#the oven door was broken for ages and when they finally got that fixed turns out the damn thing doesn't heat up

[elprupneerg]

i need to find the people who "inspected" my new place and said it was in good condition and i need to beat their ass so hard they quit their job and never leave any other tenants with a place as weirdly fucked up as this one ever again

[quack-quack-snacks]

Time Will Tell - Chapter 3

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Being late to work, nothing else really, cursing? Word Count: 1,656

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After you cooked the frozen cheese stuffed tortellini and green beans, a unanimous decision among the family between that and soup, you spent the rest of your day at home relaxing and playing with Su-yeong and Yeong-su, making your brother’s dinosaur roar and attack him with tickles. While you didn’t eat a giant serving at dinner, you hoped the average serving that you did eat would hold you off until your meal break during your shift. 

Around 7, you decided it couldn’t hurt to start a movie with your family before your shift. After all, you had an alarm set, right? 

Wrong.

It didn’t take long for time to fly by. The next time you looked over at the screen on the oven showing the time, it was already 8:10. That was 10 minutes after your designated bus pick-up time. You quickly cursed to yourself and rushed to your room to grab your work bag - consisting of your work uniform, which you would change into when you got there, and your list of essentials: wallet, phone, etc. After that, you quickly made your rounds around the couch to say your goodbyes to each family member. Yeong-su was falling asleep on your dad’s shoulder and Su-yeong was eating popcorn, her attention barely moving to you as you kissed the top of her head since her whole focus was on the movie. After you gave your dad a quick and final wave, you ran out the door, locked it behind you, and started speed-walking down the hall to leave for your shift.

You opened your phone to call your co-worker Hae-won as you ran, mindlessly pressing the button pointing down next to the elevator when you got there. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cursed under your breath as you looked back over to the elevator when you heard no movement and realized it was ‘under maintenance’. “Since fucking when?”

You smoothed a hand over your head as you turned towards the staircase entrance and started carefully treading down. You always hated going down the stairs. Staircases never had a good rep when you were a woman, especially at night. 

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

“Hey, it’s Park Hae-won, leave a message.”

You hung up to try again when you heard banging coming from the hall a few levels above you. 

You shook your head and called again, only to find a loud screeching sound coming from it. It freaked you out so much that you actually threw it away from you. You rubbed your ear which was ringing from the noise as you approached the face-down device on the ground and reached to pick it up.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” you begged to yourself quietly before just ripping the bandaid off and flipping it over. Your head fell in disappointment when you saw the entire screen cracked like a spider web. “Of course.”

Picking it up, you clicked the power button a few times and frowned when it wouldn't turn on. You decided to just ignore the problem for the moment and put it in your bag until further notice; preferably until you could get it fixed. 

Just as you were zipping open the pocket of your bag to place your phone inside, you heard the door to the floor below you open up. Looking down the stairs, you met eyes with a boy who seemed to be around your age or older. He wore a grey shirt with a red and white flannel on top along with casual blue jeans. Atop his nose sat some black wire-rimmed glasses that fit his face well. 

“Oh. Hello,” he said after a moment of the two of you staring at each other. He scanned over your crouched form and broken phone and only a small pull of his brows conveyed his concern for you on his otherwise blank face. “Are you alright?”

You gave him a semi-embarrassed smile and stood back to your feet. “Yeah, I just dropped my phone. Doesn’t seem to be working anymore,” you frowned again as you looked down at the broken device in your hands, pressing the power button to no avail. “I was calling my co-worker and this weird noise scared me so I kind of… just... threw it,” you told him sheepishly, trailing off as you realized it might have been too much information than he needed to know. You threw him another embarrassed smile and he returned it with a small but genuine one. 

“Do you want to borrow mine on the way down?” He offered. 

You walked down the short collection of steps separating you from him before answering. “No, that’s okay. I don’t remember her number anyway,” you confessed before your eyes lit up. “But it would help a lot if you could look up the next pick-up time for the bus down the street!”

He nodded and started walking down the steps, expecting you to follow him which you did. It only took a second or two after he opened the app to realize he had no service.

“Oh,” you sighed when you glanced at the screen. You reassured him with a smile, albeit a little disappointedly. “That’s okay. I’m sure there’s one coming soon so it’ll all work out.”

“You shouldn’t stay at the stop too late if it doesn’t come. Especially if you’re alone.”

Your forced smile turned into one more genuine and you nodded at him. “Thank you for your concern. I-” you trailed off, about to reveal your taser, pepper spray, and knife that you had on you, but realized that probably wouldn’t be very smart to say to a guy you just met in an empty staircase. “I’ll just head back up if anything goes wrong.”

“So, why are you heading down the stairs this time of night?” You asked him, not liking how the silence settled over the two of you like a blanket.

“I have night classes, so I’m on my way there,” he admitted. “Where are you headed?”

“I work the graveyard shift at the convenience store on Yulgok-ro. I have for about a week or so,” you told him just as you saw the sign above the door you just passed say ‘2’, meaning you just passed the second level. Sure enough, you saw the opened doors to the lobby floor come into view after only a few more steps down and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god we’re here. I hate stairs.”

The boy laughed softly as the two of you exited the staircase. You laughed along with him but it slowly faded when your eyes landed on your - and your boss’s - worst nightmare. 

“What the hell?” You whispered to your newfound acquaintance as you looked at the lowered shutters blocking your and everyone else in the lobby’s exit. 

“Excuse me,” a lady’s voice asked from behind the two of you. You both turned around and saw a woman with her hair in a low ponytail dressed in grey cargo pants, a white shirt, and a brown long-sleeved overshirt in front of you. “Do either of you have cell service?” She asked. 

You turned to look at the boy you ventured down the stairs with and saw him attempting to make a call. It didn’t take your ear to the phone to hear the same noise you heard before you accidentally threw yours earlier. “I guess not,” he told her. You guessed it was for the sake of courtesy above anything else since the two of you figured that out on your way down. 

The lady sighed in disappointment. 

“Do you know what’s going on? Why are the shutters down?” You asked her as you looked at all the frustrated, confused, or straight-up panicking people around you. 

“Did you two just come down here?” She asked in response.

“Yeah,” the boy answered for the both of you. 

“Didn’t you see anything strange?” She asked again, oddly vague. 

“Like what?”

“Never mind.”

“No wait-” you stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Please tell us,” you begged. She sighed and turned back around so you continued. “What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to find out. The back doors and the parking lot doors are locked as well,” she explained.

“Are you saying we’re trapped in here?” The boy asked. 

“Yeah, I think someone may have locked us in.”

“Fuck, my boss is gonna be so pissed,” you whispered to yourself as you looked around for another possible way out. 

Yelling from in front of the management office gathered all of your attention and you walked behind the lady as she approached. 

“Is it still closed?” You heard her say as you followed loosely behind. You weren’t all too surprised to watch her push the lady holding her dog and the loud short man out of the way to kick at the doors to the room. 

You looked around when you didn’t see the glasses-wearing boy come to stand beside you and saw him walking towards the group with a red item in his hand.

It was a fire extinguisher. 

He extinguished your confused thoughts when he parted through the crowd with polite words and broke the chain locking the door with only two hits of the tin cylinder. 

“Are you okay, sir?” He asked the loud, shorter man who had been yelling the whole time. The older man had fallen backwards - dramatically, might you add - when he was breaking the chain. “Your hair.”

When he got no response, he placed the extinguisher onto the floor and turned around, heading down the hall presumably towards a different exit. 

“That little fucking jerk,” the man cursed him.

You let him go off on his own and started walking down a different hallway where you knew there was an emergency exit located. 

The walk was quiet and peaceful until you heard the faint sound of someone screaming, “Found the damn switches!”

[pingutats]

at last!

it’s the morning after harry proposed, and here you are, in heaven.

warnings: some sexual content, not very graphic.

word count: 2k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

As soon as you start to drift awake, you feel this overwhelming sense of bliss. Like everything is right in the world, properly aligned and in harmony. Your heart feels full, warm like the way a lover would cradle their hands around yours on a chilly winter night. 

The thing that pulls you completely from the gentle embrace of sleep into the morning is someone actually grabbing your left hand. Not just someone, but Harry. And, you remember suddenly like a crack of lightning bursting through your sleep-weary skull, he isn’t just Harry, he’s —

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, his voice croaky and slightly slurred from sleep still, as he pulls your hand over to him and slips the ring back onto your fourth finger. “Y’always look so pretty in the morning. ‘Specially today.”

“H,” you whisper back, barely able to form a coherent thought. He’s your fiancé. You blink your eyes open, rubbing at them as you adjust to the weak light streaming through a window. “Oh my god, Harry.”

He’s grinning at you, eyes still half-closed. He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the ring. “Oh my god, Y/N,” he repeats back, and you giggle.

You hold your hand up to the light, twisting your wrist so the small, classic diamond sparkles.  You’ve seen it before, of course. You’ve known what it looks like for ages. The two of you picked it out together in a store a couple months ago. You’ve spoken about this moment, over and over — sometimes in practical terms to try and plan for your future, sometimes whimsically as you spelled out your wildest dreams to each other — but now it’s here. It’s real.

He was insistent on being the one to propose. You could pick the ring, the wedding venue, write the guest list and choose his outfit and even curate the reception playlist, he offered— as long as he got to propose. You accepted, of course, without the bargaining. You wanted him to do it anyway.

Harry isn’t one for grand gestures. When you first met him, only knowing him as the glamorous rockstar that he performs as when he’s on stage, you had assumed he would be into the massive displays of affection, the lavish gifts and the kind of relationship that no one can tear their eyes away from. But he isn’t really like that.

Harry is a cup of tea set out for you in the morning before you even ask for one. The last segment of the mandarin he was eating, held out for you to take. A hundred kisses to your cheek over the course of a night out, for no particular reason except that he’s tipsy and he loves you. A playlist that he texts to you with a sweet note in the description. Making the bed by himself before you’re done brushing your teeth. Carrying you from the car to the door at three in the morning because your heels are killing you and he’d rather roll around naked on broken glass than see you in any amount of pain at all.

That’s what Harry is. So it made sense that, rather than flying you out to Paris and organising a string quartet to play in the background while he got down on one knee under the Eiffel Tower at night (something you had joked about often), he did it in his own little unassuming way. 

You wanted a surprise. That was all you asked. If he was going to ask, he better make it good.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t grand or especially beautiful. You had been baking together all afternoon: flour all over the place, a small pile of chocolate chips that you’d “accidentally dropped” on the counter and were snacking on, cookies in the oven making the kitchen smell all warm and cosy. The echoes of your laughs and playful banter still lingered in the room. An Etta James album was playing in the background — Harry’s choice, of course. You were bending in front of the oven to check on the cookies. 

“They’re looking good, H,” you said, gazing at them.

“Y/N,” he said from behind you.

“I think we’ve got a perfect batch on our hands.” You straightened up, reaching over to swipe a couple more chocolate chips from the shrinking pile. “Better than last time, those were all hard and —”

“Darling,” he said, a bit more firmly.

“Yeah?” You turned around, sucking on the chocolate, and froze.

There was Harry, on one knee on the kitchen floor, holding a little box and smiling gently up at you.

“Hi,” was all you managed to breathe out, once you regained the ability to move.

“Hello,” he said, smile growing. He cleared his throat. “I love you so much, you know?”

“Harry, you’ve got flour on your nose.”

“Do I?” He was grinning widely now, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried not to laugh. “I’ll fix that later, love, got something more important to do right now.”

“Okay.” Your voice was shaking slightly.

He chuckled, and then took a deep breath to steady himself. “Y/N. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You make my days better, every day. Most gorgeous, funniest, kindest, sweetest girl I ever met. You’re so fucking amazing — sorry, I shouldn’t swear. Probably ruins the moment.”

“It doesn’t,” you said quickly. You could feel tears threatening to prickle at your eyes. “Keep going.”

“Nothing’s going to stop me, angel,” he promised. He set his face, playing at being very somber. “I really need to ask you something.”

You bit your lip through a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause every day I wake up and hug you and I think to myself that I never want to let go of you. Ever.” 

You nodded, unable to speak for fear that you would just collapse from how unbelievably sweet he is.

“Y/N,” he said, finally. He took a deep breath and pulled open the lid of the little box, and there was your ring. His smile returned to his face again, bright and dimpled and so Harry you nearly starting sobbing right there. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You were saying it before he even finished his sentence. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—” and you kept saying it until he was back on his feet and had swept you up in the tightest hug, pulling you into his chest and spinning both of you around. 

You clutched at the front of his fuzzy sweater and pulled him into a kiss that made the world feel like it was shifting. Because it had. Everything had changed now. It felt like the two of you had taken the world and cracked it open like a walnut, finding a completely new kind of life inside. A kind of life where you both completely, irrevocably, belonged to each other.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he rubbed his flour-covered nose over yours, then pecked another kiss on your cheek. “Got flour all over you, love.”

“Best go take a shower, then,” you said to him, grinning.

He raised his eyebrows, that mischievous glint in his eye that you so adored appearing. “Yeah? Okay, whatever my beautiful fiancee wants.” He let you take his hand and start to pull him toward the bathroom, before he suddenly jerked you back, making you stumble into his chest. “Shit,” he murmured. “Give me your hand, darling.”

“Oh.” You held out your left hand, and gently he slid the ring onto your finger.

He looked up at you, eyes shining. “Can’t believe I nearly forgot the most important part.”

“Me too. Silly goose.” 

He snorted, and you leaned forward to kiss him again. He held his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. He was warm, his embrace firm, his mouth gentle. Tasting him, the sweetness of the cookie dough he had been stealing out of the bowl, the vanilla of the lip balm he used — you could have lived in that kiss forever. Any kiss, really. You weren’t picky when it came to Harry. But he pulled back, and ran his hands down to the back of your thighs.

“Jump, darling,” he whispered, and he pulled you up to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms looped behind his neck. He pressed his lips to yours again, then carried you to the bathroom, your giggles echoing through the house.

He got on his knees for you again in the shower — “Wanna treat my fiancee like a proper gentleman” —  with your leg thrown over his shoulder, your hand with the ring in his hair, your head thrown back against the tiled wall. He was always good (outstanding in the field, you would joke) but somehow today he was better. Like he was trying to tell you something just by the way he licked up your folds and sucked on your sensitive little bud until you were shaking and your hand tightened in his hair in a way that was surely painful. Like he was trying to show you just how much he loved you, as if everything else wasn’t already enough.

Later, you opened up the expensive bottle of champagne you’d been saving and split it over the takeout he had ordered over the phone in a rush while your hands were slowly creeping down his bare chest and playing with the waistband of the sweatpants he had thrown on after the shower. You ate outside. It was a pleasant night and as stars started to dust over the sky, you were sure they were shining just a little bit brighter.

And when you finally made it into bed, he was immediately over you, his arms snaking underneath you and hugging you to his chest while he thrust into you, deep and passionate. He had his head buried in your neck, his moans vibrating into your skin and you knew he was feeling more than just the physical. It was beyond that for both of you. Treasure this moment, you kept thinking. Keep this day safe forever.

You came together. As he got close, his steady rhythm starting to falter, he grabbed your left hand and pushed it down into the mattress, so you could feel the ring pressing into your skin. That was what sent the both of you over the edge.

Sleep came easily, your limbs still tangled together, your ring lying on the bedside table because you were scared to sleep with it. Harry must have fallen asleep after you — as you dozed off, you could hear the rustling of his pillow as he kept turning his head to look at the ring glinting in the full moon’s light coming through the window. His strong arm wrapped around you, holding you close, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he says now, in the morning, quietly, breaking the silence that had descended over you. He says it like it could be the last sentence he ever speaks. A neat epilogue.

You look at him, your arm still raised in the air between you. His eyes are trained on the diamond, and you could swear his eyes are sparkling just as much as the jewel is. He blinks, and glances back to you. “So, so fucking happy.”

“Me too,” you tell him. You let your hand drop, finding his and intertwining your fingers. “Love being engaged.” The word rolls off your tongue easily, and that was thrilling. You’re engaged. “’S better than I imagined. Better than anything else, ever.”

“Mm,” he hums, running his thumb over the ring, and then along the empty space of your finger just below it. “I think it just keeps getting better from here, love.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

hope you enjoyed!! i wrote this in barely two hours around midnight (obviously with at last by etta james playing in the background) because i just had to get this concept onto a page. it’s only been very lightly edited so if there were mistakes or it was structured messily ........ sorry. but i am just so in love with these very domestic, un-grandiose proposals because the important thing is the love between the two rather than the big displays... yeah. anyway hope you liked and if you want to send me a request or just chat, my askbox is very much open!!!

[bailey-whalieee]

Things Are Different Now

TWO

✮

After the incident on Friday, Maggie spent the rest of her weekend boarded up in her room refusing to leave bed unless it meant going to the bathroom or for a shower. Her father’s grew suspicious after the fact she refused to go to the doctors office for a check-up.

Honestly, avoiding them really wasn’t her best option, but at this point what else could she do.

Monday snuck up on the girl uncharacteristically fast, and the moment her door opened and the lights turned on, she hid underneath the blankets. It earned a huff of annoyance from Steve and Bucky.

“Maggs, doll, time to get up,” Bucky sighed, pulling the duvet off of her head, “c’mon..”

No.

Please don’t make me go, she thought to herself.

Her eyes were swollen and red, making Steve furrow his eyebrows. Maggie woke up three times during the night due to a recurring nightmare that wouldn't go away. She took three melatonin pills and listened to mozart for most of the night and still, the screams and the military style boots haunted her dreams.

“Maggie, get up honey. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, kay?” Steve softly commanded, patting the mess of hair on top of her head.

Begrudgingly, she peeled the covers off of her body glaring at her two father’s who just chuckled and exited her room. Ding!

Who the fuck was texting her this early?

M&M

police are all over campus today. looking for kid’s who were at the party…

6:36 am

Her heart stopped beating for a second. All the air in her lungs evaporated and expelled itself. This couldn’t be happening. Holy shit. She was at the party. Steve and Bucky would be so disappointed if they found out she went and then didn’t even have the nerve to stop the man.

Maggs

please tell me you’re joking..

6:39am

She rushed trying to find a decent outfit which consisted of a random jumper, leggings, and high-top converses. Maggie didn’t bother to even brush the mop of hair instead choosing to throw into a bun and heading down the stairs.

M&M

maggie deadass, there are fbi agents crawling all over the halls.

6:40 am

Maggie paused mid-step into the kitchen until a clearing of someone’s throat knocked her back to reality.

“Sweetheart, your sweatshirt is on backwards..” Steve informed, taking a sip of his coffee causing a chuckle to elicit from Bucky. She quickly fixed the issue and grabbed a water bottle out of the pantry.

“Maggie, did you hear about what happened at that party? Can’t remember if we talked about or not?”

Her body came to an immediate halt, they know, she was fucked. Maggie could feel her heart thumping at an unreasonable pace and her throat tightened unpleasantly. Gods, now her dad’s knew about this..

“Doll?” Bucky called out, pulling her out of her inner battle.

Gulping, she turned on her heels, “um, I should probably be getting to school. Bye dad, papa.”

Both of their faces were puzzled as she rushed out of the door and the door slammed shut. Harsh breaths escaped her lungs as Maggie sprinted down the cement walkway, evoking a deja vu moment to hit her like bricks.

Immediately, Maggie stopped in her tracks. The gun shots. The blood. The bodies. The screams. The end.

They were like mental snap-shots she made in her mind and no matter how loud her music was or whatever she did to distract herself, nothing would ever erase them. She couldn’t shut it out.

7:50AM

“Fuck!” she stared at time on her phone.. Maggie was late, very late. And that meant a phone call home plus a tardy from her first period teacher. Again, she chased pavement until she arrived at Midtown High.

The late bell had already rang and Emma wasn’t wrong about FBI agents crawling around the school. She passed six police officers just by walking down the hallway, who gently smiled at her as she skidded by.

‘Act natural and they won’t suspect a thing,’ Maggie thought to herself.

But, slipping into first period math wasn’t exactly natural, especially when you were Maggie Rogers-Barnes. She sat in the back trying to avoid the students around her, popping up the hood to her sweatshirt and slouching into the desk. It seemed to work. Nobody noticed her nor did her first period teacher even spare a glance.

“Good morning students, I’m sure most of you are aware of the shooting that took place over the weekend. We ask you to come together as a community to love one another and support each other during this trying time. Friday night we will be honoring the students who passed away, if you have any information that would be helpful on the investigation please come to the front office.”

Maggie clenched her eyes shut trying to forget about everything around her. Her head fell gently against the desk letting sleep wash over her.

✮

It seemed like no matter what Maggie kept running into FBI agents and cops throughout her school day. Guilt ate her alive, but she couldn’t say anything.. Everyone would look at her differently and not to mention the anger both of her father’s would feel.

So, when the DA requested for Maggie to come to the office for an interview, every step held guilt. She went against every instinct in her body. Every little voice telling her to speak up and do the right thing.

Maggie Rogers-Barnes had officially broken all three rules her father’s placed, and the amount of hate she abhorred for herself was shocking. She wanted to tell the truth, but she couldn’t.

“Hello, Maggie. I’m defense attorney Lewis Brooke, and this is Agent Erin Alim. We just want to ask you a couple questions, if that’s okay?” he introduced, allowing her to sit down.

She nodded, picking at the skin around her nails, “of course.”

“Were you at the party when the shooting took place?” Lewis asked, clicking the top of his pen.

She tried to focus on anything, but the legal pad and the lists of names crossed out on it. “No.”

He perched one eyebrow, almost as if he didn’t believe her, “but you do know the students who were at the party? Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt them, maybe even another classmate who would want to hurt them?”

“The only person who I really know is Emma and Peter. I don’t know who was at the party, I’ve just heard of their names, ya know?” she shrugged, chewing on her cheek.

“You’re free to go,” he gave a curt nod, sighing.

Gathering herself, Maggie got up to leave. “Oh and Maggie,” she turned on her heels facing the DA, “I know both of your fathers. Worked with them actually, so I trust that you would tell me if you knew anything. You’re a good kid. I don’t doubt that you would come forward if you knew what happened. Have a good day and if you hear anything, you know where to find me.”

‘I’m most definitely fucked now.’ She thought, giving a brief smile and quickly exiting the office. If her dad’s knew the defense attorney and found out about what happened at the party and figured she straight up lied, god’s they would disown her..

Maggs

you can’t tell them anything, emma. nothing. if they ask if we were

at the party, we werent. got it?

2:25 pm

The final bell sounded above her and kids of all ages skidded and ran down the halls of midtown high. It kept Maggie sane knowing she could at least go home now, even if she didn’t really want too.

“Maggie? Hey!”

Peter Parker waved over at her with a rather big grin appearing on his face.

Being a daughter of two avengers, Maggie and Peter were bound to be best friends. Uncle Tony had practically adopted the boy and Maggie spent most of her life living in the tower up until, four years ago.

So, they spent quite a lot of time together. Even now. Peter and Maggie had routined game nights at Tony’s and movie nights.

“Peter.. Hey,” she sighed, holding onto the strap of her backpack.

His brow furrowed as they began to walk down the crowded hallway, “are you okay?”

Maggie nodded quickly trying to avoid the situation. Peter was a bit of a tattletell.. Although, it completely came out of love especially if she was in trouble or hurting.

“Pete, I gotta go. I’ll see you around,” she rushed out, stumbling out the side door.

Peter tried to call out to her, but she just kept her head down and disappeared into the crowd of kids. Her feet stumbled over one another, almost hitting the pavement at the pace she travelled.

✮

Steve’s laugh echoed throughout the kitchen as Bucky made a huffing noise towards the half cooked failure of a casserole. He tried, and that’s the only thing that mattered to Steve. But, they were going to have to opt for take-out tonight.

The edges were burnt to crisp, and the middle congealed together; a soggy, crisp mess.

“Looks like we are getting chinese again. ‘Least Maggie will be thrilled,” he sighed, tossing the oven mitts to the side.

Steve shook his head pecking his cheek softly, “it’s alright, Buck.”

The inedible food found itself into the garbage can and the two men sat across from each other sipping on their mugs.

“Did you notice how exhausted Maggs looked this morning? God’s Bucky, I almost wanted to tell her to go back to bed. Makes me worried..”

“I know, Stevie.. She was off this weekend, for sure.”

The front door finally opened and their daughter walked through, footsteps heavy and weighed down by a nuisance they were all familiar with. She let the backpack hit the floor with a thud that reverberated through the house.

She contemplated going to her room and hiding again, but her dad’s were already suspicious.

Maggie resided on the couch, body stretched over the whole couch taking most of its space. Her eyes were trained on the wall before her, the buzz of the television coaxed her eyelids to droop the slightest.

Waves of tiredness hit her like a bus.

