#I told my mom I want to eat some lobster if we ever go to the beach again and guess who likes lobster

[kurohaai]

Went to the supermarket with my sister to buy some cranberry juice. Ended up with extra pomegranate juice.

#IRL Ai is still an Elliott simp and it shows #I told my mom I want to eat some lobster if we ever go to the beach again and guess who likes lobster? Also Elliott #I spent some extra money to bought new shampoo and some hair vitamins #my game husbando lives in my head rent-free #gdgd #personal #Stardew Valley #sdv elliott

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 4)

Summary: The reader goes to dinner with her step brothers, Michael and Nick, as well as Jensen. When Jensen starts to see how her brothers treat her though, Jensen and the reader have a heart to heart and start to try a different tactic with their relationship...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, sibling angst, minor violence, mentioned prior deaths

A/N: Enjoy!

_________

Monday Evening

“Hey pipsqueak,” said Nick, your arms crossed from where you sat on the couch trying to watch TV. “Since dad and your mom are at dinner at that fancy place, maybe you could take us out?”

“Yeah,” said Michael, still texting away on his phone at the other end of the couch. “There’s that steak place dad said was good. Y/N, you want to have dinner with your big brothers?”

“Not particularly,” you said. 

“She still hate us?” said Nick as he came up to the back of the couch, ruffling your hair and placing his hands on your shoulders. “You gotta let that shit go. We were kids.”

“I was a kid. You were both twenty years old and you two harassed me until I moved out, well past when you knew better. Now that I have money, you two-”

“What was that?” asked Nick and you swallowed. “Come on. Let’s get dinner.”

“Whatever. Jensen! We’re going to dinner wherever you are,” you called out. “Jensen!”

He came down the far hallway near where your office was, his hand behind his back on his holster but you shook your head.

“We’re going out,” you said as he dropped his hand down. “To eat. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“I’m going with you,” he said. You thought that was odd of him but he made his jaw hard and clenched it. “It’s part of my contract. I go where you go.”

“He’s perky isn’t he,” said Michael as he stood up. You rolled your eyes and went towards the front door to get your purse.

Half an hour later the three of you were seated with Jensen sat at the bar close by and keeping an eye on you.

“Surprised he didn’t ask to sit with us,” mumbled Nick. “Why do you have a bodyguard again?”

“After my old manager tried to have me kidnapped for publicity,” you said.

“You know how to pick ‘em,” said Michael. You gripped the menu tight and reviewed it, already knowing your step brothers wouldn’t even pretend to offer to pay for their meals. You never quite understood them. Chuck was always good to your mom and nice to you. You weren’t particularly close but you didn’t dislike each other either. You got along, he asked about you, you spent time together whenever you visited them. Chuck had always been okay in your book. His children though you could have sworn were adopted with how horrible they could be to you.

“How much you want to bet me I could get that douchey little bodyguard over here in less then five seconds?” asked Nick, a smirk on his face you didn’t like.

“He’s just doing his job. Let him do it in peace.”

“I still don’t get why you have one,” said Michael as he looked over the wine list. “Compared to the other girl on the show, you’re like, not good looking.”

“Dude, I’m your sister. You’re not supposed to find me good looking.”

“I know that, dipshit. I mean, you’re just, plain,” he said. “You’re not the main lead. That’s probably why.”

“I’m co-lead. We have no main lead.”

“But you’re second on the call sheet credits thing,” said Nick.

“Cause Gen got hired before me.”

“She’s still hotter than you,” mumbled Nick.

“She’s married and they’re both my best friends.”

“I didn’t say I want to fuck her. Relax. You’re always so uptight,” said Nick. You bit your tongue and weren’t surprised when Michael ordered a few hundred dollar bottle of wine. You got the twenty dollar one you normally did that tasted just as good and Nick went for an expensive Scotch you’d never heard of. 

“Oh,” you said to the waiter before he could leave. “The man on the end of the bar there, his drinks and meal are on me.”

“No problem,” he said as he took off. 

“She’s got no problem paying for his food,” muttered Michael.

“It’s part of his job. For him, this is a business expense,” you said. You gnawed the inside of your cheek and forced a smile. “The garlic bread is very good here if you guys want to get some.”

“Good with me,” said Michael. He gave you a smile, a genuine one before he was checking his phone again. You’d always liked Michael far more than Nick. On his own, Michael was a pretty decent guy. When he got with Nick though, and that was more often than not, even into adulthood, he was normally pretty unbearable.

“Working any big new clients?” you asked, your voice a tad too high but he ignored it while Nick went to the restroom.

“Potentially. I actually got a job offer in LA. Senior partner,” he said.

“That’s great,” you said, Michael smiling.

“You’re actually happy about that, for real,” he said.

“You’re incredibly smart. You always have been. I’m really happy you’re getting out of our little hometown and going to work at a bigger firm,” you said. “That’s a really big deal. You should be proud.”

“Here I thought you’d tell me not to move to your city,” he said.

“Why do you think I’d say that?” you asked.

“You don’t like us,” he said, nodding to the empty spot beside him. “You never have.”

“You guys are dicks most of the time. You skipped over the getting to know each other thing and went right into horrible dick older brothers.”

“We weren’t horrible. We still aren’t. I have worked cases that would make your skin crawl. We’re the Brady bunch compared to most people.”

“My dad died and I was so excited to have big brothers, you know? That year was so horrible and Chuck made mom stop crying and laugh again and I love him for that. But you guys...it doesn’t matter. I’m happy you’re getting a promotion, Michael.”

“Our mom died too that year,” he said, lowering his head.

“I know she did,” you said. “Forget I said anything.”

“So when do you go back to work?” asked Michael as Nick returned.

“A few months from now,” you said.

“What are you gonna do after that?” he asked.

“Honestly I’m not sure right now. I like TV but I might do movies. My options are pretty open,” you said. “How’s teaching going?”

“Always a joy,” said Nick, taking a long sip of his water. “I got tenure finally. Not sure if I’m gonna stay though. If Mikey moves out here I might take a position at UCLA.”

“Oh. So you’re thinking of moving out here too?” you asked. Nick narrowed his eyes and you you looked away. “Maybe mom and Chuck will come out if you guys do.”

“Maybe,” said Nick. Thankfully you spotted your waiter come back with your drinks and you were able to order your appetizer and dinner, already expecting a nearly thousand dollar bill thanks to their alcohol choices. 

“I’ll be right back,” you said. You excused yourself and walked over to the bar, Jensen sipping on a glass of beer while he half-watched a TV behind the bar.

“Require saving from your brothers?” he smirked to himself, turning before you could tap him on the shoulder.

“Why do you say that?” you asked, leaning against the padded bartop. 

“Just a vibe I get, you and Nick especially,” he said. “Nobody gets a pass from me.”

“He’s not a great older brother but he’s harmless,” you said.

“He intimidates you.”

“Like I said, he’s not great but the worst thing he’s ever done was leave me with a group of strange guys. Michael did the same thing. Otherwise they’re just like, crappy older brothers.”

“Crappy or something else? Like I said, nobody gets a pass from me.”

“Jensen. They would never hurt me. I swear on my life.”

“Michael wouldn’t. Nick...I’ll be keeping an eye on him, both of them, whether you want me to or not. I’m the asshole bodyguard after all,” he smirked again.

“Well, it sounds like they’re both gonna move out here soon so we’ll be seeing them more.”

“Lovely,” said Jensen. “So why’d you come over? Need a break from them?”

“Yes. Also, I already told the waiter but your drinks and food are all on me. Feel free to order whatever you want,” you said.

“I’ll stick to the one beer. I’m at work still,” he said.

“They have really good steak. The filet is amazing along with the green beans,” you said. Jensen smiled and played with his glass, swishing the ice cubes around. “The lobster macaroni is also a great side.”

“That’s a hundred dollar steak.”

“Jensen, you know I can afford it.”

“I also know how much you’re paying me. I can afford it.”

“Jensen. I’m your boss. I’m paying for it. Next time I want Taco Bell, you can pay at the drive through if it makes you feel better,” you said. He smiled, a soft gentle little smile you’d never seen on his face before. You returned it, Jensen staring at you before he shook his head and it fell away.

“I’m going to lose this argument, aren’t I.”

“Yeah, you are. I’d much rather pay for your meal than those two bimbos. I like you better,” you said.

“Must have a pretty low bar for them then,” he said.

“Why’d you stop talking to me? After the paparazzi guy?” you asked. He shrugged and wiped off a stray drop of condensation on his glass. “Please?”

“There’s a line I have to keep with you. We can be friendly but if something happens, I am in charge. There can be no doubts about that. I felt that I needed to step back and reaffirm that boundary.”

“We can keep the boundary. But we can be friends too. If you say hide, I’ll hide. If you say run, I’ll run. I know you think I’m a dumb actress but-”

“You’re not dumb. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” he said. You blinked and he offered a half smile. “You have an ability to push through panic and be logical. I know guys with all the training in the world that can’t do that. You’re not a dumb actress. It’s obvious that you were raised to be intelligent.”

“My point is, I will do what you tell me to when it’s those hard moments. But I have confidence that you were wrong before. You can like someone, maybe even care about them like a friend, and still be able to protect them. I actually think it’ll make you better at your job.”

“Give me one example of where that works. Just one.”

“Maybe you want to try talking to your bestie, Jared,” you said. “Or literally most anyone in a relationship anywhere.”

“Touche,” he said. He smiled and nodded. “No more cold shoulder.”

“Thanks.”

“So I should try the macaroni with my steak?” he asked.

“And the green beans. You get two sides. You can get however many you want actually. The dessert selection here is even better than the steak if you can believe it.”

“I’ll have to check it out,” he said. “But no green beans. Traumatic childhood incident with them.”

“I better not be attacked by the cabbage patch kids. They might just take you down,” you said, Jensen giggling to himself. “Oh, he does laugh. Good to know. The roasted truffle garlic fries are really good too.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I think I’ll check them out.”

“Do you want to sit with us?” you asked, nodding back towards the table.

