#its always cranberry missing hours i miss them guys

[pineapplesaresweet]

notes this time because there were so many people commenting on the design

[anika-ann]

Attached: Words We Don’t Mean

(...and Those We Do)

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 7950 👀

Summary: Your parents decide to visit for Thanksgiving, which alone is a trial. 

The fact that they haven’t met Steve yet and they have no clue who he is… yeah, you better brace yourself for a storm.

A/N: Attached: Words We Don’t Mean (and Those We Do) is a one-shot to the Attached series. Technically, you can read it as a standalone.

A/N: In the Stockings fic, I mentioned that no one in their household talked about (last) Thanksgiving. Here’s why. Also: I named the parents Paul and Jane, it’s enough of a mess to work around with nameless reader; if that offends you, sorry, feel free to move on from this fic.

Warnings: angst, parents-daughter fight, mention of sexual relationhips and of using one’s body to earn money (negative view), mild flashback, emotional H/C, swearing, sprinkles of fluff and Disney

Story masterlist

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“Sweetheart, please, sit down for just a second,” Steve requested gently; however, there was no mistaking the drop of amusement in his voice.

You hummed in acknowledgement of his words and continued scrubbing the bathtub clean.

Everything had to be perfect. Had to be. You bought the tinniest of the giant turkeys yesterday – just so you wouldn’t have to eat leftovers for a month –, ingredients for the stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce. Your mum had promised to stop by somewhere to get four slices of a pumpkin pie. But cooking was on your list later today; first you needed to make sure that the apartment would shine with cleanness.

Not that you considered yourself a neat freak, thank you very much… maybe occasionally. And Steve? Yeah, he was more of a neat freak than you were and now he was telling you to rest and take it easy? Uh-huh, nope.

Nope, because… your parents -- gosh, your parents.

“Honey-“

Your head snapped to him as he bounced off of the doorframe, soft steps leading him right to you.

“Did you just call me honey?” you asked incredulously.

Not that you didn’t like it, it was just-- you were Steve’s sweetheart, his babygirl, his good girl… now honey? That was new and frankly, it might have freaked you out a bit.

Also, your heart skipped a frantic beat upon looking at him.

Damn, you forgot again about what he had done yesterday and it always startled you to see him like that. Too unusual – not bad-looking by any means, just… unusual.

Steve chuckled as he crouched to you, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and cupping your mildly sweaty cheek. He grimaced a bit at your surprised tone.

“Not a fan?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, hun, it’s just that… it’s a bit ominous, the change.”

One corner of his lips rose at your choice of a petname. “That’s because you’re freaking out and I need you to calm down a bit, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you scoffed, rather offended. Mostly because he was right – but also because he was being a damn hypocrite.

“Oh, am I? Me? Did I spend about an hour in front of the mirror yesterday, trying and almost failing to solve the dilemma whether I should or shouldn’t shave off my beard?”

Steve’s face turned entirely sour at your snarky remark.

“Don’t be mean, it’s a valid concern to-- I don’t want them to hate me,” he murmured and dropped his gaze in shame along with his hand, seemingly shrinking into himself, his insecurity returning.

You sighed and mentally cursed yourself for bringing it up again.

You dropped the brush to the tub with a thud and lost one of your gloves, wiping the ew feeling onto your old sweats before you tried to smoothen the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“They’re gonna love you, Steve,” you assured him again, letting you fingers travel over his clean-shaved jaw, lightly pulling at his cheek to make him smile again. “I miss the beard, not gonna lie, but you do have an extremely sweet boy-next-door look now, you are my handsome, funny, smart as hell guy, who’s somehow all grown up and has life stuff figured out and you’re making me happy. You’re the epitome of the guy a girl wants to bring home to meet her parents.”

Despite slightly panting from exertion, you took care to sound as convincing as possible, pushing away your own worries for a bit.

Steve was your perfect guy, perfection incarnated; you weren’t worried about him not making an impression… except for the fact that Steve did have a few years on you and worked at the uni and—well.

Yet, you couldn’t but dread the moment your parents realized that you were everything but perfect since they let you loose on the world. You had never been the daughter to show off like the epitome of everything good and wholesome, but you always tried your best to please them…. Now though? Darting your professor? Even if he wasn’t exactly your professor?

Yeah, you didn’t think that a spotless apartment could make up for that, but it helped to ease your anxiety when you kept lying to yourself that it just might.

Steve grasped your palm in his, planting a tiny kiss there – a gesture to warm your heart, always – his lips once again curled up a fraction as his gaze met yours, his mesmerizing blues kind and hopeful.

“You really think so?”

“Of course.”

And with the way he was looking at you – you finally figured it out. Just a fleeting thought and an answer to an unspoken question you had been failing to grasp at since yesterday; it escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Gosh, you look like a Disney prince!”

Steve’s eyes went comically wide, laughter erupting from his throat and he pulled you to him in one swift motion, falling on his ass with you in his arms in the process and nearly getting crushed by you. Clearly, he did not care one bit as he shook with laughter, kissing your nose, your cheeks and finally your lips despite your protests that you were gross.

“That’s golden! Oh babygirl, you’re the-”

“Tell me I’m Cinderella, I dare you,” you grumbled, but Steve just shook his head and kissed you breathless, fingers of one hand curled around your nape to guide you closer, to breathe you in, while his other hand stayed wrapped around your waist.

You tried your best not to touch him with your gloved hand, having it ridiculously stretched out to nowhere in order not to spot his clothes, but your free hand clutched at his t-shirt with enthusiasm.

His lips left yours only when the world started spinning and your mind turned blank besides the thought of Steve’s mouth being on yours and how much you loved it when he stole all the breath from your lungs – and how much you always missed him when he withdrew.

You stared at him, dumbstruck, as he watched you like you were the eighth wonder of the world, your messy self in baggy clothes, your heart growing three times its size, your insides positively tingly from the heated make-out session.

Steve was smiling again too at last, brushing your nose with his and planting one last soft kiss on your lips.

“Okay, babygirl, now hand over the brush.”

You had to blink several times, your oh so lazy brain taking its time to realize what he said. Huh? Also, did he just said it as if he was asking you were a robber holding a hostage on gunpoint and he was asking you to lay down your weapon?

The thought made you internally snort.

“Why?” you demanded, suspicious.

“Because I’m taking over.”

You instantly shook your head. “No-“

“Yes. I promise I’ll make sure it’s spotless-“

Okay, yeah, that was one of our arguments against him doing the clean-up. However, there was one more. “But you still have papers to grade and lessons to prepare!”

“And you want to cook too and then we’ll have to clean up the kitchen. And you’ll want to take a shower and and and. Papers can wait. Gimme the brush.”

“You make it sound like it’s a weapon of mass destruction… or I am,” you muttered, but you kissed his cheek – such a strange feeling, you truly missed the sensation of his beard scraping your lips – and climbed out of his lap with a meek and cautious thank you. He cackled at your antics, but quickly fished out a new pair of gloves from the bathroom drawer and started working.

You swallowed your smart remark about him being the Cinderella now. Mostly because his gesture was one of the sweetest things and really – seeing Steve scrubbing the bathtub might not be the sexiest thing in the world… but it kinda was.

It pulled at your heartstrings as you imagined that this might be how it would always be; you and Steve, settling together, taking care of the household, then cuddling on the couch—the domesticity you hadn’t always been sure you craved.

Now you were certain of it; but to get to that, you had to survive your parents’ visit first.  

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You had somewhat stayed in touch with your parents, mostly with your mum; you two had been calling on a so-so regular basis, sometimes with video, and both her and your father were obviously aware that you had a boyfriend (gee, that sounded kinda trivial, a boyfriend). In fact, Steve played a huge role in them deciding to purchase their plane tickets… besides wanting to see New York City… and you.

The thing was… you had managed to keep Steve’s identity secret so far; you never used a videocall when he was around, so your mum only had heard his voice, sweet and polite in the most Steve fashion possible, you sort-of danced around his age and his job. Yeah, you found it strange as well that you kept it up so long, a divine intervention even; or maybe your mum simply had a good idea of your dirty secret all along and purposely didn’t probe.

Now, with your parents in the apartment, your dad’s eyes more on Steve than on you (your mum’s eyes wandered too, you noticed, but she had enough decency to show you she missed you first), you felt dread fill every cell in your body. Your heart was pounding in your chest with too much ferocity, your temples pulsing, your palms uncharacteristically sweaty and if it wasn’t for Steve’s warm hand on your lower back, its weight oh so comforting, you might spontaneously combust because of your nerves.

You were suddenly entirely grateful that Steve had shaved off his beard, was giving less of a an incredibly hot (and still very young, thank you very much) professor vibe and looked--- well, kinda like he could be your classmate.

But of course, of course the subject came up. Inevitably, after the small talk about your parents’ flight, about how their job was going and if they picked up a new hobby (…or heard some gossip), you and Steve became the centre of attention.

First, things went smoothly enough; you talked a bit about school, about Penny and some of your classmates and professors, about your part-time job. Steve had been subtly drawing small comforting circles on your thigh whenever he wasn’t eating and he in fact succeeded in lowering your heartbeat so much that you might appear even calm.

And then it oh so predictably went to shit.

Because apparently, your materialistic father had to ask Steve what he was studying and what his plan for his future career was.

“I actually finished my studies,” Steve admitted in an admirably dispassionate manner.

Meanwhile, your own heart started racing again, sending you to the verge of a cardiac arrest; your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a hint of a smile played in the corners of his lips in effort to remain polite… for now.

“Oh? Was that recently?”

You deflected that question by bringing up the pie and snatching Steve with you to bring it to the table since you two were the hosts.

The question forgotten, your mum – god bless her, she had caught up enough to know you did not want to discuss Steve’s age, even if it wasn’t that bad – asked about Steve’s field of study.

“History, minoring in pedagogics.”

“Oh? So you are a history teacher?” your dad chimed in and you swallowed as Steve confirmed that claim, walking straight into a death trap. You had seen it coming, you had, but you still winced when your father’s icy tone cut the almost festive atmosphere. “And it wouldn’t be that you’re more of a university professor, would it?”

His hand balled into a fist on the table, your mother’s lightly covering it as she whispered his name; the gesture of comfort, a silent plea for him to stay calm, didn’t quite work.

Steve, to his benefit, looked only a bit sheepish, meeting your dad’s eye with bravery worth of the Disney prince you had called him earlier that day. Also, with the same honesty… why hadn’t you agreed on lying to them again?

“It would, sir.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose then that it is a coincidence that you two met in school?” your dad continued and you sighed, your breathing progressively turning into a more and more of a difficult task with the anticipation of a storm.

“It is not, sir,” Steve replied calmly and you honestly didn’t know whether you should kiss him or punch him, unsure if his attitude made your father madder or not. “However-“

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and enraged; you felt yourself sink into your chair involuntarily, your mind travelling years back to the moments when he wasn’t pleased with you at all, yelled and sputtered words tasting of venom.

“Do you have any explanation for this inappropriate joke?” you father hissed, not caring he interrupted whatever Steve was about to say to your defence.

Your chest grew heavy, edges of your vision blurring subtly; your eyes burned and suddenly, you weren’t only remembering. You were reliving a memory, feeling like your child-self, like your teenage-self, being scolded for every imperfection; and there had been generous amount of those as you had been growing up.

Steve’s hand somehow slid under the table again, squeezing yours, a gentle wave of attempted comfort washing over you.

But it took one glance at him and you understood that silent support was not the only goal of his when he sought your touch.

His jaw was set tight, his grip a little too strong; he was trying to maintain composure, while not at all impressed with the tone your father was speaking with you.

Yet, Steve’s gesture did provide you with something you hadn’t had whenever you faced your father before; strength and true support, the essential reminder that you had done nothing wrong.

“Dad, this is not a joke,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly as you squeezed Steve’s hand back, “Steve and I are dating. Yes, he is teaching at the same college I study, but-“

A fist hit the table, causing the remaining tableware clank with the force behind the blow and you winced in fright, all muscles tensing in an instant.

“There is no ‘but’ applicable in this case!” your father spitted out, the anger in his voice making your guts twist, the sting in your eyes intensifying. “We help you to pay for school so you could study, not sleep around!”

Several things happened at once; your mother admonished your father, a level-headed whisper of his name. Your voice, too quiet as always when your father reprimanded you, tried to protest, to defend yourself.  And Steve’s patience ran out, his outrage at your father’s demeanour showing.

“Paul-“

“That’s not what’s-“

“Don’t talk to her like that!“

“You keep your mouth shut now,” you father snapped at Steve, pointing a finger at him accusingly before turning his rage towards you again, the deep disappointment in his eyes somehow more hurtful than the anger. “Is it that bad with your grades that you have to—to--- Jesus Christ.“

The world stopped for several frantic beats of your heart, everything else in standstill. Multiple sharp breaths were drawn in, but you didn’t think either of them was yours.

Your father’s unfinished sentence echoed in your ears as if from a terrible distance and just like that—just like that, you were thrown several months back to the days before your graduation.

Rogers’ whore

Bet she’ll get the highest score

The icy feeling that froze your bones and crystalized the blood in your veins made for a stark contrast to the few hot tears you were distantly aware of that were running down your cheeks.

Many had thought of you that you were a set of holes to fill for the professor in exchange for passing an exam or two, which was disgusting, deeply insulting and obviously wrong. But those people didn’t know you- they weren’t your blood.

Your own father was now seconds from calling you a whore. The dinner turned into a stone in your stomach as the verbal punch knocked all air from your lungs.

“Paul!” you heard a swift reproach, quickly followed by Steve’s voice, dangerously low in a threat. “I’m sorry, what did you just imply about her?”

“You zip it-“

“Paul!”

It felt like a fucking elephant stomped on your chest, the spiral of pity and despair, mocking voices swirling wildly, tossing you around with a quickening speed as the circles got smaller and smaller, as if you were circling down the drain, your breaths coming shorter and shorter too-

And yet your father still continued, ignorant to all warnings and your inner turmoil.

“That’s over, my dear. I refuse to support such disgusting thing. And you, I don’t see how it’s possible that you still have your job-“

“DAD!” a loud cry cut off the monologue and it took you a moment to realize that it was you who just snapped and yelled, despite the unmistakable addressing.

Your father stared at you in mute shock as you dared to interrupt him; and frankly, with the world spinning, your stomach twisted and your chest constricted with anxiety, you were shocked by your actions too.

It was the fact that he doubted Steve’s position at the uni, flashed through your mind, the way he insulted the man you loved and who deserved all the good things. Or maybe it was his fucking attitude towards Steve and you in general and you just finally reached your limit. You weren’t sure; but shit, this ended now.

The silence that fell on the room granted you a few moments to breathe and calm your frantic mind.

“He is not using me like some f-“ -fuckdoll- “-fling or whatever. And he’s not even my professor, he’s-“

“Like it matters!” you father snapped from his trance, spitting the words, a vein on his temple visibly popping up as he rose to his feet swiftly, nearly sending the chair flying to the ground.

You stared up at him, the coil of despair and rage in your gut burning hot as he literally looked down on you.

You hadn’t been ready for this. You hadn’t been ready for your father to despise you for being in a relationship with a great man, to judge you so harshly without being able to listen for a damn second.

“It DOES. But even if he was-“ you tried to explain again, losing patience and the ground under your feet too as Steve’s hand started practically crushing the bones of yours.

You could physically feel Steve trying to hold back and slowly succumb to his not so nice emotions no doubt swirling in him just like in you.

“How can you not see that’s he’s only looking to get his---” your father gestured wildly towards Steve and rather low and you could hear Steve’s teeth grinding at the implication. Your blood reached the boiling point. How dared he to- “-that he’s only seeking a physical thing-“

“That’s not what this is. I love your daughter-“ Steve emphasized, expression fiery, voice surprisingly measured for a man who you believed was one moment from punching your father.

“Sure you do, son, until something with long legs and tall heels walks by-“

Steve’s chair scrapped against the floor and you quickly laid a palm over his chest to stop him from jumping to his feet and succumb to his righteous anger.

“Steve-“ you whispered soothingly, seeing the light tremble to his hands, tendons dancing under his shirt with the effort to hold back.

“Paul, that’s enough,” your mother interjected, grabbing her husband’s wrist to keep him back as well.

“I do love your daughter, I respect her and I fully intend-“

Steve closed his eyes as he inhaled shakily to compose himself. In the very back of your mind, you spared a single thought to what he was going to say before he shook his head and looked your father dead in the eye again.

“-I am serious about her and I want to and will be with her as long as she’ll have me.”

You had two full seconds to sink into the gentle sentiment behind his words, to cherish how much he did respect your choices and strangely, how he still doubted he could be enough for you, before your father scoffed dismissively.

“Well, I hope you are serious, because if she comes crawling back in few weeks, the door and the account will be closed.” He shot you one disdainful look that made your heart stop before twisting his arm from your mother’s hold and stepping away from the table. “We’re leaving.”

Your eyes slipped shut, a fresh wave of hot tears painting your cheeks, all strength leaving your body, darkness enveloping your mind.

He was cutting you off. He was going to disown you no doubt; that much of a disappointment you were to him.

Your own father hated you.

Dull ringing filled your ears, muffling your mother’s low voice.

“I’m so sorry for his behaviour.” She sounded truly regretful, her voice quivering a bit, you thought. “I’ll talk to him about what he said. Thank you for the dinner, baby. It was nice to meet you, Steve, truly.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve responded firmly, his voice the only solid thing in the room. “I’ll—I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary, Steve. But thank you. I’ll call you, sweetheart.”

A low whisper about a promise fell from her lips next as she brushed your shoulder, but you couldn’t hope to understand what she was saying, the buzz of blood in your ears growing louder.

And then you knew she was gone along with your father. You knew because a warm hand touched yours, another gently wiping way the endless waterfall of your tears and then you were pulled to your feet and practically dragged to the couch in Steve’s protective embrace.

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You wouldn’t be able to tell how long you were drenching Steve’s shirt in tears, sobbing into his chest as he held you firmly and yet tenderly, whispering sweet nothings, words of comfort empty and yet so meaningful.

You couldn’t tell how long it took for the tremble subdue, for the sobs to turn into sniffles and then die out entirely.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so so sorry,” Steve whispered to your hair, caressing your scalp, your back the next, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you creaked back, gripping the fabric of his shirt for one last time before you gathered your breath and courage to face him; you had to. You might be a mess, but it was vital that he heard you say this: “It’s not your fault.”

You withdrew slightly, meeting his eyes, so big and regretful, a bit watery as if he was the one crying. The corners of his lips, apparently having been turned down the whole time, twitched, his whole face twisting in a grimace; little sad, little defiant, but he didn’t protest even though you were certain that he wanted to.

Perhaps it was a testimony of how well you two fit, how your thoughts worked on the same wavelengths; you understood what he must have been thinking. If you were dating literally anybody else, this wouldn’t have happened.

So you had to assure him that you didn’t blame him; even if he did so himself. You didn’t have the energy to be angry with him for such thing. Mostly because that in a way, there was a tiny bit of truth in him thinking so.

“Don’t do that to yourself. I chose you. Yes, this relationship is on both of us… but we knew the risks and went for it anyway. And—it’s worth it, it’s just… fuck, this is so fucked up. I’m in such a mess now,” you whispered, your voice breaking as fresh tears burned in your eyes.

Steve’s fingers were quick to dry your cheeks, gently stroking, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We are, babygirl. We’re in this together. What’s mine is yours,” Steve said, determined. You couldn’t find yourself sharing his optimism, but his eyes locked onto yours, serious as his words. “We’ll figure it out. Find ways of saving more. Hell, if it comes to that, I’ll try to find a job that pays better-”

Your palms landed on his chest, pushing away, putting some distance between you; his hand dropped from your face.

Say WHAT?

“Absolutely not!” you protested instantly, sobering from your despair and letting indignation take over, ignoring entirely the voice in your head sweetly nudging you with the idea of what Steve was willing to give up for you. “I’ll drop off college before I let you give up being a professor, Steve-- you are made-“

“Not an option, sweetheart,” he shot back instantly, expression turning strict. “You leaving college is off the table.”

Mentally, you threw your hands up in the air, growing confused and frustrated by the minute.

“Why? How is that different from you finding a new job, giving up something you worked for so hard?”

“The difference is,” Steve raised his voice slightly, speaking slowly as if he wanted you to remember every word, “-that the chances are that I could come back at some point, that I might only lose a few years. You dropping off, on the other hand, would affect your whole future.”

The same exasperation you felt burned in his eyes now and you gulped, realization hitting you that… yeah, okay, that was a good point. But you hated it anyway.

“…okay, that’s a fair point. But I rather work three jobs and didn’t sleep at all than seeing you leave the university.”

“And work yourself to the ground? I don’t think so, babygirl,” Steve shook his head, just a smidge of patronizing which stung more than you would expect.

Obviously, he was presenting you with more of a feasible option, but you had a feeling that the primal instinct to be the provider played a role in his attitude too – and at any given moment besides this one you would like that; you were completely fine with him wanting to ensure you were secured, taking the larger portion of the burden on his shoulders.

Except now it reminded you of your father in the worst possible way despite knowing that the sentiment was nothing but sweet, no malice in his intentions. It chased tears into your eyes.

Steve’s expression instantly melted, panic flashing in his eyes as he must have figured out that this was not the right thing to say… or not the right way.

His hands were quick to frame you face, tender but unwavering, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s just… we’ll work it out, somehow, okay? We can even move out and share an apartment with someone else if we need to. Though you’re forgetting I used to pay this rent and bills on my own.”

Your lower lip quivered, your heart fluttering in fondness for this incredible man, your chest constricted at the idea of taking anything away from him, even if it was comfort. God, the distance he was willing to walk…

“You were living on school cafeteria food and ramen,” you mumbled, corners of your lips twitching upwards for the shortest moment.

Steve’s smile, on the other hand, was almost blinding, tight-lipped but honest, thumbs sweeping at the tears that appeared yet again.

“See, another possibility to save money. Don’t cry, my pretty girl…” he pleaded lowly, kissing your nose before shaking his head lightly. “Or cry if you need to. I’m here, sweetheart, okay? Whatever you need.”

Shit, your heart couldn’t hope to contain this amount of love-

How could anyone ever doubt Steve was the right man for you? The best man? The most wonderful loving human being? How did your father think he was just looking for a mindless fuck?

“I love you,” you whispered hoarsely, smiling through your tears. “Fuck my father. He can’t bully me into being his perfect daughter by cutting me off, can’t make me behave. There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.”

“Or me loving you.”

There was no questioning his honesty; it was written all over his features, his irises bright with emotion. And yet, you worried your teeth over your lower lip, insecurity, your old friend, crawling into your head.

“You do, really? Even with my asshole of a dad?”

You didn’t mean it. Entirely. Though momentarily, your dad was being an asshole, not for the first time.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re my everything,” Steve promised, releasing your face in order to tuck messy loose strands of your hair behind your ears.

“That’s the sweetest thing to say, but you can’t exactly sell me to put food to your mouth-“ Oh. Even though… maybe that would be an option? “Well, technically-“

All the gentle warmth radiating from Steve’s expression turned ice cold, smile dropping so fast it startled you.

“Don’t you even-“

“Hey, why not, I mean how much do you think-“

“Stop that right now!” Steve’s voice cut you off, razor sharp voice as if cutting into your skin.

You flinched at the mental blow on instinct, air stuck in your throat, muscles in your back straightening enough to inflict a sharp pounding in your head.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling painstakingly slow, as if he got punched in his gut too. His fists on your sides clenched and unclenched, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he looked at you again, it was obvious he realized he had scared you – and that he regretted not keeping his anger in check.

