#like is it my fault that your car is bigger than the damn road?! go back to america

[lezzian]

carheads when they almost kill a cyclist because they're driving a fucking monster truck: oh sorry i didn't see you there! be more careful next time!

[hotdamnhunnam]

Midnight Ride: Grab & Grind

A/N: Who doesn’t love every damn inch of Jax Teller?? Anyone else obsessed with this man’s magnificent hands and his muscular thighs in particular? Yes? This fic is based on the below request—tonight you and Jax are out for a ride... he discovers your kink for his hands and his thighs, which leads to fingering and thigh riding and fucking you on his bike, right on the roadside.

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, light choking, fingering and finger sucking, thigh riding, public sex (roadside fucking), dom!Jax Request: SUPER HOT request for hand/thigh kink + public sex from @littlebennettwitchsblog

Word Count: ~2.3k

Suddenly you’re not on the road. You’re in it.

You really fucking feel that, right this minute. That was how your badass biker boyfriend had always described it, before he decided to show you firsthand—what happens around 92 miles an hour: the rush of the engine, full-on tunnel vision, the pounding, the presence, the power. You never got just what he meant, till tonight. 

This is not your first time going out for a ride, on the back of his bike—but the speed is up high, and you finally feel what it’s like.

It feels kind of like sex, to be honest. You’re just so damn immersed, like this moment contains the whole universe. Jax fucks just like he rides—throwing in his whole heart, thrusting hard, deep inside—and the sex that you’ve had with this god of a man is the best of your life, every night. So it’s no real surprise you feel so fucking hot as you cling to him tight. Pussy throbbing with heat, thrumming up from the engine beneath. No doubt soaking the seat.

From where you sit behind Jax, tits crushed as you cleave to his back, with his denim-clad ass pressed against your wet crotch, you just take in the moment and watch. Watch his hands on the grips. Damn, those hands... strong and sculpted and skillful and so fucking big. Lick your lips. Then your gaze wanders down toward his thighs—God, so meaty and thick—and you start feeling needy and can’t help but grind into him with the slightest motion of your hips.

It’s pure animal instinct; you cannot be blamed for this. Cannot be faulted for causing your man to lose focus. It’s his fault that he fucking noticed. Of course he did.

The engine starts to slow, and then next thing you know, he’s pulled up to the side of the road.

“Get off,” he orders as soon as the engine stops, bossy and gruff.

You can tell that you’ve brought out the side of Jax you most love. Raunchy and rough. “Mmm, get off?” you repeat, wiggling playfully on the seat. “That’s the plan, baby...”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he demands, knowing his dominance drives you crazy. “Get the fuck off the bike and stand there on the side of the road. And take off all your clothes.”

Oh hot damn... you hasten to obey him as fast as you can.

“This is what happens when a bitch tries to distract me while I ride,” Jax chides, casually seated on his bike, watching you follow orders just the way he likes. “Shut up and strip while I decide just what I’m gonna do to you tonight.”

Ugh, you have never been so motherfucking turned on. You love how stripping out in the open for Jax feels so naughty and wrong. The power that he has over you is so savage and strong.

Jax seems to love it too, setting aside his helmet, lighting himself a cigarette as he drinks in the sight of you. Taking a long lazy drag, sitting back to admire the view. Thinking of all the fifty shades of filthy shit he’d love to do.

It’s just about midnight, on some random ass stretch of freeway, so thankfully nobody else is in sight. Not as if you would care anyway, even if there were cars driving by—when Jax gives you an order, you have to obey. Powerless to defy. Your submissive desires too fierce to deny. He’s so hot you might actually die.

Beneath the highway lights, his blue eyes shine like flaming ice. “Don’t you look nice. What a pretty fucking sight to see. You like being a nasty little slut for me, buck naked on the roadside?”

“Yes, sir,” you desperately whimper.

“Good girl,” he purrs, stirring your praise kink and making your toes curl. “But you know you were being bad before, you dirty fucking whore. Grinding against me with that greedy little cunt of yours.”

Just at those words, you basically just came. You bite your bottom lip and bow your head in shame.

“Come here, slut.” Jax strips off his kutte, and then beckons you toward him and pats the backseat of his ride, blowing a wisp of smoke into the heat of the night. “I ain’t mad. Just tell me what got you so wet and worked up like that.”

You would if you could speak, but you’re so fucking weak that you honestly can’t at the moment.

“Put this on,” he orders, holding out his kutte as you approach, helping to drape the heavy leather over your bare shoulders. Jax has a total kink for seeing you in his clothes. No single piece of clothing more so than his kutte. “Don’t want you getting cold. Stay nice and hot for me, you dirty fucking slut.”

The summer night’s not cold at all, but whatever. You get what he meant, and everything feels that much hotter all wrapped up in leather. This well-worn vest always smells and feels like the essence of Jax Fucking Teller.

Settling onto the seat of his bike just as told, you keep your eyes on him, while his cut a hole through the core of your soul. He casts his cigarette to the ground. Stands up as you sit down, just to reassert his fully dominant role. Looks like he is about to devour you whole.

“Lean back a bit more,” he says. “Good little whore. Spread your legs.”

Every word off of his lips is literal sex. The way you’re situated, you lean back until you’re resting on the handlebars, not even just the faintest bit ashamed of what a total slut you are. You hardly even register the sound of passing cars. All you can see is Jax, his inner darkness bigger than the sky and deeper black, his inner fire brighter than the stars.

“Now you’re gonna give me the answers I wanted,” he snarls, as he savors the sight of his leather-clad girl, all spread out on his Harley, your tits and pussy laid completely bare for him and all the world to see. His big dick energy is so insanely rich. “Tell me—what got you so needy and wet? Go ahead, bitch. Be honest.”

As you begin to form words to respond... he suddenly comes closer and, before you even know what’s happened, one of his dominant hands is on your cunt.

“This help you out?” he taunts. “Bringing some words up to that filthy little mouth?”

No, quite the opposite—his long thick fingers toying with your clit, teasing against your soaking slit... ugh, holy fucking shit.

On instinct, your hips grind to press yourself into his hand, your whole body a quivering mess as you yield to this god of a man. He lifts his other hand up toward your face then, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. Just a few seconds in and already you’re aching to cum. He’s a merciless dom, making you so damn wet for him—dropping his hand from your mouth to your neck, cutting words off before you can even attempt to beg.

Jax never chokes you too hard... but it’s always so perfectly just hard enough, to wield total control over your every breath and each beat of your heart. Just the way you love, brutal and rough. You love knowing that these masterful hands could murder a bitch in a minute. Get off on that shit like nobody’s business.

Then he’s bringing his other hand up toward your lips, sticky and slick from all the ways he made your pussy drip. Forcing you to lick your juices off of his fingertips.

“You like the way I fucking own you with both hands, bitch?” Jax wickedly teases, as the hand around your throat squeezes. “Got a thing for this?”

Fuck, yes, you have a thing. A whole damn kink. The dirty bastard fucking knows it. This is how he fucking shows it.

“Yeah, know you love it. Such a kinky piece of shit,” he sneers—he knows his degradation is pure music to your ears. Getting you wetter with each dirty word you hear. God, you could listen to Jax Teller going on like this for years... 

Soon he finally releases his strangling grip. Slips his slick fingers out of your gasping mouth, making you moan hard and loud. Then bends down toward your face, just to steal a taste, sucking your own arousal from your lips. Groans in bliss as he savors the flavor, while letting his hands wander over your body and grope you all over—grabbing at the soft globes of your tits, gripping onto the curve of your hips—every touch of his skin upon yours opening a whole other dimension of pleasure...

“Mmm, what else gets you so fucking wet? Tell me, princess,” he asks, one hand reaching around to dig his fingers into the flesh of your ass. Blunt nails marking you up as the property of Jackson Fucking Teller. “Go ahead; be a good slut and tell me what else.”

Then you suddenly feel something rubbing against your center, a delicious pressure—Jax has shifted so that his jean-clad thigh is wedged in between your spread legs—letting you grind your pussy against the rough denim, soaking in the thickness of him... everything about him is pure sex, and you’ve never been so damn wet, ever.

“You like that?” he laughs, a sadistic snicker that has you wrapped so fucking tight around his finger. “Filthy fucking slut. Like these big hands grabbing all over you? While you grind that pussy up against my thigh just like a greedy little whore would do?”

Jax knows full well you lack the power to respond. He takes the answer from the throbbing of your cunt, obscenely wet, the way your sex-drunk eyes roll back into your head, the way your breathing comes in speechless groans and grunts. 

All of a sudden then he shifts position, leaning back against the bike himself and lifting you on top of him—given how deep you’ve sunken in total submission, he’s obviously dominating from the bottom. Holding you in place against his thigh, Jax lets you take it for a ride. He fucking smirks, watching his dirty little girl getting to work, his firm grip in control of your hips as they frantically wriggle and jerk. You’re pretty sure you’ve fucking died.

Your man has never needed words to know what turns you on. To know exactly what you want. You never had to say a thing, about your kinks—his hands, his thighs... Jax never fails to read your mind, and it’s quite honestly divine.

Then soon enough, he’s finally set to dick you down, all good and rough, spinning your whole body around, so he can fuck you from behind. He spanks your naked ass and yanks your hair violently back, your moans and his echoing out into the night. 

Leans down to whisper filthy shit into your ear—praising your pussy for being so wet and so tight, even as his massive cock splits you open wide... then gripping hard onto the handlebars, to anchor every thrust as he drives in so hard—like your whole body is a fucking Harley made for him to steer. Slamming his dick so deep it’s bringing you to tears. For all you know the whole damn world is watching what you’re doing here—on some level you hear cars whizzing by with hoots and honks, cheering you on. It feels so fucking wrong. But just because it’s Jax, so fucking right.

Especially now with the words he says next as he plows even deeper inside, growling loud with his grip on the handlebars tight, as he drives into you all spread out on the back of his bike. “Now this is a fucking ride.”

Now you’ve actually died.

Cum so hard you see stars and forget who you are. Stricken deaf dumb and blind, the inside of your mind black and bright as the fucking night sky.

By the time you’re coming back to life, Jax has laid out his flannel along the roadside, a little makeshift blanket where you can lie down, so you don’t have to settle your freshly fucked ass on the ground. It’s perfect—plaid, just like a real picnic blanket, you think as he plops you down onto the shirt, flopping down next to you with his own upper body bare against the dirt. Whatever sticks and stones there may be underfoot, you’re protected. His flannel beneath your butt, your whole torso wrapped up in his kutte. The last thing that he wants is for you to get hurt. And with him, you always know you won’t. 

You feel so damn blessed for the love that you’ve found. Sometimes it’s just the little things that count. Jax Teller has the biggest dick ever, and though you love it when it’s hard, he has an even bigger heart. It’s such a fucking treasure, and you love it when it’s soft. You fucking love the way he loves.

The two of you spend the whole rest of the night staring up at the stars, counting among the constellations all the ways you love each other and just how lucky you are. Making out like teenage lovers, and laughing about all the kinks you have yet to discover. Losing yourselves in love on the side of the road to the rhythm of randomly passing cars. 92 miles an hour, hearts racing at 92 miles a minute. The road is a part of you both, in this moment; your midnight ride’s not nearly finished. The passions that you’ve awoken on the back of his bike have no limits.

You’re not just on the road... you’re in it.

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

Hope you enjoyed this!! Would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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[kiirokero]

Outro: Love is Not Over (5)

Pairing: Daycare Teacher! Hoseok x Single Mom! Reader.

Genre: Single Parent! AU, Teacher! AU, Hybrid! AU, Fluff, Angst, Adorable Kids,

Warnings: Oh boy, self doubt, A LOT of it. angsty, momma y/n isn’t doing too good, mentions of anxiety, allusions to worthlessness, just a lot of bad intrusive thoughts that are very degrading (and not in the smexy way)

Word Count: 1.1k

Note: I have a website that calculates my word count for stories, but it also tells me the most used word. 1.4% of this chapter is the word “Yunho” lol

Summary: Years after a relationship goes south. You are the single mother of a beautiful 6-year-old golden retriever hybrid who you named Yunho. He is the light of your life. Yunho is everything to you, and you’d do anything for him. But you’re a human. Yunho doesn’t care, he will tell you he doesn’t. “You’re still my Eomma. No matter what.” He says. But you can’t help but feel like you will never be enough for him. You can’t be the mother he deserves. You can’t show him the ropes of being a hybrid, and you can’t teach him things the other moms can. But you try. You try your damn hardest. So, when a handsome German Shepard hybrid comes into your life, helping you and guiding Yunho in a way you can’t, you can’t help the cozy home he sets up in your heart.

Chapter Guide:

Previous / Next (Coming Soon)

Tag List: @kurochan3 @mrcleanheichou @anonymous-armys-blog @alanasfashion @purelyecstacy​ Blogs highlighted in bold could not be tagged. Please message me privately so we can resolve the problem and I can tag you next time ^^

      Being an adult was exhausting. Especially the part where you pretend that you're listening when the bank teller states you should’ve cashed in your paycheck 2 days ago to get a lesser fee. Thanks Pat, I’ll think of that next time I’m working my ass off and talking care of a six-year-old, lovely advice, you are so helpful. 

     But it was enough to distract me from the underlying inferiority I felt every time I saw a dog hybrid in passing, even if it was just for a bit. I understood that the trend today was short fur and undercuts, but what if their fur was short for a bigger reason? Was it just their style or was it practical? Is long fur bad for your health? 

      These questions never left my head as I got some time to myself. I was on my way to pick up Yunho from his little daycare adventure. Hyejin texted me occasionally throughout the day, giving me updates about how Yunho was doing. Every picture she sent had a smiling golden retriever boy who looked more than okay, perfectly happy and healthy. 

      However, it pained me that seeing him sport his long fur stirred up insecurity in me. It was like a taunt. Words playing in the back of my head, telling me I was an incapable mother, that Yunho deserved better, that when he grows up and sees these pictures, he’ll resent you. 

      Like the laughter of a jester, I was calling myself stupid, unworthy. Every single thing I’ve done imperfectly played in my head like a twisted movie from hell. Look, look, look. Look how incapable you are. Look how badly you're raising your son. Look at your failures. 

      Even if I turned on the radio, I could still hear my subconscious toying with me. Like a fly in a tarantula’s nest. Why has one person's observation affected me so much? A couple words and my resolve suddenly came crashing down? Maybe it was the one spark that needed to set off the explosion. All the TNT, lined up from previous nights consumed by irrational thoughts, now finally igniting. “You’re failing”

Rationally, I knew that wasn’t the case. 

But it’s never that easy, is it? 

“Eomma!”

“Hi, bub!” I giggled. 

      Yunho ran into my arms, tackling me onto the hard, concrete sidewalk. But I didn’t mind. Yunho squeezes me tight, scenting me with upmost enthusiasm, his tail whipping around rapidly. “I missed you,” Yunho sighed, fisting his hands into my shirt. “I missed you too baby,” I whispered, holding him just a tad bit closer, and I meant it. 

No matter how bad I felt, I’d always be okay with him around. 

      “Did you have fun?” I asked. He nodded frantically, face painted with excitement. “Yes! I got to play with legos!” He raised his arms up, expressing just how much he loved playing with the legos. “You did? That’s awesome!” I gasped, kissing my son on the forehead. 

      I stood back up on my feet, taking Yunho in my arms to carry him back to the daycare. I still had to thank Hyejin, and no doubt was she still in the office, giving me a moment with Yunho. but to my surprise, it wasn’t Hyejin that let Yunho bolt out the door and tackle me to the ground. It was Hoseok. 

      He gave me a shy wave and smile as Yunho and I entered the front office. I gave him a genuine one back. I may be fighting with myself in my head, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know, so why be cold? “Hello Hoseok,” I said, and Yunho also gives him an excited wave.

     “Hello Y/n, how was your day?” He asked, but his words were still tight, still cautious. “It was okay... Thank you for watching over Yunho for me, you and Hyejin both.” Hoseok seemed to light up a bit at my words as his smile grew wider. “It’s nothing really, Yunho is an amazing kid,” I felt my heart swell at those words, Yunho was definitely an amazing kid. I must’ve done something right. Right?

      “Yeah, he is,” I teased the boy who blushed and hid his face in the crook of my neck. I cooed at his cuteness before Hoseok spoke up again. “I-I’m sorry for earlier, I really didn’t mean to upset you.” He curved into himself a bit. 

      His apology was sincere, I knew that. From what Hyejin had told me and from what I observed, Hoseok was a good guy. He didn’t know the impact his words had, besides; it was my problem anyway. Why burden someone else?

    “I’d like to take you for a coffee sometime, as an apology” Hoseok added on after I didn’t say anything for a minute or two. I chuckled, “That sounds nice, but you don’t have to. It’s okay, really,” but Hoseok shook his head, insisting that this was the way to apologize for something that obviously struck a deep nerve. 

“Alright, I give in. Do you have a date in mind?” I asked.

“Ah... I didn’t get that far... Here, I’ll give you my number so I can text you!” Hoseok exclaimed, having an eureka moment. 

“Smooth, Hoseok, very smooth.” I giggled. 

      “Wha? Oh no! I didn’t- I mean...” Hoseok stuttered on, a flush of pink on his face. “I’m joking,” I smiled. Hoseok sighed in relief, chuckling to himself. “Here you go,” Hoseok handed me his phone, and I entered my number in his contacts with one hand, expertly. People don’t mention that one of the mom powers is being able to do things one handed. 

      “I’ll text you as soon as I can,” Hoseok promised. “I’ll be waiting,” I said, forgetting all about my worries and fears for a moment. The air felt calm, my brain relaxed, it was easier to breathe. I was thankful for that, even if the moment was short. 

      Yunho looked out the car window at the trees that lined the road. He was swinging his feet back and forth. The ears on the top of his head twitched a bit every time a new song started on the radio. The sun hit his face like a Picasso painting that screamed innocence. A portrait that slipped off the canvas, given to me, even if I wasn’t deserving of such beauty. 

      “Hey bub?” I called, glancing in the rear-view mirror to look at my son. “Yea?” He answered back, looking towards me even if he couldn���t look at my face. “Are your ears and tail okay?”

“Yep!”

“Your fur doesn’t bother you?”

“Nope!”

“Are you sure? We can cut it if it’s bothering you,”

“I don’t wanna cut it!” 

      Yunho doesn’t lie. He can’t. He always gives himself away by either avoiding my gaze or mumbling to himself. But he was confident in those words. That helped. “Okay bub, I love you.”

“I love you too Eomma,”

[shuadotcom]

Don’t Leave Me | KSJ

➤ Summary: Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

➤ Pairing: Seokjin x Female!Reader

➤ Rating & Genre: PG-15, angst, fluff (at the end), established relationship au, idolverse

➤ Warnings: A few curse words, mention of a car accident, mention of a coma

➤ Word Count: 1.8k

➤ A/N: This is for the wonderful, lovely, amazing @aroseforyoongi​! Happy birthday, Eva!!! 🎉 I hope you enjoy some angsty husband Jin you magnificent human! ❤️❤️

Nothing was out of the ordinary that morning. It was early spring, so the weather was nice out. The windows were open in the apartment, letting the warm breeze inside. The radio was turned on low on the coffee table as a ballad played. You were sitting on the couch surrounded by schoolwork as you graded papers your class had turned in that week.

Seokjin was curled up next to you, his eyes skimming over a script for a new drama he was going to start filming soon. Days like these were his favorite. He had no interviews to film, no dance routines to learn, and no one to impress except the woman sitting next to him.

"Jinnie, I want coffee." You whined suddenly, pulling Seokjin away from his reading. He raises his eyebrow at the cutesy tone in your voice that told him you wanted something.

"Well, go into the kitchen and make yourself some." 

"We don't have anymore. Wanna walk with me to the cafe down the street and get some?" 

He should've said yes to you. He should've gotten off of the couch, slipped on his shoes, and gone with you. It wasn't that far from your apartment, so it wouldn't have been too much trouble. Yet, he was feeling exceptionally lazy and didn't have the desire to move. So instead, he said no. Even when you pouted and widened your beautiful eyes at him, Seokjin still held onto his unwillingness and denied you.

"It's not that far; you’ll be fine by yourself," he said. Stupid. He had been so stupid. He sent you off with a quick kiss on the lips and a request for you to bring him back a latte. He hadn't even told you that he loved you.

You had always said that Seokjin made you feel safe. That was something that you put in your vows, which you had written yourself. He promised you, when you wed two years ago, that he'd always keep you safe no matter what. He said he would protect you against anything that'd try and hurt you.

Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

Seokjin knew something was wrong when almost an hour went by, and you weren’t home. You only lived within ten minutes from the cafe, so the walk shouldn't have taken that long. When he got the call from the hospital, he knew his worrying wasn't for nothing.

A car had blown out a tire and skidded off of the road, careening towards the sidewalk and hitting you on your way home. You’ve been in a coma for a week now, and there are no words to describe how Seokjin feels. He failed you, and this was his fault. He can’t lose you. You’re his reason for being, and if it wasn't for you, he knows he wouldn't be anywhere near as happy.

"Hey, are you going to eat?" Yoongi asks, stopping to check on his friend once again. Seokjin shakes his head, his hand still curled around your limp one. He stares at the book in his other hand, his eyes read the words, but his brain doesn’t process them.

Yoongi sighs before leaving the room. He'll bring Seokjin something anyway. It's what he's been doing the entire time you’ve been in the hospital to make sure the other man didn't pass out from starvation.

With a sigh, Seokjin puts down the book he’s been staring at and looks at the face of his wife. "Hey, honey. The doctors say even though you’re still in a coma, your vitals are looking good. You should be back to nagging me in no time,” he jokes. Seokjin could swear the corner of your mouth twitched just the slightest bit at his words.

"They also say that talking to you will help you wake up. Voices of loved ones are supposed to help stimulate your brain or something. I don't know. I mean, I told them you're already a genius, so there wouldn’t be much I could do. You'll probably wake up on your own without my help at all. You’ve always been the smarter one between the two of us." Seokjin's eyes glance towards the various machines connected to tubes in your arms, and he feels his stomach churn.

"I still can't believe...I can't believe I did this to you." His grip on your hand tightens. "All I had to do was leave the damn house, and I couldn't even do that for you. What kind of selfish bastard does that?" Seokjin's voice cracks, and he takes his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it to hold back tears. "If I could, I would go back. I would go in your place to the cafe, so this wouldn't have happened. You don't deserve to be lying in this hospital bed right now." He lets out a sob then, unable to fight back the tears that began to blur his vision.

“Y/n, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry. I promise I'll be better, and I'll protect you better. I'll get you coffee every day, whether it be from down the street or across town. Hell, I'd fly to France to get you French coffee on a whim if you wanted. I’ll get you whatever you want. I just, I can’t do this without you. You’re my voice of reason. You’re the one who leads me where I need to go in this world. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Y/n. Please, please come back." Seokjin drops his head onto the side of the bed and loses his ability to speak. He’s relieved that Yoongi had shut the door when he left the room so no one can hear him weep into the scratchy hospital sheets.

Eventually, he falls asleep in that position, his hand clutching yours and his head lying on the edge of the bed. Sleep hasn’t been easy on him and tonight is no exception. He stirs throughout the night, images both positive and negative in his head. He dreams of you finally waking up and smiling at him and telling him that you love him. 

He also dreams of you lying in that hospital bed for seven more days, then seven more months, and eventually seven more years. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt something like that. He always wakes up gasping and clutching his head after those dreams, which are more like nightmares.

Seokjin jolts awake at nearly three in the morning after a harrowing dream. The room is dark and quiet, save for the small lights and sounds coming from the medical equipment. Deciding that he needs a drink of water for his scratchy throat, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and raises himself from the uncomfortable plastic chair he had become one with.

He’s only gone for five minutes, if even that. As soon as he rounds the corner with his bottle of water in hand and sees the pair of nurses flocking towards your room, he doesn’t have to think twice before he’s hauling ass and sprinting down the hallway. 

Seokjin expects the worse in those five seconds it takes him to reach your room. He expects the machine to be displaying a flat line or for you to be having a complication of some sort. Anything could be waiting for him in that room.

The last thing he expects was for you to be awake and looking around. 

He’s frozen in the doorway as he watches the nurses ask you questions and check the machines around you. A doctor lightly pushes past him and does the same thing the nurses did. Eventually, they all file out of the room, decreeing that your vitals all seem well and that they’re happy to see you awake. Even when the two of you are alone and given your privacy, Seokjin still stands frozen at the door.

"So, are you going to just stand there and stare at me without saying hi?" You croak, adjusting your position in bed. Seokjin is next to you in a flash, fluffing the pillow behind your back and helping you get comfortable.

"I'm so sorry," he blurts out. "I am so, so sorry. Before I hug or kiss you or tell you how crazy I have been going, I just want to say that I'm sorry."

Your face frowns in confusion as you look up at him. "Sorry for what?"

"For putting you here! For letting you go by yourself and letting this happen to you! I’ve been trying for the past week to figure out something to say to you when you woke, so you'll forgive me and not think I'm a shit husband. This is my fault, and I'm sorry, and I don't know what else to say." Seokjin waits for you to yell at him or tell him how much his apologies weren't going to work this time. Instead, you roll your eyes at him and sigh.

"Seokjin, please tell me you have not been sitting here wallowing in self-pity this whole time. The fact that you think this is your fault is stupid." Seokjin opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a raised hand. "You can't be everywhere with me all of the time. We both lead different lives, and no matter how hard you try, you can't be a superhero. Accidents happen, and that's just the way life is. I love the fact that you want to protect me and all, but what happened is not your fault."

"But I-"

"But nothing."

"Y/n, just-"

"Seokjin. The only thing I want to hear is how much you missed me. I don't want you saying anything bad about yourself, and I don’t want any more apologizes."

"But baby-"

"No buts!" 

The two of you have a brief stare down until Seokjin acts. He leans forward, cradling your face in his hands, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss isn’t intense or too long, but it’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to let you know how much he’s missed you and how much he loves you. It’s soft and light and drawn out and just right. 

In his head, he’s still blaming himself, and he probably will for the foreseeable future, but he keeps it to himself as he celebrates the fact that he gets to kiss his wife again and that you’re okay. He’ll make sure he’s always there to watch over you and kiss you as much as he wants. Whether you like it or not, he’s going to keep you close to him no matter what it takes if it means you’ll be with him forever.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

tis the damn season

atsumu miya x fem reader 

the first fic in a series i like to call “Me Writing Whatever The Hell I Want” (a working title) hope u like it or dont idk im not ur boss!!!!!!!!!!

synopsis: Running away was easy when you were chasing hazy dreams of a big city that was destined to be yours, when your rear-view mirror showed nothing but your hole in the wall hometown. But now it’s all waiting tables and failing auditions. You were still running, but somehow, these winding roads always lead you back to Miya Atsumu - a man you’ve loved and left, until you return home for the holidays. 

tags: friends to lovers, exes to lovers, angst without a happy ending, established pre-relationship, friends with benefits, reader lives in Undisclosed Big City lmao who has celebrity dreams, atsumu is ur good ole southern boy (sort of), canon divergent, not edited, light nsfw, beginnings of sex but isn’t very detailed 

word count: 4220

song inspo  (tis the damn season by taylor swift)

-

i won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay… 

. . . 

The soundtrack of this early morning replayed in your head as you made a hazy drive to the neighborhood’s hardware store, cutting left onto the correct street and forcing the car’s back tire over the curb you couldn’t miss. 

