should say something, but I wasn’t sure what. The tree looked beautiful and the room felt Christmasy, I was afraid I’d mess it up if I did anything. Rather than risk it, I bent down to pick up my now empty glass and decided to head to bed.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” I turned to him. “Thank you for your help tonight, Bucky.”

“Sure thing,” He smiled back.

“Goodnight,”

“Night,”

I walked to the kitchen to dispose of my glass in the sink before making it back towards the stairwell in the foyer. Just barely passing the archway of the sitting room I heard my name be called, turning back I saw Bucky step out.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“I know its not the same and I could never replace either of them, not that I’m trying to, that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do here,” He was babbling, it was cute and endearing.

“Bucky,” I said softly trying to get him to refocus.

“Sorry,” He smiled, “What I was trying to say was, anytime you need a hug I am happy to oblige.”

I smiled back at him, that was not at all what I was expecting. “That means a lot, thank you.”

“Sweet dreams,” Bucky said before turning back into the sitting room.

[dc-fics-and-pics]

Jason Todd x Harper reader pt 2

Warning: Cursing

Word count: 2768

The flight to Gotham was long and loud. You sat in front of a kid probably only six years old. He was determined to drive you crazy the entire flight while Jason sat next to you reading a book peacefully while the annoying mother behind him did nothing to stop her kid from kicking the back of your seat. To be fair you were used to first-class, anytime you did go on a public plain it was with Oliver's money and Oli paid for the best. No squirly brats in first class. When flight 401 finally landed you hauled ass out of there, grabbing your suitcase, you dragged Jason out and away from that little devil.

You had never actually been to Gotham City, and it surely lived up to its reputation. It was the middle of summer and dark clouds covered the sky making your bare arms collect goosebumps. Jason signaled a cab and you both got in. You gave the taxi man the address to one of Oliver's apartments before Jason could say his. Maybe you agreed to see Roy but you didn't agree to stay with him. Jason just huffed and looked out the window till you arrived.

When you finally did the hotel staff were weary to let you stay in Oliver Queens penthouse apartment but after you practically shoved evidence of him being your legal parent down their throat you where let in. It definitely had nothing to do with Jason name dropping his father none whatsoever.

After the debacle downstairs you unlocked the door with a crisp swipe and pushed the door open revealing a beautiful view of what you thought was an ugly city.

"Its a lot better looking from up here." You had almost forgotten Jason was with you till he spoke.

You nodded still entranced by the large buildings going on for miles, "Yeah definitely."

You both shuffled fully into the apartment, heading straight for the bedroom and flopping on the bed. Jason didn't follow you in, however. That gave you alone time to unpack your suitcase. When you went to the living room to join him he was still looking out the window that made up the living room wall. You stood by his side looking out with him.

He pointed off to a corner, "That is where the knights are going to kick your Spartans ass tomorrow."

"Ugh, you wish!"

"The Spartans haven't beat the Knights all season."

"Just wait, Jason, I have confidence in my boys."

"How much?" he asks with a sly smirk.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you willing to bet on it."

You laugh, "I'm not betting you, Jason."

"I thought you had confidence," he mimics.

"Fine!" you agree.

"Looser has to wear the other team's jersey for a day."

"What! Hell no I will never put your ugly black and grey colors on."

"If you are so sure they will win then you won't have to." he counters.

"Deal."

Shaking hands you seal it. The Spartans better win you can't even fathom the thought of anyone from Star hearing about you wearing a Knights jersey. You shiver just thinking about it.

~~~~

Jason leaves you to get settled in saying He and Roy will pick you up for the game at noon tomorrow. It will be weird hanging out with Roy all day after you blew up on him but at least you will have another Spartans fan with you. You decide to order pizza for dinner and just chill on the couch. You sent some quick texts to Oliver and Connor letting them know you arrived safe and sound in Gotham. You even gave Connor a full rundown of the child from hell on your flight.

When you told him you're about your wager with Jason he made you promise to not "Waist your hard-earned money" on "cursed" merchandise from "that hell hole they call a city." you laughed at him but his dead silence over the phone made you think he was being serious.

You ended the call when the pizza arrived. You took the whole box to the couch and turned on the TV to watch the office. It was 11 o'clock when you saw Gotham's famed heroes on the rooftop ahead of you. All the lights were on in the room since you changed it from your lighthearted comedy to the Conjuring. You weren't an idiot about to watch scary movies in the dark in a place you never been before. No, you were smart. You turned the lights on. Because that was so much better.

You figured they could see into your apartment and since you saw Red hood their you decided to waive. He waved back along with a shorter man in black and blue next to him. They departed soon after and you decided to hit the hay so you could get a good nights sleep before tomorrow.

~~~~

When you woke up you were somewhat startled when you noticed you weren't in your room back at home. You crawled out of bed taking a quick shower before trudging into the kitchen to order some breakfast. Scanning over the room service menu you spotted y/f/f and called it in as quick as possible. You decided that you were going to wear all your Spartans gear for the game today just to piss of Jason. Thankfully your team is red and black unlike Gothams ugly black and grey wich you now see fits them.

Throwing off your towel you pull on some black leggings, for Gotham's cold weather you throw a black hoodie on and button your red jersey over it. You decide to even wear your red baseball socks and pull them over the bottom of your leggings and throw on some black PF flyers. You laugh at your over the top outfit in the mirror and send a quick pick of it to Conner who salutes you in return.

Roomservice arrives just in time and you open the door to collect your food. The busser scrunched his nose at the sight of your outfit and pushes it into your room. "I don't think you want to wear that around here you might get shot."

You laugh for a second and he looks at you seriously, "You are joking right."

"Well," He thinks to himself, "I think that's more likely to happen to a meteors fan," he shrugs.

You nod your head before sending him out. You quickly scarf up your food before Jason and Roy arrive.

It is exactly 11:59 when Jason texts you that he is outside. The thing is you can't recall ever getting his phone number. You shrug it off and make your way downstairs. You try to ignore the looks Gothamites give you as you prance down the hall. Its all a ton of glares until on short kid with a camera draped around his next shouts "Is that y/n Queen!"

You roll your eyes glaring at him "Harper! h-a-r-p-e-r I'm not a queen."

He just shrugs and puts a camera up to his eye and follows you out of the lobby onto the sidewalk. You see Roys fiery red hair in the car across the street. He looks at you giving an awkward smile.

You strut over to who what you assume is Jason's car considering he's behind the wheel. The kid you now know is paparazzi flashes pictures the whole way. You decide to have fun and pose for some making him smile and say thanks before walking off. At least he wasn't rude.

You sit in the backseat of the car and buckle up. You were thankful that you did considering the way Jason peels out of the parking spot making you hold on for dear life.

"Sorry y/n, Jason's a crazy driver," Roy sighs.

Jason huffs, "I am not a crazy driver Harper. I'm a carefree driver."

That statement makes you hold on the rest of the ride.

It's not long until Jason veers into a reserved parking spot. Climbing out of the death machine you thank the gods you made it out of their alive. When you do you are able to get a look at your brother and his friend's outfits. Roy is dressed identically to you. Wich doesn't surprise you. THankfully he is wearing black jeans instead of leggings but all he needs is the socks and it would be a perfect match. Jason, however, is wearing his grey Gotham knights jersey with black jeans. You take note of his last name written on the back along with his number of choice '05'.

The three of you walk to the gate getting your tickets scanned and your bags checked. When you finally got inside you could smell all the classic game food. You didn't talk much to Roy deciding to talk to Jason most of the time instead. It was already a big step for you to even be there with Roy so you decided to take it slow and it seems he did too. You find your seats and sit wich is right behind home plate. When the game starts you admire all the hunky baseball players that come up to bat getting the perfect view. You sit in the middle of Roy and Jason so you can talk to them both. You tried to just sit by Jason but he trapped you in the middle. You text Conner letting him no you made it not so safely but are okay now. He responds about how jealous he is that you are there and you promise to take him to the next home game. There was one player on the Spartans that you found so hot. He was tall and muscular he was a great player and you ogled him the whole game. Jason and Roy found it excruciating. Every time he would come up to bat you would grab their arms shaking them as you squealed in delight. Every. Single. Time. He was also the catcher so you got to see him even more. It would have been better without the ump in the way though.

Throughout the game, you would send updates to Connor who was stuck at work and couldn't watch the game. You would also tell him every time you favorite was up describing his glory in full detail. You are almost positive he ignored those texts.

Jasons favorite player was the pitcher and every time your boy came up to bat Jason would go on and on about how he would get struck out but thankfully he never did and you got to rub it in each time. Although it was the bottom of 9th inning now and the Spartans were down by one run. You sent Connor updates practically every second making Jason confiscate your phone to stop the clicking noise. Of course, there were two outs with one runner on second an third and your favorite was up to bat. If he just hit a double the Spartans would win and you could laugh in Jasons face as he put on a Spartans jersey.

You started to clam up when there where two stikes. The three of you were on the edge of your seats. When the pitcher threw his pitch the batter swang and missed.

Your heart was crushed. Jason jumped up out of his chair and turned back at you laughing directly in your face as you covered it with your hands. You were so close goddamnit.

You and Roy sulked the whole way back to the car while Jason practically pranced with a newfound pep in his step. When you got in the car you slumped down in the backseat as Jason laughed going on and on about how he told us the Knights would win.

He finally stopped when he pulled into a Batburger saying something about how the winner gets to pick the restaurant.

The three of you walk in and up to the counter where you order your food. looking at the menu you see how it is themed, half of it was labeled heroes and the other labeled Rogues. You snickered when you saw all the burgers were named after Gotham vigilantes and villains. You could hardly contain your laugh when you saw that Jason didn't have a burger like the rest of his family. Batman was a normal burger Robin was a cheeseburger. Red Robin was a burger with peanut butter on it wich you found strange. Nightwing even had one even though he was based in Bludhaven, his was a double cheeseburger. After scanning batgirl, spoiler, black bat, signal, and even one labeled ' that onetime Nightwing was batman' you looked over at the Rogue side.  You finally couldn't contain your laughter. Underneath The Joker, Penguin, Scarecrow, Ridler, Catwoman, Clayface, and Mr. freeze you saw one named 'The Red Hood' and you burst out laughing. Jason saw this and scowled huffing and puffing about how he isn't a villain and he should have a special spot in the middle.

When you got up to order you chose a Nightwing along with Roy and Jason ordered himself saying, "I want the Red Hood burger but by the way! He is not a villain he has saved countless lives so you should really change that before he decides to come in here and take care of it himself."

The man behind the cash register just blinks and asks, 'Will that be all?"

Jason just growls and hands him the money.

When you all sit down you send Connor a quick text about the result of the game and attempt to start a conversation. "Even though the Spartans lost I still had fun." I smile at the two boys sitting across from you.

"Would have been more fun if you weren't texting Connor the whole time," Roy says rolling his eyes.

You scowl at him before saying, "I wasn't texting him the whole time I was just giving him updates Roy."

As soon as his name leaves my mouth my phone lights up beside me dinging. "Who is that?" Roy asks gesturing to my phone.

I look at the message 'Conner' lights up the screen along with a picture of him right after he woke up from a nap looking like a hot mess. "Oliver," I respond snatching my phone up.

"You liar." Roy scowls.

"So what if it is I don't see the issue."

"Becuase you were supposed to come here to hang out with me not text your stupid boyfriend the whole time."

Jason just sits there looking back and forth between the both of us, "For the last time Roy he's not my boyfriend!"

Faster than the flash he snatches my phone out of my hand and scoffs, "Then why does he have hearts around his name?"

Your fists curl up in your lap, "All of my contacts have hearts around them, Roy, its how I know which number it is."

"Does mine?"

"No. I deleted your contact months ago."

We sit there scowling at each other till Jason chimes in, "Look guys I think we should just calm down."

You look at him with the same glare you had been giving Roy, "Don't tell me to calm down Todd! He has been gone for a year and when he comes back all he does it lecture me about Conner I'm sick of it he has no right to tell me who I can and can't date."

"Yes I can," Roy speaks up, " Whether you like it or not I am your big brother. As your big brother, I am telling you that you can absolutely not date any hero ever!"

You stare at him completely flabbergasted, "Why?"

"Because they are all my friends and that's like against the law!"

"But-"

He interrupts you, "Please y/n," he is quieter now more sincere, "Please promise me you won't date any superheroes."

You look at him still scowling, "Fine." Your food finally arrives and you refuse to look at Jason or Roy. Jason decides its best to just take it to go and everyone can eat on their own. You agree.

You go to sit in the car and wait for the boys while Jason and Roy talk. Jason says he is going to drop Roy off at their shared apartment then take you to yours and you just shrug and look out the window.

You sit staring out the car at all the others racing by in the dark grim streets of Gotham.

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Nine

summary: Christine spends an eye-opening day babysitting a fugitive. word count: 4.5k warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and girl time [ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

The journey to the Walcott house was, unsurprisingly, quiet. Christine walked alongside her bike, Eleven staying close to her on the other side. She always stayed on the curb-side. Every time a car passed, she would tense up and pull closer to Christine’s figure, trying to stay out of sight. It was concerning, to say the least. Christine was tempted to take her shortcut, just to get the girl off the streets, but they couldn’t risk walking through the playground this close to classes, especially if the girl was supposed to stay hidden. 

They hurried up the driveway and into the house, Christine locking the front door behind her. For a moment, they both stood there, waiting. Christine half-expected someone to kick her door down, demanding to know who this little girl was and trying to take her away. But nothing happened. They had not been followed. 

She glanced down, noticing the box of cereal she had abandoned on the floor. Sheepishly, she snatched it up. It was stupid to be embarrassed—especially when Eleven obviously had little to no concept of normality—but her presence was enough to make Christine nervous. 