“I’m sorry, babygirl, I didn’t mean for it to come out this harsh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on nothing but your breathing and keeping yourself from sobbing again as you were reminded of your father’s yelling. With each long second, you could see Steve’s face twisting and his body sinking into the couch in shame.

Well. As much as you hated him snapping at you, you had to give it to him – it sobered you up. Frankly, you didn’t blame him for being so harsh.

But you were also aware that Steve was a painfully kind and gentle soul and he never wanted to be rough with you… well, except under certain very consensual special circumstances.

“I know,” you forced an unconvincing smile, laying your palm on his cheek, affection Steve was quick to lean into with a sigh – probably both relieved and content. “I’m sorry for talking stupid.”

He covered your hand with his, carefully manipulating it so he could brush his lips over your palm.

“You’re not, not really. Our heads are a mess, rightfully so. I know people still do that, some purely by choice, but—I don’t want that for you, ever. That’s the same level on a will-never-happen scale like you not continuing your masters. Not an option for me. You’re my girl and if someone’s gonna change their habits, it’s gonna be me first.”

The surge of affection at his words filled your stomach with butterflies, wrapping around you like the softest and warmest comforter.

Great, now you wanted to cry for a whole different reason.

“I don’t deserve you,” spilled from your lips before you could think twice. Steve’s sweet smile made its return.

“Other way around, babygirl. Other way around…. Now how does a bath and a bed sound?”

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Steve hadn’t planned on you and him having a bath when making the suggestion. He found a bath-bomb even and few candles so the light wouldn’t have to be on and hurt your previously teary eyes.

But then you looked at him with wide eyes, pleading and so vulnerable, a single look so heartfelt that it would make the devil’s black heart break and the angels weep – and he was done for, sinking into the bath with you even if the bathtub was not meant for more than one person, especially when one of them was of Steve’s built.

He couldn’t tell you no. Less so after the shitstorm the dinner had turned into.

Yes, Steve’s own emotions were running high, anger, disappointment and self-hatred he knew he couldn’t confess to, certainly not at the moment, but you. You were the priority here because he had a feeling that no matter how overwhelmed he felt, he had nothing on you.

The ceramics of the tub was hard against his back and against his knees at the side, but you fit into his arms and between his legs so perfectly and contentedly that he wouldn’t dare to complain. Head in the crook of his neck, your back to his chest, you melted into him, eyes closed, fingers absently and yet affectionately running over his forearms above water, sometimes along his calves.

You didn’t talk much, mostly repeating that it wasn’t his fault, that you loved him – something he found himself echoing every time – and it slipped through your lips too that while you would never change the fact that you picked him… you were sorry for being a disappointment to your father.

At that, something in Steve’s chest cracked and he swore to himself – that he would never ever be the cause of you feeling like a disappointment. And why would he – you were his perfect girl, his best girl. As much as he regretted that he indirectly did have a hand in making you feel like this now, he wouldn’t change who you were to each other and who you were had he had the chance. Never.

What he could do was to hold you tighter after your admission and whisper more sweet nonsense that made perfect sense to him to your ear.

By the time the water got cold, you were practically asleep, completely groggy, pliant. Somehow, you both climbed from the tub without sustaining any injury. He might have been holding you upright a bit as you both brushed your teeth and pulled on a pyjama.

You fell asleep almost instantly, face hidden in Steve’s chest, few stray tears dampening his sleepshirt as you mumbled one more love confession into the fabric.

“I love you, Steve... I’m sorry… you have to put up with such bullshit…” Your words slurred but Steve didn’t need to hear them to understand what you were saying.

He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you closer to his side, ignoring the sting of guilt in his gut.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, earning a hum that might have been a sign of contentment… or you being entirely drained. “Let’s go to sleep now. Clearer head in the morning.”

Another hum and then nothing but your deep slow breathing, the last remnants of tension leaving your body.

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Steve didn’t think he would follow you to the dreamland anytime soon, too agitated, thoughts swirling wildly in his head, but he caught himself snapping back to consciousness at some point, unsure when he fell asleep – and what woke him up.

An intrusive buzzing on your nightstand provided him with the answer, your phone lit up.

Steve spared you one glance as you stirred only to nuzzle deeper into his frame, sighing.

As carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake you, he stretched over you and checked who was calling.

Blood crystalized in his veins, heart sent into frenzy as he read a simple short word.

Mom.

He squeezed the side button, silencing the vibration as he pondered what to do; and yet, even as his heart jumped to his throat – as if he was a teenager about to face his girlfriend’s parents after he took her virginity – he had already made a decision, accepting the call as you sank into the cushions without him as a pillow.

He slipped from the room as silently and quickly as possible, announcing himself before you mother could say something not meant for his ears.

“Oh. Hello, Steve,” your mother greeted him, clearly surprised – but much to Steve’s relief, not angry.

He could do this, he could talk to your mother even with the lump in his throat; could have been much worse. Could have been your father and Steve wasn’t so sure if he would manage him. For one, he would hate to be reminded, once again, of what the numerous hate letters had told him about being a total perv; for two, Steve feared he might exchange words with your father that couldn’t have been taken back and would seal the damage done to the relationship with your parents .

“I’m sorry, ma’am. She fell asleep and—I can wake her, of course, but-“ He stumbled over his words and was immensely grateful when your mother saved him from his misery; more se when she said what she did.

“-but she had a rough night. We all did. I’m okay to talk to you, Steve.”

“Alright… how can I help, ma’am?”

“Tell me how bad she is, Steve? She stopped crying before she falling asleep?” the woman on the other side asked softly, causing Steve’s heart to squeeze in a painful memory of his own kind mother, God bless her soul.

And perhaps it was that very memory that encouraged him to speak openly, the genuine worry of a mother who cared deeply for her child, her heart full of love.

How such woman could end up with such an asshole and stay with him was beyond Steve’s understanding, but he certainly wasn’t in position to judge the choices of the women in your family – after all, he was your choice and there was a long line of people who looked at the two with disdain.

“For a while,” Steve admitted with a sigh, his gaze automatically flickering towards the bedroom. “She’s—she feels like she disappointed you in a way, she’s scared of the what’s next, but she’s angry too, because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong by being with me.”

And Steve thought the same… to a point. Didn’t matter that sometimes he would find himself in a dark place where he simply awaited the moment you’d change your mind and left him; for someone your age, with better looks, someone smarted, someone funnier, someone who didn’t have to shave off his beard just so your parents made it through the front door without yelling.

Such gloomy images always left him more desperate than he was comfortable admitting and with searing jealousy in his gut.

He needed you. Yes, he’d survive if you left – but he was certain that you’d take his heart with him, leaving him unable to fall in love ever again… or to feel whole, for that matter.

“She wouldn’t leave you to get her financial support back, Steve,” sounded gently on the other end of the line and Steve’s heart skipped a beat in alarm, brief wonder if he had said any of his latest thoughts out loud.

He supposed he didn’t – your mother was just too intuitive, just like his used to be. He gulped against his dry throat, suddenly guilty for – in a way – forcing you to leave them.

“…I suppose not… I’m sorry if-- it was never my intention to steal your daughter from you, but I’m- I’m not gonna pretend I mind that she would rather be with me than had her money.”

“This is not your doing, Steve, don’t you think I don’t know that,” she continued, a subtle smile in her voice, Steve thought. “And it’s good that she’s willing to make this choice. We wouldn’t want the bride to get cold feet, after all.”

Steve’s heart stopped altogether, he was sure of it. Colour him mortified.

How the hell—but- she couldn’t--- he hadn’t proposed yet and he- what?

His stomach twisted in a tight knot. He couldn’t but ask, voice barely above whisper.

“…how did you know?”

“You stopped yourself mid-sentence, Steve. And as cliché as it sounds, you had fire in your eyes, defending my daughter. It is clear to me that you are serious about her, that you love her, and from the little I heard about you, you are the kind of man who would put a ring on it to seal the deal.”

You mother was definitely smiling now and Steve found himself doing the same, even if the lift of his lips turned sour.

“I would have asked for parents’ blessings, but…”

“I give it,” she was quick to assure him and Steve’s breath hitched, his chest puffing with pride, filling with endless relief and joy. Your mother approved of him. Even knowing who he was, how old he was, how—she was willing to give him her blessing! “You seem like a good man, Steve.”

Steve was both embarrassed and ridiculously proud when he realized he was blinking against tears gathering in his eyes, enormous weight falling from his shoulders.

“That, uhm—that means a lot, truly,” he choked out, swiftly clearing his throat, the embarrassment definitely winning now. He had to get it together before he gave out how weak he could be in front of your mother… she had given her blessing; she could easily take it back.

“I like you, Steve. You’re a good blend of an old-fashioned and modern man. Don’t mess it up and keep my daughter happy.”

“I will try my best, ma’am,” he declared in an instant, meaning every word.

A sigh sounded from the speaker. “That’s all I ask for… now the less happy reason to call. I talked to Paul, but he… I’m sorry, Steve, as for now, he still isn’t fond of you.” That didn’t surprise Steve, but it hurt nonetheless. Then again, he was grateful that your mother tried to put in a good word for him; that meant a lot too. “He only agreed to pay for three more months.”

Steve’s free hand balled into fist, the other clutching the phone considerably tighter as hot surge of anger flooded his veins.

Three more payments. As if the relationship with your family was a damn job contract and this was the notice period.

Steve was sure he was going to be sick.

“Thank you. That’s… we appreciate it,” he managed to grit through his teeth, trying his damnest to remember that he wasn’t mad at the sweet woman – only at her husband.

“You really are a good man, Steve. You’re good for her. I’m glad she found you.”

Steve would once again be entirely joyful at being at least your mother’s favour, but he heard you call out his name from the bedroom, low, hoarse and utterly confused and all he could focus on was the idea of you, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair and still adorable, looking for him in the dark room with a pout to your lips.

“Steve?” your mother called out unsurely and Steve snapped from his reverie.

“Sorry, uhm, she’s awake-- do you want me to hand you over or-“ he blurted out swiftly, hoping the answer would be no as he couldn’t wait to crawl back to bed with you.

“No, just tell her I called. I believe you two have things to talk about. Take care of my daughter, Steve. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jane, Steve,” she offered kindly just as Steve heard the soft patting on your fluffy socks on the floor.

“Yes, Jane,” he corrected himself then, unable to contain the satisfaction as he tested the name on his tongue. “Thank you, really. Goodnight.”

He ended the call as you emerged from the bedroom, squinting to the low light, your eyes instantly finding him – he automatically smiled for you, unsubtly splaying his arms wide. You didn’t hesitate, aiming straight into his embrace even if it was at snail pace.

It was funny and strange and wonderful how Steve still loved simply holding you, his heart calmer the moment he found you melting into his frame. Christ, he loved you… and clearly, your mother noticed; he was so obvious, that-

“You were gone,” you muttered into his chest discontentedly, nuzzling into him and Steve automatically cradled you to him tighter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admitted bluntly, propping your chin on his torso to look up at him, eyes growing wide and surprisingly soft with emotion. “More so because I was talking stupid and crying into your shirt instead of comforting you after my dad accused you of the things that--- those things that aren’t right.”

Steve felt the painful nudge to his consciousness, because he knew there always would be some truth to ‘those’ words; but you were here to dilute the pain and make it all better. Your care for his well-being served like a shield for the sticks and stones for now at least, when you were the priority. You had it worse at the moment, no matter what his former colleague had accused him of in those hate letters – and now your father.

“Hey, no. Don’t worry about me now.”

You gazed into his eyes, pushing on your tiptoes to peck his lips and the small gesture of affection was like a balm to his soul, much like your words.

“But I do. Always. I love you, Steve… I’m sorry we can’t catch a break… but we’ll… somehow, we’ll push through, right?” you whispered, hopeful and wistfully determined and Steve could only nod, feeling the corners of his lips rising.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. You’re my girl.”

“And you’re my guy. My prince charming,” you hummed, cradling his unusually smooth cheek, irises full of wonder, the sensation was as foreign to you as it was to him. But it was your babble that made him chuckle, the nickname that seemed to catch on; you were too cute for words. “Guess I am Cinderella after all and somehow you accidentally fell in love with me.”

“Damn right I did,” he confirmed, brushing your forehead with his lips before tugging you back to the bedroom. “Not all that glitters is gold.”

“True. Though you might have some glitter from the bathbomb on you.”

“Cheeky girl.”

He didn’t bother pretending to be offended or grumpy; he was simply too happy to see some of your snarky teasing side making its return, that was always a good sign.

“I try… but really, are you okay?”

Steve didn’t respond at first, climbing to the bed, manoeuvring you to his arms where you belonged and fit so naturally. Only when the lights were out and you were both comfortable, he replied, truthfully.

“I will be. I have you. Plus, your mum seems to be okay with me.”

More than okay, apparently.

Steve’s heart fluttered with a bit of nerves as his mind wandered to the ring he kept in the very room you fell asleep every night.

“As she should,” you hummed, sounding very pleased. “She has a nose for good people. And you’re the best.”

“After you at least.”

“Best man, then,” you argued playfully and Steve was perfectly content to have you think that. It would play in his favour when he would finally find the courage to sink to one knee in front of you.

“Well, I’m certainly a lucky one… I have the best woman.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. Love you,” you whispered, kissing his chest over the fabric of his sleepshirt and sighing blissfully. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”

If you only knew how much…

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S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

Stockings (next in timeline)

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Wink wink. I once again stretched this quite a bit, but hopefully you reached this very end without skipping something ;)

Thank you for reading and extra thanks if you happen to like, reblog and/or comment. Stay safe and happy!

(Also, to American friends: I hope you'll have better Thanksgiving than this ;) )

[luninosity]

A preview, as I work on this Colby/Jason bonus story (it’s the shower sex hurt/comfort story, in fact)...

#

Colby waited two entire days before asking what was on Jason’s mind. He’d’ve asked sooner, but he still felt a bit shaky. Better—far better, vastly so, mountains of better—but regaining balance.

 The shuddery aftermath of a near-miss car-crash. The easing of a bruise, purple to yellow-brown. The knitting of bone back together, to borrow Jason’s metaphor.

 He was all right, he thought. Or he would be. He got out flour, oats, cranberries, sesame seeds; he found yeast and milk and butter, and a bowl or two. Sunshine striped the pale granite of the countertops, gold against grey, next to his hands.

 Jason hadn’t been subtle. No sex—nothing even vaguely along those lines—these last two days, though there’d been lots of cuddling, and attentive kisses. Glancing at Colby, glancing at the shower. Looking up something on his phone, and then casually putting on a home-renovation show while they’d been washing dishes. It’d just sounded interesting, he’d said casually. Simply that. For now.

 Colby thought it was probably a good idea. He was a bit surprised he himself hadn’t thought of it—he’d bought new furniture, after all, after everything—but somehow anything as drastic as remodeling the flat honestly hadn’t occurred to him.

 Of course, at the time, he’d been about to leave for the start of filming, and he hadn’t wanted to think about Liam ever again, and he hadn’t been letting himself feel much. Not letting anything crack open, behind the enthusiastic and upbeat public persona. No matter how cold his hands felt.

 Jason wanted him to never have cold hands. Jason wanted him to reach out, so that those large strong hands could enfold his. So that Jason could keep him warm.

 He touched the sunlight on the countertop, thinking of warmth. He loved rain, but this was nice as well: clean brightness under his fingertips, lying there as if happy to be appreciated.

 He gave his countertop a tiny pat, because he would like that, if he were a cuddly bit of sun-striped granite; and he smiled a little and set about conjuring up cranberry-oat bread, with sesame and flaxseed.

 Jason came in from the small balcony while Colby’s hands were buried in shaggy dough, and said, “Sorry, that took longer than I thought. Susan had a whole list of late-night shows she wants to see me on, for interviews. Can I help?”

 “Just grab that bowl, would you? Light oil—perfect, thank you. Of course you’ll be marvelous doing press. You always are.”

 Jason set down the oil. Blinked at him, a large perplexed foothill in worn jeans and a dark red Henley. “You’ve seen me do press before?”

 “Er…I might’ve watched some things. Promoting new John Kill installments, and such.” The dough had obligingly become a nice smooth ball; he tucked it into its bowl-bed. “About two hours, for that, I think….you’re always so gracious. Praising your directors, co-stars, crew. Playing along with spy trivia questions or little how-well-do-you-know-your-castmates games. You’re such a good sport about it. I always liked that.”

 Jason carried on gazing at him, and finally said, “I mean…you have to have fun with it, right? Even if it’s not, like…I mean, in Saint Nick Steel I ran around wearing a Santa hat that made me into a reincarnated spirit of Christmas that rescued kids. By punching bad guys. Or shooting them. Or something.”

 “It’s certainly original.”

 “Terrible. You mean terrible. But, like…people still worked on it. Our cast, our crew…we made something, y’know? So of course I’m going to be a good sport about the press circus. For them, and for me, because it’s not like it wasn’t fun. So, yeah, I’ll say so.”

 “And there’s always an audience for those sorts of stories, which, as it happens, includes me.” Colby looked around for plastic wrap to cover the bowl; Jason held it out. “I like fantasy, and I like you running around in extremely tight shirts while protecting people.” Their eyes met, across dough and sunshine.

 “Two hours,” Jason said, a question, an invitation, a joy.

 “Plenty of time for you to kiss me in our kitchen?”

 Jason laughed, stepped in closer—carefully, not throwing looming weight around—and slid a big hand to the back of Colby’s head, fingers threading through his hair. Their lips met, lightly at first. Jason tasted like mint and sunlight, having been outside; his tongue teased Colby’s mouth, coaxing and gentle, not a demand.

 Colby tried to get even closer. Pressed up against Jason, hands roaming the broad expanse of Jason’s back, such muscle and strength and kindness. The feeling of Jason’s body against his, exquisitely male and powerful and aroused.

 He wanted Jason to kiss him more, harder, deeper. He wanted to be Jason’s, to know that he was: beyond any question, belonging to and cherished by the man loved. He wanted to feel Jason everywhere; he attempted to beckon Jason further, a hopeful shy question of tongue and parted lips and shifting hips.

 Jason smiled—Colby felt it—but drew back, though he kept both big arms around Colby, holding fast. “Just checking, that’s what you wanted, right? You know I’m fine with whatever you say’s okay.”

 Colby felt his own eyebrows go up. “Was I not being clear enough about you and fantasies and our kitchen?”

 “You asked me to kiss you.” Jason hugged him more tightly. “If that’s where we’re at, today, that’s perfect.”

 “Oh.” He recalibrated his reactions for a second. Not him not being clear enough; not his fault. Jason being careful. Because Jason was that, at heart: built of care. “Thank you. But in fact I was hoping you might ravish me on the kitchen table? Or a chair. Or these countertops. They’re in favor of ravishing. Which sounds a lot like radishes, so of course they’d be in favor, we’re in a kitchen, that somehow seems appropriate. Or inappropriate, as it were. But not being inappropriate with radishes, please.”

 Jason burst out laughing, though it was a gentle thunderclap, softened by emotion. “God, I love you. And the radishes.”

  “Please,” Colby said, and traced a heart over Jason’s back, behind a shoulder blade. “I want you. Here, in sunshine.”

[omgrachwrites]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend promises you that he’ll be home for Christmas, your favourite time of year.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of sex, mentions of death, character death

Words: 1272

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: I haven’t written for Bucky in ages so to all my marvel gals and guys, this is for you! I won’t be posting anything on Friday probably because I’m so busy in work so my Friday posts probs won’t be till after Christmas now! Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

The music in the party was rowdy and joyful as the guests were swing dancing along to the jazz numbers, it certainly felt like Christmas. You grinned at your group of friends as you left the ladies room, you had to step out to powder your nose but you knew that your efforts were in vain. To liven up your mood – you hated to feel sad at Christmas – you grabbed a Cranberry themed cocktail from the bar.

You smiled kindly at the bartender but you noticed when his eyes strayed from your face, to the swell of your breasts before stopping on your legs with a dirty smirk on his face. Turning away from the bar, you took a sip of your drink, trying to swallow down your disgust as you watched the happy couples dancing and kissing underneath the mistletoe. It was hard for you not to feel the bitter twinge of jealousy. It was Christmas Eve and everybody was going to be going home with the person they loved, except you.

“Spare a Christmas kiss for a poor solider Miss?” you heard a rough manly voice coming from behind you.

You turned around and felt a leap in your chest as you found yourself face to face with the most handsome man that you’d ever seen. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he tipped his hat to you. He knew how to wear that uniform well.

“I’m not sure Sergeant Barnes,” you read from his name tag, “why should I bestow a Christmas kiss upon you?” you smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Barnes winked at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “because you’re the most beautiful woman in this room doll,” the smooth words rolled effortlessly off his tongue.

You blushed, failing to conceal a grin as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “well maybe just one,” you pressed a soft lingering kiss against his lips, smiling as you pulled away, “I thought that you couldn’t make it,” you beamed up at your handsome boyfriend.

Bucky smiled as he rested his forehead against yours for a moment before he pulled away, “it’s Christmas Eve, I had to spend it with my best girl,” he leaned in, stealing another kiss, “can I take you home?”

You pretended to think about it for a moment before you pouted up at him, resting your head against his shoulder, “don’t you want to dance or have a drink? My best friend is throwing this party, we can’t just leave,” you in fact did want to leave but you wanted to tease him a little first.

Bucky shook his head as he looked you up and down, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, your body flushed at his attention, “Please Y/N, I have wanted you all day,” he whispered in your ear as his hands roamed over your body, “you look so beautiful in that dress, and I can’t handle the way that that creepy bartender is looking at you, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you,” he almost growled as he tugged you closer.

You grimaced at Bucky’s words, “good point, let’s go.”

Bucky beamed at your words as he pulled you out of the party, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. Hours later you were tangled up together in the sheets, both gasping for air.

“Wow,” Bucky panted, “that never gets old, I’m honestly gonna miss this when I go away.”

You giggled as you kissed his sweaty chest and your mind started to wander and worry as you gazed up at the handsome man beside you. You didn’t want to lose him; you were scared about next Christmas. Would he still be here? Would he still be by your side?

“Bucky,” you started as he kissed your forehead and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “will you be here next Christmas?”

Bucky grinned confidently, “everything will be over by next Christmas. And, I’ll be right back here to marry you and have those two children.”

You beamed up at him as you snuggled into his chest, closing your eyes in contentment as you trusted his words, “a boy and a girl.”

The night before Bucky was getting shipped off to war the both of you were at Coney Island for your last night together. You tried to have a good night and remember Bucky like this but you couldn’t, not when you could lose him at any moment.

Bucky seemed to sense your uneasiness because he passionately kissed you in front of everyone and he whispered in your ear, “I’ll be home for Christmas, I promise Y/N. I love you,” the edges of those startling blue eyes crinkled as he smiled down at you.

You waited for him, your heart nearly breaking as every day slipped by as you trusted his word that he would be home for Christmas. But it was not to be, a little while after he was shipped to war you received a letter from the army to tell you that your soulmate, your Bucky had died. He had died crossing the mountains. It was supposed to have been a normal mission but he had died, he was gone and he was never coming back.

The pain in your chest was nothing that you’d ever felt before, you felt so incredibly sad, you were scared that you’d forget his handsome face, the warmth of his kindness and the sound of his deep laugh. Christmas would be empty without him; your life would be empty without him. For days you stayed in bed and cried until your pillow was soaking, you cried until you had no tears left. Your Bucky was gone and Christmas had lost its sparkle.