“I better not. I don’t think your brothers like me very much,” he said. “I got a better vantage point over here anyways.”

“Vantage point?” you asked.

“Got a weird feeling is all. I want to stay sharp tonight,” he said. You nodded and turned to go, Jensen catching your bicep. “If something happens, what do you do?”

“Duck and cover and wait for you to get me,” you said.

“Good girl. You did read my instructions.”

“Yup. Even read the part about how to get out of your hands being tied behind your back. Unfortunately, I’m not flexible enough and my ass is too big for that,” you said. He chuckled and you smirked. “Oh you know it is.”

“I’m not opposed to that fact,” he said. You went wide eyed and he laughed. “My boss is hot, what can I say.”

“You better stick to the one drink after all, Ackles,” you said, laughing as you lightly whacked his arm. “Try the triple brownie sundae for dessert. You won’t regret it.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“I think I gained five pounds,” said Michael, stretching out in his seat nearly two hours later, the waiter bringing over the check. You frowned at the bill but it was what you were expecting. You stuck your card in the pocket and caught the waiter pretty quickly. It was getting late and you were tired. Even your step-brothers were getting quiet so you hoped to get home quickly.

The waiter returned and you wrote out a tip, sticking your card back in your wallet and purse. You stretched as you stood up, your step brothers taking their time to get to their feet. You headed over towards Jensen when the sound of glass shattering caught your attention. You turned your head and heard tires screeching outside, spotting that the window at the front of the restaurant was gone now. You barely saw the cop car driving by before you heard sharp little noises in the air and felt like you got hit by a truck. 

Suddenly you were on the ground, Jensen on top of you. Nick and Michael were ducked down under the table along with most everyone in the restaurant, some people at the bar hopping over the counter and diving behind the back. The whole place was silent and you all heard the front door to the place open abruptly. Jensen stood up in one smooth motion, his gun out and aimed, a shot ringing out a second later as someone yelled. A few seconds later there was a loud echo of feet, Jensen setting his gun on the ground and holding up his hands. Police filled in the place, two very angry looking officers rushing over to him and barking orders.

“It’s okay,” said Jensen to you as he knelt down.

Less than five minutes later he was released and some hostess was thanking him over and over still for stopping the guy that had come in looking for trouble. Jensen shrugged it off, only grazing the guy and the police pretty impressed with him for doing so. 

“Are we free to go?” asked Jensen, an officer nodding. He waved for you and your step-brothers to follow, Jensen driving the four of you back to your place quickly. Nick and Michael took their rental car back to their hotel, neither one much in the mood to talk after what had happened.

Jensen checked that the house was secure before he went to his room and shut the door. You weren’t sure if he was okay or not. He seemed pretty calm but he had shot a guy, if only barely. Instead of heading to your bedroom, you wandered down the hall to his area of the house. There was a guest suite there he used for his bed and bathroom but he rarely used it unless he was going to bed and he always, always told you when he was turning in for the night.

As you were about to knock on the door you heard the faint sound of a shower and nodded. He was simply cleaning up. It didn’t sound like a bad idea to yourself honestly. You went down the hall to your room, flipping on the light. It was a soft white in there, the wall behind the bed a shiplap that led up to wood beams going across the vaulted ceiling. Another light was flipped on in the bathroom and you stepped under the shower for a few minutes, washing off your face and skin. After five minutes you went out to the bedroom and over to the closet, finding a pajama shirt and shorts to slip into. Your hair was thrown up in a messy bun and you found your oversized fleece hoodie you occasionally slept in. Tucking it under your arm, you headed out of the room and back down the hall, Jensen’s door still shut.

“Jensen?” you said, knocking on the door lightly. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he said. Carefully you pushed the door open, Jensen walking out of his bathroom in just his boxer briefs, wiping a towel over his head. He tugged it down and stared at you, your eyes going to his chest, legs and everywhere in between. 

“I uh, wanted to make sure you were alright,” you said, ripping your eyes away and meeting his gaze. He nodded and tossed his towel back into the laundry basket by the closet.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Yeah. I uh-”

“No need to be nervous around me,” he said.

“Right,” you said, Jensen walking right in front of you before stopping. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and to say thanks.”

“It’s my job,” he said. 

“Still,” you said. “I...here. I thought you might like this.”

“A hoodie?” he asked as you handed him the fleece. “What’s this for?”

“S’my bad day hoodie. I wear it to bed sometimes. Makes me feel better,” you said with a shrug.

“Old boyfriend’s?” he asked as he pulled it on, a soft smile spreading across his cheeks. “It’s so soft. Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome,” you said.

“So was it the boyfriends? Or you get it for yourself?” he asked.

“It was a birthday present for my dad. He died the week before. I never got to give it to him.”

“I shouldn’t be wearing this,” he said, moving to take it off when you caught his wrists. He was so much stronger than you but he let you manhandle him and move his hands back to his sides.

“It fits you better than it ever did me. Besides, I think you’re a little on edge and not telling me which is fine. It’s good for that,” you said. “I want you to keep it.”

“Y/N, I can’t keep something like this,” he said. You stared at him, Jensen swallowing. “It’s important to you.”

“Yes. But you gave me your blanket and wouldn’t let me return it. Fair is fair,” you said.

“Y/N-”

“S’an order, Jensen. Keep it.”

“Yes mam,” he said quietly.

“I hate when you call me that,” you said, moving your hands away from him.

“I know you do,” he said, a quick smirk crossing his face. “Why aren’t you using this yourself tonight?”

“I got my blanket. I’m good,” you said.

“It doesn’t explain why you’re giving me this though.”

“Lately, something else has been making me feel better and safe. My dad would have liked you.”

“Your father was a good person. A brave person,” said Jensen. 

“You know how he died,” you said, Jensen returning a nod. “I used to be really angry at him. Why’d he have to go help that woman? He could have walked past and been alive. But since I got older, if I was that woman being attacked, I would pray for a man like that to come help me. I know he was good.”

“I will do my very best to be that man for you,” he said. 

“I know you will. If you need something, come get me,” you said.

“Y/N,” he said just as you spun around. “May I have the morning off? You will be with family and my sister is in town for the day for work. I’d like to get lunch with her if I could.”

“Take the day,” you said with a smile, looking back over your shoulder. “She can come to dinner if you like.”

“She’s got a flight back at five thirty,” he said. “Thanks though.”

“It’s no problem,” you said. “Goodnight, Jensen.”

“Goodnight,” he said. You pulled his door shut after yourself and went down to your own bedroom to get under the covers. You stared up at the ceiling, hearing a light pitter patter on the rooftop. Rain was so rare in LA that you normally welcomed it when it came around. It reminded you of back home in a way.

A text popped up on your phone just as you were closing your eyes. It was from Gen and was a link to some news article about the restaurant, a picture of you and Jensen front and center.

You wrote back you were fine and turned off your phone, knowing you’d have to deal with questions in the morning.

________

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

#spn #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles au #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #au #bodyguard!AU #bodyguard!jensen #bodyguard!jensen x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

[haechanniesunflowers]

NCT 127's reaction to your kid misbehaving with you

Warnings: bratty kids, disrespect, smoking, weight conscious theme, a lil mention of blood, just spoiled kids idk I can't stand bratty and spoiled kids if my future kids ever misbehave with y'all let me know I'ma handle them

Requested by @glossiiipeach

Taeil

Taeil knows how to be a good parent, he's the oldest hyung of 22 other boys. Can't nobody tell him how to handle his kids because he's dealt with Haechan.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and stretches his hand out to hold you, he doesn't feel you there. Getting out of bed he goes to look for you but hears faint voices and follows the source. He's standing outside his 17 year old daughter Jiwoo's bedroom. He's about to knock on the door when he makes out what she's saying.

"mom didn't I just tell you that we're being careful? we're young and don't want a child of course. Why can't you understand that. Now give me back my pills and get out of my room"

"you're 17 Jiwoo. I'm worried about you. What if something goes wrong? And he's not the type to settle down. I don't want you to get hurt please"

"my God mom you're so annoying stop it please leave I'm getting angry"

Taeil can't believe what he's hearing and it's making him lose his mind. He enters Jiwoo's room making her and you shocked. He sees the pills in your hand and looks at Jiwoo. She's beyond embarrassed. Taeil tries his best to contain his anger, taking deep breaths. Nope he can't handle it.

"what's going on?" he asks, not actually wanting confirmation.

"Taeil honey, let me handle this" you say

"does she deserve your compassion y/n? She doesn't even know how to respect her mother, why should I go easy on her?"

Everyone goes silent.

"tell that man to come over tomorrow, I want to meet him. Let's hope he's got some manners because you clearly don't" he says to Jiwoo and leaves the room taking you with him.

Johnny

Johnny is a great partner and parent. He's like a friend to his 14 year old twin sons David and Jacob. They share everything with him, tell him their secrets, their relationship with you guys is built on trust so you guys are cool with each other. But that doesn't mean that they can do anything they're not allowed to do.

You're in the kitchen preparing dinner, Jocob helping you not only because he's closer with you but because he's a member of the family and he knows helping around the house won't make him any less of a man (yes I said equity) you guys taught your children well I'm so proud of you. Johnny comes home an hour early and sets the table (I love this family so much ugh) while Jacob brings the dishes. You go upstairs to wake David up since he said he'll be asleep. You softly knock on the door several times but he doesn't answer so you quietly open the door only to see that he's not in his room. Johnny comes upstairs too to change into comfortable clothes before dinner.

You see the bathroom door open to you wak over and just as you're about to call David's name you see him leaning against the shower wall, smoking a cigarette. In a state of anger and shock you stomp towards him and slapping it out of his hand.

"what is your fucking problem mom" David screams.

Did Johnny hear it right? Are his ears playing tricks on him or did he just hear 14 year old David not only just raise his voice at you but also use a curse word with you. He's there in an instant, face twisting with anger. Someone please save David from Johnny now.

He takes the cigarette from your hand and examines it before turning towards his son. "did you just curse at your mother?" Johnny is scary man. No one says anything.