She cleared her throat, looking down at the tiny girl in front of her. “Um…are you hungry?” 

Eleven did not meet her eyes, but timidly nodded. 

Christine beckoned her into the kitchen. Cups and mugs littered the counter where she’d left them in her search for the key to the liquor cabinet. Eleven looked at them curiously, her head cocked to the side like a small puppy. Christine hurriedly tried to stuff everything back in the cupboard. 

“Sorry, just uh…so! What do you want to eat? I’ve got some cereal, I can make eggs—pretty much only scrambled, though. Mike said you like waffles, right? I can’t make them from scratch, but I might have some in the freezer.” 

She glanced over her shoulder to find Eleven staring at her with rapt attention. Apparently “waffle” had been the buzzword to use. 

“Yeah? Toaster waffles are okay?” 

Eleven nodded. 

Christine smiled and patted the counter, gesturing for her to have a seat on the other side before she started on breakfast. She found an unopened box of Eggos in the freezer, and grabbed some eggs from the fridge as well. She could at least pretend it was a balanced meal. She wasn’t sure what Eleven might want to drink, and she doubted that asking her would yield any real results. So she just grabbed a bunch of things out of the fridge and laid them on the counter. If she was thirsty, she could help herself. 

It didn’t take long to cook the eggs, and the waffles were done in a matter of minutes. Christine split them two and two, and dropped them onto some plates. She pushed one toward Eleven and turned back to the stove. 

“Okay, eggs are almost up. We’ve got salt, pepper, ketchup if you like that sort of thing. Oh! And syrup, let me get you some syrup. Here you…” 

She trailed off, the bottle of syrup dangling from her fingers. Eleven froze and stared back at her. One of the waffles was already gone, the second paused halfway to her mouth. Maintaining eye contact, she slowly put it back down on her plate. 

“Um…right. Okay.” Christine picked up her plate, sliding her waffles on top of Eleven’s. “Go crazy, kid.” 

The girl did not respond, and did not move until Christine’s back was turned once more. 

Christine made two more waffles for herself and finished the eggs. Eleven wrinkled her nose when Christine spooned some onto her plate, snatching up her stack of Eggos like she was afraid of contamination. Christine ignored her distaste. 

She leaned on the counter across from Eleven, digging into her own food. It was difficult to ignore the feeling of being watched, studied. But she did her best not to acknowledge it. She focused on her plate—systematically seasoning her eggs, cutting up her waffles, and then pouring syrup on top. 

“You wanna try?” she asked, offering the bottle. 

Eleven almost seemed offended. She clutched her plain waffles to her chest. 

“Suit yourself.” 

They ate in silence. Eleven had slowed down a bit, nibbling on each waffle rather than scarfing them down like a race. Still, she refused to touch her eggs. Christine wasn’t too bothered. She simply ate her meal and dropped her dish in the sink. She moved the drinks back to the fridge, locked up the liquor cabinet, then turned back to her guest. 

“You can just put your plate over here when you’re done,” she said, patting the countertop. “TV’s in the living room, snacks are in this cupboard over here. I’m gonna go take a shower, so…just make yourself at home, I guess.” 

She smiled, and walked down the hallway to her bedroom. 

Normally, she wouldn’t have considered leaving a strange child alone in her house. But Christine was still wearing her tee and overalls from the night before. She might have brushed her teeth, but her sickness was still clinging to her like a fine film. And now that the shock of her neighbor’s kid harboring some kind of fugitive had worn off, her nausea was starting to make a reappearance. 

She grabbed a change of clothes—just some sweats and a T-shirt—and headed for the bathroom. But she stopped short, letting out a small yelp. 

Eleven was standing in the doorway, watching her blankly. 

“Uh, hey. Is something wrong?” 

She wasn’t exactly surprised by Eleven’s silence, but the lack of response was becoming frustrating. It was like talking to a very timid brick wall. 

Christine sighed, stepping around the girl and starting down the hall. She could hear Eleven shuffling behind her. She stopped just outside the bathroom. Eleven stopped too. 

“Look. I can set you up with a movie or something if you want, but taking a shower is something people usually do alone.” 

“Alone. Bad.” 

Christine turned around in surprise. Eleven had her hands clenched in front of her, her shoulders hunched over to make her seem as small as possible. Upon closer inspection, her expression wasn’t blank so much as it was earnest. She was nervous, terrified of whatever it was she thought was waiting for her beyond the walls. When Christine thought about it, the girl probably hadn’t been alone since Mike took her in. The last time she had been, she’d been out in the woods, running away from…something. 

Christine withered. “Okay. Come on.” 

Eleven followed her into the bathroom, taking a seat on the toilet when Christine patted the lid. Christine put her fresh clothes up next to the sink, and then stepped into the bathtub. She turned to face Eleven, pulling the shower curtain closed. 

“So I’m gonna turn the water on, and I’ll be right behind this, okay? It’s only going to be for a few minutes. And if you need anything, I’ll be right here. Is that better?” 

She peeked out from behind the curtain, and Eleven nodded. 

It wasn’t nearly ask awkward as she’d expected. Christine simply dropped her clothes on the other side of the curtain and carried on as usual. It felt good to wash her hair, scrub the drowsiness off her skin—even if the hot water wasn’t doing much for her head. Eleven was so quiet, it was easy to forget she was there. There was only one time Christine remembered she had an audience. 

She was combing her conditioner through her hair, humming to herself as she went. It wasn’t something she was conscious of. She was always humming something or other. But then she stopped—and the sound did not. 

Christine paused, her eyes fluttering open. But the noise was gone. She started again, a bit softer this time. After a few seconds, it started again. She had to strain to hear it, but there was a faint, timid echo on the other side of the curtain. The notes were not the same, and the tune was almost clumsy, but it was definitely there. An experimental hum, testing out a song. 

She grinned, and hummed a little louder. 

Twenty minutes later, Christine stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. A small giggle caught her off guard, and her head snapped toward Eleven. Impossibly, the girl was hiding a smile. 

“What?” Christine asked. 

She followed Eleven’s eyes, reaching up to pat the towel that was twisted on top of her head. Just that seemed to be amusing, and Eleven pressed her thin lips into a tight line. 

“Oh, you think I look funny, huh? Well…you look funny.” 

Christine stuck her tongue out, which did not seem to register as an appropriate response. Eleven stared at her, brow furrowed, and she sighed. 

“Never mind. Sorry. It just means that you’re being silly.” 

Eleven blinked. Uncertainly, she opened her mouth, letting her tongue hang out limply. It looked more like she was waiting for the doctor to stick her with a tongue depressor than making fun of someone—but the intent was clearly there. 

Christine grinned. “Yeah, I guess I am. Fair enough.” 

They left the bathroom, Eleven following more closely this time than she had before. Christine figured that was probably a good sign. She was getting comfortable. Still, it made it a bit awkward when she had to stop in front of her room, towel still wrapped tightly around her body and clothes in hand. 

“Hey, could you just wait here for a second?” she asked, looking down at her. “I just need to—not alone just uh…privacy?” 

To her surprise, Eleven’s eyes lit up in understanding. She took a step away, and turned her back to the room. 

Relieved, Christine changed into her fresh clothes. She called out when it was safe to reenter the room, toweling off her hair. 

Eleven walked cautiously into the bedroom, her eyes wide and bright once more. Her curiosity was fascinating to Christine. She didn’t think her room was anything special. It certainly wasn’t as nice or pretty as Nancy’s was anyway, with its pastel stripes and delicate furniture. Christine’s walls were just beige, her carpet just green. Her closet doors were slotted wood, just like her bedframe, just like her desk, just like her dresser. None of the wood really matched. 

Her desk was covered in books and paper. Homework, old receipts, the remnants of Will’s missing posters. She’d plastered more paper over her walls, mostly movie posters she’d stolen since she started working at The Hawk. She had Indiana Jones, Poltergeist, Empire Strikes Back, and a few others. And just over her desk was her corkboard, where everything from pictures to science fair ribbons to ticket stubs was tacked up in disarray. 

Eleven moved around the room, inspecting each thing in turn. She looked through all the necklaces and scrunchies strewn across the top of the dresser. She studied the phone on the bedside table, tugging on the cord and jumping a bit when it bounced back. She ran her hand over the unmade bed, feeling the texture of the blankets. 

Christine draped her towel over the bedpost, and watched as Eleven stopped in front of the desk. She stared up at the board, silent for several minutes. Slowly, she raised a hand, and jabbed a finger at one of the photos. 

“What’s up?” Christine peered over her head. “Oh yeah, that’s Dustin. That was a few summers ago. We went to the carnival.” 

It was a good picture of them. Christine and Dustin sat at a picnic table, pigging out on a bag of cotton candy. Mr. Henderson had been visiting for the weekend, and insisted on going as a family. Dustin had dragged his feet, knowing his parents would be arguing the whole night. So Claudia had invited Christine and her dad to join them. She’d been sick all night from the sugar, but it had been worth it to see Dustin so off-the-walls happy. And to listen to him scream in terror when she dragged him on the Rok N’ Rol. He still hadn’t forgiven her for that. 

“Friend?” asked Eleven. 

“Yeah, totally. Though sometimes he feels more like my annoying little brother.” Eleven turned to look at her, and Christine backpedaled. “Um…you know, brother? Sister? Sibling? Someone who has the same parents as you. Your family.” 

Eleven’s gaze dropped to the floor before she turned back to the board. 

Christine watched her carefully, not at all sure of her next question. “Do you have any? Family?” 

“Papa.” 

The word didn’t seem to offer her any comfort. Eleven said it with more respect than fondness. 

“Me too,” said Christine. “I mean, it’s just me and my dad. He’s at work most of the time, but it’s not so bad now that we’re not moving every few months. He’s a consultant. So we used to travel around helping different companies. It was fun for a while, but…well. It’s not easy making friends when you only stick around for a couple months. 

“Now he’s the head of some HR department in the city. I get to stay in one school, and he still gets to travel a couple times a year for business trips. See? This is him.” 

She pulled another photo off of the board, handing it to Eleven so she could take a closer look. 

This was an old picture, six or seven years at least. They’d been living in California, and close enough to the coast that she could go to the beach whenever she wanted. In the photo she was perched on top of her father’s shoulders. Her hair was stringy from the salt water, and she had to squint in the bright afternoon sun. Both of them had pink cheeks, the start of a sunburn that would ache for days, but they were still beaming. 

Eleven ran her fingers over the younger Christine’s face, her own lips pulling into a smile. 

“Happy.” 

Christine’s stomach flopped. It was the way she’d said the word—as if it were more of a myth than an emotion. And as Christine looked at her—the thin frame, the sheared hair, the bags underneath her eyes, and still that small smile—she wondered if Mike was so crazy for wanting to protect her after all. 

“Alright.” She sighed, taking the picture from Eleven’s hands and tacking it up on the board. “You leave me with no choice. You can have one more waffle, but that is it. After that, you’re going to sit on the couch and mindlessly watch TV like a normal child, and I’m going to do my homework. I’m gonna be so behind from skipping today, it’s ridiculous.” 

She herded Eleven out of the room, taking the chance to brush her fingers along the girl’s back. Still, her smile never faltered. Christine marked that down as a win. 

They sat down for second breakfast. Eleven had two more Eggos, while Christine finished the eggs that had gone untouched. Then they moved into the living room. Christine set Eleven up on the couch in front of the television, complete with popcorn and a blanket. She was riveted by the remote control, which took several minutes to explain to her. 

Once she’d gotten a handle on which buttons changed the picture and which ones changed the sound, Christine let her be. She dragged her dinner table over to the armchair and began pulling out her homework. She’d been so sulky the day before that she hadn’t done any of her assignments, and she would be missing a bunch in class. She figured she would just tell everyone she was sick. It wasn’t exactly a lie, she thought as her stomach writhed again. 

The television did a pretty good job of keeping Eleven occupied—but only for a few hours. Soon her eyes began to stray from the screen, taking note of everything else in the room. She wouldn’t get up from her seat, but Christine caught her eyeing the stereo cabinet with increasing interest. 

“You can look, you know.” Her voice made Eleven’s head whip around, and Christine offered an encouraging smile. “El, you don’t have to stay on the couch. So long as you don’t pull any of my tapes apart, we’ll be okay.” 

Eleven slowly got up from her seat. Her eyes stayed glued to Christine, as if she were worried she might change her mind at any moment. But Christine just nodded. 

Eventually, Eleven eased into a meticulous circle of the room, just like she had in the bedroom. She pressed a few buttons on the stereo experimentally. However, the system wasn’t on, so this had limited effect. Still, Eleven seemed happy just pushing them, and looking through the large collection of cassettes. She held them up to the light, studying them, winding the delicate wheels. But she never pulled on the tape, thank God. 

When she tired of the stereo, she moved onto the rest of the room—the few magazines scattered on the table, the VHS tapes under the television, the knick-knacks and framed pictures on side tables. And though Christine kept a weather eye on her, most of Eleven’s exploring seemed completely benign. 

They sat this way for the rest of the day, only breaking for the bathroom or the occasional snack. Christine made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, which she hadn’t really expected Eleven to eat. To her surprise, the girl devoured it, keeping her pace just slow enough to avoid being alarming. 

A little after two o’clock, the phone rang in the kitchen. The sound was jarring in the quiet afternoon, and Eleven jumped about a foot from her seat on the floor. 

“It’s alright,” Christine said quickly, holding up her hands. “It’s just the phone. I’m gonna go answer it, alright?” 

Eleven nodded, still looking shaken, but leaning against the couch once more. 

