#slaps this on the dash. only took me (checks watch) five years to write these hc down proper --

[a-vctlan]

𝘍𝘍𝘝𝘐𝘐 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘕 - “MAKO EYE” VARIATIONS OK to reblog.

PART I : COMMON ATTRIBUTES

No matter the coloring, mako-eyes are easy to notice if you know what to look for. All those that undergo Shinra's mako temperament procedures are irreparably altered on a genetic level, and show common signs of it -- unless their mako levels are dangerously low (signifying withdrawals), all SOLDIERs will display the following attributes:

- Heightened sensitivity. - Eyesight improvements.  ( Astigmatism / Myopia / Color Vision Deficiency / Blindness are known to disappear. )* - Ambient glow. ( Dependent on subject class and level. ) - Enhanced night vision and light reflection. ( Mako produces an effect similar to the tapetum lucidum seen in animals.)

[ * Refer to Professor Hojo's notes on SOLDIER degeneration. ]

PART II: COLORING

SOLDIER propaganda makes use of present beauty standards, selling the idea that all possible candidates are able to achieve the desired "sky-blue" mako eye trademark, but even Sephiroth did not display this eye-color, instead sporting a green shade to his iris. This is still considered a desirable outcome, be it from the natural rarity of the color in normal eyes or the fact that it is what Sephiroth had.

Chances are, if the subject had light colored eyes to start with, they will indeed 'inherit' one of the standard SOLDIER eye colors --  meaning, those that appear on the most marketable SOLDIER First classes.

Above pictured are the different eye variations that Shinra looks out for in the interest of SOLDIER propaganda, with SOLDIERs of this eye-color being given preferential treatment in marketing deals as a bonus when it is usually reserved for 1st Class.

[ See: SOLDIER presence in school fairs. ]

The full scope of SOLDIER eyes is, however, vast.

The blue-green spectrum is well known, but there are other less known variations, mostly stemming from those who have darker or rarer eye-colors. Most notably, the yellow-red spectrum, the silver eyes, blue-purple and the purple-red spectrums.

[ Not pictured: blue-purple spectrum. ]

Out of the variations presented, the least desirable is the silver eyes, as they are prone to extreme light-sensitivity -- oftentimes this is a temporary eye color until the mako levels of the subject are stabilized as to create the necessary mako-reflective layer that prevents SOLDIERs from being visually impaired by their own natural light emission. On the other hand, a sudden development of silver eyes indicates a dangerous dip in mako levels, and demands immediate care under the Science Department.

Red eyes are considered less desirable as well, however, this is an entirely cosmetic assessment, as they are often assumed to mean "evil" and it clashes with Shinra's preferred image. If a SOLDIER sporting them gains notoriety, they are either to maintain their helm on at all times or to undergo cosmetic procedures where either their eye melanin is destroyed or their mako levels are increased to achieve a shade closer to gold/purple.

PART III: IRIS MAKO DISTRIBUTION

Depending on the subjects' adaptability/resistance to mako, what looks like central heterochromia may come to present itself in cases where it was absent previously -- however, this is merely the presence of mako making itself seen in different ways. Below it, we can see it pictured with brown-gold and teal-blue archetypes.

[ Note: If the SOLDIER candidate displays complete heterochromia, their eyes will not react any differently to the SOLDIER process, as this is merely an aesthetic quirk. They may even begin to display central heterochromia in both eyes if they meet the resistance margins necessary. ]

On the left, we can see an eye with full mako exposure, with 100% coverage of the iris. This is often seen in higher levels of SOLDIER operatives, notably First Classes, however anyone who is receptive enough to mako may come to develop this exposure as early as their promotion to Third Class, however nowhere near as vibrant.

The next three, we see different sets of 50% mako coverage, varying only where the mako pools in the iris. Not all variations are shown, but at least a 50% coverage is necessary in order to be authorized to proceed to further enhancements as part of the progression in Second Class levels -- any less shows resistance to the mako procedures, and demands special attention by the Science Department.

The last example on the right is seen only on Third Class operatives, before they undergo the full procedures upon promotion to Second Class. Mako has only started eating away at the melanin present in the iris, and the light reflection is equally scattered, more easily missed. Third Classes are a hazard for un-enhanced personnel to deal with partly due to some subjects having a worsening sight until they acclimate.

Through this chart and explanation, it is hopefully clear that mako presence increases along with a SOLDIER's class. Ideally, by their promotion to First, the subject has gotten fully acclimated to the mako present within their system, and thus show 100% coverage. However, depending on how long they were Second Class, the damage to their original eye colors and degradation of melanin may extend to the point of still showing signs of mild central heterochromia. *

[ Note: Sign of SOLDIERs more prone to degradation. Refer to Prof. Hojo's files. ]

[just-some-random-blogger]

Death By Bagel

NCT Culinary Student!Mark Lee x Fashion Design Student!Reader Summary: Mark makes a cake cause he's realized he can't lose you to some f-boy. Word Count: 3k+ Warnings: Fluff, childhood au, college au, slowish burn, slight cursing, reallllly fluffy, some broksi-dude action, typos sksksksks, etc.

R E Q U E S T my friend: mark lee, slow burn, friends to lovers

A/N: I wrote a fic that already had like 1k+ word then I LOST IT (i think i deleted it) thus this. It took me 10 years to write this msmsmkskskks. PLEASE TUMBLR IS MESSING WITH ME AND MIXED UP THE ORDER OF SOME OF THE DIALOGUE

“As a doctor, I don’t think you should be doing that,” Mark says, not even bothering to look at his patient seated rudely on the floor. Oop, he’s lying down now.

Mark huffs and looks up from the clay block he was molding on his tray, “YOU’RE SO UNPROFESSIONAL!”

Mark’s mother nearly spits out her coffee upon hearing the words of his five-year-old son. Her husband snorts, “He got that from you.”

The woman throws a look at the man and was supposed to give a snarky retort, up until the sound of the doorbell ringing. She grins from ear-to-ear and dashes to get the door.

When she comes back to the living room, she’s accompanies by another woman and a tiny version of her.

“Markie! Say hello to your Auntie!” Mark’s mom calls.

Mark from the carpeted floor looks up and blinks, examining the stranger-woman and its human-ling. Mark turns to his father who was sat on the couch and receives a nod of approval almost. Mark purses his lips and waves at the woman.

The woman waves back and then crouches down to the little girl, “Baby, say hello to Mark.”

Unwilling, she shakes her head.

“Aw come on, baby. Don’t be shy. Mark over there is a really sweet boy. I knew him when he was in his mommy’s tummy, just like Mark’s mom knew you when you were in mine. You’re the same age so you’ll get along just fine.”

With the unnecessary explanation that gave no justification to the scene whatsoever out of the way, the girl was fooled into peeping up, “Hi, Mark.”

“Hello,” Mark says, not particularly interested, as his patient was still in the midst of dying in his office. He turned to his stuffed toy called Mr. Lion and attempted to stand him up once more.

At this point, the girl makes her way to Mark.

“We’ll be back in two hours, honey. Keep an eye on the children,” Mrs. Lee tells his husband who had been occupied with TV the entire time.

“Yeah. I got this,” he smiles to his wife then goes back to watching.

The bumble bee clad figure sat down to Mark in blue and watched him play.

Mark ignored her for a few seconds, needing to assert all efforts on standing that dumb toy up. Once successful, Mark turns to her, “Do you play doctors?”

Mark was then met with the same lack on enthusiasm. She hums, “I like playing baker doctor.”

All at once, Mark gasps, “ME TOO!”

It was unbeknownst to the children it was oddly specific and the chance of this happening was pretty slim.

And in a blink of an eye, excited giggles erupt in the room, as if they had been having so much fun before this scene. It was here and there the two would become best friends to the very end.

... so I guess it means the reckoning is upon us.

“MARK LEE I SWEAR TO THE FU--” “WHAT! WHAT!?” Mark laughs.

"YOU ATE MY BAGEL! AGAIN!" I growl in a loud whisper, throwing the wrapper at him and his flat head before he could think to dodge it while he annoyingly laughs.

"I asked if I could have it though!" he says, fully knowing his sins.

I glared at him and say lowly, "I thought you were referring to my notes, bread for brains."

Mark snorts loud enough for our teacher to wake up from his nap. Once the class notices, we all pretend to be doing something productive and Mark plays it off with a cough.

"Mr. Lee." Mr. Kim says sternly, clicking his tongue, blinking his eyes rapidly.

Mark finishes coughing and turns to our seated professor, "Yes sir."

"Don't go to school if you're sick and going to cause a racket with your coughing."

Mark nods firmly and Mr. Kim closes his eyes again, mumbling, "page 65 is due tomorrow."

The entire class grumbles. Mark beside me scoffs and makes a face, "Yeah, yeah, Doyoung."

I turn to him and elbow his side.

"Whatever," Mark shakes his head, "professor bunny-teeth won't hear me."

Once class ended, we both get our things and head out for lunch. We walk to our canteen, fussing over assignments, deciding we should do it together later in our mutually free period.

I groan and narow your eyes at him as we have an argument over how he hasn't finished the essay for English, "That's not the point."

"Yo Mark!" a voice calls from afar. Mark and I turn, looking for the voice, and I spot the dimpled senior, Jung Jaehyun, in a table with the rest of his squad.

I nudge Mark and point at the pale guy seated by the corner.

Mark throws him a smile and waves. I follow closely behind him as he walks over to the table. "We're going to sit with them?" I say in some sort of gasp.

"Yeah." Mark replies simply, not bothering to turn to me, "they're cool."

I knit my brows at that and nod, "Yeah I know. But I'm not cute today."

Mark stops in his tracks and throws me a confused look, "what?"

"I didn't put any make-up on today, also I'm pretty sure there's a visible stain somewhere on my jacket, I just don't remember where."

Mark scrunches his face up again, even more confused. "What? How do you... forget a stai-- that's not the point. Why do you wanna look cute today?" He scoffs and continues lowly, "hardly as if you ever look cute."

I let out an annoyed groan and punch Mark's shoulder. "Like when you panicked when Seulgi came over and asked for notes."

Mark openes his mouth, "That is so not the same! Jaehyun's a fuck bo-"

"Just shut up already," I snap and shove him forward so he'd continue walking. "Let's not keep him waiting," I add and mumble, "also I know. Dong Sicheng however is very cute."

Mark chuckles, "he's dated every girl on the dance team."

"Okay, maybe not that cute."

"Ya, Mark," Jaehyun grins and greets the said person with a high-five and chest bump. He turns to me and speaks my name with a smile. I smile back politely and wave.

I'm about to sit next to Sicheng, but Mark shoves me and so I end up sitting on the other side of the bench table with Jaehyun. I turn to Jaehyun with a small, non-awkward smile and shoot Mark a glare. He seems unbothered though.

"So, you up for a round later?" Jaehyun asks Mark.

Mark talks over me, "you know it, dude."

Jaehyun flashes his dimple smile all the stupid girls fall for. I'm only half falling for it cause I'm only half stupid. He raises his brows, "you bought the dough, right?"

This makes me knit my brows.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I really did this time," Mark mumbles quickly. "It's my turn anyway."

Jaehyun gives an off look, "that's literally what you said last time bro."

"Yo, no for real. It's in my bag, if you wanna check."

Jaehyun shakes his head when Mark begins to scramble for it, "no, Lee, it's good. We wouldn't want you friend to get dirty."

Is it just me or do you feel slimey all of a sudden?

Jaehyun then gives me a somewhat, somehow sincere smile, "so. I hear you're in fashion design."

I give a soft chuckle, "yeah. That's me."

"I could tell from a mile away. Mark looks horrible next to your getup."

I look down at my sweater and ripped jeans. Mark exclaims in protest, "shut the hell up, Jae."

I give a soft smile at Jaehyun, "don't know where that comes from but thanks I guess."

Jaehyun chuckles, "I'm kidding," he eyes Mark, "I saw your Fashion Design pin on your bag when you sat down."

"Oooohhhh, haha, okay, that makes sense."

"Ya, Jeff," Sicheng calls for Jaehyun, "it's almost time."

Jaehyun turns to his friend and nods. He turns back to me and Mark, "well, it's nice to meet you. Mark won't put a sock in it even if I beg. See you around, fashionista."

He stands and slaps Mark's back, "see ya later, broski."

"Yeah, bruh," Mark replies.

Once it's just Mark and I, I snap at him and blurt out in a whisper yell, "YOU'RE ON BROSKI LEVEL WITH JUNG JAEHYUN?!"

Mark gives me a weird face, "bruh, I think he calls the principal broski, for real."

I smack Mark, making him whine, "you know what I'm talking about, Mark! And what, are you doing drugs?!?"

He shakes his head in confusion, "Wait, what!? Who the hell told you that?"

"Uhhhhh you were talking about dough and showing up later. Sounds like you owe him money for drugs, Mark."

"??? In what universe did we even mention drugs?? Does this," he slaps his face, "look like a face of a drug addict to you?"

"A gullible idiot maybe."

Mark's jaw drops, "oh wow, okay. I'm done with this conversation." He proceeds to stand attempt to walk away. I scoff, "not on my watch bitch."

Like the true idiot that he is, Mark begins to legit run away from me, like a criminal who stole my cookies. It's embarrassing that he, a man much taller than I, could not even outrun me. I suppose I should be grateful, but this just fortifies my thoughts of him being an idiot even more.

But okay... I wasn't actually expecting this... like... Mark and Jaehyun... like... actually baking bread after school with dough Mark premade at home. Also, uh, Jaehyun looks super cute in an apron that I'm having a mental breakdown. And what's new, so does Mark.

"I can't believe you thought I was a drug dealer," Jaehyun says in a soft pout as he rolls out dough on the marble counter of his friggin large kitchen in his friggin large house. Like dang, I knew he was rich, but he's like Rich™ Rich. Rich with a golden diamond encrusted Rolex watch rich that's in a glass display rich-- wtf.

Mark wheezes in his telltale high pitched laugh as he opens a pack of unsweetened chocolate pellets, "she thought dough was some sort of metaphor or something."

"Cute," they say at the same time. Mark turns to Jaehyun in slight surprise and Jaehyun turns to me. I roll my eyes, though I feel my neck burn. I avert my attention to the scene I was sketching on my pad, Jaehyun and Mark baking croissants. I clear my throat, "I'm just making use of the single braincell between us, cause if he doesn't die falling down the stairs, he's gonna pull some idiotic stuff like baking with Jung Jaehyun."

Oddly, it's Mark that reacts to that with a, "hey!"

Jaehyun rubs his chin on his shoulder, "I also can't believe you think so little of me.'

I break a sweat but decide to answer honestly, "... ... ... You have a reputation."

"Of being a fuck boy?"

Mark loudly transfers the chocolates into a metal bowl, making the two of us snap at him. Mark makes a face, "oh gosh, sorry."

Jaehyun sighs, "well. I admit I get around, but that's only because I get dumped every time."

I raise a brow.

Jaehyun purses his lips, "nah, let's not make this weird. The croissants will be flat."

"Dude," Mark turns to him, "that's literally only because you messed up the recipe."

Jaehyun grits his teeth, "no. It's because Kun's a little teacher's pet and sabotaged me so he could get the best grade."

"No, but like Kun is really nice, he helped me with the fold techinique."

Jaehyun scoffs, "He stole me vanilla extract, Mark. Who does that?!"

"No, listen, he's cool, like, for real--"

"No, you listen, he's a little shit and--"

The two begin to bicker like a married couple, and I begin to draw inspiration form the scene to design some random sketches of wedding dresses.

I look back to the two and still can't get over the fact that I learned Jaehyun was a culinary arts major with my best friend, and that I was currently in the Jung's boojie home because I thought Mark was buying drugs from him. Not what I was expecting at all my day to go like, but I'm not mad this is how it went.

"No, no, no, no," Jaehyun says. He turns to me and points, "let's just get an outside opinion. Babe, what's your favorite color?"

"BABE?!" Mark barks.

I take a moment to reply. I blink slowly, "uhh... pink?"

Jaehyun bites his lower lip and claps his flour covered hands, "Right. Pink croissants it is."

Mark shoots him a glare and turns to me, back to Jaehyun, "she has a name."

Jaehyun nods, "yeah, and she wants pink croissants."

Mark makes a face and Jaehyun examines it, chuckling under his breath. "Wah, you two are something, huh."

No one really responds.

We began to always eat lunch with Jaehyun and his friends. It's funny cause I realized Jaehyun, although I still firmly believed he was out to get nasty with every other girl he sees, he was actually just like Mark. A total loser with a love for cooking.

"Hey," Mark says with a snippy tone.

I give him a look and suddenly receive a paper bag to my face. Mark sits on his chair next to me, as per usual. I smell the thing before I realize what it is. It's a freshly baked bagel. I perk up and smile, "Aw, you baked me a bagel?"

Mark raises his upper lip, "no. Jaehyun did."

I knit my brows, "what? Why?"

Mark narrows his brows, "do you, like, like him?"

I give him a look. I take a bite of the bagel, making Mark look at me in disbelief. I answer, "You do know I only hang with him cause you do, right?"

"Then why'd you eat the bagel then?"

"Uh, a number of reasons. 1) it's a bagel, 2) free food, 3) I'm starving, 4) it smells amazingggg."

Mark does a face, "fair. I've been meaning to ask how he does his seasoning for a while now too." He releases a breath, "and anyway, I'm pretty sure he made a bagel cause I told him you liked them. Never talking about you to him anymore though."

I look at him, "why do you talk about me so much to him anyway?"

"Uh because you're amazing," Mark says instinctively.

I feel my heart skip at that. I coo and place my hands on my chest, "wait that's really sweet."

Mark looks at me. His face begin to shift, "too bad it's a lie- haha."

I give him a look and rebut, "jerk."

"Loser."

As quickly as I found out about Jaehyun being Mark's friend, that's about as quickly as I found out he didn't like hanging out with him anymore. It's kind of a shame I never got to go back to his boojie house.

There was this one encounter I had with Jaehyun though... which was a little weird, not gonna lie.

He was waiting for me outside my Tailoring class, smiling and waving when he saw me. I Reluctantly reciprocated and walked over to him.

He releases a breath, "I've been waiting for about 20 minutes for you. I didn't know when your class would end."

I raise my brows, "you could have asked?"

"Well I would need your number for that, and that would have ruined the surprise," he pulled out a brown paper bag, reminiscing the same one Mark chucked at my face.

"I made you two this time," he smiles.

I take a moment to reply, "you don't have to make me bagels, Jaehyun."

He grabs my hand, "yeah, but I want something out of ya," he places the bagels in my hand. He proceeds to lead us off and we begin to walk down the hall.

Truth be told, it's a little scary that his ulterior motive is up in the air. Jaehyun places his hands in his pockets, "I like your dress, by the way."

I smile, "thanks. I made it."

He smiles and nods, "right. That makes sense as to why it suits you well."

I can't help but blush at that, and simultaneously feel conscious when I realize a bunch of girls in my course are looking at me and Jaehyun as we strut down the hall.

"So, what did you want, Jaehyun?"

"Well, I clearly wanted to ask you out."

"..."

"..."

Jaehyun smiles and give a soft laugh, "is it so ground breaking?"

"... Uh..."

He sniggers, "hey, you can say no. I mean I hope you don't but you can." Jaehyun leans in and raises his hands, "I won't like it, but a man should take rejection from a lady well."

I turn to him as he straightens up. I turn to the bagels he made me and bring it back to him. He laughs, "no, I made them for you really. It's not poisoned, in fact it's made with love."

I visibly react to that, which makes Jaehyun wheeze. I can't help but laugh back, "that was hella tacky."

"Worth a shot though," he says. "Good luck with Mark."

I look at him with silence and he chuckles, "ya, you can't fool me."

I'm about to retort but then Jaehyun gets called by one of the frats dudes I identify as Johnny Seo. Jaehyun does a curtsy and clicks his tongue, "see ya later babez."

"You know, I would have said yes if you didn't do stuff like that."

Jaehyun purses his lips, "no you wouldn't."

I shrug, "worth a shot though."

Jaehyun places a hand on his chest, dramatically calling, "Uh, rejection hurts, man."

Yeah, I never went to Jaehyun's boojie house ever again.

Silver lining though was Mark's dorm smelled equally as nice because of all the food he cooks, although it came with a whiff of axe body spray from his roommate, Lucas. It's cool though, he was almost never around for me to smell it in its whole intensity.

"Aite," Mark calls from his side of the dorm. I perk up from the two seater dining table they had and turn to Mark who was covering the cake he was making for his finals.

"Don't, like, peek, okay. I want you to see the cake all at once and give me your honest reaction to it. Please, like, all my lives kinda depend on it."

"How many lives do you have?"

"9, I'm pretty sure."

I stand from my seat, "not you faking your life as a cat, but get it I guess."

Mark raises a hand at me as I walk over, "can you not, I'm high-key panicking right now."

"Over what? You literally made a box of donuts for your midterms and it looked better than Misty Mreme! I'm sure your cake is hot."

"It was in the minifridge for a day. I mean it barely fit cause of all of Lucas' mountain dew."

I groan, "just show me it, Mark Lee!"

Mark whined and dashes over to me, grabbing my shoulders, "okay, but like, don't be mean about it. I swear, I might cry."

I give a sound and fake cough, "it's ugly."

Mark doesn't respond to that particular jab, "I'm serioussss. Please be kind, okay?"

I look at Mark's nervous face and give a soft pout, "Markie, please, not that I think it would be ugly, but I promise you don't have to be nervous about my reaction."

He isn't soothed by that, but he does release a sigh, "okay. So for context, Mr. Moon wanted the cake to be one or two tiers, but I went with one, cause there aint no way I'm going to the other side of the campus to freeze a two tiered cake. Then, the theme was something from your childhood, so, I, uh, thought this was fitting. The exam is 60 percent decoration, 40 percent taste by the way."

Mark gives me a hesitant look, but steps way for me to see it. I then see a heart shaped, medium sized cake in my favorite pastel pink color. By the top there's a little boy on the floor playing with a toy oven set and little girl in a bumble bee dress, holding a stethoscope. At the bottom of the cake, there were jelly letters spelling out, "I like you."

I cup my cheeks at the sight of it and feel my eyes start to well at the sentiment.

Wait... was this really happening?

Mark heaves in and out, "okay, so like when Jaehyun began to like hit on you, that sucked pretty hard because he's known for getting girls and I thought maybe he'd get you too and I got panicky. Anyway, I....... have liked you since we were kids... And... I know you probably don't feel the same way but I have to try, you know.... Yolo."

My feel my tears retract from what I hear. I rub my eyes. I turn to Mark and find his nervous face. "Did you just say yolo in your confession, Mark?"

He looks like he's about to throw up.

I can't help but chuckle and pout, "dude..."