“Hey doll, can we talk? I’m sure you probably already know what happened though?” Steve’s soft voice astounded.

“Dad I don’t really-”

“Maggs, trust me. We both know you don’t wanna talk about this, but we have too. Sweetheart, we just want to know if you’re okay, s’all,” Bucky hushed, running a hand down her spine comfortingly.

Tears began to build up in the corners of her eyes. She sat up trying to hide the fact that the tears were begging to fall down her cheeks, but something just broke within her. Maggie couldn’t stop the dam from breaking.

And they began to fall down her flushed face.

“Honey..”  

She tried to keep the sobs to a minimum, but it felt like the world was weighing her down. Maggie couldn’t tell them the truth, she couldn’t open up about what happened and it tore her apart.

“I’m so scared, dad.”

Both Bucky's and Steve’s face dropped. Encircling her in their arms, she shook and trembled against them. Her cries turned into soft, futile whimpers.

“Doll, I can promise you that no one is ever going to lay a hand on you or even attempt to hurt you, okay?” Bucky cooed, wiping the fallen tears off her cheek.

‘I wish that were true.’

Maggie clenched her eyes shut hiding her face against Steve’s sweatshirt. His arms wrapped against her protectively and she took in the familiar scent. It brought her back to her early childhood, when she would get nightmares and hide her face in either of her father’s chest.

“We gotcha’ sweet girl. Nobody is going to hurt you,” he smoothed down her hair, shushing her whimpers.

They stayed like that for a while. The two men comforted her cries until her once labored breaths calmed and little snores erupted from her mouth. Steve and Bucky smiled, kissing her on the top of her head.

Both being too oblivious to realize that she just wasn’t scared. She was terrified..

✮

taglist: @rose-moon-mist​

[hobeemin]

A Baker’s Dozen

🍓 Genre: Fluff and a bit of Romance

🍓 Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

🍓 Rating: pg13

🍓 Warning(s): Light cursing, Reader is a horrible cook, crying, a mini nervous breakdown, e2l (?)

🍓 Word Count: 3.4k

🍓 Credits: To my lovely beta @yoongs-jeontae ily 💜💗 and the beautiful @namluve​ for creating this lovely banner and divider ilyt!!

🍓 A/N: to @randomkoalablog my gift to you. Happy birthday!!! I wish you happiness! I hope you enjoy your day!!🎈🎉🎊🎂🍰🧁

Jin didn’t even have to turn around once he heard the crash. Temple protruding, he pressed his chalk onto the board, writing out the instructions for the next in-class assignment. Hearing the murmurs behind him and chairs scraped across the vinyl floor, he clenched his teeth and carried on.

Crust

Graham crackers (crushed) - About 2 cups

Sugar… ⅓  cup

Butter (melted)… ⅓ cup

Filling

Unsweetened chocolate...4 ounces

Sugar… 1 ½ cup

Eggs (chilled)… 4

Salted butter (cold and softened)... 2 sticks

Vanilla extract… 1 teaspoon

Topping

Heavy cream…. 1 ½ cup

Powdered sugar… ¼ cup

Semi-sweet chocolate bar (for grating)

A yelp from behind him paused his actions as he finally twirled around. Brows knit, he didn’t even need to guess what happened. You were covered head to toe in cake flour.

“Y/N?” Jin sighed in defeat.

You squealed, trying to cower behind another student. “I-I...Sorry, Seokjin-nim. I–”

“Don’t even bother,” he interrupted, rubbing his temples. “Go clean up and come back to class.”

Your shoulder slumped, and without a word, you ran out of the classroom. He gave a dubious look to the remainder of the class. “C’mon, clean that up, and we’ll start when Y/N returns.”

Jin considered himself a decent instructor, heck he was one of the best culinary chef’s out there. But unfortunately, in the economy's state, he had to close his restaurant and settle on teaching basic cooking classes. That was all well and good, but the only job available had been at a small, unknown culinary school. So desperate for students, they’d admit anyone. And therein lies the problem: You. 

You weren’t the best cook...okay, that was being polite. You were a horrendous cook, and it was a miracle your place hadn’t burned down from all the cooking accidents you managed to do. Still, you had a passion for cooking, and your dream of becoming one of the best pastry chefs in Seoul would someday come true. 

Jin didn’t hold his breath. On the first day of class, you managed to break an oven, the mixing bowl, and burn the inside of a saute pan. A saute pan?! There wasn’t anything in it!

But Jin gave you the benefit of the doubt. It was your first day, and nerves were high.

Except it happened every single day after that: broken bowls and equipment, tripping over the shock mats, and burning yourself on the stove. It never failed. Jin would have just sucked it up to you being a klutz, but on top of it all, your cooking sucked. There wasn't a day that went by where he’d think about the creme brulee you destroyed. Again, how did you manage torching the surface, and it was raw?

You walked back into the classroom, freshly changed into a new chef’s jacket and pants, and stood at your station. You winced seeing Jin’s eyes bore into you, and you wanted nothing more for the floor to swallow you up. 

“Now that the break is over, we can focus on the lesson at hand,” he began, pointing to the board. “Today we’ll be making French silk pie. A complex dish due to the fact it’s not baked and the eggs will be raw. Now, to start, we’ll make the crust.”

The students got to work getting the necessary ingredients and making the pie crusts. Only whispers were heard throughout the kitchen. Jin walked around, giving small tips of advice as he checked the students' progress.

“Make sure the graham crackers are crumbly, not too chunky or fine; the texture should be there. Perfect.”

He smiled at each student as he went about only stopping at you with a frown. Somehow you were having trouble with the food processor. “Y/N? Something wrong?”

You looked up in surprise, cheeks a bright red. “No, Seokjin-nim, just fixing it,” you laughed nervously.

He queried with a brow stepping closer. “Maybe I can help.” He began assessing the processor looking for any jams. “It looks alright. Nothing seems out of place–”

He spoke too soon.

You decided pressing the button without the top secured was the best idea. With a roar, graham crackers and butter flew out coating you and Jin. The class gasped. Jin let out a depressing noise and wiped the gunk from his face.

“Y/N, stay after class.”

After cleaning up yet another mess, you leaned against the station wanting to bite your nails. Class had ended not too long ago, and it was now empty. Jin instructed you to wait while he went to his office. Your leg shook as you tried to distract your thoughts.

It wasn’t that bad, right?

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jin entered the classroom, folder under his arm. He looked like he aged a few years in the course of a few hours. With a groan, he set the folder down beside you. You started from the folder to him curiously.

“Know what that is?" he inquired. 

You shook your head. Jin opened the folder revealing your picture with your name across the page. “It’s your progress report for the semester,” he explained, flipping through the pages. “They want me to fail you.”

Your heart sank as you looked at all the failed marks in each of your classes. Lip trembling, you stifled a whimper as he continued. 

“However, I was able to get you one last chance,” he paused, staring at the look of surprise on your face. “As you know, we have a mock service at the end of the week. If you don’t impress the staff, they will fail you, and I can’t do anything about it if it comes to that decision.”

Jin slammed the folder shut, giving you a hard stare, though it softened after a moment. “You’re assigned to desserts. Create something edible, and they’ll pass you for the semester.”

You tugged at your apron, twisting it in your hands. “B-But, what should I do?”

He shrugged, picking the folder up and walked towards the door. “Try not to suck,” he teased before exiting.

You sat there dumbfounded as the news sank in. This mock service could be the end of your culinary career. You had two choices, cry and mope about the situation or put on your big girl pants and kick this assignment's ass. You needed to impress the staff and damn it; you weren’t going to fail.

“Fuck, what am I gonna make?” You sat back down, pondering over the types of desserts you could make. Grabbing the books on the shelf, you flipped through, studying each one.

“Red velvet...no...Lemon meringue...yuck no...Chocolate chip cookies….what am I five?”

Grunting in frustration, you poured over the books filled with millions of recipes until the early hours of the morning. 

Jin found you the next day, drool pooling on one of the books. He walked over, smirking at your sleeping form, impressed to see you so determined to pass. He peeked at your notes curiously. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he whispered, noticing your chef’s hat had fallen over your eyes, exposing your hair, the few tresses tumbling out to rest on your neck. His ears pinked as he brushed the hair aside, causing you to shift and mumble in your sleep. 

Jin stepped back, afraid he’d wake you. He noticed a french cookbook open and grabbed a highlighter. With a grin, he circled one of the recipes and tiptoed back up to the front by the lights.

He cleared his throat, flipping on the switch. “Y/N? Wake up. Class is about to start.”

You yelped, jumping out your seat and looked around in bewilderment. “Oh my gosh! I-I stayed here all night!” You covered your face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Seokjin-nim. I didn’t mean to.”

Jin hid his smile and put on a neutral expression. “It’s fine. Just be mindful next time.” He walked over, looking at your workspace. “What are you working on?”

You tried to clean up the mess hastily with a snort. “Ah, just something for the mock service, nothing more.”

“Oh? What do you plan on making?” He inquired.

“I–” You glanced down at the scribbles, papers laid askew. You hadn’t figured out what you were going to make! Jin tapped his foot impatiently.

“Well–”

There. Right on the page circled in yellow. “Macarons!” you blurted out.

Jin feigned surprise. “Macarons? Interesting. That’s gonna be a challenge. If done right, they’ll be delicious.” 

You felt flustered by his smile, averting your gaze. “You think I can do it?”

Not a chance in hell. Jin's smile widened, giving you a small pat on the shoulder. “Put your mind to it and study hard. I’m positive you can do it.” He settled against the station tapping his chin. “The problem is you’re too hard on yourself. You need to gain some confidence. Cooking is, by the bare bones, a science; equal and opposite reactions, molecules fusing, you get the gist. However, passion makes it come alive.”

His eyes twinkled as he turned to stare at you. “You have it inside, just got to find a way to let it emerge.”

You bit down on your lip as you lifted your head to see him staring. Your gaze held until the distant sounds of culinary students grew louder. Jin laughed as he walked to the board. He started to write out the assignment pausing for just a moment. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Y/N. I’m rooting for you.”

Now it was your time to get embarrassed. You cleaned up your station, putting the books back on their respective shelves just as the classroom filled. 

Class went by in a blur; your mind was elsewhere. You blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. Now you had to figure out how to make these macarons look and taste spectacular. Your grade depended on it. 

After the last students filtered out, only you and Jin remained. He packed his bag, watching as you looked over the recipe, taking notes as you went along.

He smiled to himself, seeing how determined you were to pass. He walked over, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“You know,” he began as you sat up from your book to give him your full attention, “a good tip is to separate the egg whites and let them get to room temperature in a ventilated bowl for a bit.” He winked with a shrug. “Just a thought. Good luck.”

You chewed your pen cap nodding. A smile formed as you felt your mood lighten. “Thank you, Seokjin-nim. That helps. Have a good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He waved, leaving you in class alone to think. 

You set to work laying out all the ingredients. With a sigh, you glanced at them, ready for war. Rolling up your sleeves, you put on your war face.

“Alright, let’s kick some ass!”

You sobbed on the floor, cheeks covered in flour and sugar. It shouldn’t have been that hard. But after the explosion of flour and you dropped the batter on the floor, all seemed lost. You felt like you’d been defeated until Jin’s face crossed our mind. His smile and reassurance. He was rooting on you to pass. He didn’t want to have you fail out of school. Growling in frustration, you got up, clenching your fists and slamming them on the tabletop. 

“Screw this. I’m gonna pass this class!”

The night of the mock service had arrived. The kitchen buzzed with excitement as the students prepared their dishes for the guests. Ingredients prepped, utensils laid out, it was now or never. You entered the kitchen, securing your apron around your waist and headed over to the pastry section. There was only one other person with you, assigned to the ice cream. 

Giving a quick hello, you took your premade batter and scooped it into a piping bag. As you worked on piping small circles onto the baking sheets, you barely noticed Jin walking in to wish everyone well. He stopped by your counter with a nod. 

“Hello, Y/N. Everything all set?”

You looked up briefly, still focused on your task. “Hi, Seokjin-nim. My filling is already made, just got to bake the cookies.”

Jin nodded in approval, the slight worry at the back of his mind calming as he saw your expression. You seemed so determined to prove everyone wrong. He cleared his throat with an abrupt appearance. “Ahem, yes. Well, good luck. I’ll be out there with other department heads. Just stay confident when you’re introducing your dish.”

He patted you on the arm and scurried out the kitchen. You had no time to consider what his words and actions meant, not when so much work had to be done. You placed the six baking sheets into the oven, still worrying about the amount you had to make. The plan was to make a few and to be set aside for the department heads and make the others as the rest of the guests ordered them. 

The night rolled on as other students cooked their dishes, going out into the dining room once they presented their meal. They’d get a score and walk back in to continue service. Dinner service crept by slowly making you anxious, bouncing on the soles of your shoes. As dirty dishes cleared and dessert utensils staged, you watched as the plates of macarons were served to the main table. With a gulp, you walked out, wringing your apron between your fingers. You could have sworn you heard your heart beating over the soft melodies coming from the speakers.

It felt like an episode of Iron Chef.

Jin looked around at the dishes. “Y/L/N Y/N, please explain to us what you’ve created for dessert tonight.”

You gave a bow, stretching a small smile across your face. “G-Good evening. Tonight, I wanted to tie the themes of this evening's meals together with this dessert. With how rich the dishes were tonight, I thought it would be better to end with something light,” you explained as the jitters slowly disappeared. “I’ve made for you a vanilla bean macaron with strawberry cheesecake filling. You can taste the vanilla beans in the cookies to give you more of a woody, smoky flavor that plays well with the strawberries. I pureed the fruit but added a few chunkier pieces to give it texture.” You took a breath as no traces of nerves crossed your face. “The drizzle was made with powdered sugar to add just a dash of sweetness. I hope you enjoy it.”

Jin held back his smile as he observed you. “Thank Y/N. We’ll make sure to enjoy this.”

You bowed once more and walked back into the kitchen. As the doors swung close behind you, you let out a massive sigh making everyone laugh. You grinned, heading back over to the desserts. The night had yet to end.

It seemed like a successful mock service. Jin came in the back to congratulate them all as everyone cleaned up the kitchen. As he entered, everyone stopped to see what he would say.

“Your grades will be up on Monday,” he said over the loud groan. He held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Again, we were very impressed with everyone. Great job tonight.” He watched over the crowd seeing you chatting with a few of the students, a smile on your face. Biting his lip, he wanted to walk over, but instead walked back into the dining room, still embarrassed.

Like always, you were the last to clean your area, but that was alright. The quietness of the kitchen always soothed your nerves. You hummed, wiping down the counters with the sanitizer, almost finished. Surprised, you noticed some extra filling in one of the bowls. Everyone, well, your colleagues, complimented you on how amazing it tasted. To be honest, you only had a small taste before putting the macarons together. You took your finger and swirled some filling on the digit, bringing it up to your lips. You licked it clean off with a soft moan.

“Damn, that is good.”

A noise from behind made you jump as you looked over to see Jin standing in the doorway. You blushed profusely, trying to cover your hands. “Ah, S-Seokjin-nim! I didn’t realize anyone was still here!”

Jin gulped softly, placing his hands in front of him on the counter, feeling himself heat up. He cursed, trying to think of anything, but what he saw: your lips wrapped around your finger divulging in the sweet filling, had him stopped in his tracks. 

“I...ahem...came back to lock up,” he explained, the strain in his voice. His eyes bore into yours as you glanced away.

“Oh! I’m just about done. I’m sorry for making you wait.” You began wrapping the filling to put back in the cooler.

Jin chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, playing with the hair that tickled his neck. “Please don’t rush. Take your time.” He closed the distance, standing on the opposite side of the counter. “I wanted to talk to you about your dessert.”

You dropped the paper towel as you blinked up at him. “B-But I thought grades wouldn’t be up until Monday.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter and shrugged. “Aren’t you a little curious about what they said?”

You fiddled with the utensils biting your bottom lip. “I mean, yeah. I’m scared about failing. Even more worried, they hated it.” Your eyes met his with hope. “H-How did you like it?”

Jin leaned forwards beckoning you to come close with a curled finger. “You want to know?”

Your head bobbed eagerly. “Yes. Please Seokjin-nim, I wanna know.”

Being this close to him, you noticed the flicks of hazel in his eyes, the fullness of his lips—that chiseled face. Wait, why were you ogling your instructor?! You gulped softly as his eyes lingered on your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“I–”

Loved it.

“Hated it,” he replied.

You felt the air deflate from your lungs as your jaw dropped. Eyes bulging, someone could have knocked you over with a wooden spoon. He looked so relaxed at your expression, still staring. He hated it?! But why? How? It was the best thing you made, and it was edible?! Your lip trembled as the lump in your throat formed.

Jin burst into a fit of giggles, only making you even more confused and suddenly angry. He gasped through the tears, broad shoulder shaking. 

“You should see your face, Y/N! I need a picture.”

You huffed balling your fists. “I’d love to know what the joke is, Seokjin-nim.”

He wiped the tears away, chuckling softly. Coughing, he finally was able to calm down. “That was rude. Forgive me. I couldn’t help it.” He smiled brightly. “I’m just not a fan of flavored strawberry foods.”

You whimpered, collapsing against the counter as a sob wrecked your form. You wailed as all the emotions and stressed pent up from the week came crashing down. Jin ran over to the other side, wrapping you in a hug. Another squeak passed your lips as warmth engulfed you. He rested his chin on the top of your head. 

“Please don’t cry Y/N. I-I don’t want to be the cause of any tears you shed. Please.”

This was unexpected. Your tears stopped as you felt nervous in his arms, perplexed even. Why was he holding you? Still, it was nice to be carried like this, even if he was your instructor. 

You wiggled in his arms, looking up at him. A scowl twisted on your face. “That wasn’t very nice, Seokjin-nim.”

He brought his thumb up to wipe the stray tears. “I’m an idiot. Can you forgive me?”

You gave him a teary smile and nodded. “I couldn’t stay mad at you if I tried.”

He grinned, still holding you. “Why is that?”

“I like you,” you blurted out, cheeks reddened. Crap, he wasn’t supposed to know that.

Now it was his turn to turn red. He grinned, bopping you on the nose gently. “That makes two of us. I like you too,” he said shyly.

Your mouth gaped open. “Seokjin-nim–”

“Call me Jin, Y/N,” he ordered, eyes glittered with mischief.

You blushed once more with a giggle. “Okay, Jin.”

He laughed, pulling you at arm’s length to hold your hand. “You’re gonna pass. And to celebrate, I’m taking you out tomorrow. Sounds good?”

You stood on your tiptoes and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. “Sounds sweet.”

[peteywillproceed]

Photobooths

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Thank you so so much for all the support on Kiss Me! That was my first post on here and I was so nervous :) I’ve had this idea stuck in my head since Youth by Troye Sivan came out, but I never actually finished it (yay for drafts!) Still don’t really know what it is, but anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy it x

Summary:  “When the lights start flashing like a photobooth, and the stars exploding, we’ll be fireproof” - You and Tom have been friends for years, even if you have been keeping your feelings a secret. Sometimes all it takes is being drunk off your ass to finally get the answers you didn’t know you needed...

Word Count: 3,150

The camera clicked and you were blinded, the silly moustache Tom had stuck on your upper lip falling half-way across your mouth as the heat from the lights made you sweat. It was cramped in there, the faded black seat cracked and peeling and the touch screen photo selector taking ages to register your choice. You hadn’t been in a photobooth in years, too smelly, too dirty, too boring. But the alcohol coursing through your body had made short work of any reservations you may have had, too intoxicated by the boy tugging you towards it to care.

“I want the beer goggles too, Y/n,” Tom whined beside you, reaching up to tug them from your eyes. You glanced sideways, swaying in your seat and steadying yourself against his shoulder.

“Take ‘em them,” you mumbled, smiling as he practically snatched them from your head and shoved them over his eyes.

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

You giggled, too drunk on alcohol and his presence to care. “It’s your party, dipshit.”

You’d known Tom since year 10, and you’d lived with him whilst you were at Uni, grateful for the rent-free place whilst you were broke. You didn’t know when your feelings for Tom had changed, all you knew was you’d woken up one day and wandered into the kitchen, following the smell of pancakes and bacon. And bam, there he was, shirtless over the oven, towel flipped over his shoulder and sending you a slow grin like he’d planned it all. You were pretty sure that was the day everything had changed, but honestly it could’ve been years ago.

You giggled as the screen slowly counted backwards from three, feeling like you were floating far up in the sky. Tom might have asked you to pull a stupid face, but you were so concentrated on the way his lips were moving that you barely registered it. His hands slid into your hair, threading through the strands and made a peace sign behind the back of your head. You scrunched your nose up and dragged the bright pink feather boa over your mouth, pouting in a drunken attempt to look sexy.

“What are you doing?” Tom laughed as the camera clicked and you were dazzled by the lights again.

“Lookin’ sexayyyyyy,” you threw your hands in the air, frowning at the screen “We only have one more picture left!”

Tom licked his lips, trying to meet your eyes. “Guess we’d better make it special one, then.”

If you’d been sober enough to catch the double meaning, maybe you would have been prepared for what came next. But as the camera started counting down for its final shot, Tom grabbed your chin and turned you towards him, pressing his lips gently against yours just as the click rang in your ears.

For a second, you thought about nothing but the way his lips were moving on yours, the sheer fire that snapped you out of your drunkenness and spread over your skin. You shivered as he cupped your cheek, sure the photo had been taken, but the noise of the party outside had faded and it was just the two of you, your lips moving in time to whatever music was blaring through the speakers.

A strange sensation came over you, the photobooth and Tom’s face beginning to spin, and you jerked backwards at the feeling.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I um…I don’t know where that came from,” Tom stammered, wiping his palms against his jeans.

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t him, but blackness was appearing at the corner of your eyes, begging you to fall into the void that awaited. You could see Tom’s mouth moving, desperation crawling into his face, and you tried so hard to make your own form the words you wanted to say. But the tiredness was overwhelming, and soon you were falling into nothing, barely noticing when your head hit the floor of the booth, and Tom crouched over you in panic.

***

The next morning, your eyes opened to a dim room and the scent of caffeine wafting up your nose. Groaning, you tried to sit up, grabbing your head as it began to throb. Dribble ran down one side of your cheek and your hair stood on ends, but as you rubbed your eyes and allowed them to focus, the steaming mug of coffee and two advil tablets placed carefully on the side table drew a smile from you.

You leaned over and choked back the tablets, taking a gulp of the black liquid and savouring it on your tongue. You tried to think back through the mist and fog of last night, remembering basically everything up until you’d gone in that stupid photobooth with Tom. God, you didn’t know why you’d done that, but he’d seemed so excited and it was a chance for you two to be alone, something you hadn’t had in months. You’d have been lying if you’d said you didn’t enjoy the proximity.

“Morning sleepy head,” a familiar, velvety voice whispered.

Looking up, your eyes found Tom’s, and you groaned at the noise. “What time is it?”

“One in the afternoon,” he looked over his shoulder and laughed as he strode towards the curtains and threw them open. “Time to get up.”

“Ugh, Satan,” you mumbled, crashing back into the soft duvet.

“Y’know, I took the day off to keep an eye on you, the least you could do is not compare me to the King of Hell.”

“Sorry, your majesty.”

“Better.”

“Wait you took the day off today?” You frowned, running your fingers through your hair.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I? You were drunk off your arse and I didn’t want you to choke on your own vomit.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime,” he grinned, scratching the back of his head. Bizarrely, he kept shifting from foot to foot, like he was trying to decide whether or not to sit down.

“The bed’s not made of lava, y’know,” you blinked, patting the space next to you “you can sit down.”

He nodded, still not moving, rubbing the side of his face as your confusion grew. “Y/n, I think we should talk about last night.”

“Last night? I don’t remember most of it,” you brought the coffee cup to your lips and took another gulp, eyes never leaving Tom’s. “Why? Did something happen?”

Tom’s eyes widened as he moved to sit next to you, a frown appearing on his face. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Nope, sorry,” you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders as you ran a fingertip around the rim of the mug. “Is there something I should remember?”

You started racking your brain, wondering if he’d told you something you should have remembered or pointed someone out to you. If you were being honest, the most you remembered of the night was drowning in his eyes and paying no attention to any of the songs the rather terrible DJ was playing. You tried not to think about how he’d looked in that suit, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and the burgundy jacket that showed off his arms. Right now, he was in his pyjamas, slung loosely at the hips and barely concealing what you knew was there – you couldn’t decide which look you preferred.

Tom looked at you for a long moment, something that looked like pain dancing behind his eyes. You bit your lip and cocked your head, wondering whether someone had said something to him and you’d forgotten. “Shit, Tom, was something said?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he blurted, sighing audibly. “It doesn’t matter, just forget it.”