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Bucky pulled into the car park and got out of his car, grabbing the Christmas wreath as tears stung at his eyes, he scrubbed them away with his metal hand. He should have been here sooner but it was just too hard. The cemetery was quiet and peaceful as he stalked through the long grass looking for you. Steve had told him exactly where you were, by the lake that sparkled that diamonds beneath the wintery sunlight.

He found you and instantly dropped to his knees, not caring that his jeans were getting soaked through with snow. Bucky tried to take in shaky breaths but it was no use, sobs wracked his body as he covered his face with his hands, it was never supposed to have been like this. He read the inscription on your headstone and found with much sadness that you had died at the young age of 45. You had got married and had three children, that made him smile sadly, he was glad that you had found somebody else, even if it couldn’t have been him.

Bucky gulped as he tried to find his words, “I should have come sooner but I was so scared Y/N, Steve told me that you were here. One of the first things he did was look for you. I hope you had a good life Y/N, one that was full of love and I’m sorry that I never came back, I broke my promise but I’m here now. Merry Christmas Y/N, I told you I’d be back for Christmas,” he let out a watery laugh as he felt hot tears stream down his face and he placed the wreath down at the foot of your grave, “I love you Y/N, you will always have my heart,” he kissed his fingers and touched your name as the snow gently began to fall from the sky.

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@smiithys​

[janicho88]

Fire, Fur & Mistletoe Chapter 5

Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female Reader.

Word Count- 2,497

Warning- Mentions of car accidents, fires, and alcohol.  Possible swearing. Fluff.

Summary- A rewrite of the Nine Lives of Christmas, Hallmark movie. AU, Dean is a firefighter who doesn’t do commitment, the Holiday’s don’t mean much to him.  Coming home after a shift he finds a dog in trouble.  The reader is a veterinary student who works in a coffee shop trying to make it to graduation, until someone causes problems there for her.  She isn’t interested in finding anyone other than her own dog until after she finishes school.  Do their four legged friends have other plans?

A/N- This series is written for @spnchristmasbingo​.  The square filled for this chapter is the free space, Christmas cookies.  The first two chapters will stay closer to the movie than the rest will.   This has its own tag list and it is open.  That way I am not tagging anyone who doesn’t want to be tagged in Christmas stories.   This story is unbeta’d.

Header by the amazing @winchest09

Divider from freepngimg.com

Series Masterlist

Dean went in for a shift the next day taking Miracle with him and you went back out job and apartment hunting.  Still no luck on either front.  Heading home to Dakota you got out a few more Christmas decorations you had in boxes and added some in the kitchen, and up the wood staircase, being careful none of Dean's hard work got scratched. 

You were heading upstairs to your apartment when the front door opened. Turning around quickly you saw a blond woman walking in who seemed almost as surprised to see you as you were to see her.  Maybe Dean had found another girl to go out with and was keeping it a secret. 

“Hello.” You greeted her.

“I thought Sam was joking, if I had known he wasn't I would have knocked instead of using the emergency key.”

Not entirely sure what was going on you kept quiet.

"I'm sorry I didn't catch what Sam said your name was. Like I said, I thought he was joking about Dean's girlfriend moving in." 

That got your mouth semi working. "Not Dean's girlfriend, just friend. Just sleeping together. No, not sleeping, living, I mean staying. I’m staying in the apartment. I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you Dean's not girlfriend, I'm Jess."

"Oh your Sam's girlfriend."

"Yeah, actual girlfriend. We live and sleep together too." She says with a teasing smile. 

"It's nice to meet you, Dean's told me a little about you."  You told her about your eviction and Dean offering you a place to stay and the brothers moving you out.

She was extremely nice and had a very bubbly personality.  She was someone who would be friends with everyone. 

"I came over to look at something for Dean's Christmas present, but I don’t want to bother you.”

“No, your fine.  I just put a few more Christmas decorations out, I was going back to the apartment.  Do you need any help?”

“Do you know where Dean’s tools are?  He was telling Sam he broke something and we were going to get him a new part for Christmas.  I just need the model number.”

“Yeah, I can show you.”  As you led her past the living room she froze looking inside.

“I can’t believe there is an actual tree in here, with presents underneath.  In the years I’ve known Dean he doesn’t do much for Christmas at all.”

“I asked if we could, I’ve always enjoyed having a Christmas tree.”

She looks over at you.  “You’re good for him, girlfriend or not I think he really needs someone like you in his life.”

You weren’t sure how to respond so you just smiled and led her down the hall.

The first half of Dean’s shift kept the guys moving.  One small restaurant fire, then car accident to a residential oven fire.  When things finally calmed down and it seemed like they might get a few minutes peace Dean headed to the bunks to try and get a some sleep with Miracle following along behind him.  After Dean layed down he was soon joined by his faithful companion. The boys managed to get a few hours before the alarm went off again.  Coming back this time they headed to the kitchen to find some food. Bobby would sneak Miracle some scraps when no one else was looking. Sitting around the table Sam turns to Dean.

“Get all your Christmas shopping done?”

“Yep, done and wrapped.”

Cas looks between the brothers, “I think I missed something, Dean went shopping?”

“Yep, Y/N got him to go to the mall with her.”

“Does this mean no gift cards this year?” Cas wanted to know.

“They sell gift cards at the mall.”

“I would laugh at that, but knowing you that’s exactly what you bought,”  Sam stared at his brother.

“Have to find out when you open it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely what he did.”  Benny injected.

“Alright you idjits” Bobby starts talking as he walks back in.  “Don’t forget the fundraiser party is in a few days.  Winchesters, you both are on deserts, aka Christmas cookies.  Benny and Cas have drinks, preferably not alcohol.”

“Hey Chief, why am I on desserts this year?”  Sam wanted to know.

“Do you remember last year's party?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember last year’s egg nog at the party?”

Sam’s smile gets bigger, “Yeah.”

“That’s why.  Most of these people are driving home, we don’t need them buzzed before they finish their first drink.  The list the other shifts are bringing is on the bulletin board by my office.”  He starts to walk away, “Oh and Dean.”

“Yes Bobby.”

“An edible dessert would be nice this year.”

“Hey, at least they looked good last year!”

Bobby left the room muttering about being surrounded by idjits on his way out. 

Dean arrives home to find you going through the cupboard, “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Alright, I was just making a grocery list.  Is there anything you need?”

“Yeah I actually need to pick something up, I’ll come with you.”

Getting the dogs settled the two of you are off to the grocery store.  Going through the bakery section Dean stops and looks at the premade desserts.  “

Holding up a package of frosted sugar cookies and one of cupcakes he turns to you. 

“Do you think either of these are edible?”

“I would hope so since that is what the store is selling them for.”

“Well do you think they are any good, that they taste alright.”

“Probably, yeah.  If you want one, just get it.  I thought you were more of a pie lover though?”

“Oh I am, these aren’t for me.  We have a fundraiser party for the station and I’m on desserts.  I’m supposed to bring Christmas cookies.”

“And you want to take those with you.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He looks down at the cookies with such disappointment.  “Okay then one of those packs instead.”

“Dean, you aren’t going to buy a pack of cookies to pass off as Christmas cookies.  You need to make those.”

“Not a hundred percent sure they would be edible then.  Bobby said they had to be edible this year.” 

“I’ll help you don’t worry.  It’s another Christmas activity for you.”

“I really think buying those on the table would be easier.” 

Finishing the rest of the shopping you take Dean down the baking aisle.  “So what kind of Christmas cookies were you thinking.”

“I don’t know, I was thinking whatever kind I could buy in the store.”

“Alright.  How about Sugar cookies to start with.  How many do you need?” 

“There is usually a good number of people there.  Both Sam and I are bringing them.  Probably need a hundred each, maybe a few more.”

“What is this for exactly?”

“It’s a fundraiser we have down at the station.  People donate toys, and other needed items.  Santa is there for the kids.”

“Okay a big group of people take peanut butter out, don’t want to risk an allergy.”  You thought through your mental list of Christmas goodies.  “You could do the cranberry bliss bars I used to make at work, those are always a hit, and I have a recipe for white chocolate ginger cookie that’s really good.  If any of those interest you?”

“You would really help me bake all that?”

“Yeah, I like baking and I have nothing else to do.  Plus you are still letting me stay with you and won’t take my money when I try to pay you.”

“I’ll accept your payment in cookies.”

“Great.”

The two of you grab what you need from the aisle before heading to the checkout.

After arriving home the groceries you don’t need right now are put away.  The Cranberry bar is made first, so that it can cook while you roll out the sugar cookies.  He was chopping the dried cranberries into little pieces for the cake, and having way too much fun with the knife.  Miracle and Dakota joined you in the kitchen hoping to catch anything that fell. 

“I think the cranberries are small enough Dean.”

“Are you sure?”

“Um, yeah.  Any smaller and they are just going to be red dots.”

Your plan was to keep it simple and just do round sugar cookies, but someone had other ideas.

“Where are the shape thingies?”

“What thingies?”

“You know the things that make snowmen, Santa and stockings.”  Dean’s hand was going up and down in the air, almost miming cutting out cookies.

“You mean cookie cutters?  I can go see if I can find mine.”  Heading to the apartment you looked through the boxes to see if you could find any.  Luck was on your side, finding a bag of cookie cutters and a rolling pin you made your way back to the kitchen. 

He rolled it out the first time and got it so thin you swore the cookies would have burnt the moment you put them in the oven.  Getting it all back in a pile you showed him how thick he wanted it to be before you started cutting out cookies.   He went through the bag of cookie cutters finding the ones he wanted to use.  Grabbing out a stocking, snowman, tree, and a dog bone.  To his disappointment you didn’t have Santa.

“Guess, I’ll have to get one for next year.”

You watched him do a few, “Okay I have to ask, what is with the dog bone cookies, how are they Christmassy?”

“Those are in honor of Miracle. We can decorate them red and green.”

“Okay.”

When the bliss bar came out of the oven Dean came and looked it over.  “Do you think it’s edible?”

“Do you mean right this minute, because it needs to cool first then it gets frosting.”

“I mean in general.”

“Yes, it’s edible.  I made these at the coffee shop all the time.  Why do you keep asking if things are going to be edible?”

“Bobby, the Chief, told me I needed an edible dessert this year.”

You looked at him a moment,  “Okay I have to ask, what did you take before for a desert that wasn’t edible?”

“Last year I went to the store and saw this container with what looked like cutout sugar cookies.  Some had frosting, some were decorated with just sprinkles.  They looked really nice.”

“Uh huh.  How did they taste?”

“Like bitter disappointment mixed with the tears of children.”

“Oh my.”

“They were so hard you couldn’t even bite into them and if you managed to break off a piece to eat, it had a sour taste to it. Guess that’s why they were on the sale rack.”

“That sounds,” You were trying to control your laughter. “Sounds very delightful.  I’m sorry I wasn’t here to try them.”

“Yeah yeah, laugh all you want. They looked good at least.”

“You are trusted with cookies again this year?  Aren’t they afraid of a repeat?”

“Apparently not as much as they were with Sam and the eggnog.  He dumped a whole bottle of rum in it last year.  He was moved to cookies this year.”

“Getting the guests drunk to be able to eat the food, sounds like the Winchester brothers put together an interesting Christmas party.”

Dean just laughs “Yeah we can get a little crazy now and then.”  

“What do your Christmas plans usually include?”

“It’s just my sister, her husband and I.  Donna is the under sheriff and some years she has to work part of the day.  This year she works in the morning, and I’m volunteering at a pet adoption day in the park.   Then we are having dinner at their house.

While the sugar cookies were in the oven the two of you worked on the batter for the ginger cookies.

“I’ll be honest,” Dean started to say.  “I don’t like gingerbread cookies.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why are we making them?”

“We aren’t.  These are ginger cookies, slightly different.  I promise they are good.  They will also be edible.”

Dean gave you a hard look before going back to the mixing bowl grumbling.  “They smell like gingerbread cookies.”

“They smell like ginger.  But if you don’t like them, you don’t have to eat them.”

While the last of the cookies were in the oven you started on the frosting for the cranberry bar.  Dean kept trying to stick a finger in the bowl.  

“Stop it, what are you five?  You can have the bowl when the bar is done.”

“This doesn’t take like regular frosting what’s in it, cream cheese, butter, vanilla, powdered sugar, orange juice, and white chocolate.  It’s the last two that make it a little different.”

“It’s actually really good.”  You glared at him.  “Not that I was doubting your baking abilities at all. Mine 100% doubtable, but you’re great.”

Finishing that you two moved on to the sugar cookie frosting Dean poured a little too much powdered sugar in to mix and ended up with it all over the counter and on the dogs laying at his feet.  He snuck them each a cookie to make up for it.  Adding some red and green food coloring to two bowls then getting sprinkles out the two of you went to town.  

The last job of the night was dipping the ginger cookies in white chocolate.  When one had hardened up you gave it to Dean to try.

“I’m not sure I want that, I would rather have pie.”

“Just a bite, if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it.”

“Fine.”  Taking a bite he chews for a minute.  “Actually they aren’t bad, the chocolate tames some of the flavor.”

As the two of you worked together to clean up the kitchen, Dean suggested ordering dinner so you wouldn't have to clean up another mess tonight.  

“Sure, that’s fine with me.”

While he was gone to grab dinner you took out a few other items you bought at the store.  Quickly whipping up a pie crust you grabbed the cans of filling.  Just not enough time tonight to make some.  Putting some crumble topping on, the pie was in the oven before Dean made it back. 

When he walked in a short time later he came in the kitchen with his nose in the air.  

“The cookies make it smell really good in here, I didn’t notice that earlier.”

“That’s not all the cookies, I may have a cherry pie in the oven for you.”

Oh his eyes go so big.  “Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve been talking about one lately.”

“Man, you are amazing.”

Finishing dinner you took the pie out to cool.  That lasted about five minutes before Dean cut himself a giant slice.

Trying to get some work on the house done the two of worked together painting one of the spare bedrooms before the four of you headed to the living room to watch tv.  

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 6

Tags- @winchest09​  @waywardbeanie @whatareyousearchingfordean​  @flamencodiva​ @deanwanddamons​ @jensengirl83 @abuavnee​ @lunarmoon8​ @amyzombie1013 @akshi8278​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @mandalou29​  @igotmadskills​  @440mxs-wife​ @paryl​ @supernatural-love14​ @krazykelly​ @anotherspnfanfic​ @bobbie3939​ @deanwinchestersnightmoves​ @winchestergirl2​ @thoughts-and-funnies​

[boyy-wonder-grayson]

Winter's Weather // Dick Grayson Au!

Previous chapters: 1  2

Chapter 3

Warnings: nothing, kinda sad, mentios of sexual themes kidna.

A/u:Hey guys i’m kinda back, sorry i left this series alone i just didn’t have much inspiration to wirte for this, and i dind’t want to write something shitty just for the sake of writing, so hopefully you’ll enjoy this new chapter! thanks for following me and the series and i appreciate you caring for my writing. sorry for mistakes, and thanks again!

It’s been a month already since she arrived at Mystic, and it’s been one week since she last saw Dick. The first week went by quickly; Y/n had been so caught up with taking care of the cabin that she didn’t realize how much she had been inside the house. The weather was getting increasingly colder as the days passed, and the colder it got the feeling of loneliness started to creep inside of her. The first few weeks went somehow okay; the nostalgic feeling of being inside the house that held so many memories from her father was ever present in every waking hour, but the more time she kept herself preoccupied, the better she got at handling it. It was the nights that always got to her. 

Y/n was someone who enjoys being alone; she liked to be able to enjoy quiet nights, with a glass of wine and a good movie. She enjoyed being alone, what she didn’t enjoy was the feeling of loneliness. It’s been a few months since she broke up with her former boyfriend, and she was fine with being alone once again, but on quiet nights she missed the warmth of being in someone else’s embrace. And much to her chagrin, her mind took her to the only man that made her feel a resemblance of warmth, since she arrived at Connecticut. 

Dick.

It was strange of her to feel something so soon for something she didn’t really know. Dick was a mystery, that much she knew. It was an understatement to say he was an attractive guy, everyone with eyes could see that, but his eyes held something that drew her in. It was ironic how much of a lifetime movie her life had become since she came to town. Meeting a mysterious man; the random encounters they had around town, but as much as a cliche that was, she liked it. She chuckled, thinking about the few times they’d run into each other during her first month. More often than not, they found themselves standing in the cereal aisle fighting. It was a routine at this point for them. One that both waited to happen sooner than later.

That’s why she realised she hadn’t seen Dick since last week. She went grocery shopping on Tuesday and he wasn’t there,nor any other store for that matter. She hasn’t realized how comfortable she has become with him until he wasn’t there. She wondered, if something happened to him, if he was okay. She didn’t want to stay inside and wallow into her own self pity - she also didn’t want to stay in and think about dick because that might lead to some unholy activities - so she got dressed in some warm clothes, turned on her car and made her way towards the nearest bar. 

The Hood.

The Hood had seen some of the best and the worst nights of Y/n. She was not proud to say that the first time she got drunk, it was there and let’s say it did not end pretty. The moment she set a foot inside the bar, all the memories smack her in the face, some making her cringe at some, and smile fondly. The owner, Slade, a war veteran who had lost an eye in battle was the friendliest bartender you could ever meet. He was quick to shut down any creep that got too handsy with people around the bar, and he was one of the most respected men around town. For y/n, was like an uncle. He and her father were fishing buddies back in the day, and so grew around the man, and knew how much of a softie he was underneath that eye patch. 

“Uncle Slade!” She cheered once he spotted him across the counter. The man’s ears perked up at the familiar voice and when his eyes -eye- found the source a smile made its way into his face. 

“Y/n? Is that you!? My, my you’ve grown kiddo” he said moving around the counter to engulf his niece in a warm hug. 

“Oh, i’ve missed you!” she said, separating herself from the man. “I see you’re doing pretty well” the girl gestured at the almost filled bar. 

“It’s okay,” he said, looking fondly at the girl whom he considered a daughter. “How have you been?” He asked delicately. The girl sighed knowing where the conversation was going; after all they were almost brothers.

“I’m okay, been back here after so many years, it’s been… rough, but I like it. I always did love this town.”

“Wel, I’m glad you’re back. Adelaine is going to be happy to see you again” he said. Adelaine was one of the sweetest woman in town. Being married to someone like Slade wasn’t easy Y/n used to think -still does- but adelaine made it work. They had a son, Jericho, who loved to hang out with Y/n when they were younger.

“Is she here?” She asked excitedly. 

“Not today, she usually helps me on Fridays and Saturdays. But we definitely need to have you over the house one of these now that you’re staying in town” Slade said with a smile.

“I’d love to! I miss you guys a lot.”

“Well, I assume you didn’t come here just to chat, so what can I get you kid?“ 

“House special” she replied with a smirk.

Slade laughed before replying: “one Red Hood coming.”

Red Hood was the drink that gave the bar the name after all –minus the red of course–. It basically consisted of a Jolly rancher which was green apple vodka, some peach schnapps and cranberry juice, with a little orange slice rearranged to make it look like it was covering the top of the glass, you know like a hood. It was Y/n’s favourite drink. 

She sat on a table not too far from the counter and grabbed her phone. She had a few emails regarding work, that she was not going to open today, and a few texts from her sister. She opened the conversation, just when Slade placed the drink on the table. She thanked him, and took a sip from the glass, tasting the fruity drink and snapped a selfie to send to her sister with the caption ‘getting drunk tonight on red hoods. Xo.‘ 

She sighed after drinking some more, remembering all those days she used to come to the same place every other weekend, to drown her sorrows in alcohol and greasy food. It seemed that not much has changed.

“I didn’t peg you for the drinking type” a gruff voice said. Standing in front of her was none other than the man that had plagued her thoughts the past few days. Dick Grayson.

“Fancy seeing you here Dick” she said in a mocking tone. She hid her smile behind the glass checking him out, not too subtlety. That didn’t go unnoticed by Dick. He smirked as he took a seat on the table making the girl raise a brow.

“Don’t remember inviting you to sit down here"  

"I don’t see you objecting about it either” he replied.

“Touche.”

“So, what brings you here Grayson?” She tried to sound nonchalant but her voice was laced with worry? Dick shook those thoughts away, and cleared his throat.

“The alcohol” he replied, making her chuckle.

“Cheers” she lifted her glass in the air, nodding her head at the same time.

They stayed silent for a while. Enjoying each other’s company. The silence was surprisingly not awkward at all. This gave y/n time to really look at him. He looked tired, but handsome as usual. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was a little too long. Y/n that he looked incredibly hot. The shirt under the leather jacket had two buttons opened, leaving his chest a litte exposed, and maybe it’s been too long since the last time she had sex, or maybe Dick was natural just hot, but that little window that show his tanned skin made her feel all sort of things. His Adam apple bobbed up and down whenever he took a sip, and god she needed to get laid now or go home and take care of it on her own. 

Before her imagination got truly wild, Dick spoke:

“Why are you here?" 

The question took her by surprise, not quite understanding why did he ask that.

"What do you mean?” She said, confusion all over her face.

“I mean, why are you here. In Mystic. Is not really people’s first choice for moving in” he said taking a sip from his beer.

“I came here to my dad’s cabin. It’s been a while since I came and I needed to see the state of the house before deciding what to do with it” she replied avoiding eye contact.

“That’s not what I asked." 

"That’s exactly what you asked,” she said, looking down at the empty glass in front of her.

“What’s the real reason?” Dick pressed. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk about it with her, but he was intrigued by her. She was the only person in town that made him want to leave the house so he could casually run into her. Not that he would say that to her,of course.

Y/n sighed, knowing that sooner or later she was going to be confronted by someone about her real reasons, but maybe speaking with someone who doesn’t really know her would save her from the judgment.

“I did come here because of the cabin,but I also needed time to think I guess. To breathe” she began “I broke up with my boyfriend a couple months ago, and I guess I needed a break from it all,you know? Is not that I’m doing this because of him, but also my mother kept on pressuring me about getting older and finding a husband, and getting married and I just don’t think I want that. Not now at least. And I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and this was a good chance, maybe to start over, to chance, but now I just… don’t know” she said sighing not looking at Dick.

“I came here five years ago, for the exact same reasons as you,” he said,surprising the girl.

“And?" 

"And… nothing changed” he admitted looking down at his now empty beer bottle. “I came here five years ago, wanting to do something about my life and I did nothing. If anything I became more reclusive.”

Y/n knew that even though dick and her were not exactly friends, and did not know each other at all, she thought that maybe he felt the same. Telling the story of your life to a stranger can be comforting in a way; like she said saving yourself from the judgment from your family. She knew that asking dick a question might end in either him answering truthfully or maybe he’d shut himself off even more than before, but since she was kind enough to tell her own story she hoped for Dick to do the same. So she asked:

“Why did you come here?" 

Dick huffed and ran a hand through his long hair. He didn’t like talking about this topic with anyone. Not his family,not his friends, so why was he about to pour his feelings out for some girl he barely knew? He did not know the answer to that yet, but the warm smile on her face, and her kind eyes gave her a weird sensation in his stomach. Maybe he was starved for connection with someone other than his family,maybe he liked her enough to trust her. 

Maybe.

"Before I came here I was supposed to get married with my back then fiancee, Dawn; I was the happiest guy in the world. I had a good family, friends and someone I trusted with my life. But a few days before my birthday I found out she cheated on me with my friend Hank.” He stopped to look at her, waiting for the same look everyone gave him when they heard that story. But her eyes were soft, a sweet, comforting smile was waiting for him, rather than pity. Dick somehow understood the look she was sporting. She understood because she had 

been there herself. Dick sighed loudly, releasing all the tension and stress that he had been carrying for years. Being in her presence was like a breath of fresh air for someone whose head had been surrounded by smoke and each time got harder to breath. 