I prolong the moment. Mark gets even more nervous as he repeats softly, "dude..."

"We could have dated in grade school all this time."

It takes a moment to register in his head.

Like, a really long moment.

I sigh, "Mark! I like you too, dummy."

He freezes and blinks. His face begins to burn. He breaks into a soft smile, "nice."

I break into a laugh.

"... Uh... So... Can I like... Kiss you?"

I snort and feel my own cheeks begin to burn, "I think you should refrigerate your cake first."

Mark snaps out of this trance, "oh shoot, you-" I give him a quick peck on the lips.

He is dumbfounded.

I feel butterflies go wild in my stomach.

"I'll wait over there for when you've fixed that."

Mark watches as I walk away, "yooo.... That's not fair though."

[fruitcoops]

Hello! I truly love your writing! Would you consider a continuation of that piece where Jules stays with coops for a week? Or just some snippets of what they get up to?

Here’s part 1, folks! It’s about 3k words and I’m thinking there will be three or four parts total, released over the next couple days. I hope you enjoy it!

Sweater Weather and Jules credit belongs to @lumosinlove!

“Jules.” A series of gentle knocks echoed down the stairs and Sirius smiled into his coffee cup. “Jules, it’s time to wake up.”

Regulus snorted. “Bet you five bucks he has to drag the kid down.”

“Deal.”

“Jules.” Remus knocked again, sounding more exasperated. There was a heavy sigh and the door clicked open; after a moment of quiet, someone yelped. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Go away!” Jules groaned. “An’ give it back!”

“It’s time for breakfast, get a wiggle on. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“I’m cold.” More rustling noises followed before Jules appeared at the top of the staircase, bundled in Remus’ sweatshirt—which was really Sirius’, but it didn’t matter—and scowling. His bedhead was outstanding.

“Bon matin,” Sirius said with a smile when Jules sat heavily in the chair next to him and put his forehead on his arms. “How’d you sleep?”

“I don’t like your fiancé.”

“Oh?”

“He’s mean.”

Sirius winked at Remus as he rolled his eyes and pulled a cereal box out of the pantry. “What did he do?”

“He stole my blankets with no warning.”

“That is such a lie,” Remus scoffed. “I knocked on your door for five whole minutes before I came in!”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Sirius said, walking over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Reg owes me five bucks now.”

“Sweet, we can get more Oreos.”

“Oreos aren’t on your diet plan,” Jules sulked as Remus passed him a bowl of cereal and milk.

“How do you know?”

Jules mumbled something and shoved his spoon into his mouth. The night before had been hectic, with Sirius driving the Hope and Lyall to the airport while Remus helped set Jules up for the night. Regulus came back from hanging out with Leo around ten pm; by that time, Jules was still wired for sound at the idea of a week-long sleepover. He finally went to sleep around eleven thirty and Sirius and Remus crash-landed into bed, exhausted.

Practice was going to be hell.

“Why do we have to wake up early, again?” Jules asked around a yawn.

Sirius ruffled his hair as he sat down again. “Practice starts at ten. Eight o’clock is not early at all.”

He squinted at him, confused. “How early do you usually wake up?”

“Seven, seven-thirty.”

Jules shuddered and turned back to his cereal while Remus plonked himself down in Sirius’ lap with a coffee cup, looking moments away from falling asleep again. “Children are exhausting. Why did we get two of them?”

“Hey!” Jules and Regulus said in unison, clearly offended.

“We’ve got terrible judgement,” Sirius laughed.

“Older brothers are the worst, right Jules?”

“Totally. Are you coming to the rink with us?”

Regulus shook his head. “Sorry, buddy, I’ve got college stuff to work on. Want to help me with paperwork?”

Jules made a face. “I’ll pass.”

“We’re leaving in forty minutes, okay?” Remus said, stretching his back as he stood up and left Sirius’ lap cold and empty. “Jules, please take a shower.”

“I smell fine!”

“You didn’t take one yesterday or the day before. Scoot.” Jules rolled his eyes and got up. “Don’t give me that look! And put your bowl in the sink.”

Sirius and Regulus shared a glance as Jules put his stuff away and trooped up the stairs. “Hi, Hope,” Regulus snickered.

Resignation overtook Remus’ face and he sighed. “Fuck. I’m turning into my mother already. Reg, you should take a shower, too.”

“I smell fine!” The withering look from both Sirius and Remus made him raise his hands in surrender and wander off to his bedroom. “I’m nineteen, not nine!”

”And yet we still need to babysit you,” Sirius called back. Finally, they were alone. He hopped up to sit on the counter and grabbed Remus around the waist as he passed by, pulling him back for a hug. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning.” Remus kissed him gently, bracketing his hips with his hands. He looked tired, but happy. “I’m actually pretty excited to have Jules stay with us. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Ne rien. It’s good to have people here.” They kissed for a moment longer, listening to the shower running upstairs and Regulus’ rummaging noises down the hall. “I swear to God, he’s like a raccoon.”

Remus laughed and leaned his forehead on Sirius’ shoulder. “He definitely sounds like one.”

“At least his room’s clean.”

“Cheers to that. He’s heading back tomorrow, right?”

“Mhmm. Dumo’s been bugging me for, like, three days.”

Remus hummed, wrapping his arms around Sirius and snuggling into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. We’ve only got a little bit of time before Jules is out, so we should get dressed.”

Remus groaned, but released his limpet hold. “That was so close to a perfect sentence.”

Sirius paused just before hopping off the counter and raised his eyebrows. “If we have extra time…”

“Come on, you,” Remus laughed, tugging him off the counter by the hand and hurrying toward the stairs.

---------------------

They arrived at the rink at 10:05, and Sirius began bracing himself for the inevitable chirping as soon as he stepped out of the car. Jules bounced on his toes in excitement as they walked toward the building, laden with their hockey gear and still a bit frazzled from the mad dash out of the house.

“Is this the munchkin?” Moody asked when Remus knocked on the door to the PT office.

“Yep.” Remus looked down at Jules, whose eyes were wide and more than a little nervous as his grip tightened on Remus’ jacket hem.

“Alastor Moody,” he grunted, holding a hand out that Jules tentatively shook.

“Jules.”

“Wanna see how bones work, kid?”

Instantly, his nerves disappeared. “Yeah!”

Moody winked at them as he led Jules toward the joint models on the far wall and Sirius let out a slow breath. “He’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so. If anyone can drive Moody off the wall, it’ll be my little brother,” Remus murmured as they headed off down the hall.

The yelling started the second Sirius opened the locker room door. “You’re LATE!” James shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Hand over the badge, Captain.”

“We still have fifty minutes until practice starts, shut your face.” Sirius socked him on the shoulder and set his bag in the stall.

“What, pray tell, was the reason for this tardiness?” James leaned over and batted his eyelashes.

Remus rolled up a towel and smacked him on the ass with it. “My little brother.”

“Jules is here?” Leo perked up on the other side of the room, and Sirius saw several of the guys look over in excitement, as if they were hiding him in one of their bags.

“He’s staying with us for the week since my great-aunt passed away.”

“Shit, Loops, I’m sorry.”

Remus shrugged. “I never met her, but my folks went back for the funeral. Moody said he’d keep an eye on Jules during practice.”

“Lupin, Black, you’re late,” Coach Weasley said from the doorway, giving them a look over his glasses. “Do we need to have a conversation?”

“No, Coach,” Sirius said as he pulled his pads over his chest.

“I hear you’ve commandeered my head PT for the day.”

Remus shook his head. “If Jules starts bugging him—”

“I’m kidding, Loops.” Arthur’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Moody loves kids. This’ll be good for his disposition.”

Finn snorted. “Can’t get any worse.”

“I expect all of you on the ice in twenty. Any stragglers are doing laps outside!” Arthur slapped the edge of the doorway before ducking out into the hall again; his sneakers squeaked on the freshly-washed floor and Sirius stifled a laugh as he finished buckling up.

The five minute delay did not have a terrible impact on his pre-practice rituals, which he took a  moment to be grateful for—they had a scrimmage planned, and he didn’t intend to lose. Once warmups were over, they moved into running plays, until finally the whistle blew and Coach called out the teams. Remus ended up on the other side and he slapped Sirius’ ass with his stick as he passed him, grinning over his shoulder before stopping next to Dumo.

Jules and Moody came out to watch a few minutes in; Sirius caught a glimpse of his wide eyes when he saw the speed of the game and smiled to himself. Everyone else seemed to notice the new arrivals as well, because their effort doubled and suddenly the plays were running smoother than ever.

Showing off for a ten-year-old, he thought with a shake of his head. Talk about baby fever.

Remus sped through the defense, weaving back and forth until he was nearly face-to-face with Sirius. His whole face lit up and he braced; when Sirius went to check him, he dipped sideways at the last second and slipped the puck right through his skates, catching it on the other side and zipping toward the goal at top speed. The goal light went off and Talker whooped, checking him in celebration.

“Lupin! Where’s that been all season?” Arthur demanded, though he was laughing. “Christ, guys, thanks for finally waking up!”

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” Sirius asked as they headed back for the face-off.

“You think you’re the only one who skates in the basement?” Remus said with a cheeky grin.

The whole rink buzzed with energy throughout the rest of the scrimmage—once or twice, Sirius realized even he was showing off a little for Jules, who cheered louder than fifteen thousand fans whenever someone scored.

Arthur shook his head when the final whistle went off. “Everyone say ‘thank you’ to Julian.”

“Thank you, Jules,” they chorused. Jules looked like he was about to die of happiness.

“I need to get him in here more often,” Arthur muttered as they headed to the locker room to change into their gym gear. “Let’s get that energy for every practice, okay? Not just the ones with Little Loops.”

“What are you talking about?” Kasey laughed.

Arthur fixed him with a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Winter, all of you were showing off for the kid.”

Remus blushed all the way to his ears, and the rest of them mumbled some half-assed excuses until they were shooed away. “I put the new schedule on the mirror,” Sirius called over the noise. “Try to pay attention to it for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Logan reached up and patted him on the shoulder as he passed; Sirius dragged him back into a headlock to ruffle his hair. “Ow, fuck, okay!”

Logan did not, in fact, stick to the schedule. He was far too busy tossing the lightest medicine ball they had with Jules, who staggered slightly whenever he caught it. Both looked absolutely thrilled.

Sirius, on the other hand, was glad for the opportunity to do a fair bit of ogling while he spotted Remus—who stuck to the schedule, Sirius had never loved him more—until he finished his bench-pressing rotation. He was strong before being a player, but now…well, it was safe to say he could sweep Sirius off his feet literally and figuratively.

“Re, Re!” Jules ran over when Remus finally sat up, then paused and made a face. “You’re sweaty.”

Remus pulled him in for a hug, making him shriek and wiggle to get out. “I am, yeah! Isn’t it great? Here, lemme just—”

Jules flailed, but he couldn’t get out of Remus’ hold in time to avoid the head nuzzle that plastered his hair up on one side with sweat as the guys laughed. “Ewww!”

“Did you need something, buddy?” Remus asked at last.

“Well, now I need a shower.” Jules grimaced. “I was going to ask if you guys actually do ice baths.”

“Of course we do!” Kasey cut in before Remus could quickly divert the topic. “And your brother loves them.”

Sirius had to turn around to muffle his laughter as interest lit on Jules’ face. “Really? Can I see?”

Kasey opened the door dramatically. “Right this way, Little Loops.”

Two of the ice baths were full when they arrived and Sirius did not miss the pained look on Remus’ face at the sight, nor did he miss the devious smile on Kasey’s. Jules hurried over to one and looked over the end, practically sticking his whole face in. “Woah.”

“Pretty cool, huh? You want to know what the best part is?”

“What?”

“Oh, Christ,” Remus muttered.

“Loops, will you do the honors and make sure your darling little brother has a good time?” Kasey asked, the picture of innocence. Remus sighed and stood next to the ice bath, silently begging Sirius for help with his eyes as Kasey motioned Jules over. “Alright, so you take one of these, and then you have to be super careful as you aim. Lucky for you, you’re learning from the best.”

Remus winced as the first ice cube smacked him in the side of the head and gritted his teeth as the second went down the neck of his t-shirt. Sirius schooled his expression into the mildest, sweetest smile he could muster. “He’s not doing anything,” Jules whispered. Remus began taking deep breaths.

“He will.”

“Try me, Wint—oh, sh—” Remus muffled a squeak as ice went directly down his spine. “Hoo, boy, that’s cold.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you censor yourself,” Kasey said, amazed. “It’s uncanny.”

“Are you done?”

“I could do this all day, but it’s my turn to make dinner tonight and Nat gets hangry if I’m late. Good game, Little Loops.” Kasey and Jules high-fived and Remus shook his shirt out; no less than four ice cubes clattered to the ground.

“Young man, you are in such big trouble,” Remus growled playfully as he swept Jules over his shoulder and began tickling his knees. Sirius dodged the squirming legs and held the door open for them as they walked back into the hallway. “You’re okay hanging out with Moody while we get our stuff together, right?”

“Yeah! He’s got the coolest knee statues.”

----------------------------------

Dinner was anything but a quiet affair; all three of them had taken a nap when they got home, then had a dance party in the kitchen while Remus taught Jules how to actually cook chicken so nobody got food poisoning. Sirius was torn between begging them for the details of that particular story and wanting to stay as far away from it as possible.

Regulus and Jules got into a fierce game of footsie under the table that only ended when a small foot—he still didn’t know which one it was—slammed into the base of Sirius’ knee, hard enough that it would certainly leave a bruise. “Ow.”

They both froze, shared a look, then silently went back to eating. “Practice starts at nine tomorrow,” Remus said around a bite of broccoli. “That means wake up time is six thirty, okay? We’ve got a game on Thursday and it’s super important that we’re not late again. Reg, what time are you heading out?”

“I was thinking noon-ish? That way I can get my stuff set up while Dumo’s still at practice. Don’t want to bother him.”

Jules turned to him with the biggest, saddest eyes Sirius had ever seen. “You’re leaving?”

“I live with Dumo, remember?” Regulus hesitated. “I’ll be at the game, though.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Absolutely.”

That seemed to placate him, and he turned back to his chicken happily. Sirius nudged his brother, giving him a significant look, which was met with an eye roll that couldn’t quite cover the fond flush on his face.

Jules and Regulus took care of the dishes after dinner and Sirius stretched out on the couch to the sounds of the kid’s excited chatter as he recounted the day’s events. Remus flopped down on top of him, settling between his thighs with a contented smile. “Today went well.”

“Yeah, it did.” Sirius began running his fingers through Remus’ soft hair. “I think Moody is about thirty seconds away from adopting him.”

Remus laughed against his chest. “I think so. It’s pretty cool seeing him so excited about PT stuff.”

“It is.” There was a slow sigh and Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What was that about?”

“I just realized that even though Reg is leaving tomorrow, we won’t have the house to ourselves for six more days. It’s been two weeks.”

Sirius closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the armrest. “Fuck. I didn’t even think about that. Think we can dump him on Dumo for a night?”

“We can handle six days, right?”

“Yeah, totally.”

There was a beat of silence. “This is going to be difficult.”

“If we make it to the three-day mark, I say we break open the Oreos as a reward.”

“Sounds good to me—oof.”

They both groaned as an extra hundred pounds of person squished on top of them. “Dishes are done!” Jules chirped.

“Did you wash your hands?” Sirius wheezed, blinking the dark spots out of his vision. Remus’ chin was digging into his upper ribs.

“Yep! Regulus wants to watch a movie. I think we should watch Jurassic Park, but he says it’s terrible—”

“He what?” Remus raised his head slightly and craned his neck to look back at the kitchen. “Regulus!”

“What?”

“You don’t like Jurassic Park? I thought you had taste!” Remus pushed off the couch and Jules wrapped all his limbs around him like an oversized koala. “We’re watching it tonight and you’re going to like it. Come on, baby, we need to make sure your brother has culture.”

Two hours later, as the credits rolled and three people snored gently, Sirius smiled to himself. He could handle a week of this.

[dear-evanrosier]

Christmas

It was a normal day in the Black House. Harry was back from his sixth year at Hogwarts at his godfathers' house. After James and Lily's deaths, Remus convinced Sirius to not go after Peter, since Harry needed him. They took him in and he had lived with them since. It was about eight in the morning of the second day back of the two-week break when he approached them, hoping to talk about something serious.

"Hey, Sirus, Remus, can I to you guys talk about something?" Harry asked, timidly sitting in a chair across from the pair, who were chatting over the Daily Prophet and drinking tea. They looked up to be met with a worried Harry, fiddling with a hole in his pajama bottoms. Remus set down the paper and shared a worried look with Sirius. "Of course, Harry. What is it?" Sirius spoke, folding his hands neatly in his lap before discretely grabbing Remus' hand without Harry noticing. He didn't know about them yet, since either man did not know how he would react.

Harry steeled himself and looked down, staring at the ring his boyfriend had given him a year before. "Ok. Well, I'm bi." He said it so quietly that they almost didn't hear him. "Oh. Harry, we don't care. We still love you." Remus told him, and Sirius gave his hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. "I know. I know this doesn't change your opinion of me. But that's not all." Sirius looked back at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "I-I have a boyfriend. And we've been together since our fourth year." Remus, who was drinking a sip of his tea, spit it out and sprayed the hot liquid down his lap. Immediately letting go of Sirius, he hopped up and ran to the bathroom, trying to soothe the burn. "Fuck!" Harry watched as Remus pranced around the house trying to make his legs stop hurting, which was almost comical.

When Remus had finally changed his pants and applied a healing charm, he sat back down to a laughing Sirius and a Harry who was barely holding in his laughter, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Remus sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing the tea far away from him. "Why didn't you tell us before, Harry?" He asked, once again grabbing Sirius' hand. "Well, I didn't know how you would react to who it is." Harry was twisting the snake around his finger absentmindedly. He had no idea how they hadn't noticed the silver wrapping around his finger with emerald green jewels for eyes. Not to mention the engraved initials, 'D.M' on the bottom. "Well, who is it?" Sirius asked, keeping his eyes on Harry the entire time. "I don't know if I should tell you just yet. I just wanted to tell you before you found out from someone else." They nodded, and Harry left the kitchen, hiding his hand with the ring in his pocket. He ran straight up to his room, setting a treat on the window for Hedwig while he wrote a letter.

Dear Draco,

I told Sirius and Remus that I was bi and that I had a boyfriend. They took it really well, but I'm not surprised. But Remus did burn his legs after spitting out his tea when I told them about you. I didn't tell them who you were though, since I didn't know how they would think of your family. But when I do tell them, I hope you can be there with me. I know it's only been two days since I've seen you, but I really miss you. How has your break been? Did you manage to tell your parents, or are you waiting till Christmas Eve? It's up to you really. And if you need anything at all, please owl me. I don't want you hurt or uncomfortable.

Love from your Scarface

Harry sealed the letter and put it in an envelope, just in time for Hedwig to fly in the window and eat the treat. He wrote 'Draco Malfoy' on the front, and tied the letter to her leg. "Take this to him, but don't get caught." He told her. She gave an affectionate nip of his fingers before flying out.

He smiled to himself and walked back down to the kitchen, getting the breakfast he hadn't eaten that morning. Walking in, he saw Sirius on the counter, Remus between his legs. Neither noticed Harry it seemed as Remus continued kissing Sirius' neck. They didn't break apart until they heard the cabinet door close. The couple whipped around to see Harry casually making some toast, not even paying a second glance to the two snogging. Harry finished heating the bread and turned to get some jam, but found him to be looking at Remus and Sirius, both very red and avoiding Harry's eyes. "You guys ok? You seem embarrassed." Harry asked, pulling out the jar and spreading generous amounts on the bread.

"Uh, this is not how we wanted you to find out," Sirius mumbled and Harry laughed. "Oh, I knew a while ago." He stated it as if it was a fact, and put the jar away, turning around and pouring himself some tea to add to his toast. "Wh-what? When did you find out? How did you find out?" Remus didn't understand how Harry knew, they were so careful. "Like the second year. You guys keep forgetting silencing charms, unlike me." He grabbed his plate and walked out of the kitchen, up to his own room.

Remus and Sirius stared at each other, comprehending what he just said. "Did he say that he doesn't forget silencing charms?" Remus asked, playing with a stray hair falling out of Sirius's hair. "I think he did. We'll have to talk to him about that." Sirius noted, and Remus nodded. "Do we have to do it right now, though? I'm sure we could wait just a little while." Sirius brushed his thumb over Remus' bottom lip and winked. "Of course not, love." And with that, Remus attacked his boyfriend's neck with more kisses, making sure he cast a silencing charm.

ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ

It was hours later when Harry had gotten a response from Draco. He read it slowly, taking in the slanted writing that he loved.

Dear Harry,

I figured that they would take it well, it's quite obvious they have been dating. I can't believe that he burned his legs. He's usually more level headed, what was so surprising about it? I also hope I will be there when you tell them it's me. I want to be there for you-

Before he could read the rest of it, there was a knock on the door before it opened, giving him barely enough time to hide it under his leg without them seeing the name at the bottom. "Hey, Harry. Is that a letter from your boyfriend?" Sirius asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Harry nodded and readjusted his leg, making sure the writing was completely hidden. Remus smiled and moved to sit next to Sirius. Harry looked between the two, waiting for an explanation. "Er, am I in trouble or something? The last time you sat me down like this is was when I broke into the ministry and you almost..." Harry trailed off, not wanting to remember when he believed Sirius to be dead.  

"What did you mean when you said you don't forget silencing charms?" Sirius asked, just going for it. Harry relaxed and smiled. "Well, what do you think? We can't exactly use the room of requirement, people would know we were missing all the time. And when he's here, I don't want you guys to hear him talking to me. " Remus' eyebrows furrowed before Harry realized what he said and slapped a hand to his face. He's been in here?" Sirius asked, jumping up and knocking Remus off the bed. "Yeah. Twice. We didn't do anything just talked because he didn't want to go home." Remus nodded, but Sirius still looked suspicious.  "Whatever..." And they left Harry alone in his room, both still giving him suspicious looks. After making sure the door was locked, he continued reading the letter.

I want to be there for you when you tell them who I am. I really miss you too. The house has been unnaturally quiet since I got back, and I'm a little worried about it. But I may just be paranoid. I'm going to tell them on Christmas eve, just so I can work up the courage. Don't send a reply to this, I believe my father is going to start checking my mail. I love you, and I will tell you if I need anything.

Your Ferret

Harry smiled to himself and put the letter up, making sure he hid it under his pillow.