Christine grabbed the television remote, lowering the volume before she rushed to the phone. She was more focused on stopping the noise than anything else, and peeked around the corner into the living room as she picked up the receiver. 

“Hello?” 

“Chrissy? Hey, it’s Nancy.” 

Her attention shot to the phone. That had not at all been what she was expecting. 

“Oh, uh…hey, Nance. What’s up?” 

“Nothing, I just—Well, you didn’t come to school, so…I was worried.” 

“Yeah. Guess I wasn’t really feeling it.” 

“Right.” There was a heavy pause, and Nancy cleared her throat. “Is Barb there with you?” 

“No? I thought she was with you?” 

“No. She didn’t show up for school either. I just thought…” 

There was something about Nancy’s voice that kept Christine from immediately snapping at her. It was weak, wavering. It almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears. 

“You haven’t talked to her?” Nancy asked, almost pleading. “Since last night?” 

“No, I told you. I called her house this morning, and her mom said she stayed with you. I figured since I hadn’t seen her, that was probably the best bet.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Christine clenched her jaw, tightening her grip on the handset. 

“Look, Nancy. I woke up this morning, and everyone was just gone, and I was alone on Steve Harrington’s couch. So yes. I’m pretty sure I didn’t see her. Maybe she went to the hospital, considering her hand was sliced open like a ham.” 

That did not earn an immediate response. Christine pursed her lips in satisfaction. 

A sound caught her attention from the other room, and she peered around the corner again to check on Eleven. She was still sitting on the floor, staring at the television, but the screen was now full of static. Christine furrowed her brow, but before she could think of an explanation, the picture came back. A cartoon rolled on the screen. It clicked. Now the news was playing. Click. Now an infomercial. Click. A soda commercial. 

Christine looked down at the remote in her hand, and then to Eleven, still sitting six feet away from the screen. 

“Christine, about last night…” 

“Hey, Nancy, I’m actually in the middle of something right now. I’ll call you if I hear from Barb, okay?” 

She hung up the phone, staring into the living room. The television was still flickering, pausing on certain channels before deciding to scroll on. Eleven was staring at the screen unfazed, not looking the least bit bothered by the interference. 

Christine took a few cautious steps into the room, not wanting to alarm her. 

“Eleven?” 

The television immediately turned off. Eleven whirled around, staring at Christine with wide eyes. Christine had never seen an expression worthier of the description “deer in the headlights.” And in that instant, she decided not to acknowledge it. 

“Sorry about the TV.” Christine paced around the couch, placing the remote on top of the television. She smacked it weakly. “It’s been a little out of whack this week. All the electric has. Do you want me to try and put it back on?” 

Eleven quickly shook her head. It was then that Christine noticed the blood dripping from her nose. 

“Oh, you’re…hang on.” 

Christine hurried back to the kitchen. She grabbed a few paper towels, hurriedly running them under the sink and darting back into the living room. She forced herself to slow down as she kneeled down next to Eleven, not wanting to frighten her further. 

“Can I…?” 

She gestured to Eleven’s face with the cloth. She half expected the girl to say no, but Eleven nodded instead. Christine placed a gentle hand on her chin. Lightly as she could, she nudged her face toward her, wiping the blood from her upper lip. 

There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask. Are you alright? Does this happen often? Is it because of the weather or do you actually have telekinetic superpowers like the weird boys I babysit are insisting? She didn’t ask any of them. 

“There we go,” she said, tossing the paper towel into the trash. “Much better.” 

Eleven was still staring at her. From what she could see, the terror was gone from her eyes. She’d gone back to the lingering, probing gaze, the one that made Christine feel as though she was being slowly analyzed from the inside out. It was so intense that Christine had to turn away. Still, she could feel the look burning her skin. 

“So, uh…do you want anything to drink?” 

“No.” 

“Okay. Do you want to lie down? Sleep for a bit?” 

“No.” 

Christine bobbed her head. “Alright. Well, if the TV’s out, we can always listen to some music.” 

She got to her feet, heading for the stereo and flicking it to life. She sifted through the cassettes, trying to find something particularly special. Her eyes lit up as she selected one, and slotted it into the machine. 

“Okay, this one is my absolute favorite. Every single song on here is golden. I really need to get another copy soon, or I’m gonna wear the tape out.” 

She turned the volume down before the tape could start, ensuring that it couldn’t startle Eleven. Then she slowly turned it up as the plucking bass to “Movin’ Out” by Billy Joel swelled through the living room. 

Christine bopped slowly to the beat, letting her chin fall forward as she rocked her head back and forth. She swayed on the spot, and closed her eyes to sing the along to the hums and riffs at the opening. Spinning around in circles, she peeked over at the couch to find Eleven watching her in undisguised puzzlement. 

“What?” Christine giggled, bouncing on the spot. “You don’t listen to music?” 

Eleven shook her head, eyeing Christine with something between amusement and concern. 

“Okaaay. What about dancing?” 

She spun on the spot, throwing her arms up and tossing her head back dramatically. That got her a tiny giggle, and Eleven shook her head again. 

“Wow. Well I love music. And I love to dance. And if no one’s around, sometimes I even sing—and it seems such a waste of time! If that’s what it’s all about! Momma if that’s moving up than ahhh…’m movin’ out!” 

Christine sank passionately to her knees, miming the horns in the song and making Eleven giggle again. She grinned, only for Eleven to stick out her tongue again. Christine’s jaw dropped comically and she laughed, rolling onto her butt and pushing the hair out of her face. 

“Alright, fair enough. Enough silliness. Do you want me to turn it off?” 

Eleven thought about it. She tugged her legs closer to her body, and shook her head. Christine didn’t want to admit it, but it made her heart swell with pride. 

“You’ve got good taste, kid. I’ll give you that.” 

She turned the stereo down just a bit, and returned to the homework in her armchair. She was all the more reluctant now to focus on history dates and the plights of Rosasharn in in the West, but she did her best. Still, every few seconds she would look up to check on El. 

Ever so slowly, the girl had migrated to sit next to the stereo. She seemed entranced by the spinning wheels of the cassette player, and stared at them through entire songs. She jumped at the sound the tape made when it stopped, and Christine talked her through what buttons to press to eject the tape and flip it. When side B started, she went right back to staring at the wheels and humming along under her breath. 

But there was more than music weighing on Christine’s mind. She sat back in her armchair, watching the small girl bouncing happily in the corner. She was at peace now, but when the television had turned off, she’d seemed properly scared. And not of the television set, but of Christine’s reaction. 

Christine shut down the trail of thinking before she could even get started. The electricity had been acting up all week. That hadn’t been a lie. Faulty power lines and signal interference were much more plausible than…what? Superpowers? 

At the same time, she couldn’t deny that El seemed to have…something. Certainly something that made her valuable to the people who were looking for her. Whether that was information or abilities or property, Christine couldn’t be sure. And if that was true, how much of the rest was? They boys seemed willing to bet a lot on Eleven—that she had powers, that she knew where Will was, that she could find him. And here was Christine, sitting in front of her unfinished English assignment. 

She glanced over at Eleven again, now swaying to the tune of “She’s Always A Woman.” Christine wasn’t sure how her day had gone from waking up at a boy’s house to babysitting an ability-enhanced fugitive. But she was pretty sure it was not about to start making sense any time soon.

[advocaado]

Day 29: The Moment You Knew

@thirtydaysofzutara @zutaramonth

This is the final part of the Western AU (Days 7 and 15), as promised. I wrote all of this in one day. Now I am dead.

Find the whole collection on fanfiction.net User: Advocaat

April

It had been nearly a month now since construction on the new railroad had begun and West Bluhaven was more bustling than ever with out-of-towners coming in droves to help lay the tracks. Katara’s small town had never felt more lively and she could smell change in the wind. This expansion would turn the town into a major stopover for those seeking to push further west and that, in turn, would direct the flow of wealth their way. Whether she liked it or not, her quiet town wasn’t going to be quiet for much longer.

At the center of this change was, of course, Ember Steel. The mill was busier than ever as each week it delivered a new shipment of tracks to the workers out west. Just about every able-bodied young man Katara knew had gone to work either in the mill or running transports of materials and provisions to the track layers. It seemed nearly everyone had a stake in the project and that meant Ember Steel was hot news both locally and nationally. Katara couldn’t pick up a paper without seeing articles about the railroad project. Most such articles waxed lyrical about the effort and Ember Steel’s role in it, calling it the next big step in America’s expansion, but a few took a more critical stance, referencing the company’s shady business practices and poor reputation in the towns it had exploited to financial ruin.

Katara, true to her ongoing opinion of Ember Steel, was quick to side with the nay-sayers. A company didn’t just change overnight, and as much good as Zuko had done for their town since moving in, she couldn’t help but still be skeptical that this prosperity would last. With the increase in commerce that would come of completing the railroad, Zuko would be in the best position possible to start sucking up their newfound wealth. The more she saw what lay ahead, the more she suspected that this had been Zuko’s plan all along. In waiting to exploit them, he’d both improved his company’s reputation, building trust with both West Bluhaven and Tofteville, and he’d greatly elevated the amount of wealth he was set to gain once he began hiking prices. This rail deal had killed two birds with one stone.

Katara scowled as she crumpled up the latest copy of the national press. That Zuko was a slyer weasel than she’d given him credit for. Well, unluckily for him, she’d spotted his plot a mile away and there was no way she was going to allow him to get his way so easily. Her town would not become a stomping ground for Ember Steel. Not on her life.

The sound of crunching paper caused her father to raise an eyebrow at her from across the breakfast table. “Is something wrong?” he questioned in that patient tone of his. Doubtless he knew precisely why she’d wadded the news into a ball.

Katara set the ball on the table beside her plate and averted her gaze from his. “Nothing at all,” she answered airily. “I was just thinking about our town’s impending demise at the hands of Ember Steel.”

Hakoda exhaled a tired-sounding sigh and set his fork onto his empty plate with a soft clink. “Katara, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. Mr. Redford and I have a deal. He is legally barred from raising prices beyond a mutually agreed upon market margin. The documents detailing the agreement are safely locked away in my office, and so long as those documents exist, Mr. Redford can’t do as he pleases.”

Katara redirected her gaze to her plate, her frown remaining. She just didn’t think it was that simple. Crooks would be crooks and deals could be got around. There was a reason people called the west lawless. If Zuko was determined to get what he wanted, he would, deal or no deal.

“By the way,” her father spoke again, his tone brightening. “I meant to tell you, your brother will be back in town next month. He’s hinted that he may be bringing a lady friend along as well.”

At once, the scowl melted from Katara’s face. It was replaced by a look of surprise paired with excitement. “Sokka got a girlfriend? Really?”

“That’s what I inferred from his letter. I’ll admit I’m curious to see what sort of girl she is. Sokka is a fine young man but he always was terrible at wooing. I imagine any girl who would fall for him must have a saintly level of tolerance, eh?” He cracked a grin to punctuate this statement.

Katara brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “No kidding. Maybe she’s turned on by bad jokes?”

“That or she’s deaf.”

The two shared a good laugh, their conversation from a moment earlier all but forgotten.

May

The first day of May was always a special day for Katara. May meant the spring rains were receding and the chill of winter was a thing of the past. Not to mention the spring blossoms were out in full force. All around town, buildings were decorated with spring colors and pots of flowers were placed along the streets and in front of shops to hail in the loveliest month of the year.

That morning, Katara celebrated by donning a new peony-colored dress she’d spent the better part of winter stitching. Instead of her usual blue clip, she fastened her hair with a pale pink ribbon and decorated it with freshly cut roses to match. Every girl wanted to look her best on May Day.

She was just finishing her breakfast when she was surprised by a knock at the door. Curious who would be calling so early, she scooted out her chair and walked out of the kitchen to greet her visitor. She grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, a cordial “good morning” on her lips, but the greeting died when she looked outside and found no one. The porch was empty.

No, not empty. Looking down, she found a large woven basket nearly overflowing with a myriad of colorful flowers. Seeing a note sticking out from the side, she reached down and plucked it out. Happy May Day was written in a scrawl that looked oddly familiar.

Someone had gifted her a May basket.

Katara’s face heated at being the receiver of such a gift. May baskets were often left by smitten young men on girls’ porches as a sign of their affection. Did this mean there was a boy in town who fancied her? The note wasn’t signed, so she had no way of knowing the gifter’s identity. Pleased nonetheless, she scooped up the basket and brought it inside. It would make a lovely decoration for their table.

Later that morning, after her household chores had been completed, Katara set out to do some shopping in town. The weather was beautiful and people of all sorts were out and about, strolling through the main street and admiring the May Day decorations. Today, Katara fully intended to splurge and purchase a cake for her family to share.

She pushed the door open to the baker’s shop and the smell of fresh bread and sweets filled her nose. She smiled and inhaled, savoring the delectable scents. Sweets were a rare treat, even for the daughter of the sheriff. As she perused the finely crafted cakes in the case by the till, she heard the bell on the door behind her give a little jingle. A moment later, a presence appeared at her side and Katara glanced up at the newcomer curiously.

“Good morning, Katara,” Zuko greeted brightly, his yellow eyes twinkling in the midmorning light.

Katara blinked at the sight of him. He looked very different this morning than usual. His plain work trousers had been traded out for a pair of dark gray slacks and his cotton shirt had been replaced with a crisp dress shirt fastened smartly at the collar with a black long-armed bowtie, all encased by a custom-tailored, finely embroidered vest. His shaggy hair was still shaggy but had clearly had a brush run through it. All in all, he looked very much more like the heir to the Ember Steel empire than he did on a typical day.