“Are you sure?” You raised an eyebrow, convinced you were missing something. “Something’s not right.”

“Nah, I’m cool, don’t worry about it,” Tom shrugged, and started to walk towards the door.

“Do you wanna get dressed and go catch a movie? You never have a day off, you shouldn’t have to spend it looking after me.” Maybe you were trying too hard, but the little pinch at the top of his brow made your heart hurt, and all you wanted to do was reach out and smooth it over. And preferably punch whoever had been there in the first place.

He shook his head. “No, I think I’m just gonna go to work.”

“But you took the day off!”

“There’s always something to do,” he laughed, the sound hollow and sad.

“Okay…” you nodded, the coffee cup shaking in your hand. “If you’re…if you’re sure.”

With a final nod, he turned and disappeared from your room, leaving you staring after his retreating back. Whatever had happened there, you wished you could have made it better. Maybe if you could remember what he meant, you’d be able to put the pieces back together and stitch up his clearly broken heart. Seeing Tom upset was like losing a piece of yourself, and until he was fixed you’d be constantly searching for a way to cheer him up.

Half an hour later, you heard the front door slam and the distant sound of his feet ringing on the steps as he left. For some reason, you felt empty, like when he left he took a piece of you with him. All you wanted to do was curl back up in the bed and fall asleep, but it was no use staying cooped up here if there was nothing to do. Sighing, you got to your feet and grabbed your hairbrush, shrieking when you saw the state it was in.

No wonder Tom had practically run away, you had a bird’s nest on your head.

***

Three Months Later

“Tom?” you called out, kicking the front door shut with your foot. “Can you help me?” Grocery bags were piled high in your hands, oranges spilling on the floor as you struggled into the kitchen.

“Here love, let me,” he swept in and gathered the three heaviest ones into his arms. “Harry’s here by the way.”

“Hi Harry,” you yelled “are you the one eating all my chocolate digestives?”

“nrgrnej,” Harry mumbled, stepping into the kitchen with half a biscuit hanging out of his mouth.

“Typical!”

“Can’t help it they’re so delicious,” he shrugged, looking at you with his hands raised.

Laughing, you shook your head and waved your hand in the direction of the bags. “As payment, you can pack those away.”

“Yes, sir!”

You walked into the living room, expecting the bomb that followed Harry everywhere to have crash landed in there too. Sure enough, pillows and blankets were strewn everywhere, the telly was blaring and biscuit crumbs were scattered everywhere, crunching beneath your feet as you stepped into the room.

You couldn’t help the eyeroll that followed, starting the clean up job that would otherwise have taken hours later on. Every so often, you’d come across one of Tom’s socks or a pen he had chewed on whilst making notes on a script, and you smiled at how tidy he was. As you started to finish up and the boys packed away the final can of peas, you noticed Tom’s script thrown on the floor, the bookmark he’d been using turned face up against the grey carpet.

Gingerly, you picked the script up and tucked your finger in the page he’d been reading, then flipped the bookmark over. You smiled as you realised these were the pictures you’d taken in that photobooth all those months ago, probably too drunk to remember to pick them up. But Tom had remembered, like he always did, and a slow grin crept across your face as your eyes trailed across the photos, tracing memories you didn’t know you had.

Until the last one.

The last one you couldn’t remember, but it was clearly there, in black and white, staring you in the face. Your lips on Tom’s. Tom’s lips on yours. And suddenly everything he’d said the morning after, how he’d wanted to talk to you and the hurt look on his face when you said you couldn’t remember anything, came shooting back all at once. You took in a deep breath, hearing noises at the door, and looked up with tears in your eyes.

“Y/n?” Tom said, panic lacing his voice “What’s wrong?”

He ran his eyes over you, freezing as he finally saw what you were holding. You held it out in a trembling hand, lips shaking as you asked him what it was.

“I think I better go,” Harry mumbled, turning for the door. “I’ll call you later mate.”

Tom didn’t reply, still not breaking your gaze and for the first time in the entire time you’d known him, you didn’t have a fucking clue what was going through his mind.

“I didn’t mean for you to see that,” he stammered.

“Why not?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the image of what you had wanted so desperately for years still seared into your mind. How could you have forgotten something like that? Something so cataclysmic and beautiful? You’d kissed Tom – and you had forgotten.

“You said you couldn’t remember…I figured you didn’t like it.”

“I was drunk, you idiot!” You hissed, waving the piece of paper in his face “I definitely wanted to know this happened.”

“But why?” he asked, and you stared at him like he was insane until he clarified. “You didn’t remember it, and you passed out before we could talk about what it meant. And in the morning, when you couldn’t remember, I figured maybe you’d just supressed it, and you didn’t want to think about it.”

Your mouth dropped open, thinking about how all this time the man you were in love with had thought you didn’t want to remember your kiss. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

“You really thought I wanted to forget that?”

“Didn’t you?”

“NO! Oh my God, you are blind!” you groaned, dropping the strip of photos. It fluttered to the floor between you, the chasm of space feeling miles across yet only centimetres deep. “I’m freaking in love with you Tom, I’ve been in love with you for years, I didn’t want to forget that!”

His eyes were wide with shock, and his mouth kept moving like he wanted to say something. But you were done with wondering whether he felt the same; you’d kissed and now you felt like you could finally let it all out, what you’d bottled up since that day with the pancakes. What only his mum had heard when she’d found you crying on the kitchen floor the day Tom announced he was seeing someone new. What you’d scribbled about ferociously in diary upon diary, convinced you were stupid and he would never see you the same way.

You were done with the pretending, had been for years, and now was your chance to finally say what you’d only thought about in your dreams.

“I fall asleep at night and I think about you, I wake up and you’re the first person I want to see. When you go away filming I sneak into your room and fall asleep there because it’s the only place that smells like you. I’ve spent hours crying over you, sounding pathetic because I was too scared to tell you how I felt. And then this happens, and you don’t tell me about the one thing that could have changed everything! I had to find out through some stupid photo that you didn’t even mean for me to see!”

By the time you were finished, tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were panting with exhaustion, relief washing over you as you finally let go of the deepest secret you’d ever had. Tom said nothing, his mouth parted in shock, and you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, wishing you could just fall through the floor and never come back.

Suddenly, his arms wrapped around you, gently pulling you into a hug so tight you could hardly breathe. His breathing stuttered against you, and you pulled away so that you were looking him in the eye, your faces only inches from touching. Exactly like that night in the photobooth, only now you could remember every part of this. And you would for years to come.

“I didn’t know that,” Tom’s voice cracked, and your heart broke at the desperation slipping through his lips. “I didn’t know you felt like I did.”

“Like you did?” Your breathing stopped, and you didn’t dare believe you’d heard him right.

Taking a deep breath, Tom gripped your shoulders and looked you dead in the eye, all the bravado stripped back until he was just Tom. Your Tom. “Y/n L/n, I have loved you since the day I met you. Since the day you walked into that classroom, and I haven’t looked back. I never thought you felt the same, and I kept it bottled up for years. For a while, I thought I was over you, but my mum reminded me that love isn’t something that can fade just because you have a replacement.”

“If I could have anyone, I’d still choose you. I’d still choose your stinky morning breath and bed head, the way you can’t cook and the way you can’t stand tomatoes on your sandwich but you love ketchup. I’d choose your body and your mind, you heart and your soul, because you have meant everything to me since the day you first sat next to me in class, and I haven’t seen anything as beautiful since.”

You blinked, barely able to absorb the words let alone process them. You’d dreamed of him saying these words for years, and yet now that you were finally hearing them, it felt less romantic than it was sad.

“You’ve loved me too? All this time?” you choked, letting the realisation wash over you.

“All this time, and more too,” Tom replied, his voice low and thick with emotion.

“And that night in the photobooth?”

You held your breath, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer. For once, your future was out of your hands, and it lay in the balance of a boy you had loved in private for years. You were quite literally on a knife’s edge, and whichever way you fell you had to hope there was someone to catch you.

“That night in the photobooth was the greatest decision I ever made,” Tom replied. “You’re the greatest decision I ever made.”

Maybe you would’ve heard what he was going to say next, but you no longer cared as you flung yourself towards him and let your lips collide. As electricity sparked against your skin, you found yourself slipping once more into the dark abyss, but this time you were ready. This time the only thing you were drunk on was the scent of Tom – and this time, you were never letting go.

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Twelve | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count: 4,968 

Chapter 12/24

Warnings: Family tension

AN: What’s extra wild about this post is that it marks the official halfway point in this story! We have come so very far, yet there is still so much in store for you. Aaaaand I’m gonna stop before I get emotional about it. As always, thanks for sticking around and having passion for this story. This wouldn’t exist without your support.

Per usual, my most heartfelt appreciation to @lucyyannabel , @barnesrogersvstheworld , and @abovethesmokestacks for being my personal cheerleaders and listening to me whine and complain about this chapter and how ornery the Barnes family could be. Bucky is blowing all of you a kiss 😘

Chapter Eleven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

“Bucky, are you sure I shouldn’t have worn a dress?” you ask for the tenth time, looking uncertainly down at your wide-legged trousers which fall in a graceful line to your feet. Your brightly colored blouse - the one Suzy had picked out between the options you had presented her; she insisted it was the perfect color on you - is carefully tucked in where your pants taper in at the waist.

House by house you steadily approach the Barnes’ family home as you walk the streets of Brooklyn. Your fingers toy with the fabric of Bucky’s suit jacket absentmindedly where your hand is tucked into his elbow.

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, you could wear a potato sack and the girls wouldn’t think less of you.” He playfully nudges your side for good measure.

“Well I did have a dress made out of a flour sack when I was a kid, maybe that would’ve been better.”

He’s all tease. “First off, everyone had flour-sack clothes. We were all Depression kids, you’re not special.” His tone shifts to one of gentle sincerity. “Second, quit worryin’. They care about who you are as a person a lot more than what you’re wearing.”

‘Quit worrying,’ you scoff internally. What a gas. Meeting Steve and Peggy was one thing, but this? How can I not worry about meeting the four women that know him best? Four women that could easily chew me up and spit me out if they don’t think I’m right for Bucky. I need all the help I can get. At least his dad won’t be here.

Bucky brings you to a stop in front of a waist-level iron fence. At the end of the pathway behind the white gate is a sweet brick house with a small porch, large windows taking up most of the front of the home.

“This is it,” he sighs before turning to look down at you. “You ready?” 

Rather than answering his question you ask your own. “Are you ready?” 

A smile quirks his mouth to one side before he opens the tiny gate with a flourish. “After you, ma’am.”

He raps his knuckles on the door once, twice, before opening the door. Loud female chatter reaches you from around the corner as Bucky takes your purse and hat to hang on the coat rack before he deposits his own hat and jacket. There’s an undeniable warmth here that has nothing to do with the temperature. Red drapes frame the windows, the pieces of on-trend floral furniture matching perfectly. You can practically see a young Bucky listening to the large radio in the corner while sprawled out on the patterned area rug.

“We’re here!” he shouts, leading you by the hand through the living room to approach the kitchen.

The talk comes to an immediate stop before you hear a rumbling of feet. “Bucky!” several women squeal as they rush to meet you in the kitchen’s threshold.

You are momentarily stunned by how similar the Barnes women look. Their various statures are among the only differences between them. You see echoes of Bucky in their raven hair, bright eyes, and dimples as all of them flock to greet you. 

Two of them surge forward, each taking an arm exuberantly.“Oh hello!” by way of the pregnant stomach, you’re assuming Rose, greets.

“I can’t believe we are finally meeting you!” the youngest-looking, has to be Evelyn, coos through the sweetest smile that takes you aback. 

They begin to talk over each other, variations of “You look lovely!” and “It’s about time he brings you around” and “Are you sure he’s not paying you to pretend to be his girlfriend?” shared in all sorts of merriment.

“Let her breathe, girls,” chides the tallest from her place beneath Bucky’s arm.

Becca, you reason, given Bucky’s easy demeanor as they embrace.

Clad in a clearly well-loved apron, the shortest, eldest, and most effusive of the women reaches her hands toward you and Rose and Evelyn make way for their mother. You clumsily clasp her fingers, maternal affection not among the things you’re used to. She either doesn’t or pretends not to notice your stilted return of her greeting as she says, “Welcome to our home, darling. Needless to say, we are thrilled you and James are here.” It’s the first time you’ve heard someone call Bucky by his first name and it would have been jarring if not for the obvious affection with which Winnifred spoke it. You can’t help but take note that the corners of her eyes have the same distinct crinkle when she smiles, just like someone else you know.

“Thank you for having me over for dinner, Mrs. Barnes.”

She waves a hand, “None of that, please call me Winnifred.” Moving to Bucky, she plants a kiss to his rosy, clean-shaven cheek.

Becca takes the moment to introduce herself before complimenting, “I love your outfit. I wish I could pull that color off.”

“Thank you for saying that, I was wondering if I shouldn’t have dressed up a bit more.” You flatten your hands against your thighs.

Looking down at her own perfectly tailored trousers then back up at you, her eyes dance. “Pants are perfectly dressy enough in this house. I’ve broken the family in for you,” she winks conspiratorially. “But I think we should get to wear what we want when we’re making our own money, ya know?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” you smile genuinely for the first time since stepping in the door. Perhaps it was your knowledge of Bucky’s special bond with Becca coloring your opinions, but you suddenly felt as if you had a teammate in your corner, someone to act as a buffer against any awkwardness you may feel.

Winnifred turns from Bucky back to you, laying a soft hand on your shoulder. “I apologize, dear - dinner is running a little behind schedule. Normally I’d try to have the meal finished by the time our guests arrive, but it’s been a hectic day. Bucky tells us you’re the gracious sort who won’t be scared off by our tardiness.”

Feeling all eyes on you you shake your head. “Oh gosh, no, it’s perfectly okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“The only thing you’re allowed to do is sit with us in the kitchen and have a glass of tea.” With that, Rose loops her arm through yours and leads you to the table in the kitchen. You obediently take a seat and expect to be joined by Bucky but when you turn, he’s undone the cuffs of his long button-down shirt and is rolling up his sleeves. He grabs a bowl from the counter, grabbing a potato masher and getting to work.

You fight a pang of petulant jealousy that Bucky gets to do something to keep himself busy while you sit in the middle of the room, useless and on display.

Each family member has a task, an area you suspect is fairly common for them. Winnifred focuses on the main dish - something that looks suspiciously like a meatloaf roasting in the oven. Bucky and Becca bump hips as they assist with side dishes as needed - mashed potatoes and some vegetable concoction. Rose has gathered cups for beverages, Evelyn is in charge of setting the table for six. You imagine this scene playing out a thousand times in the past, the ease of moving around each other, the familiarity of the room. It sends an ache to your heart.

You make it through the standard questions politely; where you work, what you do, where you’re from. Everything you’d expected for a ‘meet the family’ night and the meal hadn’t even been served yet. This was going to be fine, what could happen?

“What did you say was your hometown?” Evelyn asks.

Bucky answers for you from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sending a bloom of warmth through your chest. “Tarrytown.”

“Tarrytown. . . where have I heard of that?” Winnifred tuts almost to herself while she peers into the oven.

“It’s about a five minute drive from Sleepy Hollow, if that helps.” You sip your tea, waiting on the typical reaction.

“That’s exactly it!” she props a hand on her hip as comprehension dawns on her.

Rose looks to you curiously. “Sleepy Hollow? As in, the Headless Horseman?”

“One and the same,” you nod, relishing in your little town’s shared history. You couldn’t imagine a world where the setting of a 19th century legend wasn’t the sweeping glen outside of your hometown - well technically, village - that inspired gothic stories all through the region. 

The family makes various noises of interest and surprise, including a begrudging “I didn’t even know that,” from your boyfriend.

Becca hums. “I can imagine Halloween is a pretty big deal for you guys.”

Finally, a subject you could really talk about. “Oh, you have no idea. It’s a week-long event for us and we get a ridiculous amount of visitors.” 

“Do you and your family have any fun traditions for Halloween?”

You smile at Winnifred before answering. “Well, I’m an only child, so it’s always been just me and my parents. We usually volunteer at one of the public events or attend a party our neighbor throws.”

“That sounds lovely,” she returns your smile.

You stand up for a moment, taking a step toward Bucky. “Are you sure I can’t help-”

“NO!” all five Barneses exclaim, twisting to fix you with the same exact insistent, yet kind look. You immediately plant yourself in your seat again.

“You’re our guest,” Rose explains.

“Actually, Rose, you need to sit down too. You’ve been on your feet all evening,” Evelyn pointedly looks down to her sister’s shoes.

“I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong,” she groans before sinking into the chair next to you.

“How much longer do you have?” you ask as the other siblings take orders from Winnifred.

With a thoughtful hum and rub of her belly Rose replies, “About three months, we think.”

“That’s gotta be exciting,” you venture, bordering on territory that was completely unfamiliar.

The young woman’s head bobs back and forth. “Exciting, terrifying. . . depends on the day. I thought I was ready to be a mother, but the closer we get, the more nervous I feel. I have no clue what I’m going to do.” The last bit is said quietly, almost guiltily, as if it had been the first time she’d let the thought breathe outside of her own mind.

Sensing her tenuous feelings, you measure your next words carefully. “While I don’t know exactly what you mean, I can relate to that.” Rose watches you, doe-eyed. “I’ve been living on my own for a few months now and I feel like every day I make it up as I go along. But I don’t think any of us are expected to have everything figured out. Having the willingness, the grit try to figure it out is what counts. Obviously I don’t know anything about being a parent. But it seems like if you love your child and do your best by them, everything will fall into place.”

You weren’t expecting to see Rose’s eyelashes glittering with moisture when you look back to her. 

Oh no. I’ve said the wrong thing, why couldn’t I just nod and move on?

The panic you felt on the inside must have started to show on your face, because Rose begins shaking her head, wiping furiously at the tears. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so weepy lately. I needed to hear that. Thank you, really. I haven’t really talked about it before, except with my husband.”

Relief floods you. “You’re welcome, and I mean it. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Rose giggles wetly before looking past you. “She’s just as kind as you said, Buck.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” A familiar hand on your shoulder prompts you to look up into Bucky’s soft eyes. 

He looks like he wants to say something but is interrupted by Winnifred announcing, “Let’s get the food on the table, kids, it’s dinner time.”

The six of you fit comfortably around the table. Bucky and Winnifred settle at either end while you sit to Bucky’s right, next to Becca. Once Rose and Evelyn are seated across from you the steaming platters are passed around. You fill your plate up probably more than was considered “lady-like”, but it smelled so much like home and you’d rather overeat than insult your hostess by not eating enough.

“Tell us how you met,” Evelyn urges as she picks up her fork. “Buck only mentioned it was through work.”

“Well, do you want to know about the time he almost died or the first time we actually spoke to each other a few weeks later?” You take a bite of the meatloaf, chewing at Bucky smuggly.

The table as a whole freezes and all heads swivel to Bucky, who has developed a sudden intense interest in his meatloaf. 

“James, you said this job was safe.” Winnifred does a fair job of hiding her natural worry behind a stern gaze.

“Compared to war it is. And saying I almost died is an exaggeration.”

“Free-falling 10 stories is exaggerating near-death?” you say skeptically.

“Bucky!” The four women squawk. He finally has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I was never in danger, it was just a little hiccup.”

You share what you saw that crisp April morning, his fearlessness, his strength, his kindness during your first true interaction through the window. And a concerning disregard for his personal safety, but that was beside the point.

Bucky finally chimes in when you describe how stressed you were on your first day. “When I actually got to cleaning the window close to her desk, she was so frazzled she couldn’t even find the pencil behind her ear.” He winks at you before assuring you, “It was adorable.”

“Guess you’ve been keeping me sane ever since, huh?” you let a smile loose, the fondness of that first memory erasing any embarrassment you may have had.

You don’t miss the twinkle in his eye as he says, “That’s debatable.”

“Takes crazy to know crazy.” His sisters dissolve into giggles at your sass, Winnifred hiding a sly grin behind her napkin. “Anyway, we went on our first date a couple weeks later.”

Becca props her chin on a hand before she mockingly muses, “Well isn’t that sickeningly cute.” Bucky sends a face her way that Winnifred immediately chastises him for, muttering something about “adult toddlers”.

A spirited debate begins amongst the siblings regarding Bucky’s behavior as an older brother and first-born.

You look up from your plate upon hearing your name, finding Evelyn leaning on her elbows toward you. “Count yourself lucky to not have any brothers or sisters, he was an absolute terror growing up.”

“Oh come on, I think it was the standard fare,” Bucky tries to bargain. “And I spent a lot of time carting you around so you could hang out with friends.”

Evelyn presses her fingertips together, steepling her hands. “Shall we go back to the worst Thanksgiving of my life?” Bucky groans, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. 

The girl’s attention is on you now, eyes as expressive as her brother’s. “I get massive hiccups after dinner which stick around for an hour. Buck walks in with a ‘Hey, I learned a surefire way to get rid of hiccups, wanna try?’ And of course I do because I’m miserable and I trust my big brother. Five minutes later he’s got me hanging upside down by my ankles while Becca pours water into my mouth. He tried to drown me! Both of you did!”

“I was trying to help! Plus that was a long time ago - I was young and foolish.”

“YOU WERE 23!” Evelyn yells, causing you to sputter into your beverage.

“Your hiccups stopped didn’t they?” Bucky’s hand is on his chest, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Only after you nearly dropped me when Mom came into the room!” Everyone, even Winnifred, can’t contain themselves at that; everyone else re-living the memory while you chuckle just imagining it. You love the idea of the shenanigans the Barnes children got up to in this house, picturing this kind of laughter around the clock. Growing up, your own small house was often quiet with only three mild-mannered people taking up residence.

The sound of a car door slamming shut has Bucky glancing toward the kitchen window, brows knitting together. The front door opens and his posture immediately shifts as he looks to his Ma. She’s already on her feet, disappearing into the hallway where your ears pick up a deep voice. The siblings around you share hard looks, leaving you confused. But then Winnifred appears in the kitchen doorway, eyes trained on Bucky. Something is shared between them extremely quickly that you can’t keep up with before realizing what’s happened.

George Barnes shuffles in looking weary and dour, setting his luggage down by the couch. Bucky shares many of his features - the strong jaw, consistent hairline, the mouth - yet you’d never seen this sour of an expression on his son’s face.

Bucky stands. “Dad. Didn’t know you were going to make it.” 

“Well I heard we were having a guest and didn’t want to miss the opportunity to meet her.” 

Bucky twists the cloth napkin in his hands tightly.

Not sure what else to do, you stand and smile at George, drawing his attention. 

He removes his hat, fiddling with it in one hand. “So this is the girl I’ve heard so much about. George Barnes.” A small wave is given across the table, his sharp eyes flicking down to your outfit for a moment before returning to study you.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” you offer, your mind grasping desperately for something else to say but coming up empty.

Breaking the silence, Winnifred turns to Evelyn. “Could you grab another setting please? We’ll have to shift around a little bit.” Everyone moves from their stock-still positions, shuffling plates around the table to make room for one more seat. Bucky pulls a chair next to yours as you shift closer to Becca, managing to sit snugly between the siblings as George replaces Bucky at the head of the table.

The patriarch gratefully accepts the full plate set in front of him, not wasting a moment to begin his meal. The rest of the family turns to their own food. You take note that Evelyn has removed her elbows from the table. Becca has fallen silent. Rose’s face lacks a smile. You’re certain if Bucky sits up any straighter he’s going to pull a muscle. 

What just happened? You wonder, more than a little stunned.

“So, Bucky, how’s your training going?” Rose attempts, voice desperate to dispel the tension in the room.

Only you catch the moment of hesitation Bucky has before answering. “It’s tough, but I think I’m doing well. Spend almost every spare minute studying. After Independence Day I’m headed to Pennsylvania for a month of on-site training. I’ve been told it will be intense.”

“Mmm, I remember those days of training. It felt like forever,” you remark, taking a stab at your vegetables.

“I cannot imagine what it must have been like to be a woman in such a masculine profession,” Becca comments, tone almost formal as she keeps her eyes down.

George grunts from his chair, scooping another forkful of mashed potatoes. The noise strikes a chord in Bucky - you can see his mouth moving to open, a bitter retort no doubt on his tongue. Instinctually you rest a hand on his thigh, halting him.

“Yes, it was a challenge. But nothing I couldn’t handle,” you smile sweetly at Becca, feeling George watching you. Pointedly ignoring him, you tack on, “You could’ve handled it too. It’s not so bad.”

Bucky continues. “Good news is that Harvey, her uncle,” he motions to you, “offered me a position as a serviceman in his garage once I get back. He’s agreed to help teach me as I finish up my training.” You pat Bucky’s leg, for the umpteenth time in your life thankful for your Uncle Harvey.George joins the conversation. 