CHRISTMAS EVE

They were sitting in front of the fire, chatting merrily and sipping tea, all of them in Christmas pajamas Remus had gotten from a muggle clothing store. Remus and Sirius didn't try and get any more information out of Harry about his boyfriend, just teasing him about being able to keep it a secret for so long.  It was now almost ten o'clock when the fire turned bright green and a boy toppled out of it, crying and barely standing and covered in bruises, with a choked "Harry" coming from his mouth. Harry dashed to his side before his uncles even knew what was happening. He picked Draco up and set him on the couch, resting his hand on his leg. "Accio wand." The object flew from the couch opposite them. "Episkey." The bruises cleared quickly, but he still had some blood peeking out from under the neck of his shirt. He set the wand on the floor next to his foot.

"Dragon, breathe for me." Harry kept repeating, rubbing soothing circles over Draco's knee. His breathing slowed down and he looked at Harry. He wiped a few tears away, grabbing Draco's hands. "Tell me five things you see." Draco looked around the room. "The fireplace, your obnoxious scar, your glasses, and your uncles staring at us." Harry nodded. "I'll worry about them in a minute. Four things you feel." Harry placed a small kiss on his hand, and Draco gave a small smile. "Your hands, the couch, this really uncomfortable suit, and my socks." Harry nodded and kissed his hand again. "Three things you hear."  "Your house-elf grumbling upstairs, the fire, and your voice." Harry smiled. "Two things you smell." Draco took a deep breath. "Your cucumber lavender shampoo, which combination still makes no sense because who wants cucumber and lavender together unless it's in the hair of the cutest boy alive, and burnt cookies from your kitchen because you cannot bake to save your life." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not the one who baked this time. One thing you can taste." He swallowed and more tears came, which Harry wiped away. "The mint I had right before I told them."

"Ok." He placed a quick kiss on Draco's mouth before sitting on the couch next to him. "Will you tell me what happened?" Draco just looked down at his lap to where their hands were still together. He fiddled with the snake ring on Harry's finger, which the two adults finally took notice of. "Crucio." It was a choked sob, but Harry still understood it. "Ok, come on." He grabbed Draco's hand and his wand and walked to the foot of the stairs before remembering something and turning around.

"Er, I'll be back in a few minutes." He told Remus and Sirius, who was still surprised the boy had come from nowhere. He took Draco up to his room, finding some pajama's for him to wear. "Here, love. Put these on." He passed him some flannel bottoms and a snitch tee shirt. Harry left the room to pull some muggle ointments from the bathroom cabinet. He came back to his room with Draco just pulling the pants above his hips. Harry caught sight of a large gash diagonally across his collar bone. He gasped and Draco gulped, not wanting him to see that. He quickly pulled the shirt over his head, wincing when it grazed the cut. "Dray..." Harry reached forward, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Draco grimaced and pulled away, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. Harry walked downstairs as fast as possible, needing a different spell.

"Is there a spell to heal large cuts?" He asked, breathless from practically running down the stairs. Remus and Sirius were on the couch, quietly talking when Harry ran in there. "Yeah, try Vulnera Sanentur. For what?" Remus told him, but Harry didn't even answer the question, he just turned around and ran back up the steps, the two men behind him. He opened the door gently, trying to not scare Draco. He sat next to him, grabbing his wand from where he abandoned it on the desk. "Please let me see it." Draco looked away. "Please?" He sighed and pulled the back of his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side. He got a closer look at the cut, thumbing the edges but not enough to put Draco in any pain. "Was it him again?" Draco nodded, and Harry pulled him into a hug, making sure to not touch the wound.

They sat like that for a few minutes, Draco wrapped in Harry's arms, taking in the smell of pine trees, since there was a muggle scented candle on his dresser. They didn't notice Remus and Sirius watching them from the doorway, hidden in the shadows. When Harry let go of him, he brought the wand to the top of the cut, Draco wincing and sucking in his breath when it touched the skin. "Sorry, Dragon. I asked Remus for a spell, and he gave me this one." Harry told him, and Draco nodded. He pulled the wand down the cut gently, murmuring the spell, "Vulnera Sanentur." The gash shrank inwards, becoming thinner. He kept doing and repeating it until instead of a large gash, it was just an angry pink scar. "Thank you." Harry nodded and set his wand back down before gently kissing him. Draco smiled into the kiss, throwing one arm around Harry's neck and the other around his waist. Harry broke the kiss but didn't move his hands from where they were, one hand on his hip and the other on his good shoulder. "I'm so sorry, love. I should never have let you leave my arms on the train."

Draco shook his head and kissed Harry's nose. "It isn't your fault, Haz. I needed to tell them, I just wished I didn't interrupt time with your family." Harry pulled his face away from him, still staring at Draco. "You are part of my family, Draco. Don't forget that. Ever. Ok?" Draco nodded, and Harry kissed his cheek. "I love you, Harry." He rested his forehead against Harry's and smiled. "I love you too, Draco." They hugged again, and the two in the doorway smiled. They began to move away, but Draco's voice stopped them. "What about Remus and Sirius?" Draco asked, and Harry shrugged. "I'll talk to them in the morning. For now, just sleep. I'll stay with you." Draco pulled away from him to look at him, worry etched in every line of his face. "What if they don't want us to be together? What if they make you break up with me?" Harry sighed. "I don't care if I have to leave here, I'm not leaving you." Draco nodded and kissed him again. Harry let go and picked him up bridal style, walking around the side of the bed and sliding in, arms still wrapped around Draco. He pulled the covers over them, wrapping an arm around his waist from behind. "Nox." He whispered, and the lights around his room went out, leaving just the candle casting light across the walls.

Harry hummed a random tune gently to his boyfriend, who was wrapped tightly in his arms. His body was curved around Draco's under the soft grey duvet, rubbing circles over his abs with his thumb. "I'm so sorry, Dragon. I hate your father so much." He mumbled softly, not expecting him to answer. "The feelings mutual, Haz. I can't wait till everything with the war is done and over with and he gets shipped off to Azkaban." Draco fell asleep moments after that, Harry still humming gently in his ear and making the circular motions. Harry laid awake, and called out quietly, "I know you guys are out there, come in here."

It took a moment, but he was met with the sheepish faces of his uncles moving from the doorway and coming to the end of the bed. Sirius sat on the desk and Remus just sat in the chair, like a normal person.

"So, do I have to leave in the morning?" He asked, pulling Draco tighter into his side. He shuffled in his sleep, but Harry pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he stopped moving, smiling in his sleep. Remus shook his head, but Sirius looked hurt. "Of course not Harry. Why would we make you move out?" Remus asked, but Harry just shook his head. "Hold on a second," Harry told him, moving his arm out from underneath Draco gently. He slid out of the bed quietly, trying not to disturb his boyfriend. He straightened his tee-shirt and crept out of the room, motioning for them to follow him. He brought them up a floor to the room he had hardly been in.

It was just a simple drawing room, housing two desks, a trunk that kept rattling (Harry was sure there was a bogart in there), and the black family tapestry Sirius had yet to find a way to take off the wall. He pointed at the names 'Bellatrix Lestrange' which had a thin gold line leading to 'Andromeda Tonks' and 'Narcissa Malfoy'. Her name was connected to 'Lucius Malfoy' and the name 'Draco Malfoy' in between them.

"That. That's why. It's why didn't tell you. Not because I'm embarrassed by him, quite the opposite really. I love him too much for that. I was just worried because of his family. You saw what they did, and he just told him he was gay. I had no idea how you would react when you found out I'm dating someone who's aunt tried to kill you." Harry stood there awkwardly, just breathing shallowly and staring at the spider-like webs between the names. Remus just looked at him. Sirius looked across the web, staring at the cigarette sized hole where he was supposed to be. Remus was about to speak, but he heard a crash coming from the floor below, sounding like it was Harry's room. Harry didn't spare a second thought, just dashing from the room and to his own.

[cxmetery-gates]

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER FOUR: STEPHEN KING

SUMMARY: The first day back at school has tricks up its sleeve and Lynn tries to find optimism. WORD COUNT: 2.4k NOTES: I lost power for like six hours so happy new year to me. Okay, it wasn’t too big of a deal since the entire neighborhood did as well, so I’ve just been reading all day, which was a nice change. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

FROM TIME TO TIME, I try my best to stay positive, but considering bad things are always around the corner, it's difficult to uphold this standard of living. Needless to say, this strategy typically doesn't hold for too long, but right now, I'm doing my very best to stay optimistic. It's the last first day I'll have with all my friends and peers. This should be something to be excited about (with a dash of dread). And, so far, all my classes have gone according to plan, that being swift and without any issues.

My math class came after helping Mrs. Gibbons. While I do my best to stray away from stereotypes and clichés, I couldn't fight the overwhelming state of confusion and panic during the first lecture. There wasn't even a break-the-ice introduction or the what's-the-best-thing-you-did-this-summer questions. Albeit, I loathe those games, but I would rather sit through the awkward hellos and fun facts for the next year than jump right into a lesson on the first day back. At least give us a break; summer isn't long enough.

Following a near hour of torture came yet another. Alright, health isn't as terrible, but requiring every student take this class as a senior despite having a course similar to such since elementary is very annoying. Then again, does anyone who isn't interested in the medical field know the function or location of the pancreas?

But finally, after several hours of waiting, sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation, I have a class to look forward to: 'Creative Writing.' Most might groan at the sound of a writing class, but I don't mind nor take offense. Not everyone finds passion on words or mental escape through storytelling. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The interest comes so naturally as if I was born to have a pen in my hand. Maybe one day I'll find myself signing copies of my stories in a bookstore or on Good Morning America with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee. I do my best to stay humble about my dreams, but staying positive in this is something I have to have in order to succeed.

Unfortunately, that idea of optimism is slipping away at this very moment.

I double check the crumpled paper in my hand. From what I wrote down, I'm right, but given the locked door with lights out, a sour feeling fills my gut. The last bell rings out, and I'm the only one who isn't a classroom, save the few stragglers making a quick dash into rooms. I'm unsure if I'm confused or frustrated as I stare down the door to an empty classroom.

"Jesus, fuck," I curse. Taking an exasperated sigh, I take a step towards the main staircase, deciding my only option is to figure out what's going on. Maybe the room moved last minute. After all, I wrote my schedule down three months ago; there's no telling how this hell hole has changed, little or small.

A typical stroll to the front office from the third floor might take two minutes, maybe three tops if you're dreading walking through the glass doors. Considering I leaped down several stairs at a time and finding myself at the bottom in all but twenty seconds, perhaps joining the track team isn't too terrible of an idea. However, after I take notice of my labored breathing, my legs also going limp, I put a pin in that thought.

"Hi," I breathe out reaching the front desk. As if I needed a reminder on how out of shape I am, my lungs heave heavy bursts in and out. I could have sworn the lady at the front desk gave me a startled look by my sudden appearance, but I don't dwell on apologizing. "I'm not sure if I have the wrong room for a class. I stopped by, but the room is empty."

Nodding her head slowly, the receptionist turns in her swivel chair to her computer, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. "I gotcha, hon. What's the class name?"

"It's just 'Creative Writing.'" I pause, thinking of any other information. "I might be wrong, but I think Mrs. Walters teaches it."

The woman stops typing when I mention the name and turns to me. By her reaction, I assume the worst. "Your issue is that the class doesn't exist anymore. Mrs. Walters moved away this summer. Took us all a bit by surprise."

There it fucking is.

Well, there goes the last bit of hope I had for the entire school year.

"I, uh, um," I croak. My heart pounds and my hands suddenly begin sweating. An intense wave of confusion wash over me. "S-So what should I do? I need an English elective."

She clicks around the screen, as well as her tongue. The sound is slightly annoying, but you can't bite off the hand that feeds you, even if it's just a one time meal. Her long red fingernails dance across the keyboard. "What's your name, hon?"

"Carolynn Moore," I respond. I can't understand the receptionist, but I think she comments on my "pretty" name. That makes one of us.

A few seconds pass when she looks back in my direction. "Well, it appears you actually don't need any more English classes; you've got all your credits."

"Yeah, but I was hoping to do dual credit. I wanna go into writing, so I figured going in with credits for my major isn't too shabby of an idea," I explain with a smile to the short-haired redhead. She nods and turns back to her computer while making that clicking noises with her mouth again, only this time it sounds like she's smacking on bubble gum. It takes all willpower not to show any signs of discomfort.

"Well," she finally says. "You could just take English IV. The rest of the English courses are either filled, or you've already taken. If your set on English, this is your only option."

From inside my jacket pockets, my fingers crossed. "Who teaches it?" I ask. My fingers cross tighter that it's anyone other than Mr. Hiddleston. I'd rather take the mummifying old teacher who can hardly speak English himself. Mr. Hiddleston may be a nice guy and I know he's a good teacher, but I really don't feel great about being in a class full of girls who took the class just for eye candy. I do my best not to follow clichés, this being one of them.

It appears, however, I will never catch a break.

"Mr. Hiddleston."

I push a sigh through my nose. If this is my only option, I feel obligated to take it. Unfortunately.

"Alright, I'll take it."

══════════════════

I find myself standing outside of Mr. Hiddleston's classroom. I see resentment in my decision just after climbing to the third floor, knowing I will have to travel as far as Frodo and Sam did five days a week. Through the glass window, I see mostly females lining up the first two rows watching the front of the room intensely. With my position, I can't see him, but I have no doubt who they're staring at. To my surprise, I catch Ellie in the second row writing things on a notepad. Well, at least I have one sane people to partner up with.

Taking a breath, I twist the doorknob and give it a small shove. Instantly, almost every head turns my direction. I feel as though I have ten eyes by the looks I'm given.

That's when I notice Mr. Hiddleston leaning against a stool, his long legs outstretched and hands pressed far into his pockets. He gives a surprise eyebrow raise, most likely remembering our conversation this morning. I had told him I wouldn't be taking his class and yet here I am.

"Hello, there, Lynn. A pleasant surprise," he smiles.

My cheeks go pink. The last thing I needed was this ridiculously hot professor bringing up how we have already become acquainted. Perhaps I'm overthinking, but I really don't want people to begin rumors. It wouldn't be the first time I've heard made up stories of students sleeping with their teacher.

"I got switched," I inform in a low voice. Handing him the office's approval, I pass a small smile, doing my best to hide my true feelings. Mr. Hiddleston takes the note and quickly scans it, nodding his head twice.

"Well, I'm glad I have gained another brilliant student," he compliments standing. I take this as my cue to find a seat. My eyes immediately meet Ellie's. As Mr. Hiddleston passes me to his desk, I made a quick walk across the classroom to sit in the empty seat behind Ellie.

She instantly turns herself around. "What happened to 'avoid the stereotype'? And how does he already know your name?" She whispers. "I'm so jealous." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Ellie flickers her eyes from packs of teenage girls who suddenly begin whispering among themselves. "And it appears I'm not the only one."

My eyes roll as I shrug off my backpack. "Last minute changes. The teacher for that writing class— the one I was telling you about earlier— moved, so I found myself landed here." I pull out a new notebook and a few pens just as Mr. Hiddleston finishes typing on his computer. He's bent over due to his towering height, quite a few pairs of eyes glued to a particular spot. Finding myself as one of those onlookers, I feel a tinge of red heat my cheeks in embarrassment. "And I, uh, helped him this morning."

Ellie, in a dreamy state, looks over to Mr. Hiddleston. Seeing how his posture has straightened, she begins to sit back normally on her desk. I would have been convinced this person was a clone of Ellie had a comment not been made. "I'd like to help him out anytime if you know what I mean," she whispers, biting her tongue teasingly. All she does is giggle as I slap her arm lightly.

I keep my cursing to a minimum now that the room has gone mostly silent. Clasping his hands together, Mr. Hiddleston stands at the front of the classroom, eyeing all of us down. "Alright, first day. How is everyone?"

A collection of groans erupts from the teenagers. While I take no part in the group's exhaustion, I smile to myself in agreement.

"That bad?" Mr. Hiddleston chuckles. "Well, it's about to get worse. Starting from this gentlemen," Mr. Hiddleston gestures to some kid on the opposite side of the room who has boredom written across his face, "we will go around the room with our names."

A panic arises in my chest. Of course, I've spent the last several years speaking in front of my classmates, but it never gets any easier. On more than one occasion has the slip of a curse or a stutter cause points to be deducted from an assignment. It's not entirely my fault that I enter a foggy state of anxiety when all eyes in a room meet me. Can't we all just share our names and our favorite movie with the person sitting next to us? I have no doubt I would have a much easier time with this.

My thoughts have torn me from reality for quite a bit of time, so it seems, as the person two seats away is now announcing their name. I manage to find myself listening in just at the right moment as if now is more convenient than, perhaps, a few minutes ago. My ever-so-sharp context clues lead me to believe we are also sharing who our heroes are if we're comfortable enough for the topic.

I find the bit interesting, but answerable nonetheless. The only problem is I have two: Stephen King and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. How does one compare the modern feminist iconic queen to the whimsical horror author who inspired my writing antics? I flip between the two, plotting out who had the most significant impact on my life, who I am, what--

The sensation of eyes all falling on to my face breaks my concentration. "Oh, okay," I say mainly to myself. Do the thing, Lynn, my thoughts scream. "Well, I'm Lynn Moore, and an idol of mine is, uh..." I stumble off, my brain cutting circuit.

I'm mad at myself for making this simple question out to be life or death. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Realizing I can't do any wrong with either pick, I let my mouth do the work for me. "King. Stephen King."

"Why am I not surprised in the slightest?" Mr. Hiddleston comments, sending me a smile.

"Not all of us can be mysteries," I retort with a shrug. I'm not sure if Mr. Hiddleston he hears me, as my voice decides to speak softly, but the way the corners of his mouth raise makes me think otherwise. My cheeks begin to burn, even after he moves on to the next student. I try to focus in on the girl's name and hero. I already know her first name is Kaitlyn, but the name of her hero goes past me. Maybe she said Beyoncé. Maybe Obama. All I know for sure is that my face feels flush and I can't stop thinking about Mr. Hiddleston's laugh from this morning or the smile he gave me minutes ago.

Thankfully, there is a clap of binders and notebooks slapping on desks to break my thoughts. The warmth in my cheeks leaks back into my body, the cool skin tone returning once more. Glancing around the room with my eyes, I see no one spotted my nervous fidgeting or have looked away from the blushing shy girl.

A pen in my hand, a notebook below the tip, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as Mr. Hiddleston begins to enthusiastically talk about the use and necessity of the Oxford comma leads me to a conclusion. Maybe this year won't be as terrible as I had been putting it out to be.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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[herondaleholly31]

Love On The Weekend  Chris Evans X Reader

overview: Whenever you can you and Chris spend a weekend together just the two of you. This  weekend is different. 

A/N Hey guys!! I’m currently in the middle of exams but I wanted to start writing some of the requests that was sent to me after my last post. Thank you so much for all your kind messages and follows after that post, it really means so much to me. I’m working through the list so I will try and upload as much as I can I promise. I hope you enjoy this one, make sure to keep sending me any requests! 

Like and Reblog! 

word count: 3,738

4:55. Five more minutes to go. You were impatient, and having already cleaned your desk three times in the past hour you were checking your emails one last time before you clocked out. Delete, delete, asos discount code saved, the rest thrown in spam. That’s it. All done. Only three more minutes. 

“Y/N!”

Jack entered your office without knocking, an ominous stack of papers under his arm. “you’re still here, great. I need you to sort these files out before you go.” The stack fell with a thud onto your desk.

“I can’t,” you shook your head “I’m just about to head out.” 

“Oh I’ve also put you on call duty this weekend,” Jack ignored you “so any plans you have cancel them.”

Your spine chilled “I can’t do this weekend. I cant I-“ you shook your head to try and stop your rising panic “I have to have this weekend off.”

“Tough luck. You’re going to want to keep you phone charged, I get a lot of emails.”

“No Jack-“

“Is there a problem?” He scowled.

The clock had struck five, he was going to be there any minute. “I can’t reschedule this plan my boyfriend’s job-“

“sweetheart can I be frank? I don’t give a shit,’ your bosses patient demeanour had gone and his normal irritation came through “I’ve got a golf game tomorrow and you were the last person to ask for time off. So you’re on this weekend.” He slammed his hand on top of the stack of papers and then turned to leave when suddenly a deafening sound came from outside. Shocked, Jack smacked his arm onto your computer, causing him to swear colourfully “WHAT IS THAT?” But you had already rushed to the window, your smile widening. 

“He’s here.”

“WHO?” 

You weren’t listening, grabbing your bag and throwing your coat over your arm “I’m going.”

“Is that for you?”

“Yes.” You turned once more, determination overruling your fear “Have a nice weekend Jack.” And with that, you flicked off the light switch and walked out the office. The honk was ringing down the corridor as you took the stairs two at a time before bursting out the door. A black range rover was sat in the middle of the carpark, and leaning against the  bonnet was your boyfriend Chris. His eyes were covered with sunglasses but you knew his eye brows were raised in a teasing expression as he watched you stride over “are you always that dramatic when leaving work?”

“Only when my boss is being a dick.’ You reached him and cocked your head back so you could kiss him, both smiling against each other as the realisation that this moment had finally happened washed over. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Chris rested his forehead against yours and you breathed deeply, feeling the anger ebb away. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you too. I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough.”

‘I saw” Chris laughed. He pulled away to open the door next to him to reveal  leather seats and your battered rucksack, bulging at the seams. “I packed everything on the list.”

“including the-“

“including my grey jumper for you to wear in the car.” 

“thank youuuu,” clambering up into the seat you started to get changed, tights getting ripped and pony tails being loosened. Chris’s jumper had been washed one too many times, the fluffy interior bobbled and stretched to fit his physique; however you always wore it on these trips and had therefore become a running joke. “Where to this time?” You asked, popping your head over the collar to look over at Chris who was fiddling about with the Keys. He slid them in and a second later the car roared and shot out of the car park, the revs barking through the quiet. He didn’t answer until you had made it onto the highway.

“I’m going to keep it a surprise this time.”

“ooooo” you perked up “we haven’t done that for a while. Do I get a clue?”

“nope.”

“pleaseeeeee.”

Chris shook his head chuckling “you’ll like it I promise.” Still determined to know you sat up on your knees, leaning over the gear stick to kiss his cheek “not one hint?”

“No!” Chris laughed. You continued to ask, peppering the half of his face and neck with jokey kisses until his death went slightly ragged. “you’re going to make me crash.” He didn’t move away though, enjoying the way you bumped your nose against his cheekbone as the car steamed ahead. The car flew like a the air of you were on the run, Chris only realising when cramp started to form in his ankle from the clenching. You were so present to him in that moment his mind seems to have fogged over. Luckily You only kissed him a couple more times before sitting back, defeated. He was able to calm his pulse once again. “fine” You rolled your eyes teasingly “I guess I’ll trust you. Give me the aux cord.” You propped your bare feet up onto the dash board and plugged it into your phone and scrolled down until you found the playlist: Love on the weekend.