The replay of events looping in your mind? A whirring, then a splashing, then your father’s booming voice shouting curse words at anyone who could hear them. Your name was laced in there somewhere with demands for you to get to the kitchen, and you couldn’t tumble down the stairs fast enough to see what in the hell was going on. 

It was your first day home for the holidays, and already it was a catastrophe. 

Somehow your dad had busted a pipe underneath the kitchen sink and a strong stream of water was spraying halfway across the room because of it - your feet landed in a shallow pool when you finally reached the first floor. You didn’t have time to think of any questions before the man at fault, who was on his knees with his head hidden under the sink relentlessly trying to turn the water off, sent you out the door with more shouts, telling you to go to Miya’s Hardware and buy… something. 

“A connector?” You were talking to yourself, thinking out loud as you finally parked, but it didn’t help you remember. All you could do was walk inside the store and hope someone knew what you needed. 

It’d been years since you had been in this shop, but it looked just the same as when you were following your dad through its isles. You didn’t even bother browsing now, though - you went straight to the back of the store to the counter, expecting to see a familiar, perhaps older, face eager to help you. 

That isn’t what you found. 

“Well, hey stranger.” 

That voice rang in your ears like you’d just heard it through a megaphone pointed directly at you. Something about it was so warm, but it left you with a shiver down your spine and goosebump ridden skin. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck standing up, and you hadn’t even turned in the direction the words came from. 

But you didn’t have to look in order to know just who it was. “Atsumu.” 

“What in the hell are you doing back in town?” His voice rang with excited confusion; it carried the same inflection as anyone who���s happy to see you. Like nearly forgotten family members at a reunion before it all goes to hell, or the way the tone of your father’s voice changes when you tell him you’re doing well and mean it. People don’t speak that way often. 

He pulled you in for a hug and you gladly reciprocated, already forgetting that you were supposed to be in a hurry. 

“Home for the holidays. How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.” 

His voice felt more like home than your four bedroom walls did, the charming drawl and depth in his words immediately reeling you in. It was familiar. You had spent a long time trying to forget about that familiarity; too long learning how to straighten out your words and lose any hint of the small town you came from. But Atsumu - he sounded like the epitome of this place. 

He didn’t give you time to reply, for one reason or another; instead he decided to push you back by your shoulders and get a good look at you. Up and down and up again, likely noticing every change you had made to your appearance in your time away. 

“Are you still wearing your pajamas, or is this a new… trend?” 

You looked down at yourself, “Shit,” and closed your jacket tight over the old graphic t-shirt you wore, but nothing could cover your pink polka-dotted pants. And you’d have been hit in the face with embarrassment if the image of your dad and the broken sink and a flooded kitchen didn’t smack you first. “Shit, no, um… I need something to fix a broken sink. Are you… do you work here now?” 

“I do - and you’re gonna need to be more specific.” 

“I don’t know, Atsumu,” you laughed, slowly realizing the bizarreness of what you were about to tell him. “I woke up to my dad shouting and water shooting out from under the sink, literally flooding the kitchen. He told me to get a part for the pipe… a connector, or a couple, or something - I don’t know.” 

“...A coupler?” 

“Yes!” 

“...He didn’t happen to tell you what size to get, did he?” 

The look on your face must have been a good enough answer for him, because he took off into a random aisle and left you wondering just how many sizes of couplers there could be. 

“This one will probably do the job,” he said as his path rounded the counter. “If it doesn’t, then, I can ignore the return policy for you. Just this once, though.” 

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu.” You made your payment and he slid your product over the counter as his elbows landed on it, leaning down to make himself comfortable. Like he thought he’d be there awhile. 

“How long are you gonna be in town?” 

“Two weeks. Why do you ask?” You knew why - you just wanted to hear him say it. 

“We should catch up.” 

He was grinning and shrugging and fidgeting with his fingers, just like he always did, and you would never turn down any offer he made you. 

“We should. I’ve got to get home, but are you free tonight?” 

“We close at six,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, meaning every word. You wondered if he knew that. 

“So will I,” he replied, and then you made your way out before you convinced yourself to stay. 

It’d been three years since you last spoke to Atsumu. In that time, you had done a lot that felt like nothing, living in a different city that felt worlds bigger than this town - that city was a place you had once convinced yourself was all yours. You had pulled off running away effortlessly. 

But it didn’t matter how much time goes by between your meetings with Atsumu. There was something there that you could never shake, the hold you had on each other was anchor tight. Ten years could pass and you would speak to each other like it had only been one day. You’d have world ending fights and one of you would always come crawling back, letting the other win as long as it meant things would go back to normal. 

You couldn’t describe it. You never tried, you didn’t need to. The unspoken acts between the two of you didn’t need to be explained. It was something akin to a best friend with all the benefits included and most of the strings attached - confusing and nerve wracking but still so comforting. 

Atsumu was the closest thing to home you had in this town, and somehow every road always leads back to him. With a few detours on your part, of course, because you just couldn’t stay away too long. Even moving across the country didn’t change that - not like you thought it would. 

You just barely missed the turn into your driveway, being so distracted by your thoughts. So much was rushing back, so much that shouldn’t be - it isn’t a big deal, it’s just Atsumu, but it felt grand, like this was some massive reunion. 

But it wasn’t. You were only here to celebrate Christmas with your family. You weren’t even planning on seeing Atsumu, let alone meeting up with him or rekindling any kind of flame that was once there. 

And it was such a rush that you couldn’t even question why he was working at his father’s store - or why he was even in this town at all. What happened to the dreams he was chasing? 

For what felt like the first time in your life, you had questions for him. But you’d have to wait all day to ask them. 

. . .

You were thankful to come home to a dry floor and a calmer father - he finally figured out how to turn the water off and decided to fix the pipe later. You knew he’d inevitably be paying someone more qualified to repair it, but your mind had no space for that problem. 

You were still trying to figure out how you’d meander the night with Atsumu by the time he was picking you up, and when the two of you arrived at his home you still hadn’t found your answer. 

Easing into this would be best, and once alcohol was introduced to the equation it would turn into a slippery slope. 

Nothing was hard with Atsumu. You knew that - that’s why you couldn’t figure out why you were having such a hard time talking to him. 

A lot had changed. Not between the two of you, not exactly. You were right back where you were three years ago: on his couch, sitting too close to him, laughing at something he had said that was only funny because he said it. 

But your lives had changed. Your worlds had changed. His mind had very obviously changed, and because of it all, you couldn’t keep pretending that the two of you were teenagers again. 

You had to bite the bullet and ask the question that was on your mind, completely knowing that he could throw a hard hitting question back at you.

It came out more effortlessly and lighthearted than you expected. “So… what happened to playing volleyball?”

Atsumu scoffed. “You still remember that pipe dream? Nothing happened, it was just childish.” 

You didn’t like his answer, so you pressed him. You worked up the courage to start this conversation, so you were going to get to the bottom of things. “You said you wanted to catch up - I know you, Atsumu. You get what you want and you wanted to play volleyball. You were going to be a pro, you were good.” 

“I know you know me,” he said, and the smirk on his lips didn’t go unnoticed by you. “I wanted to get drunk and chat, not start up a fucking therapy session.” 

You sat patient and waiting, eyes on him, refusing to go without the answer to your question. You were teasing, really, eyeing him up and grinning as you watched him struggle. The problem was: you didn’t expect the answer you’d get. 

“I - I had the chance.” There was a scratch in his throat that wasn’t caused by the whiskey he’d just swallowed. “I was being scouted and playing my ass off and there were talks of being on an Olympic team one day, but… shit happens, and that’s it.” 

“What shit, Atsumu? You didn’t just give up, did you? Were you scared or something?” 

You didn’t realize how close you were to him until his hand came down to rest on your knee, and both of you focused on that touch as his next thoughts became words. “Dad got sick. And ‘Samu had just opened the restaurant, and… there were bills to pay and the store to run. Even though I wasn’t his preference, Dad had no choice and left the legacy of Miya’s Hardware to me, so - that’s where I am.” 

“Oh. I… I had no idea - I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine. You were already long gone by then - don’t say sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you hugged him without thinking, but he hugged you back all the same. “I’m sorry, ‘Tsumu.” 

“It’s okay,” he told you, but you didn’t feel okay. You were sure he didn’t, either. “It’s not your fault.” 

You pulled away from him just enough to look at his face, and you hadn’t noticed the distance in his eyes until just then. As you looked at him, you realized it was only familiar to now. It wasn’t there years ago, when you got to look into those eyes every day. 

“I should’ve been there for you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, but his words were dangling on an edge. He didn’t quite mean them. “You were off in your own dream. I got through it.” 

You only nodded. You weren’t sure what else to say after that. 

As Atsumu sat back against the couch, he brought you with him, tucking you under his arm against his chest. His lips on your forehead made you close your eyes and for a second, it was like you were both nineteen again. You could’ve been, if time would only slow down or freeze or go back - what wouldn’t you give for that? 

“I’m done talking about me,” he mumbled. “I wanna hear about your life now.” 

You laughed, but quiet, “My life’s been fine.”

“Only fine?” 

“You don’t see me on the big screen, do you?” 

He laughed this time. “Not yet. One day, though. Have you gotten used to the city yet?” 

“Oh… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but… it does feel like home now. It’s so different from living here.” 

“I bet.” 

“I try not to romanticize it, but - I don’t know. It feels good, even if it’s not what I thought it’d be. The lights are pretty bright. Blinding compared to here.” 

His response was a nod, and that was it. If he had any questions or comments, he held them back. 

A break in the silence came soon, though. “You know,” he said, quiet, with a small laugh that was humorless, “I’m not as good at getting what I want as you think I am.” 

“That’s not true,” you replied, and you were setting up an argument you weren’t ready to make. “You got me.” 

“Did I?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Silence lingered, and after too long you sat up and looked at him, and that got him to talk. 

“Nothing,” he insisted. He pulled you closer with two fingers holding your chin, and you didn’t resist. “Nothing, baby. Let’s just… just be quiet for a while.” 

There wasn’t time for you to say anything else. His lips were on yours the moment he got his last word out. And even though you expected him to kiss you, it still made you gasp. 

You couldn’t describe how much you missed kissing someone you wanted to, and Astumu’s kiss was like finding home. His lips were like candy, sweeter than sugar; his bite was a freezing shock that always pulled a giggle and a whisper of his name out of you. He knew how to kiss you, slow and deep with a hand on your jaw to keep you there, never leaving you wanting more because he gave everything you could ever need. 

It didn’t take long for his kisses to trail down your neck, or for his shirt to come off, or for your back to land on the couch. You had already reached euphoria just seeing him hovering over you, eyes soft and hair askew; you didn’t need anything but this. You’d never want anything but this. 

You did what you always did - trailed your hand down his torso, over his golden skin, stopping just after every freckle or scar or mark. This time, you were looking for something new. You didn’t find anything. You didn’t stop until your hand landed on his waist, and there, you squeezed - 

“Stop, you little shit,” and he laughed, right along with you. A real and genuine laugh - you hadn’t heard that song in a long time. “Why do you always do that?” 

Finally he moved down to press his chest against yours, his hips locking in place between your legs. A perfect combination. 

“Why do you always give me the chance?” You were still laughing, not able to get over the cute sight. Atsumu was always so ticklish there, right on his waist, and when you made that discovery you swore you’d never forget it. And he sure as hell wished you would have. “You’re so cute. I’ve missed that smile.” 

“I’ve missed you,” he replied. Somehow you just knew that he meant it. 

“Don’t. I’m here.” 

“You’re here,” he repeated. Like he was reassuring himself. 

You took the initiative to unbutton your shirt yourself, so that there was no way for him to think that you wanted this to stop there. It couldn’t, not when you had him this close. And his eyes followed the popping buttons like stalking prey. 

“And you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fucking hell.” 

You cringed - you couldn’t help the feeling in your gut when he gave you those sweet words. You knew he meant them in some way; you knew Atsumu wouldn’t lie to you. He’s never told you anything just for the sake of it. But how many times, in the last three years, had someone done just that? Told you just what you wanted to hear so they could get inside you? It was vile the first time. The second, it made you ache. But now, you’re used to it. Nobody means what they say. You’re used to it. 

And Atsumu could snatch up any girl he wanted. A girl who’s used to blinding lights and expensive wine and lying - or a girl who would stay with him, who wouldn’t push his buttons, who would be effortless in her charm and wit and beauty. 

You couldn’t put yourself in either category. 

“You haven’t seen many, then.” 

“Why would I even need to when I’ve got you? You’re a fucking dream. All I ever think about.” 

You shook your head, not even noticing you were doing it. Atsumu wouldn’t have it. 

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not when you know what you do to me. You’ve got my heart beating out of my chest, for fuck’s sake - it has been since you walked into the store.” 

You never knew him to be so open with his feelings, or maybe you had just gotten used to being lied to. You weren’t sure and you didn’t care - all you could think about was kissing him, so you pulled him in, and you were sure he would devour you. You’d have no problem with that. 

It was desperate when you said, “I need you.”

And reassuring when he replied, “I’m right here.” 

He wasn’t close enough. You didn’t think he ever could be. And it was right then, when you were swimming in desperation, that you realized you shouldn’t have been doing this. It would only make leaving even harder. Doing it the first time was hell, letting him watch you leave and be okay with it. You hated yourself for wishing he wasn’t. And you were drowning. 

You hated yourself for leaving. 

You hated yourself more for coming back. 

And you didn’t want to be there, all of a sudden, despite the ache in between your thighs and the addicting warmth he had you trapped in. You didn’t want to be there and you didn’t want to leave, either - you only wanted something easy, but you’d never have it. Not here, and not in the city, and not with Atsumu. 

You felt him freeze, felt things shift. You hadn’t even noticed the way your energy had completely dropped. 

“Something wrong?” He moved up to hold your face. He noticed the tears in your eyes before you did. 

It was hard to look at him but you held his gaze, and his touch hurt more than it healed but you yearned for it. The concern on his face was genuine, the gentle strokes of his thumb on your cheek weren’t forced, and it all was making your stomach turn. 

He cared for you - obviously he did - but not enough to ask you to stay. Not enough to find trouble in letting you leave him. So maybe you shouldn’t have a problem with it, either. 

“No,” you said through a sore throat and a locked jaw. “Sorry, just…” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he told you. “We can just talk - I want to talk. If it’s too much -” 

“It’s okay,” you said. You tried to mean it as much as, “I miss you, Atsumu. I want you - touch me, I miss you.” 

“I know,” and he was wiping the tears off of your cheeks as he kissed your lips, “I’ll take care of you, baby, just let me. Stop thinking so much. Let me take care of you like I always do, yeah? You want me to help you feel good?” 

You always had a problem with that - thinking too much. He never hesitated to call you out on it. You nodded your head, strong and fast, like you were trying to knock the thoughts right out of it. 

“Please, ‘Tsumu.” You were crying for him, pulling him closer. “Need you. Make it better, please.” 

“I’d do anything,” he said. “You gotta quit crying, baby. You’re acting like our first time again.” 

You laughed at that, wiping your own tears and knocking his hands away. “God, that was so embarrassing.” 

“It was cute.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

“It was kinda hot, too.” 

“Atsumu!” 

It was his deep grin that made you relax again, and so did another blissful kiss that took your breath in a way that you enjoyed. 

“You can cry, baby,” he said, popping buttons on both of your pants, “as long as it’s because of how good I’m making you feel. That’s what you need, pretty girl. Let me show you how much I’ve been missing you - get these pants off, baby, let me see you.” 

He didn’t give you the chance to cry any more, at least not in an emotional sense. Your mind was stripped with your body, filled with nothing but him, no space between the two of you left for insecurities or questions. 

It wasn’t until he coaxed you into his bedroom that those things had the chance to creep back. 

Atsumu was out cold, cuddled into your chest and holding on tight to your waist, after smothering you in soft kisses and sweet sleepy words. You were comfortable there, warm and safe and content, but the pit in your stomach only grew. You watched him sleep, his mouth slightly open and eyes softly closed, and you wanted to reach down and kiss him but you resisted. 

It was late and you should be asleep but you couldn’t rest. You couldn’t stop loathing yourself long enough to close your eyes, and the more you thought, the harder it got to breathe. Your throat was sore again. Your eyes were watering again. And every word you wanted to say to Atsumu was tumbling out of your mouth and falling onto sleeping ears. 

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

He didn’t stir. It was still rumbling breaths and the whir of the air conditioner filling the silence. 

“Everyone else did. But you. Why… You of all people should know I’m just as worthless there as I am here - I’ll never make it - I’ve changed everything and still…” 

You sucked a hard breath into your lungs to stop a wracking sob, just barely holding it in. 

“I just ended up here again. With you. I’m so alone without you but I can’t - fuck.”

It didn’t even matter what you were trying to say anymore, because you had no clue. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stay with him regardless of his choice to let you go, but something in you made you run. Maybe it was worthless pride or a childish desire to be something more - you didn’t know. 

You didn’t belong in any industry you dreamed of working in. You weren’t born to be a star. You should know by now - should accept your failure and come back home for more than just one night. 

But you couldn’t. 

There was still a chance, wasn’t there? 

A chance to belong somewhere.

A chance to be led home.

A chance to make it. Would you die trying? 

You would leave in the morning. And you wouldn’t ask Atsumu to wait for you as he started getting ready for the day. And Atsumu wouldn’t ask you to ditch your own plotted destiny just to stay with him. 

But this would happen again. Every time you would swear it off and every time, you would travel roads that take you right back to this town, this bed, these arms. 

Running away would never get easier, but this is all it would ever be with him. He would never stop you leaving - and you would never ask him to.  

. . .

...so i’ll go back to LA

[kisskeiji]

1. On your own.

Lost & Found.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of cheating and violence (bokuto still wants to get physical lol), mentions of alcohol (?)

Needless to say, as soon as you arrived at your sister's apartment she bombarded you with questions you didn’t know nor wanted to answer, she understood and let you cry your heart out, even after all that your heart was still heavy inside your chest. When you woke up the following morning you could only describe yourself as a mess; you slept with the same clothes from the night before, your shoes were still on and you didn’t bother to take your makeup off resulting in a trail of mascara stains all over your cheeks. The sheets on your sister's bed were cold and not waking up with Hajime by your side made the knot in your throat come back along with the uneasiness of not being home or feeling safe at all.

You hated it. You hated how vulnerable you were. You hated the weight that was crushing your chest. You hated not being able to express what you felt. You hated how tired you were. You hated yourself for being so weak and for not knowing how to be without him.

And most of all, you hated yourself for not hating him.

You loathed what he did to you and your relationship, but as much as you tried to convince yourself you hated him, you couldn’t. Sure, he broke your heart, but he also owned it. You loved him so much it hurt, but there was no way you two could get past this and act as if any of this never happened, this wasn’t something a long talk and a hug could solve. The thought of it not being a one time thing took over your mind.

What if he cheated when he was studying overseas? How many other girls he slept with the last four years.

‘I’m an idiot’

“Morning.” Your sister entering the room took you out of your train of thoughts “I made breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You need to eat.” She said brushing your hair with her hand “Take a shower first.” She got up and walked to her closet to get you some clothes.

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t care, we are getting your stuff and then we are going home to have lunch with mom. I am not asking, she wants to see you.”

“You called her?” You asked in disbelief. ‘Snitch.’

“I knew you weren’t planning to because you don’t want to worry her, but she can give you better advice than your twenty-six year old sister who has no relationship experience.” She said before throwing a pair of jeans in your direction. You could only groan before getting up and walking to her bathroom. You knew better than arguing with her and deep inside you were thankful, you missed your mom, but going back to your apartment frightened you.

Once you were in the car you dialed Akaashi´s number, ignoring all of Iwaizumi’s texts and calls, he was the last person you wanted to talk to and you wanted to make sure he wasn’t home. Before you could go back to spiraling in your thoughts, Akaashi picked up the phone.

“Y/N?” You heard Akaashi say on the other side of the line.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi.”

“How are you feeling?” It was a dumb question, they both knew and he loudly smacked himself for asking. You chuckled.

“Like shit.” You answered.

“I figured.” You both laughed. “Hey, is that Y/N?” You heard Bokuto “Let me put you on speaker.”

“Hi, Bokuto.”

“Good morning, pretty lady, are you feeling better?” He asked and you heard a loud thud. “Akaashi, what was that for? Y/N-chan, Akaashi just hit me with one of his books!” Bokuto whined and you laughed at him and the way he pronounced Akaashi´s name.

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san, thanks for asking. Can I ask you both a favor?”

“You want me to beat Iwaizumi’s ass? Say less.”

“Bokuto-san.” The younger of the two called in a stern tone.

Once again you laughed at their antics. “Not quite, Bokuto-san. But can you make sure he is not home? I don’t know if he went to work today.”

“You are coming for your stuff?” Akaashi asked.

“Yeah, but I really don’t want to see him right now, and my sister wants to kill him.” You said and looked at your sister who mouthed a ‘damn right’ without looking away from the road.

“That’s the spirit!” The gray haired man said followed by another thud and a whine.

“Count on it, Y/N.”

“Thank you, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll wait outside for you!” You heard Bokuto before exchanging goodbyes and hanging up.

You reached the apartment complex and spotted Bokuto outside like he promised.

“I called Tanaka and he said he is at the gym, so we are clear.” He said once he reached the car and opened the door for you.

“Good, let’s make it quick and put everything in my trunk.” Your sister said and opened the car trunk to grab some boxes to pack your belongings. The three of you walked inside the complex and took the elevator to meet Akaashi who was waiting at your door.

With a long sigh, you unlocked the door and walked in unsure of what to expect. The air was heavier and again, you felt uneasy to be there and reminisce about what happened the night before.

“I’ll get my clothes and some stuff I have in my room. Can you guys pack my books? Everything on the first three shelfs is mine, and my plants, please be careful with them.” You said and they both got to work while you and your sister headed to your room. Trying to make things even faster, you walked to your closet and grabbed your suitcase from the back of the closet and started throwing all your clothes onto the bed.

“This is not yours.” Your sister announced throwing one of Hajime’s shirts you usually wore to sleep on the floor. You stared at it for a second and started to take out all of the shirts that were mixed in with your clothes. You never noticed how many of his shirts were in your drawers, you always wore his shirts to sleep.

‘No more unlimited pajamas.’ You thought and laughed to yourself.

*

“Hey, can you get my stuff from the bathroom? I’m almost done here.” You said placing a few blouses in a laundry basket since your suitcases were already full.

“Sure thing, I’m dipping his toothbrush in the toilet too.” She said and zipped close the duffle bag she packed your shoes in.

“Please don’t.”

“Can’t hear you.” You heard a splash. “Look what we have here, this cologne looks expensive.”

“Stop touching his stuff.”

“No sympathy for him, stop trying to protect him.” She said peeking from the bathroom door.

“I’m not protecting him, I’m just being mature.” You walked to the bathroom, taking the bottle of cologne away from her and placing it back down. “And I paid for this.”

“Hey girls, we are all set over here.” You heard Bokuto from outside of the room.

“You have anything else you need us to get in the car?” Akaashi asked. You looked around searching for something you could be possibly leaving behind. The pictures on the wall captured your attention for a second.

“Don’t think so, everything else he can keep.” You sighed “Besides, the car is already full.”

“Let’s get out of here then, mom is waiting for us and we have a four hour ride ahead of us.” Your sister said and took the duffel bag and one of your indoor plants and made her way out.

“Well, that’s it.” Bokuto said and closed the trunk of your sister’s car.

“Please, tell us if you need anything, we are one call away.” Akaashi reassured placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Thanks ‘Kaashi, I will.” You hugged both of your friends and hopped in the car “I’ll text you once I get home.”

They waved goodbye and waited for the car to be completely out of sight to walk back inside the building.

*

That afternoon after lunch and a long talk with your mom, you decided to stay at your parents house for the meantime and as long as you needed to find another place near your university. You decided not to tell your father, he was just as hot headed as your sister and you were sure he would kill him if he found out.

In the end your sister was right, your mother always knew what to say and this time was no exception, of course she was going to give Iwaizumi’s mom a call (but you don’t know that) but right now she was worried about how awfully calm you were, of course you were always emotionally intelligent, but was it really healthy for you to keep it all inside?

“Listen dear, I know how you must be feeling right now, there’s no need to conceal it, I also know you want to be the bigger person, but you can´t keep it to yourself forever, it’s not good for you.” She’d said as she poured some freshly brewed tea in your cup.

“I know mom, thank you.” You said and she cupped your cheek with her hand.

“It wasn’t your fault, dear.” She Reassured. “It’s getting late, get ready to sleep, I’ll get your room ready.”

It wasn’t your fault. She was right, but why does it feel the other way around?

You stared at the mirror once again and still couldn’t recognize your reflection. ‘What did you do to me, Hajime?’ You thought as you dried your face.

‘Fuck, I had a shift tonight.’ You totally forgot, after all you haven’t checked your phone since earlier that morning. Ignoring all of your friends and Hajime’s texts asking if you were alright and where you were; you texted your boss, he asked if you were fine too since Iwaizumi went to the bar and was apparently really worried, you could only sigh and tell him you would explain everything tomorrow.

You were exhausted. Your eyelids were heavy with sleep and what seemed to be the beginning of a bad migraine. ‘I’ll just sleep it off.’ You thought to yourself, staring at the ceiling thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. You were still going to see Iwaizumi at college at some point, how are you going to tell your friends? You still had to call your landlord to get the money of the months of rent you paid in advance back.

“I wish this was all a dream.” You muttered burying your face on your pillow. Your phone ringing stopped your train of thoughts, the caller ID displayed Iwaizumi’s name for the hundredth time that day. You still had no energy or will to talk to him. ‘What does he want anyway?’ You let the call go straight to voicemail.

“Y/N” He sighs “I’ve been trying to reach you all day, I know it’s late, I know you hate me”

‘I don’t.’

“But please, I need to know you are okay and that you are safe, I know you must be with your sister but I can’t reach her either. Please, you don’t have to tell me, you can tell Matsukawa or Makki, one of your friends, I don’t care, we are all worried about you. I know you came earlier for your stuff, and that you are not coming back, but please, you have to listen to me.” you could tell how anxious he was “I’m not asking for forgiveness, because I know I don’t deserve it. But I… you deserve an explanation and an apology. I love you, please, call me.”

Without even noticing, tears streamed down your face. ‘Maybe I should talk to him’

You weren’t one to be remorseful, and closure was necessary. Maybe. But not today or tomorrow, you still needed time. You texted your friends and told everyone you were okay and that you were spending a few days at your parents place in Miyagi. After turning your phone off you finally managed to sleep.

*

The days after your arrival to Miyagi were no different, you ran some errands with your mom, went out with your dad and sister and enjoyed your time there, you almost forgot you had to get your life back together. You went back to Tokyo after a week, the first thing you did was talk with your boss and apologize for your absence and explained everything. He was kind enough to switch you to the day shift and promised not to tell Iwaizumi about it if he showed again.

The day shift was alright, the bar was less crowded but still busy. Some people had lunch or shared a drink with their co-workers. Breathing was easier and you felt more at ease working earlier.

“Good evening, what can I get you?” You greeted with a smile as you cleaned the counter.

“Hi, Y/N, right?” She asked.

“That’s me. Do we know each other?” You asked, she seemed familiar but you couldn’t recall where or when you’ve seen her before.

“Something like that, I’m Ito Asui, I’m one of Iwaizumi’s classmates.” She explained.

“Oh.” It’s all you managed to say “You want anything to drink.?” You asked, trying to ease the tension between the two of you.