It wasn’t until she came to the town that Dick allowed himself to breathe the air that the city provided him with.

[bangchanzz]

Lover’s Paradise

CHAPTER 4

JEON JUNGKOOK X READER

Summary: Idol!Jungkook and Celebrity!Y/N have been friends for years. For both of them, their friendship has always bordered on more than friends, but neither of them are brave enough to take the leap of faith and confess. But when Y/N hosts the boys of BTS at her suave LA mansion and somehow finds herself sharing a bed with Jungkook, who harbors a few dark secrets of his own, things spin out of control. Tensions rise as she shows them a glimpse of her suave superstar lifestyle, and secrets come out that could change people’s lives forever.

Warnings: Severe depression and anxiety. Mentions of suicide. Eventual smut. Mentions of sex acts. Virgin!JK. Heavy drug and alcohol use. Creepy male celebrities. Depictions of wild parties

Word Count: 3.2K

Author’s Note: She’s short but sweet. This was honestly my least favorite chapter to write. IDK why but it was. I didn't like creepy Drake even though he’s always given me creepy vibes. Also there's a surprise guest appearance lol

Lover’s Paradise Masterlist

***************************************************************************************

Chapter 4

YOUR POV

Drake’s parties were legendary.

Part of the reason you had brought the boys along was because there was no way you weren’t going to go, but you felt bad about just leaving them in your house for a night while you partied, especially with your role of producer.

The party took place at his Beverly Hills mansion, a huge estate with one of the bougiest houses you’d ever seen. Everything was sleek and modern, the epitome of a tasteful bachelor pad.

Music vibrated the ground and the second you stepped out of the car you smelled the tang of alcohol and unwashed bodies. You grinned, your heart pounding as you gazed at the multicolored lights shining through the windows of the house.

“What are you smiling at?” Jungkook asked, appearing beside you as the others got out of the car.

You glanced over at him. He looked so good it hurt with his hair parted away from his face and a little bit of makeup enhancing his already stunning features. He wore a simple retro t-shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans, but he wore it well.

“I just love parties,” you replied, smiling up at him.

Heat bloomed across his cheeks. “You want to know something funny? I’ve never actually been to a party.”

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Never?”

He shrugged, looking away out of embarrassment. “I mean, I’ve been to like birthday parties and stuff, and I’ve been clubbing with my friends, but we usually have to get a private room because of the whole ‘fame’ thing.”

You smiled wickedly, taking his hand in yours. His skin was soft and just a little sweaty, but you didn’t mind. “I’m about to show you a whole new world,” you told him, and started dragging him towards the front door.

You lead him quickly through the crowd of people waiting to be admitted; mostly D-list celebrities and influencers hoping to be allowed in if the party got too quiet and needed more people.

Four burly bouncers in black SECURITY t-shirts blocked the doors, shouting at people that they couldn’t get in without an invite.

Jungkook pulled firmly on your hand. “Wait, Taehyung has my invitation-“

You scoffed. “You’re with me, you don’t need an invite.”

You approached the bouncers, Jungkook in tow, who took one look at you and moved aside.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss “Y/L/N,” one of them said as you walked past.

“Thank you!” you said over your shoulder, beaming up at the large man.

“Wow,” Jungkook muttered, holding your hand a little tighter.

And then the two of you were in.

The house was loud, the walls vibrating with the base from the built-in speakers as some rap song played above the chatter. People crowded the rooms, the smell of alcohol getting stronger. You glanced up at Jungkook to see him looking around the house with curious eyes, taking in the celebrities lining the walls.

A waiter in a formal uniform offered you a jello shot on a golden tray and you kindly took one for yourself and one for Jungkook.

“What is that?” he asked, taking the shot glass from your hand and eyeing it carefully.

“It’s a jello shot,” you explained. “It’s just jello with alcohol in it. Come on, take the shot with me. Ready?”

He eyed you with trepidation, taking in your easy smile and excited expression.

He finally sighed and smiled back, holding up his shot glass to clink it against yours and downed it on a count of three.

You easily slurped yours up, familiar with the careful nuances of the jello shot. Jungkook had a bit more trouble, not knowing you really have to suck to get the jello out and instead trying to use his tongue, sending you into a fit of laughter.

“Y/N!” you heard, and you turned around, putting the shot glass down on a nearby credenza. You saw Drake pushing his way through the crowd, a smile on his face as you locked eyes.

Here we go.

“I’m so glad you made it!” Drake said, engulfing you in a hug. As usual, his hands roamed a little more freely than you would have liked, and his hug was a bit tighter and a bit longer than you were comfortable with.

The man could spit bars and throw incredible parties, but he had always been just a little off to you, especially when he was around younger girls.

When you were finally able to pull away, you stepped back as far as you could until you ran into a wall of muscle—Jungkook. He placed a hand protectively on your back, an air of aggression around him that hadn’t been there before.

Clearly, he had picked up f your discomfort.

“Drake, this is my good friend Jungkook, from BTS,” you explained, introducing the two men. You tried ignoring the way Drake’s eyes kept flicking towards your cleavage.

Drake stuck out his hand and Jungkook shook it firmly, his greeting smile not quite meeting his eyes. The whole time he never moved from your side.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Drake said to Jungkook. “I’m a big BTS fan.”

“Really?” Jungkook said in English, his eyes wide with surprise.

Just then, Brandon appeared behind Drake, slapping him on the back and doing one of those half-handshake-half-hug things that guys do.

You took the opportunity to slip away, Jungkook right behind you.

You wordlessly lead him outside to the bar, ordering yourself a vodka cranberry. Jungkook ordered the same.

“He’s a little creepy, isn’t he?” Jungkook asked, leaning against the bar by your side.

“Never meet your heroes, Jungkook,” you muttered, not wanting to look at the expression across his face.

“What?” he asked, clearly confused.

You shrugged. “Most male celebrities are at least a little creepy. The fame gets to their heads and they get used to getting everything they want. They assume because fans are constantly throwing themselves at them that they can do whatever they want with every girl.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “That’s disgusting. Why do people tolerate that?”            You shrugged again. “They’re men. Powerful ones. If you’re a guy in Hollywood, people value you for being you. It doesn’t matter what you do. Men inherit this industry and think it makes them gods, even though its literally been handed to them. Men are allowed to make mistakes, especially at the cost of women.”

Jungkook was silent for a moment, taking in your words. “That doesn’t seem right to me. Morally, I mean.”

The bartender handed you both your drinks and you slid him a tip.

“Yeah, no shit,” you snorted. “Women have been saying that for years.”

He fell silent again, sipping his drink thoughtfully.

The air between you two was silent and heavy. “Enough depressing talk. Let’s have fun,” you told him, grabbing his hand.

You wanted to pretend that you were only holding his hand so that he didn’t get lost in the crowd, but truthfully, you just wanted to hold his hand.

You lead him around the party, introducing him to different model and actor friends of yours, all the while getting progressively drunker.

An hour or two later, the two of you stood alone for a rare moment, hands still intertwined.

“Let’s dance!” you slurred, falling against his chest as you move to let some drunk girls pass.

He put a hand on your waist to steady you, drunk and unsteady on his feet himself.

He grinned as you pulled him towards the dancefloor, finding Jin and Hoseok there already reveling in the music.

You moved your body to the beat, letting your hips drop and sway sensually. Dancing was second nature to you, especially when you were drunk. You abandoned all inhibitions and danced freely, letting your body just move.

At some point, you began teaching Hoseok how to twerk, and Jungkook left to go get another drink, and you tried not to miss the feeling of his hand in yours.

You jumped at the sudden feeling of a hand on your elbow, a small part of you gleeful at the idea that it might be Jungkook.

But the blue eyes, blonde hair, and rugged face belonged to the one and only Luke Hemmings, known more intimately to you as your ex-boyfriend.

“Luke!” you squealed, throwing yourself into his arms. He hugged you tightly, a chuckle reverberating through his broad chest.

Luke and you had been friends for years, having met at the first award show you ever attended some five years ago. You had dated for a brief period of time—before Shawn—but decided that you worked better as friends and mutually called it quits.

Despite everything that had happened between you two, he was still a close friend, and a welcome sight.

“Oh my god,” you laughed, pulling away and making a show of looking him up and down. “Have you gotten larger?”

“Shut up,” he groaned, laughing along with you, his Australian accent music to your ears. “How have you been? It’s been, what, a year since we last saw each other?”

“Yeah, because someone was busy on a world tour,” you joked.

He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, my mistake, it won’t happen again. I’ll henceforth be at your beck and call, milady,” he said with a bow.

You laughed and hugged him again, having missed your friend.

It was at that very moment Jungkook rejoined the group, but you were too busy hugging your ex-boyfriend to notice the way his face fell, or the second glass of alcohol in his hand that was meant for you.

Jin wordlessly took the cup from him, knowing exactly who it was for, and trying to mitigate the awkwardness that would ensue, his heart hurting a little for the younger boy.

***************************************************************************************

JUNGKOOK’S POV

Jungkook felt like such an idiot.

He watched carefully, noticing the way you instantly gravitated towards Luke and your willingness to put your hands all over the broad expanse of his chest.

He noted your smile and the way your eyes lit up when looking at him.

Jungkook knew a little bit about your past relationship, having actually seen you two together back when you and Luke were dating.

It had been brief, you were at the same award show and hardly had time to chat; especially when you had been attached to Luke’s side, unable to take your eyes off of him for more than a few seconds. Jungkook, much like everyone else in a twenty-yard radius, had seen the young love reflected in both of your faces, seen the way you two acted like you were alone; like the only other person in the room that mattered was each other.

His heart had hurt then, but it was breaking now.  

Something in his chest fractured completely to see Luke throw a long arm around you and steer you away, stealing you from his little group.

His vision went red with rage, his body on fire with the anger coursing through his veins.

He had so desperately and foolishly hoped that tonight you could be his, that you wouldn’t abandon him to the finely dressed wolves that circled around him.

But just as quickly as that anger appeared it was gone, leaving a vacuous pit in its wake.

Jungkook realized just how alone he felt.

How scared he was of the black hole inside him that threatened to swallow everything he was and everything he promised to be.

But even that chronic fear paled in comparison to the fear he felt watching you walk away with another man, and what that might mean about his own inadequacies.  

He downed his drink in one gulp, then grabbed the drink from Jin’s hands and downed that too. He was distantly aware of the burn in the back of his throat, but he didn’t care. He deserved it.

The older boy looked at him with concern, placing a slender hand on his arm, only for Jungkook to shrug it off.

“Jungkook-“

“I’m fine,” he snapped, staring after you and Luke for a moment. “I just need another drink.”

And with that he stalked off towards the bar, ready to forget the broken feeling inside him.

***************************************************************************************

YOUR POV

Sometimes you forgot how well you could drink until you were in a room with people who couldn’t.

You had gone to college at a party school. You were quite accustomed to going to raging parties on the weekend and getting trashed with your friends, and then on weekdays drinking wine by the bottle and watching trashy reality television. So needless to say, after years of drinking the way you did, it would take a lot more than some shots and a few cocktails to get you anywhere near drunk.

The same could not be said for Jungkook.

After several hours of drinking he had downed several vodka cranberries and a handful of jello shots, and it did not sit well with him. Jimin and Namjoon had stuffed him into an Uber and took him home not too long before you decided to depart as well.

You got home around 3AM, opening your front door wearily with your heels in your hand.

You went upstairs and crept into your room, taking your time getting ready for bed and drinking water.

As you got into bed, your movements apparently jostled Jungkook enough to wake him up and the next thing you know he’s sitting up in bed running a hand through his raven hair. He looked like hell.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He shook his head, his hair falling into his face. “T’s okay. I wasnt ‘sleep anyway. Mm not supposed to mix alcohol with my pain meds. Oops, I guess. Now I don’t feel good.”

You glared at him, panic settling into your chest. “Jungkook, that stuff is really dangerous. Why would you do that?”

He flopped back onto his pillows and looked up at you with wide brown eyes. “How’s your night with Luke? I figured you would’ve stayed at his place or something.”

You gave him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

He blinked up at you, his expression foreign. “Saw you walk off with him, and I saw the way you looked at him so I figured…”

Annoyance flashed through you. “Well, you thought wrong. I hung out with him and his band mates for a bit, and when I found you guys again, they said you got too drunk and they had had to take you home.”

He had the good sense to look sheepish at your tone. “Oh,” he said meekly. “Sorry.”

You said nothing as you settled into bed, letting the annoyance radiate off of you. He had absolutely no right to assume that about you and Luke… but did that mean that he was jealous?

“You guys just have good chemistry is all…” Jungkook slurred. “And you looked really happy with him, so…”

“Yeah,” you snapped. “We’re friends.”

“Are we friends?” he asked suddenly, turning to stare at you with wide eyes illuminated by the moonlight. You could smell the alcohol still on his breath, or maybe that was your own. You couldn’t tell.

Your anger began to dissipate the longer you stared at him, taking in the sharp cuts of his face and the way the gentle starlight reflected off his skin.

“Duh,” you finally said, gesturing to him. “You’re sleeping in my bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning over to stare at the ceiling. “I guess I am.”

You marveled at the way his raven hair contrasted his golden skin, resisting a strong desire to reach out and see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Sometimes,” he began slowly, like he was choosing his next words very carefully. “It doesn’t feel like we’re friends.”

Anxiety began churning in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

He began frantically shaking his head. “No, never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, Jungkook, please, if I’ve done something wrong please tell me so I can fix it,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as the guilt and panic rushed through you over something you didn’t even know you did.

He sighed deeply, searching for his next words.

“T’s just that we have such different lives, and sometimes I don’t know if I fit in yours all the way. And it scares me.”

Your heart dropped. You hated that you made him feel this way.

“I…” you stammered, desperately trying to find the words. “You do fit into my life, Jungkook. You fit perfectly.”

“You promise?”

You smiled at him. “I pinky promise.”

His only response was a hiccup and a soft smile.

A loose piece of hair found its way into his face and his solution was to blow it away, only to have it fall right back where it was.

He looked so adorable, so carefree in this moment you wanted to treasure it forever. He looked so much like the Jungkook you had known the last time you were in Korea: the shy but powerful and goofy Golden Boy that could light up a room with his laugh. This was the first time you’d caught a glimpse of him this entire trip.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out a hand and lightly brushed the hair from his face. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way your heart longed for him to be content like this more often, or maybe it was both, but you ran your hand through his soft hair and let it drop down to his face, cupping his cheek. His skin burned beneath your touch. He only hummed in response and leaned into your palm.

“Mm tired,” he murmured.

You laughed softly. “Yeah, I bet. Go to sleep, Kook. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As you took your hand away, he suddenly grabbed it, his eyes snapping open to reveal panic. “No, wait,” he begged. “Will you hold me?”

You froze, unable to let yourself process what he just said.

“I don’t feel good,” he continued, “and I just want someone to hold me and give me banana milk.”

The pout in his voice roused you back to reality. “I’m afraid we’re fresh out of banana milk but I can provide the cuddling. Come here.”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree as he scooted towards you until he was close enough to rest his head on your chest and entwine his arms around your body.

“You’re warm,” he murmured into your neck.

You hummed in response.

It was… nice to be held like this, to be needed. It had been a while since the last time you’d been with someone and you realized how much you missed this closeness.

You absentmindedly began playing with his hair, something he clearly enjoyed as he snuggled closer to you.

“I missed you,” Jungkook said quietly.

Heat bloomed in your chest. “I missed you, too, Kook,” you replied, resting your cheek on the crown of his head and closing your eyes with a sigh.

Within minutes you were both sound asleep.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXIX: Mother of the Forest

When I received the call, an open refrigerator door hummed as its light leaked through to the dim space that was my apartment. Its light chill came as a breeze while I placed a bag of grapes within. Automatic, robotic, subconscious movements: standing in place, pivoting from one item to the next. I once heard that every seven years, the human body becomes anew, the old self having died out. There was a faint memory of a self of mine, a few deaths ago, long before the idea of having children ever came to pass, who stood and bagged groceries for minimum wage, and wondering how she would balance work and getting through high school.

In that same moment, I repeated that past life, in a more private setting. Just an hour prior, I had been the customer in line at the checkout counter. The woman behind me who I assumed to be one life older than I, arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon. Her spittle flew over the counter, and the scrawny and zoned out worker covered his face with the back of his arm as a means to protect himself.

I’m better than that. I’m not that kind of person, I often told myself, although if I had any sense of honesty, I often was. Something about the desire to be right, even when you know you don’t have a case, held such a sweet and sour taste; some of the grapes in the fridge had already spoiled from my last grocery visit.

My hand reached for the bottle of cranberry juice, but it soon became out of reach as my phone vibrated right beside it. There was a disconnect – a momentary hesitation – where I stood in place.

Just put that juice away, then answer it, my thoughts buzzed and scraped across my ears. Who was I to deny them? I had no expectations that the call would amount to anything of substance. If I had to guess, it might have been my boss, ready to beg and guilt trip me into working on one of my days off. That was a foolish decision, as I didn’t even notice the name on display on the screen. If I had, I would have picked up right away.

So it buzzed. Twice. On the third buzz, the refrigerator door swung closed and I picked up the phone. That was when I saw the name on the phone and a magnetic pull from below sent all the blood in me to sink down to the tip of my soles. When I tried to speak, I thought I would only manage a gasping breath. But instead, it was a normal, if gasping, voice:

“Demetria? Is that you?”

Not since I last heard from her, several months back, did I ever think I would hear from her again. No, maybe that was unrealistic. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I would hear from her at all: a simple hi every now and then sent through text, happy mother’s day or happy birthday messages. Those were the least (or most) I could hope for. But what it was instead was a belief that she had gone down the same path of the rest of my children and was too busy with her own life to think much of me.

So when she told me the truth, that she had dropped out of college, moved to the arctic over some crush, and worked as a waitress in a restaurant, I was elated. Any shock or sense of betrayal I may have felt didn’t register because there she was, alive, and wanting to come home. One of my children actually wanted to see me! It was enough to make me want to tap my shoes together and do a little jig!

After our conversation, however, I had no choice but to be aware of the environment I was in: empty, so empty. Every little space was covered by every day objects or some assortment of clutter. Paper towel rolls, post-it notes, bowls of fake fruit, tea and coffee cups, a box of makeup from that time I was suckered into buying from a friend’s multilevel-marketing gig. That was just a small sample of things which took up space on the kitchen counters. That didn’t even cover the hallways or the living room.

It was funny, really: when my kids lived with me, I’d get onto them about cleaning the house and made sure they did so. But when it came to me, alone and (in my own mind) free, I pretty much said, “fuck it, this is my space” and let the clutter do its thing.

Well, it sure did its thing, didn’t it? Hopefully Demetria wouldn’t mind.

When it came time to meet her, I felt the pervasive feeling that she wasn’t someone I recognized. It wasn’t the green hair, although that I didn’t expect. Nor was it her coming out, which although the notion never crossed my mind, didn’t really come as a surprise, either. Her loss of interest in her studies? Unfortunate, but not unheard of, especially when one attends university. Her new interest in knives? Concerning, but I could live with it.

No, it must have been something else. Even when she tried to revert to her old self, who I knew her as, I could tell there was something different. What it was, I just couldn’t place, but a thought crept in which brought shivers across my spine:

Maybe she’s not different and maybe I just never knew her very well to begin with.

That thought didn’t know what she was talking about. As far back as I could remember, Demetria was someone withdrawn and preferred her alone time. She valued hers and others’ hygiene and was quick to judge others, but also seemed to have a good heart deep down (at least, I’d like to think so). I always tried to give her her space, as I knew I would have wanted the same if I were her.

But there were little things which made me wonder if I was perhaps living with a different Demetria than the one I raised. One such example was when I sat at the sofa, watching one of my soap operas, Young and the Breastless, when I took a quick glance beside me to see none other than Demetria, pacing about and reading a book. Well...I assumed she was reading, but the book was upside down. She shook her head while she paced, flipping from page to page.

“Nope. I just can’t get into this,” she muttered, and it sounded less disappointed and more like she hadn’t yet given up hope that she would. I leaned forward and saw the title of the book: ‘Banana Fish.’

“What’cha up to?” I asked, and the show no longer took up my attention, instead becoming white noise.

“I’m trying to get back into marine biology, so I figured I’d read a new fish textbook, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get into it,” she explained and peered up from her book.

“Are you sure it’s about fish? I see a couple of guys on the cover,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m assuming it’s one of those edutainment-type deals. Y’know, like Pajama Sam. Anyway, they haven’t actually talked about fish yet, but maybe it’s a slowburn textbook.”

Call it mother’s intuition, but something told me that book had nothing to do with actual fish. Props to her for trying to get back into her old interest, but she ought not to force herself.

“You know, you don’t have to get back into marine biology,” I suggested, “maybe pick up a new interest. What about knives?” That was such a weak suggestion, but it was something.

Even with her glasses on, she squinted, although it seemed less like a vision thing and more for effect, as if to say, “are you crazy, mom?!” It was weird to admit, too, but I already missed her green hair and as much as she tried to appear and act like her old self, it only seemed to highlight how much she had changed.

“What am I gonna do? Knive-ology? I don’t think that’s a thing,” she snapped her fingers for added effect.

Her old self would have just said something like, “I don’t want to make a career of that.”

I knew she had returned home due to having such a rough time with someone, but if anything, she had been more expressive. At least, around the house. I still couldn’t get her to go outside. Through every cycle of one’s life, it seemed at the core, some things remained.

Another day, I was watching a different soap opera on my day at work, this show called ‘The Good Doctor’ (yeah, generic name, I know).

“Good doctor! Your patient is having heart complications!” The assistant rushed to the good doctor in a panic. The good doctor sat at his desk with a suede suit and a polka dot tie and looked up, a bushy eyebrow raised.

“What’s the complications?” He asked, before pushing himself out from his seat.

“It’s complicated! Hurry!” The assistant urged the good doctor, who then rushed into the patient’s room. In the room, the patient leaned up from his bed, a shriveled up old man.

“Are you a good doctor?” He asked, a gravelly voice.

“I am the good doctor,” the good doctor replied, rather humbly, too.

“My heart keeps beating,” the patient moaned. “I don’t know why.”

“That’s what hearts do,” the good doctor answered, and a smile spread across the patient’s face.

“Wow, thanks doc. I’m cured!”

My viewing experience was interrupted by a plop as I turned to my right to see Demetria’s face looking back at me while she hung off from the top of the couch upside down.

“What’cha watchin’?” She asked in a tone that indicated that she was bored and didn’t really care.

“The Good Doctor,” I told her as I tried to keep my attention fixed on the show.

“Gee, I sure hope so,” she snickered. “If I was at the hospital, I know I’d want to be seen by the good doctor, not the bad one.”

I nudged her.

“Since when are you such a smart-ass?” I asked.

“You missed a lot of character arcs,” she continued the snark. “I went through several developments and regressions, and now I’m here.”

“I can see that,” I teased right back. Yes, two of us could be sarcastic.

“No, but for real, I’ve always been like this,” her voice turned quiet, contemplative. “I’ve just usually kept it in my head.”

That. That never occurred to me.

“Well, it’s fun,” I remarked. “I’m really glad to have you around.”

Her (glasses-less) eyes widened, then turned to a near-squint.

“You are?” She sounded quite puzzled by such a statement. As if it weren’t obvious to her.

“Of course! You’re my kid!”

“What about your other kids?” She pointed out.

“I love them, too, but they never come visit me. Well, Hestia does sometimes, but that’s still rare. It gets lonely here, you know.”

“What assholes,” she scoffed. I nudged her again.