The weekend was something you and Chris had done for a long as you’d been dating. Although you lived in Boston near his family and spent stints in LA, work and business sometimes kept the pair of you apart for weeks if not months at a time. This had been difficult, until on a whim Chris had done what he would come to do every time; text you the night before that he was picking you up and that you two were going away together. That first time he’d taken you to a beach house where you’d spent the weekend getting a suntan and much needed alone time. That had been nearly two years ago and since the pair of you had taken trips all over the country, with nothing but a car and essentials. They had become your favourite tradition together. 

The first song of the playlist started and Chris nodded his head in satisfaction “yessss!’ He pumped his foot on the gas and the car shot down the fast lane, leaving the traffic behind. The music swelled until the rough voice of Journey’s “Don’t stop believing” was blasting through the speakers, matched only by Chris’ rendition. He was tossing his head about and giving it his all, making you laugh so hard you felt the breath pound against your throat and your chest started to tense. The tipping point was when on the final high note your boyfriend’s voice cracked dramatically, to which you had to dig your hands in-between your clenched thighs to stop you from peeing. God it was so good to laugh like this again. 

The speakers continued to blast out classics, raging from Kanye West to Disney to Prince until both your voices were frayed and your chests ached from laughing. At one point there was no sound from either of you except for wheezing and knee slapping. You were like children, bubbling with energy and excitement as the feeling of each other there made you giddy. 

“We’re nearly there,” Chris was able to heave out later, breathing deliberately to even out his chuckles “keep an eye out for the right exit.”

“exit for what?” 

“I’m still not telling you.”

“How am I going to know what the right exit is if I don’t know where we’re going?”

“Hey I gave you a name just trust me.” He reached out and patted your knee, before slowly moving his hand up to rest on your thigh. There was nothing suggestive about it, but you felt your body melt under his touch as he continued to drive. He hummed to the dulcet tones of John Mayer and would occasionally have to shift in his seat but he made sure to keep your thigh at arms length. His palm stayed soft and warm against you  as the car pulled off the highway and drove down strips of long roads under golden sun stained foliage. One rumbling dirt track later and the car rolled into an opening, where it stopped and slumped, exhausted. Chris breathed, smiled, and squeezed your leg “we’re here.”

The house sat snuggled in the trees, overlooking a lake that shone brightly. White walls, blue tiles roof, a rickety dock that rocked slightly against the wind. It looked exactly the same as it did in the pictures that were hung around the Evan’s family home. You gasped in excitement “This is the place-“

“From my childhood pictures,” Chris nodded.

“The place you said you’d always take me,” you placed your hand on top of his “I can’t believe you did this.” In your excitement you leant over the gear stick and grabbed Chris’s face In between your hands “Thank you thank you Thank you!” You planted one big kiss on his lips causing him to laugh loudly before leaping out the car, your bare feet lacing with the grass. The pair of you grabbed the bags from the car and dragged them up into the house, abandoning them in the hall way to explore your home for the weekend. An open floor plan of polished wooden floors, white furniture and blue wallpaper stretched through the house, with soft corduroy sofas and shelves of thumbed classic books and board games. It was a weird mix of modern and old; as if time didn’t effect it. You were running around the house, calling for Chris to see something before discovering something else and getting even more excited.  When Chris still hadn’t come after the fifth time you called you went clattering down the stairs to find him in the kitchen, already pulling things out of the stocked fridge “pesto eggs?” He asked.

“MMMM YES!” You yelled in excitement. “Sorry,” you quietened “sorry. Yes please.” 

“I take it you like the house then?’ “Is this the part of the story where you tell me you’ve bought it?” You slid onto one of the stools by the island, nicking a bit of red pepper from the chopping board.

“ Unfortunately not.”

“shame. I would’ve quit work on the spot to move.”

“It’s that stressful huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Chris stopped stirring “so tell me about it.”

You shook your head, running your hands through your hair once before letting them fall on the table “I don’t want to weigh you down with that. You don’t wanna hear about that.”

“Yes I do,” Chris said “its obviously bothering you.”

“Not tonight Chris. Please.” You didn’t want to think about anything negative this weekend. Not with the limited time you had with him. “your eggs are burning by the way.”

“Huh? Oh Shit,” Chris went back to wildly stirring the contents of his pan, and the conversation was dropped. 

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

The next couple days felt like the montage to a rom com movie, a warped bubble where negative thoughts and emotions weren’t allowed to penetrate. There was a lot to Catch up with so the pair of you didn’t waste a single minute. Swimming in the lake, running together through the woods, playing chess whilst drinking too much beer. A lot of random hugs and heated make outs that lead to other things that caused your skin to flush and tingle. This was partly due to Your shoulders getting  burnt, resulting with Chris finding great pleasure in occasionally smacking the sensitive skin causing you to scream blue murder whilst chasing after him. 

‘I still think I’ll have a hand imprint on my shoulder forever,” you joked. It was the last night and you were cooking whilst Chris picked the movie. He was crouched by the shelfs, his recently showered hair peering his grey t shirt with droplets. “What movie we thinking?” He called.

“hmmmm How about Captain America?”

“Funny.” Chris rolled his eyes. You laughed before diving down to retrieve the steaming dish of Chicken and vegetable pasta from the oven and dishing into bowls. 

“Babe! You’ll never guess what movie they have.” Chris lifted the DVD case like a trophy, the title in your direction. You read it and gasped excitedly “About Time? Oh my days yes!”

“You’re gonna cry.”

“I am not.”

“You say that every time.”

“well this time I can definitely say that I will not cry!”

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

“It’s just” you stuttered, “it just so…so” you had to gulp loudly through the raked sobs “so sad!” Bill Nighy and the little boy started skimming stones on the beach, causing you to whimper loudly, more tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

“I told you you would cry,” Chris said, but his own eyes were watery and his jaw clenched in emotion. Seeing this made you even more upset and you started to grip onto the pillow, holding your breath so to stop the sobs. It didn’t work. Chris couldn’t stand it anymore; part of him obviously wanted to comfort you but also your turmoil was starting to become comical. “sweetheart,” he laughed “come here.” He dragged you over to sit in between his legs, your back against his chest so he could try and stop you from crying. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,” you breathed “I’m not going to-oh my god they’re hugging.” The crying was uncontrollable now “This is the last hug they’re ever going to have together.”

“Okay you need to tell me whats wrong now,” Chris’ tone shifted to worry. He’d never seen you this upset over this movie before “hey, hey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to leave me tomorrow.” 

“what?”

“You’re going to leave tomorrow and I’ll be left with an apartment that is too big for just one person, a job I hate and the constant reminder that these weekends are the only things that I actually enjoy in life.” 

The movie continued to play but Chris wasn’t watching anymore. Instead he sat there, struggling to find the right words to say. He didn’t want to ask, you’d specifically told him not to ask this weekend, the itch of knowing was starting to burn in his brain. “What’s wrong with work?”

You huffed, flinging your head back to knock against his shoulder “I hate it Chris. I used to love working there, but I just can’t do it anymore. The last time I had a weekend off was our last weekend 3 months ago.” 

“why?”

“Because Jack makes me work so he can piss about golfing and spend the weekends screwing his assistant. I see the texts,” you nodded as Chris’s eyebrows shot up in surprise “they’re just as awful as you can imagine.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“about the affair? It’s not tha-“

“No. About work.” 

“Oh.” You shrugged,  wiping the back of your sleeve across your face “I didn’t want you to worry about me that’s all.” Feeling your boyfriend huff you felt yourself get defensive “you’re away for so long I didn’t want you to have to take off anymore time than you had to just because my career turned shit.”

‘That’s not fair,” Chris shook his head “I should’ve known.”

“Why? What would’ve you done?’ You were sitting up now, frowning at him, arms crossed “Quit your work and moved back full time to Boston?’ “Maybe!”

“No you wouldn’t of!”

“But at least I would’ve had that option!” His eyes flashed with a mixture of pain and annoyance “Y/N how am I supposed to be there for you if you don’t tell me these things?” 

“That’s not fair Chris.”

“NO,” he snapped “what’s not fair is finding out that you’re feeling like this and yet I was the last person to know!”

“If you were here more YOU’D KNOW!”

There was a horrible silence. Shocked, you put your fingers over your lips, as if trying to grab back the words that were still ringing through the room. You were both shocked; hurt plastered on both your faces. You wanted to take them back, to rewind time so you could start this conversation again, to finish this weekend in a way that you will treasure and picture for the next weeks as you wait for him to come home to you. “I’m sorry.” You finally spoke “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Chris nodded slowly, and you noticed that his eyes were glistening with tears and you felt your brain screaming in fear and your heart be squished like a juice box “yea you did.”

“NO! No I didn’t.” You pulled him closer “I’m just upset about work, I’m taking it out on you.”

“But you do wish It don’t you?” Chris whispered.

“Of course I wish you were here more,” You nodded “but acting’s your dream. Of course I want you to be doing that.”

“Im so sorry Babe,” he pushed out a heavy sigh to stop the emotions from stunting his voice “I wish I knew how bad it was.”

“It’s not your fault You didn’t know. I wasn’t telling you.”

“I should’ve picked up on it. If I’d known I’d-“

“It’s not your fault Chris. I’m sorry for not telling you.”

Chris smiled softly. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, locking his hands together so you were pressed against his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head, nodding slightly “This was not how I was thinking this conversation was going to go.”

You laughed, snorting slightly due to the snot that had built up from your previous sobs “me neither.”

“And I was looking forward to telling you about my plans for after the movie.”

You felt your heart sink slightly. These conversations were always awfully painful. “Did your agent get another script for you?”

“Actually no. He won’t be getting me any for a while.”

“What?’ You looked up at him, confused “why?”

“because I told him I didn’t want any. Because I’m taking a little break.”

‘Chris? Please say you didn’t do that because of me!”

“only partly,” Chris smiled guiltily “I just miss Boston. I miss my parents, My nieces and nephews, You. I just want to spend some time here. Spending time with my family.”

The tears were falling again, only this time they were ones of happiness “you serious? You’re coming home?”

Chris nodded, savouring this moment for as long as he could. “5 more weeks and then I’m yours.”  

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

The Boston skyline had never looked so unwelcoming. Despite the sunrise bathing the windows with molten pink and blue reflections, they were a reminder that you were back in reality. You’d left the house early that morning with the remise you’d return in the summer with the whole family. It had still been difficult to say goodbye. The entire drive back you and Chris only spoke a few times, both too nervous of what to say in these last moment. Chris’s hand was back on your thigh, but this time your hand was intertwined with his, your only lifeline from breaking down into uncontrollable tears once more. Although this was the last goodbye you’d have to say for a long time, this one felt the most difficult because of the reality of what they were going back to. The buildings of the city grew thicker and thicker as you drove down main streets and over bridges until all too soon the looming signs floor your office building started to come, and then the ruling for the carpark, and in no time at all Chris was pulling into one of the visitors spots and switching off the engine. “we’re here.” 

“yea.” A silence. “ Thanks for dropping me off by the way.” 

“Yea of course.” Chris swallowed. Neither of you moved. No one made the move to say goodbye. But you knew it was going to happen, and your grip on his hand got tighter as you realised that now was the moment to let go. 

In the end it was him. It left you feeling empty, like you’d dropped something into water and you knew that you were never going to get it back, and that’s when the tears started to fall again. In a moment Chris jumped out of the car and ran over to your side of the car, opening your door so he was able to scoop you into a hug. “ I know,” he whispered as you clung to him “ I know.”

“i don’t know if I can do this Chris,” you sniffed into his neck.

“Yes you can. You can sweetheart. Remember what we said.” He kissed your ear lightly “Just five more weeks. Five more weeks and the I’m home, you can quit your job here and we’ll figure something out together okay? Okay?” His tone made you move your gaze so you were looking at his wide eyed expression, full of promise and reassurance “We’ll figure this out together.”

“Five weeks.”

“five weeks and then I’m yours.”

You nodded, sniffing “Okay,” You breathed “Okay I’ll do it.”

“You can do it.” He kissed you then, and his lips tasted of salt but they were familiar and warm and his, and you already missed him so much five weeks suddenly felt like a lifetime. 

“I am,” he rested his head against yours once more “so proud of you. I really am.” 

You nodded. You kissed him as long as your lungs could muster and this time you let go, flattening your skirt and slipping on your heels as Chris grabbed your bags from the boot and handing them to you. He kissed you once more, told you he loved you and then walked back around to sit in the car. You walked around to his door and leaned in through the open window to kiss him again.

“I can’t watch you walk away,” he confessed “because if I do all I’ll want to do is stay.” 

You nodded “That’s fine. I’ll see you in five weeks.”

‘Five weeks.” 

“I love you Chris.”

One more kiss, and then he pushed the car into gear and pulled away, leaving you to wave goodbye to him. As he did, the windows rolled down, and a second later you heard the opening chords to “Love on the weekend” play. He didn’t look back, but you knew that he too was already counting down the days until the next time you two could see each other. 

[nadiawrites14]

whagt the hell nadia has a creepypasta oc???

its october mf

wc: 3.6k

not very well written and a bit of a hot mess but still love this tall king <3

There was this kid at my school. 

There was a kid at my school, and I just really need to talk about him. I think it’s something I need to put out there. I am talking about it because anyone and everyone I talk to seems to never remember his name, or him in general, but I can’t stop thinking about his face.

I was never popular at school, and my brother always outshined me in that fact. He was a cheerleader, and I was his nerdy, unattractive sister. His friends were never friendly with me, and it wasn’t easy for me to make new ones, so I mostly kept to myself. Besides a few nice classmates, I was a bit of a loner, and this led me to Charlie.

Charlie Nguyen had always attended school in my city. I knew of him — we’d never actually talked, besides nearly 10 years of attending school together. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone really talked to Charlie. He was always there, a lingering presence, and seemed to get on better with teachers than he did with other kids. Despite both of us being outcasts, we never interacted, right up until recently. He just tapped my shoulder in the hallway once, shyly staring at his feet and asking if I would like to eat lunch with him in the library. Despite his crooked posture and timidness, he towered over me. I was only as tall as his shoulder. I had nothing to lose from it, really — it was more preferable to spending lunch with Ernest and his friends, so I accepted cheerily which made him very happy. 

Talking to him, I was shocked at how much I missed out on by never bothering to strike up a conversation. He was funny, sweet, and a hell of a lot more intelligent than I had believed. I’d often seen my teachers slip back 70s and 60s to him, but in one of the library’s secluded corners, we discussed politics and art and existentialism. I don’t even know how we got into talking about philosophy and what defines the self, but by the time the bell rang, my lunch was not eaten and I was much more enlightened than I was before. It was like a lightning bolt. I told him I’d be glad to eat lunch with him tomorrow as well, and he seemed very appreciative of it. As I headed to my last class, I realized I forgot to ask for his number, but decided I’d ask the next day.

Something about Charlie was just so alluring. I didn’t know much about him at all, even after our daily lunches began — he was 17, from Fresno, and his mother passed when he was young. Half-Vietnamese, half-white, and he spoke broken Spanish and loved to draw cartoons in the margins of his notes. I found myself chatting with him through text past my bedtime, where we’d discuss our lives, our academics, our interests. One thing Charlie and I really bonded over was our shared interest in both Shakespeare and horror movies. He’d been enamored since he read Romeo and Juliet his freshman year, but Hamlet was his favorite. At the time, I was peeling through AP Literature with straight A’s and was much more concerned with Tolstoy and Plath and Camus, but his fascination with the bard was certainly something I could bond with him over.

I prefer the comedies, though. Midsummer’s Night, Much Ado, As You Like It. Charlie’s interest in the tragedies ranged from the general to the obsessive, where he would produce sermons and sermons of how much the words and writings spoke to him. Considering how much death was in Hamlet and Macbeth, his other favorite, it concerned me, but I passed it off as nothing unique. After all, he was also a fan of slashers and all things horror. He loved a good scare. Whenever I tried to coax him into visiting his house for a movie night or a sleepover, he’d defer, and I would glumly accept the sentence. Once I switched the proposed setting from his house to mine, he gladly accepted.

Ernest was a little bit less enthusiastic about my liaisons with Charlie. They had gotten into scuffles before. Ernest got a very stern slap on the wrist for pulling on Charlie’s crutch in the hall once, freshman year. I told him a week in advance, just so he knew to vacate the house the next Friday and allow me and what he so lovingly called ‘the creepy asshole’ to watch a movie together. Ernie huffed and puffed about it the whole week and it really began to get on my nerves. The entire week, he bugged me and demanded just what I saw in that freak. I excused it as brotherly overprotection, but as Friday grew closer, I started to realize that it was fear.

When he dropped me off that morning, I confronted him in the car. “Why are you so scared of Charlie?”

Ernie scoffed. “I’m not scared of Charlie.”

“You sound pretty paranoid when you’re dropping a curfew on me and telling me to not get too close or talk too much.”

“Well, mom and dad are out of the house, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Charlie is a freak. He’s... creepy. I can’t place my finger on what’s up with him. Esme, just tell me, have you ever left the room with a splitting headache when you’re with him? Has your phone ever started bugging out? Hm?”

I thought back. Well, a few lunches in, I did have such an awful headache I had to excuse myself from class to go try and throw my guts up in the bathroom. It wasn’t that, though, and it had subsided by the end of the school day. The back of my skull would sometimes pound and contract, but I didn’t think it was anything, reducing it to pollution or mold in the school. It always ebbed when I left the school. For my phone, it would get a little buggy. Just a little buggy, though! I had no reason to think it was Charlie’s fault! It’s not like we live in a world where that shit happens. He’s not some psychic, he’s a weird, lonely kid with trauma. That’s it. And I let Ernie know that by screaming an expletive and slamming the door on him, spending the rest of the school day with a headache tenfold worse than the one I had all those weeks ago. By lunchtime, my head was pounding so fiercely I almost slipped and fell down the stairs. 

Charlie noticed, and asked what was wrong, a worried look on his face. I asked if we could postpone, and went on to talk about how awful my headache was. He seemed very disappointed about it but nodded and accepted with a smile. I felt so guilty about it, but it was quickly absolved, because when I walked out of the library with him I must have blacked out in the hallway. Charlie and one of the other teachers brought me to the nurse’s office, where my mother brought me home as I moaned in the backseat.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. A literal blur behind my crowded vision and the blood rushing in my ears, but I do remember awaking in the darkness of my room at around 1:00 AM. The red light on my digital clock said so. I awoke to the sound of something like water boiling, or when a witch’s brew bubbles inside of a movie or cartoon. It was bubbling, dripping, wet — but when I pulled back my curtain, everything appeared dry. No rain, not even any clouds. The stars were quite clear, due to the fact that it was a new moon. Despite that lingering sound of bubbling and popping, I was able to fall back asleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I came downstairs the next morning, my parents (and an over-concerned Ernie) were adamant that I stay home all weekend. I accepted that the next two days would be filled with boring movie binges and cups of hot soup and tea, and I plopped back under the covers. My head began to pound every time I checked my phone. I noticed Charlie had sent me a few texts, but I didn’t have the heart nor the energy to check what he had said. 

Sunday is when things actually began to get weird. The batteries in the remote for my TV had gone kaput, and I remembered that Ernie usually kept the same type in his desk for his old lamp. It was easier to walk across the hall to his room than down two flights of stairs into the basement. I knocked, and when there was no response, I entered. The lights were off. This was strange, because Ernie always loved to keep lights on. My parents constantly griped about seeing his outline in the window as late as 11, either from the strip LED lights that lined his room, the fairy lights, the candles, or the overhead light. I flipped the light switch and rubbed my eyes, as it was the most brightness I had seen in the past two days. Beginning to feel a tad nauseous, I took a seat at Ernie’s desk, trying to recall which drawer he kept his batteries in. As I searched, though, I noticed one drawer was shut from the inside, most likely from a heavyweight.

I should have just kept it shut. I shouldn’t have pressed. I should have gotten what I needed and left it alone, left my golden boy brother’s life completely alone. Then I could live knowing he didn’t have any dark secrets despite being a little bit of a bully and just a tad too standoffish. But, being the curious girl I was, I kept pushing until the drawer gave in.

Composition notebooks. The white smudges across the notebook covers had been filled in with dashes of pen, each one meticulously filled in. All five of the notebooks had this pattern. Blacked out, no name on the lines or any signage, otherwise normal in appearance. By that point, I should have known, but I kept going. I was once again shrouded in that same allure I felt around Charlie, the strange sense of being drawn in. When I opened the first notebook, I had to stop myself from making a sound. Every single page. Every single page in that notebook was filled with scratches in multicolored ballpoint pen, pleads and hypotheses and prayers. Drawings, maps, entries. The pages were thin from being worn down so deeply with the frantic pen marks, and many of the pages had been torn through from the intensity of the writing. My nausea grew and I began to feel my head pounding again. But I just couldn’t stop. Trying to process those frantic words written and dated and laden with tables and records and drawings was like trying to decipher hieroglyphics. Particularly, there was one symbol and one familiar figure that was retained throughout the notebook’s contents. An O with an X slashed through it. It reminded me of how I marked my bubbles on Scantrons, one line through, one line through, shade in the bubble. And the figure. The figure. A faceless man, a white oval of a face atop a suit and tie, and what looked to be tentacles pouring out from the sides. 

I was snapped out of my trance by the sound of footsteps rising up the stairs. I dumped the notebooks back in my drawer, besides the fourth one, which I tucked in the back of my shorts and underneath my sweatshirt. Ernie looked at me weirdly as I exited his room, but I offered a weak smile and held up the pack of batteries. He nodded, and I disappeared back into my room.

It fascinated me, and it scared me. When the oncoming headache and nauesa had left, I scanned over all his words and entries, observing each of his drawings and sentences and deconstructing like a true AP student should know how to do. I always assumed Ernie was going to parties when I heard his window open and shut or when he warned me he wouldn’t be home until late, not investigating supernatural entities in our affluent suburban town and measuring sound waves through apps he’d downloaded onto his phone. I hadn’t known Ernie was this brilliant. It took me about two hours of reading and rereading that singular notebook until I had connected the dots.

A few years ago, our cousin Ronnie disappeared. Ronnie and Ernie were best friends, close like brothers, and were inseparable at each and every family gathering. What I knew for certain about Ronnie is that he also had a particular fascination with ghost-hunting. He went out on frequent escapades with his girlfriend and her brother with some handy professional equipment in the most ‘supernatural’ bits of California. Most of my family excused it as a strange hobby that didn’t subtract from Ronnie’s successful business career, not until all three of the ghost-hunting squad disappeared without a trace while investigating the Lassen National Forest. No DNA, no bodies, no signs or directions or a reason were ever found. Even their car and all their expensive equipment, all of Ronnie’s research, had vanished into thin air. It seemed he had become one of those ghost stories he so adored to pursue. It didn’t hit me that hard, as I hadn’t known Ronnie all that well, but I hadn’t factored in how much of Ernie’s personality had changed since the disappearance. He had become more standoffish with his rivals, more competitive with his athletics, more jumpy and paranoid.