“Not really, I just needed to talk to you about… the other night.” Asui couldn’t bring herself to look at you in the eye.

“It was you?”

She sighed “Yeah. And I feel awful. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

“How long?” you asked, trying to hold your tears busying yourself with the register.

“A month, maybe, listen he never mentioned he had a girlfriend or anything. We teamed up for our final project with some friends and we flirted for a while and we started going out when we weren’t working on the project.” She started crying, it was obvious that the guilt was eating her alive, you felt bad for her “If I only knew he was taken, this could’ve never happened, it is my fault and I want to apologize.”

“No.” You lowered your head.

“What?”

“It’s not your fault Asui, stop blaming yourself. You didn’t know. I’m sorry you got involved in this mess and for how you must be feeling right now.” you irradiated anger with every word. All the sympathy you felt for Iwaizumi was now gone and the thought of even facing him too.

“Thank you for this, really.” you raised your chin and looked at her in the eye, hers were glossy with tears and guilt, but she managed to show you a weak smile.

“What are you going to do now?” She asked as you poured a glass of water for her.

“I don’t know. Not going back to him, that’s for sure.” You tried to laugh. “I’m probably going to leave.”

“Leave? You are transferring?”

“Yeah.” You sighed unsure of your answer.

“Where to? I heard your parents live in the countryside.” She sipped her water.

“Not sure yet, I have some offers to go abroad.” You cleaned the counter once again as some customers walked in, you greeted them and got ready to fix their drinks.

“That 's amazing! I think it would be best for you to take some time away from here. If you stay you are going to stumble upon him at school.” she said as she played with the rim of her cup and you poured ice inside the shaker.

“Yeah, you are right. I’m talking to my professors and seeing my options, probably choosing somewhere in Europe, I’ve always wanted to travel.” You smiled.

Eventually Asui left, there was nothing else to talk about but you agreed to keep in touch, after all she was the first person outside your family that knew about your plans. It was sad, actually, you weren’t excited to leave since you were doing it to run away from him. It was your senior year, you wanted to spend it with your friends and stay in Tokyo, you were happy here, but you also needed to get away, you couldn’t bare with seeing Iwaizumi everyday, not only at school, you had a lot of friends in common and you didn’t wanted to make everything awkward for them.

‘I’m going to build myself back on my own.’ And if you had to leave to do so, then you were more than ready.

*

Days went by and summer break was over, it was time to go. Akaashi and Bokuto dropped you off at the airport and waited for you to board the plane.

“Passport?” Akaashi asked making sure you were all set.

“Here.” You lifted your right hand and showed your passport.

“Phone?”

“In my bag.” You smiled at him.

“Well, you are good to go.” He smiled back.

“Wait, you forgot something.” Bokuto took a step closer and looked at you.

“What? Oh my god did I left my glasses at home?” You asked confused as you patted across your body looking for them. 

“No, silly, my hug!” He laughed at your confused expression and embraced you. 

After that bone crushing hug Bokuto made you promise to text him everyday even if it was late, and Akaashi nearly cried but he won’t admit it. You waved goodbye one last time before boarding.

Hopefully you could find yourself again in London. ‘This is your new beginning’ you repeated to yourself as you took your seat on the plane.

“Good bye.” You whispered.

*

Later that night, Iwaizumi found himself in front of your sister´s apartment, ringing the bell he stepped back and waited for her to open — or a fist on the nose — after a few seconds the door opened revealing your sister still on her work clothes, leaning on the door frame.

“What do you want?” she asked harshly.

“Is she here? She never really called me and it’s been almost two months, I just want to talk to her but she blocked my number.” He looked at the floor and your sister sighed.

“She is not here.”

“Do you know where she is? she moved to the dorms?” he tripped over his words trying to get an answer.

“She is gone, Iwaizumi.”

“What do you mean? Look I know she hates me but this is not funny.” He was growing anxious.

“Shut up, she doesn’t hate you, you know that’s just not her, and I’m not joking. She left.” Your sister explained one more time.

“Where?” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Not telling. Good night, Iwaizumi.” With that she closed the door leaving Hajime dumbfounded.

‘She left?’ He thought, realization hitting him even harder, he lost you forever, and he is probably never going to see you again.

He was on his own now.

(a/n: hi everyone! first of all THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! <3 i honestly thought i was going to flop with this fic, but all of your comments and feedback encourage me to keep writing, you are all so sweet :( thank you again ilysm. i also want to thank my beta readers once again fore dealing with my illiterate and annoying self. next chapter is going to be a bit longer if everything goes as planned, sorry for making you all hate iwa :( 

also, if anyone is interested to be added to a taglist please tell me! you can comment or send me a message if my ask box is not showing :( i’m still figuring things out here since i was a wattpad type of girl but i’ll try my best <3)

masterlist

taglist: @aonenthusiast

[grievingauthor]

NaruMitsu Week Day 4: Value

Read on Ao3

The aftermath of the Gramarye Case was...messy. Suddenly gaining a child hadn't been in Miles' plans when he and Phoenix had gotten engaged, but Trucy was family now, and their apartment was far too small for all three of them. House shopping, however, is proving a challenge.

"You don't think it's too much?"

Miles glanced at his husband-to-be. Phoenix sat in the passenger seat of his car, brow furrowed as he studied the pamphlet the realtor had given them.

"Too much?" he asked. The brunet looked up, then smiled sheepishly, pointing out the asking price for the house. It was well out of their agreed upon budget, but Miles had insisted on touring anyway.

"I just don't know how we'd ever afford this place. I don't exactly make bank playing piano, Miles."

Miles sighed. They'd had the budget conversation many times over the past year, both in regards to buying a house as well as other such large purchases. It wasn't as if the pair were destitute, Miles made quite a bit in fact, high prosecutor was hardly an empty title. Phoenix had just been...hesitant when it came to spending money. Trucy was growing though, and they needed a bigger home than the apartment he and Miles had been sharing, preferably somewhere with a decent school district and an actual back yard. Unfortunately for them, yards were expensive in LA.

"You promised you would ignore the price for today, love," he said pointedly. "Besides, it's low for the area, especially for a three bedroom. You mentioned wanting to get back into art, you could use that third as a studio."

"And when Kay visits?" Phoenix asked. Miles snorted in response.

"She's slept in far worse places than our couch, dear. In fact I almost think she prefers it. Tell me honestly though: ignoring the price, did you like the house?" he asked.

Phoenix hesitated, and Miles could see him biting his lip. It was a tick of his, toying at the scar there.

"I did," he admitted. "I really did. The kitchen was huge, and the covered porch was really nice. I think Trucy would absolutely love being able to have space to practice her magic tricks. And you're right, having space for a studio would be fantastic. It's just…it's a house Miles. Couldn't we just get a bigger apartment?"

"We absolutely could, Phoenix, but why shouldn't we buy a house?" he questioned. "You know I'm not hurting for money, and all of your savings are already going towards Trucy and keeping the office downtown. I want to buy a house with you, Phoenix Wright. Why not that one?"

Phoenix didn't answer him. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the man was still staring at the pamphlet, eyes fixed on the asking price. Finally, he sighed.

"You're right, Miles. The place is damn near perfect. I just…you're sure you wouldn't rather buy something less exp- ah! Whoa, Miles!"

Miles had slammed on the brakes, stopping them dead on the unfamiliar neighborhood street. He turned to Phoenix and gave him the sternest look he could muster at the moment.

"Phoenix Wright what is this really about?" he demanded. "I know you know I don't care about the price. I also know you're doing your level best to care for Trucy, and make something approaching a living wage, and figure out what happened with the Gramarye case. Why won't you let me do this?"

Phoenix stared at him for a moment, eyes wide as he bit his lip, and oh. Oh. A moment later Miles was holding him in his arms as he wept.

"I don't wanna be a burden on you, Miles. It's my fault we're even in this situation, ok, I just-! How can you be so sure that this is worth it?"

"Phoenix, of course this is worth it. I love you, and I love Trucy, and that's all there is to it. I know I've been a piece of work the last few years, and you've stood by me the- er," he winced, "well most of the time, my year abroad notwithstanding. The least I can do is be here when you need me. I love you too much to do anything else."

Miles' jacket would definitely need a good washing before he wore it to work again, but it seemed his words had had the desired effect. Phoenix continued to sob quietly for a moment before turning his face outwards and letting out a shuddering sigh. They stayed like that for a while, Miles putting the car into park and rubbing soothing circles into Phoenix's back.

"...you're sure this is the one, Miles? This house?" the man asked. Miles smiled softly.

"Yes. I do. Do you?"

"I...yeah. Yeah, I do. Think we'll be able to get it though?"

Miles hummed, then pushed Phoenix off his shoulder so he could start the car again.

"I'll call the realtor as soon as we get home. Eldoon's for dinner?" His suggestion made Phoenix smile.

"Yeah, Trucy'll love that. I'm paying though, got it?"

Miles laughed as he pulled onto the main road, and Phoenix laughed with him. Yes, Miles thought, this was very much the right decision. And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't want to waste money on anyone else.

[younghoax]

• Brockton, Massachusetts • 2021 •

She’s dead. He just needs to accept it and then it can’t hurt him. Not that it should fucking hurt him. She’s been dead to him for years -- and him, her.

She’s dead.

“Hey, kid.”

Sean is leaning against the door frame, blocking the small opening like he expects Jordan to push right past him and tear the place apart again. The beard he had in the winter of 2013 has been buzzed down to stubble but he’s not fooling anyone: rotting teeth and yellow eyes are a dead giveaway. He must know why Jordan’s here but doesn’t cut him any slack, just looks at him expectantly until finally, brows pinched and sloped all sorry-like, he asks, “You wanna come inside?”

She’s dead.

The apartment is small, everything crammed into one room apart from two doors which he guesses is a bedroom and a bathroom. All in all, the kitchen-living area is about the size of his bedroom in Midtown. It smells the same as his mom’s last place. Musky and acidic. There are blankets on the couch and he can picture his mother there, passed out in front of the TV like she always was back home. Always freezing cold with a hot water bottle stuffed down the side of the cushions which... he sees now, stained and old, still full, but not the one she had when they first moved to this city. He remembers when that one burst, how she’d screamed even though the water had some-what cooled by then. Just from the shock, really, and how they couldn’t afford to ruin that couch.

So there are blankets and a hot water bottle and two mugs on the coffee table. Sean sits in an armchair that looks older than even him, and Jordan lowers himself in what he guesses is his mom’s seat-- was his mom's seat? Because it’s been a month or so since he started getting phone calls, but that doesn’t mean Sean would have erased any trace of her (it took months before he started cleaning up after Curly) and it’s not like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, because it’d be a damn relief if she was gone, but...

“Why’d you call?” Jordan asks. No point being polite about it. No point apologising. He didn’t miss them, he ignored them. He’s only sorry that he couldn’t help but come here after all. Couldn’t just let it be. “I’ve been busy,” he then adds, antsy when the man doesn’t respond after a while.

Sean nods, leant with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “Yeah, I figured,” he says with a nod before he takes a long breath. She’d dead. Fuck, okay. She’s dead.

“Is it Tracy?” Well, he knows the answer to that. “Spit it out, man.”

She’s dead. Say it. Tell me she’s dead. Let me move on. Let me stop thinking about it. Let me stop re-writing up my work notice and looking for apartments in Brockton and searching up insurance plans and NA meetings and family fucking therapy. Spit it out and tell me it’s over before I cave and give her another chance. She’s dead.

Sean is still silent for a while, mouth opening and closing as he rearranges the words in his mouth. Spit it out. Jordan almost tells him again, wringing his own hands now as he waits but, just as he opens his mouth, Sean tells him, “She’s dead.”

Jordan’s bouncing his knee, biting the inside of his lip as he gives a slow nod. Okay. It’s what he expected. All those calls out of nowhere, this weird fucking feeling he’s had. It’s what he knew it was the whole time. It’s not. It’s not a shock. Or, it shouldn’t be a shock.

Jordan clears his throat. Nods again. “Right, okay.” Scoffs. “Was it that fuckin’ hard?”

He leans forward, away from the blankets stuffed across the seat, stinking of her suddenly.

“I’m sorry, bud. It was... She wasn’t.” Sean tries. Fails, but he does look sorry. Sorry to be the one delivering the news after everything. He was there when Jordan showed up to their last apartment in 2013, crying for his mom like some fucking twerp. There was shit he couldn’t tell anybody else. Like the letters he and Curly started to send, both of their spelling so laughably bad. Like how they never spoke about them when Jordan visited. How Curly would just give a knowing smile until the last visit when he. Didn’t. Because he already knew by then. He’d already written what he’d written.

“Who’s Curly?” That’s what Tracy had said, Jordan shaking against her side, sobbing like a bitch whilst Sean tried to remind her of Jordan’s boyfriend from England with the curly hair and the blue-green car that was parked out front sometimes. He walked Jordan out in the end, when his mother started getting defensive and hysterical. Walked him to the door to tell him, slurred, “you’re too young to lose people, J, but your mom will get better. I swear--” He just left. In that moment, he truly didn’t care.

Sean’s not slurring now. “It was a long time coming. It wasn't... We knew that eventually... She knew... Look, I can talk you through it all, if--”

“Nah,” he interrupts, standing and dusting something off himself. Off the backs of his thighs and the elbow that had pressed against the armrest. Rubs his palms awkwardly against his clothes, her blood on his hands. “Just had to ask,” he mutters, already heading for the door with the sound of the man standing up behind him.

Sean calls, “Stay awhile, J. Lemme make you a coffee.” But Jordan’s already at the door, calling “I’m good” over his shoulder as he turns the handle.

God knows what the fuck possesses him, but Sean shouts up again then, tells him from a couple paces back, “It ain’t your fault, Jordan!”

The windows rattle when he slams the door behind himself. Don’t even sound like real glass as they tremble against the panes. Some cheap plastic. He makes quick work of the steps, furious as he paces back to his car where the smell of more death, a different death, fills the space right from the driver's seat to the trunk where his belongings are crammed into the space that somebody else’s belongings once were.

That’s it, then. That’s everyone. His whole family, anyone that’s ever really come fucking close. That’s all of them. What’s funny is that Jordan knew she was dead, and he knew it wasn’t his fault and now... Now it’s all fucking flipped. She’s dead. How the fuck--

It’s not until Jordan reaches a red light, a couple yards from a church he only ever visited twice, that he realises how his chest burns, the air in his car full of smoke. Something else burns his eyes. Acidic, like vinegar, and he feels something crawling over his arms and a hand soothing through his hair and gold jewellery cutting into his skin and he smacks at the fingertips getting under his skin.

“Are you there?”

The light’s on green. There’s a car behind him, the driver punching the horn as Jordan sinks back into his seat, hands off the wheel, eyes on that church, Spencer on the line.

She’s dead. It’s not his fault. Damn fucking right it ain’t.

“Jordan. Are you okay?”

Jordan kicks back into gear, moving along the road again, taking a right into a big, gritted parking lot. He chokes as his car jolts to a stop, dust rising around the wheels, smoke rising inside. He opens his mouth to speak but something... A groan. A choked breath as he breaks through the surface.

She knew.

And what the fuck does that mean? That she’d been killing herself the whole time? Well, that’s not news. He fucking refuses to believe she was doing that shit outa sadness. She just didn’t know anything else. Nothing ever lived up to the euphoria of a hit, that’s all it was. No kid, no amount of money, no life. Nothing.

Curly left a note the first time. That’s what it means to know. It ain’t that his mother didn’t know, she just didn’t fucking care.

Curly always told him he was lonely. Always asked if he loved him. Never said sorry. Said I love you instead until it was time to write it down. I’m sorry. Jordan told him never again. Never, ever say those two words again after he had to read it on that paper. He never did. Not until it held the same weight again. His last letter after he stopped smiling knowingly when J visited him.

“Where are you? I’m coming. Who are you with right now? Let me just--”

He’s crying like a fucking baby, choking and snotting and spitting and heaving because he told himself she was dead. He knew she was dead. Thought he knew. Maybe it felt too fucking obvious to be true. Shit, he fucking hates her. He travelled miles to get the fuck away from her and she still managed to leave him one last fucking time.

Travelled fucking miles away and now she’s dead and he’s suddenly so alone that he feels it. It’s psychical, shrinking smaller and smaller, or maybe the world is bigger. Maybe just the state. “I’m alone,” he finally responds, raw and muffled against this forearms, hands tangled in the hair at the top of his head.

“Are you drunk? You’re scaring me.”

“I have to tell you something.”

There's shuffling over the line, Spencer muttering something, hand over the microphone before he’s back again. “Where are you? I’m coming. Tell me when I get--”

“L-listen.” He breathes through it, his heart heaving now that it’s only the size of a quarter, fingers numb as his hands shrink, his shrinking heart puling a pulse through his palms. “Listen to me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-- Whatever it is, just wait. Okay? Wait.”

“I’m alone,” he tells him again through another sob and he swears his lungs must be no bigger than dimes. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Nothing. I’m getting into my car right now. Tell me where to go.”

There’s this whooshing sound, like waves or thunder or something. He doesn’t mean to bark at him like he does, torn open with fear or anger or something completely different. “You can’t fucking tell anyone!”

“Of course,” Spencer says before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, and his car growls to life. “I’m coming alone.” That’s not what he means. “It’s just me.”

“He killed himself,” he chokes, speaking into his hands, his face and palms wet. His nose is bleeding-- is his nose bleeding? Jordan checks his palms and they’re clean. Touches his nose. Clean.

There’s so much blood on his hands.

I love you. The words are scratched into the steering wheel. Only small and harder to see now the edges have smoothed out. Curly wasn’t on anything that night. He was tired and happy. Talking about the stars and his family and scratching nonsense into the wheel with an old pen that didn’t work anymore. Beneath it, in the glove compartment, all of his CDs are still there. I love you. J had scratched it into one of the many mixtapes long before Curly used the same pen on the car. I love y- and then Curls said it out loud before he got to the end of it.

In his letter after his dad died, when Jordan told him they weren’t moving to England, Curly wrote I’m sorry. I love you so much, I’m so sorry. And then almost two years passed before he wrote those words out again. I love you. I miss you so much I’m so sorry. His writing was slanted like it is on the dashboard. Shrinking like Jordan’s organs are now. By the time the letter got to him, he’d been mourning for days.

“I love you too. It’s okay, I-- Jordan, you’re freaking me the fuck out.” Spencer’s voice is muffled under his car engine and the growling thunder- water- whatever it is “Talk to me, please, or I’m calling the police. Do you hear me? I’ll call the police if you don’t--”

“My mom died.”

Something happens. His ears pop or the weather changes or he and the car and his hands and lungs and heart are life-sized again. The smoke in the air clears out and the hands tickling his skin are gone.

“Where are you?”

Jordan says, “Brockton. I’m just. I’m at the church.”

He doesn’t even know where his phone is, but Spencer’s voice says, “okay, I’ll-- I’ll call you back. I’ll be there.”

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Season of Happiness

Author: darriness

Rating: Explicit

Category: AU

Word Count: 11,172

Summary: A Christmas with the Anderson’s - what could possibly go wrong?

Author’s Note: So I started watching Happiest Season the other day and got inspired! I have only watched an hour of the movie though so far. Once it sparked this fic idea, I wanted to run with it without having to think about how closely it aligned with the movie. So any similarities, especially near the end, are coincidental. That being said, there are two lines from the movie I used in my fic word for word because I loved them so much (if you want to know which they are just ask and I'll tell you - I take no credit for them). As always this fic was beta'd by the lovely @darrenismydarcy but any left over errors are completely my fault! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

AO3 Link

“There it is. There it is.” Blaine Anderson pants as he rocks his hips. Kurt Hummel, the man currently on the receiving end of Blaine’s thrusting hips, puts his hands into his hair as his noises become more desperate. He is so. Close. And Blaine knows it.

“Oh God, Blaine.” Kurt moans.

“Come on. Come. Come around my cock.” It’s those growled words that do it. Kurt feels everything in him tighten before it releases in blinding light and sparks.

He is aware of Blaine’s almost pained groan above him and after the initial wave of sensation is over, Kurt makes the concerted effort to squeeze his muscles as Blaine continues to thrust.

“Coming.” Blaine announces in a strained voice as he stills and Kurt hums at the pulsing sensation deep inside.

They are still but for their panting breath for several moments afterwards. Kurt is enjoying the little sparks of sensation still zinging all over his body and he has a feeling Blaine is about five seconds away from collapsing on top of him.

4, 3, 2, 1…

Blaine lets out a huff and his arms collapse under him so he’s lying on Kurt’s chest. Kurt smirks - he knows his boyfriend. Kurt brings his hands up to run them absently along Blaine’s sweaty back as the other man rests his cheek on Kurt’s sternum. He knows sooner rather than later Blaine will have to get up to dispose of the condom, but for now he’s going to wait until he can feel his extremities a little more and just enjoy this moment.

Six months in and it seems to only get better.

He met Blaine in a coffee shop, of all cliche places. Witty banter and flirty, coy smiles were exchanged and just like that Kurt had himself a date for the evening. Six months later finds the twenty-four year old men living together in Kurt’s small but impressively decorated one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and more in love than either can really comprehend.

Kurt is forever thankful that he decided to stop at that particular coffee shop before work all those months ago.

Blaine brings him back to the present with a groan as he pushes off Kurt to quickly dispose of the condom before pulling the blanket up to cover them both and snuggling back in beside Kurt.

“Love you.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt turns with a smile, enjoying the way the passing lights from the street outside cause the light to play on Blaine’s beautiful face, “Love you, too.” He answers back.

Blaine gives a small smile, “And thanks for letting me do that.”

The comment makes Kurt actually laugh out loud, which makes Blaine’s smile grow bigger.

“You say that like it never happens.” Kurt says after he’s done laughing, “I’ve let you fuck me quite a few times.”

Blaine shrugs, “Yeah, but you much prefer to fuck me.” 

It’s Kurt’s turn to shrug, “Fair point. But it’s not like I only let you top on your birthday and Christmas or anything. And don’t pretend you don’t prefer it the other way.”

Blaine smirks, “You are very talented with your hips.” He concedes which does wonders for Kurt’s ego, “But it’s close enough to Christmas so the whole ‘only let me fuck you on Christmas’ thing could hold water.”

Kurt snorts and rolls his eyes before looking back at Blaine who suddenly has a serious expression on his face.

“Speaking of Christmas…” Blaine starts and Kurt’s eyes widen slightly.

It’s not like he hadn’t been expecting this conversation. They’ve been dating for six months and living together for one. It’s the middle of December. He’s actually surprised the topic of their first Christmas together hadn’t come up sooner.

“Yes.” Kurt says, slowly.

Blaine bites his lip, “I was wondering if you’d...come to my parents place for the holiday.”

Something in Kurt’s chest instinctively tightens. Meeting the parents. For Christmas. It’s a lot.

It’s not like Kurt’s never met a boyfriend’s parents. He’s had two major relationships in his twenty-four years, both lasting two years, and he met the parents both times. It’s just that...the meeting hadn’t gone overly well either time. In fact, the disaster that was meeting Ethan’s parents was what had caused him and Kurt to break up.

It’s not that Kurt doesn’t want to meet Blaine’s parents - he and Blaine are serious enough to warrant a meeting for sure - he had just been hoping to avoid it a little bit longer.

He must not be answering quickly enough because Blaine picks his head up from where it had been resting on Kurt’s chest with a furrowed brow, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I know it’s a big step.”

Looking into Blaine’s round, large, hazel eyes, Kurt finds his heart melting and he smiles despite his misgivings, “I would love to spend Christmas with your family.” He says and the bright smile Blaine gives him is enough to know he’s made the right decision.

-- -- --

“No, Dad, I already told you. Blaine’s parents live in Westerville. We’ll spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with them and then we’ll drive to Lima and spend Christmas afternoon and the twenty-sixth with you and Carole.” Kurt is saying to his dad as he finishes packing his bag.

It’s not the first conversation he’s had with his father about the subject. This won’t be the first Christmas Kurt has had to divide his time, but it’s definitely not the norm, and Burt Hummel is having a difficult time with it.

His father coughs before grumbling, “Couldn’t it be the other way around?” 

Kurt sighs and pauses in his packing, “Dad,” He says, “I already told you this, too. Blaine’s parents and brother are flying out to LA on Christmas Day.”

Burt sighs, “I know you told me, I just...want you here.”

Kurt pouts a little, “I know, Dad. But it’s the only way to make it work without Blaine and I spending Christmas apart. And it’s just easier to get both ‘meeting the parent’ moments out of the way.”

Burt huffs, “So now I’m something to be gotten ‘out of the way’?”

Kurt looks up at the ceiling, “Daaaaad.” He all but whines and this time Burt laughs.

“I’m just joking about that last one.” He says and Kurt feels some of the tension leave him, “Promise me you’ll FaceTime me on Christmas Eve at some point?” Burt asks.

Kurt nods, “Of course. Will Finn be around to help you figure out how to work FaceTime?” He asks.

“Hey now…” Burt says in warning and then the father and son are laughing.

“I’d better go, Dad.” Kurt says, “But I’ll see you in a few days.” 

-- -- --

Kurt drums his fingers on the window ledge of the car as he looks out at the trees passing them by. They’ve been on the road for a few hours and while Kurt doesn’t necessarily want to speed up the time it takes to get to Blaine’s house and the meeting of his parents, he also wouldn’t mind if this car ride was shorter.

For whatever reason, Blaine has been tense the entire time. He’s kept both of his hands on the wheel, even going so far as to pull his hand back when Kurt had gone to grab it and bring it into his own lap, and he hasn’t said more than a single sentence in the last hour. Kurt has tried to ask if everything is okay but he just gets a nod and tight smile in return.

This can’t be a good start to this whole thing.

He figures Blaine is just nervous as well though, and decides not to push. He hums along with the radio and watches the scenery pass them by.

His phone rings in his pocket at one point and Kurt pulls it out to see his best friend Elliot’s name on the screen. He smiles as he turns the radio down and answers the call.

“Hey! Settling in okay?” He asks. He notices Blaine’s eyes flick from the road over to Kurt briefly before returning to look straight ahead.

“Definitely. Your place is amazing.” Elliot says. Kurt had asked Elliot to house sit while they were gone. It may only be four days, but Kurt wanted someone there in case something went wrong. Elliot would be staying in New York for the holidays and Kurt and Blaine’s apartment is only ten minutes from Elliot’s parents house. It worked perfectly, “But please tell me you changed your sheets before you left.”

Kurt lets out a laugh and lays his head back on the headrest, “Yes, we changed the sheets before we left.” He looks over to see Blaine smirk slightly.

“Excellent.” Elliot says, “So, on a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you right now?”

Kurt sighs and looks over at Blaine again who hasn’t looked away from the road but seems to be even more tense than before, “Like eleven.” Kurt confesses, “But I gotta go, El. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay, but just do me one favour?” Elliot says.

“What’s that?” Kurt asks.

“Don’t pass up the opportunity to fuck that boy in his Star Wars sheets.”

Kurt can’t help but laugh out loud which draws Blaine’s attention, “Bye Elliot!” Kurt sings into the phone before hanging up on his laughing friend. He smiles down at the phone before turning to find Blaine’s eyes still on him. When their eyes connect, Blaine looks away and back to the road.

Kurt lays his head on the headrest, “Do you...have Star Wars sheets in your childhood bedroom?” He asks.

Blaine’s face scrunches in confusion before he shakes his head, “No. They’re green and burgundy.” He says.

“Damn.” Kurt whispers with a smirk.