Katara tried not to stare. It was all kinds of odd seeing Zuko dressed like a dapper society man. Although she was well aware that he was a man of status, it was easy to think of him as just another guy when he paraded about in sooty factory trousers.

Zuko smiled and reached out to delicately touch the flowers in her hair. “You look lovely today. Pink is a stunning color on you.”

Katara blushed and took a step backward to put some distance between them. Maybe it was the way he was dressed, but she was feeling particularly flustered by his closeness.

“What are you doing here, Zuko?” she questioned to cover her lack of composure. “Shouldn’t you be at the mill?”

Zuko nodded and she watched him rummage around in his vest for a moment before producing an envelope. “I was on my way to the post office when I saw you walk in here. I figured I ought to stop in and say hi, given it’s May Day.”

Katara nodded dumbly. For some reason, words were coming harder to her today than usual. Zuko’s smile was radiant and it was muddling her emotions. “Um, yeah,” she finally said. “It is. May Day.”

Zuko’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he turned to the case of cakes. He appeared to examine them for a moment and then said, “The selection here is pretty good. Is there a cake in particular you were eyeing?”

Katara turned back to the case as well and her gaze settled on a buttercream frosted spice cake. She set her fingertip on the glass. “I was just thinking that one looks pretty good.”

Zuko followed her finger and nodded. “Good choice.” Without warning, he raised his hand, signaling the baker, and said, “I’d like this one, please.”

“Wait, Zuko—”

Katara’s protest was ignored as the baker pulled the cake in question and proceeded to box it up. She could only watch helplessly as Zuko exchanged money with the baker’s wife at the till. When the woman looked past Zuko and gave Katara a wink, she blushed and dropped her gaze to the counter. No doubt the whole town would hear of this before the day was out.

On the counter, her eyes were drawn to Zuko’s letter. He’d set it down when he went to fish out his wallet and her gaze wandered to the address, painstakingly written in Zuko’s tidy script. Her eyes widened. She recognized that handwriting.

Before she could blink, a box was being deposited in her hands and Zuko’s dazzling smile was once again directed at her. “Here, Katara. Happy May Day.”

Katara took the box and tentatively her eyes rose to meet his. His golden eyes were far too handsome to belong to someone so devilish. Despite herself, she gave him a teeny smile. “Thanks, Zuko. Happy May Day.”

oOo

It was around midmonth when Sokka returned as promised. His arrival was met with many hugs and a whole roasted turkey courtesy of Katara and Kanna. The two had slaved away all day preparing all of Sokka’s favorites. This would be his first trip home in nearly a year and a half and they knew how much he’d be missing the comfort of a home-cooked meal.

Sokka wasted no time in introducing his much anticipated girlfriend. She was a pretty and surprisingly bold girl named Suki who worked in the accounting office down the street from where he was doing is apprenticeship. The whole family took to her quickly, delighted by her confidence and intelligence. Kanna in particular was very pleased that Sokka had found a girl with an actual education instead of a vapid rancher’s daughter. Katara too took to Suki quickly, happy to finally have another girl around to talk to.

Of course, the good mood quickly fled when the topic of conversation inevitably shifted to current events. Sokka, like Katara, very clearly disapproved of their father’s decision to allow Ember Steel to take over their mill.

“I can’t believe you let those crooks get a foothold in our town!” he mirrored Katara’s own protests, laying his palm flat on the table. “You must’ve seen the news about them, Dad. They’re criminals, plain and simple, and now they have control of West Bluhaven.”

Hakoda shook his head. “Calm yourself, Sokka. They don’t have control of anything. I negotiated very carefully with them before allowing the purchase.”

Sokka didn’t look convinced. “And you think they’re going to honor those negotiations?” He shook his head violently. “I’ve seen how they operate. They’re dirty and underhanded and they will go to any lengths to get their way.” He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing seriously. “There are even rumors that Ozai offed his own dad to take control of the company. These guys aren’t just bad news; they’re dangerous.”

Both of Katara’s eyebrows shot up at Sokka’s declaration. As much as she disliked Ember Steel, that seemed like a bit much. Hiking up prices, sure. But patricide? That just sounded like the rumor mill at work. “Ozai can’t really be that bad, can he?” she vocalized these thoughts. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I totally agree with you that they’re evil, but that seems a little extreme.”

Sokka surprised her by shaking his head. “You wouldn’t think so, but I can believe it. That whole family has a reputation for being sociopaths. They lie as easily as they breathe and they don’t care who they hurt as long as there’s something to gain from it. Frankly, they’re terrifying.”

Katara pursed her lips, staying her protests. Oddly, she found herself wanting to defend Zuko’s family. As much as she distrusted him, to call Zuko a sociopath didn’t sit right with her.

She thought of his radiant smile on May Day—the way the sunlight had lit up his eyes and the sincerity in his expression when he’d told her she looked nice in pink. He wasn’t acting, was he? Nobody could fake a smile like that. Moreover, a sociopath wouldn’t leave an unsigned May basket at her door.

Still, she held her tongue. Was she really going to believe Zuko over Sokka?

No. Perish the thought. Clearly she was spending too much time with Zuko.

June

June marked the official start of Summer. It also meant that if the track construction remained on schedule Katara would only have to deal with Zuko for three more months. This was a fact she reminded him of often.

“I have to hand it to you. If nothing else, you’re efficient.”

Katara was wandering through the mill, performing her routine inspection of the place to make sure Zuko was behaving. Zuko, as usual, walked in step beside her. He wore a contented little smile and didn’t rise to her baiting.

“To think you would complete a three-year project in just a single year. Perhaps you’re exploiting labor somewhere I can’t see?”

This time, Zuko answered. “As a matter of fact, I have a whole army of hamsters running in little wheels in the basement. It’s how I generate heat for the furnaces. I go downstairs and whip them when you’re not looking.”

Katara turned an unimpressed glower on him. In reality, she was trying her hardest not to laugh. Zuko apparently could tell because he cracked a smile and his eyes crinkled in the way that they always did when he found something she did amusing.

Katara managed to hold the look just long enough to say, “You fantastic bastard.” Then her composure crumbled and she began giggling.

Zuko joined her and the two of them earned odd looks from a group of workers tending to one of the forges.

When they completed their tour, the two escaped to the yard for some fresh air. The mill was always stifling in the summer. Over the winter, Zuko had crafted some benches from iron and installed several freestanding trellises which Katara had planted a little garden within in the spring. Now it was a merry little corner of color and the two of them often sat together and sipped lemonade when the weather was nice. Today was one such day and a full pitcher of lemonade already sat waiting for them, courtesy of Jee.

Katara flopped onto her usual seat and fanned herself with a hand. “It’s only June and already it’s this hot,” she moaned as Zuko joined her and began pouring the lemonade into cups. Zuko proffered up one of the cups to her which she took gratefully. Jee was the best lemonade maker she knew—an odd thing for a man who’d spent his life on a ship to be good at, but then she supposed the lemons helped to protect against scurvy during long sea voyages. “I’ll tell you what, when you leave, Jee can stay. He’s benign and he provides a crucial service.”

Zuko smiled and set the pitcher aside. “I’ll tell him you said that. He’s waited his whole life to be told he’s benign.”

Katara sniggered and took a sip from her cup. It was an awfully nice day. She was, in all honesty, going to miss this when summer ended. Perhaps whoever bought the mill next would still allow her to come around and lounge in her garden. Beside her, Zuko exhaled a little sigh and turned his face to the sky. He closed his eyes and a soft smile tugged at his mouth as he basked in the warm sunlight. She took a moment to covertly study his face. He didn’t look like a dangerous sociopath. Nor did he look like a crook, for that matter. He appeared just the same as any other young man.

It had been nine months—nearly ten—since he’d first taken over the steelworks and he’d yet to do anything crooked. Katara was loathe to admit it, but it really didn’t seem like he had any intention of doing anything dastardly.

Perhaps she’d been wrong about him?

She shook her head. No, surely not. Companies don’t just change, she reminded herself. There must be something he was hiding from her. Some terrible secret he kept under lock and key. Well, in three months it won’t be my problem anymore, she reasoned. With this thought in mind, she too leaned back and enjoyed the sun on her skin.

July

Two more months. When had she begun counting down the time she and Zuko had left together?

Just two months. Then he would be out of her hair for good. She would force him to slither on back to wherever it was he’d come from and she’d never have to think about him again. No more check-ins. No more fear of economic collapse. No more Ember Steel.

A few months ago, that thought would’ve made her happy. Now, she wasn’t so sure of her feelings. She still didn’t trust Zuko, of course, but the thought of him leaving caused a feeling of almost loneliness to writhe like a worm inside her. She’d been a second shadow to Zuko for nearly a year now and she supposed she’d gotten used to having him around. She found herself thinking about how her life would change once she chased him out, and instead of relief, she found only emptiness. What was she going to do with her afternoons? Who was she going to complain about at the dinner table? Who was going to have snowball fights with her come winter? Who was going to spontaneously carry her groceries and buy her cakes? Who was going to leave May flowers at her door?

Could it be that she actually…maybe liked Zuko? Just a little?

Katara shook her head vigorously and quickened her pace through town. No. Such thoughts were abominable. Unthinkable. She couldn’t like Zuko. The sky would have to turn green and the sea orange before she would ever seriously entertain such a notion.

As her feet carried her past Ember Steel’s town office, she was stopped, just like in March, by voices coming from inside. This time, however, she could hear them loud and clear. Zuko and his visitor sounded like they were standing just on the other side of the door.

“Zuko, be reasonable!” The voice belonged to a woman but it was different than the voice of the woman she’d seen exiting his office back in March. This voice was lower and lacked the poignant edge of the voice of the woman from before. “Think about what you’re throwing away.”

“I’m not throwing anything away. The way I see it, I stand only to gain from this move.”

“Gain?” the woman sounded incredulous. “Zuko, if you go through with this, you’ll lose your friends, all respect—”

“I don’t need their respect.” Zuko’s voice was firm. Hard.

Katara’s heart thudded in her chest as she listened to this conversation that she was certain she was not meant to overhear.

“And what? You think they’ll let you just walk away after a betrayal like that? Even for a Redford, there are limits to how brazenly a person can act before they have to face repercussions for their actions.”

Katara couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Her feet were stuck in place as her heart hammered against her ribcage. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t want to believe it.

“It’s already been done, Mai. At 11 AM tomorrow, I’m seizing full control of Ember Steel. All production and sales decisions will henceforth be up to me.”

She’d heard enough. She’d heard more than enough. She wished she could unhear it. Anger coupled with confusion burned in Katara’s throat like bile as she pushed her legs into motion. She needed to warn her dad.

As she ran for home, tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. She scrubbed her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She wasn’t sad. Not in the slightest. She was just angry. Angry for ever thinking she could trust Zuko Redford.

She repeated this thought like a mantra over and over in her head the whole way home. Surely if she just kept saying it, it would become true.

oOo

“Your father?” Kanna questioned, her gray eyebrows rising high on her wrinkled forehead. “He rode for Tofteville this morning, remember? He’ll be back tomorrow morning for his meeting with that Redford boy. Whatever matter you need to discuss with him will have to wait until after that.”

Katara shook her head in disbelief. She’d completely forgotten about her father’s trip. Normally, she didn’t think twice when her father said he was going to be away. He’d been riding out to meet with Mayor Beifong in Tofteville frequently since construction on the railroad began. It was far easier for him to make the trip out there than it was for the aging mayor to come to West Bluhaven. Today, however, she cursed his leaving. There was no way to get a warning to him on the road. She was going to have to wait until he returned tomorrow and hope she got to him before Zuko did.

She cursed aloud as she ran to her room and threw herself onto her bed. It just figured that her dad would be away the day Zuko finally decided to show his true colors.

Sleep came slowly to Katara that night. Anger was making her chest hurt. She’d really begun to think that maybe Zuko wasn’t so bad. He’d been nothing but kind and considerate toward her and the people of West Bluhaven since he’d arrived last August and now…she’d just learned that was all a lie. He didn’t care about any of them. The favors he’d done for her; all the times he’d made her laugh—it had all been fake.

The Redfords lie as easily as they breathe, Sokka had said. He’d been right.

oOo

The next morning, Katara woke early. She was determined to wait at her father’s office until he showed up. That way she could be sure she met him first.

She donned her old blue dress, willfully ignoring the peony pink one hanging just beside it, and fastened her hair with its normal blue clip. She brushed her teeth and fed the chickens and when her morning preparations were done, she grabbed an apple from the kitchen and departed for the sheriff’s office.

The only officer present when she arrived was Deputy Hanook, who was fast asleep at his desk. Katara didn’t bother waking him. She seated herself in her father’s cushioned chair and set her eyes on the clock, watching it tick away the minutes. She was praying that her father would come straight to the office and not stop at home first. She didn’t know what she was going to do if Zuko showed up before he did. She wasn’t prepared to deal with him just yet.

Luckily, her father was a punctual man, and a quarter to eleven she heard the clip-clop of horse hooves outside the office. She heard her father’s voice as he gave orders to another one of his deputies and a moment later he was walking through the door, his brown face and blue eyes the same as they’d been the morning previous. Katara wasted no time in rising from her seat and rushing toward him.

“Dad, we’ve got a huge problem,” she told him urgently, grasping the front of his vest.

“Katara? What are you doing here?” he questioned, confused. “What problem?”

Oh, thank whatever god may be listening that he was here. She still had time to warn him. “It’s Zuko. He’s coming!”

Hakoda raised a brow. “Yes? We do have a meeting scheduled in—” he glanced up at the clock “—twelve minutes. I certainly hope he’s coming.”

Katara shook her head. “No. You don’t understand. He’s going to seize control of the mill. He’s going to betray West Bluhaven!”