I should have known by the way he looked at Charlie. I assumed it was drama I had missed out on or the pure perils of high school hierarchies. But I had never noticed how hateful, how accusatory it really was. For some reason, I was certain that Ernie had it in his head that all of these things were connected. The Faceless Man, the disappearance of our beloved Ronnie Halaifinoua, and the outcast at my school who was seemingly responsible for bugged out phones and splitting headaches. It made no sense, but at the same time, it was like a missing piece to a puzzle that I simply had to snap into place. I hid the notebook in my schoolbag, and went back on Monday armed with a bottle of aspirin and comfortable clothes, ready to confront Charlie.

At lunch, I took two aspirin and handed him the notebook wordlessly. We sat in silence as he slowly peered over the pages, absorbing the information behind blank eyes without a single sound. When he reached the final page, he set it down and asked, “Did you write this?”

“Ernie did.”

Charlie sniggered at that and crossed his legs. “Well, he’s onto me, now, isn’t he?”

I stared at him, slack-jawed, feeling duped. “You’re— you’re—“

“What, supernatural? I’d like to think so,” he gave me a mellow look. “Ah… you may want to take another aspirin. Watch this.”

I popped one and I watched. He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. The lights above us flickered off, then on, then off again, before the lights reignited. Charlie opened his eyes, suddenly breathless, and nodded. “I can’t… usually do it with that much control. It needs work.”

I slammed my hands down on the notebook, my mind barreling at 100 miles per hour with a smattering of questions in tow. “Everything. Tell me everything. Now.”

Charlie folded his hands and gestured to the aspirin. I shook my head and pulled the bottle to my side. He cleared his throat, steadied his gaze, and began. “I wouldn’t call myself willingly supernatural by any means. I did not ask to be this way. I have been tossed through more foster homes in 17 years than I can count on my hands, and I would give anything to give up this life. I hate living a life where I’m unable to control my abilities. I don’t want to hurt others, I don’t want to do this, but sometimes it gets out of hand. Lucky for you,” he said. “Some people will gain immunity once exposed to it long enough.”

“Gain immunity to what?”

“It has a lot of names depending on the universe you’re in. They mostly call it the slender sickness, but you can call it the static sickness, faceless-man-itis, whatever. You do you. Headaches, nausea, hallucinations. Malfunctioning electricity. Static. The whole thing.”

“So it is you.”

“Always has been. Well, not totally. Faceless Man? The Faceless Man, as your brother says, he may or may not have touched my mother with his hand, therefore touching me as well and handing me a degree of abilities that I drag with me. It’s my cross, Esme. I’ve been avoiding his gaze for the past 16 years and have always managed to just be out of his reach, but my powers are getting stronger and it’s all getting more and more out of hand. I needed to go to someone.”

“Does he have a name? An actual one.”

“Many names. The Operator, the Business Man, Chernobog. Apparently, now, the Faceless Man. And I guess he’s my parental figure now. I’ve been chilling with him more often. Crazy dude, gotta say,” Charlie said, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs. “Crazy, crazy things.”

I looked at my hands, unsure of what to feel. “Did he kill my cousin?”

Charlie’s face went slack. “He’s killed many, many, people, but I don’t have control over what he does.”

We sat in silence for a long moment until Charlie spoke again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

My heart began to pound. “Ernie’s after you,” I said, running a hand through my hair and letting it fall over my face. “I think he might try and hurt you.”

“So… movie night is postponed indefinitely, then,” he replied.

I grinned sadly at him. “Don’t make me laugh, this is serious. I don’t want you to be harmed.”

His arms dropped to his side, and he smiled at me. He smiled in a way that drew me back in all over again. “Esme, be here tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

He vanished back out into the hall. I chose not to follow him. But, for the first time, I had a surprising lack of a headache, and I don’t think it was because of the aspirin. 

That night, I slipped the notebook back into Ernie’s drawer. I think he may have figured it out, though, because when we bumped into each other on the stairs, we stared at each other for a good minute saying nothing. I believe it was my way of telling him which side I was on, because when he surrendered his gaze he slammed the door shut behind him and I heard rummaging in his room. I walked to school the next morning.

When I came to lunch the next day, Charlie was already waiting for me. He handed me a gift bag. “It’s a present,” he said. “For you.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m moving. You might never see me again.”

“Oh, Charlie…”

“I say might. Might. There’s a chance we will meet again. Perhaps in another lifetime or in another universe. We can figure it out, alright? Alright.”

I shared my lunch with him, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and we toasted to his new life with our milk cartons. When we left the library that day, our pinkies were interlocked. As he turned to go to class, I pulled him back, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll miss you,” I said. 

He hugged me. It was like hugging one of those plasma balls where your hair stands up when you touch it. I had just stuck my fingers in a socket, but when I pulled back, all I could see were Charlie’s grateful, glowing eyes. “I’ll miss you too. Goodbye, Esme. Goodbye.”

My hair on my arms was still standing up and my cheeks were dark with color. I had a mark on my pinkie from where it touched his.

Since that day, I haven’t seen Charlie Nguyen. Ernie is still doing tests and taking entries though they become more inconsistent and confusing each and every day. I have an idea of who’s altering his readings. The present Charlie gave me, though, might hold some importance for me in the future. It’s a key without something to unlock, a piece of quartz, his copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet with all his annotations in the margins, and a pair of earrings with ghosts on them. Quartz conducts electricity. I remember learning that in class. I always keep it in my pocket now. When I ask my teachers about him, they seem confused, as do the other students. Ernie and I have seemed to make a silent pact as to not discuss the matters of the supernatural. I think he’s looking for Charlie. He’s looking for anything that will bring him closer to the truth.

I feel farther to the truth than ever before, but I know I cannot be far from it. It’s a matter of time. Ernie has begun to have headaches lately.

[nitr0glycer1ne]

Ducktober/Duckvember Day 10 - DT87

-FInally, I'm writing for two of my favorite characters: Fenton and Gyro!!! When I was a kid and read Donald or Scrooge comics, Gyro was my favorite character :) at first I wasn't really happy with his portrayal in DT17, but I've come to really like him as his own character. I just hope that season 3 will be the occasion to see him being friendlier to Fenton... I didn't watch DT87, but I did look Fenton up and decided to use one of his main traits in this story. Hope you enjoy!!

--------

It’s only been four days since the intern has started working with you, and you already can’t stand him.

He’s loud, he’s behaving as if he’s injecting himself with adrenaline and energy drinks every second, he’s clumsy and, worse of all, he doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. You suppose it’s not out of a particular desire to annoy you, that it’s simply the way he is- still, you can’t help but shove him away when he comes too close, whether it be to read a blueprint over your shoulder or to bring you your morning coffee.

Well, at least you’re thankful for that. Although you love the latte from the shop down the road leading to your employer’s Money Bin, you can’t stand the barista, some kind of stuck-up duck who looks at you as if you have the plague or something. The intern doesn’t have this problem; he’s the kind of person to enjoy chatting with everyone. The proof is that he keeps talking to you, even though you’ve spent the last four days making it clear that you don’t want him to.

The concept of silence is apparently something Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera has yet to understand.

Oh, well. At least he brings you a tall, warm cup of latte with two sugars every morning, just the way you like it. You’re kind of impressed it’s only taken him four days to get it right, but there���s no way you’ll tell him that. He’s already glued to your hip like a puppy, following you everywhere and asking question after question; no need to encourage this behavior by making him think you’re proud of him or something. Yes, it’s flattering to have someone calling you by your actual title of Doctor (with five PhDs, thank you very much) and be constantly impressed with your inventions, it’s a nice change from the money obsessed morons who keep scolding you about your creations turning evil (like it’s your fault!), but Fenton manages to make that praise insufferable.

It’s not like you even wanted an intern to begin with. You were perfectly happy in your laboratory, your sacred domain, the one where your reign was absolute and your decisions unchallenged, a safe retreat from Scrooge McDuck’s office and his stupid board of executives, the ones who go on about unnecessary costs and who want to restrain your genius. You didn’t need anybody.

But one day, Scrooge told you he had signed a partnership with Duckburg University, something about receiving funding for research if you took in an intern- an unpaid one, of course, he had been quick to precise. You had scoffed; as if Scrooge had been willing to pay for one more employee. You had been furious, too, and you had screamed, outraged; but in the end, you had given in, in part because your employer had threatened to fire you, but mostly because you need those funds, desperately. Your inventions, as brilliant as they are, don’t exactly come cheap, especially since sometimes (okay, maybe often) you have to clean up the mess they’ve done.

So you have ended with Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, of all people.

You haven’t chosen him. Actually, he has been the only one to apply for the position; it had been quite a blow to your ego, since you thought every student in the university’s science curriculums would have rushed at the opportunity to work with the brilliant Dr Gyro Gearloose.

But they hadn’t.

You had quickly brushed it off; they had been too scared, that was all. Your genius intellect could be threatening, you knew it. They had simply not felt up to the task.

You had barely looked at Fenton’s file before he came, eager-eyed, on his first day. Sure, he’s the best student in his curriculum, and has already done an internship in a small laboratory- not that any of this means anything to you.

Others simply can’t get on your level. It’s not boastfulness; you’re simply stating a fact. Others don’t get you. You solve problems before they’re done exposing them, you connect dots they can’t even see.

And no matter how much enthusiasm Fenton pours into his new job, no matter how he watches your every move and takes notes on everything you do or say, no matter how many times he’s said he admires you, it’s never going to make up for the tremendous gap between your brains.

After four days, you’re finally done with having a twenty-five-year-old behaving like a fourteen-year-old groupie looking at you as if he’s watching an animal at the zoo. So you snap and, even though Scrooge asked you to let him simply observe you during his first week so he could get used to your lab before properly assisting you, you send him to the small deck on the other side of the room with a thick pile of paper, aggressively asking him to fill it. He nods with a proud smile, and just as if you’re wondering if he’s going to cry of joy or something equally ridiculous and disproportionate, he dashes to the small desk and gets to work.

You sigh and finally go back to your own project, relieved and enjoying the peace. You’ve given Fenton the part you hate most about your work- calculations. Of course, you’re good at math, that’s not the issue; it’s just that it’s so time consuming, time that could be spent actually building the things based on your calculations.

You’ve been tinkering for a while, trying to get your newest project to work as intended – it’s a little thing, a light bulb built on a small metallic body, but you just know it’s going to change lives. You’re screwing the light bulb on, when you hear quick steps behind you and you cringe, wondering what Fenton has come up with to disturb you again.

“Dr Gearloose, it’s all done!” he proudly explains, a stupid smile on his beak, as he hands you the heavy stack of paper.

Your eyes widen and you blink slowly. You can feel anger building inside you, and you get up, aggressively taking the papers from his hands.

“Are you mocking me?! There’s 150 pages in there-” “157, actually-” “Do not interrupt me, intern! This is filled with fifth degree equations and functions that take over a page to write! Do you think my work is based on primary school mathematics?! There’s no way you have filled all of them in, in-” you quickly glance at your watch, “less than two hours!” “But I… I have, Dr Gearloose!” he looks lost, and he reminds you of a puppy you’d have yelled at. “I swear! And… and I checked all of my calculations!”

You quickly flip through the thick pile, and you’re astonished to see that, indeed, all the pages are filled with numbers and letters, all in the neatest handwriting you’ve seen a scientist have. You have trouble believing they’re not made up, and you have even more trouble believing he’s had the time to check all the operations.

“Did you make up those numbers?” you ask, squinting your eyes. “I swear I didn’t! I just… I’m good at calculus?”

You laugh, a dry laugh without any trace of joy. You know people who’re good at mental calculations- hell, you’ve seen your own employer accurately counting how much money is in his bin with a single glance. But you’ve never heard of anyone capable to give the answer to fifth degree equations without needing a paper and a pencil.

You only believe in what you see, so you let the pile of paper fall on your desk with a heavy bang, and you grab your calculator.

“You’re good at calculus, really.” you snort. There’s no way. There’s simply no way. You can’t do it, so there’s no reason Fenton can. “Yeah!” he nods vigorously. “Alright, then, intern. Let’s see about that. If you’ve solved and calculated all of this, as you claim you have, you’ll have no issue with a quick test? That shouldn’t be difficult for you, right?” “Anything you want, Dr Gearloose!”

He looks so eager to prove his innocence that you want to slap him. At the same time, you can’t help but feel the tiniest prick of guilt at his distressed expression. You quickly press a few keys on your calculator, coming up with a complex operation, one that Fenton’s sure to have trouble with.

“Okay, then. What’s the thirteenth root of-”

You’re not angry enough to simply say the number. There’s a bit of curiosity overtaking your irritation, and you write the number on the board near you- it’s a hundred digits long. Fenton nods, locks his eyes on the monster of a number you’ve challenged him with, and you can practically see the gears turning in his mind. You can’t help but be intrigued by the look of concentration on his face, although you don’t have the time to fully take it all in, because not even ten seconds have passed when he answers:

“45 678 912.”

Your beak slightly hangs open as you check your calculator, and sure enough, Fenton’s right. Your eyes quickly move, staring at his expression. He doesn’t look smug at all- if anything, he looks hopeful, like a child showing his parents a good report card.

Unable to believe in what you’re saying, you quiz him again. You ask him to calculate the fourteenth power of a number, you write down operations that take the whole board; and every time, in a few seconds, Fenton answers you correctly.

At first, anger boils within you, maybe tinted with jealousy- you push that thought away, there’s no way you’re going to be jealous of Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. But as you write more and more, as your fingers almost tremble above the calculator and your wrist tires from the pace at which you write the equations and calculations down, you can’t help but feel giddy, and you almost smile when Fenton correctly solves the last problem.

It’s been a while since you’ve found someone who can challenge any aspect of your intellect; you’re not even sure that’s already happened. And Fenton looks so happy to calculate everything you throw at him, so glad to please you rather than to impress you, that you can’t help but be contaminated and feel a bit of his enthusiasm.

“OK, intern, that’ll be it.” You finally announce. You’re stubborn, some would even say obstinate; but you’ve had enough proof of Fenton’s extraordinary ability. Not that you’re going to use those terms with him. “I guess you do calculate faster than most people. Have you always been so quick?” you inquire. You can’t help but be curious about things you can’t fully comprehend; you’re a scientist, after all. “Ah, thanks, Dr Gearloose!” Fenton beams. “I guess so. I just… I don’t know if it makes sense, but I like numbers- I always have. I’m good with them, and… this is stupid, but it’s… comforting, in a way? I just… picture them in my head, and it’s like they move on their own when I have to do math, if that makes sense. Sorry, it’s weird.” “Stop apologizing all the time, it’s annoying.” you groan, hating the way Fenton’s words resonate within you. “I guess it makes sense.”

Of course it makes sense. It’s the same for you; you can see how atoms can interact, complex chemistry formulas and molecules dancing in your head, you can exactly picture how circuits work, how the electricity will run through them. You’ve always seen the world that way, and you’ve never understood how people who don’t manage to have the tiniest grasp on reality. But Fenton’s your intern, not your confident, so you’re not going to tell him all of that.

Not yet, at least.

“Well, since you like numbers that much, I guess you’ll be happy to do all of those annoying calculations now.” you announce, turning back towards the small robot lying on your bench. “Of course, Dr Gearloose!”

You don’t need to see his face to feel the joy and pride radiating from every fiber of his being.

Just like he doesn’t need to see yours to sense the tiny smile on your beak as you wonder if maybe, there’s a small chance you’ve found someone you can truly discuss with.

------------------------

The ability I used is 1987!Fenton's impressive capacity to count things at a single glance. I changed it to fit his character better, since 2017!Fenton isn't an accountant but a scientist.

That might have been obvious with the fics focusing on Louie or on Jim, but I really like using fanfiction as a way to dive into a character's personality, to understand why they act the way they do, how they could act in certain situations. I love character studies!!

I think Gyro's arrogance comes from not really being challenged or threaten by another character's intelligence, which makes him feel superior but also isolated and not really able to communicate with other people. I feel like he'd be threatened by Fenton at first, but maybe slowly warm up to him when finally coming to terms with the fact that Fenton's skills can match his in some areas, and that it's good to finally be able to have someone understand him.

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Kuro takes his daughter to the park. (KuroMahi, Fem Mahiru)

“Don’t run off too far, Machi.” Kuro told his young daughter. Yet, the moment they entered the park, she let go of his hand and dashed through a pile of leaves. He shook his head warily but he was chuckling as well. He followed her and caught her easily. Machi cheered when Kuro suddenly lifted her into the air. He placed her on a nearby bench and knelt in front of her. “Can you tell Papa the park rules?”

“No going off with strangers. Play where Papa can see me. Don’t pick up bugs.” She listed the rules and counted them on her fingers. Kuro was a lax parent but Machi’s wellbeing was the most important to him. He nodded when he saw that she understood the rules. He gently placed her on the ground and then patted her head. She grabbed his hand. “Papa play with Machi now!”

“Okay, just slow down a little bit, Machi.” He groaned. She tugged on his jacket and dragged him to a pile of leaves. Her smile was full of excitement and life. Kuro considered himself lucky that their daughter was sweet and well behaved. She found a tall leaf pile and jumped into it, scattering leaves everywhere. He grabbed a few and tossed them into the air.  

“The leaves are Mama’s favourite colour! Orange.” She told him, very proud of her observation. Machi collected leaves in her hand and counted each one she picked up. “Three… Four… Five to show Mama when she gets home. Can Papa open Machi’s bag so I can fill it with leaves?”

“These leaves are brittle so they’ll probably crumble in your bag. We’ll have to clean all those tiny pieces afterwards.” He twirled a leaf between his fingertips. She tried to grab it but it broke apart in her hands. The disappointment on her face tugged on his heart and he thought of a solution. “We can press the leaves in a book to keep them from breaking.”

“Press it in a book?” She repeated in a confused voice since she didn’t know what he meant.

“You place the leaf between two flat surfaces. If you’re careful and gentle, it won’t break.” Kuro slowly explained the concept to her. He took her hands and laid them out flat. Then he placed a leaf on her palm and folded her hands together. He lifted her hand to show her that the leaf was still whole. Her eyes sparkled and he chuckled. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

Kuro took out a book from her backpack and placed a leaf between the pages. Machi copied him and laid a leaf next to his. She ran off to find more leaves in the park. He sat on the ground and watched over her. Being a stay-at-home father was difficult at times but it felt fulfilling whenever he saw her learn or discover something new.

He noticed a boy who approached Machi and he thought of how kids made friends so easily. She was a bright and warm person but it took a while for her to become comfortable with a person. Machi picked up a leaf and showed it to the boy. “Do you want one?”

“Dad said you can’t pick up dirty things!” He yelled and slapped her hand. Kuro immediately jumped to his feet ran to her. Machi cried his name and raced into the safety of his arms. He placed a protective hand on her head and then gave the boy a stern glare. He saw how the boy flinched away from him and sighed softly. The best thing for him to do was lecture the boy.

“Troublesome. Mahiru’s better at these things than I am. Hey, kid, you shouldn’t be violent with others. It is mean and wrong and you won’t make many friends by being cruel.” He told the boy in a slow, even tone. Kuro turned his attention to Machi and examined her hand. It didn’t appear that she was hurt but he said, “You should tell my daughter that you’re sorry.”

The boy muttered an apology but quickly left. He patted Machi’s hair, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” She nodded but he saw how she rubbed her hand. He placed a leaf in her little palm.

“Let’s collect more leaves for Mama. This one is a pretty shape. I’ll buy you a treat on the way home. Do you want ice cream?” Her smile returned and the sight made him happy. “If anyone hurts you like that, you should tell an adult you know. They’ll make them apologize.”

“But what if they hurt my friends? How do I defend them? Just like how you protected me. If I run away and get an adult, they might hurt my friend more!” She pointed out. “Hitting others is mean.”

“It is. First, you should try to tell him to stop. Yell for an adult the moment they try to hurt you.” He listed what she should do. He thought her compassion and strength was like Mahiru’s. Kuro thought of what she would do. “You should follow your heart and protect your friend if no one else comes to help you. I want you to know, Papa will never be angry at you for defending yourself or others.”

“Can you teach me how to protect others? I want to be a superhero like Mama.” She raised her tiny fist in the air.

“These are beautiful, Machi. I love them.” Mahiru carefully picked up the autumn leaf Machi had brought home. She kissed her head and thanked her once more. Kuro was asleep on the couch while the two went through the many leaves Machi collected. “This is your storybook so we should find something else to press these leaves in. I think we have a few spare picture frames we can use.”

“We can hang them on the wall! It’ll always be Autumn in our house.” She said cheerfully. “After we do that, can I play Pokemon?”

Machi asked even as she reached to the game console on the table. She wasn’t able to take the game before her mother did. As a six year old child, she shared Kuro’s hobby of video games. Mahiru placed the console further away from her and then sat down. She gently lifted Machi onto her lap and patted her head. “Let me check your homework first and then you can play, Machi.” 

Mahiru flipped open the assignment book on the coffee table. She grew up without her mother so it was important to be involved in her daughter’s life. “Can you read your answer to Mama?”

“Okay. What are your parents’ jobs?” Machi read the assignment question. Then, she declared: “Mama is a superhero and Papa is a lion!”

Her answer made Mahiru’s eyes widen but Machi appeared serious. In reality, Mahiru was a social worker and Kuro was a stay-at-home dad. She guessed that Kuro thought it would be too troublesome to fully explain her occupation to their daughter. Machi interpreted his simple explanation as them being a superhero and a lion. She made exaggerated gestures as she explained Mahiru’s job as a superhero.

“Mama rescues kids and helps them find good families. If anyone tries to stop her, she uses her superpowers on them. Friendship punch!” Then, she went on to say: “Papa protects our house and he makes sure no one tries to hurt our family. He gives me warm, lion hugs and lots of ramen! When I grow up, I want to be just like them. I’ll be the first lion superhero!”

She finished and looked to her mother expectantly. Mahiru smiled back to her and nodded. No matter what, she would encourage Machi’s dream. “You’ll grow into a very strong lion and help many people, Machi. But we should keep it a secret that I’m a superhero. We don’t want bad men to find my secret identity and attack our home. Let’s say I’m a social worker instead.”

“Okay.” She nodded and placed her finger on her lips in a secretive manner. Mahiru giggled and mimicked her. She wrapped her hand around Machi’s and helped her write the words. Machi tilted her head back and whispered, “Can I be your sidekick, Mama? I want to help you.”

“I’m sure you’ll become a strong superhero lion. But I love you so I want to keep you out of danger.” Mahiru kissed the top of her head. She hoped she could make the world a safe place for Machi.