“Those are your siblings you’re talking about!” I scolded, something I didn’t think I had to do. Oh well, it was a playful scold. “They’re good people, they’re just busy much of the time. Hestia’s an architect and works with various non-profit groups on the side. Hermes has his job as a fitness instructor. Then there’s Log...he’s busy being Log.”

“Sheesh, what’s with all these Greek myth names, anyway?”

I drummed up a storm of laughter, something which wasn’t really funny, but sometimes I just laughed to reminisce.

“Funny story about that…” I caught my breath. “Back when I was your age, I won a contest to go study abroad in Greece.”

“Did it come with a time machine?” She butted in.

“Are you gonna keep snarking or you gonna let me tell you?” I shot back. In response, she slunk down the couch, then sat up in a flurry of movements.

“Fire away, cap’n!” She gave me some goofy salute.

“So while I was at some museums, I met this nice Turkish guy and we hit things off pretty well. We went to a nice cafe and I got to unload my love of myth to him. That’s when he laughed and told me he was half-Greek himself, and he was visiting some family. After I went back to the states, we kept in touch as penpals and sent letters to each other back and forth. You probably don’t need me to tell you the rest.” I stopped myself. If I were to continue, it would have been a much longer story than it needed to be.

“Uh, yeah I do. What’s that got to do with giving us weird names?”

“Well, you know how there’s that tradition in our family to name ourselves after trees. My mom named me Sequoia, and she was Cypress. So when I had my first kid, all the relatives wanted to know what tree-related name I would give them. I gave it some thought and then decided that I wanted to do something different, so chose the name of a goddess I loved, Hestia.”

“Ugh, Hestia,” Demetria groaned, “it’s always ‘Hestia is bestia’ and ‘is there nothing Hestia can’t do?’ It’s grating.”

While I admit the praises seemed rather excessive, I was proud of her, just as much as I was proud of all my children in some way or another.

“Next came Hermes, and at that point, the whole family was up in arms, begging and pleading for just one tree name. So I compromised and said that if I had a third kid, I’d name them something tree-related. That seemed to get them off my back.”

“Thus, lo and behold, Log was born,” Demetria raised her head up and put her hand to her chest, almost singing out the words. Talk about dramatic.

“But then, you were born, just a few years after Log. I really didn’t expect to have another kid, and I figured to balance things out, I’d name you Sycamore. But then I decided: fuck it. You’re Demetria. And the rest was history.”

Yes. I was sure she heard the explanation before, but I suppose it bore repeating. It was just a shame that she never got to meet her father.

“What was he like?” She once asked me.

“He was a kind man. Patient, loved to listen to others. Never had a mean bone in his body. You would have liked him, I’m sure.”

“Would I have?”

“Maybe. I suppose it’s hard to say.”

Yes. Just a few months before Demetria was to come into this world, Beet Root (he took my last name) lost his life in a car accident. It was hard, to say the least. More than hard. But what else could I do? I couldn’t just stop raising my kids. So I continued on, through the grief and confusion. So it may have gone that she was born with a little bit of grief and confusion as well.

At least with the way things were, there was more time we could spend together. More things I could learn about her. There were still things I would have liked to see from her, though: making friends, finding a job, getting outside more. All things she didn’t seem to want anything to do with. I mean, she came out to me, didn’t that mean she wanted a girlfriend? It wouldn’t happen if she didn’t try.

I know, I’ll help her out, I thought in the middle of my shift. While my main job was working front desk at the Himbo Hotel, I’d sometimes work as a part-time taxi driver on the side. It didn’t pay a lot, but it was fun to meet different people, sometimes.

One person that I picked up was a tall and twig-like girl with blue and pink pastel colored denim clothing (jacket and pants) and hot pink hair.

“Are you Macie?” I asked as I rolled down my window.

“I might be,” she replied, then got in through the backdoor.

Once she was in, I let curiosity get the better of me.

“So...I’ve got a daughter,” I mentioned.

“Yeah? You want me to babysit her?” She asked offhand.

“No, no, I was just wondering if you’d like to meet her.”

“Why?”

“Well...she’s gay…” As soon as those words left my mouth, I saw her put the back of her hand over her mouth in the rearview mirror and laugh.

“Okay then, what’s she like?”

“Hmm...well...she likes...knives?” I just realized how hard it was to describe her to someone else.

“No thanks, I’m not into the hardcore type.”

“She’s not hardcore! It’s just an aesthetic thing...I think. She also likes to work out, and she’s got a bachelor’s degree in zoology.”

There. I think I listed enough positive traits.

Macie shrugged.

“All right, I’ll bite. I’ll write down my number. But if it turns out to be one of those weird catfishy things, I’m blocking both of you and leaving a one star review.”

I gulped, but couldn’t help but whisper a triumphant “yes!”

After I dropped her off at her destination, I returned home and raced to Demetria’s room to deliver the good news. I knocked on her door and after a few successive pounds, she opened up. She stood with a small towel over her forehead, a black tank top on, and working up a sweat.

“Hey! Guess what? I got a girl’s number!” I couldn’t wait for a greeting, I just had to tell her.

“Aw, you didn’t even give me time to guess…” She turned her head and looked down, disappointed.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh, yeah, grats.”

“No, not for me! For you!”

“Oh. Not interested,” she turned away.

“Come on, you might like her! At the least, you might make a friend!” I urged her. She should’ve at least tried.

“I don’t wanna make any friends, especially not with someone I know nothing about.”

“It’s not good to shut yourself off in your room!” I pleaded.

“You never had a problem with it before.”

...She had a point. I shouldn’t have minded so much, but I just really wanted to help her out and didn’t know how.

“You’re right. I hope you’ve had a good day,” I softened my voice, then closed her door.

Other than watch TV and eat together, we didn’t really interact much. That was fine, we didn’t have to, but she should’ve at least interacted with someone. What I saw in her wasn’t someone who was in her room all the time, indulging in her study. Instead, I got the notion that she was deliberately avoiding going outside. As if there was something out there that she was afraid of. If that was the case, I didn’t know what.

There was one girl I managed to get her to speak to, though. Granted, it was her sister, but it was something. Especially since I knew how much she didn’t like to spend time around her siblings.

I had a video call set up with Hestia on my laptop.

“Hey mom, how’s things been?” She asked, her bright smile ever-present on her face. She was seated at the dining room in her own apartment, a much more effervescent air surrounded her while her tucked back teal hair took up a large part of the top of the screen.

“I’m good, things have been great, actually. Demetria’s living with me now,” I told her.

“Oh? I remember how freaked out you were a while back ago. It’s good to know she’s okay.”

“I know, right? Apparently she went to the arctic for a while because of a crush.”

Hestia laughed, a sort of high-pitched “ohoho” laugh.

“She always did do her own thing, didn’t she? I regret not being closer with her, but what’s done is done and there’s no room for regrets.”

“You could come visit,” I suggested. And it wasn’t just that I was lonely. “Maybe you two could hang out or something.”

Hestia put her index finger on her chin and hummed.

“I would like to, but you know how busy I can be. I won’t rule it out, though, ‘kay?”

I sighed. That was the best I could hope for, wasn’t it?

“By the way, it turns out she’s gay.”

Again, hum.

“I’m not surprised at all,” she replied, that same kind voice as ever. “Did you hear about Hermes’ new boyfriend?”

I shook my head.

“No, what’s he like?”

“No idea! But he says he has one, and he seems happy, so that’s all that matters, right?”

“Heh, guess so. Say, how’s things with your girlfriend?”

“Good, good. Aphrodite’s been helping me volunteer at an animal rescue on my days off.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Maybe you and Demetria can bond over your love of women,” I suggested. That was met with another hum.

“That’s a decent enough idea, but everyone experiences love differently, so we may be too different to relate to one another.”

Just because it wouldn’t be exactly the same, that didn’t mean the two couldn’t relate, could it? That just didn’t make sense to me. Yet when I could have voiced as much, I didn’t.

“Would you like to talk to her right now? I could go get her,” I instead said.

“Of course, I’d love to say hello to my dear sister!”

“Demetria!” I called for her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she made sluggish motions toward the dining room. After rubbing her eyes, she looked my way.

“What?” She groaned.

“Wanna say hi to Hestia?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, then looked at the laptop screen. “’Sup?”

“Why hello, Demetria! You’re looking as cute as ever!” Hestia oozed joy from the swaying of her head.

“Uh, thanks. You’re looking tryhard as ever, yourself,” she replied in a flat, deadpan tone. I nudged her.

“Be nice,” I whispered. She looked up at me in response, a wide-eyed and pathetic expression on her face.

“No puppy dog eyes, either.”

“How have you been, Demetria?” Hestia seemed to wave off the snarky remark, “do you still shut yourself off in your room?”

My face felt like it was about to turn red, but Demetria seemed unfazed.

“I shut myself off in your mom,” she shot right back. As if she was some grade-schooler.

“Ew. We have the same mom.”

Yes. That same mom was listening to the two of them as they spoke.

“Uh...well…” Demetria stammered as she struggled to save face.

I snickered. Now both girls looked at me and in unison asked, “what’s so funny?”

“It’s nice to see you two get along so well,” I remarked.

The two laughed as well at that notion.

“Yes, I agree,” Hestia proclaimed, “it was nice to hear from you, my dear sister. You look well.”

“Yeah, later, spoiled princess,” Demetria shrugged, then walked away. Then, the unexpected happened:

“Butthead!” Hestia yelled back, and stuck her tongue out. Upon realizing what she had done, she put both hands over her mouth. I shook my head.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I don’t know, that was rather unbecoming of me. Do forgive me,” she spoke all fancy, then gave me puppy dog eyes as well.

“You’re ten years older than her! You’re supposed to set a good example!” I cried out. To that, she raised and index finger and with her eyes closed, gave a triumphant smile.

“Actually, we’re both adults, so if anything, she should know better than to have such an attitude!” She declared.

Once again, I shook my head.

“Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom! Do give Demetria my sincerest of apologies!”

The video call ended. As much as that (began and) ended in bickering, it was still progress. They spoke to each other. Baby steps. Maybe after that, she would branch out a little more and –

I could only wish.

About a week after that conversation, I got off work and noticed a text on my phone. I opened up the message and I felt my heart caught in a bear trap:

Demetria: Hey, try not to worry too much when you get home, but I won’t be there. I went outside and got a smoothie like you wanted me to. It was good, but it got me thinking how I the whole time I’ve been with you, I’ve felt stuck. Not stuck because of you, but stuck because I haven’t found any interest that I’ve felt passionate about. I don’t know what I want to do and it frightens me. So I’ve decided to go off and try to figure things out. I’ll see if I can stay with Juniper for a little while, maybe a change in environment will help. Love you, and goodbye for now.

I rushed home. I tried texting her back, but it wouldn’t send. I tried calling, only to receive dead air.

Her phone must be off. But why? Is she in danger?

Frantic, unsure of what else to do, I called Juniper.

“Hey, is Demetria with you?” I asked, as Juniper answered right away.

“No? Not unless she’s hiding somewhere. Why?” She seemed genuinely puzzled by my question, meanwhile I was still hyperventilating.

“She left me a message. Said she’d be with you.”

“Huh. I haven’t heard anything like that. But maybe she’s on her way? I dunno.”

“Okay. Just. Let me know if you see her, okay?”

“Sure thing! Hope she’s doing all right!”

“Me too.”

I hung up. Next was Hestia, but not because I thought she’d know Demetria’s whereabouts, but just because I needed someone to vent to. The phone kept ringing, but there was no answer. Then it timed out.

Of course. Because she’s always doing something.

However, just a minute later, Hestia called back.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” She greeted.

“Demetria. She...she…” I had trouble getting it all out.

“Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. She ran off.”

“Oh my…”

“I don’t know what to do. She left a message saying she’d see if she could stay with Juniper.”

“So maybe she’s with Juniper.”

“I called her and she said Demetria’s not there. I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I can tell. When did you last see her?”

“This morning. Right before work.”

“That’s probably why. I’d say it takes more than an afternoon to reach Juniper’s place.”

Right. That thought never occurred to me. But then, where would she stay on her way there? Motels? What if something bad happened there?

“I’m just...I really thought she would stay. I gave her her space. I let her do whatever. But she didn’t want to make friends and she didn’t want to leave the house and –”

“...Sounds like she left the house, though,” Hestia pointed out.

“You’re right. I should be happy. She’ll be fine. She was fine before.”

“Mom.”

“What is it, dear?”

“Chill. She’s an adult. Just let her do her thing. She’s always been an independent person, so let her be. If she wants to come back, just tell her ‘no, I’ve made my choice.’”

I balked.

“I couldn’t do that!”

“I’m not saying to be mean. Look, I know this family’s known for being overly nice, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a pushover. It’s bad enough you’re a worrywart.”

“I just don’t want to be too tough. I remember how Juniper’s mom was and I told myself I wouldn’t be like her.”

“You’re not…” Hestia muttered, then continued, “you’re afraid of letting her go, aren’t you?”

That struck me. Not because of how harsh it was. No, her tone of voice was sympathetic, if anything.

“I just wanted to spend more time with her,” I began to tear up, “She didn’t stay for very long and I thought I could have some company.”

“I understand. It probably gets lonely.”

“It does…”

“It’s not too late for you, either. You can try to make friends, you can go out and have fun. You should take care of yourself, too.”

“You’re right,” my voice turned weepy, but I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course. I gotta go, mom. I’m busy petting goats at a petting zoo. Did you know that statistically, one in five goats don’t get pet?”

“One of your volunteer works?” I asked.

“You know it.”

The call ended after that. So once again I was left in an empty house, full of clutter. Days went by, the same routine, and I waited for some update, some word as to where she was. So far, nothing. At a certain point, I considered adopting a ferret. I hadn’t quite decided yet, but it might help.

[sunflowerhae]

Linger

Episode • 7/8

Mobile Masterlist •

♡ ☾

Authors note• the next part will be the last part I promise guys

Warnings• language, mentions of death I think at this point I can’t remember

Songs• Something - the Beatles/linger - the cranberries/possibility- Lykke Li/ requiem on water - imperial mammoth

•never

•in your entire life

•were you more surprised than when you opened your locker one morning

•and saw a little note float out, and rest itself in the floor in between you and the locker.

•you honestly didn’t want to pick it up.

•what the hell did that asshole have to say to you now?

•you finally lean down and pick up the note

•and you have to hold your hand over your mouth once you open it to stop the crying

•bc you’re in the middle of school

•that’s

•so embarrassing

•lol don’t even ask what school was like the Monday after prom

•right there

•on the page

•is a poorly drawn sun.

•but this sun was different

•it’s eyes were closed

•and it had tears running down its cheeks

•Jaemin wrote you another note for a number of reasons

•the main one being

•he just wanted you to feel beautiful in your skin again

•he regretted everything he said to you

•but the one he regretted the most was telling you you’re not beautiful

•bc wtf

•who

•wtf

•Jaemin had known you for 8 months

•he knew your insecurities

•he knew what to use against you

•and he used it

•and that made Jaemin worse than some of the worst ppl he’s ever talked to

•and he literally can’t look at himself in the mirror anymore

•one time he got so mad he just fucking punched his mirror and it like, shattered

•really fucked up his hand but he didn’t even care at that point

•he was drunk

•felt numb

•so the letters were a way for him to feel something again

•and for him to express his love for you still

•bc no matter what he says to literally anyone

•all he does is love u

•he like truly believes ur his soulmate

•and that he’ll die alone

•and to top it all off

•his parents loved you so they’re always asking where you are

•and vice versa but you told ur mom what happened

•and Jaemin tried to keep it in but one night at dinner his mom is like “i really miss y/n! I told you what we were having earlier bc I knew it’s y/n’s favorite and I wanted you to invite her!”

•and Jaemin starts eating quietly but then starts remembering the first time you met his parents and you ate this so mid bite he just breaks down and starts sobbing

•bc hes like kept this all in

•he doesn’t want anyone to know he actually cares abt u

•but these are his Parents

•so he tells them

•and they are like “bro what”

•and they ask him if his reputation as a high school student was more important to him than love

•and he already knew it wasn’t

•but he was already 10000% sure u hated his guts

•and you did

•but you also still loved him and u hated it

•so you open the letter

•”Sunshine, it’s been a while. I know what happened between you and Jaemin, and I’m so sorry. I’m doing this again, not because I want you to be with me just because you’re single now (you don’t even know me) but because I was there that night. And I heard him. And y/n, I have never heard a more wrong and idiotic being in my life. And I need you to know he was wrong. I need you to know how beautiful you are; inside and out.

First things first, I didn’t get to say it to you that night, because I’m an idiot, and I wish I had, but you looked so beautiful at prom. You’re hair was curled and hanging over your shoulder, and your pink dress with the flower heals; I wanted to marry you right then and there. You took my breath away, even more than the first time I laid eyes on you. But even then you were absolutely stunning. You are so gorgeous in everything you wear. It doesn’t matter to me. I wanted to kiss you, and hug you, and tell you how much I loved you.

But I didn’t.

And I’m so sorry sunshine. I wish I had. I really do.

If you don’t want these letters, then throw them out without ever looking them, I get it. I just want you to have self confidence again; to feel beautiful and smart again. Because I think - no, I know - that you’re the most stunning person I’ve ever seen, and the smartest. And you teach me everyday how to be a beautiful person inside and out.

I love you sunshine.

Always and forever”

•knowing it was Jaemin

•his letters used to make you so happy

•now it upset you so much

•bc what was the truth

•but you didn’t tell him you knew

•you wanted to see what he had to say

•and if you were being honest, you craved his affection still

•bc u were in love with him

•unfortunately

•but it ended up hurting u more

•he would write more letters than he used to

•before, you would get maybe three of four a month

•now you got at least three a week

•and they were all about how amazing you are

•and in a lot of them

•Jaemin would subtly tear himself down

•u read in between the lines to see it

•and you were honestly scared he was gonna kill himself

•you knew all the pressure he had on him; football captain, honors and AP student, the popular boy, the good kid (although that on was a bit tarnished after prom lmao)

•he used to sit with u for hours venting

•and then you would be there to help him

•he no longer had that support

•bc he was such a closed off person, he didn’t tell his friends much of his problems

•well

•no matter what, you were not having it

•it wasn’t that you were weak. you like to think of it as you being strong. bc even though everything he had done, you still wanted to make sure he was okay in the end. you still had the courage to say something to him.

•so you left a note in his locker

•”Dear my secret admirer,

Not so secret, huh? I was bound to find out, what with all the notes you used to give me in third period?

I’m not writing to you for any reason other than to make sure you’re okay.

I can tell when you’re stressed, I think you forget

I don’t particularly like you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you

And as someone who loves you, it would be in your best interest if you don’t put yourself down in the letters you write.

No matter what you say Jaemin, you will always be a good person.

You are an amazing captain that your team members are lucky to have. You lead them in a way that they learn to take pride in the accomplishments AND their failures, and to grow from each.

You are a beautiful friend, Always looking out for the dreamies and making sure that they’re happiness is above your own. You listen and you give advice.

You’re a beautiful son, as is no surprise due to the beautiful people that raised you.

You’re one of the top students in the class, you don’t even have to study and you get A’s.

And no matter how much I want to fight it in my head, you were an amazing boyfriend. Until the end LOL.

What I’m trying to say is life is going to continuously beat you down.

So stand up and swing next

It’s going to want to silence you.

So scream.

Fight back, because it’s what you deserve.

And please, stay safe.

I will always love you,

Y/n

Ps. Please stop with the letters. They hurt too much. “

•so

•you slipped that in after the last bell

•and Jaemin didn’t go to his locker right after school, he rushed to practice

•he did have to get a book from his locker afterwards though, so he was in the hallway alone when he opened his locker and the note floated its way onto the floor

•Jaemin was thankful he was alone, bc he sobbed like a little baby

•you were such a beautiful person, so kind and such such a good soul

•and he hurt you so bad

•and yet you still felt the need to tell him all of that

•he started off by sobbing into his locker

•but after about 5 minutes of that his knees gave out and he slipped onto the floor

•and just put his head in his hands and sobbed

•you

•you were at school

•just down the hall actually

•you were in the music club, and you had a meeting after school to bc you had to write a song for the school club banner parade

•(side note. remember previously when i said that you had this club w mark? tell no one, but you were actually still regularly talking to mark! on the first meeting after prom, mark practically ran into the room and when straight to you, and before you could even open your mouth, he was word vomiting how sorry he was and that he had known you longer than any of those assholes and you were an amazing friend and that “ifyoudontwanttobemyfriendanymoreiunderstandcompletely-“ but you had to literally cover his mouth and you were just like “um, well. let’s just start writing the next assignment together, okay?” and before you knew it, you and mark were laughing again together. he actually made you feel a lot better, a lot closer. you both refused to talk abt any of the other dream members, or yerim and miri, but sometimes, something would slip. those were secretly your favorite moments, when mark would joke about something that happened that day, or when he would bring up an old memory of all 10 of you. over the course of the two months since prom, mark had made you laugh the most, and was your biggest reason to smile, honestly.)

•for a timeline, your meetings are about an hour long, sports is two hours long

•you stayed in late to finish some stuff up, as you were the leader of the club

•so you were walking out with ur bass in hand when u heard someone crying really loud in the hallway next to the one you were in

•you went to check and

•who do u see but Na Jaemin sitting on the floor sobbing into his hands

•you didn’t want to pry but you knew it was about u

•so

•you felt like u kinda had to

Continue here

{taglist}

@ivietea @fiveguysgoodbyeguys

@comically-sleep-deprived @woosans-sann @mozartwasajungkookstan @littlefluu @cxcxlxlee @jaesluvklub

@uyuzo @sweetie-yoongi7 @marklexleaf @infatuated-with-you

[heartofether]

Episode 4 - Hungry, Hungry Bears TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[THEME MUSIC AND INTRODUCTION PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME CONTINUES BEFORE COMING TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S WORK.]

ADEN

[WORRIED] Are you really, really sure that’s a good idea?

IRENE

[SHE HUFFS A SIGH.] Yes.

ADEN

I mean, I just think it’s a bit late to be going out into the woods and such, right? If there’s really is an issue with the trees dying, then, then they should still be dead tomorrow. Not like they’re just going to come back to life overnight. [NERVOUSLY CHUCKLES.]

IRENE

It won’t take long. You said it was just off the trail?

ADEN

[HE SWALLOWS.] Yes, but I’m almost certain nobody else is going to be out.

IRENE

Exactly. It’ll be perfect for me to just get in and out quickly, then go home.

ADEN

But what if they’re not human? [HE PAUSES, THEN, FRANTIC] There are bears out there. You know that, right? Hungry, hungry bears. What if nobody’s there to help you when one of those big-toothed beasts tries to maul you with its massive claws?

IRENE

Look, Aden, if you’re really worried about me going out there, then I’ll bring a radio with me. I hereby promise that if I have any bear-related incidents, I’ll contact you, and then you can call for help before I bleed out and die.

[ADEN NERVOUSLY LAUGHS FOR A FEW MOMENTS BEFORE SPEAKING IN A DEAD SERIOUS TONE.]

ADEN

That’s really not funny, Irene.

IRENE

I won’t go exploring or anything. You have my word. Just in and out, find the problem, and then go home.

ADEN

[HE THINKS FOR A MOMENT.] Fine. Just come back to work tomorrow in one piece, okay?

IRENE

[SARCASTIC] I’ll try my best.

ADEN

Irene!

IRENE

Alright, alright, I’m just messing with you. I’ll be fine.