"we'll talk about the cigarette later. I can't have my boys disrespecting my wife, under my roof. So why don't you repeat it for us, I want to hear it up close". He says.

"no I'm sorry, she scared me" David says quietly.

"oh that's not what I overheard" Johnny says, he won't let him get away with this.

Taeyong

You and him only have one child and have planned to have another when your first born is older. So naturally your 12 year old son Minho was loved and spoiled by everyone around him. He could get away with almost everything. Almost. And disrespecting anyone wasn't on the list of options. You don't let him indulge in technology a lot and send him to the playground instead. You and Taeyong don't realize it sooner that he's surrounding himself with older boys who teach him bad things just for the fun of it.

He comes home one day and straight up yells for you to make him his favorite chocolate shake. "mom make me my favorite drink right now".

You look at your mother-in-law who is visiting you for the weekend and excuse yourself. "Lee Minho where are your manners? Go meet your grandparents" you say glaring at him. He rolls his eyes in return.

"umm no I don't want to right now, and where's my chocolate shake".

"Minho what are you saying, what's wrong with you. I'm telling you to go and-"

"and I said I don't want to. I'll meet them when I want to meet them. Got it?" he says angrily.

Taeyong hears the commotion from his room and comes to see what's going on. He hears the last sentence Minho said and quickly comes closer to you two.

"what was that Minho?" Taeyong asks, his aura dark.

"I don't want to talk to anyone right now and she's forcing me, tell her to stop" Minho is just asking for trouble now.

Taeyong looks at you apologetically and then to his son angrily. "come with me" he says, taking his son by his arm to his room. He's gonna talk some sense into that spoiled kid, oh and he's grounded and Taeyong will personally have a word with those boys Minho's been playing with.

Yuta

We all know our man is woke af and got big brains. He's a friendly but strict father, his sons Hiroto (15) and Fubuki (10) know better than to make him angry. But his daughter Ayame (13) is his weakness and he goes easy on her. Maybe that's why she thinks she can trash talk to you without consequences.

You guys are going to meet Yuta's parents in Osaka and everyone is told to be on their best behavior. Hiroto and Fubuki comply but Ayame has an attitude because she would rather hangout with her friends. Yuta is driving the car and you're in the passenger seat.

"move omg you're touching me" Ayame complains and shoves Fubuki towards Hiroto, the latter sending her a glare.

"Ayame sweetie be nice to your baby brother" you say.

"ugh I don't get why we all have to go. I had to cancel my plans with Aoi and Natsumi. I could meet grandmother and grandfather some other time when I wasn't busy" she complains. You, Hiroto add Fubuki all look towards Yuta to check if this sudden outburst made him angry because it's his parents she's talking about. You can tell by the way he cocks his eyebrow for a second and the way he's gripping the steering wheel that he's getting annoyed. So you decide to tell her to stop.

"Ayame stop complaining, it's not like we meet them every day. They're very sweet and you kids know they love you so much".

"this was your stupid idea wasn't it mom" and with that Yuta stops the car and faces his daughter.

"what makes you think you can talk to her like that" he asks rhetorically. Ayame is speechless, she wasn't expecting this. Yuta thinks the world of you, he's seen you being sick during your pregnancies and the troubles of carrying his children. He's noticed how your body has become weaker and changed. If anything, he loves you even more for being strong and going through it. He's in awe of you and he can't let anyone disrespect you. His brain can't accept it.

"take your words back and say you're sorry right now" he says in a serious tone.

"I'm sorry mom" your daughter apologizes immediately.

Doyoung

Doyoung and you put in extra effort to teach your children the best manners. You guys did succeed but weren't prepared for this surprise. Your daughter Yuna (12) got into a fight with your son Hyunjin (14). It started with them arguing over the remote and escalated to the point where Hyunjin hit her in the head with the remote and pulled her hair. Yuna screamed for you. You and Doyoung were asleep in your room when you heard her scream. You quickly got out of bed and ran to see what had happened. Yuna came running into your arms, crying hysterically. Doyoung followed you, confused and scared. He sees Yuna in your arms crying her eyes out and you're scolding your son.

"Hyunjin how dare you hit your sister"

"it's not like she wasn't a part of it, I was watching the game and she tried snatching the remote from my hand"

"does that mean you hit her head and pull her hair? You're so mean apologize to your sister"

"no shut up" he says annoyed and immediately covers his mouth.

"hey! you shut up and go to your room, you're grounded until I say so" Doyoung says before you could say anything.

Hyunjin runs to his room with his hands still covering his mouth and spilling apologies to you.

Doyoung picks Yuna up and takes you both to your room, calming her down and promising her that he will scold Hyunjin.

"I'm sorry" he says to you, squeezing your hand feeling embarrassed that your son disrespected you.

Jaehyun

Such a loving husband and father and an only child, he did everything in his power to make you two happy. He spoiled not only you but his daughter as well. Ever since Jisoo was born, she has been the apple of everyone's eyes. Your parents, Jaehyun's parents and you two all loved her to no end. She got whatever she wanted. This soon got to her head and now she was 15 and asking for a Prius. It was an absurd request because 1, she doesn't know how to drive, 2, she's not legally supposed to drive and 3, what does she even need the car for. You both turn down her request. She's not having any of it.

She's stopped eating and stays in her room all the time. You're both very concerned but you know her wish can't be granted so you try to cheer her up.

You two are in her room sitting on her bed, she's on her phone. You start talking.

"Jae the lobster you prepared looks amazing and I bet it tastes perfect too, if only Jisoo could accompany us at the dinner table, we could taste it", you say.

Jisoo sighs "all I hear is blah blah blah"

"come on y/n, let's have lobster for dinner because Jisoo clearly doesn't have enough appreciation for the hard work put in and she doesn't have proper manners so we'll leave her to think about what she said and when she's ready to apologize, she can come join us at the dinner table" he says taking you out of the room with him.

Winwin

What did I say about OT10 hmm? We have no choice but to stan.

He's the sweetest most gentle man ever I swear just look at him. Everyone loves him so much. He doesn't look like the type to get angry so it really takes a lot to get him there.

He's sitting on the couch reading his group chat texts and you're sitting on the floor with you 16 year old son Minghao, playing a video game. You're better at it than him and you aren't gonna lose just because he's your son. You're about to win when he throws his controller and unplugs the game, making you let out an annoyed cry.

"what gives" you say

"mom can you stop, you're being annoying ugh"

"hey watch it" you warn him and he pushes the books off the shelf in annoyance.

"y/n let's go out for a walk. It'll give Minghao enough time to think about his actions and clean up the mess he's made".

Yup you both really left him to clean it.

Jungwoo

You guys have a pretty strong relationship and everyone can see that. You're there for each other and help the other whenever they need it. Plus you have two beautiful daughters Chaein (16) and Dami (14). Your family is cute, soft and savage. Yikes

Your daughters are very very close with you and won't dare to disrespect you and they often joke around with you.

Ever since you had your girls, you've struggled to lose weight. Your body had gotten weak after child birth so you needed everything to stay healthy but you couldn't seem to lose weight, you didn't have the energy to. You sometimes felt conscious standing next to your husband but he always reassured you that you look perfect and he's maintaining his weight because of his job. You didn't need to be conscious but you couldn't help it.

You had a lot of work to do that day so you constantly had to go up and down the stairs. At one point you had had enough so you stood there trying to catch your breath. Your daughter Dami also came down and was using her phone so she bumped into you.

"my God mother move! you've really let yourself go"

"that's not very nice of you Dami" Jungwoo says coming up the stairs to help you.

"I was joking dad" Dami says.

"we don't joke about these kinds of things in this household" Jungwoo informs and Dami says she's sorry to both of you.

"ooo busted" Chaein comments from her room.

Mark

You and Mark had a similar nature. You both found it hard to get angry but it was easy when it was at Haechan lmao let the boy breathe

Mark was pretty chill with his family and you guys joked around a lot but nothing too serious.

You were currently in the kitchen losing your marbles over Mark destroying the eggs and using a metal spoon on a non stick pan yup he scraped it alright.

"just watch me do it y/n I think I finally got it"

You're sitting still, internally crying over the ruined pan.

"see? I told you I got it" Mark says proudly, putting the destroyed egg on the plate, sprinkling some salt and pepper on it.

"Mark what is this supposed to be, and you ruined my pan. You said you were going to be careful with it. I'm physically in pain just looking at it" you say jokingly. The damage had been done you why not joke about it.

"oh come on mom it's just a pan stop being so over dramatic about it" says your 12 year old son Levi.

"hey don't be sassing around got it? Especially not with your mother and me" Mark says in a serious tone with his finger pointed to his son.

"sorry mom and dad" Levi says.

Haechan

If you thought he's annoying, you've got another thing coming. Say hello to your sons Changmin and Subin. A combination of Haechan and you.

You love them to death but sometimes it gets too much and you need your husband to control them. It's one of those times. They're running around the house with sticks in their hands. You're trying to stop them to keep them from hurting themselves because those sticks are pointy but they're not listening to you at all. You try stepping between and Subin (10) accidentally runs into you with the the stick pointed towards you. It pierces the skin of your leg, drawing blood. You let out a yelp and clutch your wounded leg. Changmin (12) screams for Haechan once he sees the blood. He immediately comes running and gives you first aid. He asks you how it happened and Subin answers it himself.

"I was playing with Changmin and mom decided to butt in!"

Haechan glares at him and is about to school him but you hold his wrist and shake your head no. He sighs and thinks of better words.

"that's not how to speak about your parents kids" he says, disappointed.

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #kpop scenarios #nct imagines #kpop #nct scenarios #kpop icons #wayv #nct reactions #nct 127 reactions #nct taeil #nct taeyong #nct johnny #nct yuta #nct doyoung #nct jaehyun #nct winwin #wayv winwin #nct jungwoo #nct mark #nct haechan

[myeyesarebrighter]

@akamuffintop was asking about Americana she’s missing in yacht clubs on a @greenekatgrey post, which brought back a flood of memories. So here we go down memory land. This might close some cultural gaps for you muffin.