This time, her words appeared to actually make it through to him. Hakoda’s eyebrows furrowed and he grasped her shoulders. “Katara, what do you mean? Explain to me what’s going on.”

Katara nodded. “I heard him talking about it. He said that at 11 AM today he was going to take full control of Ember Steel.”

The corners of Hakoda’s mouth turned down in confusion. He looked like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Katara, that’s—”

Before he could finish whatever it was he’d planned to say, a sudden commotion outside stopped him in his tracks. The father-daughter duo turned to the door. That sounded almost like…

A loud crack split the air, followed by yelling and the startled whinnying of horses. Not a second later, another crack was heard and somewhere down the road a woman screamed.

Katara looked at her father in fright. There was only one thing that made a sound like that.

Hakoda’s expression sobered and he turned around to reach for the door but the piece of wood flew open, slamming into the wall with a loud bang, and then strange men Katara didn’t recognize were filing into the office, pistols drawn.

Thinking fast, Hakoda made a grab for his own pistol, but the intruders were faster. The one in the front grabbed her father around the neck and raised his gun to his head while his buddies appeared to search the room with their eyes.

“He’s not here, boss,” a younger looking man with a black scarf covering his mouth and nose called back to a brown-haired man with bushy sideburns walking leisurely at the back.

The man the black-scarfed goon had called boss stopped just inside the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s quite alright,” he spoke calmly. His manner of speech was oddly articulate for the leader of a group of outlaws. “That’s what we get for arriving early. It just means we’ll have to start without him.” He nodded to the goon holding her father and the outlaw grabbed Hakoda’s hair, forcing his head up to look at the boss. “Now, then. I believe you have some paperwork our employer’s very interested in getting his hands on.” He glanced past Hakoda to the wall where a large steel safe was mounted. “It’s in there, I imagine. It would save us a lot of trouble if you’d be generous enough to tell me the code.”

Hakoda glared defiantly back at the man. He was proud even with a gun held to his temple. “I refuse.”

The large man sighed. “I thought you might.” He glanced in Katara’s direction then and made a signal with his hand. Before Katara could figure out who he was signaling to, a meaty hand was grabbing her hair and hauling her onto her toes. Katara yelped in surprise and pain as she was manhandled toward the door. The boss turned back to her father. “That’s your daughter, I presume. The family resemblance is striking. I’ll tell you what, while you rethink your answer, my boys will take her outside for a little game. The game’s called five shots. The rules are very simple. One of my boys will shoot four shots, one at a time, while you think, and if you don’t give me the answer I’m looking for, the fifth shot will go through her pretty forehead.”

Katara’s face paled as she was marched out the door and onto the street. She managed to toss her father one final terrified look over her shoulder before she was being blinded by bright sunlight.

Out on the street, two more thugs waited with a group of horses. A safe distance away, onlookers watched in fear as she was dragged out of the office by her hair and down the short wooden steps to the road. Not ten feet away, one of her father’s men lay unmoving in a pool of his own blood. Katara screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to witness the lifeless body of a man she’d known since she was small.

She wasn’t allowed the luxury for long. No sooner had they cleared the steps, she was being tossed gracelessly onto the street. She heard a cry of her name and opened her eyes to see Bato in the crowd. His eyes were filled with panic and he had a meat cleaver in one hand, probably the closest thing to a weapon he could grab on short notice. Unfortunately, such a weapon would do little against a band of pistol-wielding outlaws.

“Alright, girly. You heard the boss,” the man who had tossed her spoke, turning her attention back to him. He’d pulled out his own pistol and as she watched in fear, he leveled it right at her face. “Shot number one. Best hope my aim’s not become lame. Been a while since I last had to shoot a person with any kind of finesse.”

Katara thought he might wait a tick—drag out the shot to maximize her fear—but no sooner were the words out of his mouth then he squeezed the trigger, aiming a shot right by her left hand. Katara screamed as the bullet impacted with the ground, causing dry earth to splatter over her side.

“Well, shucks. That wasn’t half bad, if I do say so m’self. Let’s see if we can get the next one a few centimeters closer.”

Katara shook her head. “Please!” she begged, unable to find any other words through the panic in her brain and the blood rushing in her ears. “Please…!”

“No can do, little missy. It’s not every day I get to shoot at a girl pretty as you. Really gets the old blood going, y’know what I mean?”

This statement was punctuated by another shot, this one landing just by the toe of her boot. Katara screamed again and this time a sob tore out of her throat. She was going to die. She was going to die in the street like an animal for the pleasure of this terrible man.

“Oops. M’hand got a little happy there. Forgot to announce the shot. That was number two, by the way. I wonder if dear old dad has coughed up the code yet? I’d check, but I’d hate fer ya to try n’ make a break for it when my back was turned.”

Katara just continued to sob in terror as the outlaw rotated the nose of his gun, seemingly deciding where to shoot next.

“Alright. Number three’s halfway to home so we gotta make it a good one. Any suggestions?”

Katara squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her legs to her chest. She wanted out of here. She wanted to be anywhere else but here. Another shot split the air, and Katara nearly screamed again, but then her brain registered a difference from the shots before. This wasn’t the sharp crack of pistol-fire. This one was far deeper—a familiar sound she’d heard enough times to recognize anywhere.

Pop-BOOM.

She barely had time to be confused. The next thing she knew, the trigger-happy outlaw was screaming, his gun-arm having erupted in a shower of red.

A gasp rose through the crowd of onlookers and men and women scattered left and right, running for their lives. Katara looked around wildly but she couldn’t see where the shot had come from. Nor, apparently, could the other two outlaws. They whirled around, pointing their guns every which way as they attempted to root out their assailant.

Pop-BOOM.

Pop-BOOM.

One after the other, the remaining two outlaws fell just like their comrade. Their pistols clattered to the ground from now-useless arms and they swore loudly as they were wracked with the excruciating pain of having their limbs nearly blown straight off by a Winchester rifle.

With the three men down for the count, the band’s mystery assailant finally deigned to show himself. Katara was the only person to be unsurprised when the tall, dark figure of Zuko dropped down from the roof of her father’s office, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Katara’s eyes traveled up to his face and she saw an expression there that she’d never seen him wear before. He was looking down at the men he’d dropped with a face colder than the Alaskan tundra.

“Zuko…?” Katara spoke his name hesitantly. Now that her life was no longer in immediate danger, the feeling first and foremost in her mind was confusion. What was going on? Why had Zuko shot those men? Weren’t they here on his orders?

Zuko turned to look at her and his expression immediately softened. His eyebrows furrowed into a worried frown and he rushed to her side. “Katara!” he called as he crouched down in front of her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” He patted her down with his hands, looking for wounds.

Katara batted his hands away and shook her head. “Zuko, I don’t understand. Those were your own men. Why did you shoot them?”

Zuko’s eyebrows pushed together in clear confusion. “My own men? What in the world are you talking ab—”

“Well, well, well. I was wondering when you would finally decide to show up.”

Both Katara and Zuko looked at the door to the sheriff’s office where the voice of the outlaws’ boss had sounded from. The man was leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes trained on Zuko. “All of this would have been for nothing without the man of the hour.”

Zuko very clearly recognized the man, because he leapt to his feet and tightened his grip on his rifle. “Zhao?” he questioned, sounding confused. “What are you doing here? What’s the meaning of this?”

The boss—Zhao—uncrossed his arms and stepped slowly out onto the street. One of his hands traveled to a holster on his belt where Katara could see the butt of an expensive-looking revolver peeking out of his jacket. “You should know exactly what this is about,” he answered, the haughty smirk never once leaving his face. “Did you really think Mr. Redford would let you run off with a whole subset of his company? You were given the reins of Ember Steel because he expected you to run it responsibly in accordance with the family legacy. Instead, you took the whole horse and tried to run away with it. You can only imagine Mr. Redford’s disappointment.”

Zuko took a step forward, putting himself squarely between Katara and this Zhao who apparently worked for his father. “The company was given to me to do what I pleased with. I was within my legal rights to break off from Empire. He shouldn’t have any complaints.”

Zhao sighed and shook his head. “My, Zuko. Your time away from home has made you recalcitrant. You were expected to run the business, not take it over. In transferring ownership to yourself, you’ve left Mr. Redford in a sticky position. A position there’s really only one way out of.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “He means to have me killed.”

Katara sucked in a breath. Zuko’s father what?

Zhao’s smirk widened. “A little slow on the uptake, but I knew you’d get there eventually.” With his free hand he reached into the lining of his jacket and produced a file folder which he waved in front of himself tauntingly. “And with this annoying little agreement of yours out of the picture, Mr. Redford will be all set to milk this quaint town for every penny that passes through it once I’ve delivered your head to him in a bag.”

Climbing shakily to her legs, Katara shuffled forward to stand at Zuko’s flank. “Like hell he will,” she challenged brazenly. “West Bluhaven won’t be trampled on by anyone.”

Zuko nodded, shooting her a smile over his shoulder. Looking back at Zhao, he said, “That’s right. And besides,” he raised his rifle and trained it on Zhao’s chest. “I think you’ll find I’m not that easy to kill.”

Zhao’s smirk didn't falter. “Perhaps not,” he agreed, much to Katara’s confusion. He cocked his head slightly and casually slid his gaze over to Katara. “But she is.”

Before Katara could so much as blink, Zhao was already in motion. Like lightning, he grasped his gun from its holster and fired a single shot.

What followed seemed to happen in slow motion. Katara’s eyes opened wide in shock. Her gaze fixed on the smoking barrel of the gun as her brain checked all the signals from her body, trying to find the spot where the bullet had entered her. It took at least three seconds for her to realize that her nerves weren’t sending any distress signals to her brain. She hadn’t been shot.

By that time, Zuko’s rifle was already clattering onto the street. Katara could only watch in horror as his dark hair sunk slowly down her field of vision and he crumpled to the ground. It was another two second before she registered what had happened.

Zuko had thrown himself in front of her. He’d taken the bullet meant for her.

Still very much in shock, her eyes travelled down to look at the young man lying in a heap at her feet. There was a hole in his shirt right over his stomach, and as she watched, red blossomed from the area like a rose unfurling to greet the summer.

In front of her, Zhao laughed. “Oh, predictable Zuko. A bleeding heart right to the end.”

Katara could barely hear him. She sank to her knees and placed her hands on Zuko’s chest. His eyes were open and he was looking at her with a shell-shocked expression. He was breathing, but his breaths were coming in quick, short gasps.

“We all tried to tell you that kindness of yours would be your downfall. You were simply never cut out to be a Redford.”

Slowly, Katara raised her face to look at Zhao. Zuko was dying and this abhorrent man was taunting him. Zuko had traded his life for hers, and Zhao was mocking him for it. She couldn’t understand.

She couldn’t understand this man at all.

Zhao shook his head and holstered his revolver. With one final disdainful sniff at the boy he’d shot, he turned away and began walking back to his horse. Behind him, his men followed suit.

Blood roared in Katara’s ears.

She couldn’t understand.

She couldn’t understand… but she did know one thing. Zhao needed to pay. Zuko had traded his life for hers. Now she would take Zhao’s life as payment for his.

Her eyes still open wide, Katara reached over Zuko and grabbed the fallen rifle. In one deft motion, she pulled herself to her feet and raised the rifle the way she’d seen Zuko hold it a million times.

Katara was no markswoman, but Zhao was only a few feet away and at such a range even she was hard pressed to miss. Zhao was just placing his foot on his horse’s stirrup in preparation mount when she lined the nose of the rifle with his back and, pausing only a moment to make sure her aim was true, squeezed the trigger.

Pop-BOOM.

Dead silence followed as Zhao’s grip on his horse’s saddle failed and his body slid to the ground with a thunk. Every person in the vicinity, friend and foe alike, stared at her, their mouths opened in shock. Even Bato watched her with an expression that could only be called utter awe.

As if spurred by her initiative, the crowd suddenly burst into motion, the men and women Katara had grown up with falling on the remaining outlaws with fists flying and nails scratching. Katara barely saw them. She dropped the rifle and ran back to Zuko’s side.

Zuko’s eyes were still open but they were hazy. He was losing blood fast and she could tell that he was on the verge of passing out. Thinking quickly, she tore off her dress, leaving her only in her underclothes, and pressed the fabric to his midsection. She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to save Zuko’s life. She had to.

“K-Katara,” he croaked her name, his eyes trained on her as if she was the only thing tethering him to consciousness.

“Don’t speak!” she chastised him hotly. Her throat and eyes hurt. She felt like all her emotions were liable to come erupting out of her, tearing her to bitty pieces. “Just don’t. You need to focus on living right now.”

Zuko’s gaze didn’t stray from her face. She watched tears appear on his cheeks and was confused until she realized they belonged to her.

“You’re goingto live,” she insisted, willing the universe to make her words truth. “I’ll tell you what. If you promise to live, I’ll let you keep the mill. You can move Ember Steel’s headquarters to West Bluhaven for all I care. Just please...” She wiped her eyes, trying to stop from drowning Zuko in her own tears. “Please don’t die.”

Katara started in surprise when one of Zuko’s hands moved and brushed her leg. “I was…” he croaked out again, flagrantly disobeying her orders, “…always…hoping you…would say that.”

As if that one sentence sapped all his energy, Zuko’s eyes fell shut and his hand went limp, falling back to the ground with a dull thud. At once, Katara’s panic centers kicked into gear. “Zuko?” she called, giving him a shake. “Zuko!”

She was nearly scared out of her skin when a hand appeared on her shoulder. “Let him be, Katara. I’ve already sent for the doctor.”