“You’ve got a job lined up then, have you?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky adds a tight nod of assent.

“Ya know, James-” you can’t help but compare Winnifred’s sweet handling of the name versus George’s almost scold, “-I would’ve been more than happy to have set you up with a position at my company if you’d asked. That was the plan before you enlisted.”

“I know, Dad. I needed something new.”

His father huffs, eyes cutting to you yet again. “Didn’t think I pushed you to be in the top of your class all those years to end up with you in that profession. But it’s your life.”

The words are coming out of your mouth before your mind can process them.

“Actually, being a mechanic requires an advanced understanding of mathematics and physics as well as the ability to comprehend mechanical and electrical engineering. Your efforts weren’t wasted sir, they are being put to excellent use.”

Again, the stillness at the dining table is glaringly obvious. 

A tinge of regret swirls in your gut. Not from having said the words, but for the discomfort it caused five members of the family. The sixth, you were quickly discovering you didn’t care too much for.

“George, how was your work trip?” Winnifred questions, graciously shifting focus away from her son.

However, your focus turns to Bucky completely. A close look shows that he’s making a valiant effort to control his breathing, and you’re guessing his temper too. You tap fingers on the back of his hand and he flips it over to thread your digits together. The motion calms you somewhat, worry that you had added to his anxiety easing. A gentle squeeze from him signals that he’s thankful. You squeeze twice to tell him he’s doing great. He’s in the middle of his sequence of three squeezes back when the topic of conversation turns again, drawing your attention elsewhere.

Some time later George lays his fork down, sighing in satisfaction. “Dinner was wonderful, Winnie,” he says rather kindly, the obvious affection for his wife in his gaze a stark contrast to his behavior toward everyone else.

“Thank you, dear.” Winnifred turns, “Evelyn, I believe it’s your turn to wash up.”

“Oh please, let me help,” you implore. The family begins to protest before you raise your voice above them, already taking yours and Bucky’s plates in hand. “Please, let me be useful tonight. You all have been wonderful hosts, let me feel a little better about myself.”

Without much resistance, the Barneses acquiesce. Winnifred places bread pudding on the table, starts up a pot of coffee, and doles out mugs. After scraping the remnants of food from the dinner plates you take station next to Evelyn, towel at the ready to dry the dishes after she washes and rinses.

After a few plates and asking after her boyfriend, you go after the only other thing you really know about Evelyn. “You graduated high school, right? What’s next for you, Evie?”

“Evelyn,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry?”

Her shy glance at you hints at a deeper insecurity. “Would you mind calling me Evelyn?”

You blink. “Oh gosh, of course I don’t mind. I am so sorry, that’s just all I’ve heard Bucky call you.”

A gentle sigh escapes her before she confides, “I’ve asked him to stop calling me Evie. He hasn’t quite gotten around to it.”

“Ah. Childhood nickname I assume?” you calmly wipe down a few utensils before setting them aside.

“Right. It just. . .“ Evelyn contemplates the suds covering her hands, “. . . doesn’t sound like an adult. And it feels like when Bucky calls me Evie, he’s not thinking of me as an adult. He’s still picturing the scrawny 14-year-old little sister he left behind when he joined the army. I’ve grown up a lot since then, but he’s not really seeing that.” She hands over a plate ready for drying, catching your thoughtful face. “I’m sorry, that was a lot.”

“No, no, I understand. Thank you for telling me. So, Evelyn, tell me what your plans are.”

As you listen to Evelyn talk about engagement rings and wedding plans, you check over your shoulder and catch Bucky watching you. Unlike every other time in your relationship when you’ve caught him looking, he doesn’t turn away bashfully. In fact, his nose crinkles ever-so-slightly while his lips curl into a smile. Part of you wants to feel self-conscious, but another part preens at the attention, the adoration in his eyes.

His content expression disappears, however, when George turns to say something to him, the corners of his mouth turning down quickly. You sigh internally. Turns out you’d taken Steve’s warning about father and son not getting along a little too lightly. And it also turns out that it was harder to watch than you’d expected.

As soon as the dishes are set back in their places in the cabinet, you and Evelyn join the table once more. Gratefully accepting the coffee Bucky passes you sit in your chair, noticing that he’d scooted ever-so-slightly closer with his arm stretching across the back of your seat.

“I understand you work, is that right?” 

A glance up from your bread pudding confirms that George was speaking to you. Scrutinizing men was something you dealt with every day. This was child’s play. “Yes, sir. In Chevrolet’s corporate office.”

“Doing what?”

“I work directly for a supply manager, I monitor his correspondence and help maintain the relationship between Chevrolet and our factories in this region.”

“And you type letters, I assume?”

Not being able to stop the narrowing of your eyes you take a beat before responding, “Yes, sir. That’s one of my many responsibilities.” 

George takes a sip of coffee, matching your scrupulous gaze squarely. “And you’re finding moving from factory work to being a secretary satisfying?”

Wooden chair legs screech across the floor as Bucky stands abruptly, aggressively tabling his coffee mug. “We better get going, work will come early in the morning and we’ve got a good walk home.”

Everyone else stands to their feet - George being the last to rise - and Bucky grabs your things for you. As you accept hugs from Rose and Evelyn, you watch Winnifred embrace Bucky from the corner of your eye. She whispers something in his ear. Bucky pulls back, smile and nod tight as he turns to his father.

You miss their exchange when Becca offers her own hug. “We should grab dinner sometime after work!”

“I would really enjoy that, Becca. Thank you for being so welcoming,” you squeeze back.

Before pulling away completely she whispers, “You have done my brother a world of good and I will love you for that forever.” Someone would think she’d punched you in the stomach, the way the breath was knocked out of you.

Turns out that George Barnes spares you from having to respond. “It has been very nice meeting you, young lady,” he bellows as sticks his hand out to you.

“Likewise, Mr. Barnes.” You grasp it and shake firmly, making a point to maintain eye contact before you part.

Winnifred grabs your hands once again. “You are a true joy. Thank you for spending the evening with us. I hope we get to see you soon and get to know you better.” Her openness continues to throw you for a loop. “And if you’re ever in the neighborhood and need anything, our door is always open.”You tell her that you’ll keep that in mind as you return her hug. 

Everyone says a last “goodbye!” as Bucky shuts the door, placing his hat on his head. He latches the iron gate before turning to you. 

Hands shoved in his pockets, he kicks a rock.

“You okay?” you inquire hesitantly.

He looks up at the dark sky. “I think so. Are you?” Blue eyes dart to yours, the concern there enhanced by the street lamps.

You chuckle. “I think so.”

“I’m so sorry,” he moves to rub the back of his neck as if it pained him. “I had no clue he was going to be here-”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Bucky.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “We both know that’s not true. I don’t know why he is the way he is.”

“I think at some point in time we all have that thought about our parents. But your mom is as lovely as I expected. All the girls are, actually.”

His eyes shift over your shoulder and out of nowhere, he waves his arms to one side in a “shoo!” motion. You spin to see three feminine shadows scurry away from the window and swear you hear laughter.

“Your sisters are a ball of fun,” you step into Bucky, wrapping arms around his waist. His heartbeat is a little too fast under your ear but he eventually embraces you as well. “I had a nice time tonight, honey. Truly.”

“You sure?” He murmurs, tilting your chin up.

“I’m sure,” you nod, probably a little too eagerly.

Incredulous, he strokes your cheek with a finger. “How did I ever find you?” he presses his lips to your forehead.

“Do we really have to go over you almost dying again?”

His chest rumbles with laughter, the last of his shoulder tension dissipating.

“Get out of here!” Bucky shouts suddenly, startling you before realizing you’re not his intended target. This time, Rose, Evelyn, and Becca keep peeking through the drapes, tongues sticking out at their brother. “Sisters,” he scoffs before he grabs your hand and leads you down the street back to the subway station.

Chapter Thirteen

TAGS

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[midweekupdate]

04/09/14

I don't like my family. I mean, I don't know too many people who are overly fond of their families but between my mother's gambling problem and my father's fondness for sleeping with women who aren't my mother without her permission, family reunions are a nightmare. It's not even their proneness to addiction, it's the fact that I am the only family member who hasn't gone to some form of therapy or rehab to try and "fix" their "problems". I don't look on addiction as a problem; I look on it as a character flaw, one that doesn't need to be fixed. It simply needs to be controlled. That's what my parents never understood - still don't understand - about me or my sister. They were always trying to fix us like we were broken and it was torture.

But at least we always had each other. This was my first family dinner since my sister was arrested and I had to face the two of them alone. Really, I think it was just rude of her to get caught and I could easily make an argument to the effect that she did it on purpose specifically to avoid dad’s birthday dinner. But I know that's not true.

If I’m being honest, I could have gotten the family reunion over with a few years ago but I always had an excuse available: I have a work function, I have a custody hearing, I’m trying to figure out how to stuff a body into a pizza oven while my husband’s at work. They still laugh at that last one. One day I’ll tell them it wasn’t a joke. Maybe at Christmas.

Thank god for my two little terror’s at home, though. If it weren’t for them I’d be forced to visit my parents at least once a month. I’m so glad they saw reason and blamed their grandparents for what happened to their mother. Now I don’t even need to come up with an excuse, I just tell them that I can’t find a babysitter and wait for next year when they try to call. It’s a beautiful system.

Until this weekend.

I told my mother that the kids were here for the weekend when, in fact, they were both away (Jason at a friend’s house, Sandra touring universities with James). The peace and quiet was so welcome I didn’t think twice about lying to my mother.

And then she showed up at the door. Apparently she called James and he had foolishly told her the truth, thinking I had also told her the truth. I already scolded him so there’s no need to make snide remarks in the comments, dear readers.

So in burst my mother on Saturday morning insisting that my father would be here later in the day and we needed to clean the house for supper with the three of us. Great.

To her credit, my mother taught me some very valuable things: how to get stains out of carpet, and her desire to take risks in everyday situations. Mostly her cleaning skills, though, that woman could spark a blood bath in the kitchen and you’d never know it an hour later.

Huh.

Now I’m very careful about the cleanliness of my home. Too clean and the police become suspicious but too messy and I get these weird rashes all over my body. It’s not pretty. But my father has never been able to stand anything less than perfection when it came to the cleanliness of his home. When we were growing up we wouldn’t be allowed to eat a meal until the entire house passed inspection. I admit that in university I rebelled against him by living in an absolute pigsty but I slowly grew to appreciate the values of living in cleanliness. And having bleach on hand at all times.

Yes, for all my parent’s flaws, I can honestly say that they have shaped me into the woman I am today.

That still does not mean I want to see them on a regular basis and that certainly does not excuse them from acting like assholes at dinner. From the moment my mother stepped into my house she had to comment on everything, comparing it to her precious little condo that she and dad had bought now that they “didn’t have to entertain”. Of course that didn’t stop her from complaining about the fact that I never visit and that they were forced to move to a smaller house since their grandchildren were brainwashed into thinking they were the villains.

They say brainwashed, I say logically persuaded.

In any case, my mother spent more time criticizing my furniture choice, my choice of colour and even my choice of dish soap than she did cleaning which is odd even for her. Usually she’s much better at multitasking.

And then, like good little women, we had to make supper before father dear returned from chopping wood or selling women’s dresses or whatever he does now in his old age. It’s not that I minded cooking, it’s that it was expected of me. I hate when people just assume that I’ll do something. It irritates me to no end and if it were anyone else they would have found the body the next morning and I would be adding their information to my notebooks. But since they’re family I made an exception. 

Mostly because it would have raised too many questions.

Like clockwork, dad showed up as we were putting the food on the table and immediately made a beeline for the basement. He always liked to start at the bottom and worked his way up when he made his inspections. Thank god I remembered to change out my load of laundry. He has a nasty habit of airing out people’s dirty laundry and I doubt blood stains on my nice white blouse would have made him particularly excited. One habit I was glad to break was waiting for everyone to be seated before we ate. Sometimes dad’s inspections could take hours and I was not about to let his invasion of my privacy stop me from enjoying a good home-cooked meal. Even if my mother was glaring at me as I ate in silence.

That’s the thing about my family. Even when we were growing up, I can probably count on one hand the times when we’d had long, serious conversations. We rarely spoke to each other. Everything we said was silent. Glaring or disapproving looks were sometimes indistinguishable from disappointed or disturbed looks but after a while they all meant the same to my sister and me: you’re not good enough. I remember that look always made my sister cry. Even after all these years – in my own home no less – I still get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when my mother glares at me like that. Like she’s trying to burn me from the inside out. Like she knows my dark secrets. Of course she doesn’t. If she did I would have been arrested by now. My mother would literally turn in her own daughter if it meant making herself look good.

Which brings me to dinner - or at least the moment when we all sat down together. I have never believed my mother to be a good woman – nor would she want me to – but there’s a certain level of loyalty even criminals and low lifes have. She brought it up so casually like it was every day conversation. My father, to his credit or cowardice, remained silent as my mother recounted her tale.

I am not known for my calm attitude or my ability to forgive so it is out of sheer preservation that my mother is still alive today. I want you to understand that, dear readers. I am being purely selfish.

My mother turned my sister in to the police. She wasn’t caught by chance. She was ratted out. Four years and she finally got up the courage to confess to a crime I didn’t even know she committed.

After I heard the news, I honestly don’t know what happened or how dinner ended but when I next found myself it was later that evening and James was holding me back from attacking the washing machine with a hammer. Thank god he found me; that was an expensive machine.

All jokes aside, I have never blacked out like that. I’ve had moments where rage has overtaken me with a victim and they’ve ended up more guts than flesh but never for this long and never without supervision. I had James call my father to make sure they’d made it home safe and sound. He sounded so calm as he talked to my parents but I could tell he was scared.

That’s what my mother does to people. She brings out the terror in them. It comes in many forms but it’s like her super villain power: drawing the nightmares from people. I would think it was a gift if it didn’t affect me so much.

Instead it’s a curse. A terrible plague.

In a lot of ways my parents are well matched in that manner. Though my father’s terror is more silent but deadly.

Four days later and I’m still trying to fathom how someone can do that to their daughter. You don’t just drop a bomb on them like that in the middle of dinner. It’s so rude.

I’m hoping I scared them enough that they won’t want to have another impromptu family dinner for at least another year.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

[vixenandviper]

HOLD! WHO GOES THERE? WHY, IS THAT [CATLINA JOHAR] THE [MADAME OF THE HOUSE] OF [ILLASQA]? THEY DO LOOK [ASSERTIVE] FOR A [WOMAN] OF [29] YEARS. DON’T THEY CALL [HER] THE [SAVVY AND PROTECTIVE HARLOT]? I’VE HEARD THEY’RE ALSO [SILVER TONGUED AND VICIOUS] THOUGH. DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT BUT THEY DO LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE [SUMMER BISHIL].

Basic Info

NAME: Catlina Johar

PRONUNCIATION: Cat-Leena Joe-Har

OCCUPATION: Madame of the Nightshade

AGE: 29

PLACE OF ORIGIN: The Red Keep

FAMILY MEMBERS: None known

Physical Description

HEIGHT: 5′2″

HAIIR COLOR: Dark chestnut with some lighter brown highlights

EYE COLOR: Dark brown

GENDER: Female

BUILD: Pete and slim

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?: None besides a few freckles

ANY HEALTH RELATED ISSUES?: None

Personality

Catlina isn’t a sweet person. She can drip honey from her tongue if that’s what you want but it’ll cost you. Overall, she is someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind but won’t give you any insight into her past. She does have a bit of an explosive temper but her rage is something she rarely taps into because she knows if she did, the things she’d say would probably land her in prison.

She is, however, extremely loyal to those who have been good to her. Whether that’s a simple favor or someone who has befriended her, you can be sure Catlina Johar will have your back. She is extremely protective of the people who work in her brothel and by extension, the people that work in the tavern. The tavern itself is owned by someone else but they all work together closely.

Additional Info

Catlina runs a tavern and brothel in Illasqa currently, though she was born in the Red Keep. I would love for her to have a few girls and/or guys in her care and business partners. Anything involving the brothel, essentially. As well as rival brothels or establishments too. She’s extremely protective of the girls in her care and wouldn’t let anyone do anything without their consent.

I’d love the Elliot to her Margo. He could be someone who frequents the tavern/brothel or someone who bought it with her. Essentially, he’s her only real friend and the only person other than herself she actually trusts. She would kill for him… and probably has. And he thinks of her as his best friend.

People from her past. She was born on the streets of the Red Keep, her mother was probably a prostitute herself. But an older woman took pity on Cat and took her in, essentially ‘buying’ her from her mother. She was the only person Cat ever saw as a mother but she died when she was a child. Afterwards, Cat lived on the street and probably ran with some bad crowds, fending for herself. She probably made friends enough with some of the prostitutes and convinced them to let her clean up after them or fetch them food and drinks, etc, that they gave her a little closet she could sleep in. She eventually got a job as a serving wench and worked as a prostitute when she was older. But I would love plots from her past, anyone that would have known her back then.

History

She could have ended up in the gutter, in the shit and the muck, in the poorest areas of the Red Keep were it not for her intense desire to not die. Catlina was born without a last name. She was born without a first name until she was given up, just a few days after her birth. Her mother was a prostitute and she was an accident.

Cat was given up to an old woman known around town as Mani who often sold pastries and bread and cakes to the courtesans and clients that visited the Red Door. Her mother had left her in a basket, her only words to the old baker woman were “Please… I can’t. Please take my johar.” The first few years of her life were probably the happiest she could have actually known, given all of the circumstances. The woman was old and growing frail, already into at least her mid-sixties by the time she’d been given Catlina. But she had a heart full of love and a warm home, even if it was really just a room on top of her bakery.

The woman had decided to give Catlina a real name, though she often called her ‘Johar’ as her birth mother did. She taught Catlina how to read and write over the years and some basics that she knew about keeping her business going in the bakery. She often told Cat tales of her own youth and the life she’d led with her husband who had died a few years before. It had been a joyful and full life, even if they’d never had children. And she never told Cat who her mother was, only where she worked. She always said “We’ll talk about this when you’re older.”

But older never came for Cat’s caretaker. She was returning from buying goods from the woman when the bakery was ablaze. The old woman’s body had been burned to an unrecognizable degree and all the magi putting out the fire could tell her was that they hoped she’d died before the inferno took over the home. It seemed the oven had caught the rickety old walls on fire and the rest… was left as cinders. She had once again lost everything and she realized the woman who’d taken care of her was the closest thing she had to a mother.

For weeks, the girl managed to survive on the streets, doing odd chores for various business owners who knew her caretaker. They gave her a few coins, enough for her to buy some bread and fruit and occasionally would let her sleep in their store rooms. It was enough for her, she only ever wanted to survive.

Catlina found herself on the streets during a storm and afterwards, the girl became terribly ill. She remembers falling asleep on the streets and later feeling nothing but warmth. She didn’t know that’s what death would feel like but she was certain she was dying. And perhaps it was Jvala greeting her herself. Welcoming her back into the volcanic earth that she grew.

When she came to, she found it wasn’t Jvala’s warmth welcoming her into the After, but rather someone physical and real and towering and… she was terrified at first. Arvasdarr happened to be the one to find her, broken and sick and cold as she was in the streets. And through whatever hope or goodness or pity he had left in his heart, he took her in and helped her recover. She was with him for a few months at the most, and he’d never quite felt human. She’d asked him very straightforward if he was a dragon. He laughed at her but that was all the answer she needed. Even as a child of just ten years old, she knew he needed his freedom. And he needed to fly free more than anything. And he couldn’t do that looking after a kid. So she went to the place her Mani had mentioned, the Red Door.

No child of ten should have seen the things Catlina saw there. But she begged a few of the girls to give her chores, errands, let her clean, anything, if they’d just let her stay in one of the small store closets. They allowed this little trespass as long as she stayed out of their way. So Catlina went to Arvasdarr and the two parted ways. It was for the best, although he might have been the closest she’d ever find to a father figure.

The years drug on for Catlina, she cleaned, cooked, ran errands, bought groceries, mopped up bodily fluids and even helped the women at the brothel kick drunk men out of their rooms. And she stayed out of sight when she could and out of the way the rest of the time. The women there kicked her a few coins back every time she did them a favor and Catlina began saving more and more of it, buying only as much food as she needed to survive, the rest she stockpiled in order to one day leave the Red Keep.

She had dreams, she wanted a small house somewhere on a beach maybe, and she wanted to live by what she could provide herself. If she found a family along the way, she might be happy to make her own, but all she needed, perhaps, was independence and her own indomitable willpower.

Catlina started servicing the clients too sometime around fifteen or sixteen. She was making more money and paid for a room at the brothel out of her cut. Still, she scrimped and saved, occasionally fighting with one other girl there specifically, but she paid her as little mind as possible. She knew it would solve nothing and get her nowhere near what she wanted.

At eighteen, she left the Red Keep. Her first stop was a three year long stint in East Reach before she finally had enough money saved to book passage and move permanently to Illasqa. She found work there at what was then the Shrieking Clam. But she was motivated and she put in more than her fair share of hard work. On top of taking clients, she did what she could around the tavern and inn to make it function and look better.

She also met Avitej Kumara there. If only she’d known how much her life would change just by meeting him.

The first rule for any whore is to never fall in love. And perhaps she’d broken that rule the moment they’d locked eyes. But she would not realize the extent of the hold he had on her for many years. He was wild then, seemingly untamable. But he’d come often to the Shrieking Clam, it was a favorite haunt of his apparently, and when he’d laid eyes on her, there’d been no one else he wanted to claim.

The next few years were a whirlwind for Catlina. She quickly gained the previous owner of the Shrieking Clam’s favor by being hardworking and having the business tact and savvy that he was looking for. He was aging and wanted someone to take over for him. He trained her on everything she needed to properly manage a brothel and as she stepped further into the role of leadership, the place really started to turn around, and she took less and less clients.

When the man finally retired, Catlina was twenty six. By that point, she only ever took one client when he came around, and she had fixed and rebuilt all of the broken parts of the brothel. She renamed it the Nightshade and slowly, but surely, it had become less and less of a den of debauchery, and more and more a palace of pleasure. If it was any other sort of business, it would be respectable outside of Loqoala, even admired and favored.

But that was Calina Johar’s life. Hard work. The fate she was given overcome by sheer will but the fate she wanted still so far out of reach.

[rising-generations]

Iris. [SDRA2 Sannohashi Oneshot]

read on ao3 here if you please

plot:

and i don't want the world to see me 'cause i don't think that they'd understand when everything's made to be broken i just want you to know who i am.

syobai hashimoto has to fix the biggest mistake he's ever made in his life. mikado sannoji has to deal with what syobai leaves behind when he runs away. it was never supposed to go this far.

syobai-focused sannohashi, set in the "nuclear" AU. more explained inside. featuring trans!mikado and sora/syobai friendship. tw for mentions of suicide attempt in the beginning.

notes:

So to make a long story short, this series takes place after a huge nuclear war decimated half of the human population and fucked up a lot of shit with the environment and people's bodies. Everybody knows shit's fucked. The SDRA2 kids exist in the same universe as the rest of the canon Ultimates, and everyone's around the same age (THH and NDRV3 kids are about 22, SDR2 kids are 23, SDRA2 kids are around 20-21). So everyone's an adult. Don't come for my throat. Don't like it, don't leave a nasty comment, thanks! Bad and stinky comments will be placed inside the bee oven to atone for their sins.

It's not often that Syobai admits this, but this time, he's absolutely, completely, royally, fucked up. Badly. And normally he doesn't care, but this time is so very different. Sitting at a table in a nearly-empty diner at half-past noon is not where he thought he was gonna end up today, but here he is, with his head in his hands, staring down at his phone's lock screen, counting the minutes since Sora sent her "omw" text.

This diner serves whiskey. A lot of places serve liquor now, have since the war tore the world apart and left millions of traumatized people to deal with the aftermath, many of them turning to alcohol to cope. Syobai has been drinking since the ripe old age of ten, so that's not new to him, and the whiskey they have here is strong, and it's tempting.

It's so, so tempting. But if he does that, it won't end very well for him; first of all, Sora would likely -- definitely -- beat his ass into next week if she shows up and finds him drunk. Second, in the state he's currently in emotionally, if he gets drunk, all he's going to do is remember things, and when he remembers things, he ends up waking up on the bathroom floor at 3 AM in a puddle of his own tears with a bottle of pain pills in his hand.

So Syobai won't drink. Not today, anyway. But God damn, does he really want to smoke.

As soon as he starts to get up to go outside (the diner has a no smoking policy, which he thinks is stupid considering the fact that nuclear warfare has done shit to the air they don't even know about yet, but he's not willing to get kicked out and risk a beating by Sora yet again), the universe interferes with his life once more. Sora steps in through the door of the diner.