So in my early 20s, single girl living in Boston years… I didn’t know anyone, hadn’t gone to college here, had no network and basically moved to a city to gtfo small town life on a whim. I met some people through coworkers (and that’s a crap shoot, your only commonality is your employer and age, but fuck it!). Friends of her friends friends were Boston locals… Boston University kids, son of the Dean of … (redacted; at the time), kids of C suite families with penthouses off Comm Ave, etc. I grew up actual poor in Maine, so this shit was lost on me. It took me a while to figure out why these kids didn’t take work seriously, never ran out of money, didn’t seem worried about cops or legal troubles, etc. They just lived on whims and urges, did what they felt like, and landed right side up. Weird. Ok. I assume I was sort of a novelty? Or they were too self absorbed to notice. Either way, I’m young and reckless and making VERY bad choices at this time in my life. Don’t be like me. I’m honestly not sure why I didn’t die back then, and looking back I’m pretty sure I may have wanted to die (at least a little).

So I find myself very good friends with this loud mouth bossy bitch type, she took no shit, and I had fun with her. She was generous and cared, had a big heart, and was a little lost. I meet the family, who live in a cute house in a costal town on the south shore… and eventually find my way to her actual yacht club… docks filled with big boats, actual trash cans full of boiled lobsters, coolers overflowing with beer that no one seemed to own, and everyone falling on themselves for the cute 20somethings to ride on their boats (everyone = old men). It was fun!

And there were massive 4th of July parties where the beaches were lit on fire and blown up with fireworks. By this time I’m realizing something is weird here. The multi million dollar oceanfront mansions are just wide open for anyone to waltz into and drink/eat from. As long as someone talked to you, no one asked who you were.

I still don’t know what my friends dad did for work. He was always drunk at the club. Her mom was hooked on benzos and KO’ed on the couch most of the time. My friend ended up hooked on a bunch of shit and going to detox a few times (after I found my way out of that situation… there was a lot of drama). My best day was when some rich old man told me I needed to move out of Dot because a girl like me “didn’t belong there.” So I told him to quit being a bigot, it was a lovely neighborhood, and besides I (and most people there) couldn’t afford to live any fucking where else! At that, I threw my beer in the sink behind the bar and walked out. It was about all I needed to know and it only went downhill from there.

Another time, there was one of those beach burner parties on the week of the 4th, who knows what day bc that’s prime season and no one goes to work. Anyway, late night on like the 3rd day partying and this guy offers me a ride on his bike (Harley). He was young and hot and I said yes. It’s maybe the stupidest thing I’ve ever done? Anyway, we almost die (he drives the bike up onto the sidewalk), he restrains himself somehow after I tell him I’m not going to suck his dick, and I find out the next morning that he’s a fucking state trooper. Like just out of the academy or some bullshit. He was an angry type and looking back, I’m very surprised he didn’t hit those mailboxes or rape me when I declined his slobbery kisses. I just wanted to ride on the bike, not to ride it to his house when all of our friends turned left and we turned right. Anyway, week took his lame suv back to the party after that. He was definitely piss drunk and driving all night.

I did get to cruise the intercostal in an old wooden boat with those assholes, which was a pretty wild time. I have stories. But yeah. It came with a cost.

So no. I don’t think you’re missing much and I don’t plan to be joining any kind of yacht club. They also were absolutely ALL fucking each other’s spouses and children. It was gross.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜 

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.                                                        

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”  

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.  

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.  

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.  

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

[wishingforatypewriter]

A Love Like Closed Doors

Summary: Opal wishes her mother would take her more seriously (third chapter of The Successor)

When Opal was about eight years old, she had asked to be trained in the nonbending martial arts. She had no real interest in fighting—always having preferred more peaceful activities like her older brothers—but seeing as though she could not invent, paint, or metalbend, she figured that becoming a competent fighter would be her only chance at staying relevant.

Her mother had indulged the request, guiding her through stance training and having her practice simple katas. But after she had taken a bad fall during one session, resulting in a sprained wrist and bloody nose, the lessons stopped abruptly.

Opal had not been the sort of child taken to screaming tantrums, running away, or hunger strikes. Nonbenders learned to take up less space; she and Junior were always the best behaved of the siblings. But when her mother put an end to her training, she had raged. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she stormed all the way to the tram station on the edge of the estate, mustering the courage to get on the rail and go somewhere, and ignoring the kind pleading of the guards who offered to bring her home. She missed lunch and dinner and would have stayed out all night, stewing in her frustration, had her father not come down to get her.

“She thinks I can’t do anything!” she had said as soon as her father sat down beside her on the cold metal bench.

He'd rested a comforting hand on her back. “Sweetheart, your mother thinks you are very capable—”

“Then why won’t she train me?” Opal had asked. “Wing and Wei and Kuvira have training accidents all the time. She throws rocks at them!”

Her father sighed, removing his glasses to clean them on the end of his tunic, the way he often did when considering a particularly challenging mathematical problem. “Opal, you are your mother’s entire word. If anything ever happened to you, I don’t think she’d survive it,” he told her. “I know she can be a bit overprotective sometimes, but she only worries because she loves you so much.”

Opal had taken her father’s word for it, grabbed his hand, and went back home to fall into her mother’s arms. After seeing the tortured look on her face, the concerned forehead creases that aged her by decades, she never mentioned the lessons again.

She hadn’t realized it then, but it was at that moment that she accepted a love like closed doors, a life filled with pressed flowers and pretty half-truths. Had she known it at the time, would she have fought harder?

It was nearly midnight, but the dome around the house was still down, even though all the others in the city had gone up at the usual time. Huan was out on the lawn with his easel, painting an abstract rendition of the night sky, and the twins had decided to hold a late-night power disc match. Opal wanted nothing more than to be jubilant like them and take this rare opportunity to stargaze without question, but she couldn’t help but consider how odd it was for the domes to be down this late—and on a Wednesday night, no less.

She had been on her way to ask one of the guards on duty—hoping they might mistake her for someone who should to know things—when she caught sight of her mother pacing up and down the foyer. She continued for a minute or so before a young guard approached her.

“Would you like for us to raise them, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, leave them down, Hong-Li,” her mother replied with an impatient edge to her voice. “She said she’d be back before tomorrow.”

Hong-Li—who only looked a year or so older than Opal herself—was visibly shaken by his boss' displeasure. “I...um, would you like for us to try radioing the captain? Maybe we could find out what’s keeping her.”

“They didn’t bring radios. It was too much of a risk.” Opal saw her mother start wringing her hands like she hadn’t since great-grandma Poppy’s health began to fail. She caught herself soon after and clasped her hands in front of her, but the pacing only resumed. “Just leave them down until she’s back or I say otherwise.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hong-Li gave a short bow and then left to continue his rounds.

Once he was gone, her mother stopped in the middle of the foyer, looking unusually small in contrast with the long hallway and colored glass windows that extended from ceiling to floor. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes for a moment, and exhaled deeply.

“Opal, sweetie, I know you’re there.”

Opal started, suddenly feeling quite foolish for lurking in the stairwells. “Mom, are you alright?” she asked once she had made her way down the steps. “You seem stressed.”

“I’m fine.” She gave a fragmented smile that was meant to reassure her. “I’ve just been preoccupied with...making arrangements for the delegation from Omashu.”

Opal did all she could to keep the incredulity from showing on her face. She knew from experience that she would need to meet her mother where she was. “Maybe I can help you plan for it,” she said. “I’ll bring some tea up to your study and we can work out some of the details.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, clasping Opal's hands. “I’d like that.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were sipping chamomile tea on green couches and planning the menu for the king’s welcome feast.

“Maybe the elephant-koi on the first day,” Opal proposed. “And we can have the kitchen pair it with a papaya salad.”

“King Yudai always preferred lobster-crab,” her mother said offhandedly.

“Lobster-crab it is, then,” Opal said, making a note in the planner.

“And we’ll have to have a pork roast,” her mother added before taking a sip of her tea.

Opal tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Mom, you don’t eat pork,” she pointed out. In fact, the only people in the house who did were the twins, who only knew the taste of it because Grandma Toph had given them exposure just before she disappeared.

Her mom made a face and then gave a small shrug. “I don’t, but Yudai loves the stuff. He always wants it after he travels.”

“It sounds like you know the King of Omashu pretty well,” Opal said.

Her mother laughed a little. “Well, we were engaged once.”

Opal blinked a few times, searching her mom’s face for any signs of a joke. “You were what ?”

“Come on. I must have told you this story a million times.”

Opal’s lips flattened into a tight line. No, she probably told Kuvira, who she had actually brought with her on her last state visit to Omashu two years ago. But it would be unhelpful in the extreme to bring up the guard captain now. “It’s late,” she said, feigning a yawn. “Remind me?” It had never taken much to draw a story out of her mother.

“I met him while I was living with my grandparents,” she explained with a wistful sigh. Opal knew that both of Grandma Toph’s parents had passed away years ago. “My grandfather had business in Omashu, so they brought me to court, knowing that I’d probably skip town if they didn’t. While he made his contracts, my Grandma Poppy dressed me up in silk and gold and took me to the king’s earthbending tournament. Before the first round, King Yudai—well, he was Prince Yudai back then—stopped right in front of me and asked me for my favor.”

“Your what?” Opal asked, drawing more laughter from her mother.

“I had no clue either! Toph certainly didn’t raise us to be aware of the rules of noble courtship.” She shook her head. “He was asking for me to give him a token of mine—like a silk sash or a hairpin—to bring him luck in the tournament. I didn’t have anything like that, so I took my wrist guard and bent it into a bracelet with patterns of badgermoles and earth discs. Metalbending was rare in this region back then, so I suppose I left an impression." She nibbled the edge of her lip, remembering. "He won every match that day, but only because I wasn't competing.”

“And then he just proposed?” Opal asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

“After a few months of courtship,” she said. “We went on a few chaperoned excursions—some in Omashu, some in Gaoling. He even took me to Ember Island once.”

“But you’re not Queen of Omashu,” Opal pointed out, wondering whether her mother could be exaggerating. “What happened? Did you not love him?”