Katara looked up to find her father hunched over her. He looked a little manhandled but no worse for wear. At the sight of him, healthy and whole, she turned on her knees and buried her face in his chest. He accommodated her by lowering one knee to the ground and in response she wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly.

Hakoda squeezed her back and raised a hand to pet her hair the way he used to when she was a child. “Now, don’t cry, Katara. Yugoda will get him patched up and he’ll be right as rain before you know it.”

Katara took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded against her father’s front. She prayed to every god she could name that her father was right.

If Zuko died…

She couldn’t think it. Zuko couldn’t die. Not after what he’d done for her. She’d never be able to forgive herself.

“I was wrong about him, Dad,” she told her father’s chest. “I was wrong the whole time.”

Hakoda made a sound of understanding in his throat. “You be sure to tell him that when he wakes up. I’m sure he’ll be very happy hear it.”

oOo

The following few days were hectic and rife with anxiety for Katara. All the outlaws who hadn’t managed to escape had been rounded up and thrown in jail. They were, of course, thoroughly questioned about the reason for their attack. However, it soon became apparent that Zhao’s goons didn’t know enough about the details of the job they were asked to do to craft a strong case against Ozai and Empire. This meant Hakoda’s hands were effectively tied. Without a confession from Zhao, they had no solid proof of Ozai’s involvement; just witness testimonies. This was a very difficult reality to accept because everyone who knew the truth wanted justice for Zuko.

Coupled with that was the matter of Katara’s own actions on that fateful day. Even if the law was willing to ignore what she’d done, Katara would never forget that she’d purposefully and calculatedly murdered a man. Zhao had been evil and had deserved death for what he’d done, but that didn’t stop the memory of putting a bullet in his back from haunting her at night when she settled down to sleep. Never had Katara ever imagined she’d carry the weight of a man’s life on her shoulders, and now that she crossed that line, she felt unclean—tainted. You couldn’t unkill a person.

Still, she knew that if she were to be sent back to that moment, she’d do it again. The thought of Zhao riding away after what he and his men had done caused the fury she’d felt that day to reignite inside her.

Of course, the matter that weighed most heavily on her was Zuko. It had been three days, and while she’d been assured many times by Yugoda that he was very much alive and on the road to recovery, she hadn’t been allowed into the clinic to see him at all. She checked back at least three times a day, but she was very firmly turned away each time. This put her anxiety on pins and needles. Sure, the doctor saidhe was recovering, but was he really? If he was really getting better then why wasn’t she allowed in to see him?

On the fourth day, however, that Katara was finally granted visitation rights. The moment Yugoda gave her the go-ahead, Katara raced past her to the small alcove where the clinic’s inpatient beds were situated.

She found him just as she’d been told he would be. He was dressed in a patient’s frock and his complexion was perhaps a little more pale than she was comfortable with, but he was sitting up and awake and when he saw her a bright smile spread across his face. “Katara!”

Katara wasted no time. She rushed to his bedside and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she cried into his shoulder. She didn’t care that embracing him like this, particularly in a public place, was wildly inappropriate. Nothing could have stopped her from doing it. She was just so relieved to see him alive. She’d thought she was going to lose him.

If Zuko minded being hugged, he didn’t let it on. Rather, he laughed and said, “What’s this? I thought you were itching to get rid of me.”

Katara abruptly pulled back and gave him a disapproving look. “I thought you were going to die and that’s the first thing you say to me?” Her left eyebrow twitched and her voice turned petulant as she said, “If you’re dissatisfied with my concern for your wellbeing then you are welcomed to leave.”

Zuko’s eyes crinkled and his smile turned fond. “Now, there’s the Katara I know.”

Heat rose to Katara’s cheeks and she turned her face to hide the evidence of how flustered his words made her. She played with her skirt with her fingers for a moment before she finally peeked back up at him. He was still smiling, his golden eyes aglow from the open window behind her.

Seeing him like this—his boyish face illuminated by cheerful sunlight and his mouth pulled into a sincere smile—she wondered how she’d ever thought he was evil.

Which reminded her. She had something to say to him.

“Um, Zuko,” she started, her tone turning serious. “I think I—no. I owe you an apology.”

At once, Zuko’s smile faltered and his eyebrows came together in confusion. “For what?”

Again, Katara’s cheeks turned pink. Oh, this was just so hard to say. “You know for what. For how I’ve treated you this past year.” Her hands found the front of her dress again and she twisted it in her fingers. “I acted like a proper witch, following you around and accusing you. You never did anything to deserve that kind of hostility. I was being close-minded and stubborn and…and I’m sorry. You’re actually a really good person, but I was too wrapped up in my presumptions about you to see that.”

The whole time she was speaking, Zuko had said nothing. He merely watched her without expression. When she finished, he nodded slowly. She could see his brain working behind his eyes as he considered what she’d said. At last, he said, “Thank you. I’m happy that your opinion of me has changed. But you know…” He tilted his head and his eyes were oddly serious as he continued, “It’s precisely that stubbornness of yours that I like best about you. The life I came from didn’t have people who would talk back to me. I appreciate that you’ve always been open with me about your feelings. I far prefer your honesty over masks of politeness.”

This gave Katara pause. Zuko actually liked her bullheadedness? He couldn’t really mean that. Giving him an unsure look, she asked, “Really?”

He nodded. His lips pulled up into a smile again and he said, “You have no idea how refreshing it’s been to be put in my place. The moment you told me to pack my things and “find somewhere else to ruin” I knew I was going to love this town.”

Katara’s mouth opened and closed in surprise. “Surely, you’re joking.”

Zuko chuckled and shook his head. “I assure you I’m not.” His eyes crinkled again in that way that told her he was being one-hundred percent genuine. “I really do love living here. And I promise I won’t do anything nefarious with the mill. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay here.”

Katara released her skirt, allowing the hem to fall back to the floor. Slowly, she shook her head in utter bafflement. She simply couldn’t wrap her mind around this bizarre young man. He was the son of the most wealthy and powerful man in America, and he wanted to stay here in her humble little West Bluhaven because he enjoyed being verbally abused by her.

Well, she wasn’t going to question his reasoning. The man had taken a bullet for her. As far as she was concerned, he could stay as long as he wanted. Pulling her mouth into a tiny, teasing smile, she said, “I believe the agreement was that you would be allowed to stay so long as you managed not to die. You’ve obviously upheld your end of the agreement, so I suppose I’ve no right to deny you.”

Zuko’s smile widened and his eyes danced with happiness. “Thank you, Katara.”

Katara returned his smile and shook her head. More seriously, she said, “There’s no need to thank me. You earned your right to be here a long time ago. However…” Her eyebrows slanted low over her eyes and she held a finger up in front of his face. “I do still very much intend to continue my daily inspections. Somebody needs to make sure you’re not working those hamsters of yours too hard.”  

Zuko’s eyes crinkled again and he let out a chuckle. “Of course. I’ll be delighted to have you.”

Katara’s smile returned. Throwing propriety to the dogs, she leaned forward and wrapped him up in another hug. She was just so happy to have him back. Seeing him alive and recovering, all her other problems suddenly didn’t feel so great. So what if Ozai couldn’t answer for his crimes just yet? So what if the memory of killing Zhao still haunted her dreams? She and Zuko would face these things together. By far, the scariest thing she’d faced from that day was the prospect of losing him. Compared to that, those other two matters were as significant as raindrops in a lake.

“Um, Katara.”

Katara grunted. “What?”

“Your father’s right behind you.”

At once, Katara ripped away from Zuko and whirled around. Sure enough, Hakoda stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised high on his forehead.

Katara’s face lit up like a candle. “D-Dad!” she squeaked. “What are you doing h—I mean, this isn’t what it looks like!”

Hakoda pushed off the doorframe to enter the room fully and his arms uncrossed to move to his hips. Nobody was more surprised than Katara when one corner of his mouth lifted upward in a small, knowing smirk. “I did say I was happy that you were warming to Mr. Redford,” spoke in a slow drawl. “But maybe slow it down just a tad.”

oO0Oo

Okay, so that last bit was sort of an omake. Hakoda needed to be there. It was only fitting.

I know I skipped a ton of prompts. I really wanted to write for all of them, but I just didn’t have time. I barely managed to scratch this one out. Still, it’s better than 2012. I at least managed to do most of the prompts. (And there’s still tomorrow’s, too.) So…success? Kind of?

Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed this rushed finale to the Western AU. This last part didn’t end up matching with the prompt as well as I’d hoped, but that’s just how these things are sometimes. Stories don’t always go the way you intend them to. I’m just glad I was able to wrap it up in a timely fashion. I didn’t want to make everyone wait for this. I’ve already got enough of a reputation for leaving stories unfinished.

Oh, and for those of you who were wondering: No. Deputy Hanook never woke up. He’s still at his desk sleeping.

[bamby0304]

Season’s Special: Chapter 4

Summer: June

Summary: Life was simple. You worked at the local cafe, starting your days baking some pies before setting off to serve customers. Everything was routine, all year round. Nothing changed. As a creature of habit you were quite content living your life the way it was. But when a flannel wearing flirt walks into the cafe one morning you begin to wonder if maybe you’re missing something…

Over the next twelve months things start to change. Over four seasons your world is turned upside down… only question is, is it for better or for worse?

Masterlist

Warnings: Nope :):)

Bamby

You stood in the kitchen of your café, boxing up an order of cupcakes for a little girl’s birthday party. You’d spent the last couple of hours working on the fifty cakes and were now covered in icing sugar, coloured frosting and cocoa powder. Your hair was a mess, and despite the fact you’d thrown on an apron you plain lilac shirt and light blue jeans had still managed to get dirty.

Tom and Susie had been there every step of the way, grabbing whatever you might need and placing it on your work bench, serving customers, cleaning up the kitchen as you left it in disarray. You were truly thankful for the help- and secretly thankful they were quiet about it too.

Whenever you got to work on baking or decorating desserts the task took up all your attention. You could spend hours working on one cake alone, perfectly a new and creative design that would be the perfect match to a delicious cake. You took pride in your work and didn’t believe in handing over something you were one hundred percent pleased with.

Letting out a tired breath, you took a step back from the work bench, nodding to the boxed cakes. “Done.”

“Good. Now eat.” Tom came to stand in front of you, a plate in his hands, a salad and ham sandwich on the plate.

Your stomach grumbled in anticipation at the prospect of food. With a small smile in Tom’s direction you quickly untied your apron, tossed it on the counter, and took the plate.

Having been cooped up inside for hours now, you decided to take your food out to the park across the road. It was a beautiful day and you couldn’t see why you shouldn’t enjoy some lunch under the shade of a tree as you took in the sights of your town’s main street.

Walking out of the store and across the road, you spotted a vacant picnic table. Eyes set, you headed over, placing your plate down and taking a seat, finally letting yourself relax.

As you nibbled on your sandwich you watched people move about, waving and smiling at you here and there. You smiled back, always happy to see friendly faces. You looked out and over to the pond as well, watching the ducks float along the water happily. The sun was shining up above, not a cloud to be seen. It was a truly lovely day.

“Afternoon.”

You jumped, shocked, having not expected someone to come join you at your table.

Turning to the newcomer you found Dean Winchester taking a seat across from you, placing two small boxes of pie on the table in front of him, along with two covered take away coffee cups.

“Changing your order up, I see.” You smiled, turning a little more so you could face him properly.

“This is for you.” He noted, handing you one of the drinks and a slice of pie.

Surprised once more, you grabbed the drink and took a sip, finding that it was made exactly the way you liked it. When you gave him a confused look, he simply shrugged.

“Saw you sitting out here. You look like you’ve been working hard so I thought you might want a drink. The girl behind the counter made it for you.” He explained. “Plus, I didn’t want to leave without trying the new season’s special.”

Your smile found its way back onto your lips. “Rose apple pie.”

“I have to admit, I have never seen a pie look that good. It almost looks like an actual rose.”

“That’s the point.”

Chuckling lightly, shaking his head, he opened the small box and grabbed the fork that sat inside before taking a bite of the food. In an instant his eyes closed as a low and long grown fell from his lips.

Shifting in your seat, feeling as if you should leave to give him and the pie some privacy, but also unable to deny the fact that groan was seriously hot, you watched him eat the piece of pie in his mouth. You watched as he savoured every moment of it.

When he was finally finished he opened his eyes to look at you. “Now, I’ve had your apple pies before, and I seriously thought there would be no difference with this one… but I can definitely taste something new in it.”

You grinned. “That would be the secret ingredient.”

“Which is?” He pressed, but got no response in return. “Oh, come on. What’s it gonna take to get an answer out of you? It’s been months and you still haven’t even told me your name. You could at least tell me what’s in my food.”

“Love.” You teased.

“Ha, ha.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously. Not even a hint?”

“Okay. A hint.” Shrugging, you offered him a lifeline. “Last season was something dairy. This season is something sour.”

“I was talking about your name.”

Shaking your head, you refused to give that up. “If I tell you that then there’ll be no reason for you to come around anymore. And I enjoy your company way too much to let you ditch me like that.” You joked.

“That’s not true. I’d keep coming back.” He insisted.

“Really? Why?” You grinned, waiting for the witty comment, but hoping for something nicer.

“The pies, obviously.” He answered as if that should have been obvious- which it really should have.

Laughing, you said no more as you dug into your own food, the two of you falling silent. It was nice, the fact you could sit there like that, eating, enjoying your drinks, taking in the park. The moment almost felt like it could be a date…

When you’d first met Dean and he’d overheard your conversation with Tom and Susie, you’d been mortified that he’d listened to your friends discuss your love life. But ever since then, you’d found yourself think about it a little more than usual. They hadn’t been wrong when they said it had been a while since you’d gotten out there.