“Why?” Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head, “Never mind.” Blaine isn’t in the mood for jokes right now Kurt can tell. He sighs and looks out the window, setting himself up for another few hours of silence.

A few moments later, Blaine sighs roughly, “Kurt...I have to tell you something.”

Kurt looks over at him in concern, “What’s up?” He asks.

Blaine presses his lips together and shakes his head before he sighs again, “I figured I should let you know, before we get to my parents place that….they don’t know we’re a couple.”

Kurt’s face pulls together in confusion, “What? They don’t? You haven’t told them we’re together?” 

Blaine shakes his head, “No.”

Kurt immediately gets a bad feeling but he pushes it aside. Their romance has been a bit of a whirlwind and Blaine doesn’t really talk to his family so maybe he’s just waiting to tell them when they get there?

“So they’re going to find out we’re a couple when we get there?” Kurt clarifies.

Blaine swallows, “Not...exactly.”

Kurt begins to panic just a little, “Okay...you need to start saying more words.”

Blaine sighs and brings one hand from the wheel to rub his eyes, “I haven’t told my parents we’re together because...I haven’t told my parents I’m gay.”

Kurt feels all the air around him leave the car. He feels a tightness in his chest that makes him want to bring a hand up to massage it away. 

He’s about to go into a home where not only does no one know he and Blaine are a couple but where no one knows Blaine is even gay. What in God’s name did he get himself into here?

He tries to tamp down his feeling of panic, considering the look of absolute nausea on Blaine’s face. He loves this man. There has to be a reason.

He swallows and shakes his head to clear it before turning to Blaine, “So...who do they think I am to you?”

Blaine looks over at him and squints, “You don’t want to know why my family doesn’t know I’m gay?”

“Oh, we’ll get to that.” Kurt says and Blaine winces, “But I need time to process what they think I am to you.”

Blaine shrugs, “They think you’re my roommate. That I moved in six months ago to help with the expenses.”

“Moved into my one bedroom apartment?” Kurt asks, incredulously. 

Blaine winces again, “They don’t know it’s a one bedroom.”

Kurt sighs, “So, they’re just okay with your gay roommate crashing their Christmas?” Kurt is really getting tired of Blaine’s winces, “What?” He asks, annoyed.

“They...think you’re straight.” Blaine says.

Kurt just stares at him for a moment before huffing and gesturing to himself, “Oh yeah, you know everyone always tells me how much of a straight man I come across as!”

“Kurt, I didn’t know what to do! I was going to tell them before I brought you, but then my dad has this really important investor meeting tomorrow and I didn’t want to rock any boats before that. It’s important.” Blaine argues.

“And I’m not?” Kurt asks, hurt. He’s hurt. That’s the emotion he’s settled on. He’s hurt that Blaine didn’t feel enough about their relationship to tell his parents.

Blaine sighs and suddenly he’s pulling the car over. He puts them in park when he’s reached the shoulder and turns so his hand is resting on Kurt’s headrest and one of his knees is pulled up onto the seat.

“Kurt, you are the most important thing to me.” Blaine says and Kurt can’t deny the sincerity in his eyes, “It’s just, my family is...complicated. I’ve known I was gay since I was fourteen and yet I’ve never felt like I could be open and honest with them. But you...you make me want that. You make me want to tell them everything and to finally come out to them and live as authentically in their presence as I do everywhere else.”

Kurt crosses his arms and pouts but...Blaine’s got a point. It’s not like Blaine’s in the closet. Far from it. Their life in New York is as out as it can be, and for the most part they enjoy the same life any other couple does. There has to be a good reason why Blaine isn’t out to his family and Kurt doesn’t have the right to judge him for that.

He also gets a warm feeling in his stomach at Blaine’s words. Their relationship is making Blaine want to be open with his parents!

Kurt rolls his head on the headrest to look at Blaine, “I understand.” He says and he can see Blaine relax a little in relief, “But,” Kurt starts and Blaine looks back at him, “and not to sound at all like a bad teen movie or like I’m pressuring you at all, when were you planning on telling them?”

Blaine smiles even as he swallows nervously, “Christmas Eve. After my Dad’s dinner.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, the man he’s come to love over the past six months, and smiles, “Okay. I can play your straight roommate for one day.”

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop in seeming relief before smiling up at Kurt, “You are my favourite person.” He says, crossing the divide of the centre console to kiss Kurt.

Kurt kisses him back before pulling back to say, “I expect so much sex to make up for this though.” 

Blaine laughs and lets his head drop on Kurt’s shoulder. After a moment, he picks it up to glance at the road around them. He seems to be considering something before he shrugs and smirks at Kurt, “Might as well start now.” He says, reaching for Kurt’s fly and lowering his head.

Kurt thinks about protesting but...they’re on a fairly deserted stretch of highway and, Oh God, Blaine’s mouth is magnificent.

-- -- --

“Blaine!” Mrs. Anderson shrieks as she pulls open the door Kurt and Blaine stand in front of. She’s a small woman, shorter than Blaine, with dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. She’s dressed immaculately for being home at 1 pm and Kurt can respect her for that.

She pulls Blaine into a hug and kisses both of his cheeks before pulling back and turning to Kurt, “You must be Kurt!” She says, reaching her hand out.

Kurt takes it, noting its delicacy, before smiling shyly, “I am. Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Anderson.”

Mrs. Anderson waves a hand and laughs, “It’s no trouble. We couldn’t very well let you spend Christmas on your own!”

Kurt turns to Blaine, wondering what story Blaine had given his parents that he hadn’t filled Kurt in on. Blaine shrugs and smiles a little. Kurt will have to ask him later. He also notes that unlike his father, who had told all of Kurt’s friends and boyfriends to call him Burt, Mrs. Anderson hadn’t extended the same offer.

“Come in boys! You can get settled into your rooms before your dad gets home from work and Cooper, Amelia, and the kids get in.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing them into the house.

The outside of the house is nothing compared to the inside and the outside was quite spectacular. It’s more an estate then a simple house and Kurt had lost his breath for a second at the sheer size of the exterior. Inside, the house is perfectly and elegantly decorated. Kurt takes in the fine fabrics, crystal adornments, and beautiful artwork. It’s a show piece of a house, that’s for sure.

It’s after Kurt’s initial overview of the front rooms he can see that something Mrs. Anderson said catches his attention. Rooms. More than one. He and Blaine won’t be sleeping in the same room. It’s not something that had occurred to him until this moment. Even after Blaine had confessed in the car and then given Kurt the most amazing road head, Kurt had been too floaty to consider that for the next two nights he would be sleeping away from Blaine.

Blaine gives him an apologetic shrug as they are led up the stairs and down the hall. Mrs. Anderson opens a door on the right of the hallway and gestures inside, “Blaine, I washed your sheets so you’re good to go.”

“Thanks Mom.” Blaine says as he, Kurt, and Mrs. Anderson enter the room. It’s not really at all like Kurt had imagined it. It looks less like a teenage boy’s room and more what a design catalogue would tell you a teenage boy’s room should look like. He knows Blaine hasn’t lived in this room for many years, but something tells him not much has changed.

“And Kurt, you’ll be across the hall.” Mrs. Anderson says, gesturing for him to follow.

Kurt does and, indeed, just across the hall from Blaine’s room is a generic guest room. It actually doesn’t look much different from Blaine’s room except it’s lacking in the few personal touches he caught in Blaine’s - no pictures with friends, sports memorabilia, and if Kurt wasn’t mistaken, boxing gloves. The guest room is similar in colour to Blaine’s but it just has a bed, a dresser, and a window seat.

“Looks lovely.” Kurt says with a smile.

Mrs. Anderson smiles and runs a hand along the duvet as Blaine joins them, “Well, I’ll let you boys get settled in and then meet me in the kitchen. I’ve been baking and if you want the chance to decorate anything you might want to do that before Cooper and the kids get here!”

She leaves Kurt and Blaine alone in the guest room and Kurt drops his bag on the bed before turning to Blaine, “We haven’t slept apart in months.” He says.

Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Kurt puckers his lips in thought, “However...you are just across the hall. I could always,” He starts, sidling up in front of Blaine and grabbing fistfuls of his sweater, “sneak in in the middle of the night.”

Blaine blushes and gulps but is prevented from answering when a loud crash sounds from downstairs followed by a booming voice, “I’m home!”

Blaine looks over his shoulder, “That would be my brother.” He says.

Kurt nods, dropping his hands and stepping back, “Well, then, let’s go say hello.”

-- -- --

Cooper Anderson, as Kurt is discovering after one afternoon in his presence, is just as handsome as his brother but so much more egotistical. Kurt hasn’t been able to finish a sentence while they decorate cookies without Cooper interrupting and providing a personal anecdote. 

Blaine spends most of the afternoon rolling his eyes at his brother’s shenanigans while simultaneously playing footsies with Kurt under the table.

Cooper’s kids seem sweet enough. He’s got a five-year-old son named Dylan and an eight-year-old daughter named Ella. They laugh at Kurt’s jokes and politely ask for icing or candies to put on their cookies. Kurt counts those as wins. Cooper’s wife, Amelia, is quiet but pleasant.

Overall, it’s not a horribly spent afternoon.

Kurt does have to stop himself from reaching over for Blaine’s hand, or pressing a kiss to Blaine’s temple when he passes him something though. All the little things that have become commonplace in their interactions are now things he has to stop himself from doing. He’s never had to think this hard about how he interacts with Blaine, or anyone for that matter.

Blaine’s father comes home around 6 pm and their interaction is brief, void of emotion, but not hostile.

“Blaine, glad you���re home.” Mr. Anderson says, patting his son on the back after hugging Cooper, the kids, and Amelia.

Blaine nods, “Good to be home, Dad.” He says before gesturing to Kurt, “Dad, meet Kurt. My...roommate. Kurt, this is my dad, Bill Anderson.” Kurt is sure he’s the only one who catches the hesitation before ‘roommate’.

Mr. Anderson smiles benignly and reaches a hand forward, “Good to meet you, Kurt.” He says.

Kurt smiles, “Thank you for having me, Mr. Anderson.”

Mr. Anderson nods and then he’s gone. To his office Blaine informs Kurt. Kurt is fine with that. He felt a little as if he had just met a politician - all show but no substance.

Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. They order pizza which bemuses Kurt considering the posh surroundings he finds himself in, but he’s glad for the more relaxed meal.

When it’s time to get ready for bed, he and Blaine stand at the sinks in one of the upstairs washrooms brushing their teeth.

“So, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Blaine asks after he spits.

Kurt finishes a swipe of his toothbrush and spits himself before wiping his mouth with a towel and smiling, “Your family is really nice.” He says.

Blaine shrugs, “I mean, I know Cooper is a bit self-centred but he means well for the most part.”

Kurt nods as he inspects his skin in the mirror, “I can see that.”

Blaine sighs and places both hands on the vanity, “Why do I feel like we’re fighting?”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he turns to look at Blaine in alarm, “We’re fighting?” He asks.

Blaine’s eyes widen incredulously, “All day, since I told you about my family not knowing, I feel like you’ve been distant with me. And I thought you were okay with everything but now I’m not sure and just...tell me if we’re fighting.”

Kurt’s brow pinches, “I’ve been distant?” He asks and Blaine nods, “Well, of course I have! If I’m not distant then I kiss you randomly in the middle of cookie decorating, or drag you onto the first horizontal surface when you start playing footsies with me. I am fighting my every instinct right now so...yeah, maybe I seem a little distant. But I’m not mad at you. I’m trying to follow your wishes.”

Blaine looks at Kurt through the mirror with a pout on his face before he sighs and turns to pull Kurt to him. He buries his face in Kurt’s chest and wraps his arms around his waist. Kurt sighs and wraps his own arms around Blaine’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” He pauses.

“Nervous?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods into his chest before pulling back to look at him, “You make me want to be brave, Kurt. You make me want them to know about me. About us. But I’m also scared shitless of how they’re going to react.”

Kurt runs his fingers along Blaine’s hairline before smiling softly, “Can you do me a favour?” He asks.

Blaine nods, “Anything.”

“Don’t...tell them for me.” Blaine’s brow furrows in confusion and Kurt goes on, “Tell them because you want them to know you better. Don’t tell them because you want to prove something to me, or because you think I want you to. Do I love the fact that we’re both basically in the closet this weekend? Absolutely not.” Blaine blushes, “But,” Kurt continues, “Coming out shouldn’t be something you do on anyone’s timeline but your own, or for anyone else but yourself. I’ll still be here. Our life in New York will still be there.”

Blaine is nodding and Kurt can see tears forming in his eyes, “I love you so much.” Blaine whispers.

Kurt smiles, “I love you, too.” He says softly, “Now, let’s go to bed. Because the sooner everyone else is asleep the sooner I can sneak into your room.”

Blaine’s laugh makes Kurt’s heart feel lighter.

-- -- -- 

“Wait, you’re telling me Blaine’s still in the closet?” Elliot asks later that night. Kurt lies in the comfortable enough but nothing like his and Blaine’s own bed with his phone to his ear. He’s waiting for an appropriate time to sneak across the hall. He figures sometimes around 1 am should be sufficient.

Kurt sighs, “With his family, yeah.” He says, “He’s scared how they will react.”

“So, who do they think you are?” Elliot asks.

“His straight roommate.” Kurt whispers.

There’s silence on the other end of the line before Elliot coughs, “His family has met gay people before, right? Because, I love you honey, but passing...you are not.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “They’ve known a gay person for twenty-four years and had no idea. I don’t think their gaydar is functioning properly. And I resent the insinuation that I can’t pass!”

Elliot chuckles, “I’m not saying you’re inability to pass is a bad thing! I admire you! I just can’t imagine how repressed these people are to look at you and think ‘Yes, I can believe this man has vaginal intercourse on the regular.’”

Kurt grimaces at the turn of phrase.

“You just grimaced at my use of the words ‘vaginal intercourse’, didn’t you?” Elliot says, knowingly.

Kurt sighs, “He’s just not ready to come out to his family.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt, but that’s a giant red flag.” Elliot says, but before Kurt can argue Elliot continues, “Look, I know coming out is a person’s own journey, but for him to be out in every other way other than his family? Something weird has to be going on. Do you really want to be in the middle of all that drama?”

It’s not like Kurt hasn’t thought of that. No matter the reason, Blaine’s family finding out he’s gay after all these years is bound to cause some drama. Does Kurt really want to be in the middle of it when it happens?

“I love him, Elliot.” Kurt answers and to him, that’s all the answer he needs to give, “And besides,” Kurt says with a shrug, “it’s kind of fun ‘sneaking’ around. There’s a delicious, albeit frustrating, tension.”

Elliot hums, “Well, you know there is nothing more erotic than concealing your authentic selves.”

“Elliot…” Kurt grumbles.

“All right, all right. That’s my last comment for the night. You know I always support you, right?” Elliot asks.

Kurt smiles, “I do. And that’s why I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Elliot says, “And your apartment. Have I mentioned how much I love your apartment?”

Kurt laughs, “Once or twice.” He glances at the clock, “Oooh! I should go. Blaine’s family should be asleep by now. I’m going to go get lucky.”

Elliot chuckles, “Enjoy!”

After Kurt hangs up, he sits on the bed without moving, listening intently to the sounds of the house around him. All is quiet so he very quietly gets out of bed and tip toes across the hall. He can honestly say this is the first time he’s had to sneak into a boyfriend’s bedroom. He figured at twenty-four the chance for that experience had passed him by. Obviously he’d been mistaken.

He eases Blaine’s door open and peaks inside. For all he knows, Blaine’s asleep himself.

He’s not though and Kurt smiles as he sees Blaine sitting up against the headboard of his childhood bed. His feet shuffle happily beneath the sheets when he sees Kurt and with the almost innocent smile on his face, Kurt has a flash of what it may have been like to know Blaine when they were sixteen and doing this exact same thing back then.

“You came!” Blaine enthuses quietly.

Kurt chuckles as he eases into the room and closes the door behind him, “You are too adorable.”

Blaine shrugs a coy shoulder and looks up at Kurt through his lashes, “Adorable or sexy?”

Kurt smirks, “Adorable.” He says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not also going to come over there and devour you.”

Blaine’s mouth pouts around a smile, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Nothing, Kurt thinks. I’m waiting for nothing.

He stalks to the bed and crawls up to kiss Blaine. Blaine sucks in a breath and cups his hands under Kurt’s jaw as he kisses back. It’s heated from the very start and Kurt’s hands smooth down Blaine’s sides as he straddles Blaine’s legs.

“I have been wanting to do that all day.” Kurt says when they pull back.

Blaine smirks, “I’m pretty sure even if my family knew about me, and us, you wouldn’t have been able to do THAT in front of them.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Can we not talk about your family when I’m trying to turn you on?”

Blaine sits up slightly and brings his mouth close to Kurt’s. He doesn’t kiss him but lets warm air puff across his lips, “You don’t have to try. I’ve been turned on all day.”

Kurt groans and presses their lips together while simultaneously grabbing the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Their lips barely disengage during the act and even more impressively they somehow find their way to a horizontal position without stopping the kiss either.

Kurt lines up their hips and presses down slightly into the hardening flesh he feels below him. Blaine lets out a stuttering moan before bracing his feet flat on the bed and returning the thrust.

Kurt hasn’t engaged in clothed frottage since college, and the dirty innocence of the act causes a shiver to run up his spine in the most delicious way. Everything about Blaine turns him on.

He’s just considering how best to get Blaine naked without stopping the delicious grind when somehow, over the noise of their breath, he hears a tap at the door.

He sits up like a shot and his eyes widen down at Blaine. Blaine for his part, pushes up onto his elbows with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Why’d you…” Kurt shushes him with a finger to his mouth and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the door. 

There’s another tap on the door and this time Blaine’s eyes widen.

“Blaine?” It’s Blaine’s father. Coming to his door at 1 a.m. and Kurt is currently straddling his son. His straight son for all Mr. Anderson knows.

Kurt and Blaine stare at each other, both trying to figure out what to do. Kurt’s not sure if Mr. Anderson will just walk in if Blaine doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t want to take the chance.

He quickly gets up from the bed and looks around the room. He notices Blaine’s closet and without thinking much he quietly makes his way over and into the smaller enclosure.

In the next moment, Kurt hears Blaine’s door open and thank God he’d thought to hide. He wishes he could see what is happening, but instead he sits on the ground, pulls his knees up to his chest, leans his cheek on his knee and listens.

“Hey, I was hoping you’d still be up.” Mr. Anderson says.

Blaine coughs and Kurt can hear the shuffling of sheets, “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” Blaine answers. Kurt can hear a breathy quality to his voice that he hopes Mr. Anderson doesn’t.

“Oh, well, I was just finishing up some work in the office and thought I’d see if you were awake because I wanted to run something by you.” Mr. Anderson says.

“Oh. Sure.” Blaine says.

Mr. Anderson sighs, “You know how important tomorrow’s dinner is to my work, right?” Kurt assumes Blaine just nods because Mr. Anderson continues, “I need these investors and nothing can go wrong.”

“I get that.” Blaine answers and Kurt can hear a bit of confusion in his voice.

“Merrick Clark, one of the investors tomorrow, has a daughter about your age.” Mr. Anderson says and Kurt’s stomach instantly drops to the floor. Certainly Mr. Anderson isn’t about to propose what Kurt thinks he’s about to propose, “She’s just recently out of a very bad relationship and when her dad heard that you’d be home for Christmas…”

“Dad, I don’t think…” Blaine starts but Mr. Anderson cuts him off.

“I need to keep these people happy, Blaine. And I would really appreciate it if you could do your part.” Mr. Anderson says sternly.

Kurt’s heart breaks in the silence that follows. His mind is screaming for Blaine to just tell his father the truth. Tell him that he can’t date this random girl because he doesn’t like girls in that way and that he’s in love with the boy that’s across the hall (or so Mr. Anderson thinks). But this isn’t a movie, despite the comical timing of Mr. Anderson’s entrance tonight, so Kurt’s heart breaks a little more when Blaine answers.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course, Dad.” He says.

“Fantastic.” Mr. Anderson says and then there is silence for a moment before Mr. Anderson says something else, but this time his voice is further away, as if he’s at the door, “Good night, Blaine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night Dad.” Blaine whispers and then Kurt hears the door to Blaine’s room open and close.

He stays in his place in the closet (the irony of his position not lost on him) for a moment. He tells himself he’s waiting until Blaine’s father is officially out of hearing distance but really his brain is trying to process the last few minutes. Somehow, not only does he have to be in the metaphorical closet for the next day, he has to watch his boyfriend play nice with the investor’s daughter. He feels sick to his stomach.

Soft light floods the closet as the door opens and Kurt looks up to see Blaine looking down at him and for as nauseous as Kurt feels, Blaine LOOKS even more sick.

“Kurt…” He says in a pained whisper.

Kurt reaches for one of Blaine’s hands and pulls the smaller man down to him. Blaine crumples to the floor to sit between Kurt’s legs and lean against his chest, his breathing erratic and he’s trembling slightly.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Kurt soothes, rubbing Blaine’s back.

Blaine shakes his head against Kurt’s chest and Kurt understands - it’s not okay. None of this is okay. 

-- -- --

“So, let me get this straight.” Elliot says the next day over the phone. Kurt’s outside, sitting on one of the Anderson’s outdoor couches. He’s wrapped up in his coat and shivering but he didn’t want to have this conversation where he could be overheard, “Oh, sorry, should I not use the word ‘straight’?” Elliot asks.

Kurt huffs and rolls his eyes, “Be serious, please.” He says.

Elliot sighs, “I’m just saying, you have moved from having to play the straight roommate for two days to having to play that role while your boyfriend is set up on a date with a woman!” Kurt sighs as well, he’s aware of the situation, “You know what I’m going to say. I would have been out after the first injustice, but now?”

Kurt huffs again and watches as his breath puffs out in front of him, “Elliot, are you done shaming me now? Can we move onto the actual advice-giving?”

“I’m not shaming you,” Elliot defends, “I just think the choice you’re making is dumb and you should feel bad about it and yourself.”

“Elliot!” Kurt exclaims as his friend laughs.

“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.” Elliot says but when he speaks again he sounds serious, “Look, I love you, Kurt. And a big, very big, part of me just wants to tell you to get out of there. Is a six month relationship with a guy really worth all this?” Kurt goes to answer but Elliot continues before he can, “But I know what you’re going to say and so my advice to you is to just ride it out. Blaine said he’s going to tell his father after the dinner? Give him that chance. If he doesn’t, then you can reevaluate.”

Kurt nods, “You’re right.” He says.

“I usually am.” Elliot jokes and this time Kurt chuckles at the joke, “Now I’m going to go and sit on your extremely comfortable couch and watch a movie before going to my parents where their couches are decidedly less comfy.”

“Enjoy.” Kurt says, echoing Elliot from the night before and he hangs up. He sighs as he lets his phone drop into his lap. He knows Elliot has a point. Six months is not that long a time and Blaine has given him enough red flags just in the last day to make staying with him questionable but...there is just something that Kurt can’t walk away from. 

“Hey.” Kurt jumps slightly and turns to find Blaine walking toward him. He’s all bundled up in his winter wear and Kurt’s not sure how long he’s been outside but Blaine’s nose and cheeks are adorably pink from the cold. Kurt’s breath catches at the sight.

“Hey.” Kurt says as Blaine comes to sit next to him on the couch.

“You okay?” Blaine asks. 

They haven’t really talked all morning. Kurt had stayed in Blaine’s room last night, getting up to go back to his own around 5 am, but it had not been the sexy romp he’d been hoping for. They’d snuggled and slept. Very little had even been said after exiting Blaine’s closet and Blaine had been busy all morning helping his mom with the evening’s meal.

Kurt nods and then shrugs, “Yeah. I guess.”

Blaine sighs and reaches for Kurt’s gloved hands in his own. Kurt allows him to pull his hand into his lap and Blaine plays with his fingers as he talks, “You know that...no matter what happens tonight, it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

Kurt swallows. He wants to believe that so badly. Instead of answering verbally, he nods.

Blaine gives a small smile, “This dinner is really important to my dad.” He continues. Kurt is pretty sure he’s heard that sentence more than ‘I love you’ from Blaine over the past day. He holds back the urge to roll his eyes and stays quiet as Blaine continues, “I know it’s not how you would want to spend Christmas Eve but I promise, once we get through the meal I’ll...I’ll tell my parents.”

Kurt sighs, “Is it okay if I ask now why you haven’t told them in ten years?”

Blaine’s eyes widen but he nods, “Of course. You have a right to know.” Kurt’s not sure that’s true but he appreciates that Blaine is willing to tell him. Blaine shrugs and looks out over the backyard, “It’s not an overly complicated story though. My parents have always made their views on gay people very clear. They don’t hate them, but would almost rather pretend like they don’t exist. They’re deeply Republican and are very into appearances. A gay son doesn’t really fit into the world they’ve created for themselves. I was terrified of the way they would react and didn’t want anything to jeopardize the relationship we had.”

“What about Cooper?” Kurt whispers.

Blaine shrugs again, “Cooper is just too much of a wild card. We’re eight years apart in age. We’ve never been overly close but we struck up a sort of tentative relationship after I turned sixteen. I know Cooper has no problem with gay people, I just don’t know where his allegiances would lie if my parents reacted poorly. I didn’t want whatever relationship we have to disappear if he chooses my parents over me.”

Kurt’s heart breaks once again for the man in front of him. At the moment, Blaine looks like a frightened little boy, and in a lot of ways he is. He has come a long way to accept himself but when it comes to his family he might as well be that fourteen year old boy discovering his sexuality for the first time.

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s fingers, “No matter how they react, I’ll be here.” He whispers.

Blaine looks up at Kurt with wide wet eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t say ‘I love you’ but Kurt can see it and feel it when Blaine brings his lips to Kurt’s in a kiss. Is it the smartest thing to kiss in the backyard? Probably not, but Kurt isn’t going to turn Blaine away especially when he can feel Blaine relax the more they kiss.

-- -- --

“Okay, you’re going to have to change.” Kurt turns from where he’s inspecting his outfit in the full length mirror in the guest room to find Blaine standing in the doorway to the room. His boyfriend leans back to check both ways down the hallway before continuing, “Because if you don’t change I’m going to spend the whole night fighting an erection and the urge to drag you into a closet.”

Kurt smirks, turning back to the mirror and straightening his tie, “And how would we explain that to your family. Just bros helping bros?”

Blaine chuckles as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him. He walks up behind Kurt and wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist before hooking his chin on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt smirks again because he knows the position means that Blaine is standing at least partially on his tip toes.

“You’re picking up on my ‘fratty talk’.” Blaine whispers into his ear and Kurt groans as he laughs. Blaine is the one who tends to pull out phrases that only a frat boy would say. No wonder his parents believe he’s straight. Kurt immediately banishes the negative thought, though, as Blaine begins to kiss along his neck. He leans his head away to give him more room, “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Another laugh is punched out of Kurt’s lungs as Blaine’s phrase is simultaneously accompanied by Blaine rubbing his hardening cock against Kurt’s ass. Blaine bites his neck softly, “Don’t laugh when I’m trying to seduce you.” He says.

Kurt groans as Blaine’s hand moves down to cup him through his pants. They don’t have the time, or the privacy, for this at the moment. Kurt’s look took him nearly an hour and if Blaine’s going to mess it up by having sex then he’ll be late to the dinner. While not an overly horrible thing in Kurt’s mind, any excuse to miss his boyfriend playing nice with a woman his parents are trying to set him up with, he knows how rude it would look.

“We don’t have time.” Kurt whispers, “This look took me an hour.”