“Machi want to protect people like how Papa protected me today.” She went on to tell her about the encounter they had in the park. Mahiru nodded along with her story and smiled softly. She had always been confident that Kuro would be a wonderful father. Then, Machi held up her little fists and said, “He taught me how to make a proper fist and punch mean boys.”

“Oh, did he?” She mused to herself. Mahiru lifted her daughter off her lap and placed her on the ground. With a smile, she said: “Can you get picture frames for the leaves you collected today? They’re in the closet.”

While Machi skipped to the closet, Mahiru walked to Kuro on the couch. She lightly shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes with a groan. She smiled down at him but he could see her restrained anger in her eyes.

“Kuro, darling, sweetie cakes and gumdrops, I want to ask you something.” Mahiru said in a sweet voice. It scared Kuro. She only used that many endearments in a sarcastic manner when she was angry. “Babe, can you tell me why our daughter now knows how to punch out a person?”

“It looks like I’m in trouble. Can’t deal.” Kuro groaned and placed his arm over his eyes. He felt Mahiru kiss his lips softly. 

She moved closer to him and whispered into his ear. “We’ll talk about signing Machi up for proper classes if you’re worried about her defending herself. I just wished you would’ve talked to me about this first.”

He wrapped his arms around her before she pulled away. “I wasn’t planning on teaching her. It just came up at the time. She said she wanted to learn how to fight and protect her friends. That sounds a lot like someone else I know. At least, there aren’t many dangerous situation for her to run into like when we were kids.”

“That’s because of you.” She kissed him again. “We saved the world together and made it a better place.”

[crayonwriting]

Irreplaceable You (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Unexpectedly diagnosed with a terminal disease, you embark on a mission to find a new love for your fiancé and childhood best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Disclaimer: This story is a rewrite of the movie of the same title on Netflix. Directed by Stephanie Laing and written by  Bess Wohl. Go check it out!

A/N: I started writing this five minutes after watching the movie. When I was proofreading it, I read some reviews. There were many negative reviews about this story but I really, really, loved it. I truly do.

Please comment if you want a second part to this. I don’t really want to believe that this is a bad movie and story.

Enjoy folks!

—

This story starts off as your typical friends-turned-lovers trope.

When you were a little girl at seven years old,—bold attitude, so very sure of herself, friendly, optimistic—you went on a field trip with your classmates at the San Marino Zoo. Like any other childhood memory, your favourite part of the whole trip was when you met the love of your life, James B. Barnes. It was when you were at the World of the Deep that you met James—Bucky, as he insisted that you call him.

“And here we come to our coral reef, home to many species,” the tour guide blatantly gestured to the huge tank behind her, “Including over fifty types of fish: the green morey eel, the cownose ray—”

“Oh, those guys are mating.” One of your classmates pointed out.

“Okay. Uh, look over there!” The tour guide gestured to the other tank.

“Why are, like, six of them mating together?”

“Which one is the mommy?”

“See, here's the thing, kids,” the tour guide sighed, “Fish are not like people. They're not monogamous.” She rolled her eyes and looked down at her feet. “Not that many people are either.” She whispered to herself before looking back up at your group. “But that's another—”

“What's ‘monogamous’?”

“Well, uh,” she started, “Okay, monogamy means if you love someone, you stick with them for the long haul.”

“My dad screwed my Aunt Rosa.”

“My mommy and daddy are separated.”

“My mom ran away with my dentist.”

“My dad said she was getting her cavity filled in.”

“Yep.” The tour guide shrugged. “It's not easy. Lots of things can separate us: Aunt Rosa, the dentist,” she looked at the walkway behind your group, “Lauren Mulgrew in World of Amphibians,” she looked back at your class, “However, there actually is one monogamous fish.” She led you to the left, were pictures of weird, alien-like fish were hung up. She pointed to one on the far right corner.

“The deep-sea anglerfish. The male anglerfish hunts for the female, following her through the most dangerous parts of the deep. Then, when he finds her, he bites into her flesh and never, ever lets go. The two fish fuse into one.” After she had said that, the rest of your classmates just stared at her, uninterested. She clicked her tongue and bit her lip.

“And we're walkin'. And we have our listening ears on…”

You didn’t follow the group immediately as you stared at the photo of the anglerfish. Beside you, Bucky stared up at the photo too. You looked at him with a straight face. Bucky adjusted his glasses and fiddled with his jacket.

“What?” He asked.

Without warning, you bit him—hard—on his left shoulder causing him to scream.

And that was the start of it all. Well, after a trip to the hospital for Bucky and a lot of therapy sessions for you.

It was true love.

—

Several years later…

You smiled at the people you passed by in your small apartment. You sipped on the champagne you had in your hand, eyes scanning the room for a certain brunette. You saw him with his best friend Steve and the rest of your group.

You walked up beside him as he was retelling the story of the bite to all of them. A romantic gesture, really.

“Really, it was a behavioural problem.” He turned his head to you and kissed your temple. “She bit like six kids that year.”

“You’re the only one that meant anything to me.” You interrupted.

“Well, I had to go to the hospital.” He turned his attention back to your group. “Six stitches!”

“Three stitches!” You looked at him in mock disbelief. “I almost got kicked out of school.”

Bucky took a sip of his drink before saying, “You should've been kicked out of school.” This earned a laugh from their audience. “You were rabid!”

“Bucky!” You playfully slapped his shoulder. Suddenly, out of nowhere, your mom came up behind you. She put her hands in your shoulders and kissed your cheek.

“For years I've tried to have her de-fanged and de-clawed.” Your mother came up behind you, with her hands on your shoulders as she kissed your cheek. You sighed and jokingly rolled your eyes at her.

"Thanks, mom." You said, smiling.

Sam grunted, picked up a fork on the nearby coffee table and clinked it against his glass.

"May I have everyone's attention please!" People started to gather closer around their group. "Yo, everybody! Everybody! Come closer, please." Sam coughed a little into his fist. "I would like to make a toast."

"Aww, Sam…" You cooed, leaning into Bucky's side; his grip on your waist getting tighter.

"That's probably a bad idea…" Steve chuckled.

"Hey! It's already started." Sam grunted. "Cheers! Uh, happy engagement you guys."

"Cheers!"

"Happy engagement!"

Everybody raised their glasses towards you and Bucky. You looked at him with all the love in the world. He looked at you the same way, leaning down to kiss your lips softly.

"To the bride and groom!" Steve smiled.

"The bride and groom!" Clint shouted from the back. Clint was your best friend and co-worker at the library near your apartment. "You know, it doesn't really make sense, right?" Clint caught everyone's attention, a dash of confusion on their faces. "I mean, c'mon guys. Y/N here is a Type A and Bucky...well," Clint shrugged, "He's more of a Type Z."

"C'mon, I am not a Type A." You giggled.

"What the hell is a Type Z?" Bucky asked, mocked offended.

"What Clint means to say is," Sam interjected, "How did an amazing woman like you," Sam gestured towards you, "End up with the most clueless white boy in the city?"

This earned a laugh from the whole group, including you and Bucky.

"This could be the best toast I have ever heard," Bucky stated.

Chuckling, Sam continued, "Look, honestly, I generally disapprove of people who are disgustingly happy as you guys are. But, um, I'm really glad that you proposed to this one." Sam looked at you.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up." Steve raised his eyebrow. "Y/N proposed to Bucky?"

"She just beat me to it, punk," Bucky answered. "I was  trying to figure out the best moment—"

"You were taking too long!" You laughed. "So, I just stuck a rubber band on my finger," you raised your hand, "and that was it." You smiled triumphantly.

"That's cute," Clint said.

"The truth is…,” you trailed off a little for dramatics, “There may be a little incentive to make it all official…," You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, which earned a small laugh from Bucky, as you patted your hands softly against your abdomen.

"Wow," Clint exclaimed.

"Wow, Bucky, congratulations!" Steve smiled, slapping a firm hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

Soon enough, another round of congratulations was shared throughout the rest of the party.

—

Later that night, you lay side by side with Bucky; both of you staring at the ceiling. You enjoyed quiet moments like this with him—pure, comfortable, soft, and warm. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face as you thought of the years you had spent with Bucky and the life that awaits the both of you.

Undoubtedly, your insides still tingled and buzzed with love and adoration for the man lying beside you. All the dates, the small fights, the big fights, the tears, the laughter, everything! And you were about to spend it with him as his wife.

"What if it hadn't worked out between us?" You asked in a whisper, still staring at the ceiling. It was out of the blue. A random thought for the night of what might have been if you and him had called it quits all those years ago. Bucky just chuckled and answered,

"Impossible."

You turned your body to face his, tucking your arm under your head. "What if I, like, had been hit by a bus or run off with gypsies or became a man?" You stared at him as he copied your actions to face you.

"Well," he scratched the stubble on his chin, "I would have stopped the bus, ��joined the gypsies or become gay.” He smiled at you—that boyish smile full of charm, which always made you weak in the knees. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at your fiance.

“You would do that for me?”

He put his arm on your hip, and tugged you closer.

“Want to test it?”

Not being able to resist anymore, you leaned closer and planted a full kiss on his waiting lips. He sighed and groaned as he leaned over you, trapping you in between his strong arms. You placed your hands on his shoulders, gripping them tightly as each kiss deepened.

As the moment was getting hot—and a little bit steamy if you may add—you reached up to his face and took off his glasses. You pulled away a little to let out a laugh.

"Top of the books, seven o'clock from the lamp." You stretched your arm over to your bedside table, placing his glasses carefully exactly where you had said. Bucky continued kissing up and down your cheek, jaw and neck.

"I don't really give a fuck about my glasses right now…" He murmured into your skin. You hummed in response, running your fingers through his soft hair.

"You will, in the morning when I'm in the shower." You laughed as Bucky held his body above yours with an irritated expression in his face.

"Will you please stop talking?"

He didn't give you time to answer.

—

feedback?

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Mr. Gray and Mr. Wise:Prologue(Pennywise/ Robert Gray x Reader)

This is the prologue based on this fic idea I had and am surprisingly writing. This Robert Gray character is inspired by @coulsart ’s version of him(because I’m in love with him and there’s nothing y'all can do about it).Idk when I will update the next part, but enjoy this for now!(Btw, this is my own interpretation of the True Pennywise AU and not @my-gunpowder 's)

Masterlist

Words:1848

Derry 1901

“Nice show today Bobby!”

“Yeah! You had the children cheering a lot more today!”

“And the mothers,haha!”

“Oh guys, come on…I’m not that good of a performer! I’m just a simple, ol clown."A ginger haired male exclaimed as he lifted his hands up almost in defense with a nervous chuckle right before one of his co workers slapped his back and made him flinch.

"Don’t be too humble about yourself Bob, we all know how much everybody loves ya! And how much some men around here envy you because you actually make their women laugh!”

“Ah, yes…I’m not too fond of that fact…"the young man named Robert and called Bob or Bobby  stated as he scratched the back of his head. "Partially the reason why I fear walking home alone,haha…”

“Aww, does Bobby want a big boy to walk him home?”

“Raul, stop it…come on. I’m a grown 23 year old man.”

“Raul leave the boy alone.” A woman called out from behind, and the two males turned their heads whilst the others walked away.

“But mama, it’s fun playing with little Bobby.”

“He may be a youngster, but let me tell you that compared to you he’s no little man.”

Raul slightly rolled his eyes, remembering how despite the age between him and his ‘friend’, there was no denying that Robert was far taller than he was.

“I know, I know…but he’s afraid that some goop’s gonna bash his head while his wife swoons over his cute little clown cheeks!”

Robert shook his head as Raul’s mother let out a chuckle, the old woman understanding the constant struggles her adopted son experienced due to his small town job as the popular clown loved by every child: Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

“Mama, I swear I can go-”

“Bob, honey. There is no reason for you to beg, you’re old enough to work and get paid, so you’re old enough to go home. Now go already before the tent is overrun with angry men.”

Robert smiled and nodded before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek before he turned and dashed out of the tent he hid in to remove his costume and makeup.

“Mama I think I shou- OW!”

“Shut your mouth already Raul, you’re not always going to be there for Robert.”

Elsewhere, Robert had stopped his running to now stroll along the noisy streets of his beloved, little Old Derry. His lanky arms swung at his sides as they were concealed inside a baggy old shirt handed down to him by his brother, along with the large overalls he was currently wearing.

“Good afternoon Robert!”

“Back to you, Mr. Smith!”

“Hey there Bob!”

“Hiya!”

Robert waved at every person who greeted, surprised yet glad that he wasn’t being chased down by some mother, single or not. He took a loud sniff and felt his smile turn into a grin when the scent of chocolate hit his nostrils. The man stopped walking to close his eyes and sniff the air, finding the source to his right where he found one of his mother’s male friends making some of the delicious treat. Bobby licked his lips before he sneaked over to the building and entered, not realizing that the man had originally planned this.

“Hey there Bobby! How are you doing on this mighty fine day?”

“Oh quite well Mr. Hershel, thought my day was bettered once I smelled whatever it is you’re brewing up!”

“Ah, I see you smelled my chocolate, eh?"Robert happily nodded and peered at the pot the man stirred a spoon in. "You know, the recipe has been in my family for some time and whoever joins the family gets to learn it!”

“I do believe you’ve mentioned that quite the few times sir."the ginger man smiled, finally realizing where this was going. "Um, and how much was a single bar again?”

“Five cents my boy, but for you, it’s on the house.”

“Really-”

“If you take my daughter out to a nice little picnic.”

Robert froze in his spot with a blank expression before his nervous smile crept up as he reached into his overalls’ pocket.

“I’ll just pay you your five cents…"he whispered before handing him the amount and quickly exiting the shoppe with his new treat. He made sure to walk as far away from the building as he could before continuing his calm and normal pace from before, unwrapping his candy to take a small bite and hum in satisfaction. Though once again, his temporary state of harmony was interrupted when he felt a small tug on his clothed leg. He glanced down and noticed a little boy who smiled and waved at him, knowing that his idol stood before him.

"Hey there kiddo! You lost your way?"he asked as he wrapped up his chocolate and placed it inside his front pocket.

"No, my mother wanted me to run over to you so that she cou-”

“Jamie!Oh, Jamie! I thought I lost you!"and cue one of the usual, flirtatious mothers that could not keep herself away from the young clown. "Bobby! I see you’ve found my baby, how could I ever repay you?”

“Haha, there’s no need of repayment Mrs. Johnson-”

“Oh Bobby please, call me-”

“Mrs. Johnson, I really must get going. My mother is waiting for me at home with dinner, so please excuse me.”

And before the woman was able to speak another word, he cleared his throat and smiled politely before waving at the child who waved back, and walked away. Once Robert turned a corner and was completely out of sight, he scurried away so that the woman was not able to reach him , or any women in fact.

He paused his running to press his back against a wall and take a breath, worried that turning any way would have him face another woman who would ask about his newest upcoming routine, or compliment him on his skills with children, or ask about his relationship status or ask why he had no children, especially a wife.

But soon enough, Robert has his thoughts interrupted when he heard music and laughter near his current location. Out of curiosity and a bit of worry, the male slowly dragged his body along the wall until he reached the end and flipped over so that his chest was place on it instead. In a slow and steady pace, he planted his long fingers on the edge of the building he hid behind before he nervously poked his head out to check out the source of sounds, and to make sure that there would be no familiar women that constantly poked at him.

Rather than having his worrisome thoughts be true, his blue eyes widened when they caught sight of a large crowd of people huddled in a circle that danced around another circle, and another: every single one of the circles cheering loudly whilst surrounding something in the center.

With curiosity filling him, Robert squinted his eyes before climbing onto one of the ladders on the side of the building to catch a better view of whatever it is the people danced around. Despite the higher he climbed, he could still not see what was creating such a joyful ruckus, so he shrugged and decided to take the risk and walk a little bit closer.

He hopped off of the ladder and followed the group before hiding himself behind a tree, thanking his thin figure for once because of its ability to easily hide behind almost anything. Robert peeked his head out again and sighed for a moment when the sea of people expanded and allowed much more access to spot the center, but it still was not enough. The young man stepped out from behind the tree and neared a pile of bushes which he crouched down behind of and soon enough, he felt his eyes widen when they landed on rosy red cheeks and a pearly white smile that released melodic giggles.

“Who…who is that?"he asked himself, never realizing that somebody crept up behind him and watched Robert’s expression somehow fall into a goofy one that could only be seen when he wore his makeup and performed for his young fans.

His eyes caught sight of a girl that he had never seen before, a girl who danced as if nobody watched her whilst everybody circled around her. Robert felt his eyelids slightly drop so that they were now half lidded as they continued to stare at the girl who held onto her dress with one hand and had the other swaying in the air along to the music.

"That, would be Old Man Gordon’s daughter."he heard behind him before he slightly jumped in surprised and snapped his head behind him, seeing Raul squat next to him as he chuckled. "They just moved here, and everybody’s pretty glad to see 'em here. Especially since her daddy brings good business!”

Robert rolled his eyes before he glanced them back to the girl and noticed that a man approached her with a serious face before he clearly told her to stop whatever it was she was doing, but she smiled at him before grabbing his hands and swinging them around so that he could join her dance. It brought surprise to Robert when the man gave into her and began to follow her lead and laughed along with the girl, then realizing that it was her father who was quite different from the ones he usually encountered in Derry: strict and no fun.

“Hey Raul, care to give me some details about this new family?” Robert asked, never taking his eyes off of the girl who smiled a smile full of a amount of saccharine that beat his chocolate bar any day and had locks that he wanted to entangle his fingers in. Her skin looked ever so smooth and her face…god her face made his heart thump like a woodpecker on a tree.

“Sure thing buddy, that man right there is her big daddy who moved here after remarrying, since his little girl’s mother died because of a disease or somethin’. From what I heard, the doll’s 19 and ready to have her hand asked for, though  I’ve also heard she’s just like you.”

“How so?”

“She’s had and got a plenty of suitors right behind her, but she ain’t gonna give in to them that easy.”

“A girl like that? Of course she’d have the hounds following after her like pups.”

“Take’s one to know one Bobby.”

“Shut it Raul…"he demanded with his rarely seen serious face that now matched the red cheeks he painted on every day, then shaking his head to glance at the girl who pranced around with her father who danced like a young man and not one of his age. "What…what even is her name?

"Oh, her name,right…if I heard correctly, I do believe it’s…”

[justhockeythings-blog1]

Nightmares -Miles Wood

A/N: Here is my first one back! I hope you guys enjoy and I seriously can’t thank you guys enough for your patience. Also I would like to warn that the next few writings might not be in order of request, just because I’m doing the ones that catch my eye to get me back in the writing mood! Love you all!

Request:  Hi I love your writing!! Any chance you could write about Miles Wood comforting the reader after a nightmare? If you can't or you're too busy no worries ! :)

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares

Usually you had a good grasp on your dreams, or rather your nightmares, you had been having them for years, ever since you were a child. Of course back then it was way easier to handle because you could run to your parents and they would take you back to your room, turn your light on, and check under every surface for monsters and even then sometimes they would let you sleep with them.

However as you grew older you knew that you had to start taking matters into your own hands, by the time you were sixteen your random nightmares didn’t faze you because you had developed a good coping mechanism. But there was one dream that still to his day shook you to your core and the worst part was, you couldn’t remember most of it.

The dream had started when you were five years old, and it always started the same. You were walking down a dark street with only one street lamp, it’s cold, but you’re always covered in sweat. It starts out slow, the occasional noise making you jump but then you get that feeling, the feeling of being watched, the feeling that makes every hair on your body stand up as your skin prickles. And that’s when you start running, you don’t know where you’re running to but you start to sprint towards the light, hoping for the same safety you felt when your parents would turn on the light in your bedroom. Only this time the light didn’t help, and right before you reached it you felt something grab you. That was usually when you woke up, tears already wetting your cheeks.

Your parents had taken you to specialists for it and they all said it was something in your subconscious but there was really nothing they could do about it, it was the only dream that your coping mechanism didn’t work with and you usually didn’t go back to bed after that dream.

It had been years since your last nightmare like that, it seemed as you grew into an adult your childhood fears faded, but sometimes when you walked to your apartment you still got that feeling and had to force it down. But even that started to disappear when you met Miles. Now, with you two living together for going on seven months now, your sleep was blissful and uninterrupted by nightmares of any kind, of course you still had your little hiccups, mostly when he was gone on a road trip but they were nothing like that one that had plagued your childhood.

So tonight should have been the same, nothing in your nightly routine had changed, Miles was already waiting in your shared bed when you crawled in, you two had shared one quick kiss before the lights were shut off and you were wrapped in his warm embrace.

That was where the happiness ended because you quickly found your mind in the dark and soon the scene began in your head, the dark road, the cool air, the one dim streetlamp casting a circle on cracked pavement.

You tried to pull yourself out of it, you really did, you tried everything your dream self could  think of but still you walked on, and there it was, the goosebumps on your arms, the fast beat of your heart and the sweating of your palms. Before you knew it you were making a mad dash to the light when you felt it grip you.

You shot up in the bed, only the feeling of whatever was gripping you didn’t leave and you let out a shriek, quickly batting away the hand that held your shoulder. You blinked quickly as light flooded the area and you looked around, surprised to find that you were in the safety of your apartment with a very concerned Miles looking at you.

“Y/N, What’s going on? Are you okay? You were crying in your sleep, kind of freaked me out..” He admitted sheepishly, trying to recover from the slap of your hands pushing him away.

You had to take a moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving and at the mention of crying you felt the tears on your cheeks.

“You know, you can tell me… It’s okay.” He assured you gently, watching you the way someone watched a wounded animal, unsure of if they should approach.

“I’m sorry, it’s just a nightmare...  I don’t really know… It’s been so long since I’ve had that one, it just took me by surprise and it ended with me being grabbed and when I woke up and you were holding me I just freaked…” You explained softly, grateful that he seemed to understand.

“Come here.” He said simply, opening his arms and you quickly situated yourself between them, taking in the comfort that came from it.

For a moment all he did was hold you, letting you calm your body down as he played with your hair gently, his other hand rubbing circles on your back.

“I won’t let anything get you, like you said it’s just a nightmare. Besides, anything that wants you has to go through me and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m terrifying.” He teased and you cracked a smile, keeping your arms wrapped around him firmly, not wanting to let go.

And you didn’t, not even when you fell asleep on his chest and Miles made no move to change your position, he stayed awake until you were well asleep and even a little longer, just to make sure that you really were alright.

“Don’t worry Y/N, you’re safe with me.” He said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before falling asleep himself.

[imaginekpoplikethis]

Even If You Hate Me - Jeon Jungkook X Reader

I missed writing about Jungkook.

I may or may not make a second part to this depending if anyone even wants to read a second part. I don’t know, I felt like writing a somewhat sad story and this is what I managed to come up with.