But the store took up so much time, and it’s not like you’d ever been interested in anyone else around town. Maybe you were too focused on the store to take notice of anyone else though? Maybe Tom was right? Maybe you were a workaholic?

“Dean?”

“Mm?” He hummed his response around his mouthful of pie.

“What are you doing Friday?”

Eyes wide, he swallowed his food without chewing it properly, his back straightening as he looked you up and down.

You were expecting another witty response. You were sure of it. Most of your banter consisted of sarcasm, flirty comments, and a few jokes. Though with the way you’d met it wasn’t really a surprise you both fell into that habit.

But when he did speak, you found you’d been wrong.

“Nothing. I’m completely free.”

“There’s a bar in town that has really great burgers. You wanna meet up, have a few drinks, play some pool?” You asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Are you any good at pool?” He grinned.

Yes, you were. Harvey, the local barfly, had taught you a thing or two. But you weren’t going to admit that. Not when there was a chance Dean might offer to help you- which would mean he’d have to get up close and personal.

“I’ve played once or twice.” You shrugged. “But I’m not very good.”

“Well, then I’ll pick you up from the café Friday, 6:00.” Getting to his feet, he grabbed his empty pie box, and half-finished coffee. “See you around, baker girl.” He winked before turning to leave.

Watching him walk away, you found your mouth opening before you registered what you were doing. “Hey, pie boy!” Once he turned to you, you gave your best flirty smile. “The name’s Y/N.”

Bamby

If you would like to be tagged please send an ask, and tell me what tag-list you want to be added to, it’s just easier to organise this way :):)

Forever Tags:

@kellyn1604 @bunnymelodies @ask-kakashihatake​

SPN:

@anique-olsman​

Season’s Special:

@sis-tafics

[glowrioustrash]

Big Brother

Summary: Ten times Keah Reigns needed her big brother, and one time she didn’t.

Pairing: Dean Ambrose x OC. 

Word Count: 3500+

Warnings: Cursing, very quick blood mention (a child with a scraped knee)

Author’s Note: This takes place in a weird mix of reality and kayfabe. They all go by their ring names (it just makes me more comfortable to write that way) but the matches are planned and decided by creative. I hope that’s not too confusing for anyone.

Tagging:@castielscamander / @therealfivefeetoffuckingfury

              “Ro-Ro!” Three year old Keah cried from where she sat on the ground, clutching her knee. She wailed, crying for her older brother until the seven year old ran over.

              “Kiki, what’s wrong?” Roman knelt at her side, trying to asses why the girl was crying. She continued to sob as she moved her hand from her leg, showing the scraped skin she was crying over. A few tiny pebbles were stuck to her skin and a little dribble of blood making its way down her leg.

              “A’right, come here.” He took her little hand in his, leading her calmly into the house. Her wailing calmed into sniffles and whimpers as she followed.

              He brought her into the bathroom and helped her to sit on the closed toilet lid before climbing up the step stool to get into the medicine cabinet. He rifled through, finding the box of band aids.

              “No!” She cried when he grabbed at the box of plain band aids. He groaned and looked deeper in the cabinet until he found the Little Mermaid band aids. He set them on the counter before wetting a washcloth, Keah watching with wide, wet eyes.

              Roman knelt in front of her and cleaned her knee with as much gentle care a seven year old boy could manage. She whined and flinched, trying to pull away.

              “Kiki, I gotsta get the rocks out. Stop it.” He huffed. When the knee was cleared of visible debris, he put the band aid over the scrape. “There.”

              “Hurts.” Keah sniffled. Without hesitation, Roman leaned forward and kissed her knee.

              “Better?” He asked. Keah nodded and squirmed to get off the toilet. Roman stood and helped her down.

              “T’anks Ro-Ro.”

##

              “Ro!” The shriek echoed through the house, startling Roman. “Roman, help!”

              Roman jumped up from the floor of his bedroom and rushed to the door, calming when he heard the laughter of his twin cousins. If Jimmy and Jey were visiting there was a good chance they were the cause of the shrieking instead of some emergency. Roman smiled as he ran down the stairs.

              “Make ‘em stop!” His little sister begged, barrelling into him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He took in the sight in front of him, the twins carrying around a plastic snake they must have been chasing Keah with.

              “Really?” He laughed.

              “There you are!” Jimmy grinned, throwing the snake at Roman and making Keah yelp as she hid behind him. Roman just eyed the toy and thought how fake it looked.

              “We was lookin’ for you!” Jey added. “Wanna play ball?”

              “Let’s go.” Roman nodded. He had been playing with his action figures in his room so it’s not like their unexpected arrival had interrupted anything. “Kiki, tell Ma I went out with the twins, kay?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he and the twins bolted towards the front door.

              “Ro!” She called after him, making him stop while the twins kept running. He turned to look at her with annoyance. She was hiding behind the banister now, pointing at the toy snake.

              “Guys, you forgot your stupid toy.” He called after his cousins, crossing to pick it up before chasing after the twins.

###

              “Roman?” Keah sniffled quietly, knocking on his bedroom door. She could hear music coming through the door so she knew he was home. She waited a minute, rubbing her eyes. Her hand came back tinted black and purple from the make-up she had carefully applied before her date. She must look a mess.

              She waited another second before giving up, turning to go to her own room. She was halfway down the hallway when her brother’s door opened.

              “Keah? Did you just knock?” He asked, sticking his head out. “I barely heard ya over the stereo.”

              “Y-yeah, I did.” She half turned to look at him.  “Don’t worry about it.” She waved him off.

              “Woah, wait.” He stepped into the hallway, his face full of concern. “What happened?”

              “Uh, Kevin…” She started, Roman’s expression turning from concern to anger.

              “What did he do?” He growled as he moved closer, looking over his sister for any sign of harm.

              “He broke up with me.” She cried. The tension left his body upon hearing Keah wasn’t physically harmed. He pulled her into a hug, his large frame engulfing her tiny body.

              “I’m so sorry Kiki. He wasn’t good enough for you.”

              “B-but I love him.” She argued.

              “He’s a little bitch.” Roman rolled his eyes. He never liked the kid.

              “Ro!” She huffed, smacking him on the arm.

              “Not sorry. He’s an idiot for giving you up.” Roman let her cry as he held her in the hallway, the homework he’d been working on forgotten.

              “Hey, how ‘bout I drive over to the parlor and get us some ice cream? Get into some comfy clothes while I’m out and pick out a movie, okay?” He offered.

              “Any movie?” She sniffled. It was rare she was given carte blanche on a movie night.

              “Any movie.” He confirmed. “I know its shit right now, Kiki, but Kevin was nothing. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to find a guy that’ll treat you right. Plus I’m here to beat the shit out of the ones who don’t.”

####

              “Roman, get your tall ass down here!” Keah screamed up the stairs.

              “I’m comin’! Simmer the fuck down.” He yelled back as he descended the stairs groggily.

              “Language!” Their mother called from the kitchen.

              “Sorry Ma.” They answered back in stereo.

              “Where’s the damn fire?” Roman asked.

              “What? Just because you’re some hot shot college guy, you’re not gonna help with the Christmas tree?” She rolled her eyes. “I told you like twenty times we were doing that today.”

              “Still not tall enough to reach it yourself, shorty?” He teased, ruffling her hair when he reached where she was standing.

              “We can’t all be built like a damn football player, okay?” She shoved him, not surprised when he didn’t even budge. He laughed her off before moving into the living room. They decorated the tree together, their mother leaving the kitchen to help when she could before returning to stir or baste or work whatever magic went into her cooking.

              “Ma, we’re doing the star.” Roman called out to her as he knelt down so Keah could sit on his shoulders. They had put the star on the tree this way for years, going back to when they were kids. Roman could reach it on his own by now, but it was tradition.

              Their mother bustled into the room, wiping her hands on her apron before grabbing the camera to take the yearly photo.

              “You been putting on weight, sis?” Roman teased as he stood, grunting and acting like he could barely stand.

              “Asshole!” Keah shrieked, smacking him upside the head. “Maybe you’re just getting weak. Too many keggers and not enough training.”

              “Language!” Their mother snapped, even if she was fighting back a smile. She knew the way the two of them teased and bickered. “Can the two of you please just behave long enough for the picture?”

              “Sorry Ma.” They apologized in unison as they posed for the photo.

#####

               “Roman! Roman Reigns!” Keah yelled, trying to get her brother’s attention. He turned, looking for the source and she waved her arms at him from where she stood, blocked by security from going backstage.

               “Keah!” He smiled, saying goodbye to the man he was talking to before jogging over. “It’s cool man. She’s my sister.” He told the security guard before pulling her into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?”

               “Last minute plans, get off you’re all sweaty!” She complained, trying to push him away. He laughed and released her from the hug, keeping one arm draped over her shoulders. She huffed, but left it there.

               “Did you see my match?” He asked, leading her through the backstage hallways.

               “No, I had my eyes closed the entire time.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course I saw your match. That’s kinda the reason I’m here, dumbass.”

               “Don’t make me throw you through a table too.” He threatened playfully.

               “You wouldn’t do that to your sweet, innocent little sister would you?” She pouted.

               “Of course not. If you see her around here, let me know.” Keah scoffed and hip checked him as he laughed. “I’m stuck with my annoying, bratty little sister for now.”

               “Roman!” A man called from down the hall as he sauntered towards them. “Good match brotha!”

               Roman released Keah to give the other man a handshake that they both pulled into a one-armed pat on the back. Keah stood awkwardly to the side, watching the dirty blonde and her brother discuss his match.

               “Oh, shit. My bad. Keah, this is Dean. We’ve been training together. Dean, this is my little sister.” Roman smiled, wrapping his arm over her shoulders again.

               “Ahh, little Reigns.” Dean laughed. “Here I was thinking you’d picked up some ring rat.”

               “Excuse me?” Keah scoffed.

               “Watch it.” Roman growled.

               “Hey, hey! I didn’t mean it like that.” Dean jumped to defense. “I see you walkin’ ‘round with a pretty girl under your arm… that’s all I’m sayin’. Didn’t know she was blood.”

               “We gonna have a problem, Ambrose?” Roman warned.

               “No, no problem.” Dean took a step back, reassuring the larger man.

               “Roman, be nice.” Keah took pity on the man, smiling sweetly at him. “You can’t chase away every guy that calls me pretty.”

               “Thanks, sweetness.” Dean relaxed, grinning back at her.

               “But you can go after the ones who call me a ring rat.” She smirked up at her brother. Roman returned the smirk before turning back to glare at Dean.

               “Fuck me.” Dean groaned before Roman charged him, all three laughing.

######

               “Ro, where are you? I only have the van rented for a few hours.” Keah whined into the phone as she stood on the porch, watching down the street for her brother to arrive.

               “Relax, we’re almost there.” His voice crackled through the phone. “I had to pick up the guys.”

               “The guys? Did Jimmy and Jey get the day off?” She asked, perking up at the thought of seeing her cousins.

               “Nah, but I grabbed a few guys to help. Don’t worry about it. We’re turning the corner now.” The line clicked dead as she saw her brother’s SUV turn down the street. She pouted, both at the non-goodbye and that her cousins weren’t able to come help her move. She hadn’t seen them in a while and was looking forward to spending time with them. At least Roman would have help with the heavy lifting she supposed.

               Roman parked the SUV next to the empty cube van. She watched as he climbed out, followed by Dean and Seth. She had met both men a few times and liked Seth well enough, although she didn’t know him very well yet. Dean was… an interesting man.

               “Hey guys.” She called as she walked down the stairs. “Thanks for helping.”

               “Hey, what good are all these muscles if we can’t lift some furniture?” Seth teased, flexing. Keah laughed and shook her head.

               “I even promised to not go through your underwear drawer.” Dean smirked, causing Roman to glare at him.

               “I don’t even wanna know why that was even brought up.” Keah shook her head.

               “Ignore him.” Roman huffed. “But also don’t let him near your underwear.”

               “Can we get started and stop talking about my underwear please?” Keah begged.

               “Well there go all my conversation starters.” Dean shrugged, dodging as both Seth and Roman swung at him.

#######

               “I don’t know if I can do this, Ro-Ro.” Keah mumbled nervously, staring at the monitor in front of her as she shifted from side to side. She was moments away from her first ever televised match and quickly having second thoughts about choosing to follow in her brother’s footsteps.

               “Keah, you got this.” Roman reassured her, placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “You’ve been training hard, you’ve practiced the spots with Bayley a million times. You’re ready.”

               “I’m not. I’m really not.” She shook her head, shaking as the current match ended.

               “Yes you are, Kiki.” He argued.

               “Yeah, Kiki.” A second deep voice joined from behind her. She spun around to see Dean grinning at her.

               “Ugh, you just had to hear that, didn’t you?” She scoffed. She knew Dean would never let that childhood nickname go now that he’d heard it.

               “What do you mean, Kiki? I didn’t hear anything, Kiki.” He teased.

               “Can you not right now? I’m a little busy freaking the fuck out.” She gestured wildly at the curtain.

               “Pfft, you’ve got this. Relax.” Dean shrugged.

               “He’s right, even if he’s an ass.” Roman agreed.

               “You both really think I can do this?” She asked, glancing between the two men.

               “No doubt, sweetness.” Dean nodded.

               “Of course you can, you’re a Reigns.” Roman smiled proudly.

               “Keah, you’re up first!” A man with a headset shouted towards the group. Keah nervously stepped closer to the opening of the curtain, feeling both men step forward with her.

               “You’re gonna be great, and I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Roman told her, rubbing her shoulders. “Now go show them what us Reigns are made of.”