ADEN

[MUMBLES] If you say so.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[EXT. THE FOREST.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF CRICKETS IN THE BACKGROUND, ACCOMPANIED BY THE CRUNCHING OF DIRT AND TWIGS AS IRENE WALKS.]

IRENE

I think Aden worries too much. He’s a sweet guy, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t think this is as big of a deal as he made it out to be. I mean, I’m just looking at some dead branches.

[SHE PAUSES.] There is a reason I chose to do this. Trust me, it’s not because I wanted to wander around in the woods. I tried to record this when Aden came in, but, well, it seems like I always get interrupted when I record in the office.

I need to think, though. There’s a lot on my mind, and I just need someone who will listen without judging me. [MUMBLES] Not that you’re listening, but, it’s not like I have anywhere else.

[THERE’S A MOMENT OF SILENCE AS SHE CONTINUES TO WALK.]

IRENE

I was thinking about what Carol said. Not about how I need friends, but about the person who lived in my house before me. I asked my landlord about it. He said the dude’s name was Bernard Kelly Valencia. [SHE CHUCKLES.] Which is quite the name, isn’t it?

Valencia was—well, to be blunt, he was a strange man. Hardly talked to anyone, but apparently, everyone knew who he was. He hung out a lot with this woman named Dorothy Wood, who I looked up. She actually owns—or, owned—that one bookstore near downtown. Open Eyes Bookstore, or something? Anyways, nobody knows if the two were together or what, but they met up constantly. 

Every time the landlord went over, he said there were papers and books everywhere. If he so much as glanced at any of it, or asked about it, Valencia would flip his shit. Dorothy was there a lot, too. Valencia wouldn’t tell anyone about what they were working on. Neither would Dorothy.

[THERE’S A BRIEF PAUSE. MORE FOOTSTEPS.]

IRENE

He died a couple of years ago from lung cancer. All his stuff went to either his son, the only family member who cared enough to come down and get it, or to Dorothy. She died last year, though.

The house itself must have a reputation, because I even found some people online talking about it. [IN A MOCK GHOSTLY TONE.] Some locals apparently think it’s haunted by Valencia’s ghost. [CHUCKLES, BUT SPEAKS IN AN UNSETTLED TONE] Not sure how I feel about that. 

[A PAUSE.] What were they researching? I mean, I don’t know much about Dorothy, but Valencia seems like he dedicated his whole life to whatever secret work they were doing. It’s weird as hell. Maybe I’ll never know.

I can’t stop thinking about it, though. It’s none of my business, I know, but still.

[HER FOOTSTEPS COME TO A STOP.]

IRENE

This must be the spot. I know you can’t see, because these are audio, not video. Basically, these hikers were worried about this big pile of dead branches, especially because it’s fire season. 

There’s nothing really exciting about it. Just a big pile of dead branches. The surrounding trees seem fine.

Huh. Wonder how they got here. We’ll just have to—

[SHE IS CUT OFF BY THE DISTANT SOUND OF A HORRIFIED SCREAM.]

IRENE

What—Who’s there? [CALLING OUT] Hello?

[FOOTSTEPS AS SHE WALKS IN THE DIRECTION OF THE NOISE. AS SHE CALLS OUT, HOWEVER, THERE IS THE SOUND OF BRANCHES SHIFTING.]

[EERIE MUSIC BEGINS PLAYING.]

IRENE

I swear, I heard someone. [CALLING OUT AGAIN] Hello?

[THE SOUND OF MOVING BRANCHES AND SHIFTING DIRT GROWS LOUDER AS SHE SPEAKS. THERE IS A LOW GROANING. IRENE, SEEMINGLY UNAWARE OF THIS, STEPS BACK TOWARDS THE PILE OF BRANCHES.]

IRENE

No one. That’s odd? Must have just been the…

[SHE IS CUT OFF AS SHE TURNS AROUND, SEEING THE SOURCE OF THE MOVING DIRT NOISES.]

IRENE

…wind.

[SHE IS THEN HEARD RUNNING AWAY. THE GROANING SOUNDS OF WHAT SHE SAW FADE OFF AS SHE RUNS. THE RUNNING STOPS, AND SHE IS HEARD OPENING AND CLOSING HER CAR DOOR.]

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING STATIC] Aden? Aden, are you there? It’s Irene, do you copy, I’m— [MORE STATIC] Shit, shit! [SHE HITS THE RADIO A FEW TIMES.]

[SHE STARTS THE CAR. THE ENGINE IS HEARD FOR A FEW MOMENTS BEFORE SHE SPEAKS.]

IRENE

[EXASPERATED] Oh goddammit, is this still—

[EVERYTHING IS ABRUPTLY CUT OFF BY A PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[TIME SKIP: HALF AN HOUR LATER.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S CAR AT THE SONIC DRIVE-IN.]

[”EVEN THOUGH YOU ASKED ME TO” BY ROSEMARY ROMANO IS HEARD PLAYING IN THE DISTANCE.]

IRENE

[TIRED] I am now sitting in my car at Sonic, drinking a cranberry slushie. I know, that’s weird, but I wasn’t sure if that…thing was going to follow me. I wanted to go somewhere public, just in case.

Plus, I think I deserve a slushie after what I’ve been through.

Would you even believe me if I told you? Hm. Probably not. Good thing you don’t have to believe me, then, huh?

Well, I heard a scream. [MUTTERS] I swear, if I go back and there’s no scream at all on the recording, I’m gonna—

[SHE TAKES A DEEP BREATH.] I heard a scream. I turned around and, uh, called out a bit, to see if there was anyone in danger. There was nothing, though, and there wasn’t another scream or anything like that. I thought I had just heard it wrong, that it was just the wind or a wild animal.

But then, when I turned around—how do I even begin to describe it? [SHE SPEAKS SLOWLY AS SHE STRUGGLES FOR WORDS] The branches rose up? The forest floor underneath them did, too.

It wasn’t like there was something coming out of the ground, though. No, it was like there was something in the ground that was trying to get out. It looked kind of like bread dough rising? No, that’s not right. Whatever it was swelled like it was alive?

Now that I think about it, actually, there were multiple things in there, throbbing inside of it. Squirming around. It was like a cat under a blanket—or, cats plural, I guess? This big—whatever it was, clearly not just a pile of dirt and branches—rose up, and I swear, this [HER VOICE GLITCHES FOR A SPLIT SECOND] thing didn’t have any eyes, but it was looking straight at me. 

I just ran. What else could I have done? I looked over my shoulder once to see if it was chasing me, but that was it. When I did, it seemed to be moving, though I’m not sure where it was trying to go. It was big. It would have been hard for it to navigate through the trees. 

Unless it could, I don’t know, morph around them? It didn’t seem to have a concrete body or anything. Just one big writhing mass.

[THERE’S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Don’t know how I’m going to approach Aden tomorrow. “Hey, so there was no bear emergency, but I did almost get killed by a really big pile of dirt that seemed to gain sentience. Why the radio silence, bud?” [SHE CAN’T EVEN BRING HERSELF TO PROPERLY CHUCKLE.]

Should I tell him? I mean, would he even believe me? Can I tell anyone about this? I mean, of course I could tell someone, I sure was more than willing to tell someone who— [SHE STOPS HERSELF.]

[ANOTHER LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

Maybe I was wrong before. You would believe me, Rose. Right?

[HER VOICE BECOMES SAD AND SMALL.] I miss you so much. I know I’ve said that a lot, but I was so scared. I still am. I don’t know what that was, or if it’s going to come back. I’m at a loss, and I have no one else to go to about this.

I wish you were here. Not just some recording on my phone, but in the car with me. I wish I could hold you. [A WET CHUCKLE.] Actually, I think more than anything, I just need a really long hug. It wouldn’t be the same if it weren’t from you, though.

[SHE PAUSES.]

IRENE

[SHAKILY, AS IF SHE’S ABOUT TO CRY] You know why I think I kept doing these recordings? Why I could never get over you, even after all these years?

[HER TONE BEGINS GROWING IN EMOTION.] Because maybe, if I had gotten an answer, I would have been able to move on. Maybe you had drowned in the lake. Maybe you had gotten a job at a diner in California, with a new name for your new life. Maybe you just found someone else and were too afraid to tell me.

I never got that, though. I never got that closure. One night, you were there, and then the next morning, you weren’t.

And I’ll never know, will I? Because I’m just going to keep denying the truth and telling myself that you still care. That someday, you’ll show up at my doorstep, and like the fool I am, I’ll just let you come in. You won’t even have to tell me where you were these past four years, I promise.

[WEAKLY] ...I promise.

[SHE PAUSES.] But you won’t. You’re never coming home. Because I never really was your home, after all.

[THE SONG COMES TO THE FOREGROUND AS IRENE STOPS TALKING.]

MUSIC

That’s why I stay, that’s why I stay.

[A SHIFTING SOUND BEFORE A PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today’s quote is: “I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.”

Walt Whitman in “To A Stranger” from Leaves of Grass, 1867.

Are you listening to us? Because we are listening to you.

[THEME MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

[wildefiction]

Of Course...Mr. Collins

Word Count: 1,654

Chapter Summary: Reader helps Misha and his family prepare for the holidays.

Chapter Warnings: None. Maybe brief anxiety

TWENTY-EIGHT

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of trashy mid-day television, several short naps and more trips to the bathroom than you cared to count; the ceramic floor cool beneath your fevered skin.

By the end of the weekend, your symptoms had all but completely subsided, a mild headache the only reminder of how miserable you’d been over the last few days. Buried in the warmth of your deep blue fur-lined parka, the bite of the early morning chill went un-noticed as you walked hand-in-hand with Misha to his car.

So lost in your own mind, you barely noticed when he pulled into the driveway – the smooth electric engine so quiet that Misha removing his seat-belt was the first thing you noticed.

The entire day Saturday, while you’d been confined to bed, the multitude of tweets and other notifications you’d been tagged in were impossible to miss and since then, the tiny seed of doubt that lived in your chest had begun to flourish. As a fan yourself, seeing through the mean comments to the worry and concern beneath the awful words wasn’t difficult. Misha was adored by people around the world, news spread like wildfire on the internet and often innocent actions were blown out of proportion by those who were either genuinely concerned or who just liked to stir up trouble. The pictures surfacing from San Francisco seemed to be some mix of both.

“You okay?” Misha’s fingers, laced through your own, tightened while those impossibly multi-dimensional eyes stared down at you, worry etched into the creases of his expression.

The pain evident in his features was like a vice around your chest, and, as pinpricks of moisture gathered at the corners of your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to erase that hurt, whatever it took.

“Of course! Mish, don’t look at me like that – I’m okay, I promise. Just thinking about this weekend is all.”  A soft smile of encouragement replaced your own concern as you leaned up on your tip-toes and wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressing lips lightly to his cheek before burying your face in his chest, the warmth of his body mingled with the calming scent of his cologne and immediately you could feel the tension start to dissipate – just like it always did.

The moment of quiet was short-lived as the front door was pulled open and both Maison and West came spilling down the steps, Vicki chasing after them with their jackets, which neither child appeared to care for.

“Daddy!” “[Y/F/N]!” Four arms wove themselves through both your and Misha’s legs, the children’s exuberance nearly knocking you off balance.

Looking up from the tangle of limbs, you smiled warmly at Vicki. The woman had lowered herself to the steps of the porch. Leaning against one of the thick stone columns, she held a camera in one hand and a tired expression on her face. Gently prying Maison’s left arm from its spot still around your thigh, you approached the front steps, leaning over to hug Vicki as well. This kind of welcome home was still a foreign concept for you, but slowly you were beginning to enjoy the feelings associated with being around Misha and his family.

*****

Over the course of the subsequent days, preparations for the holidays started to become the focus of your daily schedule.  

The weekend after returning from California found you crouched in the attic of Misha’s house, sorting through bins filled with lights, wreaths and shiny baubles. Misha’s voice echoed up through the opening across the room, letting you know he was ready for another load. Vicki pointed to a shallow box on your left, indicating that was the next to go. The three of you had managed to work out an assembly-line of sorts and soon the three of you were all gathered in the living room, the decorations neatly stacked atop the sideboard flanking the fireplace. The very same one that had held your contract all those months ago. While it often felt like you’d never been without Misha, you were suddenly reminded that it had been a mere few months since he and his family had welcomed you into their lives and into their home.

“We seem to be missing something…” Misha tilted his head and stared at the blank space stretching before the large bay windows.

“I just…can’t put my finger on it.” Tapping his bottom lip, his clear sapphire eyes turned to Maison and West. “What do you guys think, are we missing something?”

“Daaaaaa-deee, we need a kwis-mas twee.” Maison stared up at her father, a bright smile spreading across her face as she laughed at his question. Putting all of her weight into the effort, the little girl planted her hands at the small of his back, trying her hardest to push him towards the front door.

Coming up behind her husband, Vicki planted a knit sock-monkey hat atop Misha’s head, the bright blue and cream features of GISH’s mascot sliding down over his eyes. Shrugging into a black parka, Misha laughed at his wife’s antics; West stomping around the entryway in his oversized snow boots, the zipper of his own jacket jingling with each step.

For just a moment, you stood there – watching the dynamics of this family play out before you. They were so very typical, almost down to the white picket-fence. And yet, at the same time they were all so incredibly different in the best way possible.

Three hours later, snow danced around your feet as gusts of wind disturbed the pristine, glittering powder. After searching for what seemed like hours for the best tree, West had stumbled upon a giant he deemed ‘the one.’ It was breath-taking really, the boughs heavy with emerald needles; two rich, deep mahogany pine-cones still clinging to one branch.  The boy, buried to his knees in the drifts surrounding the magnificent fir, was beaming with pride as Misha knelt to assess how best to bring the ten-foot tree home.

*****

Flames licked at the edges of the logs piled neatly in the living-room fireplace; the warmth of it filling the room with comfort as you hung four stockings from the mantle. Across the room, Maison and West sat at a small table, shaking crumpled paper sacks with unimaginable glee. When asked what they should do with the pine-cones they’d removed from the tree, the kids had decided they wanted to make bird feeders (so the small birds wouldn’t go hungry in the cold winter weather.) Watching as they each opened their bag, both children were very excited to see that spreading seed on a peanut-butter covered pine-cone yielded new treats for the sparrows who hadn’t flown south.

“[Y/F/N]! Look at what we made!” A trail of multicolored seeds following in his wake, West lifted his prize up to where you could see it better, blowing a few long strands of sandy hair away from his eyes.

“Ooh, those are great, I bet the birds will really appreciate you looking out for them by making this treat. Why don’t we go outside and hang them up?”

Faces glued to the large living-room windows, both children were seated, legs crossed, with mugs of hot cocoa on the thick bench seat overlooking the front yard. Several small birds flitted between the safety of the eaves and the veritable buffet hanging before them.

Vicki and Misha were positioned on either side of the great tree, taking turns stringing lights through the branches; boxes of ornaments scattered at their feet. Jason’s Christmas album playing on low in the background added to the memorable day, and as you gathered the links of garland made from popcorn and cranberries, you realized just how excited you were for the holidays - something that had been missing in you for more years than you cared to count.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way, and, by early evening the house looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Rather than being kitschy and overdone however, it felt homey and welcoming. With thoughts of the holidays however, also came thoughts of gift-giving. The simple bliss you’d felt much of the day started to ebb away, replacing itself with anxiety – what could you possibly give Misha and Vicki that they didn’t already possess? In the short time you’d spent with this family, it had become quite clear that they were both incredibly talented, giving and creative people. Somehow a new blender just didn’t fit the situation. Nor did you feel like you could just walk into the nearby mall and miraculously find the perfect thing. The more you thought about it, the stronger and more intense your worry became. Idea after idea would drift through your mind, only to be stricken from consideration almost immediately. So consumed were you with the problem; eyes staring blankly into the flames dancing in the hearth, that only after being called several times did you realize you were being spoken to.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lowering himself to the plush carpet, Misha turned, a lopsided grin spreading across his stubble-blanketed features. Scooching to sit behind you, the arms he loosely draped around your waist tightened until your back was pressed hard to his chest, breath warm against your ear.

“Well, I was thinking about what I should - …. you know? It doesn’t matter, because now I’m thinking about something very different. Twisting to face him, your lips hovered a breath from his – eyes locked.

“I should go help with dinner, and I do have to go home tonight – so this little game you’re playing… definitely isn’t going to work. Good try…Mr. Collins.”

With a quick press of your lips to his cheek, you rose from the floor, sauntering off in search of Vicki and the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen.

TAGS: @jamielea81​ @wings-of-a-raven​

[fanaticfangirl001]

The One and Only Ms.Mercury pt 2

Rami x reader (Freddie’s daughter)

Author’s note: Let’s do this guys! 

Vocab words: Take away- delivery food. (In the Uk you can get more than pizza delivered) 

Also for future reference:  Dad refers to Freddie, Papa refers to Jim. 

Ps: This one seemed short, but it also seemed natural to stop it there. 

Thought you guys might enjoy this.

@queen-irl-af

@kiillerqueeen

@rami-malek-trash

*I guess I’ll use the same gif because the other gifs aren’t loading. 

Y/n kicks off her shoes near the front door and goes up the stairs to her room. She flops onto her bed and picks up her sketchbook from the night stand. Grabbing a pencil she sketches a simple drawing of her dad’s, based off a picture inside a little pink frame that’s laying on her desk. Y/n is sitting on Freddie’s lap. Both of them are wearing plastic tiaras and feather boas,eating cake. It’s from her second birthday.

 Her art style has varied during her four years on YouTube but it typically stays within a cartoon like style, roundish characters with thick outlines. Many of her professors hated the style but she never really cared what they said, as most of the artwork that they preferred were sad people, or too pretentious for Y/n’s liking. She didn’t really show many people her artwork offline in “real life” due to many of their “criticisms”. 

Y/n sets down her sketchbook, and walks over to her cabinet of art supplies, mostly gifted to her by the companies for reviewing it, or from art subscription boxes. She pulls out two watercolor palettes one for the skin tones, and another for bright metallic neons. Y/n tosses some fine liner markers onto her bed followed by the pallet. 

She drops herself onto the bed and starts erasing the lines lightly so she can line them with the markers. Rolling the kneaded eraser in her hands, Y/n starts thinking: This movie is going to change things. The only reason I’m not hounded by reporters is because I stay in and stay out of the spotlight. Me helping on this movie, thrusts me into some spotlight. I’m also a woman so there’s that added pressure. 

Y/n puts down her eraser and closes her sketchbook. She walks to the bathroom and stares into the mirror. She rubs the bottom of her chin, bumpy due to the acne that wanted to stick around and takes the pony-tail holder out of her hair. Spotlight, do I need an esthetician, or a glam squad when I leave the house? Am I British Kardashian? I mean I have the ass of one, and that’s from take-away. Are people going to expect me to dress like my dad? 

Y/n shakes her head of all the crazy thoughts and started the water for a nice soothing bath. She finds the four bath bubblers from Lush and crumbles them under the faucet. The bubbles and foam threaten to overfill the tub. Y/n strips off her jumper and jeans. She carefully sinks into the bath. Her phone rings to the custom ring meaning that her Uncle John is calling. Y/n carefully stands up and grabs her phone. 

“How was the business dinner?” John asks once Y/n picks up. 

“You knew.” Y/n says exasperated shaking her head. 

“You didn’t?” John adds. 

“Nope, disguised it like a family dinner. There’s gonna be a Queen movie, by the way.” Y/n adds. 

“Are you going to be on set?” John asks. 

“No I’m just gonna let them fuck my dad’s image up the arse.” Y/n sasses her uncle. 

“Language Y/n, who the fuck taught you those words.” John sasses back. 

“Did you just want to sass your niece or is there a reason for this lovely phone call?” Y/n asks 

“Luke said you seemed upset after the dinner, and I wanted to check up on you.” John says. 

“Uncle John, you’re getting sappy.” Y/n teases. 

“Let a grouchy old man care about his niece, who needs to visit him more.” John replies. 

“I’m sensing you also want me to visit because I made chocolate cake and brought it the last time.” Y/n muses. 

“Call it a consolation prize.” John offers. 

“Are you saying that you were suffering because my presence was not there.” Y/n says dramatically. 

“Severely.” John sasses her with his dramatics. 

“I’ll come by more.” Y/n adds, “ With cake.” 

The typical goodbyes are said and Y/n hangs up the phone to enjoy the rest of her bubble bath. 

She carefully gets out and grabs a towel to dry off, then puts on a fluffy purple robe. 

I need to edit, record a voice over, and then go back to the drawing. 

Y/n walks over to her desk and sits down ready to edit. The video she filmed yesterday is a review of a subscription box and using the art supplies in it. The sketch went well but as she went on to color it, something seemed off and it looked better in black and white. This sometimes happened when she worked with a supply she wasn’t familiar with like makers. She speed up the sketching and erasing portion of the video and shortened the thirty minutes of drawing down to fifteen minutes, including the initial opening and swatching of the materials. Y/n takes a sip of water and plugs in her microphone to record her commentary. 

She begins introducing the video and its main contents being the box and the challenge of using all the materials in it to make something. Y/n during the swatching section says the colors of markers: a mustard yellow, olive green, and a cranberry red might be a little difficult to use together, and that she isn’t very comfortable with markers but she’ll make the best of it. The first idea for her challenge is to draw a person but every practice attempt was erased because she didn’t like the head, or the proportions. 

Y/n finally decided on drawing a badger wearing a  yellow bobble-hat, sitting on a moss covered log, eating berries. Her commentary ranged from artistic decisions, to wonder what badgers actually eat, or if a badger could comprehend the color yellow and all it’s majesticness. Most people that watch her videos enjoy her ramblings in the background as they see a piece go from a brainstorm to a finished project, because she seems so genuine and a little odd. Y/n signs off from her video in the traditional way with “ Stay weird, Stay Mad, and always draw with Mercury.” 

She chose the name Drawing With Mercury, for two reasons: one, Y/n’s favorite Disney movie has always been Alice in Wonderland, especially for the character, Mad Hatter, and two, she wanted to use her last name since, it’s a pretty cool last name, and you only live once. She uploaded her first video and received a warm welcome from her subscribers. In the beginning there were a few mean comments but they weren’t about her appearance as she only showed her hands in her videos. 

Y/n splices the audio with the video and rewatches herself draw, erase, draw again, ink, then color her drawing. She uploads the video and waits for it to be complete which for this video and with her wifi connection it would take around an hour. She opens her sketchbook back to the drawing of her birthday with Dad and takes out her water color pallet. Dipping her water brush pen into the paint, a small tear dripped from her eyes, fell from her cheek and onto the corner of the page. 

“I miss you, Dad.” Y/n says to no one as she fills in his face with color. 

There was no copying the photograph perfectly. Freddie in the pictures, looking down at his messy daughter with chocolate cake on her face, his face shows nothing but adoration and pure happiness. It was his idea for a princess party, since every Sunday the three of them would have tea parties and Y/n always loved dressing up. Y/n looking up at her dad with same look in her eyes as his. 

Y/n rubs her eyes and continues painting the party outfits, even the feather boas and tiaras. She puts the sketchbook on her dresser letting the paint dry and falls onto her bed. She opens her small jewelry box on her nightstand and takes out her silver heart locket with a smaller heart diamond on the front. Y/n opens the locket looking at the small picture of her Dad and Papa. 

“I miss you, Papa.” She says again, to no one. 

She lightly kisses the locket and puts it back in the box, and puts it in the first drawer of the night stand. Y/n pulls the covers tightly around herself and slowly falls asleep to the rain hitting the roof.