Fun fact: this idea popped out of nowhere when I was sitting in mass with my school listening to hymns lol.

Anyway, I hope you find this as interesting to read as I intended.

Part 1 - Here  Part 2 - Final

Singing on stage was your current life. You practised day and night to provide music for the fans you adored with all your heart. Without them you had no doubt in your mind you would not be where you currently are now.

You knew you were not the best singer but you certainly were not the worst. What drew people towards you and your music was more so your personality and charisma. They could see that you loved doing what you were doing and that was enough. You were not majorly popular but also not unrecognised. You had enough fans to sell out tickets within a few days which was saying something.

Standing backstage before one of the biggest concerts you had ever held was nerve racking. You believed it never would cease to be nerve wracking. A feeling of nausea accompanied the nervousness as usual. In fact, you had been feeling quite off for the past week though you brushed it off. This time, however, the nausea was somewhat stronger with a strong hint of dizziness. Taking in deep breaths, you stood to the sides in the shadows, attempting to hide your uneasiness.

“What’s wrong?”

The voice came from none other than your good friend, Jungkook. You had met him when you were still in college. You had both aspired to become singers and because you shared the same passion, you hit it off just like that. His career took off slightly before yours and so he was more experienced which was why he was your go to person in times of inspiration and advice.

“N-nothing. Just nervous.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced and reached a hand out towards you, placing the back of it on your forehead.

“You’re burning up! Maybe you should take five minutes to relax. I’ve got a bad fe-“

Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, your manager slapped a hand onto your shoulder, urging you forward.

“Come on, it’s time to start. Do your best!”

Jungkook’s hand unwillingly fell from your forehead and you could hear his protests along with your managers attempt to reassure him that you were fine.

Such was the life of a singer. If you couldn’t handle the pressure, were you really cut out for this sort of life? That’s the motto that had been drilled into your mind for the past several years and it was one you would continue to live by as long as you could.

-

Y/N was pouring her all into her performance. It was one that did not require any drastic movements. Actually, it required little to no movement at all. Her appearance perfectly matched the somewhat slow song she was singing to her fans, who all waved their light sticks in sync. Normally, she would stay away from concepts that would tend to present a melancholy atmosphere but this time around she had insisted on writing such a song, to everyone’s immense surprise.

Jeon Jungkook stood to the side of the stage, taking in the beautiful sight of an artist connecting with their audience through music. It never failed to amaze him and it was precisely the reason why he too decided to pursue music as a career. As of this moment, he was present at his long time friends concert for moral support.

Absentmindedly smiling to himself, he readied himself for the long note that was sure to come within the next few seconds. He was familiar with the song having spent late nights working on it with Y/N. The moment came for said note and she held it with such grace that he felt an overwhelming sense of pride fill him. Just like the practices he had spent with her, she perfected it. However, as soon as the note came to an end, so did her singing. Confusion tumbled over him. He knew what line was supposed to come next yet what left her lips was not what they had rehearsed.

“I-I’m sorry... so, so sorry but I- I think...-“

There was shouting coming from behind him, a couple of technicians giving directions that came straight from her manager.

“Somebody stop her! Cut the mic!”

“-this might be my last song...”

His heart skipped a beat with every stutter that left her. The microphone soon slipped from her grip and landed with a thud on the floor, a high pitched screeching sound escaping the fallen microphone and being blared out through the giant speakers situated around the venue.

Hands flew up to ears, attempting to block out the unbearable sound and that’s when Jungkook realised what was happening. He watched in horror as your legs gave up on you and you dropped to the floor, seemingly unconscious. At this point, the mic had been cut off, killing all sound in the hall. There was a short moment of silence before someone screamed your name and the venue erupted into shouts. He was the first to dash out onto stage, throwing himself down next to you and grabbing your torso.

“Hey! Hey, are you alright? Wake up. Please, wake up.”

His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Not getting a response, he pulled you onto his lap, though with much effort and pushed your hair away from your face. He was joined by backstage staff who began to press cold cloths to your face and prepare to take you off stage. He heard a distant shout of ‘dim the lights’ and began to help carry you off stage.

What just happened?

-

After the disastrous incident, you were rushed to the hospital where an emergency scan would take place. Your fans had left the venue in shock whilst everyone worked to end the concert early. Jungkook joined you at the hospital, staying put outside your room.

“I told you there was something wrong and you refused to listen to me...” In all the time he had been there it was the first time he spoke to your manager with a tone that could only be described as deathly calm. Your manager looked up from the ground to stare at Jungkook with guilty eyes.

“I... I didn’t think it was that bad. She said she hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent the past week but I just kind of dismissed it. I thought she would be fine...”

Jungkook clenched his fists, struggling to keep his anger at bay.

“Well she isn’t fine! She’s in hospital and all because you couldn’t be bothered to check if she was in need of a check up! A week went by where she was hurting, struggling to get through the days and you ignored her words...” His shout had lowered down to a whisper by the end of his rant and your manager sat speechless.

A doctor emerged from your hospital room, silently closing the door and turning to look towards the two other people present in the corridor.

“We performed an electrocardiogram to record the rhythm and activity of her heart. We’ve concluded that Miss Y/L/N has ventricular tachycardia from her abnormally fast heart rhythm. She’s extremely lucky to have been brought in before it progressed to ventricular fibrillation. Looking at her records it doesn’t seem like she has any heart problems... does she perhaps consume an excessive amount of alcohol?”

Your manager answered without missing a beat.

“No, she very rarely drinks.”

“How about caffeine?”

This time, his eyes widened drastically before he answered.

“Y-yes, she drinks quite a lot of caffeine. She claims she needs it to get through the day.”

“What’s her daily schedule like, if I may ask?”

He nodded his head before glancing back down at the floor.

“She either doesn’t sleep or wakes up extremely early to fit in exercise and practices. She drinks quite a lot of caffeine to keep herself going throughout the day, though I’m not exactly sure how much.”

The doctor nodded in understanding before he clicked a pen and scrawled down some notes in a notepad.

“It’s very rare that an excessive caffeine consumption would cause ventricular tachycardia but paired with quite a bit of exercise makes it much more likely. The symptoms include, dizziness, fainting, chest pains, shortness of breath and fatigue. Did she display or mention such symptoms?”

Jungkook glared at your manager when the doctor asked his question.

“She mentioned she had been feeling dizzy. Actually, I noticed she would hold a hand to her chest a lot and take deep breaths but I didn’t think much of it.”

Jungkook’s anger resurfaced and he forced himself to turn away in case he done something he was sure he would regret. The doctor took more notes before he put his notepad and pen away.

“She will have to undergo radiofrequency ablation. An electrical current will destroy any abnormal tissues causing her heart to beat incorrectly. After that she will have to remain in hospital for around two weeks until we deem her healthy if she wishes to leave then she may but will have to rest at home and stay away from caffeine and ideally exercise. If you want to go in and see her, now is the time.”

“I understand. Thank you so much.”

The doctor smiled slightly before bidding farewell and taking his leave.

“Jungkook, you should go in. I... I don’t think I deserve to see her right now.”

Jungkook said nothing. There was nothing to say. He wouldn’t bother trying to console your manager, he didn’t deserve that either. Instead Jungkook rose from his seat and silently entered the room.

You were sleeping.

That was the first thing he noticed when he stepped further into the room. He didn’t know if he expected you to be awake, smiling at him with tired eyes. Perhaps that was too much to ask. Thankfully, your life wasn’t in danger. You had narrowly missed that road.

Jungkook made his way to the table and chairs situated to the side of the room, grabbing one of said chairs and moving it towards your bed. Sitting facing the back of the chair, he simply stared at your resting figure. By now, it was late at night. He supposed he had been waiting for at least three hours in the corridor. Time had flew by though, worry eating him from the inside out. He blamed your manager for not noticing your sick state but he was just as bad. He had seen you plenty of times throughout the week and not once did he think to ask if you were okay. He assumed the smiles you would give him were enough and that’s where he went wrong.

“When I think of it, this is my fault isn’t it? I encouraged this. I pushed you to work this hard. If I hadn’t gotten involved in your life, if I had just stayed in my lane, I wouldn’t be sitting here and you wouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed...”

He could feel tears brimming at his eyes. He didn’t want to cry but when one of the few important people in his life were put at risk, what else could he do?

“I should just step back shouldn’t I...?”

Of course you wouldn’t answer, you were sleeping peacefully, probably having the best sleep you have had in weeks, maybe even months. Jungkook let out a shaky sigh, reaching a hand out towards one of your own. He traced your knuckles with a finger, not having the confidence to look you in the face anymore despite the fact you were not awake.

“I should step back... but I can’t. I don’t want to leave you by yourself. Actually, I don’t want you to leave me by myself. I may have family and friends surrounding me but if you left me... I don’t know what I would do.”

He smiled solemnly to himself, heart thumping painfully in his chest.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way I do, I would still stay by your side. Seeing you smile is enough for me. Even if you hated me, I still wouldn’t mind as long as you pay me some attention.”

The light from the moon highlighted the thin streaks running down his face which he quickly wiped away, suddenly embarrassed.

“I guess it’s true that love makes us act in crazy ways.”

[beatricethecat2]

out of place/out of mind - 3

(Read first) one step forward, two steps back (v.2.0):part 1+ part 2 (Previously) out of place, out of mind: part 1, part 2

Pushing forward with this while I have the headspace. Please note: it gets darker before it gets lighter but will wrap up on a positive note. It has six chapters, so we're hitting the middle. I'll fix typos later and thanks for reading!

///////////////////

“She isn’t she waking up. Why isn’t she waking up?” Myka asks.

“I’m not sure,” Vanessa answers, checking Helena’s vitals again.

“You said she wasn’t shot. Why isn’t she waking up?”

“Give her a minute,” Steve says.

“Where’s the gun. I need to go back.”

“Mykes, no,” Pete pleads.

“Give me the gun!"

“It’s not here,” Steve says, holding up the empty static bag.

“Guys, look!” Claudia says, waving a hand for the group to move closer. She turns her laptop for everyone to see.

“They finished the film?” Myka clicks the down arrow on its Wikipedia page.

“Looks like it. Lemme see if I can find it.” Claudia spins the laptop back and clicks through several screens. Myka circles behind and hovers over her shoulder.

“That’s it! Fast forward. I’ll tell you where to stop.” Claudia drags the cursor over the play bar. As thumbnails form, Myka's hit with a wave of deja vu.

“There. Stop there,” Myka says, pointing.

Claudia clicks play and sits back so everyone can see. At first, the scene plays out as Myka remembers, "the cowboy" rushes Jamison and Mary runs to the sidelines. But when Mary trips, she’s caught by her maids, and a shot is fired off camera. The crowd rushes in and pulls "the cowboy" off of Jamison, revealing Jamison’s been injured, but not fatally. "The cowboy’s" hands are tied behind his back, and he's nearly executed on the spot, but Mary’s mother steps in and demands a fair trial.

“No,” Myka says. “No, no, no…dammit! How are we going to get her back now?”

“We’ll figure something out. We always do! At least we know she’s ok in the end,” Pete says.

“But bad stuff happens after this, like jail, and exile, and war.”

“We’ll get her out before any of that.”

Myka looks anxiously around the room.

“We will,” Abigail says.

“Ditto,” says Claudia.

“On it,” says Steve.

Myka nods then walks across the room and sits on the edge of Helena’s bed. She wants to cry but fights it by squeezing Helena's hand. Out of all of the stupid things to happen, this is the stupidest, ever. Why does a cataclysmic reaction happen if they're together for more than five minutes? When Helena gets back, she’s locking her in her room and never letting her near an artifact again.

-----------------

Myka watches Helena’s chest rise and fall, not trusting the machines to tell her when a change occurs.

“I hope we didn’t unbronze you too soon,” she says as if Helena can hear, “but we didn't want you to wake up in there, alone. We thought you’d be back sooner, after Claudia zapped to your doorstep, but the movie’s taking it’s sweet time to end. It’s been long three years, and you’re a little worse for wear, but we’ll fix you, I promise. Fix everything.”

She takes hold Helena’s hand and leans forward, placing a light kiss on Helena’s cheek. "I’ve missed you so much. I can’t even…” She rests her forehead Helena’s, then kisses it and sits up. “Just come back, ok? I’m waiting."

She spends every available moment camped out by Helena's side, but as days pass, the whole gang takes turns. After a week with no change, Abigail suggests they roll in a cot. Myka brings armfuls of clothes and books from her room.

And then late one night, passed out, fully clothed, after an exhausting mission, Myka’s woken by a jarring clatter.

“Let me help you,” she says, sliding off the cot and crouching down, taking hold of Helena’s upper arms. She helps Helena rise and props her up against the bed, but as Helena finds her balance, she jerks out of her grip.

“Where am I?' Helena says, her eyes darting around the room.

“You’re home,” Myka says, taking a step back and assessing Helena’s state of mind. From the look in her eyes, she’s totally spooked, so she’d better approach her with caution.

“This is no home I know. Where are my wife and child?” Helena pushes off the bed and limps towards the window. Myka reaches out to assist, but Helena swerves out of reach.

“They’re not here. Only you,” Myka says. She moves toward the door and clicks the lock shut.

“Am I your prisoner?” Helena says, studying the Warehouse office.

“No.”

“Then why have you locked the door?”

“For your safety,” Myka says, but the grave look Helena gives proves how unconvincing it sounds. “Let me just…” She slips out her phone and manages a brief text before Helena snatches it out of her hands.

“Is this weapon?” Helena asks, turning the device over in her hands, staring at it strangely.

“It’s a phone.”

Helena pushes a button, and when the screen lights up, she hurls it across the room. The phone smacks against the wall then drops to the floor.

“Hey, that was new!”

“Open the door, now. I’ll not be kept against my will.”

“You’re not. The movie’s over. You’re back at the Warehouse.”

“Stop talking gibberish. Release me this instant. I’ll not be hanged for crimes I did not commit.”

“No one wants to hang you."

Helena rushes at Myka and slams her up against the wall, pressing her forearm forcibly to her throat. She yanks Myka’s tesla from her belt and points it at her face. “Release me, or I’ll break your neck.”

“Helena, stop,” Myka says, staring directly into Helena's eyes. When Myka doesn’t struggle, Helena lessens her hold.

“What did you call me?”

“Helena,” Myka says, rubbing her throat. “It’s your name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is."

“My name is…” Helena’s brow furrows, but she’s unable to form an answer. "What is yours?”

“Myka."

“Myka,” Helena repeats, blinking as if she’s circuit shorted.

“Myka Bering. You remember me."

There’s a flash of recognition before Helena scowls and shoves Myka towards the door. “Open it. Show me the way out.”

She waves the tesla at Myka and Myka sighs. Why is this always an uphill battle?

“You’re not going to like it out there.”

Myka takes her time unlocking the door, thinking she might grab the tesla and knock Helena out. But Helena’s brain might choose that moment to remember she knows Kempo. Better to stall and wait for backup than be a useless lump on the floor. She opens the door and steps back as Helena dashes out.

“Don’t touch anything,” Myka says, following, but keeping her distance. Helena’s sizable limp is not debilitating enough to render her less of a threat.

“Open it,” Helena says, pointing the tesla at Myka while yanking on a door handle.

“I need my card from my pocket.”

“Card?”

“It’s like a key. It goes in that box with the red light, next to the door.”

Helena glances at the box. “Do it.”

Myka she searches through her pockets, and finds the card, decides to stall. "It’s in my jacket, back in the room.”

“You’d best not be lying or I’ll—“ Helena fires a shot at Myka’s feet, but is ill-prepared for the blast. She's knocked back against the wall, and the gun drops from her hands.

Myka kicks the tesla away and rushes toward Helena, catching her before she slides to the floor.

“What in god’s name was—"

“Yo, H.G., wassup!” Claudia greets as the door flies open. Pete, Steve, and Abigail file in behind her.

“Sorceress!” Helena exclaims at the sight of Claudia. She breaks free of Myka’s hold and bolts across the room, cowering in a corner.

Myka scrambles next to her, but Helena’s eyes remain glued to Claudia.

“What’s with her?” Pete asks.

“It was you, you witch. You brought me here,” Helena sneers.

“Hey, no name calling. Why the surprise? I told you this was going to happen.”

“You were dreamt up in a fever. All of you. Excluding you,” Helena says, eyes narrowing at Abigail. “You, I’m not familiar with."

“Come on, H.G., think! You know where you are. I bet you have all your teeth. And the scar over your eye is gone,” Claudia says.

Helena runs her tongue over her teeth and skims a finger over her forehead.

“No more limp.”

“Still a limp,” Myka says. “But she fell off the bed."

“I wasn't aware I had a choice,” Helena says, flexing her leg.

“See, I wasn’t lying,” Claudia says, flashing a smug grin.

“You're no less a sorceress,” Helena says, slipping Myka’s tesla from behind her and pointing it at Claudia. She pulls the trigger and hits Pete and Steve, too and all three fall to the ground. Abigail holds up her hands and backs into a corner.

Myka tackles Helena, but Helena’s newfound strength wins out. Helena pins Myka down, then hops up and runs out the door.

“Damnit!” Myka says, sitting up, slapping her hands on the floor.

“Should we go after her?” Abigail asks, checking Steve’s pulse.

“She took the tesla. We can track it. She won’t get far.”

----------------

The tesla was a bust, found ditched in a ditch the next day, Helena dumped it the minute it ran out of power. But eventually, they found her, camped out near a river, unsure of who or where she was. She’d claimed hazy memories of the Warehouse and a pair of deep green eyes convinced her she sit tight.

Artie doesn’t buy her amnesia and insists she writes a report, but Abigail says she needs a lot of counseling to complete such a task. Helena spends hours with Abigail, writing in journals to shape her thoughts, and together they create timelines, separating fact from fiction. "The cowboy’s" psyche holds fast but, little by little, Helena’s consciousness returns, and when her eyes glaze over, Myka knows she's fighting to stay present. And surprisingly, or perhaps not, given her utter tenacity, tiny traces of Emily resurface occasionally. Abigail says it’s difficult for Helena to compartmentalize, that there’s a fight in her mind for dominant persona, and there’s no telling which one she might be manifesting at any given time.  

Myka’s heart aches watching Helena struggle without knowing who she is, but she does what she can to help her remember. She talks with her every night, in a casual, friendly kind of way, adding details whenever possible to the things she’s remembered. They read books together, ones Helena’s written or ones Helena would be familiar with, to encourage more recollections to surface. She often stays by Helena’s side until Helena drifts off, usually on the couch together, or sitting closeby in an armchair.

A few weeks in, after much deliberation, Pete and Abigail convince Myka to get back in the field. They claim that for Helena heal, things need to get back to normal, so she tears herself away to work a retrieval. When a blundered interview drags the trip out, she has a mini-breakdown about Helena in front of Pete. Pete talks her down, saying what H.G. needs is time, and what she needs is to start living again. He says to keep the faith, he's sure everything will work out, but Myka remains unconvinced.

She makes a bee-line to check on Helena when they arrive early in the AM, but the pristine state of her room raises an alarm. She searches downstairs, but the couch is unoccupied, as is the library and both porches. She stares out into the dark, assuming Helena's roaming the streets again, as she often does to ease her restless mind.

Myka goes back to the SUV, but wobbles as she opens the door, a wave of exhaustion hitting her all at once. She shuts the door and rests her head on it, closing her eyes, further recalling Pete’s words. “You can’t force her to get better, and you can’t chase after her every minute of the day.”  He's right; maybe now is the time to face the facts. She trudges up to her room, feeling like a fool the minute she enters, for there is Helena, curled up, fast asleep in her bed.

From there on in, without formal discussion, Helena slept, sometimes soundly, mostly restlessly, next to Myka every night. Glimpses of the old Helena began shining through more often, a bounce in her step, an off the cuff quip, an amorous look in her eyes. Abigail said Helena's progress exceeded her expectations, and Myka began to feel like their future was bright.

Until one day, something small, a passage in a book, released full-on memories of Christina’s death. Helena fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, so inconsolable she had to be sedated. When the drugs wore off, she spiraled into a deep, dark depression and the cycle of intensive therapy started all over again.

After weeks with little improvement, Myka demanded a more effective way to help and Abigail repeated it might take years for Helena to processes everything. Abigail thought sending Helena to a facility with better care was the best option, but Myka disagreed, saying separating her from what little she knew would be disastrous. She also said if Helena went, she would go too and stay with her no matter how long it took for her to heal. Abigail thought on this, then came up with an alternate plan, one Myka readily agreed to.

-TBC-

[ph-piecebypiece-blog]

Chapter Six

Authors note: This chapter is pretty heavy and deals with a lot of abuse, just a heads up if that’s something that might be upsetting for some people to read! I’ve been writing a ton this weekend and can’t wait to post it all. I hope you’re all enjoying reading this story as much as I’m enjoying writing it! :)

Harry arrived half an hour later, exactly when he said he would. Everly was waiting to buzz him up and greeted him at her door.

“Do you mind if Rob takes a look around?” He asked, referring to his protection officer who she'd met a few times. She knew he hated that they had to inspect all new places he went to so she flashed him a small smile.

“There aren't many places to look,” She said gesturing around her small studio apartment. “But if he wants to check the bathroom that's fine.”

“It looks nice,” Harry returned her smile as he looked around. “And so do you.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek as it flushed at his compliment. Seeing him in his suit, looking rather dashing, she regretted staying in her pajamas which consisted simply of short shorts and an oversized sweater.

“You look very handsome,” She told him as Rob sent them a nod and left the apartment. “Important meeting?”

“They're all important,” Harry shrugged, leaning back against the wall next to the door.

Everly nodded as an uncomfortable silence settled between them.

“I'd, uh, offer you somewhere to sit, but there isn't really anywhere,” She pointed out. “You can sit on my bed though if you'd like, it's quite comfortable. It was new when I moved in here so it's still quite firm. I've been meaning to get a chair or something for when I have guests, but I don't really have guests so I thought it would be a waste of money.”

She was rambling and she knew it, but she didn't know what to say or how to start the conversation. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as Harry watched her.

“I'm fine here.”

He crossed his arms, not giving her any indication what he was thinking. Everly couldn't read him at all, but she assumed he was annoyed with her behaviour the night before. Knowing the story she was about to tell was quite long, she jumped up to sit on the counter behind her, next to her stove so she faced Harry.

“I'm sorry about how I acted last night,” She started, looking down at her nails as she picked at them nervously. “I shouldn't have told you to leave like that, that wasn't cool. It's just a sensitive subject and my defence mechanism is to run away. I couldn't run away since I was at work so I pushed you away instead. Probably makes sense why I have no friends left, right?”

“I understand why you did it,” Harry offered her a small, sympathetic smile. “When you said you were ready to talk, did you mean about last night or about what you went through?”