########

               “Roman!” Keah called for her brother as she struggled towards their corner of the ring. She played up the pain she was in, selling the beat down she’d been receiving when in reality she was having the time of her life.

              “Come on Keah!” Roman cheered, reaching his arm out as far as he could, Dean flailing beside him to get the crowd riled up.

              The three of them were in a six person tag match facing The Usos and Tamina. The real life family ties were translating into amazing ring chemistry, the back and forth keeping the audience guessing who would come out on top.        

               She finally got close enough to tag her brother in, forcing Tamina to tag in one of the twins. The two exploded out of their corners, the crowd going wild as they met in the center of the ring.

               “You good?” Dean asked as she pushed her way up to standing.

               “Fuck yeah. This is awesome.” She panted, tilting her head down to hide her smile from the cameras.

               “The crowd loves you.” Dean brought his hands up to her shoulders, looking to the cameras that he was checking her over.

               “They ain’t seen nothing yet.” She stretched, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms.

               “Wanna make things a little more interesting?” He asked, taking a hold of the tag rope in one hand and tapping on his collar bone with the other.

               “How so?”

               “A friendly bet.”

               “What did you have in mind?” She let the grin show on her face, knowing at this point it would look like she was ready to get back into the ring and raise some hell.

               “If we win, you let me take you to dinner.” He glanced towards her nervously before looking back at the match.

              Keah was stunned. She was sure it showed on her face, but at that moment she forgot about the cameras and the crowd.

              “W-what?” She stuttered.

              “You heard me.” Dean shrugged, bouncing up and down on the ring apron.

              “You know we’re scheduled to win, right?” She asked.

              “I know.” He grinned at her before Roman tagged him in. He jumped into the ring, swinging wildly as he was known to do. Keah watched him, smile growing as she felt her face warm. If anyone asked her about it, she’d blame the flush on the bright lights.

#########

               “Roman! What the fuck happened out there!?” Keah ran down the hall into his arms. She was shaking, clinging to his shirt.

               “I don’t know Keah. We rehearsed that spot a million and a half times. I swear it should have been fine.” He explained.

               “Has the doctor said anything? Has he come out?” She asked, staring at the closed door of tonight’s medical room.

               “Nothing, but you know Dean’s got a thick skull. He’ll be fine.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood but Keah didn’t laugh. She’d been a nervous wreck from the moment she watched the botched ladder spot through the backstage monitor. The way Dean had crumpled to the ground, she knew something was wrong.

               “I’m sorry, Keah.” Roman whispered, rubbing her back. “I… I should’ve done more or-“

               “Don’t you dare, Roman Reigns.” She turned on him. “This was not your fault. Dean’s your brother and I know you would have done anything you could to avoid something like this. It’s the business. It’s what happens. It fucking sucks and I wish the damn trainer would let us in-“ Her voice got louder as she spoke, hoping they would hear her from inside and open the door. “but it’s the business.”

               “Just come in Keah.” She heard the trainer call from inside, sounding resigned. She didn’t need to be told twice, pushing the door open and running right to her boyfriend’s side.

               “Hey darlin’.” Dean tried to smile at her but she could hear the pain in his voice.

               “Don’t “hey darlin’” me!” She huffed, tears pooling in her eyes. “What were you thinking?! You scared me half to death!”

               “I know. ‘M sorry.” He mumbled. “We tried that spot-“

               “A million and a half times. I know, Roman told me.” She sniffled. Dean reached over and took her hand in his.

               “Hey, none of that. I’m okay, right Doc?”

               “Well, you’ve got a concussion, and I want you to get your ribs x-rayed, but you’re not in any immediate danger.” The trainer told him as he removed his latex gloves. “You’re lucky though.”

               “I know I am.” Dean smiled, looking up at Keah.

               “Fuckin’ idiot.” She cried, not heat to the insult as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, being careful not to jostle him too much. “I’m in love with a goddamn reckless idiot.”

               “Love you too, darlin’.”

##########

               “Roman! Thank god you’re here.” Keah gushed. “Please tell me everything is under control. I’m freaking out!”

               “I see that.” He chuckled, moving into the room.

               “Please tell me Dean remembered his cufflinks. He kept joking about losing them because he hates wearing them so much but I swear to god if he lost them on purpose-“

               “Keah, take a breath.” Roman interrupted. “He’s got his cufflinks on. You know he wouldn’t go that to you.”

               Keah took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “You’re right. You’re right.”

               “I’ve been keeping an eye on it all. You need to relax and enjoy the day. No one is gonna mess it up.”

               “Because you’ve already threatened everyone for me?” She asked, giving him big doe eyes.

               “Yeah, threatened to send you their way, bridezilla.” He laughed. She scoffed and slapped his chest.

               “I’m not that bad.” She rolled her eyes.

               “If you say so.” He replied with a tight smile.

               “Ass.” She grumbled.

               “Bitch.” He shot back.

               “It’s my wedding day, you can’t call me bitch, bitch.”

               “Language!” Their mother called from the next room.

               “Sorry Ma.” They called back with matching grins.

               “Seriously though,” Keah breathed. “Thank you for your help today. I couldn’t do it without you, Ro.”

               “Just do me a favor?” Roman asked. “Next time you get married, hire a wedding planner. I can’t handle going through this again.” Keah laughed loudly, swatting Roman on the chest again.

               “Get Dean to the altar and don’t lose the rings and there won’t be a next time.”

+

               “Dean!” Keah screamed, clutching at the man in question’s hand. He would swear he could hear the bones grinding together and popping under the force. “I swear to god if you ever touch me again I’ll castrate you!” She panted through the pain.

               “I know, darlin’. I know.” He grunted through the pain in his hand. He knew he had no right to complain. “Just a few more pushes and you’ll be done. It’s almost over. We’ve almost got our little girl.”

               “I can’t.” She cried. “I can’t do it anymore.”

               “Yes you can. You’re so strong. You can do this.” He cooed, smoothing down her sweaty hair.

               Keah screamed as she pushed through the next contraction.

               “Big push darlin’ she’s almost here.” He encouraged.

               The baby’s cries suddenly floated through the room as Keah slumped back into the hospital bed in relief. Both of their eyes snapped down towards the little girl, naked and wailing in the doctor’s arms. The nurses made quick work of cleaning the baby off and bringing her back to the new parents.

               “Congratulations.” The doctor smiled as she placed the squirming baby onto Keah’s chest.

               “Oh my god…” Keah breathed. “Dean she’s beautiful.”

               “She is… and she’s ours.” He croaked, voice cracking with emotion. He bent down to press his head to his wife’s as the both marvelled at the little girl.

               “We did it.” Keah cried as she stroked a finger over the baby’s cheek.

               “You did it.” Dean corrected, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so proud of you darlin’.” They were both silent for a moment, words lost to the both of them as they watched their newborn baby girl.

               “You want me to get Roman?” Dean whispered. Keah shook her head, pulling him onto the bed beside her.

               “In a minute.”

[a-dreamer-named-mars]

Imagine Surprising Jamie ( #100 - Why Is It Pink? )

You were getting everything ready to surprise Jamie.

Jamie Reagan - the love of your life - was coming home from the hospital because of a follow up he had to do to a witness. Therefore, his eight and a half hour shift turned into an eleven hour one, having you be alone all day today. To be honest, you appreciated it, just today.

He left at 07:00 A.M. this morning and it was almost 07:30 P.M. when he walked inside the apartment you two shared for a year and a half now.

"Hi, babe!" You said before wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. "Hey!" He replied after kissing you back and kissing your stomach. "We missed you... long tour?" "Yes...!" "You look very tired, you wanna taka a little nap before dinner? I'm still a bit late on it..." "Yeah, sure. Thank you, you're the best." He said before kissing you for the second time.

He walked to your bedroom and took off his shoes before jumping on to bed, lying down and shutting his eyes, while you were at the doorframe enjoying your view.

"Y/N, why are we sleeping with pink sheets on our bed?"

When you had first moved in together, you joked a lot about how he needed a feminine touch and he had clearly said No to all pink stuff. He was more of a plain and neutral bedsheets kind of man, so you found it perfectly normal that he was questioning your choice. In fact, you were already expecting it.

"Because." You simply said as you made your way to the kitchen to finish dinner.

You opened the fridge and smiled as you looked at the Rose wine you had bought for Jamie to drink at dinner. He didn't like it that much but today, it was necessary. You placed it at the middle of the table and turned back to the counter to continue cooking you and your husband a great and warm home cooked meal, just like he liked it.

You prepared the roast beef in a traditional style, a recipe Jamie's grandfather, Henry Reagan aka the greatest cook in the whole city of New York , had thought you the fifth time Jamie had taken you to Sunday dinner. It was supposed to look pink.

You grabbed the bowl of radishes that you had with water to wash them and cut them in thin circles, leaving the pink of the peal at sight.

You also mashed sweet potatoes with the pink-ish peal on after you washed them and put them in the oven for a while, and placed them in the pink dishes you had bought specially for tonight's dinner.

After the beef was ready you arranged the plates and placed them on top of the white and pink tablecloth you had also bought specifically for dinner.

You got the pink colored glass wine cups and put them on the table as well as the silverware before going back to the bedroom to wake him up from his nap.

"Hey... wakey wakey..." You whispered, trying not to straddle him much, while you caressed his shoulder.

"Hey..." He replied whole opening his eyes. "Dinner's ready." You stated flashing him a smile. "I'm so hungry, let's go."

He got up and after yawning and stretching, he walked by your side with his arm around your neck resting on your shoulder, to the kitchen.

You spotted him frowning when he looked at the explosion of pink at the table, but he didn't say anything and neither did you, and dugged in, busying yourselves with the food.

"It is so good...my grandpa's recipe, right?" He said after taking some bites. "Yes... Those cop qualities are starting to show around here." He let out a laugh and continued his criticism at the dinner, this time a bad one, that you were quite expecting.

"I just don't know if rosé is the right choice for rose beef... I think red wine would be so much better." "Yeah... well, they didn't have red wine at the grocery store." You excused yourself, fighting hard not to give away the whole thing. "It's okay though, dinner is amazing. Thank you."

After a few more exchange of words between each other and after finishing dinner, he helped you taking the plates and the cups to the sink.

"Now, you go sit down. I made desert for us." You said pushing him onto the chair. "You made desert?" He asked opening and shutting his eyes intermittently, having a hard time believing you. "No." You gave in. "I bought it on this amazing bakery down the block. But it's the thought that counts!" You defended yourself. "Of course it is! Bring it on, then."

You turned around on your toes and grabbed the pink box that contained a pink velvet cake with white icing on top where it was written "Hey, Daddy! I'm a girl!" . But before you had the chance to open it, Jamie interrupted you.

"Wait, wait... I'm sorry. I don't wanna be picky or weird or anything but I gotta ask - Why is it pink? Why is it all pink? Since I've arrived home all I see is pink everywhere!"

"Well... you might want to open this box to find out," You said pointing at the box that laid on the kitchen table.

He opened it up, something that to you felt like he was doing it slow motion, and when you looked at him when the cake was finally at sight, all you could see was his grin.

"Oh... we're having a girl?" He asked trying to be sure.

"Yes!" You whispered with a matching grin.

You and Jamie were expecting a baby and you had a doctor's appointment this afternoon to find out what the gender was. And you knew it now. You both knew it.

"Are you happy?" You asked trying to be sure yourself of his reaction.

"Yes! Am I happy? Of course I'm happy! I can't believe we're having a girl!"

"Me too! I am so excited to meet her!"

"I can't believe I didn't get all of these hints... sorry, you worked so hard."

"It's okay... It was supposed to be a surprise so I'm glad you didn't."

He pulled you close to sit on his lap and kissed your lips gently, making butterflies fly inside your body.

"I love you," You said after pulling apart.

"I love you more. And I love our little girl." He said resting his hands on your slightly bumpped belly.

You were so happy. You didn't have words to describe how you were feeling in that moment. You've always wanted to have a girl and although you always said that you didn't care about the gender, "as long as the baby was healthy" , you had a preference for the female gender. And Jamie did too. His whole family, specially Danny, kept saying that a boy would be great but Nicky, Erin and Linda were hopping for a girl. And Jamie himself had told you that if he could choose, he'd choose a girl. So,this was perfect, just perfect.

And you were so happy that your girl was being born in a family that loved her so much. She was already so loved and she wasn't even outside yet. This was all you could wish for your daughter - happiness and a lot of love and joy. And you were glad and that she would grow up in a house where love reigned. She would grow up and have you and Jamie as examples of what love should be like, she would love you and him as if you two were a real life prince and princess when she's a kid and she'd find it disgusting every time you kissed when she becomes a teenager, and she'd fly out of her nest when she's old enough to and hopefully she'd find a prince of her own.

But as for right now, you could feel her moving inside you as she felt her father's touch on your skin. She knew him. And you already knew she loved her daddy so much. He had the habit of talking to her all the time and you could feel that she knew who he was to her and your mother's instinct was telling you that she saw her dad as her hero, like all little girls do. And then again, you couldn't be happier. Your heart burst with joy and all you could do was smile. And you knew Jamie felt the same way.

"She moved!" He said with amusement while looking at your belly. "She usually does when you talk to her or when you touch my bump. She knows you." "She really does...Don't you little girl?" He asked now turning his attention to your future daughter.

Another slight movement of your daughter made both you jump in surprise again.

He looked up from your belly and met your gaze before closing the gap between the two of you.

"I love you." He whispered while he was still close to you that you could feel his breath on your lips.

And the three of you stayed there - You and Jamie in each other's arms with your daughter in the middle, inside your belly. And there you three were, with your happy ever after to come.