[kindapinkskies]

gimme more | h.s.

hello beautiful people. i want to say thank you again, so much, for all the love i’ve gotten on my past writings. all the people that respond, send me messages, follow me, you make me feel so warm. i’m sorry if anyone followed me and expected regular updates... my brain just doesn’t cooperate with me like that. 

but this, i wrote this in two hours last night. the idea popped into my brain and i knew if i fell asleep i’d never finish it. so this is a product of finishing at 1:20am. i hope you like it because i’m actually pretty proud of myself. 

remember! always be sure to reblog/like, comment, and share things you enjoy reading. writers appreciate a small comment as it fuels them to keep going. we all, as humans, seek validation. make people feel good by leaving a nice comment. 

i love you already. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tipping your head back, the sensation of a shot follows the movement and down your throat; all the way into the pit of your stomach. Your nose scrunches up at the disgusting burn before you bring your head back down and your hand up to your mouth, licking at the salt placed there. A lemon wedge follows soon after as you generously suck the juices out. Your tongue nearly falls out of your mouth as you moan out a disgruntled noise. Alcohol is nasty. Why do you feel the need to drink it? 

“You take those like a champ but your faces give you away,” Your friend, Mila, chuckles from beside you. 

Only now slamming the shot glass down on the bar in front of you, you turn to face her, “I hate alcohol.”

The different tones of blue lights, in the club, flash over her face and the longer you stare at her, the more unimpressed she looks at your answer. You always say you hate alcohol but you always end up with some sort of alcoholic beverage in your system when you go out. Before she can even say anything, you bring your hands up in surrender. 

“That’s what I thought.” She rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her drink. 

Swiveling back towards the bar, you tap the top a few times to get the bartenders attention. When you finally get it, you order a vodka and cranberry juice to sip on while you visit with Mila. It’s been a while since you seen her so it’s nice to have a night out with her. The bar at this club is in an almost in a secluded corner, slightly behind a large wall, so it’s not as loud as the rest of the building and you can actually hear what’s being said. 

It’s not hard to catch up with Mila. She’s easily one of your closest friends and the one friend you’ve had for many years. Talking with her is easy, you can pick up right where you left off without it being awkward. She delves into her job, her coworkers, the new health kick she’s on, he yoga classes, and honestly anything under the sun. You add in and comment where necessary. She asks you questions in correspondence to the topic she’s talking about and her reactions are much like yours, small comments and nodding when necessary. 

You’re sure you’ve grained abs by how much laughing is going on. Your cheeks hurt and your skin is warm from all the talking and laughter. As you’re talking, you can’t help but feel bad for not speaking with her more. She gets and understands you more than most people and she’s a breath of fresh air. You missed her terribly and you’re honestly glad she dragged you out of the house tonight. 

“How’s Jamie?” you ask, sipping on your, now second, drink. “I miss him too.”

Mila’s eyes brighten at the mention of her boyfriend, “Oh he’s great! He just got a new job and he’s loving it! And you know we’ve been living together for almost a year now, it honestly couldn’t be better.”

Her beaming smile makes your heart flutter a little in your chest. You always wanted the best for her and you’re glad she finally found something worth her time and heart. 

“How are you and Harry?” she asks and now it’s your turn to brighten up at the mention of your boyfriend.

You hum, in almost pure bliss of just the thought of him, “He’s good. He’s been gone for like 3 weeks doing some promotional stuff. I miss him but he comes back tomorrow night.”

She nods, “You guys just hit 3 years, right?”

“Yeah! Just before he left actually,” You answer as Mila flags down the bartender again and he’s pouring shots for the both of you. 

Immediately scrunching your nose up, you whine, “Again?”

She laughs like a madwoman, “Yes again! We’re gonna go dance.”

You let out a groan but nonetheless you slam the shot back with lightening speed. You’ve barely set the glass down before you’re being gripped around the wrist and pulled to the other side of the wall and into the club itself. There’s a heavy bass song rumbling through the space and you can feel your insides vibrating along with the sound. You will never get over that feeling, it’s honestly so exhilarating being able to feel the bass in your chest and you let out a laugh because of it as Mila grabs you and pulls you closer. She’s dancing along to the song that makes you feel light and airy on your feet, even with all the bass, and you quickly join her and let yourself just feel. 

You’re entirely intoxicated and it’s not just because of the light amount of alcohol running through your system. The sound of the music, the lights, the warmth of your body, and, of course, the alcohol rushing through your veins makes you feel dizzy. A good dizzy and you never want it to stop. Everything around you is being amplified and you just feel so good. Your body is the right amount of warm and it only adds to how good you’re feeling. You really never want this to end. 

You can hear Mila yelling along to the lyrics as your hands find home in your hair, with your head tipped back, and your hips moving along to the beat. Sweat beads trickle down the side of your face and down your neck. You can feel them move down your chest and into your cleavage. There’s not a care in the world though because you’re having a good time and that’s what your focus is on.

Mila wraps her arms around your neck and dances pressed up against you for a moment before she’s yelling in your ear that she’s going to go get a drink and wait for Jamie. You nod to her and press a kiss to her cheek as she scurries off and out of sight. You never stop moving along to songs even though you’re now alone. You haven’t let loose in a few months and you’re just loving the feeling of being so free. 

You do stop though when the song slows down to take a bit of a breather. You take the opportunity to glance around the area and see all the people having a good time as well, with all their friends and their significant others. You find yourself smiling at a young couple dancing their hearts out before roaming the area once again. When you make it to where the wall connects to the bar, you let out an a surprised, airy, gasp. 

Piercing eyes are staring right at you. The same eyes that you miss terribly. The ones you fall asleep and wake up to every day and night. The ones you love so much. They’re a bit darker than usual. A certain sheen of lust behind them that makes your heart beat faster than normal. They’re glazed over and it knocks the breath right out of you. 

You smirk when you hear the ‘It’s Britney bitch,’ and the bass of the instrumentals. Your body moves on its own, almost like an automatic response to the song you grew up loving. You don’t break eye with your boyfriend as he stays rooted to his spot. His beautiful green eyes widen slightly as you mouth along to the words ‘I see you, and I just wanna dance with you’ and you can’t help not smirk even more. The lights seem to get even dimmer now, the club turning from a deep blue to a deep red as the song starts and gets louder with each passing second. 

Feels like no one else in the room (but you)

The room seems to spin uncontrollably until it’s only Harry in your immediate line of sight. Everyone else seems to fade away when your boyfriend starts making his way towards your moving body. It’s almost like a game of cat and mouse. You continue to move through the crowd as he chases after you with a sense of pride. He knows he’ll catch you. He knows you’ll end up pressed against him and no one else. And when you feel his hand, his very warm hand, enclose around your wrist you nearly choke at the sparks shooting up your arm. The sensation only adds onto your intoxication. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” His lips are right at the shell of your ear and it sends a shiver throughout your warm body. 

You gasp again as his hips press into your backside and move with you to the beat of the song. His arm wraps across your chest as he holds you flush against his chest. Your hand comes up to hold onto his arm and your other slides down the side of his leg. His lips press fiery kisses along your jaw and his teeth nip at the skin every other kiss, tongue peaking out every once in a while to soothe over the nipped skin. His hips never stutter, to the beat, even when yours do and you can’t help but grip onto him a bit tighter. Your bodies mold together with each sway, dip, roll, push, and pull that it’s a bit overwhelming. You’re no longer the perfect warmth, it’s entirely too hot but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind at all. And you were wrong. You never want this moment to end. 

We can get down like there's no one around 

We'll keep on rockin' (We'll keep on rockin')

“Gimme more,” you chant along with the song as your head drops down onto Harry’s shoulder. You continue to go along with the words, right into his ear, as your arm travels up behind and grips at his hair. 

You pull his head towards you a bit and leave a kiss to the sensitive spot just below his ear. You feel the hitch of his breath in your back and you can’t help but smile at him. You place another kiss and another and another all while tugging at his hair. Harry takes your distraction in stride and moves you blindly towards the wall, a corner left unoccupied, with very little prying eyes. You didn’t take notice until your front was nearly pressed into the wall and Harry’s arms box you in. 

Even when we're up against the wall

You've got me in a crazy position (yeah)

Harry’s body is still flush against your back and he seems to get impossible closer as he keeps his arms bent and you as close to the wall as possible. Kisses move down your shoulder before you’re being turned around and when you’re finally facing him, Harry pushes into you even more. Your back hits the wall and his hips line up with yours. You let out a groan when he grounds into you a bit, his hand coming up to cup your face. He keeps moving along to the song, the only one dancing at this point between the two of you. 

You let out a whine when his lips fold onto yours, tongue immediately meeting yours, leaving you completely breathless with a pressure building in your lower belly. Your hands roam up his tensed back muscles and back into his hair. You pull when the kiss gets more rough and his hips grind into yours with more force. Your lips move together like they haven’t been apart for almost a month. You can’t believe he’s here, right now, but you can’t really focus on that when Harry is desperately trying to swallow your tongue. He finally breaks away but he doesn’t give you a chance to rejoice as his lips immediately move to trail kisses down your neck. 

If you're on a mission (uh-uh)

You got my permission (oh)

“Fuck, H,” You moan out as the kisses continue to move down your neck and across the expanse of your chest. You hiss in pain when he nips at the skin, right above your shirt, a bit too hard but it’s quickly replaced with a sigh when his tongue slides over the spot. 

Your breathing is too heavy, too ragged, and it hurts a bit but you can’t find it within yourself to care. Your eyes haven’t opened since they fell shut when your back hit the wall. Your legs feel like noodles and you couldn’t be more thankful at the fact Harry is basically holding you up with the front of his body. His hips are moving into yours with the same rhythm of the music and they haven’t changed once. You can’t believe this is happening in a club, where you’re surrounded by hundreds of people, but it doesn’t stop you. It doesn’t stop him either. The intoxication only seems to get worse with him surrounding you. All other sources of intoxications dry out and you’re only left with being intoxicated solely on him. 

The pressure in your lower stomach only intensifies, and spreads through your body, at every hip roll and every press of Harry’s lips to your skin. His hands graciously move along your body, down your arms, down your sides, down your legs. Everywhere he can comfortably reach, is being covered by the expanse of his hands. Your breathing becomes even more ragged at the feeling of his hands moving across your stomach and his lips are back on yours. He kisses you deeply, like his life depended on it. You have to pull away too soon and throw your head back to catch some air. Your eyes finally open when you can feel Harry pull his head back. 

His eyes are hooded, drooping down, as he stares at you. A small smile graces his lips as he looks like he’s experiencing heaven with you being so close to him; he looks so content and happy that it nearly makes you cry. The pressure that spread to your chest is getting to you and even in the midst of the spicy moment, you lovingly glide your fingers through his hair and press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Gimme more,” he mouths to the lyrics this time and you can’t help but smile widely at him before attacking his lips with yours. You kiss him over and over again until you’re out of breath and his hips are taking every little bit of air, you have left, right out of you. 

Your moans and the moans in the song start to mix together and you can’t really tell the difference anymore. Harry’s didn’t have to reach down your legs very far, to reach the hem of your skirt, before his hand slid up under the material and in between your thighs. You jolt slightly when his fingertips brush over your middle, through your panties and you can feel the smirk against your neck. Harry glides the tips of his fingers along your heated core, against the smooth fabric of your panties as his hips continue to press into yours and the hot pressure in your lower belly is almost too much to handle. 

I just want more!

Gimme, Gimme

Harry blows over a spot be nipped at and the feeling of the cool air moving over the heated, bitten, skin, mixed with the feeling of Harry when his hips push into yours, his hands on your body in places they shouldn’t be in public, and his lips on almost every inch of your upper body, throws you over the edge against Harry. You clench your thighs around Harry’s hand as the pressure in your belly is released and you let out a soft moan as pure ecstasy ripples through you. The songs ending is rumbling through your body as Harry’s hips finally stutter and his body nearly goes limp against yours. Your uneven breaths mix together with the final lines of the song and now your bodies are just moving together, with no purpose and no intent on matching the rest of the instrumental. 

“Hi, baby,” Harry breathes out, softly kissing at your ear. “I missed you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” You breathlessly laugh out, pulling your head back to look at him. His eyes have gone back to their normal brightness and they shine underneath the now deep purple lights of the club. When his jaw drops at mock offense of your words, you add, “I missed you too.”

He lets out a snort, “Well, I could tell. You let yourself go right out in public.”

You smack his should as hard as you could in your tired state, “It’s your fault, I was fine before you got here.”

“Yeah, I know but I couldn’t just stand and watch you dance alone anymore without doing something about it.” Harry shrugs, kissing you once more. “And Mila saw me come in and told me she was going home with Jamie.”

You smile at him, pecking his lips and ignoring the part about Mila because you know she’s safe, “You creeper.”

“Am not. It’s just that my girlfriend looked so hot, I couldn’t help myself.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean forward and kiss him again, this time a lot softer than the ones shared before. Harry hums against your mouth and pushes into you once more, seemingly not getting enough to begin with. 

Your eyes fall shut and your head hits the wall behind you, a sigh escaping your lips when Harry finally moves his hand away from between your thighs. Goosebumps cover your entire body and your fingers grip onto Harry’s shoulders with more force as a shiver runs through you at the feeling. 

“How about we go home and do this again the right way, with no one else around and with our clothes off. Let me love on you like you deserve.” Harry suggests, nipping at the skin of your neck again. 

You hum, “I would love that.”

Cause I ain't goin nowhere

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

my masterlist is in my bio

leave some feedback please feed my narcissism 

[unchartedterritoria]

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 27

*NEW CHAPTER*

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5* Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23* Chapter 24 * Chapter 25 * Chapter 26

As always, you can read the story thus far on A03  HERE

Tags: @jodiereedus22, @shambhalala, @missdictatorme

Reviews and comments are always appreciated!

Sam stormed through the doorway of the motel room, the door slamming into the thin wall hard enough to rattle its frame.

Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, he thought. Sam wiped the nervous sweat from his upper lip and shook another cigarette out of his pack and lit it with trembling hands while he paced in the confining space that he and Faith shared. Going to the cheap dresser that sat in the middle of the room, he yanked open the bottom drawer and pulled out the nine millimeter he had stashed underneath a pile of sloppily folded t-shirts. Setting it down on the bedspread, he went to the closet where Faith had stowed their duffels. As Sam dug through her black backpack, the smell of Faith that had clung to her clothes permeated the tiny closet. The citrusy scent made him angry, an unnecessary reminder that he had failed as a protector.

Fuck, just fuckin'- I'm a just- fucking FUCK!

His hands finally touched smooth metal. Sam pulled out the small 9mm that he had given Faith when this adventure had started.

He wanted more guns. He wanted a goddamn army.

Too bad Nadine don't own Shoreline anymore. Hell, she probably wouldn't even answer the phone.

Sam stared at the two handguns on the bedspread, his arms crossed in front of him while his thumbs drummed nervously against his elbows.

I need more firepower.

Sam took one last drag and pitched his half-smoked cigarette into the sink. He ran the tap briefly to extinguish it while he grabbed his phone. Sam opened his contacts. His finger hovered momentarily over the DIAL command.

I gotta do this. I don't wanna do this, but I gotta do this. He's the only one that's got what I need.

He dialed the number and waited what felt like an eternity between rings of the phone before it was finally picked up on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Victor, I need your help.”

The voice on the other end hesitated. “What did you do?” Sully scolded him. His anger dripped through the phone.

“I need the name of every arms dealer you got in the Keys.”

“What did you do?” Sully repeated.

“Legal, illegal, I don't care. I just need firepower.” Sam told him and ignored the question entirely.

“I asked you a goddamn question, Samuel, what the hell did you do?” He shouted into the phone.

Sam hung his head.

“Jasper took Faith.”

Sully's end was nothing but silence.

“I know I screwed up-”

“You think?” Sully suddenly shouted which cause Sam to wince.

"I know, but I'm gonna fix it. I'm gonna get her back, and I'm gonna end this," Sam said with determination.

“Call Knucky and Steve Ricker, then call whoever they tell you to. I'll send you their number. I'll be there in three hours.”

“I'm doing this myself, Victor,” Sam argued.

“I'll be there in three hours,” Sully said in a low icy voice and ended the call.

Sam let the phone drop from his ear. Closing his eyes tight, he smacked the back of his head against the wall.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He growled, each word accented by the dull thud of his skull against the drywall.

Faith felt herself drift into a hazy state of consciousness. A very hazy state. She could hear the sound of the ocean, albeit muffled, and faintly taste the sea salt on her dry lips. She let her brown eyes open gingerly, squinting against the bright Florida sunlight. As her senses came back to her, her eyes began to focus. Ahead was a sight to behold. The Gulf of Mexico, blue as an azure crystal, rippling in front of her and stretching as far as she could see. It was breathtaking.

She would have appreciated it more if she wasn't tied to a chair.

Faith could feel thorough wood underneath her as its edge bit into the bottoms of her thighs. Her forearms and ankles were secured in place solidly with duct tape while a length of rope resting beneath her bosom bound her upright.

Oh no, not good. Not good, not good, not good.

She tested the tape that held her arms in place. Whoever had tied her up had sadly done a good job, giving her no wiggle room whatsoever.

“Good evening, Miss Spencer.”

Faith turned her head towards the source of the familiar southern drawl.

Jasper Nox strolled towards her down a long brick corridor. In his short-sleeved white shirt and Panama hat, he reminded her of the guy from Jurassic Park, the owner, he even had an ornate cane as he did. Jasper's was a sleek black onyx, the handle carved into an eagle with its wings stretched back, poised in position to attack its prey.

“Isn't she just a majestic sight?” He said, motioning to the ocean through the arches he passed, the large corridor lined with crumbling brick arcs on both sides.

"I've seen the ocean over one thousand times, and I tell you, she still manages to take my breath away every time," Nox said, leaning thoughtfully against the archway where Faith was positioned. "Have you seen the ocean before Miss Spencer?"

Faith opened her mouth to respond with the expletives floating in her head, but all that she could produce was a faint croaking, wheezing sound.

Jasper knelt down next to her and grabbed a juice box from the floor next to her. He poked the small straw through the top and held it up to her lips. Faith kept her mouth shut tight in defiance.

Nope, I'm not getting dosed again. Nuh uh, not happening.

“I assure you, it is plain cranberry juice. Scout's honor,” He said, giving the solemn Boy Scout salute as a show of honesty.

I did see him just open it...

Oh, fuck it, I'm dyin' here, Faith thought before clamping her mouth down on the straw in front of her, and sucked at it gratefully. Jasper smiled as the box crumpled in his hand before Faith let the straw go, her thirst only partially quenched but at least her throat didn't feel like the Sahara anymore.

Before she could stop herself, she muttered a "Thank you," her voice now back where it belonged.  

And you just thanked your captor. Nice Spencer, real nice.

“You're most welcome!” Jasper said, surprised at her manners.

"I don't believe we were ever properly introduced at the Mariner's Gala. Jasper Evangeline Nox," He said, removing his hat. Bowing deep in front of Faith with his ponytail of red hair tumbling over his shoulder, he took hold of her restrained hand and gave the back of it a gentlemanly kiss.  

Faith could only imagine what this looked like. She also wondered if all kidnappers introduced themselves this way.

"It is quite the pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. These past few weeks have proven you to be an interesting character, to say the least," Jasper continued, regarding Faith like a specimen of a science experiment.

“What do you want?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as evenly toned as possible. Sounded desperate or freaked out wouldn't help matters any.

“Straight to the point! Most unlike a woman, how refreshing!,” He said, clasping his hands together in delight. The dig at her gender made Faith's nose wrinkle.

“All I am looking for is the location of the diary of John Wilkes Booth. Once you give me that, you can be on your way,” He said, making it sound as simple as drawing a square.

“It's with the rest of the Lincoln stuff. Some fort, in the middle of fuckin' nowhere,” She told him, the last word managing to just leave her lips before Jasper brought his cane down hard on her hand with a thwap!

“Language!” He bellowed. The word carried through the concrete corridor like a boom of thunder and echoed through the archways into the courtyard inside. Faith closed her eyes and bit the inside of her lip to keep from yelling, or cursing even more. She flexed her fingers. Thankfully, they all moved, despite the throbbing in the top of her hand.

"I will not tolerate such foul language coming from a woman. Is this understood?" Jasper said, enunciating each word slowly. He leaned forward. His face close to hers, evil green eyes staring over the head of his cane that threatened the space between the two of them. Faith glanced down at the figurehead, the hooked beak nose of the black eagle almost touching hers.

Don't ever argue with crazy people, Boogie, the words of wisdom from Susan Spencer burbled up to the surface of her mind, making her yearn for the warm safety of her mother's arms.

Faith gave a small nod.

“Good, now that we have that little matter out of the way, we can resume business. Where is the Booth diary?”

“I don't know other than with the rest of the Abraham Lincoln stuff,” Faith spoke truthfully.

“You're sure of this fact?” Jasper verified.

“Yes.”

“And where is that located?”

Faith sighed in frustration. The redundancy of his questioning making her grow restless.

“Fort Jefferson, it's in the middle of the...ocean, in the middle of...nowhere,” Her voice trailed as the realization of her current location settled in.

“Yes Miss Spencer, I had managed to deduce that much, as you have finally seemed to recognize,” Jasper said with a grand sweep of his hand to the building that surrounded them, the sarcasm in his voice more than evident.

“75 miles to the closest thing around that could even remotely be considered as civilization,” He continued, his voice hollow in her ears where she heard nothing but the sound of her heart trying to pound its way through her rib cage.

I'm alone in the middle of nowhere, I'm alone with a mad man, I'm alone, I'm alone.

Whap!

Jasper brought the head of his cane down hard on Faith's other hand, the beak breaking the skin enough for a bead of blood to form.

“Focus!” Jasper yelled, “You will pay attention as well as using appropriate language is this understood?” He said, bringing his face closer to hers with each snarled word.

“Yes,” Faith agreed.

“Wonderful, now shall we continue?” Jasper questioned breezily, his menacing demeanor changing quick as the tides. When Faith didn't answer immediately, his eyes began to darken again. Jasper cleared his throat, enough to bring Faith out of her momentary daze and her focus back towards him.

"Mm-hmm," She said with an emphatic nod.

"I really am a reasonable man Miss Spencer, I just simply want what is mine. To be quite honest, besides that Booth diary, I couldn't give two dimes for what happens to the rest of that stuff. Burn it, sell it, throw it in the ocean for all I care as long as I get what is mine."

"How's that diary yours?" Faith asked. In all the research she and Sam had done, she had never seen Jasper's name or even the surname of Nox.

"A brief history lesson then," Jasper began as he took off his hat, trying fruitlessly to wipe away the sand and dirt on the floor before placing it down on the aged cement. "By now, I'm sure you are aware of Mrs. Lincoln and her proclivities to collecting all things concerning the matter of her husband's tragic death.”

Wow, Confederate sympathizer much? Maybe? Just a touch?

Faith gritted her teeth to contain her sarcastic quip and snort. With both of her hands still stinging, she knew to keep her mouth shut.

"It was confirmed, multiple times, over the years, that one of the items she had acquired was the private journal of one John Wilkes Booth. And stored within the pages of that folio lies the Atzerodt confession," He finished, both hands clasped together in front of him, his good hand masking his bad.

“What Atzerodt confession?”

Jasper sighed and shook his head at Faith like she was the world's biggest disappointment.

“I see this history lesson won't be as brief as I'd hoped. John Booth, you see, his action was just one of many to be carried out that night. While Mr. Booth was set to take care of Mr. Lincoln, a man by the name of George Atzerodt was charged with the disposal of-”

"Andrew Johnson, the vice president," Faith interjected, hoping to speed this along. Jasper regarded her interjection with a look of somewhere between impressed and irritated. He began to pace as he told the rest of the tale,  

"Now this group of rebel seditionists, determined to change the course of history by disposing of the current government regime, met in secret for months until their plan was set. While Booth did manage to succeed in his part of the plan, Mr. Atzdrodt did not."