Blaine sighs and Kurt shivers at the feeling of his breath across his neck before the shorter man drops down from his toes and backs away, “You’re right. I would hate to mess up perfection for a quick orgasm.” Blaine agrees, “And besides, soon enough we’ll have the time to take things slow.”

He’s referring to when they leave Blaine’s parents house tomorrow morning. Kurt mentally scrolls through what they have to get through in order to make it to that, and his brain hurts to do so.

He turns to take Blaine in properly and smiles, “Gorgeous.” He says.

Blaine strikes a mini pose that causes Kurt to laugh, “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Blaine says before offering his arm, “Shall we?”

Kurt takes in a deep breath and then takes Blaine’s offered arm. They only hold on until they get to the door and then separate once Blaine opens it. Kurt has no idea what this dinner will hold, but he knows the sooner it starts the sooner it will be over for better or worse.

-- -- --

“Ah and here he is now!” Kurt and Blaine hear as they make their way into the Anderson’s living room. It’s Mr. Anderson that speaks and he gestures Blaine forward into the mini circle he and two other people have made. Kurt threads his fingers together in front of him and waits a little further back.

“Merrick, I’d like you to meet my youngest, Blaine.” Mr. Anderson says, speaking to an older gentleman to his left, “Blaine this is Merrick Clark. He owns one of the most successful real estate companies in the midwest.”

Blaine smiles and extends a hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clark.”

Merrick Clark lets out a booming laugh and grasps Blaine’s hand in a mighty shake, “Please, son, call me Merrick!”

Kurt tenses at ‘son’ even though he intellectually knows that’s how a lot of older men address younger men. Blaine nods as his hand is released. Kurt wonders if anyone else notices how uncomfortable Blaine is at the moment or if it’s only Kurt.

“And this,” Mr. Anderson says gesturing to the woman beside Merrick, “is Tamara Clark. Merrick’s lovely daughter.”

Tamara is objectively beautiful but Kurt is immediately put off by how fake she seems. Everything about her - from her face, to her hair, to even her breasts - screams FAKE! to Kurt and the smile she gives Blaine is one of the most predatory looks Kurt has ever seen.

She extends a hand in the way some women do when they don’t seem to know how to shake hands or want to touch you as little as possible and all Blaine can do is grasp her fingers and shake them awkwardly, “Bill, you didn’t tell me your son was so gorgeous!” Tamara enthuses and Kurt immediately hates her voice. Like nails on a chalkboard.

Blaine blushes at the compliment and Kurt knows that blush. He’s made Blaine blush that way, a lot. His hackles rise to think of this fake woman eliciting that reaction from HIS boyfriend.

Blaine coughs as if he, too, realizes what his reaction was before he turns and smiles at Kurt, “I’d like you to meet my roommate, Kurt.”

Kurt bristles at  ‘roommate’ but is pleased that Blaine wants to introduce him. All eyes swing to him and Mr. Anderson coughs, “Ah, yes. Kurt. Blaine’s friend who is here for the holidays.”

Kurt just barely catches himself before he glares. With that one sentence, Mr. Anderson has made his feelings toward Kurt very clear and they aren’t favourable. Considering he and Kurt have exchanged all of ten words since they’ve met, and Mr. Anderson knows next to nothing about him, Kurt finds this disdain strange. Though he guesses he’s done the same thing with Tamara, but it’s not like Kurt’s trying to sleep with Mrs. Anderson.

“Nice to meet you.” Kurt says with a small wave.

There’s a beat of silence before Merrick nods, “Right. Well, Bill why don’t we leave these two to chat?” He says, gesturing to Blaine and Tamara.

Mr. Anderson nods, “Of course. Why don’t we go talk a little shop before dinner?”

The pair leaves the living room which leaves just Kurt, Blaine, Tamara. Kurt’s not sure where Tamara’s mother or Cooper and his family are but he suddenly feels like a giant third wheel.

He shifts in the silence and when he looks at Tamara she is glaring daggers at him. Kurt lifts an eyebrow. So this is how it’s going to be?

“Blaine,” Tamara says, “Can you show me where the little girl’s room is?”

Blaine nods and gestures down the hall, “It’s just down the hall…” He starts but Tamara interrupts him by laying a hand on his arm. Kurt’s eyes zero in on the contact. So do Blaine’s.

“I’d really rather if you’d show me.” She says with a coy smile.

Blaine coughs, lets his eyes dart to Kurt, before he nods, “Sure. I’ll...be right back, Kurt.”

As they leave, Tamara threads her arm through Blaine’s just like Kurt had done upstairs. Kurt sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

-- -- --

“So Kirk!” Merrick booms a half hour later as everyone sits at the dinner table. Merrick isn’t that far down the table from Kurt but his voice cuts through every conversation and suddenly all eyes are on Kurt.

“Kurt.” Kurt corrects with a patient smile.

Merrick nods and takes a drink of his wine, “Right. Kurt. I knew that.” He says, “So, what brings you to your roommates house for Christmas?”

Kurt shifts in his chair and tries to avoid looking across the table at Blaine. He’s actually tried to look at Blaine as little as possible since he and Tamara had left him in the living room earlier. He feels like there are too many landmines there considering the situation, and he also has no interest in watching a woman, who seems not at all shy with physical touch, be around his boyfriend.

“Um my dad is working tonight so Blaine offered to have me spend Christmas Eve with him. I’ll be driving home tomorrow afternoon to see my family.” Kurt answers. Burt Hummel is definitely not working tonight but no other untrue story could explain his presence here tonight.

Merrick nods again, “Very kind of him.” Kurt nods and dares a quick smile in Blaine’s direction. He wishes he hadn’t when he sees Tamara’s hand on Blaine’s shoulder. Is she cutting her turkey with one hand?

“No girlfriend to spend the holidays with?” Clara Clark asks from beside her husband. She was introduced to Kurt drunk and hasn’t stopped drinking since.

Kurt presses his lips together in a pained smile and shakes his head.

“No?” Merrick booms, “Why not? A youngu, virile looking young man like yourself? No woman to speak of?”

Kurt’s not sure where to start. Why is this man commenting on his apparent virility and why is him not having a girlfriend such a travesty to a man he just met?

Before Kurt can answer though, a tiny voice pipes up from down the table, “Kurt and Uncle Blaine kiss each other.”

The entire table becomes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kurt feels his stomach sink as he looks down to find little five-year-old Dylan Anderson happily eating his mashed potatoes, seemingly unaware of the bomb he just dropped. All eyes swing from Dylan to Kurt and Blaine, and now Kurt has a very, very small window to figure out how to react to this. 

His body reacts for him and suddenly he’s laughing. All eyes swivel to him as he laughs in his chair, and he has the forethought to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter because he’s already probably coming across as not very mentally stable.

“Dylan.” Mr. Anderson finally says as Kurt’s laughter calms, “Why would you say that? You know, it’s not good to spread lies.”

Dylan shrugs as he picks up some cranberry sauce on his fork, “I saw them outside.” He says, still unaware of how his words are affecting the table.

With this new information, Kurt finally looks across the table at Blaine. His boyfriend is staring at his plate like it holds the answers to the universe and is as still as a statue. Tamara still has a hand on his shoulder and she’s staring at Kurt with a quirked eyebrow.

“Blaine,” Mr. Anderson says, once again breaking the silence, “Is this true?”

Kurt watches as Blaine begins to shake and Kurt holds his breath as he waits for the answer. He hates that this is the way Blaine has to come out to his family, feels sick to his stomach about it actually, but a small part of him is relieved.

Blaine swallows down at his plate before picking his head up, catching Kurt’s eyes for a brief moment before turning to his father. He laughs, the sounds almost robotic to Kurt’s ears, “Of course not.” He says.

For the second time, Kurt feels his stomach drop but this time his heart goes with it. What…?

Tamara laughs beside Blaine, “Maybe Dylan saw Kirk outside with one of his boy toys. Because if he’s straight? Then I’m Kim Kardashian.”

Kurt feels his ears go hot as the entire table turns to look at him. Everyone except Blaine, who’s head whips in Tamara’s direction. Tamara for her part just smirks with a shrug.

Before Kurt can comprehend what his mind and body are doing, he’s on his feet. His chair scrapes against the floor in the silence and he stands frozen for a moment, staring at Blaine and Tamara across the table.

He points across the table at the bottle blonde, “You’re right. I am gay. And proud of it. I wouldn’t want to be anything else. But I’m sure you’re happy I’m not straight because then you’d have to explain why your flat ass is no match for Kim’s beautiful butt.”

Tamara’s mouth opens as if she’s offended but Kurt pays her no more attention as he turns to look at Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, “Thank you for having me last night but I think we can all agree that I’ll see myself out now.”

He doesn’t wait for them to answer, but does spare one more look at Blaine’s conflicted face before he stalks out of the room and up the stairs.

As he packs he keeps expecting, or rather hoping, that Blaine will come upstairs and beg him to stay. That he’ll apologize for denying them as a couple and say to hell with his family and that Kurt is more important.

That doesn’t happen though, not that Kurt actually expected it to, and ten minutes after leaving the dining room Kurt is packed and down the stairs. He can hear voices from the dining room but keeps going out the door and to the car he and Blaine rented. He’s not sure what Blaine is going to do for a ride the next day, but at the moment he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out of here before he starts crying.

He almost succeeds. 

He’s at the bottom of the driveway before the first tears fall and he’s on the highway before he’s full on sobbing.

-- -- --

Kurt wakes up slowly the next morning. He blinks his swollen eyes into the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window and has a moment of confusion. Where is he?

He hears pots clanging somewhere in the house and when his eyes finally adjust he sees the familiar surroundings of his bedroom at his Dad’s house. Oh right, he’s with his family. And his eyes are swollen because he spent the entire drive here crying and then proceeded to cry himself to sleep after crying on his dad’s shoulder for a few hours.

He’s not sure what time it is, but he knows he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. That being said, the comforting presence of his father is too much to ignore so he slowly rises into a sitting position before pushing to stand and shuffle out of the room.

When he gets to the kitchen he finds his dad and his wife, Carole, moving around the room with practiced ease, while Finn, Kurt’s step brother, sits at the kitchen table, most likely after being told to stay out of the way. Kurt smiles at the scene as much as he can before his Dad notices him in the doorway.

“Hey bud.” Burt sighs as he leans back against the counter.

“Wow, Kurt, you must be feeling bad.” Finn pipes in, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so...messy.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at Finn’s bluntness but it’s Carole who answers, “Finn!” She admonishes her son, “Maybe go take a shower before breakfast and presents.”

Finn, who looks confused why he’s being sent away, does so without comment, leaving just Kurt, Burt, and Carole in the kitchen.

“I’m,” Carole starts, handing the spatula in her hand to Burt, “going to check on the presents.” She says and then she, too, is gone.

“Subtle.” Kurt sighs as he lowers himself into a chair.

Burt chuckles softly, “They’re worried about you.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow, “Even Finn?”

Burt inclines his head, “In his own way, yes.” Kurt ‘aha’s sarcastically but he does, in fact, believe that both Carole and Finn care about him and are worried about him. He may not have felt that way when they entered the Hummel family eight years ago after it just being Kurt and Burt for years after Kurt’s mom had died, but every year the ‘step’ gets less and less important.

“How ya doing?” Burt asks, flipping a pancake before taking the pan off the heat and lowering himself into a chair next to Kurt.

Kurt shrugs, “Like I did a lot of drinking last night...after getting my heart broken.”

Burt pouts slightly before sighing, “I can’t believe that’s how it all went down yesterday.”

Kurt nods, “Me either. But it did. Now it’s just me having to get over it.”

Burt tilts his head, “What are you going to do about the fact that you share an apartment with this man?”

Kurt sighs and shrugs again, “I don’t know. That’s a New York Kurt problem. Lima Kurt just wants to eat carbs, open presents with his family, and forget yesterday even happened.”

Burt nods just as there is a knock on the front door. Father and son turn toward the sound in confusion. Who would be coming to call at 6 am on Christmas morning?

“Kurt?” Carole calls from the front hallway where she had presumably answered the door.

Kurt’s brow furrows as he looks at his dad. The older man just shrugs and gestures toward the door. Kurt shrugs and gets up to see who it could possibly be.

He rounds the corner into the front hall and stops short.

It’s Blaine.

Blaine is standing on his front doorstep, winter hat being wrung between his gloved fingers and biting his lip with a guilty look on his face. Kurt hates how adorable he looks.

Carole is standing at the door with a look of worry on her face. She seems conflicted.

“It’s...okay, Carole.” Kurt says and the older woman nods before making her way past Kurt. She reaches a hand out to squeeze his arm as she passes.

When it’s just Kurt and Blaine, they stand in silence for a long time. Kurt doesn’t even invite the other man in. He just stares as Blaine shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Why are you here?” Kurt finally asks.

Blaine jolts like he hadn’t realized Kurt was still there or he’d been so lost in his own head that he hadn’t anticipated Kurt speaking first. He looks up at Kurt with wide eyes before looking back down at the carpet at his feet.

“I told them.” He whispers.

There’s silence again as Kurt processes this information. Eventually, he slowly reaches to grab his jacket off the hook and puts it on. He heads to the door and steps out, causing Blaine to take a step back, and closes the door behind him so the pair is now standing on the porch.

He gestures to the porch swing and he and Blaine sit next to each other.

“I’m listening.” Kurt says, softly. He’ll give Blaine that much. He’ll listen.

Blaine sighs roughly, “As soon as you left I wanted to go after you. But I knew that would just make things worse. I needed to deal with things with my family before I could come to you. Hell, as soon as those words were out of my mouth I wanted them back.” 

Kurt knows what words Blaine is talking about. He’s heard ‘Of course not’ repeated in his head over and over since they left Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine shakes his head, “And I wanted to slap Tamara for what she said but,” and at this Blaine smirks a little, “you kind of verbally slapped her for me.”

Kurt feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward but he’s still too wary to really find humour or compliment in Blaine’s words.

“After you left, my dad started making this big speech about how wrong it was to have a gay person try to hide who they were and ‘sneak’ into his house. How he felt violated.” Kurt’s stomach starts to turn sour. Blaine huffs and his breath comes out in a puff of steam, “And he’s going on and on about how you deceived me and the family and I just kept getting angrier and angrier until eventually I just exploded.

“I told him that if he felt deceived by the two days he didn’t know about you then he was in for a doozy because I’ve been ‘deceiving’ him for ten years. That shut him up real quick.” Blaine laughs humourlessly, “And everyone just stared at me. I told them that I was gay and in love with an amazing man and that if they couldn’t handle that then they needed to check their priorities.”

Blaine falls silent and Kurt’s eyes widen expectantly, “And?” He asks breathlessly.

Blaine sighs and looks out across the front lawn, “And then my dad told me that if that’s the way I felt I could get the hell out of his house.”

Kurt gulps.

Blaine is quiet as he looks out over the lawn before he turns to Kurt, “And you know how I feel now?” Kurt shakes his head and slowly a smile blooms on Blaine’s face, “I feel relief. I am so relieved to no longer have this hanging over my head. In the end, I couldn’t care less about how they reacted, I just needed to say it.”

Kurt gives a small smile, “Well, then I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Blaine breathes and then he shifts and Kurt thinks it looks like he goes to reach for Kurt’s hand but then at the last moment thinks better of it and retracts his hands into his own lap again, “Look, I know just because I came out to them doesn’t erase the fact that I forced you into a closet and then lied about you point blank. I get that.” He nods, almost resignedly, “But,” He says, looking up at Kurt with wide eyes, “I love you so much, Kurt. And if you can somehow find a way to forgive me, I promise that I will NEVER do anything like that again. You weren’t the reason I decided to come out to my family but your love made me feel like I’d have a soft place to land no matter what.” He grimaces, “And I fucked that up.”

Kurt is quiet as he looks at the man in front of him. He’s only known Blaine for six months but from the very beginning it’s felt like he’s known Blaine his entire life. They zinged in a way he never has with anyone else. They’re love was real and deep and something worth fighting for.

Is.

Is something worth fighting for.

Kurt reaches across the divide and grabs Blaine’s hand. Blaine inhales sharply and he looks down at their hands and then up at Kurt. Kurt smiles and squeezes the hand in his own.

“It’s still a soft place to land.” He whispers and Blaine all but melts against him. Blaine’s lips are on his and Kurt’s still warm enough from the house to get a small jolt from the coldness of Blaine’s lips. He silently vows to keep kissing until their lips are the same temperature.

“Woooohoooo!”

The exclamation makes the pair pull apart much too soon for Kurt’s liking and he turns toward the sound in alarm.

Standing beside a blue SUV on the street is none other than Cooper Anderson. He’s got his arms in the air and a bright smile on his face.

Kurt laughs in disbelief as he turns to Blaine who is smiling sheepishly, “What…?” Kurt trails off.

Blaine’s smile grows, “Turns out when push comes to shove...Cooper’s allegiance is to me.” He says it with a little bit of disbelief and Kurt can see his eyes twinkle with the beginning of tears.

“I told you he’d forgive you!” Cooper exclaims, loud enough for the whole street to hear and then he bends to high-five a bouncing Dylan who Kurt just realizes is next to him.

Kurt and Blaine laugh, “Coop! You’ll wake the neighbours!” Blaine admonishes.

Cooper shrugs, “Well, I haven’t heard Kurt extend an invite for Christmas morning breakfast yet!”

Kurt laughs as he tugs Blaine up to stand with him and gestures Cooper and Dylan forward, “My dad and stepmom are making pancakes. Would you like to join us?”

He directs his question to all three Anderson’s as Cooper and Dylan comes closer but he’s only got eyes for Blaine.

Cooper and Dylan slide past them and he enters the house without further comment but Kurt and Blaine hear him bellow, “Good morning Kurt’s family! I’m Cooper, Blaine’s brother. This is my son, Dylan. And we were told there were pancakes!”

Kurt and Blaine laugh again as they hold hands facing each other on the porch, “I guess we should go explain.” Kurt says, tilting his head toward the door.

“One more kiss.” Blaine says and Kurt smiles as he indulges him. He bends down and presses his lips to Blaine for a moment before pulling back.

“We can kiss inside where it’s warm, too.” Kurt says.

Blaine smiles, “Yeah, but if we do it inside Cooper will make inappropriately lewd comments.”

Kurt smirks, “Actually, my step brother Finn probably will, too.”

“They’ll probably get along famously.” Blaine comments.

“Probably.” Kurt whispers before kissing Blaine one more time, “Merry Christmas, Blaine.”

“Merry Christmas, Kurt.” Blaine whispers before the pair link fingers and enter the house together.

[lilhawkeye3]

This Ohio discourse has got me dying to create discourse about every other state now hehe so I officially present:

Hawk’s review of 36/50 US states!

In alphabetical order because that fuckin song “50 nifty United States” has been stuck in my head since fourth grade.

Arizona: Phoenix is hot. Can’t believe y’all choose to live in a place that gets haboobs. Saw Sen. John McCain in the airport. I feel that sums up the state well. 4/10

California: as a resident of the state of Oregon, I’m legally required to say fuck California😌 unless anyone else talking shit about Cali and then we got your back😤 SoCal vs San Fran vs Northern Cal are totally different worlds though. 7/10

Colorado: damn idk how y’all breathe there, them air is thin. But really pretty out there! 7/10

Connecticut: oh my god fuck New Haven. And Stamford, and Hartford, and— Yknow what? Let’s just toss the whole state into the Sound. For real, traffic is the WORST here and I’m so sorry that y’all gotta live like that. 3/10

Delaware: I cannot believe this is considered a state. There’s no difference between Delaware and Maryland/Pennsylvania. 1/10 should not be a state

Florida: “the only hills in Florida are the highway ramps and the Matterhorn!” —the shuttle driver at Disney World. He was right. Shit is flat as fuck here. And hot. And humid. The Gulf Coast is nice? But tbh it’s just all very touristy which is kind of a bummer. 5/10

Georgia: ...I can’t with the humidity or thinly veiled racism. But y’all got nice peaches! Also Black Panther filmed there so thank you for blessing us with that. 6/10 for fruits

Hawaii: okay pineapple farms are cool. Tbh I just feel really bad for how much mainlander/tourist bs all the islanders put up with. Ik price of living is v high and keeps going up. That said I did love Hawaii... although I was stung by a jellyfish. Hate those little bastards. 8/10 for wonderful people and nature

Idaho: as an Oregonian I’m required to also say fuck Idaho 😝 you da hoes. Okay for real tho southern Idaho has become v white white and kinda scary tbh. The northern part of the state is pretty chill tho. Also Oreida kettle chips are partly made in Idaho so I gotta give you half credit for that. 4/10

Illinois: at least you’re not Indiana. 4/10.

Indiana: I never want to step foot in Gary, Indiana again in my life. (Passed a Mack truck hauling a race car to Indy 500 though so that was cool.) 2/10

Iowa: I almost moved here. I’m so glad I didn’t. Why are the Quad Cities actually a group of five towns? I hate that. Also the roads were all cement, felt like driving on a sidewalk. Was also interesting because the second we got out of the city proper, it was just... corn fields everywhere. 2/10 y’all raising children of the corn.

Kentucky: I really don’t have anything to say about Kentucky. I thought the trees were pretty? 5/10 yeah idk

Maine: my relative has totaled two cars by hitting moose in Maine. Maine scares me. Or rather, the moose do. Also the lobster roll hype is real. And the coast truly is beautiful. 8/10 but an extra point for the moose bc I hate that relative so 9/10

Maryland: oh god Baltimore. Also I’m blaming you for the DC traffic because it’s on the land you gifted them. 3/10

Massachusetts: Patriots fans are the worst NFL fans (the racism is real, especially after fans burned the jerseys of Black players who knelt for the anthem). Liking Dunkin’ Donuts is not a personality trait. The North End in Boston is truly the best place to get pizza in the entire country. Western Mass is not the same state. And the Cape Cod bridges give me nightmares. 5/10 but cause I had to pay taxes two years and it really is Taxachusetts, knocking it down to 4/10

Michigan: it’s a lot bigger than I initially thought. 5/10

Minnesota: it’s Canada but in the US. Pretty driving through the southern part. Cops suck tho. 5/10

Montana: okay Montana is downright gorgeous. (Except Billings. Sorry, Billings.) I must include a photo. I wanna get a cabin here and just exist. 8/10

New Hampshire: can’t decide if it hates Massachusetts or wants to be Massachusetts. All it knows is that it’s better than Vermont. Which... y’know, valid. (If you wanna see NH culture watch North Woods Law tbh). 4/10

New Jersey: why are there so many goddamn highways in this state? Also there are more places to weekend trip than the Shore or the Poconos. Although you do have people pump gas for you just like Oregon, so... that’s valid. Things my friends have added: Newark airport is cursed (valid), the jughandles are nightmares (true), pork roll/Taylor Ham is good and so are bagels and New Jersey pizza (allergic so idk), and everyone is split on whether the shore is actually decent or not 😂 I give it a 3.5/10 out of spite

New York: NYC is fun, Upstate is MASSIVE but really beautiful. Long Island is... yeah I don’t have anything nice to say about Long Island. 8/10 For NYC, 6/10 for Upstate, -2/10 for Long Island, gives us an average of 6/10

North Carolina: very good peaches. Isn’t South Carolina. Keep it up👍🏽 6/10

Ohio: I already told y’all how I feel about this flat ass boring state. I feel no need to slander it any more lmao. 3/10

Oregon: she flies with her own wings, mi amor🥰 to list all the reasons I like Oregon (and the issues too bc it ain’t perfect), I would need a whole other post. I’ll just leave you with this picture I took of Mt. Hood, the queen of our Cascades. 11/10

Pennsylvania: so apparently PN is three states hiding in a trench coat like NY. There’s upstate, philly and Pittsburg. Personally I think they’re just trying too hard and wanna get the same recognition as NY. Meh. 5/10

Rhode Island: THIS FUCKIN SHAM OF A STATE Just merge it with Connecticut and be done with it!! It’s tiny. Providence sucks. There’s nothing unique about this state that you can’t find in Southern Mass (except MA has cheaper taxes so y’all come to work and shop in MA anyways smh). Also the fingers are really annoying to drive down to get to some beach areas haha. 2/10 you’re barely better than Delaware.

South Carolina: my Black father was invited to a party celebrating General Robert E Lee’s birthday. So... 0/10

South Dakota: very gorgeous, didn’t realize the Missouri River went this far west, but VERY LARGE. I mean it looks big on a map but then you get there and... yeah. No speed limit on highways is a great time though. And the Badlands have mountain goats! 6/10 bc while pretty, living there seems really hard. (Picture is me in the Badlands).

Texas: gave us Juneteenth and Beyoncé and JJ Watts. Thank you Texas. But is very big, got independence from Mexico to keep slavery (yikes), is like 97% private land (yikes) and is like the second or third largest state. Very big. That said, everyone I’ve ever met from Texas is lovely. 6/10.

Utah: Other than Idaho, this is the whitest state I’ve been to. Or it feels that way. Like a, the people crossed to the other side of the street and held their bags because I’m brown, state. And I don’t ski so I can’t even say that’s a good thing (I fell off the ski lift the one time I went, long story). Yeah 0/10.

Vermont: wants to be New Hampshire or Canada and can’t decide which. So it’s just kinda there. Pretty hills though. 3/10

Virginia: let’s be real we all forget that Virginia exists west of Richmond. Nova is a beauracratic and traffic nightmare and half our neighbors had to pass security clearance checks. Hampton Roads and beach area is a tourist and mosquito nightmare. But there were dolphins and I made snowmen on the beach. Good times. 6.7/10

Washington: again, legally required as an Oregon resident to say fuck Washington because it’s all your fault we now are getting a toll on the I-5 border. But you’re better than California. And the Sound is really cool for fishing, love Wicked Tuna. And the fish market. Best salmon I’ve had. Eastern Washington... y’all got Spokane but the rest is kinda sparse. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 8/10

Wisconsin: cheese is actually good. Again, pretty state, much larger than I initially thought. 7/10

Wyoming: this was the ONLY STATE I lost cell service in when diriving cross country. Kinda surprised it wasn’t Montana, but no, it was Wyoming. Views are gorgeous though so I was distracted either way. 4/10

Thank you for joining me on this cross-country edition of Tea Time with Hawk. Please respond with any reactions, corrections, addendums about any and all of the states mentioned. And thank you for taking part in this wholesome Clone Wars fandom discourse with me 🥰💕

DISCLAIMER: THESE RATINGS ARE ALL A JOKE PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY GET MAD ABOUT IT

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 17)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 4107

Warnings: angst and language throughout, medical complications

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @quailliamyfears thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Holy shit,” you gasped running to his side. “Stephen? Stephen?” 

Hank dropped to his knees beside you, digging through the bag he’d brought. 

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked. 

“I think he’s going into anaphylactic shock.” He finally found what he was looking for and jammed the needle into Stephen’s thigh. He stopped seizing but then stopped altogether.

Hank checked his pulse, checked his breathing, and began CPR. You were sweating bullets as Hank worked on him. After two rounds of chest compressions, he finally started breathing again. Hank and you helped him up and he sat there with his head between his knees. 

The two of you monitored him for several minutes before Hank and you helped him into his bedroom to lie down. 

“I think he’ll be fine, now, but it’s safe to say this serum won’t work for you. You’re allergic to it,” Hank informed. 

“So make one that I’m not allergic to,” Stephen responded with reigned in aggression.

“It doesn’t work that way. This serum is very specific, I can’t change it. I’m sorry, but it won’t work.” He nodded to you before giving you two a look of sorrow.