Everly's heart was racing. She really wanted to back out and pretend she'd just wanted to talk about their disagreement, but she knew that would only cause more issues in the long run.

“Both, I guess,” She said softly. “But mostly about what I went through. You were right, it isn't fair of me not to share when you've been so open.”

“I didn't mean to push you into anything and if you don't want to tell me yet that is okay,” Harry assured her. “But I would really like to hear it if you feel like sharing.”

Everly cleared her throat, still staring down at her hands, knowing she couldn't look him in the eye and still have the strength to talk.

“I don't even know where to start...”

“At the beginning?” Harry's voice was soft and encouraging and despite the tense situation, it brought a soft smile to her face.

“Okay, well. The year I turned eighteen was the year my dad lost the election. Selfishly, I was actually quite relieved because I figured that now, finally, after five years of campaigns and politics being his main focus, I might get some of his attention. I thought he might actually want to deal with how I was acting out and we could work through it and be close again like we used to, but it had the opposite affect,” She paused to take a breath, feeling Harry's eyes on her. “He blamed me for losing the election. He thought my behaviour and bad reputation lost him favour with the public and he was probably right.”

“I wouldn't blame yourself for that,” Harry cut in, unable to resist. “The public tend to flip and flop between parties anyway, there's no guarantee he would have won again even if you were a perfect, well-behaved teenager.”

“I know that,” Everly admitted. “And I think he did too, but he was rightfully disappointed and upset and he needed somewhere to put the blame. So I continued acting out, I went out almost every night of the week and got invited to all sorts of a-list parties and talked my way into the ones I didn't have an invitation to just hoping he'd eventually start to pay attention. It was at one of those parties, right after I turned nineteen, where I met Adam.”

“Your ex-boyfriend?” Harry asked as Everly paused. She glanced up at him and nodded.

“I was drunk when we met, but I remember our first conversation so clearly. He stopped me as I was coming out of the bathroom, complimented me on my outfit and then offered me cocaine.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Harry scoffed. Everly smiled slightly, feeling an odd sense of warmth at how Harry couldn't resist butting in to bring Adam down. Not many people thought he was a wonderful person, but seeing Harry's contempt for him made her feel protected.

“He was the farthest thing from a winner I could have found,” Everly agreed. “But that's why he was perfect. I thought that there was no way my father would resist getting involved once I started dating a drug dealer and at the time that we met Adam wasn't using so I figured it was pretty low risk. I wasn't getting involved with some low life, sketchy drug addict, he was just a business man who would happened to piss off my dad.”

“And did it work?”

“No, he didn't care. He wasn't even surprised. I think I could have told him I was selling myself to make some extra money and he wouldn't have tried to help at that point. He thought I was a lost cause.”

Her voice grew thick with emotion as she spoke and Harry watched as she wiped away a stray tear. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her and help her through it, but he needed to hear what she had to say and if he went to her now he feared she'd stop talking.

“So why did you stay?” He prompted, his voice still soft.

Everly sighed and looked up at Harry.

“I don't think I'm painting a very fair picture of the first part of our relationship,” She explained. “Yes, I may have been using Adam to make my father angry, but he was very handsome and charming as well. I was young and naive and I fell for him very quickly. Things were good for the first two years too. He treated me like, well, like a princess. He took good care of me and we were living quite a luxurious life because there's good money in drugs, but his drug empire started to grow very quickly. He was tired and overworked so he started using to give him the extra boost he needed. At first, it seemed okay. He didn't do it very often, just here and there, but I could see him becoming more reliant on it. He started changing, his personality I mean, he was agitated and aggressive when he was coming down from a high or itching for another fix and when he was high he was restless and paranoid and, like, super intense. Everything he felt, he felt in an extreme way whether it was happiness or anger. It was my twenty third birthday when he first hit me.”

“Your birthday?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“Yep,” Everly confirmed. “We were supposed to have dinner, but he got held up at some event and didn't come home until three in the morning. I waiting up for him and I'd been crying because I was so hurt, but instead of feeling bad he rolled his eyes and he called me some rude name. I broke down and started yelling at him about how he wasn't who he used to be and how he had a problem, but I didn't realize how high he was and he lost it. I don't even remember seeing him come towards me, he moved so fast, but he grabbed my hair and told me that I needed to learn my place or it would be his job to show me. I was shocked and said he was hurting me, but he just laughed and slapped me so hard I stumbled backwards, tripped over the chair I'd been sitting in and fell to the ground. He said that I didn't even know what pain was, but I'd soon learn if I kept speaking back to him then stormed out of our apartment.”

Harry stared at her, his lips pursed and his body tense. It was clear he was upset by her story so far, but he was unnervingly nonreactive. Usually people barely let her talk through their gasps and expressions of sympathy, but Harry had learnt to reign in his emotions over the years and was exercising that skill. But for the first time, Everly would have liked a response just so she knew where his head was at.

“So why didn't you leave?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

Everly winced slightly at the question. It was one that every one asked and very few people understood the answer to.

“Because I thought we were in love,” She answered honestly as another stray tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought he was just going through something and that he needed me. He called me the next day completely hysterical about what he'd done and I genuinely thought that it was a one time thing, that he realized his mistake and would get help. I know that's what everyone says, but being in that situation it really feels like it's true. Like you're the lucky one who only gets hit once.”

“I wouldn't call that lucky,” Harry scoffed. Everly blinked back more tears, hating this part of the conversation. She was ashamed that she hadn't packed up her things and left as soon as it happened. She, like almost every woman in the world, had always sworn that if a man ever laid a hand on her he wouldn't get a second chance, but it wasn't that easy. “Wait, so you put up with his abuse for almost three years?”

“Two and a half,” Everly clarified, her tears falling freely now. “I had no where else to go and no money. And it wasn't that bad at first. He'd only hit me when he was really high or coming down after a night of heavy drug use, but somewhere along the way it just became the way he was. He was controlling, he'd interrogate me constantly and needed to know where I was or who I was with at all times, he checked my phone every day and make me provide receipts to back up my stories about where I’d been and how much I'd spent. If I didn't follow his rules then there were punishments, if I didn't act exactly like he thought I should or if I spoke back then I'd get a beating. He had this way of justifying it too. He'd apologize after or even sometimes while he was doing it, saying things like 'if you hadn't embarrassed me like that then this wouldn't have to happen' or 'you just make me so angry sometimes that I can't help it' and I believed him. I really started to think that if I could just change my behaviour and stop letting him down then he wouldn't have to treat me like that.”

Everly's voice broke at the end of her sentence and a sob fell from her lips as she covered it with her hand. Harry instantly stepped towards her. His movements were gentle, aware that the memories she was dragging up may make her more on edge, but as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and brushed his thumb across her cheek to wipe away her tears, he did the opposite. He made her feel safe.

“It wasn't your fault,” He told her, his voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing you could have done would have changed how he treated you.”

“I know,” She sniffled, moving her hand to hold the one of his that wasn't on her cheek. “But that's how he made me feel. Like I was this awful person who couldn't do anything right. I felt so small and alone and I thought that he was all had. That no one else could ever love me and he was doing me such a favour by putting up with all my flaws.”

Harry brought the hand that was laced with his up to his lips and gently kissed it, knowing there was nothing he could say to that. He knew she must have heard it all before, all the comforting 'no way, you're the best. You could get any guy' cliches that there were and he knew that wasn't what she needed from him. She needed to know he was there for her. That he was that guy she deserved who would treat her well and that he wasn't going anywhere.

“So what made you decide to leave?”

“I didn't,” Everly laughed bitterly. “I probably would have stayed with him forever, I'd kind of just accepted that was my fate. But back in August, I went to my grandmother's on her birthday and she saw that I had a black eye and a limp and figured it out. Adam never used to hit my face or anywhere that people could see, but the night before he'd been particularly high and out of it and I don't think he even knew what he was doing. I was just going to leave flowers on the doorstep because I didn't want anyone to see, but my grandmother saw me through the window and came out to invite me in. As soon as she saw the state I was in I ran away, but then my dad started calling me all the time. She must have told him what was going on. A few days later, Adam threw some big party and we argued. I just remember being in a room full of people completely ignoring what he was doing as he beat the shit out of me and then the door was knocked down and I passed out. Apparently, my dad called in some favours from his time as Prime Minister. He was already on the police radar so they made the bust early and they arrested him for drug trafficking.”

“And now he's in jail.”

“And now he's in jail.” Everly repeated firmly almost as if she was reminding herself it was true. “Not really for drug trafficking though. He'd sold or used too much of his supply that night by the time the police got there for them to charge him with anything more than possession. However, they found me half dead on the floor and charged him with attempted murder. The two charges combined got him twenty five to life.”

“He deserves worse than that,” Harry practically growled. Everly could feel the animosity towards her ex-boyfriend radiating from him. “He deserves a taste of his own medicine.”

Everly offered him a small smile in an attempt to reassure him as she used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away the last of her tears.

“He's probably getting worse than that in prison, at least I like to think so.” She assured him. “Do you have any more questions?”

“No, uh, I mean, well,” Harry looked down at the emotionally drained woman in front him. There was one more question he wanted to know the answer to, but he wasn't sure he could bear to hear it. He could probably draw his own conclusions based on what she'd already shared, but the whole point of this was to help him understand how she felt instead of acting based on assumptions.

“Just spit it out,” Everly urged him softly. “I won't be upset, I promise.”

“Did he rape you?” The words left Harry's mouth before he could stop them and her eyes widened slightly.

“No, not really,” Everly confessed after a moment of hesitation. “There were times when we had sex that I didn't want to, but it was easier just to go with it than to fight him. It was unpleasant though and those memories are why I got scared the first time you tried to touch me.” Everly paused to take a breath, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink from the awkward topic. “The worst was when he, um, he'd come home high sometimes and start having sex with me while I was asleep, but even when I woke up I didn't say no or try to stop him. It would have just made things worse.”

So he did rape you, Harry thought to himself as his jaw clenched with hatred towards this man that he'd never met.

“That doesn't make it okay for him to do that to you,” He told her as his own eyes glossed over. “Everly, I promise you, I swear to you, that I will never ever treat you that way.”

“Oh, Harry. I know you won't.” Everly reached up and stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment as if he was savouring her touch.

“I just needed to say that,” He insisted. “If we fight, if I get angry or annoyed with you which I'm sure I will at some point, I would never ever lay a finger on you or do anything to you without your complete permission.”

“I know that,” Everly nodded. “Just don't let this change things between us, okay? It happened, I'm getting over it. I don't need you to walk on eggshells around me, don't treat me like I'm going to break if you raise your voice. I'll tell you if I'm getting in my head and starting to get upset, but I want to move forward.”

“I won't do that, I know you're not made of glass,” Harry assured her. “You're stronger than anyone I know.”

With a small smile Everly leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against his.

“Thank you for listening,” She said as she pulled away. “Don't tell my therapist, but I do feel better now I got that off my chest.”

Harry laughed and, unable to resist any more, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

“I knew you would,” He admitted. “And I feel better too. I've learnt not to trust the press and I wanted to hear it from you so I knew the truth.”

“That's fair,” She mumbled against him before pulling back slightly. “Now, I don't know about you, but I didn't sleep very well last night and could really use a nap before work.”

“I didn't sleep well either,” Harry agreed. “But how would you feel about calling in sick today? That way we could nap then maybe order some take away food and watch a movie?”

“Harry, I'm the only person there on Thursday nights. If I call in sick, we don't open.”

“So you'll be saving your boss some money,” Harry shrugged with a smirk causing Everly to playfully swat his shoulder. “You know it's true, he loses money by paying you when you're there alone.”

“You're so rude,” Everly teased. “But alright, I'll call him and ask if it's okay.”

Of course, her godfather had no issue with her needing a night off so Everly and Harry moved to her bed for a much needed nap and spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped in each others arms.

[liveyourlifemeraki-blog]

I’ll Be Home

Title: I’ll Be Home

Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Santa Claus

Word Count: 2,370

Warnings: Little angsty as per usual but really this is just pure fluff

Summary: This was supposed to be the first Christmas that you and Sam spent together, but after Sam is called away on a hunt he’ll do anything to get back to you.

A/N: Welp guys, this is my first time writing Sam! Dean is honestly my comfort zone, but when I heard this song I couldn’t get Sam out of my head so I hope you all enjoy it!:) This was written for @winchester-writes SPN Christmas Song Challenge! (Yes, yes, I know it’s a little late but you can never have too much Christmas, right?;) The song I chose was Meghan Trainor’s I’ll Be Home, and the object I picked was a ribbon, Once again, I hope you all like it! As I did last time, I’ll be tagging a few writers down below the cut. Just let me know if you want me to stop tagging you, or if you want to be tagged in future fics!

“Dean better hurry up,” Sam muttered, checking his watch as he leaned against the wall of the near empty food court in the mall, his eyes glancing back up from the gleam of the metal and surveying the scene in front of him.

There were a few shoppers still mingling about, their arms laden with boxes of all shapes, sizes, and colors, their conversations bubbly and joyous, the words rising and falling in pitch with excitement. A small boy was licking a blue lollypop, the coloring getting all over his cheeks and hands and turning them blue too. There was a young mother, softly cooing at her small baby as she rocked the girl back and forth, the woman’s eyes lighting up when she saw the figure of her husband walking out of one of the many stores, his hand clasping that of another little girl who was skipping with excitement about what was in the bag that he was carrying in his other hand.

Sam’s heart gave a little lurch at the way the woman looked at her husband and he looked away before he could see them interact any more than he already had. It made the hole that was in his heart hurt a little more than it had before; the dull throbbing sharpening into a stabbing pain before it edged away into the gentle pull and push of the discomfort again.

Sam Winchester missed you. Anyone with eyes could see that.

This was supposed to have been the first Christmas that he would actually get to spend with you, the promise of being together having been spoken between the two of you months before. He had planned everything out; from the way he was going to wrap your present to how you were going to decorate the tree to what kind of cookies you were going to bake for Santa on Christmas Eve.

All of that, however, had been torn from his mind when his brother had called from five hundred miles away, the older Winchester having tackled a case that was far too big for him to do alone. So, Sam had packed up his bags, given you a kiss goodbye, and had flown to the town that he didn’t know the name of to help Dean with a monster that he couldn’t quite seem to picture the face of.

The pair had killed off the monster quickly; the team that the brothers made being one that was hard for any monster to kick its way through. But there was the aftermath to take care of. They had to make sure that there weren’t more monsters in the area. They had to make sure that everyone was safe before they could skip town.

Before Sam could come back home to you.

All of this was what was running through Sam’s mind as a man in the red suit approached him, his blue eyes twinkling with something more than just joy and the smile on his face filled with something more than just contentment.

“Mind if I stand by you?” he asked, his voice deep and kind, forcing Sam’s mind back to the present place and not at home in the living room with you.

“Not at all,” Sam replied with a kind smile, moving so that there was a little more space on the wall for this man to stand. “So…You’re Santa,” he couldn't help but laugh quietly, looking back over at the fur trimmed suit and hat that belonged to the classic Claus himself.

“That I am,” the man chuckled along, his white beard obscuring some of his face. “And you’re a man who’s missing someone very much.”

Sam stopped laughing at this remark, confusion clouding his eyes as he started at this man in front of him, tilting his head slightly. “How did you-”

“When you get old like me you learn a few things about love and longing,” Santa replied and Sam realized what he had seen in this man’s eyes besides joy. It was wisdom.

“Who’s the girl?” Santa asked him, a kind smile on his face as he leaned back against the wall, pulling a pipe somewhere from a pocket and starting to smoke it.

“I-uh-don’t think you should be-” Sam started again, quickly glancing at the sign behind the man’s head that clearly read, “No Smoking.”

“Oh, come on,” Santa laughed, taking another breath in. “All of the children that would be here to see me have long gone to bed. Besides, what are they going to do? Fire me?” At this Santa laughed, his belly shaking exactly like Sam had imagined it to in the old story books. “I work one day a year, and that day is over. There’s nothing they can do. Now come on,” he pressed, leaning closer to Sam as if the pair were sharing a secret. “Who’s the girl?”

“(Y/N),” he found himself saying before he could even register the fact that your name had slipped past his lips. “And she’s…amazing,” he finally finished breathlessly, not even sure how to describe you himself. You were so beautiful; but not only that, you were funny. You were funny and kind and sweet and you could always make Sam feel better and you just felt like home.

“She sounds amazing,” Santa said, and Sam felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he realized he had said all of that out loud. “What are you doing around here for? Go home. Go back to her.”

“I can’t. I-”

“Go home,” Santa said again, the same kind smile on his face as it always was. “Here,” he added, rummaging around in his pockets, pulling out a small white box with a scarlet ribbon tied around it. “Give this to her when you see her,” he said, placing the box in Sam’s hand.

“I-” Sam started to say, but was cut off when he heard Dean call his name. He turned around and glanced at his brother, but when he turned back the old man in the red suit was gone; even the smoke that had been floating in the air had disappeared along with him.

“Who were you talking to, Sammy?” Dean asked, his hands in his pockets as he walked up to his brother, looking around at the empty food court.

“Uh…No one,” Sam mumbled to himself, looking down at the box with the scarlet ribbon and slipping it into his pocket. “What took you so long, man?” he asked, turning back to Dean.

Dean just smirked and held out a piece of paper, his eyes shining in the light.

“What’s that?” Sam asked him, glancing from the paper to his brother, his brows drawn down in confusion.

“Just take it,” Dean replied, shoving the paper into Sam’s hands.

Sam started at Dean a moment longer before flipping the paper over, the stark black lettering informing him that he was supposed to be boarding a flight back home within the hour. “What-”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy,” Dean said, a genuine smile gracing his features. “I can wrap up here no problem. Go home. Get back to her.”

Sam had just stayed frozen for a moment before embracing his brother, a whispered, “Merry Christmas,” slipping through his lips before he dashed out of the mall and hailed a taxi, his leg bouncing up and down and willing the driver to go faster than he was.

Pulling up to the airport, he dashed inside, seeming to fly past the people in thick winter coats and tall, sturdy boots.

"Flight twenty-two," he said breathlessly when he got to the boarding location, slapping his ticket down on the desk.

The woman that was working there looked down at Sam's ticket and then back up to him, her eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir; but there's a snowstorm that's coming in. There's really bad wind outside and the pilot isn't sure he can fly in this weather. Your flight may be delayed a while."

"What?" Sam asked, shaking his head as he frantically looked to the window, the crystallized flakes falling down faster than they had been beforehand. "No, no. You don't understand," Sam said, turning back toward the woman. "I need to get home. I need to get on this flight."

"We're doing the best we can, sir," the woman said, her shoulders slumping slightly at the tone of Sam's voice. "I'm sorry, but we want to keep you safe."

Sam stopped momentarily, looking at the defeat in this woman's eyes. She had probably been yelled at a minimum of a dozen times because of this flight, people being so caught up in their own frustrations and plans that they didn't even notice they were lashing out on her. So, making a conscious effort not to be one of those jerks, Sam swallowed thickly and gave her a small smile. "It's okay," he said, trying to make her feel better. "Thank you for everything you're doing."

Those few simple words seemed to make her day, her eyes lighting up and the smile on her face becoming so much more genuine than it had been before. "Merry Christmas," she called as Sam walked over to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs and wait for news about his flight.

"Merry Christmas," he responded, sitting down and pulling out the little white box, running his fingers over the edges. Maybe he'd finally figure out what was in there by the time he got back to you.

A total of about four hours later, Sam was boarding a flight back home and with another hour added on top of that he was soon in a taxi, your address flying off of his lips. Once again it seemed like the taxi driver couldn't go fast enough; Sam having to literally bite his tongue in an effort to keep him from telling the nice man to speed.

Once he got to your house he shoved a wad of rolled up dollar bills into the man's hand, telling him to keep the change as he bolted from the car. Running up the steps he pounded on your door, his breath puffing out in little white clouds in front of him. The seconds seemed like ages as he waited for you to appear at the door and when you finally did, your hair tousled and your eyes sleepy, Sam swept you off of your feet, holding you tighter than he ever had before.

"Sam!" you exclaimed, all sleepiness gone as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your feet a solid foot above the snowy ground as he spun you around, making you laugh out of joy. "What are you doing back?!"

"Santa and Dean and-" Sam couldn't even finish his sentences, deciding instead to just put you on the ground and lean down, planting a kiss on your lips, his cheeks rosy from the cold and joy and excitement all at once.

"I promised I'd be home, didn't I?" he asked, looking down at you after you two had broken apart, your grin never seeming to leave your face for a second. "I have so many weird stories to tell you about Santa Claus and Dean but I just really missed you," he finished, wrapping you up in a hug on your front porch, the snowflakes falling gently around both of you.

"I missed you so much more," you responded, the stories he had to tell you the last things on your mind, your arms wrapping around him equally as tightly. He smelled like he always did, and he was warm and comfortable and you finally felt like it was Christmas with him here.

"I got you something," he whispered in your ear, giving you a small kiss as he pulled away, keeping one of his hands intertwined with yours. Pulling out the box that had been on his person since earlier that evening, he handed it to you, your eyes full of wonder as you took it.

"What's this?" you asked as you looked at the little white package that was now sitting in your hand, the edges of the scarlet ribbon seeming to sparkle just as much as the snow did with the starlight being cast on it.

"A present," Sam responded playfully, giving your hand a small squeeze. "Open it."

The second you took your other hand out of Sam's you missed his warmth, but your fingers carefully undid the ribbon, thinking it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Without a word, Sam took it from you and stepped behind you, tying it in your hair. As you lifted the lid to the box any words that you had been thinking before died in your throat, for what was before you was more beautiful than anything you had seen.

It was a silver necklace; the tiny links intertwined perfectly together as the chain wound down to the small snowflake pendant that hung at the bottom. The snowflake had six points on it, the entire charm being made up of pure, white diamonds.

"Sam," you said, your voice breathless as you started in awe at the piece of jewelry. "This must have cost a fortune. How did you-"

"I got it for free," he told you honestly, taking it out of the box and unclasping it, putting it gently around your neck and fastening it in the back; turning you around and surveying the way it fell below your collarbone. "The perfect gift for the perfect girl; wrapped with all of the love and care in the world," he said with a twinkle in his eyes and a small smile on his face. He was definitely going to be writing a thank you letter to Santa later, but for now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment with you.

"Merry Christmas, (Y/N)," he said, his smile only growing as he clasped both of your hands in his, the joy on his face incomparable to anything you had seen before. Stepping forward, he let out a content breath and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. Sam Winchester was finally home for Christmas; because anywhere you were? That was home to him.

Tagging: @gnarlytricksbro @waywardlullabies @ellen-reincarnated1967 @percywinchester27 @impalaimagining @jpadjackles @impalapossible @writingbeautifulmen @emmysthougts @deathtonormalcy56 @kasimagine