Well there goes that plan.

She spots him fairly quickly and strides over to the booth in the back corner, sliding into the seat like nothing's changed. Syobai remembers when they'd used to skip class every Wednesday and go down to the diner down the street from Hope's Peak, the one that served all the crazy Western food, and dare each other to eat the craziest shit on the menu as fast as they could without puking or choking. Sora, of course, would win every time, and "claim her victory for all of the lesbians out there."

It's enough to make him smile a little bit. The diner was abandoned when the war started, but they still hang out there sometimes.

"So, you wanna tell me what's wrong with you?"

Sora's voice breaks through his thoughts, and Syobai lifts his head to look at her. She's got her chin in her hand, and her elbow propped on the table.

"Elbows on the table? Not very lady-like," Syobai jokes. With her free hand, Sora flips him off, and he snickers. "I'm kidding, geez. Who says there's anything wrong with me?"

Sora points at the complimentary basket of chips the diner serves with every customer. "There's food on the table, and you haven't eaten it all yet to spite me. Now, I asked you nicely. Don't make me come over there."

Well. Looks like he can't stall his explanation anymore.

He lets out a long, heavy, slow sigh, and laces his fingers together in front of him on the table. Syobai turns his grey-eyed gaze down towards the surface of the table, before forcing himself to look up and meet Sora's eyes.

"I need your help," he says simply. "I fucked up."

"You do that a lot. Elaborate."

"I fucked up really, really bad." Syobai pauses. "With Mikado."

Sora tilts her head. "Last time I asked, you told me the two of you were "just sleeping together casually." Did you lie to me, Syobai?"

Syobai swallows heavily. He can hear his heart beating in his ears.

"Mikado is pregnant," he finally says. The words actually leaving his lips feel like the final blow in a fight, and he's just lost. "With my children."

"... oh." Sora blinks a few times. "So this was an accident, I take it? Whatever happened to high school Syobai Hashimoto who carried five different types of condoms in his wallet at all times just in case he met a hot guy walking home from school?"

"Hey, in my defense, I usually still have condoms." Yes, they're a bit harder to find nowadays, as is almost everything, but up until now, he's always managed to have one on hand for when the two of them start feeling frisky (which tends to happen at least once a day). "To answer your question, though, what happened is Setsuka decided to get hitched."

"The party," Sora gasps, remembering suddenly. "Oh, my God. So you two did fuck in the bathroom! Emma owes me five thousand yen."

"Yes, we did do that," Syobai mumbles. It's not totally his fault, he thinks. It's not like Mikado wasn't grinding on him half the night, begging him to fuck him as hard as he could against the wall. It's no doubt the best sex he's ever had in his life.

And, of course, it's the one time they fuck without a condom and without pulling out. Not that that's guaranteed to help anything, but hey, it might have? Maybe it's just wishful thinking on Syobai's part.

"So what's the problem?" Sora continues. "Does he not want the babies?"

Syobai looks away. "I, uh. I don't know."

Sora's eyes narrow dangerously. "You didn't talk to him about it?"

Syobai gives a dry laugh. "Well, ya see, that's where the whole "I fucked up really bad" bit comes in."

"What'd you do." This isn't spoken as a question, somehow, as Sora's voice deepens. She's already pissed off, great, and Syobai has a feeling she won't be any happier when he tells this part of the story.

"Um." Syobai swallows again, more nervous this time. "I... I ran off."

Silence. "Excuse me?" Sora says. "You wanna run that by me again?"

Syobai still isn't meeting her eyes. He recalls exactly how the exchange went, just about two hours ago now.

"I'm pregnant."

The world stops turning.

Mikado's holding his hands over his stomach, gloved fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly his hands shake. Syobai, on the other hand, just. Stands there. Staring at Mikado, completely speechless.

Before he knows it, his body is reacting all on its own. Syobai opens his mouth, trying to form an intelligent response, but all that comes out is two words he'll regret deeply:

"I can't."

Before Mikado reacts to that, Syobai yanks the front door open and takes off down the street, running and running and running until he can't, falling to his knees behind the 7-11 -- how the hell did he get there, it's a mile from the house -- choking and coughing before he inevitably pukes from the strain of running so far, so fast.

This all goes through his head in the span of about two seconds. "I just stood there like an idiot," Syobai finally says. "I -- I said I can't and then I ran." His hand curls into a fist. "I ran like the dumb fucking coward I am." He brings his fist down on the table as hard as he can. Sora doesn't jump, instead staring at him evenly. "Go ahead and say it. I know you want to."

"You're right for once. What the hell is wrong with you?" Sora snaps. "I know that taking responsibility for your numerous fuck-ups is completely foreign to you, and usually you get away with it with no consequences because that's just how it is when you deal with people you don't care about and criminals, and hey, I can let it go when it's some nameless Yakuza dude who got assassinated with a gun you sold someone 'cause I don't care either," she begins. "But then, you turn around and do this shit? To Mikado? To someone we all know, and yeah, he might be a rat, but he doesn't deserve to be left high and dry and pregnant and scared because you --" And here she points at him, Syobai flinching as every word cuts deeper, "-- are a fucking coward. You're God damn right you screwed up."

"I was scared," Syobai says, his weak attempt at a protest surprising even himself.

"You were scared?" Sora laughs, and it's bitter. "That's funny. It's funny that you were scared. How do you think Mikado feels right now? Alone, facing the possibility of having to raise more than one child by himself after the man he's spent half of high school madly in love with, and the man he's been sleeping with for the past six months, ran away when he told him he'd gotten him pregnant?"

There's really nothing he can say to that. Syobai sighs shakily. "I wasn't just scared because he's pregnant," he finally says. "I was scared because..."

He shuts his eyes.

"Because I love him. I love him, so much that it hurts, and I may as well have just stabbed him right in the chest."

"And you're not used to that," Sora says. "You're not used to caring for anyone except yourself. But as long as you kept telling yourself it was just for fun, and there were no feelings involved, you could shrug it off. Maybe a part of you thought Mikado felt the same way, like it was just a game. Then he started to make your world wider, you started to get comfortable with it, and you got scared. Then he came to you, and told you that it wasn't just him anymore, and you panicked. You couldn't handle it. But instead of staying there and talking to him about it like an adult, you were just cryptic, and then you ran away."

Syobai opens his eyes and looks over at Sora. He somehow looks even older than he usually does. "Yeah. Yeah, you got me there." He swallows, heavily, and his mouth tastes like copper from how hard he's been chewing on his inner lip. "It was just supposed to be for fun. It was never supposed to be serious."

"Yeah, well, tough shit," Sora shrugs. "Mikado's pregnant. You're gonna be a dad. You could run all the way to America and it wouldn't change a thing. The only difference is, Mikado has to live with what you gave him forever. You've got two choices: you can drag your sorry ass home and show Mikado you're sorry, or you can keep running away. But, I'll have you know..." And here, Sora's voice darkens, and she looks more dangerous now than she ever did before even with a gun in her hands, "If you leave him like that? And if you ever run away from him like that again? And dare to show your face in Japan again? I will personally hunt you down and make you beg for me to kill you. Understand?"

"... yeah. I understand," Syobai replies. He runs a hand through his hair while Sora takes a couple of breaths to calm herself down. "I don't want to leave him. But I don't think I'm ready to be a father. Or much of anything, really." He looks down at his hands, rough and calloused and forever stained with the blood of so many that only he can see. "What if I can't love them?"

"If you love Mikado as much as you say you do, you'll fall in love with those babies way before they're ever born," Sora tells him. "Listen. This world's gone to shit. It's gonna be hard to raise a family like this. That's why Yoruko and I are waiting. But it's a little too late for you to do that, so all you can do is suck it up and do everything you can to make sure they never have to be a part of what we were."

Sora's words seal Syobai's decision.

---

He tries calling Mikado to tell him he's coming home for an hour, and gets absolutely no response. A part of Syobai is worried, desperately hoping Mikado didn't do something stupid and end up hurting himself, and wants to get home as soon as he can, but...

The other part of him feels like if he just shows up at home with no warning, it'll only make the situation that much worse.

So he calls, and calls, and calls, and gets sent to voicemail over and over, until finally, there's an answer.

"Fucking Syobai Hashimoto," a voice that is decidedly not Mikado's comes through the speaker. "I ought to skin you alive and wear you like a fur coat. How dare you."

Syobai sighs and frowns, rubs a hand over his face. "Hello, Nikei."

"Don't you hello, Nikei me!" The furious man spits over the phone. "Ever since Mikado told me you two were a thing, I've been looking for a reason to shoot you and make Why Syobai Hashimoto's Death Should be Celebrated as a National Holiday an article on the front page news for a month straight! Now I finally get a reason and I can't even do it because Mikado wants his kids to know their scumbag father!"

Syobai pauses. "... he wants me to come back?"

"I want you to come back, too," Nikei starts to say. "So I can beat you to death with a baseball bat." It sounds like he wants to say more, but then Syobai hears a very quiet, muffled voice in the background. It has to be Mikado. He strains to hear, but it's no use, because the phone doesn't pick up exactly what he's saying. A few seconds later, though, he hears Nikei give a heavy sigh.

"Alright, fine. Mikado wants to hear you out, so I won't be here when you get back, sadly," Nikei mutters. "But I can be there in ten minutes tops if he calls me back, and I'd love to see you try to outrun my bullets."

"Point taken." Syobai closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. "Tell him to leave the door unlocked. I'm coming home."

---

It takes a little under an hour for Syobai to get home. He has to walk all the way there, after all, and he's already tired, but he pushes through. By the time he makes it to the driveway, it feels like his legs are about to fall off.

Then he gets to the front door, puts his hand on the doorknob, and hesitates. It's like all of the exhaustion evaporates, replaced by pure adrenaline and the urge to turn around and start running again.

No. He's made up his mind. Syobai closes his eyes, the mental image of Mikado laughing brightly in his arms appearing to him with no trouble at all, without him even needing to think about it.

God. All the things he would do to make that smile come back to Mikado's face. All the things he would do to forget the look of heartbreak he saw for just a split second when they were standing in the living room.

He turns the doorknob and walks inside the empty living room. His feet land in the same place they were, and he lets the door close behind him as he takes a few shallow breaths. The nagging little voice in the back of his head says you should've ended this a long time ago, Hashimoto. You always knew you'd never be man enough for him, to protect him, to care for him. You're just a coward.

Syobai ignores it, pushes through the pain and walks over to the door of the bedroom he and Mikado have been sharing. Technically, it's Syobai's room, because this is his house, but his sheets smell like Mikado, and it's his and Mikado's clothes on the floor in that room, and there's a picture of both of them hanging on the wall.

Syobai bites his lip so hard he tastes blood, then knocks three times on the door. He contemplates saying something to announce his presence, but finds it better to keep his mouth shut for right now.

At least, until the door opens up, and it's Mikado standing before him, with no mask, his face clearly streaked and stained with tears. Syobai forces himself to look at his face, look him in the eyes, because Mikado deserves that, at least. He deserves so much more than what Syobai's given him.

Neither of them really knows what to say at first. Then Syobai takes a shuddering, shallow breath.

"I'm sorry, for what I said," Syobai finally says. "I said "I can't." That was a lie. I - I can, I just... didn't want to face it."

"I really hope you didn't come all the way here just to say I'm sorry and expect me to forgive you," Mikado says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Syobai shakes his head. "I'm not asking you to forgive me right now," he murmurs. "I just want you to hear me out. Then you can do whatever you want. I swear. Please."

Mikado bites his lip and looks down at the floor, contemplating. "Fine. But I'm not doing this for you."

"That's okay." Syobai closes his eyes for a moment, then looks back evenly at Mikado as he slowly gets to his knees, now looking up at him. Mikado doesn't hide the look of shock on his face as Syobai starts talking.

"Listen. I'm not gonna make excuses. I'm a coward, and I'm a fool. I broke your heart. When things go beyond my intentions, I try to own up to them. Today I ran away instead." He swallows heavily, watches as Mikado shuts his eyes tight. "I - until you told me this morning, I was a man with nothing to lose. Nobody but myself. Then I went from that, to having everything to lose in two words. All my life, I never cared about what happened to anybody but myself. I didn't give a shit. And now..." He looks at Mikado's stomach, where he's resting one of his gloved hands, as though he isn't even thinking about it.

"I realized no matter how far I ran, or for how long, I'd never be able to forget that. I couldn't change it. I can't go back in time and stop what happened." Syobai sighs. Mikado's hands tremble. "The more I thought about it, the more I realized: I don't want to stop what happened. I don't want these kids to not exist."

"Then why did you run away? Why'd you leave me?" Mikado chokes out.

There's no turning back now. Syobai looks at Mikado right in the eyes, grey meeting pale brown, Syobai finally ready to say the words that could make or break him.

"Because I love you, Mikado Sannoji," Syobai says, clearly, sincerely, the only words that have ever come from his mouth with complete purity. "I love you, and it's real and it's raw and it scares the living hell out of me, because I didn't think I could until you walked into my life." He reaches out, fully ready for Mikado to push him away. Instead, he's pleasantly surprised when his cold hands are wrapped in Mikado's warm ones. He hasn't looked away from him, not for a moment, watching as more tears spill down Mikado's face despite him trying to fight them. "I got through life by putting up paywalls, literally, and I knew no person in their right mind would ever wanna get past them." He gives a little laugh. "I didn't count on you, coming in and blowing holes through them."

"Hey, I only blew a hole in a wall once, and that was an accident," Mikado laughs and cries at the same time, his body trembling. By now, Syobai's shaking too, but he's still fighting his own tears.

"Well, you sure got rid of mine," Syobai says. He lifts one of his hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "To be honest, I'm still scared. I don't know what I'm doing, not with you, not with the kids we made, not with my life, but I do know one thing: I wanna figure it out with you, and nobody else."

His voice cracks. Syobai swallows heavily, one last ditch-effort attempt at holding back his emotions.

"Will you let me stay here, right here, by your side?" Syobai asks, voice strained. "Will you let me become the man you deserve?" He sniffs, his last words coming in a quiet sob:

"Will you let me be a father?"

Mikado nods, squeezes Syobai's hands, his decision made as soon as he sees the tears -- so very real, undeniable evidence of Syobai bearing his soul to Mikado for the first time -- coming down his face like rain.

"Yeah. Yes, let's do it," Mikado whispers. "Oh, my God. We're gonna be fathers."

Syobai leans forward a little, rests his head against Mikado's belly, presses their still interlocked hands against the small, barely-noticeable swell, evidence that their children are safe, growing, and healthy. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to, as he rolls up the bottom of Mikado's shirt and kisses his skin, so gently he's afraid he imagined it at first.

Syobai Hashimoto doesn't so much fall in love with Mikado Sannoji; instead, rather, he stumbles into it, clumsy and foolish and with no grace at all. But he falls in love with their little ones in a split second, a moment in time he'll never forget.

[searchingwardrobes]

What’s My Age Again?

It’s @xhookswenchx ‘s birthday everyone! She is a talented writer and an overall wonderful person. She wrote several of my all-time favorite fics, and is currently my beta for Priceless in my romcom series (sorry it’s been so long since I sent you anything!) When that fic got some backlash, she was a huge encouragement. I wish her all the best on her birthday and every day! She writes family fics so well, that I decided to gift her with some CS family fluff and humor. This story is based on my own misadventures with my kids and our minivan, as well as this ask thread about Killian’s adaptability in this realm and the likelihood that he reads owner’s manuals cover to cover. The title is taken from the song by Blink 182, but unlike the rest of the stories in this series, this fic has nothing to do with the actual song. It’s really the exact opposite of that song, so let’s just say I was being ironic.

Summary: Captain Hook never imagined he would captain a decrepit vessel or have trouble keeping a crew in line. Until he became a father. Or Killian Jones vs. the family minivan.

Words: 4,000

Rating: G

Trigger warning: Well, I don’t write parenthood as strictly fluffy and cute. Killian gets irritated with his kids, he makes mistakes, the little buggers drive him crazy, but he still loves them in the end. So if you think life with kids is nothing but sunshine and rainbows and will get pissed at me if Killian is anything but adoring 24/7, then skip this story.

Can also be read on Ao3. Part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist. 

Set in the universe of Shopping With the Captain, but with no shopping. Can be read on its own.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @let-it-raines @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @profdanglaisstuff @captainsjedi

Killian Jones had lived many long years, hundreds of years, on a ship at sea with uncouth, dirty men. Yet he had managed to keep said ship in beautiful condition and said crew in line. So how in the world had he been defeated by a mini-van and three small children?

They bought the mini-van when Ian was only a few weeks old. He and his older sister were what this realm called “Irish twins.” In other words, Ian had been a complete, unplanned surprise who arrived one month before his big sister’s first birthday. The little lad came home to nothing but a pack and play in the master bedroom, carried up the porch steps in his sister’s pink baby carrier. They had gotten rid of everything from Evan’s infancy, deciding that one boy and one girl was enough. And then, surprise!

Killian couldn’t decide what, exactly, caused the mini-van to descend so rapidly into squalor. It could have been the sheer exhaustion of having three kids under the age of four, two of them under two. There was a span of two years that went by in a blur of sleepless nights, diapers, and a double stroller, so keeping the van clean definitely could have fallen by the wayside. Or it could have been Emma’s somewhat messy habits. Or it could have been the fact that Evan sat alone in the very back seat – an area they had come to dub “the black hole.”

Yet it wasn’t just the mess. One at a time, things started to break. Killian knew what to blame that on – the cheap material called plastic that this realm seemed to prefer. First it was the button that opened the gas cap. Now every time they had to fill up the tank, they were forced to walk to the back of the van, open the lift gate, slide open an access panel, and gently pull a wire. Gently being vitally important lest you snap said wire.

Then it was the handle on the right back door. One day, Evan pulled on it, and it just snapped. You could slide the door open or shut from the inside, but not the outside. Then the sound system started shorting out. They would be driving down the road when the radio would suddenly start screeching like an angry dragon. He and Emma had figured out if they pounded on the dashboard hard enough, it would stop. But it was all simple, unimportant things. The van drove just fine, and when they found out how much all the tiny little broken things would cost to fix, he and Emma both decided it wasn’t worth it.

“We can look up a video on You Tube and fix it ourselves,” Emma said, and Killian agreed. It was quite remarkable, really, the things a man could learn on that magic box. They had managed to fix their clothes dryer, oven, and ice maker with its assistance, surely the van would be no different. Only finding the time to do it was the issue. Between ballet lessons, baseball practice, school, and work, they just never got around to fixing the myriad of little things wrong with the mini-van.

Which was fine. Mostly. But Killian Jones had been Captain of the finest ship in the realms. He had kept it fine order, all spit and polish. Every single time he reached for that broken handle or pounded his fist on the dashboard, he felt shame, as ridiculous as it sounded. He winced every time his kids tumbled from the mini-van sending empty chip bags and to-go cups from Granny’s falling to the ground.

The cracked windshield is what started to nudge him towards the proverbial edge. He noticed it when he was herding the kids into the van one Saturday morning. The boys had outgrown their baseball cleats, and Storybrooke didn’t have a sporting goods store. Emma wasn’t feeling well, so Killian offered to get all three munchkins out of her hair for the morning. His jaw dropped when he saw the crack running all the way down the middle of the windshield.

“Bloody hell!”

“It wasn’t me!” all three kids blurted out simultaneously.

Killian swiveled to face them, his eyes narrowed. “Now why would you feel the need to immediately point that out?”

All three responded according to type. Evan, the ten-year-old, crossed his arms and quirked a brow in defiance. Briar Rose, the seven-year-old, stuck out her trembling lower lip, her big green eyes already swimming with fat tears. Ian, the six-year-old, ducked his head so low, his nose was practically touching his chest.

“The boys stepped on it, Daddy,” Briar Rose told him in a wobbly voice.

Evan turned on her immediately. “Only to get your stupid My Little Pony off the roof!”

Killian held up his hand to silence them. “Okay, back up. What happened? Start at the beginning,” Evan and Briar Rose started shouting over each other, and Killian sliced his hand through the air. “Stop! Briar Rose, cygnet, what happened?”

“You always take her side!” Evan shouted. Killian glared at him, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I was playing superhero ponies with Ian, and we were making them fly. Then Evan said Pinkie Pie was a stupid pony -”

“- I did not!”

“You did to!”

Killian rubbed his forehead wearily. “The window?”

“Evan threw Pinkie Pie super hard,” Ian piped up.

Killian cocked his head. “That shouldn’t have cracked the window.”

Briar Rose shook her head solemnly. “No. The rock did that.”

“No,” Evan argued, “the rock made the tiny one. Ian’s foot made the crack.”

“You climbed too!” Ian shouted, shoving his big brother, and soon the boys were rolling on the grass.

Killian pulled them apart. “That’s enough! I think I got the gist of the story. Just . . . “ he sighed, “get in the van.”

Yes, driving for an hour into the next town over while staring at that crack set Killian on edge. But it was that stupid broken back door that would finally make him snap.

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

Going shopping with the kids was never Killian’s favorite past time, shoe shopping least of all. But getting the cleats ended up being less of a headache than he anticipated. Knowing that Emma wasn’t feeling so well, he took the kids over to a nearby park with a playground for a picnic lunch. The stress over his quickly deteriorating vessel ebbed under the warm sun and spring breeze. And despite their mischievousness, he adored his children. Getting to have this time with them was precious, especially when he thought how quickly the years were flying by. Evan was in the double digits now and increasingly independent. Briar Rose was still small enough for him to carry, though he was always surprised at how gangly her arms and legs had become. And Ian, their baby, overnight had seemed to lose the baby fat in his cheeks.

He was surprised to see that it was past four o’clock and knew that they needed to get home before dinner. Naturally, the kids didn’t want to leave, and pulling them away from the playground was ten times harder than dragging his old crew out of a tavern.

Perhaps he had lost his touch.

They dragged their feet all the way to the van, and even when they were inside continued to test his patience. Killian had already buckled and was inserting his key in the ignition when he glanced back to see the sliding back door still wide open.

“How many times do I have to tell you three to close the door behind you?”

An argument ensued over who was the last one in. Naturally. Killian sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of. He reached for the back seat’s one functioning handle, but before he could slide the door closed, a wasp flew in.

Briar Rose screamed as if she were being devoured by a kraken. Ian panicked, flailing his arms and legs. Evan started throwing toys, trash, shoes, and a myriad of other items from the black hole at the wasp. This of course made Briar Rose yell at him to stop making it mad. The wasp came to rest on the window right by Briar Rose’s head. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yet the wasp didn’t move. Killian hit the button to lower the window, but the windows on the sliding doors only went halfway down, and the wasp seemed in no hurry to leave the mini-van. Briar rose yanked at the door handle frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. She started to cry.

If there was one thing in the world that Killian would move heaven and earth for it was to stop his little girl’s tears. He darted around the mini-van and without hesitation, reached through the window and flicked at the wasp with his hook.

It decided to land on the appendage. “Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, flicking his hook to get it off. It finally did, but not before stinging Killian’s good hand. He muttered obscenities as he shook the bugger off.

“Words, Daddy,” Briar Rose admonished.

“Words are allowed when stung by a wasp, darling,” Killian said before shutting the open door that had started the whole thing and climbing behind the wheel. He started the car, and immediately it was filled with an irritating electronic dinging. Killian muttered at the screen behind the wheel. A door was open. Grumbling, he marched all around the van, shutting every door. Still the dinging.

“I think it’s my door, Daddy,” Briar Rose said.

He groaned. Great, the broken door. He went around and tried to use the broken handle, to no avail. He climbed in the back seat, his centuries old joints creaking and protesting, and tried to slide it open from the inside. It wouldn’t budge. Yet Briar Rose was right – some how she had managed to open the door the tiniest crack, and now it wouldn’t slide back

“We’ll just have to deal with that infernal noise until we can get it to a mechanic.”

Protests rose from the back seat.

“But it’s so annoying!”

“Fix it, Daddy!”

“Why can’t you turn it off?”

“Because you three won’t take care of this van, that’s why!” Killian thundered, his patience finally snapping. “And you won’t shut the damn door behind you when you get in even though I’ve told you a thousand times! None of this would have happened if you’d just listen to me for once!”

Silence descended on the van. Evan slumped down so low in the back seat, Killian couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror. Ian ducked his head to his chin, his blonde hair hiding his face. Briar Rose curled up in a ball, her chin trembling. Killian clenched his jaw, guilt warring with his irritation as he pulled out of the parking lot. The dinging sound mercifully stopped when he got to a red light. That’s when he heard a worse sound – Briar Rose crying. He turned his head to look back at his baby girl. Huge tears were rolling down her cheeks. The guilt won.

“I am so sorry for yelling like that, little love,” he told her gently. “Please, please forgive me?”