“I think I did at the time,” her mother said, staring out the window, up at the starlit sky. “But I was seventeen years old. I hadn’t lived yet, and I knew that if I married into royalty, I never would. So a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, I ran away and joined a traveling circus.”

Opal just blinked slowly. “Unbelievable.”

A circus performer? An almost-queen? What else had her mother been before Zaofu?

She had been poised to ask one of about a million follow-up questions when Hong-Li came into the room, bowing to them both. “Ma’am, the captain and her team have returned.”

Her mother stood instantly, relief and anxiety dueling for control of her countenance. “Where—”

“Seeing that her team receives medical care, ma’am, and then on her way up to you.”

“Thank the spirits,” she said quietly. “Opal, would you mind if—”

“On my way out,” Opal said, knowing well what was coming next. Wherever Kuvira had been, whatever she had done, would be yet another closed door.

#opal beifong #suyin beifong #kuvira #legend of korra #lok #tlok

[13dead-ends]

Train Ride

Young Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: You’ve known Henry for years and after high school you decide to go on a trip of a lifetime. Your longtime crush on him only gets worse as the trip goes on.

Word Count: 4531

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (please wear a condom, folks), oral/face riding, swearing, teeth rotting fluff at the end, 

A/N: So my first smut is here! It’s shortish, but I liked it, Also @hellcaster901​ said it was good so I posted. This fic literally came from a picture of Henry Cavill I sent to her. Thanks for encouraging me to post anything and everything! 

Enjoy!! <3

I stared at Henry in as he ran down the beach into the water. His back muscles glinted in the sun as he came back up, hair wet and trunks clinging to his thighs. I swallowed, adjusting my position in the beach chair, the umbrella keeping me from frying completely. While my skin had burned plenty of times on this trip, Henry’s had only gotten golden brown. Only a burn every now and then on his nose and cheeks. I sighed. Why do I notice every little detail about Henry? I shook my head and went back to my book; staring was starting to get creepy. I couldn’t really focus on it though, the heat, and the waves, and other things distracted me. Henry’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since middle school and decided to go backpacking a few years after we graduated high school. We were on country four now. The Bahamas had treated us nicely, but it was our last day here. We had decided on America next, we would fly to New York and spend a few days there, then travel the country by train or bus. We were kind of winging it a little, but it was nice. Especially with him.

I had fallen head over heels for him in 11th grade. When we were younger I didn’t see him as more than a friend, but when came back from living with his uncle that summer, something hit me. More like punched me in the gut. I don’t know what it was or why, but here I am, almost three years later and still feeling butterflies from just him looking at me. I shut my book, I had reread the same paragraph a thousand times. I set it on my towel and sunk in my chair, soaking in the heat, and shutting my eyes.

“Y/N,” Henry had walked up so quietly that I jumped when he spoke. “You should get in, it’s perfect.” I opened my eyes, and there was Henry still out in the sun, drying off. I tried to calm my heart down a little with a breath.

“I will, I’m just enjoying the heat for a little.”

“Did you put on sunscreen?” Henry had not let the fact that I had turned lobster red in Egypt go. I had forgot to put on sunscreen when we went to the pyramids. He teased me, but he also liked to check in on me.

“Yes, mom.” He chuckled and it was like music to my ears. “Did you?” I pulled my sunglasses down and stared at him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He plopped down on the towel next to me, getting a water out of the cooler. Before opening it he pressed the cold thing on my thigh and I yelped, flinching away.

“Fuck off,” but I was laughing. He handed the bottle to me and got out another one. I drank a long swig and stared at his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Any places in America that are a must-see?” He leaned back, laying on the towel, his abs flexed under his skin.

“New Orleans, that’s for sure. I’m also dragging you to a broadway show in New York.” I had gotten tickets to A show I thought we’d both like.

“Fine, but you’re bungee jumping with me.” I pursed my lips, jumping off a bridge did not seem like fun, but then I imagined doing it with Henry, and it didn’t seem too bad. “I want to see the Grand Canyon.”

“Me too. I want to go to Denver too.”

“You wanna buy weed don’t you?” He laughed out loud.

“Yes I do! And there’s nothing wrong with that.” I laughed. We discussed possible destinations and then he dragged me into the water. It was nice, though the salt stung my eyes. It was fun to be with him.

 …

 I rubbed my eyes as I walked behind Henry as we filed off the plane it was a long flight, but we made it. I was just exhausted. We were taking the rest of the day to rest, our Air BnB sounded like heaven right now. Henry was almost to the flight attendants at the door of the plane. I noticed the two ladies who had ran the flight whispering as we approached.

“Thank you, ladies,” Henry said as he passed, and they grinned and told him to have a good day and safe travels. When he was off, and I was walking past them I only got a thank you for flying with us. I scoffed a little and rolled my eyes. I stepped off the plane and moved up, so I was side by side with Henry.

“As soon as we get there I’m sleeping.” I still felt my eyes droop with tiredness.

“Did you sleep on the plane?” Henry had slept through most of the flight. I couldn’t sleep on planes.

“Nope,” I sighed.

“Well, you sleep, I’ll get some food and things for the next few days.”

“Okay, sounds good.” We went through the motions of customs and airport craziness, then took a cab to the place. It was still daylight, but as soon as I saw my room, I was out.

The next day we went around the city and did touristy things. I got a good picture of Henry looking out onto Times Square without him knowing. He looked so good with his curly hair, grown out a little longer than usual and skin glowing from the Bahama sun. I smiled at him as he took in all the signs and logos flashing on the screens.

“When’s the show?” I was pulled out of my trance as he turned back around to face me.

“Tonight, at seven.” He nodded. “We can go eat and just go straight there.” We ate a small bar we found and then went to the show. Us only bringing what was necessary we didn’t have fancy clothes to wear. I had a sundress and Henry honestly just wore a nicer looking T-shirt and pants. We didn’t care anyways.

“My lady,”Henry held out his arm for me as I got out of the cab. I took it and stood. In front of me was the Broadway theatre and I grinned.

“Oh my god, Henry I’m so excited.” He chuckled.

“It’d better be good.” He teased.

“I hope you like it, I tried to pick something we’d both like.” He nodded, pulling me closer to his side as people walked past.

“I’m sure I will. Shall we?” He led me up the steps and to our seats. They weren’t the best, but I still couldn’t wait. As the lights went down and the show started, I felt Henry’s eyes on me. I turned to him and he was staring at me.

“What?” I tilted my head at him.

“Nothing, just watch the show.” I squinted at him and turned back to the stage. The show was amazing, cheesy broadway songs were already stuck in my head as the curtains closed for intermission. Henry and I went out to have a drink before it started back up again.

“Please tell me you like it a little bit?” I nudged Henry as I sipped on my wine. Already feeling the usual warmth alcohol gave me.

“I like it but stop worrying about me. This was really for you anyways.”

“I know but I want you to have fun too.”

“I am.” He looked at me. “This is the best trip anyone could ask for.” I grinned and hugged his neck. He squeezed my waist, his strong hands sending shivers down my spine.

“I’m so glad we did this.” I muttered only for him to hear.

After the show, I was tipsy, and we decided to just walk back to our place. It had cooled down and it felt nice on my hot skin. I always got like this when I drank. Henry on the other hand held his drink well and walked beside me, looking beautiful in the street lamps.

“Okay now you’re staring at me.” I turned to look straight ahead, and he chuckled.

“I think we have a staring problem.” I joked, but I knew I did. “We’re just that beautiful.” He was that beautiful. “I mean I do but look at you.” I punched his shoulder, which hurt me more that it did him.

“Shut up, as if you didn’t notice those guys staring at you on the plane.”

“What guys?” Henry wasn’t looking at me when he spoke.

“They were a few isles down and I could feel them looking at us, well you.” I blinked.

“I didn’t see them.”

“I did, they were like vultures.” I glanced at him, but his face was blank. I was too busy noticing those flight attendants to notice those guys. “I can’t believe you didn’t see them.” I shrugged.

“Maybe I was distracted,” I mumbled.

“Don’t mumble like that.” He shook his head. “You sounded like you did in middle school.”

“We agreed we wouldn’t talk about middle school me.” I laughed.

“I’ve just been thinking about when we first met and how we are now. It’s so different.” I wrapped an arm around him, well not really around him he was so big now.

“Don’t get sappy on me now Cavill.” I squeezed him.

“No, I’m just glad, that we’re still friends. Seriously.” I swallowed but pushed a smile onto my lips.

“So am I, Henry.” I really was, I couldn’t live without him in my life, so if that had to be as his friend then I was okay with that, but I would still love him. I let my arm fall back to my side. “Ha, remember that time you asked Kim out in tenth grade.”  He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips together. “You’re telling me I mumbled, she couldn’t hear a word.”

“I swear, little girl.” He grabbed my waist and I screamed, the nickname ringing in my ears. He lifted me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder.

“Henry, I’m wearing a dress you prick.” He held my skirt down, His arm right under my ass.

“I won’t let anyone see.” He chuckled and I huffed, arms swinging down. I did have a nice view of his butt from here.

“You were so nervous though.” He squeezed my thigh hard. “It’s okay, it was cute.” His grip lessened, but it was still holding me in place.

“At least I had you there to comfort me after rejection.”

“You gotta put me down if I you want me here for future rejection.” I don’t think he’d ever have a rejection again. He wasn’t that 16 year old anymore. He set me back down but kept his hands on my waist.

“And I you. Just like I was there for the Jacob break up.” My face dropped, and I shoved him. We walked back to the apartment teasing each other and when we got back, I pretty much passed out.

 . . .

  I swallowed at the tiny train compartment. It was close quarters for the two of us. Henry was towering over me as he shoved our bags in the top compartment above the small couch that would eventually turn into the bed. His chest was brushing up against mine, my neck felt hot and I turned my face to the side so my nose wouldn’t brush his shirt.

“There,” He shut the compartment and smiled down at me. “I’m excited.” I cleared my throat and sat down on the couch, Henry plopping down with me.