“I’ll walk you out,” you quietly said. You followed Hank to the door. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Yeah, I just wish I could’ve done more. It should’ve worked.”

You shook your head. “No, yeah, honey, I know.” You reached up and squeezed his arm. “This is not your fault, Hank. You’re fantastic. You rushed down here with the serum and you saved his life. I’m so grateful you made the time. It means so much to me. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“Don’t mention it. Sorry again.” He eyed you up and down before leaving. 

Just as you got the door closed, you turned to go check on Stephen but he was already standing behind you, in the doorway to his room. 

“Oh, hey, what are you doing out of bed?” you asked. 

“You said you trusted him.” 

“I do,” you said, a bit confused. 

“But he nearly killed me.”

“No, you had a horrible allergic reaction.” 

“You said it would work,” he responded. He was just as pissed and broken as the first night you showed up. 

“I said that I’ve seen him work miracles. You and I both know nothing is a guarantee.”

“Nothing is a guarantee? You said he could fix me!” he shouted.

“I said he could help! I said I saw him fix Charles but he told us that this might not work. He said that, but you insisted on it. Don’t blame me or him because of a fluke allergic reaction you had.” 

He glared at you. “You gave me hope. You made me think I could get my job back. You made me think I just had to take a few injections a day and I’d be back to normal.”

“Yes, I did give you hope, because somebody fucking needed to! So far all your ‘friends’ and ‘colleagues’ have slammed doors in your face. I showed up, not knowing you, trying to help you, and all you’ve done is fight me.”

“Well clearly I needed to. Hate to break it to you, doc, but your so-called miracle worker almost killed me.” 

“Don’t blame Hank. You’re allergic. He warned us that this might not work on you.”

“Yeah, but he failed to mention the part where I might die because of it,” he shot back as he paced, angry.

You shook your head, making a face of complete befuddlement. “I can’t believe this. All I’ve done is try to get you to be better, be healthier, and you’re just stubborn all the way. Either you want to be better or you don’t, Stephen, but make a god damn decision.” 

“Oh that’s rich. Me make a decision? All you do is talk about helping me and helping your other soulmate. Then go be with the guy. If he's so great, then why are you here?” 

“Because the universe told me to be here.”

“Obedient, aren’t you. But when I tell you to get the hell out of my life, you won’t listen. What? One disabled guy isn’t enough for you, you wanna have two? Won the jackpot there huh? Are we just your type or what is it?”

You gritted your teeth, trying to fight back tears. “I’m going to let that slide because you almost died a few minutes ago and I get it, you’re on your last leg. But lashing out like a wounded animal at me and everyone else doesn’t help you or me.”

“You’re not helping! Bringing in someone that doesn’t know what they’re doing isn’t helping me. Nothing is helping me!” 

“Certainly not you!” you yelled back. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean wallowing. I mean not showering, not shaving. I mean not taking care of yourself. I mean the fact that you ran your expensive sports car off the road because you were too busy looking down at who you could get rich off of next. It’s your fault you lost your career, Stephen, nobody else’s. So don’t blame me, or Hank, or the doctor’s who did your procedures. It was you.” 

He shook his head, his eyes shooting hellfire at you. “Get out.” 

“With pleasure,” you said before grabbing your things and storming out.

----------------------

 You called Charles the next morning. 

“I think I’m coming home,” you informed as you started to grab your bags. 

“What? Why? What happened?” he asked, concerned. 

“He’s an ass, that’s why. He doesn’t want me. I don’t see any reason in staying around.”

“Well if you’re sure…” he said, but it sounded like he wasn’t saying everything he was thinking. 

You let out a sigh. “What is it?” 

“You just, you don’t give up. You didn’t give up on me, you don’t give up on your normal patients. You’re not the type and--”

“This is different,” you interjected. “He’s so hostile. It's not like it was with you. We had a history, I could reach you. He seems to want nothing to do with me.” 

“He’s disabled and he lost his job, right? How is that any different?” 

“You’re right,” he responded, “it’s very different. In fact, you and I got to fall in love. And what did I do when you turned up at my doorstep?” 

You took a moment to answer, starting to see what he was getting at. “You turned me away.”

“I turned you away, and I was in love with you - my soulmate. I was broken, damaged, alone. Only because of your persistence did you stay. Despite all my shitty attitude, you stayed.”

“Well, yes, but we already loved each other. I knew how you really were.” 

“Right, but just because we have a history doesn’t mean he doesn’t need your help. Now, I knew you, I loved you, and despite all of that, I still lost everything else in my life and I pushed you away. Imagine him. He’s all alone, he’s lost everything just like me, but he didn’t have you to hold on to.”

You pursed your lips in thought. “I suppose he’s probably feeling pretty horrible.”

“Stay one more day. I’d hate for you to give up and something happen. Maybe he’ll call or you can go by later and see if he’s better about the whole ordeal.” 

You pressed your lips together in thought. “Alright, fine, one more day. I’ll go over to see him.” 

You ended up back at his apartment later in the afternoon. He opened the door to you. 

“You’re back,” he noted.

“And you keep getting surprised by that. I told you, I don’t give up.” You sighed. “If you’ll still have me, I’d love to keep trying to help you. Even if you think I’m a nuisance, even if you hate me and want me gone, I’m here for you. I will be here until you don’t need me here.” 

“I know,” he replied with a bit of a smile. “That makes us both pain in the asses.” 

You smirked and he let you in. 

“So what made you decide to stay?” 

“Uh, my other soulmate. He reminded me of how challenging he was, and we had the advantage of loving each other. He loved me enough to trust me to take care of him. I loved him enough to keep helping him despite his asshole-ishness.” 

The two of you walked in and you sat down at his glass dining table. 

“And me? What’s your pull to help me?” he wondered with a small smile. 

“I was beginning to wonder what that looked like,” you noted with your own soft grin, talking about his smile. 

His smile got bigger despite himself. “Avoiding the question, doctor. Is that because you don’t have an answer?” His eyebrow twitched in encouragement. 

“No, I do. I want to help you because helping people is what I do, it’s what I’ve always done. If you were any other stranger, I’d be doing roughly the same thing.”

“Tending to them night and day?” he asked, a bit skeptical. 

You let out a small chuckle. “Well, no, okay, maybe not quite how I’m doing it with you, but you are a special case.” 

“Because I’m your soulmate. So you’re saying that if I was say, a neighbor, you wouldn’t be doing this?” 

“Possibly not, but then again, I’d have to know about their condition. The universe tells me when you need me most, and sends me then into your life. I trust that. So yes, half of me is helping because it’s in my nature, the other half is because you are my soulmate.” 

“I wish I had your blind faith,” he sighed. 

“You do. You believe in that blind faith every time you went into surgery. Sure, the procedures can be typical, but every case is different. You believed that all your training and experience would prepare you for every time you stepped into that OR, and yet, I’m willing to bet, sometimes it didn't.” 

He made a look of hesitant agreement. 

“I’m here, right now, reaching out, telling you I am here to help. I won’t think less of you for asking for help, whether it’s showering, cleaning, cooking, or even a shoulder to cry on. You’ve had an enormous blow in life. Don’t make it worse by continually pushing people away. Being alone doesn’t make anything better. I want to get to know you, to possibly love you, just as I do with my other mate. I’m not asking you to believe in some cult or change your religious views or anything like that. You know soulmates exist, you know we shared scars on our arms for years until we met. I’m not even asking you to believe in the universe. Just... believe in me. Give me a chance, forget about everything else.”

He looked at you with eyes that were hard to discern. 

“What’s his name?” he asked. “Your other mate.”

“Charles.” 

“I can see you with a Charles, it fits. Is he a psychiatrist too?” 

“No, but he is in the field of psychology.” 

“I see,” he said, bobbing his head. 

“So, when it wasn’t me or Christine cooking, did you do it or did you eat out?” 

“Are you fishing to see if I am a cook?” he teased.

You returned the smile. “I am, a bit, yes.”

He grinned. “Well, to be honest, it’s a bit of both. I like to cook if I have the time but more often than not I don’t. So it’s typically whatever Manhattan’s finest restaurants have to offer.”

“That sounds a little fun though. Trying out restaurants all the time.”

“Sometimes, and sometimes it can be a bit boring. A home cooked meal just tastes entirely different. What about you? Aspiring chef or…?” 

You shook your head and laughed. “No, no. I do love to cook, and bake though. I make Charles breakfast a lot and I get his lunch ready for him.”

“Must be nice to have a mother figure around,” he jested. 

“Oh, come on, it’s not like that. I just love to cook, he’s busy, so why not do it?”

“Because you sound like a housewife from the 50s, and you don’t strike me as the type to be okay with that.” 

You scoffed. “Really now? Because you’ve been running me ragged as a maid and cook for the last couple of days. I’m surprised you seem to mind me cooking for Charles.” 

Stephen stood up. “Come here,” he softly instructed, gesturing with his head to the kitchen. You did as you were told. “It’s not that I mind… Did he ask you to do it or did you offer?”

“Does it matter?’

“Oh, it matters a great deal to me.”

“I offered,” you said with a bit of a sigh and eye roll. 

“Ah, that’s what we were looking for. Autonomy. As long as he isn’t replacing you for his mother we should be fine… Now, you’re going to see how I make a fantastic dinner. But, I’ll need to guide you since…” He raised his hands, showing their shaking. You reached up and held both of them. 

“Just tell me what to do,” you gently said. 

“Well we’re going to make a fantastic Penne alla vodka with a salad and angus cheese bread. Alright? But first…” He grabbed a remote and pressed a button and jazz music filled the apartment. 

“You’re a jazz fan?” you asked, surprised, a wide grin on your face. 

“I’m a lover of every genre. In fact, in the OR, I have the staff pick songs and I can nail down the artist, song title, album and year of release.”

“Quite the carnival trick,” you noted with a shoulder bump. 

“Get the pot out from down there, and get the vodka from that cabinet over there,” he instructed. “It’s not a party trick. You could try too, you know.” 

You followed his orders and began the preparation of food per his instruction. 

“Well, I could, but if I use your collection, that’s a bit biased, don’t you think? Tips the scales your way.” You made a face of uncertainty and distrust. 

“Oh, I see how it is, you don’t trust me.”

“I believe your exact words have been all along that we don’t know each other yet. You seem like the type to show off, I’m just making sure you have a real reason to do it.” 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re really giving me the run around. Alright. Go for it. Pick anyone, any song.”

You grinned and went to get your phone while the ingredients worked on the stove. You found something that wasn’t too obscure and played it. After about five seconds, he got it right. 

“I’ll be damned,” you mused, amazed. 

“We should’ve bet on that.”

You laughed. “Oh, no, I'm never taking a bet with you. You just scream hustler.” 

“Oh, come on now.” He laughed before telling you the next steps. Before long, you two were enjoying a night of dinner. He asked you about your music tastes and you asked about his and how he amassed such a collection. He explained it was his photographic memory. You were actually sad to leave that night, and he seemed to not want you to leave either, but you had to get some sleep. He bid you goodnight and you walked away, happy. 

-------------------------------------

A few days later, Stephen left again. This time he told you where he was going. He was going to his physical therapy. It made sense now and you weren’t quite sure why you hadn’t already put that together. 

You were doing a bit of clean up when a knock came at the door. You frowned, unsure what to do depending on who the company was but answered it anyway. 

“Christine? Steven is not here right now he's at==”

“I know, he's at physical therapy.”

“Then why are you here?”  you asked in confusion as you followed her inside the apartment.

“Actually came to see you. Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Uh, sure,”  you agreed hesitantly.

The two of you locked up Stephen’s apartment and you went down with her to a coffee shop that was only about a block away. You were very confused as to why she wanted to speak to you. She hadn’t laid eyes on you since the first day. 

Once the two of you ordered, got your coffee and sat down, she began. She gave you a look of “bear with me here.” She let out a breath and started talking. 

“How has Stephen been?” 

“Fine,” you said with a shrug. “He’s getting better, mentally, that is. His hands are still... Not so good.” 

“What makes you think he’s doing better?” she asked, as if you had no authority on the matter.

“He’s laughing, smiling. He’s teasing. When we met it was nothing but hatred, cruelty, and wiseass comments.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s getting better. Look, his accident, it was bad. Not just the car getting wrecked or his hands, but that crash took everything from him. I don’t know if he’s told you that.”

You slowly nodded. “He’s mentioned it, yes. I know it’s been hard on him.”

“You have no idea what’s hard on him. You weren’t there for anything before this. That wreck turned a very proud man into the hot mess he is now. You’ve been soulmates, for how long?” 

“I have no idea. All I know is his handwriting showed up on me a few months ago.” You sensed unease in Christine and you had no idea why. 

“Stephen is… he’s a lot to handle, if you haven't noticed. And that was when he still had his career and money.” 

“I know you care about him, I get that, I do. He explained that you two have a bit of a history so I’m not trying to step on anything. He seemed to make it clear you two were over though--”

“You think I’m interested in Stephen?” she asked, almost offended. “I’m not here for that. I’m here so you know what you’re getting yourself into. All he cares about is himself, and that’s it. Did he tell you about the crash or anything that happened after it?” 

“Just that he lost the ability to work.”

She pressed her lips together. “He was on his way to speak at a neurological convention. He and I used to go to them. He thought they were romantic, I thought they were boring. Stephen was speeding around some dangerous curves. He was trying to pass someone, got distracted by a case a staff member of ours sent him, slammed into the car beside him, and he went flying. His car ended up in the water, and his hands ended up in the dash. We didn’t find him for a few hours.”

You nodded, feeling sympathy and sadness flood your body for him. 

“We got him in the operating room, we did the best we could, but his hands weren’t the same. He spent a lot of time and money doing experimental procedures, one right after the other. When we unwrapped his hands after the first recovery period, he looked me in the eye and said I’d ruined him. Think about that. This man, was a man I visited in the hospital every day. I fed him, clothed him, took care of his meds, shaved him. I was his nurse and friend for weeks and the thanks I got was that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offered, unsure what she wanted from you. 

“I don’t mind though because hey, we’re friends, old friends. We may have never made it as lovers but I respect the hell out of him as a doctor, college, and friend. So I don’t particularly like it when I see a random woman show up, claiming to be his soulmate and take all the credit for work I did. I had a routine, we were going to get him better, and now with you in the picture… everything will be wrong.” 

You held up your hands. “Woah, look, I don’t know what Stephen’s told you about me but I’m not here to take glory or fame or credit for anything. I’m just here because the universe told me a man needed me most. Everything you've done is fantastic, truly. He talks about you fondly, most of the time. I don’t think Stephen sees it that way at all.”

“I’m not here to try and get him back, or whatever, he’s all yours. After the things he said to me and the way he treated me, I don’t think we should talk for a while. But you, I’m just letting you know because even though we do have a history, he’s extremely trying. I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt. I don’t want you to think it’s all going to be okay, when with Stephen, it very rarely ever is. He tends to lash out even when he’s in a good mood, but now, I don’t know, it’s almost like he’s a wounded animal, just lashing out at anyone and everyone. Chances are he’s going to say something that will make you question staying. I’m not telling you how to live your life, but I don’t think Stephen could bear it if you two did become close and then you left. So you should think about that before you continue this.”

Her words stewed inside your head for a moment before you opened your mouth to speak. “I actually have two mates. It’s never been heard of, but here we are. I honestly can’t tell you who is worse. My first mate who lost function in his legs and his career, or Stephen. My first mate lost a school he had helped build, his best friend, and his sister, all at the same time he lost use of his legs. He lost nearly everything, but the only difference was, we’d already fallen in love. So it made it easier, in some sense, and harder in others. Hard to see a man I held in high esteem become drug dependent and a near alcoholic; but easier to want to help the man I love. With Stephen, I didn’t know him before the crash so what I’m getting now is just glimpses of a broken man.” You chewed on your lip before continuing. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I think you’ve done a great job at keeping him sane and balanced, and I sincerely thank you for that. I don’t intend on leaving until I’m 100% certain he can fend for himself and he no longer wants me around. Until then, I’m in it for the long haul.” 

She smiled at you. “I’m glad to hear that, because here’s what you should know about him…” She jumped into it. She went into all of his bad habits, his quirks, his annoyances. She created a full profile for you to work with. She went into his background, explaining just how good he was at his job and just how devastating this was for him.

By the time she was done, it was evident. He was a confident, fantastic, renowned doctor, who had his career and livelihood stripped away due to a split second mistake on his part. You suddenly felt all the more sympathetic for him.

“I hope that helps you,” she finally said, “I don’t want to see any broken hearts. If you think he’s bad now, just wait until his heart breaks.” 

“I thought you two said you were never in love,” you noted, confused. 

“We weren’t, but you could do it, and you’d be the first woman to break his heart. I’d hate to see what that looks like.” 

Getting up, she smiled at you, saying, “I was wrong about you. I thought you couldn’t handle it, but I think you’ll be just what the doctor ordered.” 

Surprise colored your expression. 

You met back at the apartment with Stephen. You told him you’d had coffee with Christine. 

“Ah, did she turn you against me? Tell you how arrogant and stubborn I can be? That you’re wasting your time?” he asked, a bit jovially.

“Actually, she said I was your salvation.” 

Stephen looked up from his tablet and gave you a curious look. When you turned to make dinner, he looked back down at the tablet, smiling softly. He didn’t think you could see it, but you could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[mickmarstookmyheart]

Life's a Sick Joke pt 16

Would like to start from the beginning? Here is Part 1!

Pairing: Mick Mars x Reader

A/N: Good morning/night/afternoon, you beautiful creatures! I know this story hasn't been really active recently but here you go the next chapter. There isn't much action in it, although it contains emotions and deep conversations. I hope you will like it. Stay safe, drink water and listen to music louder than hell!

16. Being There For You

After you got Mick from jail, which was pretty hilarious regarding that he never did anything to be in there, not even this time. He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He was still angry with you for not helping him immediately, but you let him fume a bit.

You were concentrated on something else. It was finally the day your brother would be out so you intended to get him, too. You seriously were tired of getting everyone out of jail. You were driving the car, staring at the road, your fingers drumming on the wheel along the music; Accept's Balls to the Wall was on and you couldn't help but silently sing along.

"I'm glad you have the energy to sing, but I couldn't sleep last night since someone let me rot in a fucking cell!" Mick snapped and you turned the music down. You took a long breath not to say anything you would regret.

"Mick, you only spent 6 hours there. You could've slept while waiting you know. And don't be angry with me, I wasn't the one who got you there." You arched a brow still not believing he was mad at you instead of Tommy.

"Speaking of, I can't wait to slap drummer. With a chair." He barked looking out the window. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh on you, I'm just grumpier than usual for not sleeping."

"It's okay, I understand." You were smirking at him. He placed his hand on your right hand which you rested on the gear shift. "But you have to wait with your revenge until next Monday. You know we have the whole week off."

"Finally. We can be alone for a bit. Without anyone harassing us." He stated, closing his eyes and leaning back his head. You bit your lip down fearing his reaction to what you were about to say.

"Umm...but I hope it's okay if Dylan will be around for a bit. Or I can go back to our old apartment and let you rest at your house. I would like to spend some time with Dylan before we hit the road again." You turned in the next corner after looking in both directions. It felt like ages until Mick said something.

"Babe, it's totally okay. Your brother needs you. And he won't bother me unless he runs in the hallway screaming and almost naked smashing everything in sight." You chuckled knowing exactly whom he was talking about. Luckily, Dylan has never acted like that. Alright, maybe a few months ago but that wasn't the true him. Sharon exclaimed that he was improving and was on a good path. You had every reason to believe her so you weren't so worried about being with him in one room again. On the other hand, you were thinking of how jail time might break him. He was always so strong, although terrible things happen to people in jail who spend months in.

"I'm sure he won't cause any harm. So you truly don't have any excuse to have him in your house for the week?" You asked him cautiously for reassurance. To be honest, you were the scared one. You were scared as hell since you have never been to his home. You got together during the camping you brought them on and since then you weren't home or nearby even. The tour and then the hospital, the travel to your sister.

"(Y/N), there are a few guest rooms so he can crash at my place if he wants to. Or if you think environment change is the last thing he needs right now, we can bring back him to your shared apartment." He said warming your heart how kind he was with you, with your family. How much he cared for your well-being. Your eyes welled up and you got rid of the tears by wiping them away with the top of your hand. "(Y/N), what is it?" He stiffened thinking through what he has just said. "Did I say something?"

"Yes. But nothing bad, don't worry." He relaxed a bit but still couldn't understand why you were crying. "It's just, in my whole life I only got hatred, stating with our parents. I always I was just giving and giving until nothing remained for me. I started to drain out from goodness but kept going as Isabelle and Dylan needed me. It's not that I don't love them or they don't deserve it. I didn't have anyone I could rely on, or just have a nice decent talk about what is bothering me. And after meeting you, I thought I hit jackpot. And still, you keep amazing me with your kindness, selflessness, and your big heart." You exhaled when you finished your monologue making Mick speechless again. In the meantime, you parked the car in the prison's parking lot and stopped the car. Your hands rested in your lap playing with the key. Mick got out of the car and closed the door after himself before leaning on the car with his back. You were truly afraid. You hesitated at first but then got out of the car and walked next to him, leaning on the car. You didn't say a word. About Mick, he was fighting back tears, his chest rose and fell rapidly and you couldn't help but notice his jaws were tightened.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there for you." He begun, finally breaking the silence. Although, what he said made your brows knitted.

"Mick, we hadn't met, you wouldn't have been able to do much about it." You leaned your head on his shoulder making him calm.

"I know, but it's so unfair. You deserve the world, (Y/N). And if someone dares to tell me otherwise I will beat the shit out of them. And may your parents rot in hell, what they did to you is unforgivable. And I'm admiring you, (Y/N), for being able to smile and keep making everyone happy after all those horrible things happened to you. You are a survivor and I have fallen in love with you madly, deeply, and undeniably." You looked up at him, feeling lost in his blue eyes. You cracked a smile and hugged him tightly, filling your lungs with his scent. He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, his arms resting on your waist pulling you closer.

"I love you, too, Mick. With every cell of my body." You whispered. You didn't know how quickly you found each other. You completed each other, you were partners, not just lovers. You were soulmates. A loud screeching noise broke the moment making both of you look towards the source of the sound. It was the huge rusty gates opening. Your heart was hammering and you were grabbing Mick's hand strongly.

"Hey, easy, Tiger." He whispered in your ear making you loosen your grip. At first, you only saw guards but then you noticed your brother in the distance. You were grinning and couldn't believe he was finally free after months. When the guards went back inside and the gates were closed Dylan looked in your way and dropped his bag on the ground. You let go of Mick and started running towards him. When you two met you jumped on him almost making him fell.

"Hey, (Y/N)." He greeted and spun you around as you were still hanging on him like a monkey.

"Hey." You could only say this. You were so happy to have him in your arms again. The real Dylan. Not the one who hurt you or left you alone. This was the Dylan you knew in your whole life. The caring, the funny, the goofy.

"I would love to carry you like this all the way home but it's either that you eat too much recently or I am out of shape." You chuckled letting him go. You were on your feet again when Mick approached you and you saw Dylan bow his head from embarrassment and guilt.

"Hello, Dylan." He said casually. No emotions, just words.

"Hi, Mick." He muttered still not looking in his eyes. He balled his fists then loosened them again by his side. He was still battling. It broke your heart seeing him like this. "I would like to apologize. For all the things I have said and done. For acting crazy and almost hitting you in the face. I wasn't myself. And I would like to thank you for taking care of (Y/N) when I couldn't. It means a lot to me." He offered his hand to Mick as an apology. Mick glanced at you and after you nodded he shook Dylan's hand.

"Apology accepted." He gave a half-smile and winked. He knew it wasn't Dylan's fault, well, mostly. He inherited anger issues from your parents, but he should've asked for help. "So, are you hungry?"

"Hell yes. The food was horrible in there." He complained, dropping his bag on his shoulder lazily. "Sadly, they didn't serve (Y/N)'s famous spaghetti Bolognese. You could say, I'm craving that."

"I didn't know a chef lives inside you." Mick laughed arching a brow.

"I haven't had the chance to show it." You crossed your arms in front of your chest like a shield.

"Then it's high time. So, Dylan, it's your decision. Where would you like to go?" Mick asked. Dylan's eyes googled from the shock but then went back to normal.

"I'm sure your kitchen is much bigger than ours. Right, (Y/N)?" You burst into laughter from that statement because you knew damn well how small that kitchen was and barely one person could fit there, not even three.

"Then, it's settled then."

∆

"Woah, you didn't mention you live in a fucking castle." You admired the beautiful house which was settled in a forest far away from any human. It was definitely something Mick appreciated.

"It's not much. But come inside." You got your bags from the back where Dylan stood.

"Are you nervous?" He asked noticing you were biting your lip and struggling to breathe properly. And the son of a bitch was smirking. Righ in your face.

"Fuck you, Dylan." He just laughed and took the bag from your hand. Mick has already opened the door and was waiting for you.

"My lady." He gestured with his hands, letting you go first. When you stepped into the house your eyebrows were nearly invisible. When you thought about Mick and his personality you were sure he lived in a dark castle, like vampires or just a dirty apartment. You expected everything but not this. The living room was bigger than your apartment, it was light and neat. There were two huge black leather sofas in front of the fireplace with a glass table between them. The walls were white and pure.

"Like it?" Mick asked smirking and wandering his eyes in the room.

"It's freaking beautiful." You stated.

"Bloody hell, this is awesome." Dylan had almost the same reaction as you.

"This way." Mick said, you and Dylan followed him. "So this is the kitchen, I know it's not much but I hope it is big enough. And the bedrooms are upstairs.

"(Y/N), don't droll. So nasty." Dylan joked earning a scoff from you. You had to admit, this was the most fascinating kitchen you have ever seen. You quickly wiped your mouth but there was nothing.

"You are nasty!" You elbowed him in the stomach when Mick didn't pay attention earning a groan from Dylan.

"You haven't changed a bit." He murmured, trying to keep up with you.

"So, Dylan, your room will be at the end on the right. You will find towels in the wardrobe, too." He noted.

"Thanks, man. I think I will go, I don't want to bother." He winked and headed to the room but before he entered he winked and gave you a thumb up.

"Sometimes, I feel the urge just to choke him. Just a little bit." You said. Mick chuckled and took your hand into his. Butterflies in your stomach kept reminding you that you were in his house and apart from Dylan, only the two of you were there. No Nikki, no Tommy, no Vince. No concerts, no shouting, screaming, or breaking glasses. Just quiet, peace, and you.

"I'm pretty curious about your reaction so close your eyes and don't open until I say so." You nodded and did as told. He helped you not to hit anything. "Okay, now you can open it."

You cautiously and slowly opened your eyes from the sudden brightness. Huge windows were in charge of the light. However, many other things drew your attention. At least, 10 guitars were hanging on the wall along with pieces of vinyl. He knew guitars were your weakness and he was right there smiling from seeing your reaction. You were speechless.

"Dear Satan, this is beautiful." You held up your hand to hide your open mouth.

"I knew, you would like it!" He snickered and showed you around in his room. There were some bookshelves, tapes, and other types of vinyl as well. You noticed some family pictures as well. "Yeah, well, Susie hasn't changed a bit."

"These photos are adorable." You put down the frame and turned to him. "So, do you have any plans for the day?"

"What about your famous Spaghetti Bolognese Dylan was talking about?" He asked pulling you closer his eyes not leaving yours. You could feel his breath on your skin and his hands on your hips. "Or we could let him rest a bit and try if we fit in the bed?"