Briar Rose managed a half smile as she sniffled and nodded her head.

“Really,” Killian repeated, addressing all three children, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I love you all, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all chorused.

The kids still weren’t their normal, exuberant, chatty selves as they went on their way. It may have had more to do with the continual beeping than his temper, however. It had only ceased at the red light, Killian discovered, because the van was no longer in motion. The longer the beeping went, the more Killian’s head throbbed. He found himself wishing fervently for red lights, yet all that would do was prolong the trip home.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Evan cried out.

“Me either,” Ian whined.

“Can’t you stop it Daddy?” Briar Rose begged in what Emma called her Daddy’s girl voice.

“I really can’t.” Killian had read the owner’s manual cover to cover when they first got the van. He had read all about the doors, their safety features, and how to use the child lock system. There hadn’t been anything about how to stop the infernal beeping if the door wouldn’t shut.

Killian turned up the radio as loud as he could, trying to drown out the beeping. That only gave him a bigger headache. Then his hand started to throb, and he looked down to see that the wasp sting had swollen to the size of a grape. He squeezed his hand to find that his fingers were getting stiff. His headache moved from the front of his forehead and spread all the way to the base of his skull. Was there a red light soon? No, just miles and miles of Maine country highway all the way to bloody Storybrooke.

And that’s when he snapped. The beeping, his pounding head, his throbbing hand, his three children who had now taken up another chorus of whining. And he lost it plain and simple, leveling his fury on the computer panel above the steering wheel. With a loud shout, he plunged his hook right through the speedometer, and with a shower of sparks the beeping finally stopped.

There was a beat of blessed silence.

“That. Was. AWESOME DAD!!!” Evan shouted.

“You murdered the van,” Ian whispered in awe.

Briar Rose’s jaw dropped as her eyes grew wide. “Daddy, what will Mommy say?”

“I didn’t murder the van,” Killian argued, “it’s a machine.”

Ian’s lower lip quivered. “BB-8 is a machine. Would you stab him with your hook too?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered. Were they home yet?

Killian was surprised to see Emma sitting on the front porch swing when they got home. She rose to greet them at the front walk with a smile that looked weary. She looked like she still wasn’t feeling well.

The kids tumbled out of the van like desperate sailors on shore leave, as usual. They were chattering a mile a minute at their mother before Killian could even get out of the van.

“Daddy killed the van!”

“Sparks went everyone!”

“It was awesome!”

Emma’s eyebrows rose as she turned to him. “You did what?”

“I can explain Swan,” he began, raising his hand and his hook in supplication.

“Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Emma exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm so she could look at the wasp sting. Now his entire hand had puffed up like a balloon.

“Well, that’s how it all started -”

“What happened to the van?” she screeched, cutting him off. She dropped his arm and leaned into the driver’s seat.

“A wasp tried to kill us, so then Daddy killed the van,” Briar Rose piped up, as if that were the clearest explanation in the world.

“There’s a hole in the computer screen, Killian,” Emma turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You plunged your hook into our mini-van!”

“It was the only way I could stop the beeping! There was a wasp, and we were trying to get it out, and you know how that one door is broken, and then the beeping -”

“Killian Jones, how old are you!”

He didn’t understand why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t as if the van weren’t falling apart already. “Three hundred and twenty, give or take, but what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just think you could be an adult, for God’s sake and control your temper! Especially around our children!”

She shoved past him and stomped her way up the porch steps and into the house. Killian glanced down at Evan, who shrugged.

“Women,” the ten-year-old said sagely.

“And how old are you? Ten going on thirty?” Killian asked wryly as he playfully nudged his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three play out here for a little while? I need to talk to your mother.”

Killian opened the door gently, softly calling out Emma’s name. He found her sitting on the bottom of the stairs with her head in her hands. When she heard him call her name, she looked up, and he saw tears had stained her cheeks.

“Emma, I’m sorry about the van. You’re right, I lost my temper. I yelled at the children too, which makes me feel even worse.” He chuckled as he ran his swollen fingers through his hair. “After over three centuries, I think I’m finally feeling my age.”

“You mean you think you’re too old for all of this?” Emma asked in a small voice.

He tilted his head as he studied her, still unable to read what was going on in her head. “If you’re asking if I have regrets, then absolutely not. I wouldn’t trade you or the kids for one second. Although my old bones did creak when I was crawling through that back seat today.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Emma cried, leaping to her feet. “I’m feeling my bones creak too, you know.” And after that proclamation, she turned and fled up the stairs.

He rubbed wearily at his forehead. His headache was back.

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

Since Emma clearly wasn’t feeling like herself, Killian had walked to Granny’s with the kids to pick up dinner. When they got back, even grilled cheese and onion rings couldn’t lure her from the master bathroom. She said she was soaking in the tub, but Killian had known her long enough to hear tears in her voice, even when she tried valiantly to hide it.

“Are you worried about Mommy?” Briar Rose asked after swallowing a bite of her onion rings.

“Why do you ask that, cygnet?”

“Because you’re playing with your food,” she said matter-of-factly. He frowned as he looked down at his lasagna and ceasar salad. He’d barely taken three bites. He looked up at his children, who were watching him intently. They were far too perceptive; it was in their genes.

“Is Mommy mad that we made you kill the van?” Ian asked, his brow furrowed seriously.

“Oh no, lad,” Killian quickly assured, rubbing his son’s blonde head. He tilted his chin up with his good hand. “And for the record, I did not kill the van.

“Yeah, Ian,” Evan explained in a superior voice. He liked to lecture his younger siblings. “The van doesn’t go on missions like BB-8. You can ask Henry.”

Ian nodded as if that were that. “You can ask Henry” was a common refrain meaning that something was an indisputable fact.

“Your Mommy just doesn’t feel well,” Killian attempted to put the children’s minds at ease, “and sometimes when you don’t feel well, you get upset easily.”

“Like when Briar Rose and Ian were in Mommy’s tummy.”

“Yes, Evan, like . . . “ Killian trailed off, the full realization of his son’s words hitting him. He rose abruptly from the table and turned towards the stairs, but before going up, he dashed over to his oldest and clasped Evan on the shoulder. “How old are you again, son?”

“Ten -”

“- going on thirty.”

When Killian opened their bedroom door, all the lights were off. He could just make out Emma’s form on the bed, curled into the fetal position beneath the covers, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. He eased down next to her, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. It was still damp from her bath. He frowned when she remained with her back to him. He swallowed, weighing his words before plunging forward anyway.

“We’re having another baby, aren’t we?” he asked softly.

Emma rolled over then. The last remnants of day clung to the twilight hour, illuminating her tear stained face. He slid down in the bed, opening his arms for her, and she came willingly into his arms.

“I just turned forty, Killian,” she mumbled against his chest. “That means I’ll be fifty-eight when this kid graduates from high school.”

Killian could have pointed out that he had three centuries on her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Besides, that may be how old he was chronologically, but physically he was only a few years older than Emma.

She sniffled, wiped her nose on his sleeve, and then continued. “Then you come home, and I find out you lost it over our disaster of a mini-van, and I guess I just panicked. I mean, if we can’t handle this mess we’ve got now, how can we handle another kid? Especially a newborn who’s up all night? And diapers, and all the stuff you have to haul around, and – oh my God! - potty training! I suck at potty training, and now I have to go through that hell all over again!”

“And yet our children use the facilities just fine,” Killian chuckled.

Emma rolled over to glare at him, and he knew it was too soon for a joke. “And you – talking about your old bones and shit.”

She pushed at him as if to leave the bed, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn’t put up a fight. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and murmured his words soothingly against her hair.

“I would be lying if I said this news didn’t bring some trepidation with it. But it also brings joy, love.” He pulled away so he could cup her face with his hand. “I was just thinking today as I played with the kids at the park how fast time was going. I thought of how I missed chubby babies asleep against my chest.”

“You do look hot with a baby on your chest,” Emma conceded, giving him a wobbly smile.

“And nothing makes my heart swell with joy quite like watching you carry a child created through our love.” He brushed a chaste kiss to her lips. “And as for the sleepless nights, the diapers, the potty training, and the stuff,we don’t have to do it alone.”

Emma rolled her eyes, even as her smile widened. “I know, we have each other.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “Well yes, but I was referring to the three built in babysitters downstairs. We didn’t have three over the age of six the last time.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “You’re right! I was thinking of the two year blur the last time, but . . . this is different, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“We have a ten-year-old! He’ll be eleven by the time the baby comes.” Emma frowned. “But is that fair?”

“Course it is,” Killian assured her as he tugged her against his chest. “Evan isn’t ten, he’s ten going on thirty.”

Emma laughed. “He is rather precocious, isn’t he?” She sat up and straddled Killian. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, fiddling with the buttons. “And what about you, old man? How old will you be when this kid graduates from high school?”

“Let me show you love,” he growled, grabbing her hips, “how virile I still am.”

Eight months later, another little girl joined the Jones family. Abigail Jones. Abigail meant “joy” in Hebrew. Both her parents and all three of her siblings thought it was fitting.

[oohfluffy]

Fixed | PJM

Group: BTS

Member: Park Jimin

Theme: Angst | Bestfriend!AU

Word Count: 1,895

He was left at the altar and you found him abandoned. You did your best in fixing him. Even if it meant breaking yourself instead.

"Yah, you dumb girl!" You flinched as you heard your nickname being called by your boss. You quickly turned to her with your eyes casted downwards.

"N-Ne."

"Serve the table at the corner, number 8!" You blinked as you felt your legs jelly. "What the hell are you waiting for?! Hurry!" You felt her push your back harshly, your soul going back into your body. You bit your lip as you glanced at your aching feet.

You were wearing heels starting from 7 in the morning until now at 10 in the evening, overall, 15 hours in these killer heels. Your boss is a fucking strict one, your chin must always be up and your lips should always be pulled into a smile, forced or not. Your posture must be as perfect as hers, despite her age. She was once a stewardess until her leg was injured and couldn't stand and walk as proper as before. You understood why she was like this.

Her dream to be a successful stewardess was shattered just because of a single injury.

You sighed as you quickly got the menu and walked with a smile towards the said table. There was a lone man with a crisp white long sleeved shirt, black slacks, black socks and shiny black shoes. From his back, he looks like he just attended a formal event.

"Good—" You stopped midway of your greeting, smile faltering when you saw his face. "—evening, sir."

His eyes were puffy as if he was crying for god knows how long already, his lips pale as if he's letting himself dehydrate for hours, his hands were clasped together, slightly shaking.

He's so good-looking but he looks so miserable.

"May I get your order?" You calmed yourself and looked away, not sure if he's fine with you observing his horrible state right now. "Or should I just come back later?"

You were replied with silence but you stayed for a little while, just in case he suddenly speak. But after 5 minutes of standing beside his table, he didn't.

"I'll just get your order later—"

"Hot chocolate and blueberry muffin."

Your eyes slightly widened as he spoke, his voice deep and full of sorrow.

Why are you so sad?

"Coming right up!"

It was past 11 but he was still there. Your boss already went home, putting you in-charge of this young man, who looks like he didn't have a home to go to, since you were the one who served him, she says.

Your eyes kept glancing up the clock as you drummed your fingertips to the wooden counter. He rarely moves that your eyes brightens up every time he does, hoping he would stand and go already. But boy, you were wrong.

Was it that hard to eat a single muffin and drink hot chocolate?

Silently groaning at your aching feet, you slowly stood up and went to the lone man's table. The café was emptied half an hour ago, only you and this young man were left. Your other colleagues already went out without you. What great companions are they.

"Uhm, excuse me, sir." You expected him to be surprised or even look back at you, but he didn't even flinch. You gulped a little before speaking again. "We're closing already and it's getting dark now, shouldn't you be on your way home? It's dangerous at night—"

"I could say the same to you."

You zipped your lips as he spoke back. His lips forming a small smile, your heart raced a little.

So he can smile.

"If you're still not going home," You breathed out before sitting down in front of him. "mind pouring your heart out to a stranger?" You smiled as you saw him finally look back at you.

His eyes are mesmerizing.

They were like the most beautiful ones you've ever seen. They were sparkling.

But they lack something.

He chuckled lightly, his hand wrapping around his forgotten hot, not so hot now, chocolate before drinking. You waited for him expectantly with perturbation. You didn't know where you got this courage to ask him about his problem, maybe because you're all alone and your boss isn't here to scold you for conversing while working.

"Where do I start?" He hummed as he leaned his back on the leather chair. You observed as he told you what happened this day. "She left me hanging there, waiting for her to comeback." He let out a painful laugh. "But she fucked me up, taking my heart, stepped on it and threw it away."

Seems like his supposedly bride left him at the altar.

The way he spoke about it, your heart clenched at the breaks in his beautiful voice. The way his eyes watered as if it just happened made your own well up too. The way he bit his lip to refrain from crying made you want to shush him comfortingly and hug him.

Despite not knowing him, no one deserves to be left.

You can be a killer, monster, heart breaker or whatever, but no one deserves to be alone and hurting.

You were not good in comforting people but your hand automatically went to his on the table, squeezing it as if it will give oxygen to his dying heart. His tears fell on his cheeks like how colors paint against a beautiful canvas. It was painful to watch, but then he slightly smiled. That was enough to calm your heart.

This man is broken.

Why do I have this urge to try and fix him?

You knew it was trouble trying but you did it anyway.

"Cry all you want, I'm here. I'll stay until you're okay."

You knew it was a mistake.

—

"YAH! I told you the movie I picked was better!"

"What your romantic shits? Oh come on, (y/n)!"

"You are so bitter, Park Jimin!"

Months passed after you met the lone man sat on the corner of the café you worked on. Waiting for him that night was a pain in the ass but totally worth it. You found a friend in him as he did in you.

But you knew you found more in him.

"Just go get the popcorn I left at the kitchen!" You laughed as Jimin frowned but complied to your order, stomping his feet like a child as he went to the kitchen. "That boy." You mumbled before chuckling to yourself.

Your eyes suddenly drifted to his vibrating phone on the table. You glanced at the kitchen, seeing his brown dyed hair in the fridge, searching for drinks, before taking a glimpse of the caller.

[ Yeri is calling ]

Your heart thumped painfully as you read the familiar name that Jimin often told you about before. You sat back on your seat, letting your head hit the top of the couch. You closed your eyes tightly, attempting to bring your tears back in the sockets. You bit your lip harshly that you were sure it will make a bruise once you let go. You heard the sound of the oven and the singing of Jimin in the kitchen.

Are they back together? Is that why he's happy? Is he...

"Popcorn is here, princess."

You opened your eyes and saw his eye smile before his lips frowned.

"You okay?" He asked, sitting beside you, a hand on your cheek as he wiped a stray tear. "Why are you crying?"

"I just realized that the movie I picked was horrible." You let out a chuckle as you grabbed a handful of popcorn, shoving them in your mouth. Jimin watched as you munched on food like there's no tomorrow. He knew something was up.

"I told you so." But he didn't want to push further since he won't get anything out of you anyway.

He grabbed his phone and saw that he had a missed call. You tried looking at it, anticipating how he will react, but he moved it away from your sight.

"Yah, are you hiding things from me now?" You said as you nudged his shoulder with your own. Jimin nudged you back and grinned as his fingers tapped on his phone quickly.

"Just wait, princess."

You couldn't wait.

You have an idea forming in your mind but you didn't want to believe it.

You forced a smile as you watched him converse with his probably ex-fiancé . His smile is so beautiful that you just want to smash your head on the wall for even thinking of bitter things about his relationship. He was happier like this.

He was happier with her.

You probably fixed some parts of his being but only her can make him whole.

You just weren't enough to fill the gaps in his broken heart.

When were you enough for something anyway?

The ringing of the doorbell never sounded so painful as it is right now.

Jimin jumped up from his seat and grinned as he made his way towards the door. You stood up too, a hand up with an attempt to grab him back but then it fell back on your side.

It was useless fighting a battle when someone already won.

It was useless trying to have him when someone already had him from the start.

"Babe."

Your heart cracked as you saw a gorgeous woman outside, her curves hugged by the navy blue dress that ended under her knee, a coat was on her shoulders and her hair wavy as the sea. She looks so innocent at the same time sexy.

How can you even beat someone like that?

"Come in, come in. It's cold out there, isn't it? Aigoo, you didn't have to dress up for me, baby." Jimin cooed as he pulled in the woman, closing the door with a smile. Your eyes met with the woman and she smiled.

"You must be (y/n). I've heard a lot of stories from Jimin." She chuckled as Jimin made her wear the coat instead of just decorating it on her shoulders. You watched as the couple made their way towards you, giggling as they made sweet comments with each other.

Not knowing a heart is shattering quickly as they got closer.

"Yeri-ah, this is (y/n), my bestest friend who seems harmless but she really isn't." Jimin introduced you, earning a glare from you and a laugh from his lover. "(Y/n), this is Yeri, my fiancé."

How can he act as if he was never hurt when she left him 10 months ago?

How can they be together when she chose to run away from him?

How can he accept her easily when she broke him?

How can he still choose to love her when...

...I stayed here all along for him?

You smiled as they looked at you with grins.

You were broken inside but they don't need to know, right?

It's better to be hurting alone.

Than break this wonderful relationship.

"Nice to meet you, Yeri."

I hope you wouldn't come back with tears staining your cheeks again, Jimin-ah. I hope you get to have your happiness now.

"I'll make pasta for tonight!" Jimin cheered.

"I'll help you." Yeri said softly as she placed her pouch on the table, smiling at you before following her lover.

I'm glad I fixed you.

Even though it ended up breaking me instead.

—

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “We Gather Together {Glad for the Blessings}”

For this week’s Self-Promo Sunday, I went back to a Thanksgiving-themed one shot I wrote a few years back. Other than Robin being alive, and Belle not being reconciled with Rumple though, I don’t think there is any reason this couldn’t fit into the timeline somewhere after the CS wedding. There aren't a lot of Thanksgiving fics in this fandom, despite all the Halloween and Christmas ones, and so I thought I would try to do my part with this little one shot – especially seeing as it's a holiday I truly love, and I would adore being able to watch the whole Charming-Swan-Jones-Mills family get to relax, break bread together, and just enjoy a "quiet moment" or two.

At one point, this had a fic cover art I had made, but it seems to not be anywhere in my drive. I hated to lose it, but just a gif for this one’s art at the moment, I’m afraid. ;p Still, here’s hoping you all enjoy this little re-run! I don't own them at all (never will) but I'd love to hear what you think…

"We Gather Together (Glad for the Blessings)"

By: @snowbellewells          On AO3   On FF.net

Barreling into the kitchen calling out "Henry?! Killian?!", Emma Swan was already well into panic mode due to the charred, burning smell that had reached her nostrils as soon as she'd mounted the steps to the front porch and the plumes of grey smoke wafting into her vision in the entryway once she opened the door. She was skidding to a stop at the kitchen table before she realized that though the fire alarm had been bleating raucously, there were no sounds of panic or yells of dismay. Instead, though both of her True Loves were now frozen, looking to her guiltily as if caught with their hands painted red - Killian bent over the open stove and Henry with his arm outstretched, fanning the air with a hot pad - they appeared to have been happy as clams until she had run in so distraught.

Clearly they weren't in any immediate danger, and Emma's posture relaxed upon seeing the house wasn't burning down and neither her son nor her pirate was blackened to a crisp. Shaking her head at them both, she genuinely tried to look stern instead of both relieved and ready to burst out laughing. Crossing her arms, she mused aloud, "Do I even want to know what the two of you are doing?"

Sighing in defeat, Killian stood to his full height, letting the oven door bang closed and not quite meeting her reproving gaze as he raked a hand through his hair, darted a quick glance at Henry, then finally answered her question. "We were trying to help you, Swan. It seemed prudent to get started with the main course before hosting your entire family tomorrow, and the lad felt sure he could offer guidance on the proceedings."

Henry flushed as Killian gestured toward him, and shrugged sheepishly, looking up at her with big brown eyes that though in an older face, still proved as irresistible to her as when he'd showed up on her doorstep as a ten-year-old. "I may have overestimated how closely I was watching my other mom the last time she did this."

Emma couldn't help it; her metabolism did tick up a few notches and her eyes widened in shocked dismay. "Oh no, don't tell me… Do you mean to say you guys ruined that 19 pound Butterball I had all ready in the freezer?"

Killian winced a bit at her reaction. "Come now, Lass, it isn't as if we did it on purpose. You were just saying last night how you wanted everything to be perfect, you've never been able to celebrate a real family Thanksgiving with all the trimmings before, and everything should be just right. We only wished to help you along."

Emma gave an exaggerated nod as she responded, "Ah, I see," before a knowing light slipped into her eyes while studying one and then the other to see who would crack first. "Just selfless action from the good of your hearts, was it?"

Henry nodded, pulling off a ridiculously innocent look, but Killian couldn't quite meet her gaze, peeking up at her from beneath the fringe of his dark hair and eyelashes like a poor, repentant rascal. "Well, Swan, if the truth be told, we might have become a bit distracted…"

"I thought so," she affirmed with one last quick, triumphant dip of the head.

"Yes, well," Killian hemmed and hawed adorably, and Emma was almost afraid she might bite through her lip trying not to laugh out loud, the whole kitchen mishap long forgiven, but watching him stutter in embarrassment like he often caused her to do was too priceless to end just yet. "Love, your boy's moving picture box sucks a man in with its programs. Are you sure it doesn't possess some sort of hypnotic magic of its own? Perhaps we should not let Henry…"

"Okay, okay, hold up," Henry broke in anxiously, not about to see his mom's boyfriend relegate him back to the Stone Age with concern over modern technology and not speak up his own defense.

Emma couldn't hold back her dissolution into helpless giggles any longer, and Killian stopped short with an affronted look at the noisy interruption from both of them at once. After a few moments, Emma reined her laughter back in, assured Henry he wouldn't be losing all television privileges, and turned with the both of them to survey the wreck that had been her nice, clean kitchen when she'd left that morning, hands on hips. "Well boys, let's see what we can salvage," she said at last.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

In the end, the turkey is magicked to golden brown perfection for the holiday meal. Emma had hoped to succeed at doing it the old fashioned way, but after seeing the damage Killian and Henry had wrought with their attempt – and though she only admitted it to herself, knowing either one of them was better in the kitchen than she was, when not unfortunately sidetracked – she decided there was no sense in further risking the main course she intended to serve to company.

She, Killian, and Henry did spend a warm, domestic, evening making the accompanying side dishes in the kitchen together. After placing a tray of butterhorn rolls in the oven to cook, Emma turned to see Henry flip a spoonful of cranberry sauce at Killian, hitting him square on the nose and making him jerk back in surprise at the splat of impact.

"Hey now," her pirate warned, glowering as he raised a spoonful of stuffing for a counterattack.

Emma thought idly that she should be warning them not to waste food, not to destroy their kitchen for a second time in one day, and basically chide them both to behave themselves, but instead she could merely watch as author and pirate mounted a giddy food fight she eventually joined, hugging herself tightly so she didn't simply burst with the joy swelling up inside her, so full of gratitude for both of them, for a home and family at last, and for this moment in which to enjoy it all. Thanksgiving, indeed.

That night when Henry had settled into his own room and the house had grown quiet, Emma stopped Killian as he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth, biting her lip at the all-too-inviting sight of him in dark blue lounge pants with little white anchors printed on them that he wore for sleep and all that dark hair on his toned and scarred chest. He looked upon her with a curious quirk to his brow, but didn't question her, only wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his forehead to rest against her own.

Enveloped in his warmth, Emma grew almost dizzy at the minty fresh breath he exhaled against her neck and nearly lost her train of thought altogether, but she pulled out the item she had intended to show him. It was the wishbone from their turkey, and she held it out for him to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"Aye," Killian answered, though she could tell by his expression he had no clue why she would draw his attention to it. "It's some part of that fowl we prepared for tomorrow's feast, but why…"

He trailed off when she twined the fingers of her free hand with his and brought his hand up to grip the opposite end of the wishbone from the one she held. "They're for wishing on," she explained briefly, playful mirth in her eyes. "People pull them apart and whoever gets the larger piece makes a wish that is then supposed to come true."

"Alright Lass, if you say so," he agreed gamely, a bit of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now as well.

Holding her breath, Emma thought of all the times she had wanted to do this as a kid and had never been the one who got the wishbone. Or all the times as an adult that she'd had it, but no one in her empty apartment to hold the other end, or to appreciate the wish she'd made nor share in her joy if it did come to fruition. As the fragile bone snapped and they looked down to the pieces in their hands, Emma and Killian found it had broken almost evenly, and so she whispered, not wanting to break the calm stillness in the room, "Let's say we both wish…together."