“Me too, it’s just smaller than I thought.” He just shrugged, looking out the window at the city.

“This train stops almost every day, and there’s a lounge to go to. We don’t have to be in here the entire ride.” I nodded.

“I know, but you work out too much and you’re gonna suffocate me when we sleep.” I almost choked at the thought. We were sharing a bed. I hadn’t shared a bed with Henry since we were kids. I stared at my feet.

“Is that how I get rid of you?” I kicked him. “Stop hitting me when you don’t have a comeback.”

“Stop teasing me and I’ll stop hitting you.” He leaned forward our noses almost touching.

“Never, love.” I may as well be putty. I’d let this man tease me all he wanted if it meant being with him. I moved back before I could do something stupid. Henry blinked once and leaned back as well. The train started moving and Henry got us some snacks and drinks from the restaurant car. I could breathe for a second when he was gone. I rested my head on the back of the chair. He was gonna kill me. I chewed on my lip. The worst part was that the only person I wanted to get advice from was the one I was freaking out about in the first place. I leaned forward my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I rubbed my temples and tried to relax.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Henry came back inside, and the room got smaller.

“Nothing,” I sat up, flipping my hair back. “I think I’m tired.” Henry sat down and rubbed my back.

“I bet,” His hand stayed on my back. “We can put the bed down now; we both could use some sleep.” I swallowed, that was the opposite of what I wanted, well not really, but I couldn’t handle that yet.

“Well, if you’re not tired, we can leave it up, so it doesn’t take up so much space.”

“No, I’m tired too. We can just eat and take a nap for the ride.” He handed me a bowl of grapes.

“Okay,” We ate, and Henry told me about this game he got for his laptop, but I was trying not to have a panic attack, staring into my grapes, disassociating a little.

“Alright, you’re zoning out.” Henry was waving a hand in my face. “Time for sleep.” Henry managed to get the cushions in the right spots and made the pillows fluffy and ready for us.

“Get in,” I looked at him, but crawled into the blanket, it wasn’t the most comfortable, but I did feel sleep start to tug at my brain as I laid my head down. Henry came in next to me, his side brushing mine. He barely fit without me being squished against the wall. I couldn’t help but giggle at his awkward movements in the bed. He was just so big.

“Shut up,” Then my giggles stopped as he slid his arm around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. I felt like I couldn’t catch my breathe. “I think this is the best way we fit.” His voice was right at my ear and goosebumps rose down my arms. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.” He squeezed me once.

“Sorry,” I pressed my warm cheek into the pillow.

 When I woke up it was dark in the train, the curtains were closed, but a small bit of light peaked out from underneath. I wasn’t turned towards the wall anymore, my nose brushed Henry’s chest as he breathed deeply. He smelled like cologne and nostalgia. I shut my eyes again and pressed my face into his chest. He was asleep, so who cares? A gravelly ‘hmm’ made my heart lurch.

“Someone’s cuddly,” Henry’s voice was low and close. My heart started beating fast I looked up at him. “Hey, there she is.” He smiled at me and my legs felt like jello. He furrowed his brows at me.

“Henry, I-“ I cleared my throat, not knowing what came over me. He brushed my hair out of my face and my stomach flipped.

“What?” He kept his hand on my cheek, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. “Tell me, please.” I pulled myself up and just kissed him. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to push me away, but instead he pulled me closer. I let out a gasp and he just pressed into me harder. His tongue made its way in my mouth and I hooked a leg around his hip. “Finally,” He growled as he moved his mouth to my neck.

“Finally?” I titled my head back, breathless, but he stopped.

“Yes, finally. I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N.” He continued kissing my neck and slid his hand down my side, landing on my breast, he kneaded it and I moaned out. “You’ve just been too distracted to notice.” He finished but wouldn’t let me respond by kissing my mouth again. I gripped his T-shirt, pulling him even closer.

“I wanted you too.” I sounded airy and out of breath as I spoke, he kissed me all over my face.

“That’s music to my ears.” He started peeling my top off, but a loud rap came at the door. We froze in place, the top covering my face.

“Dinner’s ready in the dining car.” An attendant called. I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, thank you.” Henry replied and when we heard the footsteps fade away, he ripped the shirt of the rest of the way. “Do you mind if we miss dinner?”

“No,” I moaned out as he kissed my collar, making his way down to my breast. “Henry,” I moaned his name as he unhooked my bra and let his lips surround my nipple. I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling tingles shoot over my skin from his lips. I pulled him back up and kissed him, holding his cheeks so he wouldn’t pull away. I never wanted him to go away. He wrapped his big arms around me, enclosing me inside. He grunted when I pulled his hair.

“Take your shirt off,” I pulled my hand out of his hair to tug at his sleeve. He immediately tugged it off and I ran my hands down his chest. He groaned.

“Fuck,” He held my waist, his fingers digging into my skin, then suddenly one of them dipped down into my shorts and he grabbed my ass, hard. I gasped in his mouth, and he grinned. He pulled me closer and I felt his bulge press against the inside of my thigh, and I quivered. He felt so big already and his pants weren’t even off. He pushed his other hand under my waist band and pushed the shorts down, he let me kick them off and then rolled over on top of me. My chest heaved, I felt hot, and Henry’s lips looked red and swollen. He was propped up on his hands, his knees pressing into my thighs. He stared down at me, only in my panties now. I wanted to look away from his blue eyes, but they almost glittered in what little light we had. “God, so beautiful.” He brushed a finger down my side and goosebumps rose in his wake.

“So are you.” I mumbled, his eyes shut, and he had a smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t mumble.” He was stern, but his hand brushing down my cheek made me smile. He leaned down and kissed me, his hands held my waist down as I tried to arch my back.

“Henry,” I whined, letting my hands slid down to his waistband. “Please get these off.” He smirked, but pushed the clothing off, his erection on full display. He was huge.

“Now you,” He hooked a finger in my panties and pulled them off. “I swear, I’m gonna-“ He stopped.

“What?” He looked me up and down. “Henry, you’re taking too long.” I tried pulling him back to me, but he stopped me.

“I’m trying to decide how I want you.” I bit my lip his words sending shocks through me, and then he grabbed my waist flipping us over. Now I was straddling him and my hands were on his chest, my hair hung over our faces. He tucked it behind my ear and kissed me, but not for very long. He grabbed my waist tightly and moved me slowly up so that my pussy was over his face.

“Fuck, Henry,” I rested my elbow on the wall of the train. Was Henry about to eat me out? Like this? On a fucking train.”

“Is this okay, baby?” He rubbed the back of my thighs gently.

“Yes, yes. Very okay.” I sounded like a child, but he just laughed, the air hitting my core.

“You’re already so wet. Is that all for me?” I could only moan back. “What a good girl.”

“Henry, can you please-“ I was cut off by his mouth on my pussy. I covered my mouth to keep from the entire train from hearing me.

“Is that what you wanted?” He whispered, then went back to kissing and licking me. My legs were quivering, Henry’s hands were doing most of the work holding me up. “God, you taste so good.” I whimpered under my hand.

“Henry,” I felt like I was gonna burst. “I think I-“ His mouth stopped and he pushed me back and his cock slid through my folds. I moaned out and he grunted. I fell over, my forehead on his chest.

“Fuck, I want to feel you.” Henry growled in my ear.

“Please, I want to feel you too.” I kissed his chest, feeling sticky with sweat.

“So many pleases, what a polite girl.” His hand slid down between us and he positioned the tip of his cock at my entrance. I took a shaky breath. “Are you ready baby?”

“Yes,” My eyes closed as I felt his head push into me. “Fuck, oh my god-“ I was a mess above him, but as he entered into me fully he pushed me up, so I was sitting on him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N.” I must’ve looked insane, but he smirked up at me. He gripped my hips and started moving them for me. He was so large that every new movement made him brush a new part of me. I was going to snap. “Yes, there you go.” He grunted and groaned as he fucked me and it only added more pleasure. I loved hearing him. He picked up the pace, thrusting into me now. I arched my back.

“Please make me cum, Henry,” I was out of breath as I spoke, my chest heaved for air.

“God, yes, baby girl. Cum for me.” That was all I needed; bliss washed over me as a came. My legs pressed into Henry and my hands fisted over the blankets. “Good girl,” I collapse over him, my body flopping over his. He locked his arms around me, our skin pressing together, and he thrusted up into me until he came inside me. I whimpered at the overwhelming feeling having only just come down. He grunted in my ear as he fell over the edge, the sound sending tingles through me. We were panting together, my face pushed into his neck. He released me from his arms, and then pulled me off of him. I shivered as I felt the emptiness without him.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He ran his fingers through my hair, and I nuzzled closer.

“Yeah, I am.” I whispered. He moved me off him and kissed me.

“Let’s clean you up, okay?” I could only nod, feeling too tired to do much else. He got a towel and wiped away his mess for me, and then started kissing me. Fluttery little kisses up my stomach, in between my breasts. I giggled as he reached my neck. He threw the towel on the floor and kissed my lips. I looped my arms around his neck, smiling into his mouth. “Why didn’t I do this sooner?” He pulled away and laid beside me, pulling me to his side. His kissed the top of my head.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” I drew circles in his chest and the sweat on my body started to cool.

“I tried to give you hints.” He chuckled. “I literally invited you to kiss me earlier.” I smacked his chest and sat up, feeling goosebumps rise, it was getting chilly. “Hey, where are you going?” I crawled over Henry, my knees on one side and my hands on the other. I picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it on. I barely had my head through the hole before Henry pulled me back to his chest.

“I’m completely oblivious.” I scoffed. I was too distracted by him to notice him. His arms were around me tight. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he pulled up the blankets.

“It’s okay, you finally figured it out.”

 I woke up in the big spoon position with Henry. I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. He liked me too. He wanted me too. I pressed my nose into his back, wrapping my legs around him, resembling a koala bear. His large hand slid over my arm grabbing my hand.

“Hey baby,” His voice was low with sleep.