“He got drunk and chickened out,” Faith added. Jasper's face snapped towards her in anger.

“He changed his mind and came to his senses now may I continue?” He yelled, annoyed, his arms stretched dramatically apart.

Faith closed her eyes while her stomach flip-flopped, waiting to feel the cane on her hands or somewhere worse on her body. When nothing came, she looked up at Jasper meekly.

“I'm sorry,” She said in barely a whisper.

"Now," He continued, setting his cane aside momentarily to smooth the front of his shirt, "When the dust had settled, and the government had rounded up their band of rebels, Mr. Atzerodt gave the constables a detailed confession of the groups treasonous crimes. The secret meetings, the gathering of provisions by Dr. Mudd and the Surratts. He even handed over the diary Mr. Booth kept, the whole kit n' caboodle. And did you know it was only meant to be a kidnapping? There was no talk of murder before John Booth went and changed his mind!"

Faith was at a loss for words, unsure how someone could be so bitter and dramatic from something that happened so long ago?

"Meanwhile, Dr. Mudd insisted that Mr. Booth was a friend, nay, an acquaintance! That he knew nothing! And he was just upholding his medical oath," Jasper spat the words out, leaving shiners of saliva in his red mustache.

"What about what they got from Atzerodt?" Faith asked curiously, she didn't see herself getting out of this predicament anytime in the immediate future. After weeks of no information and no leads, the reason for this journey seemed to be coming to a head, the answers she'd been searching for somewhere close.

"Now Dr. Mudd knew what that confession could mean for him, it was his golden ticket. Between the time they were questioned and the trial, the confession vanished along with Booth's diary, which of course would have been just as damnatory for him. Gone. All traces either ever existed, erased! Dr. Mudd was given leniency while George Atzerodt swung from the gallows. Of course, between the words of a distinguished doctor, or a carriage repairman, whose story do you think they chose to believe?"

Faith let the lapping of the ocean fill the moment of silence. Jasper was on a roll and Faith was too afraid of the consequences of stopping it.

“Dr. Mudd became a prisoner here and very soon assured everyone he had changed his ways. Became a model inmate, helped out as fort doctor when the yellow fever hit. So they decided to let him go! Then, years later, the government had nothin' else betta' to do an' they went n' pardoned the slick son of a bitch!” Jasper's thick southern voice grew from a bitter annoyance to a core-deep frustrated roar as he slammed his cane down violently against the floor. Faith jumped, the sound reminding her of a pool cue being accidentally dropped.

With a sigh and a surprising gracefulness, Nox bent down and picked up his cane with his good hand.

“I deeply apologize Miss Spencer for my language.”

"What do you want with me?" Faith asked quickly. The question had been screaming in her head since she had regained consciousness. She had been too afraid of the possible answer until now, convinced if she had to listen to her psychopathic kidnapper apologize to her one more time, she was going to scream.

"As I have said, you just need to simply tell me the location of John Booth's diary," Jasper said, his original temperament returned.

“It's with the Lincoln stuff,” She repeated. She was really getting tired of this question.

"Yes, and where is that?" He pushed.

“I have no idea. Ask Sam Drake, he's the treasure hunter.”

Sam, her brain turned to him for the first time in what felt like it had been days.

“I think you do,” Jasper retaliated.

“How in the world do you think I know where it is?” Faith asked, thoroughly irked.

Oh, Jesus Sam, where the hell are you?

“Well, it's not without reason, Miss Spencer, you are a Mudd after all.”

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Last Minute Shopper - 1/1

Prompt: Barry and Iris bond over being last minute shoppers on Christmas Eve after not seeing each other for years. 

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1144

A/N: Requested by Anon

If there existed a hell on Earth then Iris knew it was being at a grocery store on Christmas Eve half an hour before it closed.

All sense of Christmas cheer and good will towards your fellow men had disappeared from the shoppers. All that remained was a frantic and aggressive energy as they searched for the last items on their list. Eyes darted about the near empty shelves while keeping their guard up with fellow shoppers. The retail staff having been working long hours for weeks were too exhausted and didn't even attempt to intervene if fights broke out.

Iris hated being here but she was desperate. Being the intern at Picture News left Iris with no time to do any Christmas shopping. Normally that wouldn't be a problem except she promised her family she would host Christmas dinner this year. All she had in her fridge back at her apartment was a container of half eaten yogurt and carrot sticks. Not exactly enough to put together a Christmas dinner.

Iris mentally went through her list as she careened her cart down the aisles. Cranberries, check. Sweet potatoes, check. Green beans, check. Rosemary, check. Potatoes, check. She nearly had everything she needed except the most important part of the meal, the turkey. There was no point to the rest of the dinner if she couldn't get a turkey. She could already hear the voice of disapproval from her dad for not being better organized.

Iris found herself in the meat section. The shelves nearly bare from being picked out. Iris's eyes frantically searched for a turkey.  She nearly jumped with joy when she spotted the very last one.

The moment of triumph was ruined when Iris locked eyes with the middle aged woman who'd been eyeing the same turkey.

They both paused for a tense moment before they broke out into a run towards the turkey. Iris cursed under her breath realizing that the woman would get to it first. Not that she'd give up. If it came to it Iris would wrestle this woman to the floor to get that turkey.

Then in a complete twist a young man stepped in-between them up to the turkey both women had to bring their shopping carts to a screeching halt. Without missing a beat he bent down easily taking claim what both of them wanted. Iris was already debating if she could ram her cart into his legs and make off with the turkey when the young man turned to her with a big grin.

“Hey honey, I got the turkey you wanted.”

Iris didn't quite know how to react. The last time she checked she was very much single. But she wouldn't be one to turn a very cute stranger holding a turkey for her.

“Oh. Ah yes,” iris gave what she hoped looked like a loving smile, “Thank you so much sweetie.”

The middle aged woman gave them both dirty looks. Roughly taking her shopping cart and stomping away. Iris had to resist the urge not to be childish and stick out her tongue.

“You're a life saver,” Iris turned back to the cute stranger. “I thought I would have to arm wrestle her for it.”

“I could sense blood would be spilled,” He looked a little bashful under her full gaze. “Can't have that on Christmas.”

Iris furrowed her brows thoughtfully once she realized how familiar he looked. She'd hoped if she met this man recently that she remember. Not often she crossed paths with men with sweet smiles and green eyes.  

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Iris tilted her head as she kept regarding him.  

“Yeah, yeah you do.” Barry gave a laugh. “We went to school together. And we lived down the street from each other.”

“Oh my god,” Iris's eyes widened in shock, “Barry Allen right? Its been years since I last saw you.”

Barry gave an awkward shrug and smile.

Iris struggled to meld the two images of Barry Allen in her mind to one person. The Barry Allen she knew from high school was a shy boy who always had his face in a book. The Barry Allen standing before her now was very handsome with clothes that fit him properly and showed how much he filled out.

He had the same sweet smile that Iris loved since high school. She never admitted it to anyone but Iris always had a crush on Barry and always regretted not doing anything about it.

“Are you a last minute Christmas shopper too?” Iris teased him.

“Not really,” Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “Just needed to grab a few things for dinner since the stores are closed tomorrow.”

“Aren't you going to see your parents?” Iris asked taken aback. She always remembered The Allens as being very kind and loving parents. Hard to believe Barry wouldn't spend Christmas with them.

“They're in Keystone,” Barry shrugged. “My aunt's in the hospital. So I'll be one my own for Christmas.”

Iris didn't know if it was her empathy for Barry's predicament or the opportunist side of her who saw the chance to spend more time with a cute guy. All she knew is that without even thinking she invited Barry to spend Christmas with her family.

“What?” Barry gaped at her. “You're not serious are you?”

“Completely,” Iris said growing more excited with the idea. “We always make too much food for us to eat. Plus I think my dad always had a soft spot for her.”

“I don't know...” Barry hesitated.

“Come on it'll be fun,” Iris persisted. “Plus you saved Christmas by getting the turkey its the least I can do to thank you.”

She might be pushing it too far but Iris reached out to place her hand on his arms in encouragement.. She was both gratified to feel the firm muscle there and that her touch made Barry turn bright red. It made Iris think of a lot of wicked things they could do together. Probably not appropriate thing to think about on Christmas Eve but Iris had been single for a long time now. And its not every day you meet your secret crush from high school.

“Please,” Iris fluttered her eyelashes a little and she could see his resolve weakening.

“Well if it won't be a bother,” Barry finally agreed.

“You can help me cook dinner,” Iris looped her arm through Barry's. “I haven't improved much since we were kids.”

“Didn't you almost burn down your house once trying to make cookies?” Barry laughed.

“Only the one time,” Iris winked back at him.

Iris decided that shopping the last minute had its benefit especially when you end up taking home a cute boy with you.

[iliketowrite1996]

Tying Shoelaces and New Faces part 9

 TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- SINGLE PARENTHHOOD, LIES, ILLUSIONS OT ONE NIGHT STANDS, MENTIONS OF DIVORCE

Intomba- ‘’Daughter’’ in Xhosa.

‘’Nah, man. Can’t babysit tonight. Got plans,’’ Erik tells T’Challa, and from the noise coming from his side during their phone call, T’Challa can tell that his cousin is moving something around.

   ‘’Oh? What do you have planned, N’Jadaka,’’ T’Challa inquires curiously.

   ‘’Plans,’’ his cousin says flatly, because he truly is a turd.

   ‘’N’Jadaka.’’

   ‘’I got a date with his girl. Fine as heck, chill as can be. It’s gonna be great.’’

   ‘’Ohhh, so you’re going on a date,’’ T’Challa smirks.

   ‘’Aye, man, wipe that goofy looking smirk off ya face. It ain’t even like that.’’

   ‘’N’Jadaka, you haven’t been on an actual date in two years. Now all of a sudden you have plans with someone? She must be special.’’

   There’s a momentary pause before N’Jadaka breathes on the other side.

   ‘’She is, man. I’m just tryna see where this goes, ya know?’’

   T’Challa knows very well.

   No one knows, but he’s really excited about his first date with you. So excited, in fact, that he realizes he hasn’t felt this way since Nakia.

   It’s odd feeling now, but it is certainly not unwelcomed by him.

   ‘’You’ll have to tell me about it at dinner tomorrow,’’ he insists, ‘’I’ve tot go to. I’m taking Autumn on our weekly Saturday daddy-daughter time.’’

   ‘’Sounds good, man. Tell Little Bit I love her. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’

   The cousins say their ‘’Goodbyes before T’Challa heads off to Autumn’s room, where he finds his babygirl still dressed in her pajama and staring at her clothes, little finger tapping against her chin.

   ‘’What are you doing, intomba?’’

   ‘’Trying to decide on an outfit.’’

   She currently has her cranberry, corduroy cardigan with the pink turtleneck and tights, her overalls with the multicolored sweater, and her jeans with her black turtleneck, with pink flowers embroidered on it.

   ‘’Hmm, can I help?’’

   ‘’Of course, baba!’’

   ‘’Why don't you wear this dress tomorrow to dinner,’’ he points to the outfit, ‘’And you can wear this overall outfit right now.’’

   ‘’Sounds good!’’

   ‘’Great! Now, go get washed up and come back so I can help you get changed.’’

   Getting Autumn Elizabeth Udaku ready is a process.

   First he sends her to wash up.

   Then he sends her back because she definitely did not do to the first time.

   Then he helps her get dressed.

   Then he does her hair.

   This is the department that is trickiest for him. His hair is thick, but it’s cropped short. He moisturizes it and gets it cut every so often and keeps it moving.

   Autumn has length and thickness of her hair. When down, in its curls, it grazes her shoulder.

   So T’Challa just usually pulls it into a bun, and Erik does it for his baby cousin when he can.

   Right now, he’s sliding rain boots onto her little feet, ready to head out for their day of adventures.

   ‘’Put your coat on,’’ he tells her, dusting off his jeans from where she had her foot before sliding his own shoes on.

   The dynamic duo are out of the door fairly quickly, all things (Autumn taking forever) considered.

   T’Challa always takes her through the park if the weather permits. It’s nearly November and it is cold, but the sun is shining so he does so.

   Autumn kicks the leaves as she has done every single day that he’s taken her to school this week, picking up her favorite ones and placing them into her little bag.

   ‘’Baba, where are we going?’’

   ‘’To the children’s museum. They have a new exhibit that I believe you will like,’’ T’Challa informs his daughter, stopping to pick her up and place her on his hip so that he can carry her.

   ‘’Yay! Is it about movies?’’

   She’s bringing it up because he watched two movies with her last night, to make up for cutting move night a bit short last week because of his date.

   T’Challa doesn’t regret the date. Not in the slightest.

   But Autumn Elizabeth Udaku will  always come first, and he knows that you’ve already accepted that.

   Maybe that’s why he finds himself already falling for you.

   ‘’Actually, yes! It’s about some old movies that your grandpa and I used to watch together,’’ T’Challa confirms.

   His little girl is practically buzzing with anticipation as they reach the ticket booth and he buys three tickets.

   Confusions sets into her soft features as she counts the tickets and then herself and T’Challa.

   ‘’Why is there one more?’’

   ‘’Because Auntie Shuri wanted to spend time with her favorite niece!’’

   Autumn squeals as she turns to find her Auntie behind her, reaching out for her as she does so.

   T’Challa elts his little girl leave his arms as Shuri holds her close, pressing a kiss to her smoothed back curls, ‘’Look at you! You’ve grown so much!’’

   ‘’Baba says I’m getting taller every day,’’ the little girl beams proudly, showing off her tooth gap, ‘’Someday I will be as tall as him.’’

   T’Challa watches fondly as two of his favorite young women catch up, Shuri carrying the four-year-old into the museum.

   Autumn absolutely adore the exhibit, especially the one about the musical she used to watch with her bhabi in rainy days.

   ‘’Do you like that one,’’ Shuri had asked her niece after getting permission to take a picture of the young girl in front of the exhibit.

   Autumn nods enthusiastically, eyes wide with curiosity and the need to explore.

   She looks so much like Nakia when she does that, that T’Challa can see how she truly is a perfect blend of their personalities and features.

They exit the exhibit an hour after they arrive, T’Challa holding one of Autumn's hands as Shuri holds the other.

The little girl is enthralled with playing with the sand at the ‘’Dinosaur Exhibit’’ when Shuri turns to her brother.

‘’Who’s the girl?’’

T’Challa turns to her with wide eyes, ‘’W-what?’’

‘’You’re grinning all goofy and lovesick-like. Who’s the girl? There obviously is one,’’ Shuri shrugs, tossing her braids over her shoulder.

‘’What do you know,’’ T'Challa raises an eyebrow at his younger sister.

‘’More than you,’’ she mirrors his expression.

‘’Just someone I’ve been on one date with. We are meeting up again tonight,’’ he tells her, because there truly is no point arguing with Shuri.

‘’I see. Do baba and mother know?’’

‘’No, and I’d like to keep it that way,’’ he stresses, ‘’Until I see if something is going to come of it.’’

He really hopes that something does, but he won’t tell her that.

‘’Ahh, forbidden love,’’ she nods sagely, as if she has the wisdom of an elderly woman,’’Been there?’’

‘’Shuri, what?’’

‘’I’m kind of seeing this guy from my class. He’s really wet, really smart. Kind of a dork. Has a thing for old pop culture references.’’

‘’Do our parents know,’’ T’Challa questions, training his eyes back on Autumn.

‘’Mother does. Baba does not. Not yet, at least. You know how he can be.’’

‘’Protective,’’ T’Challa nods with a sigh.

‘’Yeah, that,’’ she shakes her head, ‘’I don’t want to hear it from him now. It would make things complicated.’’

That’s part of why T’Challa has not told N’Jadaka about his dates with you. The fewer people that know,t he better for the two of you.

Why invite the outside mess in before you know if there is going to be any business for them to even get into?

‘’Your secret's safe with me, brother. But I say we go get my niece and grab an early dinner. I’m hungry.’’

T'Challa thanks his baby sister with a smile before the pair retrieves Autumn and head out, looking for a kid-friendly restaurant to enjoy.

They settle on a pizza place, and Shuri is wiping Autumn’s face with a napkin as T'CHalla receives a text from you.

‘’Can’t wait for tonight! Dress casually, wear something you don't’ care  messing up’’

Thank goodness for Shuri being able to babysit Autumn tonight.

He can’t imagine where you’re taking him, but he knows that it'll be great because he’ll be with you.

He looks to Autumn, who is giggling as she and Shuri blow bubbles in their drink, because he can’t take them anywhere.

‘’Eh, stop that,’’ he chuckles at the two.

He has a great baby sister, wonderful daughter, and a date with you to look forward to.

Could this day get any better?

The day could not get any better form that moment, but it certainly did get awkward.

T’Challa found out that you wanted to go play paintball. That’s cool.

You bring along Sanaa and wait for her date. Alright.

Her date is N’Jadaka Udaku himself, who is looking at T’Challa like he’s struggling to put the pieces together.

   When you return from the bathroom to join them, he does.

   ‘’We gon’ talk later,’’ he says, shooting T'Challa a look before putting on his gear.

   It’s you and T'Challa against him and Sanaa, and you have a blast. Erik and Sanaa are a match, because they both break into the same happy dance and are already finish each other's sentences.

   ‘’So,’’ Erik turns to his cousin as you and Sanaa head to the bathroom before you all leave to go get dinner, ‘’You finally asked Little Bit’s teacher out.’’

   His tone and expression are both unreadable, so T'Challa treads lightly, carefully.

   ‘’Yes…’’

   A bright grin spreads across N’Jadaka’s face, and T’Challa feels relief washing over him like water, ‘’THAT’S MAH BOY.’’

   ‘’Keep your voice down, N’Jadaka!’’

   ‘’Look At my little cousin, man, taking chances and going on dates and getting numbers.’’

   ‘’I am literally a month younger than you, N’Jadaka.’’

   ‘’Don’t care, man,’’ Erik shrugs as he sees it and Sanaa returning, ‘’We gon’ talk about this some more later.’’

   It’s communicated only through a hand pat on the back, but N’Jadaka supports him. So the fact that another important person in his life supports this enough.

   T’Challa don't miss the fact that N’Jadaka sends him a smirk when he notices you intertwining your finger with his.

   He has his hand on your knee during dinner, gripping tightly as you two finish your food.

   ‘’Erik and I are gonna hit up a party. Don’t wait up,’’ Sanaa hugs you before turning to T’Challa and shaking his hand, ‘’Bye, T’Challa. It was nice to meet you.’’

   ‘’Likewise, Sanaa,’’ he states before looking to Erik, ‘’I will see you tomorrow, N’Jadaka.’’

   ‘’See you, man. Catch you later.’’

   Sanaa and Erik walk off, and you somehow doubt that, even if nothing major happens, she’ll be home tonight.

   T’Challa grabs your hand again, pressing a kiss to the back of it as he guides you to the car.

   The car ride to your apartment is filled with laughter and chatter as you to rehash tells of your time playing paintball.

   ‘’N’Jadaka is his real name. Erik is the name he uses with new people and in school sometimes. Plus, it was easier for Shuri to say ‘Erik’ when she was younger, and now it’s easier for Autumn to say it.  If he likes you and trusts you, though, he lets you call him ‘N’Jadaka’.’’

   ‘’Good to know,’’ you nod, admiring their close relationship.

   ‘’Still mad at you.’’

   You gape at the handsome man, ‘’What did I do?!’’

‘’That girl, Annabelle.., yeah, we never should have let her join our team! We should've gone with her brother,’’ T’Challa shakes his head amused.

   ‘’She actually shoot paintballs at me, like, girl! We are on the same team! We just lost!’’

   ‘’Can we please discuss how N’Jadaka and Sanaa’s dance is the Cabbage Patch? Like, why is that both of their go-to dance?’’

   ‘’Because they are a match made, T’Challa,’’ you giggle.

   He sombers up a bit, eyes trained on the road,and you worry if you said the wrong thing.

   ‘’They really are. He seems happy. This was god for him, ‘’T'Challa says as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex.’’

   He pulls into a parking spot, turning off the car and pulling the key out of the ignition.

   ‘’So… I really like you,’’ T’Challa says, turning to you.

   ‘’I really like you, too, T’Challa.’’

   ‘’I’m not… I don’t want to rush into anything. I can’t afford to. Not with Autumn,’’ T’Challa reminds you.

   ‘’I know. I don’t, like… I don’t want to rush into this, either. It’s just not me, I can’t go fast,’’ you agree with him.

   ‘’I would really like to see you again,’’ T’Challa says earnestly.

   ‘’I’d like to see you again, too.’’

   ‘’Great! We can work it out for next weekend sometime. Um… can I kiss you again?’’

   You nod, and he leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips like he did eight days ago.

   For some reason, the spark ignites a fire that burns inside you, and it is a fire of bravery. That is why you ask him: ‘’Do you want to come up?’’

   He nods, knowing that Autumn is safe and sound at his parent’ house.

   He has one thing he never seems to have enough of during the day: time.

   T'Challa won’t lie and act like he doesn’t want to spend it with you.

   ‘’I don’t want to, like… I don’t want you to think that…’’

   You trail off, trying to find the right words as ou fish for you keys.

   ‘’We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk. I just want to spend time with you.’’

   It’s softly spoken and sweetly stated,a node nothing but fan the flames of bravery that are rushing inside of you.

   So here you go.

   You talk.

   And talk.

   And talk.

   You discuss past relationships. How you haven't had someone since last year that you could just talk to like this.

   He tells you about his divorce and being a single dad.

   He loves her so, so rich that it makes you realize how truly they adore each other.

   He tells you more about Wakanda as you tell him more about your hometown, groin up, and your college years.

   His hand rests on your shoulder, playing with the fabric of your sweatshirt as you do so.

   And it’s nice, because you trust him. It has only been short while since you met, but there’s something about this man that you can’t quite explain.

   It’s just… nice.

   It’s twelve in the morning when he stands, grabbing his coat as you walk him to the door.

   ‘’Can I kiss you,’’ you ask this time.

   He chuckles and nods, pressing his lips to yours for the second time that night.

   This kiss is different, though. It deepens ,and suddenly his hands are in the pockets of your ripped,faded jeans as he lies across the couch, you on top of him. His lips are warm and full as they move against yours, and the only sounds are soft groans and the sounds of you two kissing.

   It’s hot and it’s passionate. This is not love, but it’s stronger than infatuation

   With a start, you realize what it is: potential.

   Potential for a relationship that could be well worth the leap you’d have to take.

Into possibly getting your heartbroken.

Into this not working out.

Into this being something beautiful.

He moans into the kiss, bringing you out of your thoughts.

He hasn’t been kissed like that in ages.

‘’That was amazing,’’ you breathe out as you sit up so that he can't stand up.

‘’It was,’’ he kisses you once more, letting your lips move together for a few more seconds, ‘’But I must get home.’’

You stand to let him out then, a final goodbye kiss punctuating the last sentence in the story of your second date.

You go to sleep with a smile on your face and a warm feeling in your stomach.

Across the city, T’Challa does the same thing.

Something was born tonight: potential.

Potential for something great, a for a good and healthy relationship that the both of you deserve.

It’s up to you to grow that potential into a reality.

But based on the goodnight text and third date idea he just sent you before you went to sleep…

You have no worries about that being a problem.

DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN MARVEL CHARACTERS OR THEIR FICTIONAL WORLDS, UNIVERSES, OR COUNTRIES. 

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