"Oh, I thought I would get a guest room as well." You joked earning a small laugh from him.

∆

"Gosh, how much I missed this!" Dylan was filling his mouth with your spaghetti and it appeared that Mick loved it, too. You were holding a glass full of wine and were watching them.

"It's nothing special, actually. Just some secret ingredients, that's all." You noted. "However, I'm glad that criminals love my food." You added while taking a sip.

"What?" Dylan inquired with raised brows. "Don't- don't tell me you were arrested, too. Cause I won't believe it."

Mick rolled his eyes and kept his attention on his plate.

"It wasn't me, alright? And can we just forget about it?"

"Then welcome to the club, man. Don't worry, you are not bad. She also sat in there for a few days." He tilted his head towards you making you choke on your wine.

"Nothing surprises me anymore." Mick chuckled shaking his head.

That day, you felt loved. By Mick, and by Dylan. Both are a different kind of love, but you felt special. For a long period, it was the first day, you felt safe. No fire, no drunk people trying to flirt with you, no drugs. Of course, only for a week. Then you will have to go back, but first, you wanted the enjoy every minute of being with Mick and your brother.

∆

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[cake-writes]

Compromise (Part One)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Angst, Fluff

Summary:  You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

I really don’t need to be working on yet another WIP but here I am, like a clown!

It all started with some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life. You know the kind: rough and desperate. Needy. Passionate. The kind straight out of a romance novel, blazing hot and full of love. The kind that, even four years later, served as inspiration for your fantasies – even if you despised the man responsible.

No, that was a lie. You didn’t despise him. You just wished that you did.

It made your toes curl then, and the memory of it still did, even now. The only difference was that you used a toy. That was all you could do, because in between your job managing a small café and your three-year-old daughter’s care, you had zero time for dating. You were Winnie’s mother and primary caregiver, because of course you were. 

Her father was the Winter Soldier, after all.

The two of you split when Winnie was just thirteen months old. Unsurprisingly, the court didn’t give Bucky custody, not when so much of his past was bound by red tape. You knew that it wasn’t his fault, the things he’d done, but you were still surprised he’d gotten anything at all. Not only was Avenging a dangerous line of work, but it was the exact reason why you’d left.

He only got to see her once a month, with supervised visits – visits that were much harder on you than on your daughter, but you put on a brave face just for her. Maybe some small part of it was for yourself, too. You were still in love with him – or with the idea of him, you weren’t sure anymore, but the fact remained that he chose his work over his new family out of some misguided idea of making up for the awful things he’d done.

He chose Steve. He chose Sam. He chose his past over his present.

Not you.

The visits were difficult, but manageable – when he even managed to show up, of course. It was about fifty-fifty whether or not he’d show, usually because of work and he often tried to reschedule last minute, which you eventually started to refuse. You and Winnie had a set schedule, and you’d be damned if you deviated from it because of him and his neverending excuses.

You did try, once. You tried to work with him, tried to empathize – at least until he rescheduled three Saturdays in a row and Winnie’s poor little heart shattered to pieces. She was inconsolable for weeks, and needless to say, you stopped trying after that. He didn’t deserve it, not when he hurt your young daughter so easily.

Your usual meet-up place was the small park near your house. There wasn’t much else around, anyway, not like inner city Manhattan which you so desperately missed. You couldn’t afford to live there on your meagre barista salary, so you moved shortly after your trainwreck of a break-up. Moving caused an even bigger rift between you and Bucky, one only worsened by heated arguments and nasty words.

Upstate was where you moved, about three hours away from the city.

Upstate was where Bucky was living now, too, about fifteen minutes from your home.

He broke the news during an impromptu lunchtime visit to your café, one you especially did not appreciate due to the fact that he’d shown up at your workplace. It was almost like he’d known you wouldn’t be able to leave, as you so often did when he tried to talk to you about anything. You always put on a smile for your daughter when you dealt with him, but she wasn’t here and you had no reason to be nice.

The mug in front of you sat untouched as you stared down at the coffee within, delicate latte art slowly melting away while you processed what he’d just said. He was going to be just a few miles down the road at the new Avengers facility, and though he didn’t say it outright, the implication was enough: he could come here anytime he wanted to; could pick Winnie up from preschool anytime he wanted to; could see her anytime he wanted to, court order be damned.

You’d been reduced to nothing more than a barrier keeping him away from his daughter – your daughter – and it stung. Then again, that was what you’d become. That was what you’d been forced to become, because of him. 

A barrier. 

A bitch.

“I want to see her more,” he told you, but his cordial tone did nothing to hide the thinly-veiled threat. “It’s been years since the last agreement. Things are different now.”

Don’t make me get a lawyer was what he meant.

What’s worse was that you knew he was right. He’d been cleared of all charges, and although his work wasn’t exactly ideal for childrearing, he earned much more money than you did. Not only that, but with the compound right down the road, there was no way he’d be denied this time. If the two of you went back to court, he’d get joint custody. Fifty-fifty. Equal. You knew it, and he did, too. He was forcing your hand.

“You barely make it to your monthly visits as it is,” you responded evenly, though inside you were about ready to scream. “How are things different, Bucky?”

“I’m close by. We’re training more Avengers, so my hours are flexible. I’ve already talked to Steve.”

Why couldn’t he have talked to Steve two years ago?

“I can show you around the compound, if that’s what you want. It’s better than the tower.”

You remembered the tower. You hated the tower. It was no place to raise a child, what with all the missions and the parties and the late-night take-offs which constantly woke Winnie from her sleep. The one good thing it had going for it was the security.

Somehow, he’d remembered your gripes. You couldn’t decide if you should be flattered or not.

“I’ve even got a spare bedroom for her now, sweetheart. Can’t we make this work?”

“Don’t call me that,” you finally snapped, to which Bucky held his hands up in a show of surrender. He didn’t offer an apology, but then again, you didn’t want one. You didn’t want any of this.

Except maybe you did.

You chewed your lower lip, coffee now long forgotten in favour of worrying about the future. You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, he broke your heart just a little more.

Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. 

You’d always wanted that.

And if you didn’t, then the next step would be a lawyer. You didn’t have the time or the money for another custody battle, whereas Bucky had plenty of both and he certainly had no qualms about going down that route. This visit was just a last-ditch effort before he did.

“Fine,” you acquiesced through grit teeth, “but I want to see it first.”

“Yeah?” he asked, blue eyes wide with surprise.

For a moment, you were rendered speechless. God, you hadn’t seen him look at you like that in years. The last time probably would have been when you told him that you were pregnant with Winnie. 

Even now, you were still so weak for him. You always managed to stay strong for your daughter, but never for yourself. You missed him, and, well, it wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter either way.

“Yeah,” you repeated, reluctant and hollow.

That weekend, you found yourself staring up at the gates to the compound in awe through the windshield of your small beater. The compound was indeed much larger than the tower had been; you couldn’t see much from the road, but there was plenty of acreage. Plenty of room for Winnie to run around and play, almost, if it wasn’t practically a military base.

When you pushed a button, the CCTV camera came to life, whirring as it likely zoomed in your faces through the side windows of your car. “Ma’am, this is the Avengers Facility. You might have the wrong—”

You abruptly interrupted him with your name, followed by, “And this is Winnifred Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S.”

There was a long pause, then, as the guy on the other end seemed to realize who you were. Then he had an immediate change of tone. “Oh, that’s— that’s today! Right! I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

Ugh. You weren’t old enough to be a ‘ma’am.’ 

Were you?

After the gate started to open, you slowly made your way up the long driveway, humming quietly to yourself to calm your nerves. That was when Winnie started to sing along with you, the same off-key tune that the two of you often sang together in the bathtub. She’d never been a fan of baths, so you used the song as a distraction. Now it was supposed to be your distraction, but it didn’t work very well.

You parked next to a small fleet of shiny black cars with tinted windows, feeling just as out of place now as you did when you and Bucky were dating. You’d always made coffee for a living, while he was… him. How you even managed to make it work for nearly two years was beyond you, as brief and fleeting as your whirlwind romance had been.

“Is Daddy here?” Winnie asked excitedly, peering out the windows at the large complex of buildings. Her breath fogged up the glass and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yes, baby,” you told her as you got out of the car and slung your purse over one shoulder, before you opened her car door. “Daddy’s here. We’ll see him soon.”

She bounced happily as you unbuckled her from her car seat, and then you hoisted her up onto one hip and shut the door with your free hand. After that, you slowly made your way up the steps to what you assumed was the main building.

Christ, this place was massive.

Just before you got to the top, the glass double doors up ahead were shoved open and there was Bucky in all his glory – tall and muscular, just like always, albeit almost out of breath. His hair was pulled back into a loose, messy bun, strands of hair framing his face in the familiar way you’d always loved, and the stubble on his face nearly made you swoon.

You hated that you were still attracted to him.  

“Sorry, we’re a little early,” you admitted, nodding to your daughter. “Someone wanted to see you.”

As if on cue, Winnie shouted, “Daddy!” and reached out for him with her little arms, making grabby hands in his direction. She was so eager that you might have dropped her once, but you were used to her excitement.

Bucky met your eyes for a moment with a note of appreciation before he turned to her. Then and only then did the corners of his eyes crinkle up in a genuine smile – one directed at your daughter, not at you, one not meant to keep up a charade like the two of you were wont to do. That was the only type of smile he offered you, and that hurt, too.

“How’s my best girl?” he cooed, peppering her face with noisy kisses.

She giggled and half-heartedly tried to push him away. “Daddy, no! It’s scratchy!” 

At that, he just rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers some more, lightly, not enough to hurt, and she squealed. He slid his hands under her arms with ease before he lifted her up and away from you, and although you knew he wasn’t being malicious, you always hated giving her up.

She just slung her tiny arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. It had been awhile since she’d seen him – probably about two months, now, and you didn’t blame her. You’d missed him, too.

“How was the drive?” he asked you, holding Winnie against his side as the three of you made your way inside. With his free hand, he held open the glass door for you.

“It was a whole twelve minutes,” you responded dryly, more joking than not. Twelve minutes was much better than the nearly three-hour commute from when he was living in the city; not that you had to make it very often, as it was usually his responsibility. “Not too bad. Thanks.”

You weren’t really sure what you were thanking him for. The door, maybe.

Bucky paused to study your face for a moment, hesitant, before he quickly lifted Winnie up onto his shoulders, adorable peals of laughter escaping her. The ceilings were tall enough to offer plenty of leeway, and she’d always enjoyed being able to see things from such a high vantage point, especially someplace new like this. 

“I bet Auntie Nat will be so happy to see you, sweetpea,” you told her, more to fill the silence than anything else. Bucky sure looked like he wanted to say something to you. He had that same reluctant expression on his face, the very one that creased his brows and made your anxiety skyrocket.  

Thankfully, he seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to discuss whatever it was yet, and instead chimed in, “She’s waiting for us upstairs, princess. Do you wanna go see her?”

“Yeah!” Winnie sounded incredibly chipper as she gripped two handfuls of Bucky’s hair in her small fists, almost like the reigns to a horse. “Let’s go!”

You stifled a laugh as she half-directed him where to go. The stairs were steeper than you anticipated, and by the time you reached the next floor, you were well and truly winded. The second flight was even worse; they were both already at the top by the time you got halfway there, because Bucky took them two or three at a time.

“Come on, Mommy!” Winnie cheered.  

“I’m coming, baby,” you called out, holding onto the handrail for dear life. That wasn’t an exaggeration.

One step, two, then three and you finally made it there. It wasn’t that you were out of shape, exactly – except, well, you were. You’d never completely lost the extra weight that came along with having a child, and you definitely didn’t have the time to work out with all of your other responsibilities as much as you would have liked to.

Bucky’s eyes were soft on yours when you glanced over at him, to which you huffed and quickly looked away. Knowing he’d seen how out of shape you were was embarrassing enough.

“Where’s Auntie Nat?” Winnie asked, then, and you were never more grateful to her for it.

“She’s making lunch for us,” Bucky told her, gently placing a hand on your lower back to guide you in the right direction. When you froze up at the unexpected contact, he immediately pulled it away, like he’d only just realized what he’d done.

If your heart wasn’t already racing, it certainly would have been after that.

“How’s that sound, Win? Are you hungry?” you asked as the three of you walked into the large kitchen and living area. The open floor plan was full of expensive things you’d only ever dreamt of, no doubt courtesy of Tony.

“Yeah!” she responded happily, which soon became an excited shriek when she spotted Natasha spreading peanut butter onto a few slices of bread. On the marble countertop in front of her was also a jar of strawberry jam, Winnie’s favourite.

“Hi Winnie,” Natasha greeted. “Guess what I’m making?”

“Peanut butter jellies!” Winnie exclaimed, wiggling a little, clearly ready to get off of Bucky’s shoulders to properly say hi to Natasha. Predictably, he plopped her onto the floor with ease, and she did just that. The sound of her scampering across the unfamiliar tile brought a smile to your face. It almost sounded like home.

Natasha kept her entertained while you and Bucky watched in tense, uncomfortable silence. If nothing else, you were glad that Winnie was able to spend some time with her two favourite people. You, of course, weren’t one of them. You weren’t the fun parent. Bucky was.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said, then, softly enough that Winnie couldn’t hear.

You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on what was on the other side of the room: the two black leather sofas surrounding a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, with a lavish coffee table in front. All you noticed were the sharp corners and invisible price tags. You weren’t broke, exactly, but all of this was much nicer than you could afford.

“Don’t be,” you replied with a shrug. “She’d be over the moon if we had such a big TV at home.”

“I’m happy to give you more,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “Why am I not surprised you’re still driving that car?”

At that, you shot him a look that clearly conveyed your displeasure, to which he met your eyes in challenge.

You didn’t want more money from him. You only accepted the bare minimum of child support because it was court-ordered, and even that was a blow to your pride. You and Winnie were managing just fine without the ridiculous sum of money that Bucky made whilst working with the Avengers.

“It still runs. Why would I get rid of it?”

“It’s not as safe as the newer models,” Bucky responded far too evenly for your liking. “You know that. Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of our daughter’s safety?”

“She’s fine,” you hissed. “Are you really going to do this right now?”

“Mommy? What’s wrong?” came your sweet little girl’s voice, then, and your bristly demeanour disappeared in an instant. You always did your best not to argue with Bucky in front of her, but every now and then he just had to push your buttons. This was one of those times.

“Nothing, honey,” you said with faux cheerfulness, walking over to the counter where she was now seated, jam smeared all over her cheeks and chin. “Mommy’s just hungry, that’s all. Can I please have a bite?”

Winnie just beamed and held out one half of her sandwich to you. That was when you noticed that Natasha had lovingly cut it into triangles, just as she always did, and your smile suddenly felt more real than it had in days.

After you took a bite, you brushed Winnie’s soft brown locks away from her forehead and left a kiss there. “Thank you. Now be a good girl for Auntie Nat, okay? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she said so sweetly, you couldn’t help but give her another kiss. Then you shared a warning look with Natasha – almost as if to say keep her out of this – before you walked back over to Bucky.

Together, the two of you went back out into the hallway to finish the argument he started. You were already ready to rip his head off after his unexpected visit-slash-threat earlier in the week, not to mention the snide comment he’d just made about your ability to parent.

The moment the door shut behind you, you were in full attack mode, zero to sixty in no time whatsoever. “Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you not to pick a fight in front of her?”

“Well, maybe if you were more reasonable—”

“More reasonable? Maybe if you made an effort to actually show up every once in a while—”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do here, sweetheart? She’s three and I’ve barely seen her!”

“And whose fault is that?” you spat, jabbing your finger into his chest for emphasis, “You’re the one who’s always working, Bucky! You know how excited she gets, and whenever you let her down, I’m the one who has to try and make her feel better! I’m the one making promises you can’t keep!”

Bucky exhaled slowly, then, in a clear attempt to calm down. The two of you never used to fight like this, but ever since you moved away, things had been beyond tense and you’d long since been forced to recognize when he really was trying to control his temper.

Of course, things weren’t always so bad. There were days where both of you were at least somewhat amicable towards each other, maybe even friendly. In fact, this one seemed like it might have been heading in that direction – in the beginning, at least.

Then he finally spoke again, tone clipped, “Let me show you her room.”

Yeah, like seeing whatever he had in store would suddenly make you forget the last three years. 

“Fine.”

Bucky led the way down a winding corridor on the same floor as the communal kitchen. You guessed that each floor probably had its own. The building itself was large and expensive as hell, more than anything you’d ever be able to afford. Just being here almost felt like a privilege.

You hated it. What you hated more was that you liked it. For Winnie, anyway. She deserved the world.

The door to Bucky’s apartment opened with a fingerprint scan, because of course it did. The technology reminded you of your shared suite in the tower once upon a time. 

The apartment wasn’t anything impressive, more of a bachelor pad than anything, but at least it was clean. A grey suede sofa was the focal point, across from another large TV. Boys and their toys, you supposed. At least the coffee table in here had no sharp edges. 

On the other side there was a small kitchenette – big enough for one person, but not necessarily two. Then again, Winnie didn’t eat nearly as much as an adult so that wasn’t really a problem.

Down the hallway, you spotted three doors: one on the left, one on the right, and one at the end. Bathroom, spare room, and his room. At least, that was what you assumed.

You were right.

The second you opened the door to the spare bedroom, your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn’t overly pink or girly like Winnie’s room at home, but you could immediately picture her living here. Not all of the time, because you did still want primary custody, but it was evident that Bucky had put a lot of thought and effort into this.  

There was a twin bed up against one of the walls, with a small guardrail to prevent her from rolling onto the floor – just like at home, where she’d only recently moved into a big girl bed. The sheets were a delicate lavender, and the duvet matched perfectly, white and purple gingham print. At the foot of the bed was a grey fleece blanket, which you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against as you took everything in.

In one of the corners was a small white desk and chair, and on top of it was a stack of children’s books. She hadn’t yet learned how to read, not really, but she loved being read to at bedtime. As you skimmed through the stack, you noticed that a lot of the books were her favourites.

Then you spotted the stuffed animals.

There were a bunch of them, with tags in an assortment of languages. You didn’t even have to look to know that they were from different countries. Bucky must have been saving them for a while. He already knew you had too many at your house as it was; you’d ripped him a new one for it once already, because he liked to bring Winnie one whenever he got back from a mission. You had so many now that they covered her bed, and then some.

He still was picking them up on his missions, it looked like. He just hadn’t given them to her yet.

When you turned back to him, you found him leaning against the doorframe with a hopeful look on his face.

“How long—” Your voice broke, then, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to sound like you weren’t about to cry. It didn’t work. “How long have you been collecting these?”

“Over a year,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he nodded to the room itself. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry in front of him. That didn’t work either.

“Oh, Bucky,” you sniffled. “She’ll love it.”

He hesitantly pushed off the doorframe when he noticed you were upset. “Are you crying?”

“No,” you blubbered, burying your teary face in your hands before he could get a good look.

Bucky wanted to be there for your daughter. At last.

You were beyond touched by all the work that had gone into this, and although you weren’t happy about his unspoken threat of legal action, you could finally see why. He cared about her. He cared about her just as much as you did. He just didn’t show it as well.

The way Bucky wrapped his arms around you was gentle, unsure, but when you leaned into him his hold on you tightened just a little. It had been far too long since you’d been held, for one, and for two, god it felt good to be held by him. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be in his arms. 

You’d missed it – missed him.

That might have been why you finally managed to swallow your pride and ask, muffled and teary, “What car has the best safety features?”

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, he gave you a smile, the same kind where his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

It was genuine.

Part Two / Master List

[365days365movies]

January 4, 2021: First Blood (1982) (Part II)

Quick Recap before we go on. Oh, and SPOILERS right up top!

John Rambo (Sylvester Stallone) is a Vietnam vet wandering through Washington State, until coming upon the town of Hope, run by the Sheriff Will Teasle (Brian Dennehy).

Sheriff Will Teasle is an absolute dick who arrests Rambo for no real reason; just for being a “drifter.” His police force, which includes the sadistic Galt (Jack Starrett) and sympathetic Mitch (David Caruso, AKA Horatio Caine from CSI: Miami), beats John Rambo, and post-2020 me is UNCOMFORTABLE!!!!!!!

Rambo has Vietnam flashbacks (like you do) and escapes the prison, pursued by the obsessive and dickish Sheriff and his equally dickish men (except for Horatio, maybe).

Galt tries to shoot Rambo, and karma bitch-slaps him RIGHT in the face, holy shit. He dies, and Rambo is blamed and shot at, escaping into the forest.

OK?

OK. On with the recap!

At this point, all of Rambo’s actions are in self-defense. In truth, it’s been self-defense since the beginning. However, he does kill two dogs, so...yeah, can’t really justify that. That sucks. The dog’s handler gets shot by Rambo, who now has a gun, and we also see that Galt’s certified sociopathy has leaked into everybody else but Horatio upon his death, including the dog guy, who tells his dogs to straight up kill Rambo. But, as previously stated...that’s not what happens.

At this point, I should introduce the amemedala.

The amemedala is a portion of the mesencephalon (or midbrain) discovered in the brains of millennials and younger individuals, recently discovered, named, and made up by yours truly. This area, attached to the thalamus, acts as a relay center between the cerebrum and the various sensory receptors of the body, similar to the function of the thalamus. However, while the thalamus governs the broad relay of senses to the appropriate areas of the brain for analysis, the amemedala relays appropriate sensory signals to the frontal lobes, where catalogs of shared sociological trends, or memes, are housed. This relay and association generates connections between extrenal stimuli, and entries in the meme catalog of the frontal lobes. While this is technically an autonomic process, it can be suppressed with enough willpower.

Why am I ringing this up in the middle of First Blood? Because EVERY. SINGLE. CELL of my brain is working to suppress the amemedala right now. Why? BECAUSE OF THE LORAX, AND FOR WHOM HE SPEAKS.

Is it an outdated meme? Very much so. BUT I CANNOT GET IT OUT OF MY GODDAMN HEAD AS I WATCH THIS MOVIE.

OK. That is now out of my system. Anyway, Rambo continues to speak for the trees, which is understandably starting to spook the smalltown cops. This leads to the VERY surprising moment where a camouflaged Rambo appears OUT OF NOWHERE and stabs Horatio in the goddamn leg! Like, wow, he was invisible! I had to rewind the film to see where he was. This is tense...and awesome, not gonna lie. This is awesome.

And then, he gets another cop by JUMPING FROM A TREE. Well, a tree stump, BUT STILL. After he takes him out, he stands in plain sight in front of an approaching cop. That cop, subscribing once again to the shoot-first-ask-questions-later policy, fires. And I SWEAR, Rambo is FASTER THAN THOSE SPEEDING BULLETS, as he dodges out of the way, and the bullets HIT THE COP HE JUST TOOK OUT!

And then, when I didn’t think this could get any more intense, that cop triggers a booby trap, and A STICK WITH WOODEN SPIKES GOES THROUGH THIS MAN’S LEGS, AND HE’S SPEARED LIKE A KEBAB OH MY GOD

The asshole sheriff runs to the NEW set of panicked screams, and his compatriot is just Batman-ed away by Rambo. It’s just the sheriff, now. The storm is building, and the forest is getting darker. The sheriff frees leg-spike cop, and goes to find the other cop, who’s been PINNED TO A TREE LIKE A BUTTERFLY IN A DISPLAY CASE. See, look!

HOLY SHIT IT’S RAMBO WITH A KNIFE IN THE FOREST. He pins the sheriff up to a tree, then with some legitimately badass lines, threatens with the sheriff with “a war [he] wouldn’t believe,” and telling him to make like Elsa and…

I love this sequence. It is the most intense, crazy, holy shit sequence I’ve seen so far this month. Wow. I understand why people talk about this movie. Man, that was a hell of a ride! Good movie, though. All right, so, time for the final sco-

Oh. Oh, my God. I’m only HALFWAY INTO THE MOVIE?

...Wow. OK, then.

We now meet Colonel Sam Trautman, Rambo’s commander in the Green Berets. He’s come to “get his boy.” He says that he came to rescue the Sheriff’s dumb ass from Rambo, rather than the other way around. And the Sheriff is...an idiot. He’s an ass, he’s a maniac, and he’s a stubborn idiot. Even after learning that Rambo is the best, he’s unwilling to back down, the dummkopf.

Rambo kills a wild boar in the woods, which makes no sense for Washington State, but whatever, sure. Anyway, they try to get the colonel to lure Rambo out, even though that’s obviously gonna make his PTSD, just...SO much worse. Especially as he starts using Vietnam parlance in contacting him. Not gonna end well, guys. But it’s then that we learn that Rambo is now the last surviving member of his unit, contributing to his trauma. Rambo’s also been trying to get in contact with the Colonel, winding up here because he has no place to go. He says that there are no friendly civilians, and the trouble’s been caused by that “king-shit” cop. I will be using this term from now on.

Wow. Damn. Hell of a reason for that title. And I think I love this movie. Seriously, I’m having a good time.

King-Shit Cop keeps going ahead with his absolute idiocy, despite all warnings to the contrary. So, a bunch of troops now converge upon Rambo’s place, but he naturally opens fire on them, without killing a single person. In fact, he hasn’t killed anyone this whole movie, and they make a point of saying that he’s been holding back the whole time. So, they decide to use the next, most logical course of action. They FIRE A ROCKET AT HIM.

Afterwards, the Colonel and King Shit Cop catch up at a bar, where the latter exposes his full sociopathy, commenting that he just wanted to kill Rambo. This is opposed to the Colonel, who doesn’t really know what he’d do if Rambo survived.

Which, of course, he did. C’mon, you think a little military-grade propelled explosive is gonna kill John Rambo? Nah. He’s the best there ever was, and he’s gonna prove it now. He jumps into a military vehicle holding an M-60, and hijacks it. Doesn’t take long for the news to break that Rambo’s still kicking, and he’s quickly intercepted by King Shit Cop, who JUST. DOESN’T. KNOW. WHEN. TO QUIT. And I’d admire his tenacity if he wasn’t SUCH AN ASSHOLE.

The cops try to run Rambo and the truck of the road, and he plays the UNO Reverse Card on them instead. And I’m pretty sure at this point…

...that old Johnny boy’s just killed some cops. So, yeah, now there’s a bigger problem. He powers through the State Police blockade like it was a banner blocking a football team, stops at a gas station, grabs the gun from the car, and LIGHTS ALL OF THAT SHIT ON FIRE! Destroying the livelihood of an individual who had nothing to do with this.

Yeah, Rambo’s starting to turn from innocent acting in self-defense to public menace REAL quick. And yeah, it’s King Shit Cop’s fault entirely...but, yeah, Johnny needs some help, because he’s losing the train at this point. But, not to be outdone, King Shit Cop is also beginning to lose it, and it’s definitely beginning to seem like only one of them is going to come out of this alive. And the Colonel tries to give him an out, but King Shit Cop’s prepared to go down with the ship that he blew a hole in in the first place. Like an asshole.

But here we go, the finale. John Rambo vs. King Shit Cop (whose name, by the way, is Will Teasle. I just like Rambo’s name for him better). KSC’s on the roof, Rambo’s on the street. Rambo causes more property damage, possibly because banks also give him PTSD (I joke, but PTSD is no laughing matter, John clearly needs help), and then finds his way to a store that has just all of the ammo a psychologically-damaged Vietnam War veteran on a revenge quest could ever need.

And then he BLOWS. THAT. SHIT. UP.