“Good morning.” I replied. He turned around to face me, he was smiling, and his eyes looked extra blue. He wrapped me up in his arms around me and I kissed his lips. We were making out like teenagers for a while and then my stomach growled.

“Shit, we missed dinner.” Henry chuckled.

“Shall we get breakfast then?” Henry sat up and opened the curtains. I squinted at the bright sun. The train hadn’t stopped the entire night.

“Can we bring it back here?” I wanted it just to be me and him for a while, and I’m pretty sure I’d be waddling down the train car. I laid on my back, hands over my stomach, watching the scenery go by.

“How about I just go get it? You can stay in my shirt a little longer.” He kissed my nose and got dressed and went out. When his footsteps were gone I squealed into my pillow. Part of me thought it was all a dream, but he was here and didn’t reject me. The rest of this trip would be completely different. It wasn’t long before he came back with a pile of food. We didn’t bother putting the bed away, we were sitting on it and cuddling anyway. When the train started to slow down, we had finished eating and Henry had gotten his laptop out and I got dressed. He wanted to show me how to play some game. He was sitting against the wall and I was in between his legs, the laptop on my lap. His arms reach around me to show me how to use the keys.

“Henry you know I’m not good at these.” He chuckled.

“I know, it’s just fun seeing you try.” I rolled my eyes.

“Where are we again?” I looked out the window as the train stopped. Henry shut his laptop, setting it aside and getting out of bed.

“Let’s go find out.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room.

#henry cavill x oc #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #fanfiction #oneshots #junewrites

[stahlop]

Making a Memory (6/?)

I hope everyone is still alive after chapter 5. We still don't get everyone back together yet, but things are happening that will make Killian and Emma question what is real.

Thanks again to my betas @profdanglaisstuff​ and @thisonesatellite​. This chapter did not want to be written and they helped get me going in the right direction.

Don't forget to check out the banner artwork for this on my Tumblr by @gingerchangeling​.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5

Ao3

Henry waited nervously on the outdoor patio of Chantey’s Lobster House. Leaving his sisters at their campsite had been hard. Alice had been in tears after he finished reading the epilogue of his story, knowing that it was the truth. Knowing the sacrifice their parents had made for them to defeat an evil witch. Hope’s face remained stoic, with a slight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was one he was familiar with, not just from her, but from their mother. He could still remember Emma showing that same face to him when he’d first brought her to Storybrooke and tried to convince her that magic was real and everyone was cursed. Never in his lifetime had he thought he’d have to do it twice (well, three times if he counted the Black Fairy’s curse). 

 He was nervous. It had been a long time since he’d seen his parents together, and yes, he considered Killian to be his father. Even if they hadn’t gotten to be a family for long before Gothel’s curse, Killian had always been there for him, even before he’d officially started dating his mother. Henry couldn’t even imagine seeing him with no recognition in his face. And he really didn’t want his ire for essentially kidnapping Killian’s daughter, even if she was technically his sister. 

 He saw Killian’s Jeep pull into the parking lot, but it took them a while to exit the vehicle, which made Henry even more nervous. Were they crafting battle plans in there? Were they arguing about him? Maybe they were already noticing that spark and making out in the car. Ew. That was not an image Henry wanted to think about, although, that would make things much easier if they already liked each other. 

 When they finally emerged from the vehicle, Henry’s nerves ramped up threefold. He’d been thinking about this moment for the past, almost twelve years. From the moment they had left Storybrooke and he realized that his memories were still intact. At first he couldn’t understand why he’d retained his memories. He knew instantly that his mother hadn’t, as she started rambling on about a fresh new start in Boston. That she hoped taking him out of New York, away from the memories of Neal was okay, because she really needed this. It was only a few weeks later that the compulsion to write had seized him, after a particularly funny adventure involving Hope and the neighbor’s dog, that he realized that being the Author is what had left him with his memories. Since the Author was an outsider and had to write the stories down, he wouldn’t be affected by the curse. He’d never been so relieved to be the Author in his life.

 Henry sheepishly raised his hand to wave hello to his parents as they came closer to the patio. Henry noticed that Emma was looking pale. Killian looked as though he hadn’t slept well. He didn’t blame them. He had taken his sisters without permission. But it’s the only way he thought to himself.

 They both reached the table rather quickly. Henry started to rise to greet them, but Emma gave him a small, almost imperceptible look, that she usually reserved for when he was in deep trouble, so he sat back down again. He almost felt like a kid again under that stare. Killian didn’t look as murderous as Henry thought he might, so that gave him hope that they could have a civil conversation. 

 “I’ll grab us some food.” Killian said softly, barely brushing Emma’s shoulder as he headed toward the shack to put in his order. Henry hoped he’d get something for him as well. He’d been too nervous to eat the Pop Tarts he’d bought the girls for breakfast. Alice had been delighted, saying she’d always wanted to try them, and how her Papa wouldn’t consider them a nutritional breakfast. Hope had just taken one in silence, but gave a small smile, a thank you to Henry for buying her the S’mores flavor, which was her favorite.

 The second Killian got in line for the food Emma was on him. “Did you know?” she asked, practically in tears. He wasn’t sure what reaction he was going to get from his mom, but this wasn’t it. 

 “Did I know about what?” Henry asked, confused about the question, because he would’ve thought she would ask about Hope before anything else.

 “About this place?” She looked nervous, more nervous than Henry’s ever seen her in his life, and he’s seen her face many evil villains. Henry’s look must convey his confusion. “That this was the place I was taken to when I was found as a baby?” 

 Henry’s face immediately felt flushed. “I...I’m sorry, Mom, I...I didn’t know.” He felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. He’d chosen this place due to its proximity to Storybrooke. He’d never known she’d come out from the wardrobe just miles from where the Enchanted Forest denizens had been transported. No wonder she looked close to tears.

 They sat in silence until Killian arrived back with a tray of multiple red baskets of food. He placed them on the center of the table along with some plasticware, napkins, and some bottles of water. Emma looked impressed at his ability to carry it all with only one functioning hand. Killian took a seat and looked at Emma, checking to see if she was alright. She nodded, and Henry wonders what occurred on their trip up here for them to already have that married conversation-in-their-heads thing happening.

 “So, young man.” Killian said sternly, while trying to unfold a napkin and place it in his lap. Henry almost laughed, considering how thin the napkins were and how much they don’t want to come apart, but he kept a straight face because he knew this wasn’t a funny situation. “Are we getting an explanation for this little abduction of yours, or are you here to ask for a ransom?” He said it seriously, but Henry detected a bit of his old joviality. Emma put her head in her hands while Henry grabbed a hushpuppy from the food in front of him and stuffed it in his mouth to suppress a smile.

 “Henry, what could have possessed you to take your sister and Killian’s daughter out of camp?” Emma asked, concerned. Henry can see the worry in her eyes, like she’s the one who messed up somehow. 

 “Look,” Henry took a gulp of water to wash the rest of the food down. “It was inevitable once the girls met that they would have questions, so they called me.”

 “And you have the answers,” Killian said. It was not a question. Henry nodded.

 “What answers, Henry?” He could see his mother was trying to hold it together, be the stoic woman she always was. Hiding behind her walls. He wanted to reach out and soothe her like she had him for so many years, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong right now, he had to get them to understand, and he couldn’t do that if he had to comfort his mother as well.

 “If you haven’t made the connection already, Hope and Alice look identical.” Both Emma and Killian nodded. “And it’s not some weird doppelganger situation where they just happen to look alike.” He paused, taking a deep breath. This reveal for the girls had been so much easier over the phone. “Hope and Alice are sisters. They’re twins.”

 Both Emma and Killian stared at him, like the words that he had said didn’t make any sense, and he supposed they didn’t. He quickly continued.

 “Your memories have been altered. Mom,” he said, finally taking her hand. “I know you think Neal is Hope’s father, but he was dead way before she was ever conceived. And Killian,” Henry turned toward him. “I know you think Milah was Alice’s mother, but she’s not. She hasn’t been around for a very long time.” Killian looked as though he wanted to shoot daggers at Henry, but didn’t say anything. “I know this is difficult to believe. It seems other-worldly, or magical, or something that is not based in reality. But it’s the truth.”

 Emma stared at Henry, her mouth gaping open, her eyes filling with tears. He wasn’t sure if it was because she believed or she thought he was insane. Maybe a little of both, most likely the second one. Killian didn’t say anything for a moment. Henry knew he was probably processing the information Henry had just told him. 

 “If who we think are the other parents in our lives aren’t, then who is Alice’s mother and Hope’s father?” Killian challenged.

 Henry gave a wide smile. “You two are. You are Hope and Alice’s parents.”

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

 Her son had gone insane. It was the only possible explanation for what he was telling them. How could he possibly believe that she and Killian had borne twin girls and then simply, what, forgotten about it?

 “Henry, this is completely insane.” Emma’s eyes were quickly filling with tears again. He must have had some kind of psychotic break. It was the only answer. Didn’t she read somewhere about men getting psychotic breaks in their 20’s?

 “Mom, I’m not crazy. I swear. Look.” He grabbed down into his satchel and pulled out what looked to be a picture album. Henry took a deep breath before opening it up and when he did, Emma thought she might be the one going insane.

 “These are...these are of us!” She said alarmed. She looked over at Killian who had furrowed his brow at the sight of the pictures.

 Emma stared at the pictures of a much younger her and Killian. His hair was completely dark with not a hint of silver in it. And he was wearing a hook, a real hook. Not the hooked mechanism he wore now. And there seemed to be eyeliner around his eyes. They brought out the blue in his eyes so much more. She thought she might ask him to wear it again when this whole debacle was over with.

 Whoa! Where the hell had that thought come from. After this turn of events from Henry, she wasn’t even sure what was going on anymore. She continued to turn pages, Killian sometimes stopping her to look closer at some things. There were pictures of them sitting in a diner with another couple about their age with a small child. There were pictures of them setting up a house together. Killian stopped Emma from turning pages when they came across their wedding photos. Emma thought maybe she was the one going crazy now. There she was being walked down the aisle by that same couple, as if they were giving her away. There was Killian with the widest smile on his face and Emma giving him a matching one. Emma didn’t even think she’d ever smiled that widely in her life. Not even when Henry or Hope were born.