Killian merely nodded and closed his eyes as she did. When she opened them again, it was to meet his blue, blue gaze shining back at her. She had the feeling they'd wished for the exact same thing…many more years of holidays like this.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The blessed feeling carried over to the family dinner the next day. Sitting at the head of the long table in the dining room of a home of her very own – hers, Henry's and Killian's – the first time she'd ever had such a thing, Emma felt as though the whole scene was bathed in some sort of golden light, like she was living inside a perfect Norman Rockwell painting. The table surface was packed, crammed, overloaded with food – from the golden brown, crisp-skinned, turkey and their perfectly toasted, flaky butterhorns to Regina's apple dumplings, green beans, noodles, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. The ten-year-old foster child inside her nearly drools at the bounty, never quite able to banish the breakfasts, lunches, and dinners missed, the times she had sat alone in some cafeteria, eyes fixed on the food other students carelessly tossed in the bins which she would have loved to have while she had been packed nothing to eat and had no money to buy even a drink, of the times she had gone to bed in a rickety bunk, stomach growling and unable to stop fixating on those cabinets full of snacks that were off limits. Seeing Henry to her right, ruffling his hair affectionately for just a second before he turned to grin at her proudly, clearly pleased their time in the kitchen had given them this much to show for it, she could only rejoice that he had never known such days, and the neither she nor Killian ever would again.

She gave her father a nod of confirmation where he sat at the other end of the table, leading him to grin widely, the warm look of love and happiness on his face making her feel even more that this moment right here really was all she had been missing – all she had ever wanted – all those years she spent alone. As David stood to carve the turkey and Snow alternated between beaming up at her husband proudly and passing the plates now loaded up with juicy slices of turkey down the table, Emma squeezed Killian's hand with her left, and he cut a knowing glance at her, showing clearly that he understood and felt it too.

Beside Henry sat Belle, then Snow, and across from Henry were Regina, Robin, and Roland. It would seem that their family continued to grow and warmly open to welcome into its circle anyone with nowhere else to belong on this day meant to be spent with loved ones. As she had wished for that very thing each holiday season for 28 years, Emma could think of no better nor more heroic thing for her family to do.

Once everyone had been served – both turkey and all the other dishes filling the long table – Killian stood with raised glass, even as Emma tapped her spoon against her own to garner everyone's attention for him. "A toast, mates, if I may," Killian announced jovially in that rich, enticing voice. Emma shivered slightly at the way its tones thrilled through her, though trying to give no outward sign; she would gladly listen to him read the ingredients of the box for the stuffing, but she knew everyone else was hungry and ready to dig in, so her heart swelled just that much more when the others around their table dutifully paused and turned to listen to him with genuine interest and agreement.

"I daresay I shan't keep us from this delectable feast for long," her pirate intoned, "but I have more to be grateful for this year than I have ever possessed in my ridiculously long life, and my thanks must be offered…"

He paused, meeting the eyes of each of those gathered around the table briefly, and then continued with a fervent tone which came out sounding a bit choked with emotion. "When I first arrived in this realm, still lost in my bitterness, anger, and thirst for revenge, I could not have imagined a day like this, full of peace, love, and gratitude. Emma, Love, when you offered me the chance to join you and be a part of something, and we undertook that desperate quest to Neverland, the idea that we could come to belong to each other as we do now, that you would hold my heart in your very palm, or that I would find myself with a true family again, seemed inconceivable. Yet, I am so glad you gave me that last chance, like a line thrown in the drink to a drowning man. It saved my life, turned me back around to the man I once meant to be. My thankfulness to be here with all of you today cannot be adequately expressed." He swallowed hard, dipped his head, and then took his seat again. "You have all blessed us with your presence at our table."

"Cheers!" everyone else agreed, raising their glasses to clink with each other around the table, several other eyes misty and voices husky with feeling besides their captain's. Emma blinked quite a bit herself, glancing around at their motley crew.

Her fingers reached across to trail lightly over Killian's shoulder, stroking his back soothingly for a few moments and then rising to delve playfully into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. Brushing gently through the soft strands, Emma smiled affectionately as his head inclined slightly toward her, thinking humorously that if he were a cat, her sailor would be nearly purring in contentment right now. This moment deserved to be captured – preserved – in her mind forever; she couldn't feel any more stuffed with grateful satisfaction.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

It was nearly midnight when the last of their guests had been seen to the door and out into the chilly dark of Storybrooke's nighttime streets. Henry had gone with Regina; they had a tradition of shopping, then decorating the mayor's mansion for Christmas, and capping the evening off with homemade apple turnovers running over with icing. Emma marveled at Henry's blithely forgiving ability to still eat the things with relish after nearly dying from one bit of that very poisoned pastry also made by Regina long ago. Still, she couldn't deny she was glad to have her pirate to herself this night – a true quiet moment for the two of them.

They were curled around each other on the couch in the living room, watching flames crackle merrily in the fireplace, feet up on the coffee table, each of them enjoying a sweet taste of leftover pumpkin pie.

"Open up, Darling," Killian urged, fork upraised to her lips with a piece of sticky filling and flaky crust adorned with the sweet white topping she loved. Emma really didn't need him to feed her, but she playfully went along with his gesture and hummed in pleasure when the flavors exploded on her tongue.

"Mhmm, really good," she mumbled, her mouth still full, but nodding her head and moving to get a piece on her own fork and return the favor for him.

Killian's deep, reverberating chuckle stopped her though, and he leaned forward just enough to wrap his lips around the tip of her nose, licking off the bit of whipped cream he'd gotten on her moments before. It was a mostly innocent gesture, but his proximity, the warmth of the near kiss, and the fact that they were truly – finally – alone, relaxed, and had nowhere else to be had her heart hammering triple time as she sat up quickly, unfolded her legs and pulled him up with her.

"Come on, Pirate," she spoke a little breathlessly, a devilish gleam in her eyes, "we can finish this later."

It didn't take him long to catch on and follow her eagerly, still chuckling with his hand in hers, as she picked up the can of whipped cream from the coffee table where she'd placed it earlier and led him upstairs to their room.

Tagging a few lovelies who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @let-it-raines @therooksshiningknight @laschatzi @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @jennjenn615 @lfh1962-lfh1226-linda @stahlop @jrob64 @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @donteattheappleshook​ @spartanguard​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @xsajx​ @shireness-says​ @apiratewhopines​ 

[erisgregory]

The Reason Is You Chapter 8

cross posted to AO3

or start with chapter 1

Authors:  Crysty09, erisgregory

Crysty09′s tumblr

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M/M, Multi Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Relationship: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti, Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti Characters: Michael Guerin, Alex Manes, Kyle Valenti Additional Tags: background Isobel Evans/Maria DeLuca, background Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Angst and Fluff and Smut Summary: Michael has been gone five years and when he finally returns to Earth it’s to find that Alex is married to Kyle. Isobel is about to be married to Maria and Max and Liz have a son. The world isn’t as he left it, which he should have expected, but now how will he find a place for himself? Will he ever get used to the new normal?

Michael was nervous for some reason. It was probably because he was staying mostly sober and also because he hadn’t seen Alex yet since the wedding and he knew he needed to apologize. Somehow they had to find a way to put the past in the past. Or rather he did. He wanted to be a part of Alex’s life and Kyle was being generous enough to make it happen, so Michael was ready to try. Still he was nervous. So he took a deep breath before knocking on the cabin door.

Kyle had suspiciously disappeared just before Michael was supposed to get there and Alex felt nervous. This night had the potential to be a turning point for them but first, he and Michael had to deal with what they had said at the wedding. When he heard a knock at the door, he walked over and opened the door, giving Michael a small smile, "hey," he said, his voice low, "come on in, Kyle ran to the store," he stepped to the side to let Michael in.

Kyle was gone? That wasn’t what Michael expected, but maybe it was better not to have an audience for his apology. “Thanks for having me over.” He said stiffly. Suddenly he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

Alex laughed, "Guerin," he breathed, "relax." He nodded towards the couch, "do you want something to drink?" He asked. He could feel himself becoming a bit more at ease, this was still Michael.

Michael laughed too and sat on the couch. “I guess I’m a little nervous.” He admitted. “Just water for me.” He said leaning back and trying to relax. Michael took his hat off and ran a hand through his curls. He could do this, he just needed to breathe. Besides it seemed like Alex wasn’t holding a grudge.

He grabbed a bottle of water and followed Michael to the couch. Alex sat down not far from him and handed him the bottle of water. "Glad you could come," he said, "listen Michael," he leaned forward, "I am really sorry about everything I said the other night."

Michael was halfway through opening his water when Alex apologized. “You shouldn’t have to apologize. Not only did I break my promise, but I said some awful things in front of everyone. And then to you. I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for any of the things that have happened to me. I made my choices and now I will live with them.”

"We were both upset and things have been so complicated, we both said some harsh things, but as far as I'm concerned, we just need to put it behind us?" Alex bit his lip, he desperately wanted to reach out and touch Michael but he knew that he should wait until he and Kyle had a chance to talk with him about their idea.

“I’d like that.” Michael said softly. If they could just get a fresh start... well it wouldn’t stop his heart from being broken but maybe it could be the beginning of something new. “I really do think we just need a fresh start.”

Alex smiled, "then a fresh start it is," he nodded. Then the door opened and Kyle walked in beaming, "hey guys!" He said, carrying a bag of ice to the freezer, "get the apologies out of the way?" He asked. Alex stood, laughing, "yes we did," he moved to the kitchen, opening the stove, "the chicken is almost done," he said, smiling at them.

Michael had to laugh at Kyle, he’d clearly given them the space to talk alone for a moment. It was a kindness that actually meant a lot to Michael. “Good, I’m starving.” He told Alex with a grin.

Kyle walked into the living room, giving Alex the kitchen, "he's actually an amazing cook," he said, glancing at Alex. He glanced at the water in Michael's hand, "no beer?" He asked, "I'm pretty sure Alex won't crucify you for one or two, will you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at Alex, who grinned at them.

“I didn’t want to push him.” Michael chuckled. This was turning out to be much simpler than he’d expected. “Maybe with dinner.” He said. At least his nerves had settled down and dinner smelled amazing. So much better than whatever was left frozen in his freezer.

"I think one with dinner will be fine," Alex said with a laugh, pulling a large pan out of the oven and stirring the potatoes on the stove. Kyle laughed, "how much trouble can he get in here with us?" He asked, looking between the two of them. Alex shook his head, "okay you win, I'll ease up," he pulled some plates from the cabinet, and filling them, "dinner is served gentlemen," he smiled.

Michael stood to go fix his plate. He really felt welcome which shouldn’t be a surprise considering the way Kyle had been with him lately. He grabbed some chicken and potatoes and made his way to the table. “So where did you learn to cook?” Michael asked Alex. “This really smells amazing.”

Before he sat down, Alex grabbed three beers from the refrigerator and passed them around. Once when they were all seated, Alex shrugged, "mostly trial and error," he said. Kyle smiled and took a bite of food, moaning quietly, "amazing as always," he reached out and touched Alex's hand once. Alex beamed, "what do you think Michael? Taste as good as it smells?"

“It’s delicious.” Michael told him. He saw the way Kyle casually touched Alex and while he still felt sad for himself he wanted to be happy for them. “It certainly beats Isobel’s frozen leftovers she’s been shoving on me since I got back.”

"Well you're more than welcome to come eat with us anytime you want to," Kyle said, "Alex usually cooks most nights and he tends to cook way too much." Alex laughed, "so that's the only thing I can't seem to master," he shrugged. The room fell silent for a while as they ate and Alex was thrilled at how easy this was, the three of them seemed to get along really well and he was hopeful that maybe this could actually work.

Michael thought about it, but he didn’t want to be intrusive. Eventually he would have his old job back it’s just the owner of the shop was out of town. Then he could go back to buying his own food. Crap food, but still. He didn’t want to think he was using Kyle and Alex’s kindness for his own gain. Still this was really good. He ate and drank his beer in happy silence.

Alex finished eating, standing and rinsing his plate, "I made brownies too," he said, turning to smile at Michael. He knew it was Michael's favorite and he thought it would make him happy. "Anyone want brownies and ice cream?"

Michael just had to grin. He felt totally spoiled. “Yes, please.” He said. Then he turned to Kyle, “brownies are my favorite, I don’t know if he told you.” Michael shrugged.

"He did," Kyle said, smiling at Michael and glancing at his husband, Alex had been so determined to make this night good, "yeah I'll take one too," he said. Alex moved to cut the brownies and scooped some ice cream on them, handing one to each of the others

Michael closed his eyes as he took the first bite. Then he looked over at Alex. “Wow.” He said. “This is fantastic.” He took another bite and grinned. “I could get used to this.” He joked.

Kyle let out another moan, "Damn, it's been ages since you made brownies," he smiled at Alex. Alex laughed, "well like Kyle said, I usually cook every night and you can come eat any time." Alex moved to clean up the kitchen, feeling a bit anxious about the conversation that was coming but also excited about the possibility.

Michael stood to help clear the table. “What’re you making tomorrow?” He teased.

It was simple, much simpler than expected. Kyle and Alex were both easy going and had put him at ease. Once the table was cleared Kyle ushered him back to the living room and offered him another beer. “Sure.” He said, sitting down.

Alex grinned, "hmm I am thinking lasagna," he shrugged. Alex finished putting their leftovers away and watched as Kyle ushered Michael into the living room. He grabbed his own beer before walking in and sitting down next to Michael, "so Michael, me and Kyle have something we want to talk to you about. This is going to sound crazy." Kyle nodded, "and you don't have to answer us right away, please just promise you will have an open mind?"

Michael looked from Alex to Kyle and back again. He had no idea what was coming, couldn’t even guess.”Okay.” He said slowly. He had the urge to hold his breath for whatever was coming.

“You don’t have to look so worried.” Kyle told him with a soft laugh. “It’s nothing bad.”

Alex laughed, reaching over and laying a hand on Michael's arm, "so, we have spent a long time talking about our situation, and Kyle knows how I feel about you, it's not like I'm the best at hiding it," he laughed nervously, "and what I have with Kyle is amazing, so we were thinking maybe, if you would be interested, that we consider all three of us, being together?" He bit his lip, his heart suddenly pounding.

Michael suddenly felt like his brain had just decided to fail him. He couldn’t think a single coherent thought. “I’m sorry.” He laughed a little. “What?” He was sure he’d misheard or misunderstood somehow and just honestly needed to hear it again.

Kyle laughed, his reaction was similar to Alex's and it was actually kind of cute. He got up and moved to sit on the other side of Michael, "we are talking about considering polyamory, all three of us being together," he smiled over at Alex.

“Okay, that’s what I thought I heard.” He sat for a moment just looking at his knees. Then he said, “I don’t want to mess up what you two have.” He couldn’t hurt Alex anymore and now he couldn’t see hurting Kyle either.

Alex grabbed Michael's hand, "Michael, me and Kyle have discussed this, quite a bit." Kyle grabbed the other hand, "and what we have is strong and solid and we want you to be a part of it." Alex's heart pounded as he watched Michael, "you won't mess up what we have, if you agree to this you will only make things better."

Michael looked at Alex, trying to read the truth in the words he was saying. A part of him instantly leapt at the idea of getting to be with Alex, but honestly it sounded complicated and what about Kyle? Could he feel that way about Kyle some day? “You’ve really thought about this? What it would do to your marriage?” He asked just needing the reassurance. “And Kyle?” He shifted his focus to Kyle. “You’re interested in trying a relationship with me?”

"This was Kyle's idea," Alex said, "we have thought about it, thought about our marriage and it is strong enough to include you." Kyle nodded, "you and I will have a little more work to do to figure it all out but the last few days have shown me that you and I get along really well and I think it could become something if we want it to."

Michael pursed his lips. He honestly didn’t know what to say. He had about a dozen questions that required his phone and google, the main one being does this really work in the real world? “Guys, I’m flattered to say the least but this is a lot. I’m gonna have to think about it.”

Kyle nodded. “I think that’s wise, all things considered.”

"Yeah it took me a little while to wrap my head around it too,"Alex said with a laugh, "take your time, process everything and let us know when you figure out where you stand. No pressure. We will completely understand if you aren't interested," Alex bit his lip, his mind and heart racing as he watched Michael.

Michael sat his beer on the coffee table. “I think I should go think about everything. But Alex,” He said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, “I’m not, not interested.” Then he stood and looked down at them both. “Thanks again for dinner.” He said, grabbing his hat and slipping it on before heading out the door

Alex felt terrified, worried that Michael might just say no. Kyle nodded, "yeah go process everything," he smiled at Michael. At Michael's reassurance, Alex relaxed slightly and he nodded, "okay," he whispered back, "like we said earlier, the dinner invite is always open," he squeezed Michael's hand as he stood, "see you soon I hope."

[silkkpopbonnet]

Teenager

“Is she here yet?” Areum asked as she paced the living room.

“Soon, she said 10 minutes.” Jaebum smiled as he placed the last of the food in the oven to keep warm.

Grabbing the remote, he turned the music down that Areum was playing.

“Apa!” Areum gave him a look. “I like that song.”

“It’s my song.” Jaebum shook his head. “I can only hear it so many times before my head pops.” If he never heard Just Right again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

He rushed around making sure everything was okay, before sitting down on the couch next to Areum fixing her hair. She had decided that two puffs were better than one, and he twisted a curl around his finger.

“Excited?” Jaebum asked as she sifted through youtube.

Areum turned to look at him, her lips poking out. “Yes.”

“Me too.” The doorbell rang, and his heart fluttered as he went to answer it.

Amina smiled, kissing his lips as she stepped inside. “I am way too nervous.”

“She might be too.” Jaebum looked down at a small bag she had in her hands. “What’s that?”

Amina held up the bag smiling, “A gift for Areum, I hope she likes it.”

Leading her into the living room, Areum sat on the couch facing them. Her eyes went to her father and then to Amina, and she remained seated as she waited for someone else to make the first move.

Clearing her throat, Amina came forward. “Hello Areum, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Areum didn’t move, looking at her father, she only got up when he gave her a stern look. Giving a polite bow, she answered. “Nice to meet you too eonnie.”

Amina rubbed her cheeks. “You don’t have to call me that Amina is fine, or just Mina, my little sister calls me that.”

“You have a sister?” Areum asked, sitting back down on the couch.

As Amina walked over, she took the box out of the bag and sat next to her. “Yes, she’s 18.”

“Oh,” Areum answered thoughtfully. “Is this for me?” Pointing to the box, she wasted no time in trying to take it from Amina.

Laughing, Amina let her take it. “Yes, actually. I hope you like it, it’s a token of friendship between me and you, at least I hope we can be friends.”

As Areum opened it, she smiled, squealing at the bracelet with a unicorn charm. One was pink, and one was purple, the ivory colored beads solid in her hand, she put it on her wrist. “Apa look!”

Coming over Jaebum fingered the tiny gold unicorn smiling. “It’s so pretty, one for you and one for Amina.”

Amina put her own on and smiled at Areum. “Friendship bracelets, because I am hoping that we can be the best of friends.”

Areum puckered her lips, her eyes looking at father then back at Amina. “I can be your friend, but you have to make me a promise.”

“What’s that?” Amina asked, putting the box away.

“Leave Apa, you can’t hear this.” Areum got off the couch, pushing JB out of the room.

“I’m going to the bathroom anyway,” Jaebum grinned, leaving them alone.

Areum turned around, her arms crossed over her chest, her back was straight as she stood in front of Amina. “My daddy likes you a lot.”

“I hope he does.” Amina smiled at her, feeling just a little afraid of what she would say next.

Areum looked over Amina’s features, making different faces of her own as she examined her. “You are pretty, so that’s good.”

“You’re beautiful too.” Amina reached out a hand and gently touched her puff.

Sitting down Areum took a deep breath. “I love my daddy, so if you make him smile, you can stay. If he cries, then you have to leave, and I will make you leave, I’ll call Uncle Jinyoung.”

“Oh really now?” Amina tried to keep from smiling. “Uncle Jinyoung will tell me I have to leave?”

“He will! He says he isn’t above snatching wigs.” Areum shook her head matter of factly. Areums’s demeanor changed as she continued to speak. “A long time ago, Apa would cry at night. I think he was sad, but I haven’t heard him cry anymore. Maybe because he likes you now, so be nice to my daddy, ok?”

She held out her tiny hand, waiting for Amina to shake it.

Amina looked down at Areum’s hand. She had told Jaebum that she was ready for anything with him, she was prepared for Areum and him being a dad. After being threatened by a nearly five-year-old, nothing could stop her now, except maybe Jinyoung.

“I promise.”

Amina wasn’t sure how exactly things would go now that Areum was in the picture. She was thinking family-like outings where they went on picnics or something. To be honest, she wasn’t exactly sure. Sometimes, they went out to the movies or to eat, other times they went bowling, or the zoo, sometimes over to one of the guy’s house. She grew fond of Areum and was always laughing at her relationship with Yugyeom and BamBam because they acted like older brothers with their baby sister. She quickly learned what Areum meant when she mentioned Jinyoung, he had side-eyed her at first, not saying much but keeping an eye on her. It seemed that he was warming up to her now, he understood that she was here to stay, she wasn’t playing any games with Jaebum, and for him, that seemed enough. Sometimes, they were at Jaebum’s house watching movies with Areum in between them or playing one of her board games, when she finally went to bed is when Jaebum pulled her into his arms and kissed her, laying her down on the couch.

The one thing she hadn’t done yet…spent the night.

“You can stay, it’s ok,” Jaebum said to her one night as she tried to leave out the door.

“No, I want to make sure it’s ok with Areum, we’ve seen each other what? 4 months?” She giggled as he kissed her face.

“Areum won’t mind, she knows your, my girlfriend.” He said the last word slowly and still hearing it made her stomach clench and flop. “Just stay.”

“Jaebum.” She pulled her hand from his. “My taxi is waiting.”

“Amina.” He closed the door, pressing her back against it. “One night, one time, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Not yet.” She poked his chest opening the door again.

As he walked her down to the cab, he kept his arm around her waist. “Areum’s birthday is on the 15th, she’ll be five, which means she’ll start school this year. It’s a big thing for her, but I’m going to have her birthday party here. Will you come?”

“Of course,” Turning towards him, Amina kissed him one last time. “What’s the theme?”

Jaebum raised his eyebrow at her. “Glitter and unicorns, the normal. I hired someone to take care of it, I have no idea what to do with that idea.”

“I’ll be there, and I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch?” He opened the door to the cab for her.

“Yes. Text me when you get home.” Closing the door, he didn’t move from where he was until the cab disappeared from his sight.

He was in love, he knew that. In four short months, he was feeling something for Amina that he had only felt for one woman before. He touched his chest and wondered what he should say, or rather when he should say it. As he walked back inside, he started to clean up the living room and wondered what the guys would say when they knew he was this serious about her. As if on cue, his phone started to ring, it was BamBam.

“Hyung, what’s up?” He heard music in the background and then Yugyeom.

“Cleaning up a little. Where are you guys?” Jaebum stepped on a game piece and silently cursed as he heard BamBam move somewhere quieter.

“My house, it’s me and Yugyeom and some girls he knows. Listen, I was thinking about you, and I wanted to call. I’m happy for you. I’m glad that you’re…you know.” Jaebum smiled, nodding his head.

“Yea, I know what you mean, thank you. Actually, I have to thank you, guys. You stayed by my side and helped me this whole time. I owe you guys a lot.” Sitting on the couch, Jaebum moved the phone to his other ear and turned the TV off.

“No, you owe us nothing. How long have we known each other? Been in each other’s lives? We are brothers.” BamBam opened the door, yelling at something at Yugyeom before he came back on the phone. “So, are y’all vibin? Getting to know each other better? I mean Valentines Day was a success.”

Jaebum laughed. “It was. I think I love her, or I’m falling in love. She makes me feel like I never got my heart broken, she just fits in my and Areum’s lives.”

“Love. Oh my god!!!!” BamBam yelled for Yugyeom. “Hyung says he thinks he’s in love.”

The two began to yell in the phone so much that Jaebum moved it away from his ear. As they finished, Yugyeom had the phone now.

“She’s beautiful hyung, and she’s sweet. Perfect for you, you deserve happiness after all this time. Does she know?” BamBam yelled the same from behind Yugyeom.

“No, I haven’t told her.” Jaebum stuck a finger in his ear, hoping he wasn’t deaf now. “I think I will sometime after Areum’s birthday, I figure I should do something special.”

BamBam came back on the phone. “I’ll tell you what to do, wait until after you guys had sex, I mean the best, pull out all the toys, then before she passes out, tell her.”

“Or!” Yugyeom said in the background. “Make love, not sex, like the kind where she’s calling your name and whisper it in her ear ask you’re long stroking her.”

Jaebum was about to say something when BamBam cut him off. “You should see Yugyeom he’s humping a pillow, I hope your stroke game isn’t as bad as his.”