And he does this...ALL of this...just to lure KSC out of hiding. This man DESTROYS A TOWN because this idiot, sociopathic, unhinged, King Shit Cop, won’t just STAND. THE FUCK. DOWN ALREADY.

Rambo enters the police station, where KSC is on the roof. And, like the Colonel and the rest of us guessed, KSC gets shot in the process. And as Rambo stands over KSC, the Colonel finally shows up and does what literally everybody else should have done.

Talk. He just...talks to Rambo. He talks to this mentally ill man, and that mentally ill man responds, espousing his pure anger at the war, the public, protesters, work, the country, the town, himself...everyone. And goddamn, is that shit palpable.

This man can no longer fit in the world that he was forced to leave, and forced to return to. This poor, poor, poor man. It hurts. And it sucks. And he pours his heart out to the Colonel, and to us, and...you feel it. You feel his trauma, you feel his pain. You feel the aftermath of war. And it’s been seven years at this point for the Colonel, but no time for John. Not Rambo. John. And it’s just...never over.

Damn. Goddamn.

This...this is one hell of a good movie. And not just a good action movie, either. A damn good movie.

And that’s it. That’s First Blood.

[aceresources]

Shades Evil Dead MC Book 3- Memes Part Four

FEEL FREE TO CHANGE THE GENDER TO WHATEVER SUITS YOUR MUSE. WARNING LANGUAGE.

“I need you to forgive me.” “See you’re not gonna believe a word I fuckin’ say.”   “Guess I’m gonna have to show you.” “Baby, don’t be like this. Let me in.” “I know you’ve got a reason to hate me, but I never wanted to hurt you.” “I never wanted to let you go.” “Because I had no choice.” “Because I can’t stay away.” “Because this confrontation was a done deal the moment, I laid eyes on you again.” “You signed that deal the minute you road back through the clubhouse gate, ___.” “I didn’t come looking for you.” “Maybe not, but now I’ve come looking for you.” “___, what we had was over. You need to let go of the past.” “Have you let it go?” “___, I’m not leaving until we work some shit out.” “Go away, ___. I’m not interested.” “Nothing about you interests me anymore.” “Get that through your head. I don’t want you.” “___, you want to play hard to get, I’m up for it, but don’t go cutting my balls off sayin’ shit like that.” “I’m not hard to get. I’m impossible to get.” “You teasin’ me baby.” “You drive me crazy, ___. I’ll give you that.” “Sweetheart do I need to point out that I could bust this door down at any time I want?” “Done playin’ with you, babe.” “Nothing and no one is keepin’ you from me. Not this time.” “I gotta break this door down I will, ___. Don’t for a minute think I won’t.” “You were always beautiful, but damned if you aren’t even more beautiful now.” “I should have never let you go, baby.” “Biggest mistake of my life.” “I’m sorry, ___. For all of it.” “I know I deserve that. That and more.” “I need to tell you about why I let you go. Why I ran you off.” “Look at me please, baby.” “Ain’t tellin’ you this shit to hurt you. I just want you to know the truth.” “You deserve to hear the truth.” “He thought I was just playing with you.” “I tried to tell him it wasn’t like that. That You meant something to me. That what we had was real.” “You ended us. ___. Not him.” “No. He beat the shit outta me that night.” “That I didn’t deserve you. That you deserved a lot better than me.” “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” “Why did you make me think you were just tired of me?” “Because if I had, I knew you would have fought it. You wouldn’t have let me end it.” “I know you babe.” “You’re stronger than me. You would have broken me down.” “Until you walked out. And I realized what I’d done.” “I went back for you. I did, ___. Maybe it would have still been the end of us, but I wanted to apologize to let you know it wasn’t your fault.” “I couldn’t handle how destroyed you looked.” “I’d done that to you. Me. And it tore me up.” “All this time you’ve been just a couple hours ride from here?” “I should have tracked you down. I should have come for you, ___.” “But you didn’t.” “No, I didn’t. I can’t change that. But you and me, ___ we’re not over.”   “Not by a long shot, honey.” “Now that I got you back-” “What makes you think you got me back?” “What do you mean you never were?” “___, and I, it’s not what you thought. We’re just friends.” “I never lied to you.” “You let me believe it.” “Any wasted time we had was your fault.” “Done talkin’ babe.” “I’ve waited forever to have you under me again. Let me take it in.” “I’ve missed you baby. God, how I’ve missed you.” “I’m gonna make it all up to you, ___. I swear. You let me in, I’ll never hurt you again.” “I want to take my time. I don’t want to rush this.” “I remember the last time you took my panties. You kept them.” “I still have them.” “You on the pill, ___?” “I made a deal with God if he opened your heart to me again, I promised him I’d be a better man, the kind you deserve.”   “I don’t need you to be a better man, ___.” “I fell in love with the man you are, faults and all.” “I don’t need anything but your love.” “A friend is letting me stay here.” “I’m afraid this is all going to be taken away again.” “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” “It’s hard to allow anyone to become important after that.” “But I let you become important. And you tore my heart out. And I’m afraid it’s going to happen again.” “I was young, ___. Young and selfish.” “Too young to realize that losing you would be the bigger loss.” “I made a mistake, ___. I never should have fucking let you of the first time.” “If you hadn’t maybe you wouldn’t have had to go through all the pain you did.” “What you did? It broke me. I felt worthless. Like I didn’t deserve to be loved.” “You’re not worthless. You know it deep inside.” “___, you were always meant for better.” “Please don’t tell me you’re broken.” “Great view.” “I know you can see for miles from that window.” “Not talkin’ about the window.” “Come back to bed.” “You want something pretty girl?” “That’ll cost you babe.” “Maybe I was just trying to stir you up.” “You tryin’ to rattle my cage?” “I want you to come with me.” “I just found you again. I don’t want to be away from you today.” “I have a better idea. Stay here in bed with me all day.” “As tempting as that sounds, I got work to do today.” “Promised a guy his car would be done by one.” “And what would I do while you’re working on a car?”

[heli0s-writes]

III. On the road, and off the road

Summary: The three of you travel to Cincy where they find out a lot more about your family. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Uh hu h uh uh u huhuhh whaaaaat is happening??? Seriously though, there will be a short angsty segment soon, and then we can get back to the tomfoolery. XX

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

A heavy weight on your stomach wakes you up the next morning. Buckeye has climbed onto the couch and over your body, placing his chin right on your sternum. His tail whacks against your propped-up foot as you begin to stir, and he plants a wet good morning kiss with his nose right over your mouth.

“Ah!” You cry, wiping it off with the back of your hand, “Geez!” He does it again and you can’t help but laugh, even though it’s cold and slimy. He looks pleased as punch as he flops his head back on your chest and stares lovingly into your eyes. Yes, you think, only an animal can love you in the morning. Eye crusts, dragon breath, and all. Stupid big-ass dog makes you soft and gooey.

“C’mon. Off.” You pretend to be annoyed and he slides onto the floor with a whine and follows you into the restroom as you brush your teeth.

Taking in the damage to your apartment— which is none at all, you figure it ended well last night. There’s a memory of you throwing vodka at Tinder-Date-Dickhead and then taking an Uber home. Good call on not driving, you pat yourself on the back and take Bucky outside.

Three alerts are on top of the speech bubble when you get a chance to look at your phone afterwards. Natasha. Steve.

Nat: Sunnywaters?

You heave a sigh and reply: Dude stop threatening me.

Then, you open the other message.

Steve: You up? Buck and I are packing— swimsuits? Yes or no? Also Cincinnati has its own Coney Island… ha ha ha very funny. I bet it stinks compared to the [1/2]

Steve: “real” Coney. Do your parents know we’re coming? I’d hate to intrude. [2/2]

You punch the green call button and rush back inside, scaring Buckeye a little with your sudden frantic movements.

“Good morning!” Steve’s voice sounds like a firecracker. And then he’s popping off in your ear, “Did you get my messages? Bucky and I are happy to stay in a hotel or something – called aerobean? Renting a house? I’m not really sure how that works.”

“It’s called airbnb, you fossil.” You respond off-handedly before catching yourself. “Stop, stop, why are you going to Cincinnati? And what about my parents?”

“You invited us. Are we leaving … today?”

Your face drains completely of color when it hits you— a nebulous and dizzying baseball bat swing to the temple. Last night crashes back into your mind: Steve, looking down, patting sympathetically. Two arms— turning you protectively until the room is sideways. You remember the way the blanket was tucked under your chin and around your shoulders.

“…Did you— did you t-tuck me in?” You ask hesitantly. Steve makes a negative grunt on the other line.

“Buck did that. He said he thought you’d get cold.”

“Oh…. Kay….” You whisper. “Uh. How set are you on Cinci?” You cross your fingers and hope he’ll back out purely based on how pathetic you sound. “It’s a ten-hour drive, dude. You guys okay with that?”

“Sure!” Steve chirps back. “We’ll take turns driving. Although Buck’s kind of a wheel-hog. Gets nervous when he’s not in charge.”

In the distance, you hear Bucky protest and it makes your mouth go dry.

“Uh. Okay. I usually leave early so… meet me here at six tomorrow.”

You hang up and bang the back of your head against the wall. The baseball bat of memory swings again.

You think you might faint because you start to recall last night: the metal hand lifting your head and placing the pillow under your hair. You even remember telling Bucky you loved him? It’s bewildering because you certainly do not love him. What was that thing that T-Pain said again? Your heart squeezes in your chest as you search around frantically for some scapegoat. Ah—yeah, T-Pain famously warbled: Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-cohol.

Your body flies over the outfield and into the bleachers before crashing. It’s the most agonizing homerun.

Steve, you think, is probably the one skipping past bases and winking. Somehow, this is all his damn fault.

—

Buckeye scoots around the back of your car, shifting so his weight lands primarily on the cushiony bed. His head is laid gently on Bucky’s thigh, who lost to rock paper scissors and must get squished in the backseat. Lucky for him, you pack lightly, and your legs are much shorter than Steve’s. Unlucky for you, that means he’s right behind you, radiating the heat of a thousand terrifying and silent suns.

It’s been thirty minutes since you started driving. Every time you look into the rear view, Bucky’s blue eyes look back. At this point, you have no idea if any cars are behind you because you will not let yourself look again.

“This is nice.” Steve says breezily, commenting on the silence. You had barely spoken to them when they arrived, instead busied yourself with playing Tetris with your luggage and theirs as well as the fabric box of Bucky’s--- BUCKEYE’s things. God damn it.

“Love it when it’s quiet. Nothing but the road and--” Steve continues.

“Oh, shut up!” You and Bucky reply in unison. You glare up into the mirror. Bucky glares right back. The embarrassment of last night snuffs itself out. Love? In this motherfucker’s dreams.

To your side, Steve stares out the window to hide his smirk.

—

The music of your so-called Driving Playlist bumps through the car speakers. You’ve been subjecting them to your chaotic tastes for the last hour. Every new song is jarring and different than the one before it. There’s Christmas carols. Frenetic Japanese electropop. Incredibly explicit gansta rap. Something else sounds like a broken harmonica for eight whole goddamn minutes. Inexplicable genres and band names. In the middle of a warbly bass line and shrieking synths, you explain that this track is from a “witch house" group you particularly enjoyed as a young girl.

The terms “witch house” and “young girl” so close together makes the both of them shudder. Steve is petrified at the end of each song because the next one always seems to be worse. Bucky squeezes his face between two fully stuffed bags and groans as loudly as he can.

--

You stop to get gas and Steve walks Buckeye around the perimeter of the station. Bucky comes out from the sliding doors holding three Gatorades and cold brew coffee.

“Drink up.” He commands, flinging a pink bottle at you. “My turn to drive.”

You shake the nozzle when it clicks off and roll your eyes. “No way.”

“You can’t even see over the steering wheel.” You flip him off and silently mock him, rolling your eyes and scrunching up your nose. Then, you replace the nozzle and head inside to use the restroom, flipping him off another time for good measure.

“Don’t! Even!” You threaten behind your shoulder. But of course, by the time you’re halfway to the door, he’s already slid in the driver’s seat.

—

The only way you would stop bitching is if Bucky let you pick the music. So, the cord remains faithfully attached to your phone. And that dreaded playlist.

---

An hour later, your leg bounces from the back, knocking your knee into Steve’s seat. You’ve had to piss like a racehorse for the last twenty minutes and you feel like a fucking water balloon, about to pop. Steve turns around, elbow on the center console and quirks an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yessssss..” you could probably weep right now. No. No thinking of tears because tears are water. No fucking water.

“You’re shaking my seat pretty rough.” Steve accuses.

“You have to go again, don’t you? Jesus, what are you, four?” You’d think about how much you hate him but your bladder requires way more attention right now. This is the best posture you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your back is straight and you’re arching forward slightly—anything to relieve the pressure.

“I’m—- Ugh!” You shriek as the car runs over something and the entire thing rocks up, kicking a sharp jab into your lower abdomen. A wave of chills runs over your arms. “Oh no…” You whisper. Buckeye perks up and begins to sniff around, investigating your concern.

“Maybe I peed a little.” You admit sheepishly, squeezing your thighs together as well as your eyes.

“The next stop isn’t for another half hour…” Steve laments.

“Dirty Keanu Reeves over here gave me Gatorade!” You shake the bottle between them, 32 empty strawberry-flavored sugar-free ounces in all it’s glory. Even the wrapping has been peeled off. Steve sends the both of you a reproachful glare.

“I didn’t think she’d guzzle the whole damn thing!” He chooses to ignore your new nickname for him. He doesn’t even know who Keanu Reeves is. It’s a shame, really.

“Oh please stop arguing please pull over I swear I’ll piss in the forest I don’t care please.” Your words are running together like a waterfall. No. Not a waterfall. Oh god, you think, do not imagine any waterfalls. Bucky flips the blinker on and checks his blind spot before navigating to the right carefully. He puts on the hazards and stops your car—half on the emergency lane and half in the grass. Outside the window is about 200 feet of wildflowers before it turns dark with thick trees.

He turns and takes Steve’s place in-between the cloth seats. “There you are, princess. Pop a squat. Or stand. Just fucking hurry.”

“If I had a dick, Barnes, it would be way bigger than yours.” You push Bucky out of the way and wiggle until you can reach the glove compartment, elbowing Steve’s face in the process. There, your fingers yank a few tissues smushed into the corner of the dusty slot and you bolt. Oh sweet six-pound-and-four-ounces Jesus Christ you’ve never been so happy to piss in the woods.

Steve pats Bucky’s thigh as they watch you shred through the white and orange stalks, ripping a path through the peaceful country green. “Nah, Buck.” He smiles, “You’re pretty big.” Bucky slams the back of his head into the seat and lets out a long-suffering groan.

When you come back you fly into the car and moan happily. Bucky turns around to give you a snarky comment, but you hiss at him like an angry wildcat. “Saw a dead possum in the woods, man.” You say, “Looks just like you.”

—

Both you and Steve are asleep, along with the dog. It’s been a little over an hour now. The Captain reclines in the passenger seat, sunglasses on. You’re pitched over Buckeye, head resting on your splayed arm. The three orders of family-sized burger meals knocked you out first, then Steve. There’s hardly any room in the car for the enormous amount of trash that entailed, but you made do with the space next to your leg and stuffed the bag between you and the door.

Bucky slurps his coffee and drives in silence, frowning when the idea that he misses your bullshit finds him.

—

“God, can we listen to anything else?” Bucky grumbles when some mindless tune comes back on. You smile because Rebecca Black’s “Friday” is your goddamn jam. It’s the single best song to piss off any living person or animal and you embrace it whole-heartedly.

You let Steve browse the rest of your selection, waiting patiently for the inevitable—

“What is this?” He yelps. “Gay for Jesus?” His fingers continue to scroll, “What kind of playlist names are these? Sad n Sexy Santa? Who’s got the Biggest Dick in Baseball?” You’re cackling madly. It doesn’t stop there. “Fingerblast Fest of 2017?”

“What does that even mean?” Bucky mutters.

“Made it for a lesbian couple. Anniversary present.”

Bucky’s face scrunches up with confusion and you enlighten him by leaning forward and thrusting two fingers back and forth so vigorously his seat shakes like an industrial-sized dryer set on high.

“Oh fuckin’ A!” He cries, jerking his head away from your hand. Steve turns red as a beet. “Okay, new rule...” he sighs, turning your phone over on his lap, “Do not ask about playlist names.”

--

Traffic has clogged up the highway. It’s deadlocked and immobile, stuck in the middle of a big city—all smog and industry. There’s not even good scenery to look at. You are buried in-between the pages of a book, taking advantage of the stillness by reading as much as you can. After this, you’ll have to brush up on your Latin, too. Then Greek. It’s annoying, but at least you don’t have to do another summer immersion program somewhere in bumfuck Florida this year.

A folky tune comes on and it’s a welcome reprieve. Bucky and Steve look up when you start humming along, voice coming out to follow the melody.

“Didn’t know you could sing.” Steve comments.

“Habeo multum talenta.” You reply—brain tuned to Latin. It makes them both wonder what else you can do.

--

Two hours left to go before the three of you reach your destination. You’ve switched out with Steve, who begrudgingly sits in the back, legs pushed up nearly to his chest while you stretch up front, cracking your back every which way. Bucky has refused to move from the driver’s side.

The music halts for a couple of hours while conversations meander. All sorts of subjects are breached now that there is nothing else to do but talk. The last two months of knowing them, although made you more comfortable, didn’t quite allow you to learn as much as this single car ride has. Most of what you could understand from them was made through your own observations, but now they are more or less open books.

Sometimes, the words hang heavy in the air— old, bulbous and dusty ornaments they polish for you. Steve talks about the war. Bucky does too. You have lots of questions on your end and they illuminate all of them with personal spotlights.

Sometimes, it returns to the playfulness you are used to.

Steve vomited on the cyclone. Bucky lost three dollars trying to win a bear for a girl. You tell him you blew through thirty-five dollars on a crane machine once (for yourself) and the two of you share a moment of solidarity together. Although, it’s hard for you to imagine him as some flirtatious young man and Steve can see it on your face.

“New gal every two weeks.” He informs.

“Were there even that many women in Brooklyn?” You gasp, scandalized.

“They came from all over to get a look at Buck.”

Bucky only rolls his eyes, but you see a smile tug on the other side of his face.

“What was wrong with them?” You whisper on-brand with your usual self, but the memory of his laughter by your front door glows rosy in your mind. Yeah, you can see how girls would get themselves in a tizzy for him. Winter Soldier with his mask on hardly turned heads as much as Captain Adonis America, but if you take a second to look at him, it’s easy to see how built he is. Like a Greek statue. Even his aura is enthralling—a bit secretive, a little dark. He could definitely use that to his advantage.

The smile grows into an almost feral grin—there's that aura, you think. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.” He nearly growls.

You sit back and pretend to busy yourself with petting Buckeye because the pink crawling up your neck is about to choke you blue.

--

Bucky pulls off the familiar highway, drives a distance down the curved road next to the river and you lean back, breathing in that familiar fishy and slightly sickly sewage air.

“Aw yeah. Welcome to Cincy.” You laugh. Steve ducks his head to watch the scene, squinting at billboards and watching houses whiz by.

“What’s Skyline Chili?” He asks as the car zooms by an advertisement. A questionable pile of shredded cheese overtakes the (apparently) chili and hot dog on the otherwise blue sign.

“Depending on your taste, either the best or worst thing you’ll ever eat.” The smile on your face widens when he furrows his brow. “Oh, my sweet summer child... you’re in for a treat.”

 Your neighborhood comes into view and you wistfully stare at the immaculate paved roads, manicured wide green lawns, blonde-haired moms pushing baby strollers, and dogs trailing behind them on loose leashes. Buckeye pads around as much as he can in the back, stepping over your lap repeatedly as he begins to recognize where he’s at.

“Pretty nice neighborhood.” Steve comments, making a slow turn. The GPS pulls him into a driveway leading up to your parent’s ranch-style home. They both whistle at the garden in bloom and the cobblestone path. You point him to pull around to the garage where your father’s Benz is parked. The old willow tree hangs over it, weeping petals and leaves on the windshield.

“Holy shit.” Bucky mutters at how the rosebushes and magnolia pots wrap even around the side and the back. The deck is littered with more flowers and potted plants. A stained glass table. Even the outdoor chairs have beautiful plush cushions. There seems to be a room underneath the slope of the yard—perhaps a basement transformed into a living space. Everything matches perfectly. “You do have money.”

You sigh.

“It’s not my money. It’s my parents’.” The scathing and bitter tone makes him frown, but you hop out anyway, slinging two bags over your shoulder and nudging Buckeye into the yard. Your dog happily pounces all over the greenery, chasing butterflies and barking.

“You sure they’re ok with this?” Steve asks carefully.

You nod, “There are lots of perks to being the prodigal son. Daughter, in my case.”

“Thought you had a dick.” Bucky sneers.

“Get with the times, old man. Gender is an illusion.”

—

The house is empty. You lead them through the front door and into the hall where it branches into three areas. There’s a railing and staircase that leads down, but for now they take in the sights on this floor. The first step points straight to the dining room where the table is already lined with china and perfectly arranged. Silk napkins. Crystal glasses. Delicately carved mahogany display cabinet.

On the right is the living space and kitchen where the color scheme turns to a pale aqua, cream, and gold accents. Two scooped leather seats face the flat screen, flanked by built-in shelves filled with books. There is also a small couch and a seafoam armchair and matching ottoman. The coffee table is a gorgeous marble, flecked with gold.

They turn and look down the other way, noticing a large mirror entombed by a heavy decorated frame in between two doors. The walkway continues right and disappears even further down.

You stare at them. They stare back.

“Please don’t.” You beg, dropping your bags with a heavy sigh; this is why you didn’t want them coming. You hate it when people comment on your parents’ house. And they haven’t even seen the pool or tennis court. Or the downstairs living area with the grand piano your fingers nearly bled all over from countless hours of practice. Or the family oil painting you sat for when you were a kid. Fuck.

“I fucking hate it.” Bucky says nonchalantly. “Gaudy shit. Too big. This place haunted?”

You could leap into his arms if they weren’t carrying his bag and your dog’s stuff. Instead, you settle for a genuine smile, all warmth and radiance because you feel it in your heart—the appreciation for his understanding wrapped in snark. “Now we’re talking. C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You guys can stay in my childhood bedroom.”

They finally drop their bags on the bay window seat in your old room after you unlock it. It’s always been like this— and you never let your parents come in. You open the middle of the window and let the room air out a little and the afternoon light pours in. Your old pictures are still on the shelves. Trophies. Music books. Your suede riding helmet, too. They wander around, peering at the images.

“Where are your parents?” Steve asks.

You shrug and plop down on the king-size bed out of habit, lying back with your legs dangling off the edge. Buckeye hops on with you and pads around a bit before he settles into a bagel-like swirl of a shape. “Ibiza. Dubai. Paris. Virgin Islands. Take your pick. My dad has property in all of them.” You message him anyway. You’re not surprised they’re gone for the summer. You don’t really come back for them; you mostly come back to get away from Manhattan.

“Wow.” Steve mutters.

“He even owns part of a mountain in Colorado. It’s vile. Historically, we’re from Ohio… ugh. I don’t want to talk about it.” You feel like a child again, and being in this space doesn’t help.

Steve examines the paintings in the room and flips through scattered books on the work desk. Bucky trails around your bookshelves, looking at the frames, picking some up here and there to examine what’s inside. “Who’s this?”

Peeking up you blow a pppffbbfbfbt breath of air out between your lips. It’s you, duh. Except your hair is perfectly curled and piled atop your head— a bird’s nest cushion for a sparkly tiara. Your eyes are piled heavily with so much eyeshadow and lash extensions it looks like an ombré spider web, and you’re wearing a low-cut dress swirling with rhinestones. Across your torso is a sash. Yep. Homecoming Queen. You’re pressed up against your date, all smiles, sharp cheeks, shoulders so thin he can see your skeleton jutting out. Over ten years ago, you were a much different person.

“Laugh it up, Barnes.” You mutter. “Thas ya girl, sweet sixteen, massively underweight, and aspiring to be the shiniest trophy wife of them all.”

“Why would I laugh?” He asks, suddenly solemn. Bucky turns to look at you, sprawled out on the bed, sardonic smile plastered to your face. “You don’t look very happy.” He still has the picture in his hand. Steve has paused, too, closing a heavy leather-bound first edition. Being caught in the middle of two concerned stares makes you heavy with anxiety and dread. Instead of spending another second under their gaze, you shoot up and motion for Buckeye to follow.

“Don’t be fucking weird, man.” Then, you’re already up the stairs.

Steve and Bucky glance at each other and Bucky places the picture back on the shelf.

—

In the downstairs living space next to their room, you pour three glasses of thirty-year-old single malt whiskey from the cabinet and plop down on the piano bench. The boys sit on the couch and regard you curiously as you open the cover and stare at the ivory keys. Your foot stomps on each of the paddles underneath vengefully. Then you tip your head back, whiskey along with it, and slam the cover shut with a trembling crash. “Fuck you, Mozart.” You whisper, as if the piano can hear.

--

You peek downstairs after your bath and call, “Hey! My parents use a water softener so if you feel slimy… it’s normal.” The whiskey has made you flush with excitement and volatile energy.

Steve’s head pops out from the bathroom doorway, neck and chest red from the heat. “Oh, thank God.” He says, “Buck’s been scrubbing for hours.”

“Who the fuck would do this!” Bucky’s voice echoes from the same tiled space. You can practically see it shooting out from the room behind Steve’s shoulder to crash into the adjacent wall like a comic panel.

The towel on top of your head slips and you attempt to grab it quickly, using your other hand to hold onto the knot around your chest. “You guys fucking in there?!”

Steve only grins and sends you a wink, mischievous expression catching you off guard. The towel tumbles down the stairs and your hair slaps itself over your face. The two of you watch the fluffy sheet spread over the bottom of the steps before staring at each other. “You gonna get that?” He asks.

“No.” You reply, abruptly mortified, “It’s yours now.”

Apparently, Steve Rogers has chosen this very moment to make it known that partners is not only platonic in meaning. You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed, because you’ve been harassing them for months about who’s a bottom (you bet all four limbs it’s Bucky), but suddenly the moment is confronting you and all you can do is think about how you’re naked and third-wheeling … in your own damn home. And that maybe you shouldn’t have had all that whiskey.

Captain America rubs the tip of his nose absentmindedly, “You alright?” There is genuine concern in his eyes as he steps out of the doorway and reveals his –NAKED! NAKED!

“No!” You scream, turning your head and hiding behind your outstretched hand. “No! Don’t! You fucking stay there you—Fucking A, Steve!”

He’s not really naked; he’s wrapped hip-down in a towel, but you don’t even want to see the outline of him. As far as you know, he’s a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. Maybe Bucky has like, three dicks. There is so much panic inside of you right now.

The water stops from the shower and rustling is heard as Bucky dries off. You attempt to slowly back up away from the steps and move back into the confines of your own room until your dog springs past you like a loose cannonball and sails downstairs. He banks left into the bathroom and licks a stripe over Steve’s shin before finding his true target: Bucky.

There is tumbling, banging, wincing from you and Steve as Buckeye clobbers his human doppelganger once more. Then, there is yelling and cussing—Steve, moving inside to help, but then more crashing follows before Buckeye tears from the bathroom and up the stairs with two towels clenched tightly in his mouth.

“No…” You whisper, when he drops them at your feet. His tongue flops against his chin and he looks up expectantly, as if you might reward him for his endeavor. Steve’s head peeks out again, and the wry smile he sends your way says: you’re fucked.

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