“What! I know what I’m doing!” Yugyeom replied.

Jaebum laughed. “Yea, I’ll figure something out, but thank you. Have fun guys, I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yes, sir!” Hanging up, Jaebum looked down at his phone and shook his head, age didn’t calm them down at all.

He had a text from Amina, telling him she was home and about to get in the shower, he was going to ask her for a picture but decided against it. Going to his room, he peeked in on Areum making sure she was still asleep before sitting down in his place. Looking at some pictures the party planner had sent, he saw an e-mail from Nia. Instantly his heart raced, anxiety crept into his veins, why would she e-mail?

Hey Jaebum,

Areum is turning five this year, and I thought maybe I should bring her a gift, instead of just sending one? Do you still live in the same place? I know we haven’t talked in awhile, I do hope you’re doing well though. I’d like to see our daughter and you if that’s ok? Right?

No! It wasn’t ok, and the fact that she sent an e-mail and didn’t call just made him angrier. After all this time she was just going to say hello and no apologies out of the blue? She had never seen Areum after that day what made her think that Areum would know her? Clenching his jaw, he wanted to hit something.

No,

Just send a present and let that be that. You gave me full custody, didn’t even fight me and it’s been how long? Nia, don’t pull that stuff, just send a present and let’s keep it civil.

He wasn’t about to let her ruin Areum’s day. Forwarding the e-mail to Jinyoung, he got up to shower and then sleep, there was no way he was going to let her ruin his good mood now.

“Jun, I am not going to tell you again.” Amina smiled at her client as she applied his foundation.

“I’m just saying! I mean, it’s true right?” Jun closed his eyes as she dabbed his face.

“Leave Sungchul alone, he’s the maknae and Y'all are too mean to him.” Amina cooed at Sungchul as he pouted his lips at her.

“Thank you Noona!” The blue-haired boy stuck his tongue out at his hyung.

As Amina finished up Jun’s face, she stepped back and smoothed his eyebrows. “I told you getting them done with a microblade was worth it.”

Jun grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “There’s nothing you can’t do is there Noona?”

Amina shrugged, “Probably not.” She took her hand from him, turning around to put her tools back in her bag when she saw Jaebum standing at the door. “Hey.” She waved him over.

As Amina moved away from the boys to wipe up her station, Sungchul stood next to Jun. “Noona has a boyfriend it seems.”

Jun glared at the younger boy. “He might just be her friend.” Jun looked in the mirror at his face and pursed his lips. “Besides, how many time a day does she say that she loves the shape of my face?”

“It might just be a compliment. Look.” They both turned to watch Jaebum wrap his arms around Amina and kiss her forehead.

“You’re here early, I’m not really done yet,” Amina said to Jaebum.

He was looking past her and towards the younger men who were staring at him. “Who are they?”

Amina looked over her shoulder. “Sungchul and Jun. Doyoung and Bong are getting their hair done. They’re a new group, they debuted a month ago. Want to hear something crazy? You know Dean right? I might be working with him.” Amina covered her mouth, squealing a little. “Exciting right?”

“Very.” Jaebum was more interested in the one dark-haired one who had kissed Amina’s hand as that one was currently staring him down.

“Jaebum did you hear me?” She followed his eyes back to the guys. “Are you a fan? Want to say hi?”

Without waiting for him to answer, she took his hand and lead him over. At the same time motioning for Sungchul to sit down. “Fellas, this is my boyfriend, Jaebum, Jaebum this is Jun, the leader, and face of the group; and this is Sungchul, adorable maknae and main dancer.”

Sungchul got up from his seat, bowing politely. “Hello, nice to meet you, Noona takes good care of us. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking him?” Amina pushed at his shoulder. “I do all the work, now sit, so I can start.”

Jun said nothing, just a cheeky smile on his face. “I know you. Im Jaebum, JB, leader of Got7, yea, I like some of your songs.”

Amina didn’t feel the tension that Jaebum and Jun were making, she applied a BB cream to Sungchul as she spoke to JB. “Oh, you have a fan, how nice. Who is your bias Jun?” She laughed at that last part.

“Sorry,” Sungchul said in advance. “I always liked Jinyoung.”

“He’d be happy to hear that,” Jaebum replied.

Jun could be cheeky when he wanted to be, he had a knack for finding sore spots and pushing on them. It annoyed him to finally figure out that the reason Amina ignored his flirting was that she was dating some old idol. He leaned back in his chair, one arm over the back.

“Got7, are you guys going to tour soon? Or maybe make some new songs? Or were you always just more popular overseas?” Jun watched as Jaebum narrowed his eyes at him, sizing the younger male up.

“How old are you?” Jaebum asked.

Sitting forward, Jun put his elbows on his knees. “23.”

Jaebum spoke loudly as he addressed him. “Speak to me like it then.”

Turning around Amina looked from Jaebum back to Jun. “Calm it down, guys. Jun don’t be an ass. Go see where Lara is, she’s supposed to be doing Bong and Doyoung. I’m leaving now, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Amina walked off to grab her bag, as Jun told Sungchul to go do what Amina had asked of him. When she came back, she collected the rest of her brushes and powders, talking to Jaebum. “You ready to go?”

“Wait, noona.” Jun grabbed the back of her shirt. “Tomorrow, we have a photo shoot, you’re going to be there right?”

“I think Lara and Kim are. I’ll be with you guys the next day though.” As Jaebum was about to grab one of her bags, Jun hefted it up, handing it to Amina.

“What if I want you? You know I’m picky.” He smiled at her, showing off pearly whites as he moved to stand near her.

“You’ll be fine.” Amina fixed a strand of his hair before walking off. “See you later.”

As they got outside, Jaebum shook his head, placing her bags in his car. “Things never change. I hope I wasn’t like that at his age.”

Amina chuckled. “At his age? I’m a year older than him.”

“Yes, and he loves calling you noona doesn’t he?” Holding the door open for her, he couldn’t help but mimic Jun.

“How mature.” Amina shook her head, she had thought that he was joking, but now she wondered if he was serious. “Please, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

As they pulled off, Jaebum had to muse over the thought.”Not really, he’s younger than me, and that annoys me because he shares more with you.”

Amina cut Jaebum off. “How? Because of our age? Please don’t start this.”

“Start what? I’m just saying, at 23 he shares more with you than I do at 36.” He didn’t mean to stop the car so hard, but when he did, Amina crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don’t make me upset, I was having a good day.” She stopped talking, looking out the window.

Jaebum made a noise in his throat. “Don’t let them touch all over you, and call you noona like that.”

Grunting, Amina put her hands up clenching her fists. “Like what? It’s respectful to do so, right? They call me that because they are comfortable with me. They call everyone else Ms this or Mr that.”

“He does it because he’s flirting with you, you don’t hear how he says it. It’s the difference between you saying dad, to your father and daddy to me.” Jaebum turned towards his home, he had prepared food for her.

“It is not. I really don’t want to argue with you over a guy I’m not even interested in.” As he parked, she got out of the car slamming the door.

“Doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you, but whatever, I’m done talking, I’m just an old man, right? What do I know?” Pushing the button for the elevator, he waited for her to go inside, making a motion with his hand.

Amina tapped her foot as he waited, he had to stop the door from closing twice before she stepped inside. “No one called you old, if you’re going to do that Jaebum, I swear to god…”

“Swear what?” He rolled his eyes. “Not getting in the damn elevator, I wasn’t really annoyed then, but now I am.”

As the lift stopped on his floor, she stepped out. “We are arguing over a guy who doesn’t matter to me in that way. You realize that right? I’m not dating him, I’m dating you so why does what he does matter?”

Jaebum put his hand on his forehead. “Because what he does irritates me.” Opening the door, he let her walk in first. “Because it seems when you’re at work, you flirt with little boys and that was proven by how he was acting today. What if I want you? He said that shit to annoy me.”

“Wow.” Amina shook her head at Jaebum. “Little boys. Ok. I flirt at work. Alright.” She smiled, but he knew she was just as angry. “So now I’m somehow cheating on you, right?”

“I’d hope not.” He walked into the dining room, pointing at the takeout he brought. “I’m done, let’s drop it, eat.”

“Does it look like I want to eat?!” She raised her voice now, and he turned quickly to look at her.

“Don’t yell.”

“Is Areum here?” Amina pretended looked around. “No, so I’m going to say whatever the fuck I want because you pissed me off.”

Sitting down at the table, Jaebum sighed putting his head in his hands. “Amina. I am sorry. You don’t flirt at work, now sit down and eat with me.”

She scoffed. “Now you’re giving me some shitty apology.” Walking towards the front door, he heard her put on her shoes.

“Where are you going?” He didn’t move, not until he heard the door close. “Fuck.”

Chasing after her, he grabbed her arm as she waited for the elevator. “Amina, stop and come inside.”

Snatching her arm from him, she hissed at him. “So now you want to talk to me like you’re my father?”

“You’re irrational!” Jaebum tried to keep his voice low as he looked around the hall. “Come inside, I don’t want to have this conversation in the hall.”

“I’m leaving, I want to be alone.” She shrugged him off as he attempted to touch her. “Stop, I said I’m going.”

Jaebum got in the elevator with her. “Just come back inside, I said I was sorry.”

“No, you aren’t, and I don’t want to be told what you think I’m doing at work. You don’t think that hurts my feelings? Little boys, you don’t know them. Then you’re acting like I’m too young to know what’s good for me, or what to do. Fuck that Jaebum, I want to be away from you right now.” As she called for a cab, he stood inside the building and watched as she just stood there.

His mind went back to what Nia said to him that night, that she just had to be away, and Jaebum found himself trying to dispell those thoughts from his mind.

“When are you coming back?” He watched her get in a cab, only speaking to him before she shut the door.

“When I feel like it.”

Going upstairs, Jaebum sat down in his dining room picking over the Japanese takeout. He moved the food around on his plate but didn’t really eat. He knew he was out of line and at some point it just went too far. He was jealous, he could admit that, but in his mind, he really thought that maybe…one day, Amina would get tired of him. He was 36 now, and she was going to be 25 in the summer. When he was 40, she would still be 29. He would be old, and she would still be in her prime. Maybe she’d want someone her own age. He had wanted more children, growing up an only child, he didn’t wish Areum to be the same way.

Would she want a child at 25 or even 26? When he could still make them and young enough to chase them? Maybe he just thought he was older. Looking down at his phone, he realized it was time to go pick up Areum, and he sighed, getting into the car as he headed towards the daycare center.

As Areum got into the car, she looked at his face. “What’s wrong Apa?”

“I had a fight with Amina.” No need to lie to her.

“I hope you weren’t you mean to her?” Areum was taking Amina’s side? That surprised him.

“I was, and I didn’t mean to make her mad at me.” He pulled into the little shop that they often went to after daycare to get ice cream.

“Get her a present. BamBam said that one time, he made a girl mad, so he got her pretty clothes to try on. After that, she loved him again. Presents work. I like presents.” Areum got out of the car, smiling.

Jaebum laughed. “That’s because you’re spoiled.”

“And Uncle Jackson said that was your fault.” Areum shook her head as she marched into the shop.

That night, Jaebum sat on his sofa phone in his hand, he hadn’t texted Amina yet because he didn’t know what to say. Taking Areum’s advice, he didn’t buy clothes, but he bought chocolates, he’d stop by her house tomorrow when he knew she was off and give them to her. He should just call, say something, but as soon as he was about to hit send, someone knocked on his door.

Looking at the screen it was her, and his stomach dropped in relief.

“I’m only here to get my things,” Amina told him as he opened the door.

“What stuff?” He looked back into his house.

She wouldn’t look at him. “In your car, my makeup bags, I need them.”

“Come inside, I want to make sure Areum is asleep and get my shoes first.” He opened the door for her, his hand dropping as she went by he had wanted to at least try to hug her.

Walking back to the room he made sure Areum was sleep, before going back to the living room. “You don’t want to talk to me ok, but listen-”

“I want my stuff,” Amina said, finally looking at him.

Jaebum sighed. “Ok, but listen, please.”

She said nothing, sitting down on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, she folded her hands in her lap. “Hurry up.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaebum got on his knees in front of her. “I really am, I was out of line, and I was speaking out of jealousy.” He watched her face soften. “I was wrong to say what I did, I know you don’t give them the time of day. I just-” He put his head on her knee. “I thought about maybe you getting bored of me, of us.”

“Jaebum.” He felt her hand touch his head.

“Let me finish.” Looking up at her, he held her hands. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me because you’re here now and Areum is here, you know? Like you’re wasting your youth or time with me. I just want you to be happy, yea with me but in general.”

Amina sighed, she pulled his hands so that he was sitting on the couch with her. “I am happy with you, stop thinking like that. Live in the now. I am with you because I want to be. I thought about this, I know the responsibility and understanding of being with a man with a child. If I didn’t want anything to do with that, I would have said no to you. Just trust me.”

“I do.” Jaebum reached out to touch her curls.

“Then act like it. I trust you, so give me the same ok?” She sat up on her knees leaning into him. “Now give me a kiss.”

Jaebum smiled. “So, we’re making up?”

“Too late to ditch you now, look at you all sappy and sad, like you love me or something.” She laughed as their lips connected, Jaebum pulling her into his lap, he kissed her lips, and her nose before saying what he had felt.

“I do love you.” He watched her face as she reacted to the realization of what he just said.

Amina pulled herself closer to him, her nose against his as she spoke against his lips. “Jaebum, you love me?”

His hands rubbed her back as she straddled his waist. “I do, I was going to wait until the right time to tell you. I guess that’s now.”

“It is.” She cupped his face, thumbs rubbing against his stubble. “Because I love you too.”

Jaebum nipped her bottom lip. “If I tell you that I want to make love to you now will you stay the night?”

Holding onto his neck, Amina leaned back and groaned. “Yes, I’ll stay the night.”

Carrying her to his room, he laid her down on the bed, his lips pressed against hers as she removed her clothing. Bodies against each other in the darkness, Amina lifted her legs, rubbing them on his back. She moaned when his lips touched her collarbone, his hand skating to grip her thigh, stroking the junction of skin where leg met pelvis. He moved slowly, whispering in her ear as his lips sucked on her earlobe. Amina’s hands rubbed up and down his back, stroking his shoulders. His form was all over her, the room should have felt cold, but with his body on hers, the heat was nearly overwhelming. As his length finally touched her, he slipped in easily with how wet she was. Holding onto her waist as he pushed home, ignoring her pleas as he lifted his body and rolled his hips into her.

His hands holding onto hers, he put them above her head, watching her turn her head from right to left as he brought her to orgasm.

In the darkness, Jaebum held Amina tight. Her back against his chest as he kissed the back of her neck softly. “I love you.” Speaking into her curls.

Turning over in his arms, Amina placed her head against his chest. “I love you more.”

Chapter Four

[littlestshelby]

Bella.

Summery:- Isabella Solomon’s went to war and came back a different woman. Now her brothers business is getting mixed into her own and she bumps into a very farmilliar face.

Bella

Isabella Solomon’s never got involved with her family’s business. She never stepped one foot into her mothers ‘office’ where multiply women would go and be sent out to do unmentionable things for money. She never stepped foot in her fathers shop, which she was always assured ‘never’ sold snow or anything of the sort. Obviously she never once stepped foot in her brothers ‘bakery.’ Isabella’s family always said she was weird, different. But Isabella just knew she was normal, she wanted a simple life. She studied hard and spent long hours reading to become a nurse at the local hospital.

It was the 14th of September 1914 that she was asked to leave her home and go to France. To treat the soldiers and treat the wounded. Having just turned 20 she had nothing to loose, her parents couldn’t refuse as she was now legally an adult and her brother was already being pushed into the back of an army truck to take much notice. She packed a small bag and headed for the hospital where they were picking up the nurses who put themselves forward.

Alfie and Isabella arrived home the same day, not speaking a word to each other as they left the train hand in hand. Their parents hugging them both gushing more over Alfie and his shrapnel wounds then of their daughter who had seen more men perish than anyone could even dream of. Isabella had spent most of her time in France treating the men who had been shot, the doctors treated the amputees and the shell shocked. She had no memory of any of the men she looked after except for one. His eyes would stay with her forever. Her mind had blocked out everything except for the blood and the holes covering the men’s bloodied body’s.

Isabella had only seen the mans eyes once, when he finally woke up. Isabella spent every day for two weeks treating his wound, he had been shot in the chest. Bella had treated him alone, the other nurses to busy and over worked. Only getting a five hour break every 24 hours, which was to be used to sleep. Those two weeks she slept next to the soldier, scared he would wake alone, she never understood why she was so attached to the man. Maybe he reminded her of home? Or how he just looked like a poor broken young man, alone in that horrid place.

“Morning my love” Isabella yawned walking to his bed and he stared up at her going to speak, his eyes were like glass and as blue as the water. The most beautiful colour in such a terrible place made her feel warm and even put a small smile on her face. She had to call over a doctor to check him over and when she came back later that day he was gone. Either moved, sent home or dead. Isabella had no way of knowing. They didn’t take names of the wounded.. Just the dead.

When she got home she went to her home and spent a month inside. Not leaving. Either sleeping, reading or crying. No man nor woman should ever witness the horrors that the war had put them though. Isabella couldn’t face going back to nursing not after what she had been through while she was away. So she took it upon herself to make a deal with her brother. She would take over legitimate business at the bakery and in exchange he would stay focused on the ‘not so’ legal side of it. Isabella never getting involved with the bad things.

She just made the bread and sold it in the small shop on the corner of a quiet London street. Isabella liked being alone, it gave her time to think, even when she had customers they would come hand over money and go, never really hanging around for long. She was grateful for that. Whenever she would go to her parents home for lunch or meet with them for a drink, they would bring up her lack of a husband, reminding her she was getting older and needed someone to look after her.

Isabella knew she didn’t need that but it didn’t stop her standing in front of her mirror looking at her tired body. Her bright green eyes now dull and dark, her hair naturally shiny blonde, now an ashy reminder of the past. And her smile had faded a long time ago. At the age of just 25 she was tired, tired of breathing, tired of existing.

It was a Monday morning in winter when it happened. Isabella had woken up feeling refreshed for the first time in a long time. She tied up her hair and put on one of her old pinafore dresses for work. The shop wasn’t open today, it was baking day. Slipping on her coat she made her way to work, it was still frosty outside and she could see her breath as she walked toward the bakery. Alfie’s car parked out the front. Isabella thought nothing of it, knowing he sometimes spent the night in the back office.

Walking into the bakery she laughed seeing the lights all still on. “Alfie Solomon’s you best be paying this electricity bill this week, cuz there’s not a chance in hell im payin for it again!” She slipped on her apron and headed over to Alfie’s office frowning as she noticed men infront of Alfie’s desk all looking back at her.

“Alright Miss Taylor, I’ll be sure to pay for your bill now hurry along the bread won’t bake itself.” Alfie waved his hand aimlessly not paying much attention to his younger sister. Miss Taylor was Alfie and Isabella’s English teacher when they were children. Alfie had told her if there was any chance of danger never to tell anyone her name was Solomon’s, he would call her miss Taylor and she would leave. Get out of harms way.

Nodding her head she turned around heading back toward the door. “Nice sister you got there Alfie.” A deep voice spoke making Isabella cringe, seeing Two men stood in front of the door she had just walked into. “Now now, no need to bring family into this Tommy. I’ve never threatened you, you’ve no idea what’ll happen if you threaten me.” Alfie spoke slowly standing with the aid of his stick. He didn’t really need it that much anymore but it helped him.

Isabella sat on one of the large tables in the bakery, listening to her brother bicker back and forth with ‘Tommy’ for a while. “Alfie I need to start baking is this going to be much longer?” She called not seeing much of a threat. “Carry on Miss they’ll be here a while.” A younger boy spoke nodding at the men. He looked no older than 15.

“Alright seeing as you’re here and you ain’t fuckin off any time soon you can help me.” She threw an apron at the boy, who looked shocked. “Come on hat and coat off time to get to work.” She nodded hopping down and beginning to turn on the ovens and getting the dough ready. The boy followed her watching what she did. “I’m Bella by the way, here you use this and roll out the dough for me.” She smiled handing him the rolling pin. He had pulled up his sleeves and was stuck into helping. “‘M Finn.” He said after a while. Isabella smiled “well it’s lovely to meet you finn, you’re good at this. You help your ‘ma with the cooking?” She asked shaping the buns.

Fin stayed a quiet for a couple of seconds. “My aunt Poll, she makes me ‘elp, shes like my ‘ma I guess” shouting suddenly drew the two from their moment. “Finn we’re leaving!” A voice shouted. Frowning Finn looked at Isabella. “He’s busy!” Bella shouted not missing a beat. “We had to wait around for you to do your business now he’s helping with mine. You can ‘av ‘im back after lunch time.” Bella spoke. Finn smiled then looked at his brothers with a nod. Bella didn’t even look up at the men he wasn’t interested in seeing whoever her brother was in trouble with now.

“Stay out of trouble we’ll pick you up in an hour.” The man answered. “Two.” Isabella spoke looking up now, looking at the man in the black coat and peaked cap. “He’ll be ready in two hours.” With a frustrated sigh the man agreed. Isabella’s eyes caught his face for just a moment as he turned to leave. He looked familiar. Shaking her head she set back out helping Finn fix the dough he just ruined.

After an hour they were done, and sat at one of the tables talking about Finns life, he told her story’s about his brother and his sister and about their house that their brother had bought them when he came home from the war. That word made Isabella go cold. She didn’t speak of the war. Never. Changing the subject, she asked him about his aunt and that set him off on a tangent about how great she was but how strict and protective she was over him and his family.

“Have you always baked bread?” He asked as he sat chewing on the bread he had made. Bella had wrapped it all for him and put it in a basket for him to take home for his aunt. Bella smiled slightly shaking her head, “I was a nurse, then I went to France and when I came back I couldn’t do it anymore.” Finns head dropped and he looked at the floor nodding he knew people changed after the war, he had seen it first hand. “Well you make good bread.” He said after a while. Making Bella chuckle.

“Right come on your brothers will be here in a minute to pick you up and whisk you back to small heath and I have an appointment with a hot cup of tea.” Finn smiled at her as they both headed for the door. Once outside they saw the two taller men from before. “I reckon they’ve been stood there the whole time don’t you?” Bella smirked nudging Finn as they walked closer and she locked the door behind them. “Well we ain’t just gonna leave our Finn ‘ere with a stranger are we, Miss Solomon’s.”

Isabella turned around to give a quick comeback but froze when she saw the man infront of her. There he stood, cap in hand, suit pressed, no blood, sharp jaw, perfect lip and those bright blue glass eyes. It was him. Her soldier. She dropped her keys and her hand went to cover her heart.

She shook her head quickly shaking as she reached down to grab them but he got there first. “You okay?” He asked standing back up straight. “Arthur you and Finn go meet Isaiah and Micheal at the car.” Isabella couldn’t stop staring at him. As the two walked away. “Miss Solomon’s?” He asked again. She quickly stepped back squeezing her eyes closed, she could see it all, the blood, the pain, the death she could hear the men crying out and screaming.

The next thing she knew she was on the floor covering her ears with her hands panting her knees were up to her chest and her soldier was crouching infront of her gently prizing her hands from over her ears.

Tommy had seen this before, mostly in men badly effected by the war but never from a woman. Tommy held onto her hands until the relaxed a little, his mind clicked then, she must have been a nurse out there. “It’s okay relax, it’s over now. We’re ‘ome the wars over.” He spoke repeating his words until she had calmed down. What she said next winded Tommy for a few moments.

“I thought you died.” She spoke quietly looking up at him. “Ay?” Tommy was confused now. He helped her up taking note of how shaky she still was and held her arms tightly to keep her steady. “You got shot, I-I took out the bullet, looked after you, you woke up and they took you away. I-I thought you-“ She couldn’t continue. She was to shaken up.

“Bella?” He asked shocked. “You’re the nurse who sat with me all that time and read to me?” He asked in disbelief. “They told me about you, my doctor ‘an Freddie. Said you were the only one to touch me.” Bella nodded her head. She’d calmed down a lot now and was regaining composure.

“I looked for you in the nurses records they didn’t have a Bella on record at all.” He shook his head. “Isabella.” She answered. He looked at her confused for a moment. “My names isabella, i-it’s on all my paperwork, that’s why there’s no Bella.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

They stayed quiet for a few moments “What’s your name?” Tommy looked shocked “you didn’t know my name?”. “We only knew the names of the dead, didn’t have time to greet the living” she shivered a little. Tommy held out his hand, “Tommy, Tommy Shelby.” She took it in her smaller hand shaking it firmly. “Fancy a drink Bella?” He asked watching her. A smile graced her lips as she nodded. “I would love one.”