 “We look so happy,” Killian whispered. 

 The next few pages seemed to just be of happy moments between Killian, Henry and her. There they were sailing on what looked to be a pirate ship, others were at the diner again with that same couple, another one showed her and Killian showing off badges, hers saying Sheriff Swan-Jones: Storybrooke Sheriff’s Dept and his saying Deputy Jones: Storybrooke Sheriff’s Dept.

 And then the pictures shifted to her pregnant. Every single picture had Killian touching her belly in some way. She instantly tried to recall the memories of Neal, but could only conjure a feeling of revulsion if he had tried to touch her while pregnant. Definitely not the happiness she was seeing in these photos of a happy, pregnant couple. Emma almost started crying when she saw pictures from a baby shower included in the mix. She was huge, standing under a sign that said “We can’t wait to meet you Alice and Hope!” She looked so young and carefree, Emma barely recognized herself. She looked like she was trying so hard to not smile, but the happiness just radiated off of her, she could practically feel it coming off the photo in waves.

 The pictures then skipped to a hospital. Both she and Killian holding a baby and smiling ridiculously for the camera. If Emma thought the wedding photo pictures were the widest smiles she’d ever seen, these smiles blew those pictures out of the water. Emma could see Killian tearing up next to her as he looked at a picture of him holding baby Alice in his arms. His hook was not anywhere in these pictures, just his blunted arm holding his daughter to him as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.

 There were pictures of the girls sleeping in their cribs. Pictures of a young Henry holding each girl. Family pictures of them all together, of the couple with their son, of a dark haired woman who barely cracked a smile, but seemed happy all the same. There were first baby smiles, and teeth, and food, and crawling, and steps, and all the things Emma thought she’d lost in the fire. But here it was, laid out in front of her, except that Killian was the father in these pictures and there was another identical baby.

 They came to the end of the album, the last photos showed Alice and Hope’s second birthday. It seemed like a whole town’s worth of people were celebrating with them. So many people. Emma doesn’t even think she’s known that many people in her entire life. And then it’s done.

 Both Emma and Killian looked at Henry, tears streaming down both their faces. Henry had been silent throughout the whole ordeal.

 “How….? What….? Why….?” Emma couldn’t even start to express what she wanted to say. Her brain feels like it’s been overloaded with too much information, and she still hadn’t got any answers. She wanted to know where Hope was, and she wanted to go home, pull the covers over her head, and wake up to find out this was all a bad dream.

 Emma looked over at Killian, wondering how he was dealing with all this and when had he taken her hand? She’d just realized that they were holding hands. He was holding onto her like she was an anchor keeping him tethered to the shore, and what was with the nautical thoughts? But she doesn’t take her hand away. It felt right, like they should be anchoring each other through all of, whatever this was. She’d never had someone just hold her hand and it feel so right.

 “Where did these come from, lad?” Killian tightened his grip on her hand. They both looked up at Henry expectantly.

 “They’re pictures, of your life, from before.” Henry said matter-of-factly.

 “But,” Killian takes his hand from hers, vigorously rubbing his neck, “this isn’t my life. We don’t have another life. Emma and I never met until this morning!” 

 “You just don’t remember.” Henry said calmly, almost as if he’d done this before, Emma notes. 

 “You don’t just forget a life and make up a new one!” Killian growled, slamming the photo album shut.

 Emma stared wide-eyed at both Killian and Henry. Killian was trying very hard to keep his composure while Henry smiled at them both. Emma wondered if this is what crazy felt like.

 “Ahh, there’s the pirate coming out to play.” Henry grabbed a now cold french fry from the baskets that had been moved off to the side for the album. Killian turned to him, the snarled expression that had just been on his face falling by the wayside.

 “Pirate?” He looked perplexed. “What, because of this?” He held up the apparatus on his hand. 

 “Did you not see what you used to wear there?” Henry asked, almost amused.

 “Lad,” Killan paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself, though Emma could still see his jaw ticking.”  I don’t know where those pictures came from or what you paid someone to photoshop all these, but whatever elaborate ruse you have going on here, it needs to stop! I just want to know where Alice is. And your poor mum just wants Hope back.”

 Grabbing one hand each, Henry looked at them. Remember Operation Cobra he simply said. Her arms immediately broke out in goosebumps at that phrase. A brief flash of them walking down a small town street and him taking her apple and throwing it behind her. She pulled her hand away and put both of them to her head, shaking it to try and access more of what just crossed her mind, but there’s nothing. She heard him say something that sounds like Remember Operation Light Swan to Killian and she saw a moment of recognition in his eyes, and it was just as fleeting as her..memory? Vision? She wasn’t exactly sure what just happened to be honest. 

 Her mind shifted to thinking about Henry as a child, but the memories seemed hazy. Nowhere near as clear as the one she just had. Everything is flat, almost like she was looking at pictures with feelings attached, but no real depth behind them. Her vision blurred and she vaguely saw herself opening a door in an apartment she doesn’t recognize, with Henry on the other side. A tight, red dress that she would’ve worn in her younger days to catch a skip, but she didn’t remember owning it. I’m your son. But she raised him, he wouldn’t need to tell her that. Her vision cleared up, and she’s back at Chantey’s. Killian also looked like something strange had happened in his head. Emma’s not sure what was happening, but she was finally starting to wonder how much of what Henry has told them was the truth.

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

 Killian had been growing increasingly wary of Henry’s sanity throughout their meeting. While he already seemed to trust Swan implicitly, her trust in Henry seemed to be woefully misplaced. He could see the growing concern on her face the more he went on about false memories and what not. But he could not explain the album.

 One of the things he had regretted not being able to save in the fire that took his Milah and his hand, was the picture album that held his memories of his wife and his daughter’s early years. He knows there was one. He can remember looking at it with Milah when she told him she was pregnant. Remembered her smile when looking at their wedding photos. But as Swan flipped through the photo album Henry had put in front of them and he saw the pictures of them, the memories in his mind start failing him, becoming altered. Especially, when they come across what is supposed to be their wedding picture. If Alice had asked him about Milah’s wedding dress any other day, he would have said it looked exactly like the one in the picture he’s looking at right now. The high collar neck, the full-length, lace dress, the red lipstick. Except he and Milah didn’t have a large wedding. They were married by a Justice of the Peace. At a courthouse. She wouldn’t have worn something so extravagant. He’s almost positive they got married during his lunch break at work because he couldn’t even get the day off. So why was he so sure this picture was the real deal? Why did he recognize that smile coming from Emma in the picture? He touches it to make sure that what he’s looking at is real and not some weird delusion.

 “We look so happy.” His voice sounded so small he almost didn't recognize it. He sneaked a quick peek at Swan and realized she’s just as awestruck and confused about these pictures as he is. He took her hand in his, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.

 Killian frowned at the pictures of them as a sheriff and a deputy. Killian couldn’t imagine himself as law enforcement. He had always been too much of a loner, too much emptiness in his past. He’d always considered himself a good person, but he didn’t think he had it in him to carry a gun and chase down criminals. He was never one for violence. 

 Soon there were pictures of Emma pregnant and he looked ecstatic. Again, in his mind he could swear he’d had pictures with Milah like this. Pictures of him kissing her belly and spinning her around. The pictures in his mind refuse to show him Milah’s face though, as if the pictures cut off everything above the shoulders, as if she were never really there. 

 And then there were the pictures of them with two babies. Killian recognized some of them, he swore he had some of the ones that are of just him and Alice at the hospital, before the fire, but the ones with Emma and Hope? He can’t even fathom how someone could photoshop an entire life. More and more pictures of them together with two girls. 

 Alice and Hope. 

 Hope and Alice. 

 Two babies. 

 One Emma. 

 He and Emma together. 

 He and Emma and Henry and Alice and Hope together as a family.

 They finally reached the end of the album and Killian was silently seething at this point. Emma was spluttering, trying to get out questions that she couldn’t seem to form. He couldn’t even begin to conceive what led Henry to do this.

 “Where did these come from, lad?” He tightened his grip on Emma’s hand. She was the only thing keeping him tethered to his seat right now, knowing that if he let go of her hand he might actually throw a punch at her son. They both looked at him for concrete answers that they know he isn’t going to give.

 “They’re pictures, of your life, from before.” Henry said as though this was common knowledge, which only added fuel to Killian’s anger. 

 “But,” his hand left Emma’s, the loss already filling his chest. His hand automatically scratched behind his neck, an old nervous habit, because this whole situation just does not sit right, “this isn’t my life. We don’t have another life. Emma and I never met until this morning!” 

 Henry sat back calmly, a hint of a smile before he said “You just don’t remember.”

 “You don’t just forget a life and make up a new one!” He wanted to scream this at Henry, but they were in public and he couldn’t. He slammed the cover of the album shut instead, and winced internally at his petulance. Emma’s eyes widen at his almost outburst and he felt more ashamed even though he’s tried to keep the toughness in his face to intimidate Henry. How could anyone be expected to believe what Henry has dished out to them? It was absolutely ludicrous.

 “Ahh, there’s the pirate coming out to play.” Henry popped a french fry in his mouth, and Killian felt like he was being mocked by how nonchalant Henry is being. His face fell at the pirate line. It’s something he’s always had to deal with once he became one handed, especially since he opted to wear a prosthetic hook instead of a hand. But it hurt that someone like Emma’s son would be so lackadaisical about it.

 “Pirate? What, because of this?” He held it up to Henry, almost daring him to ridicule him again. 

 “Did you not see what you used to wear there?” Yes, he had seen the pictures of him with a pirate’s hook. It was pretty hard to miss in every single picture.

 “Lad,” He was trying to remember his breathing exercises from when he used to get anxiety attacks, because he was sure this conversation with Henry would definitely bring one on, especially if he didn’t get information on Alice soon. “I don’t know where those pictures came from or what you paid someone to photoshop all these, but whatever elaborate ruse you have going on here, it needs to stop! I just want to know where Alice is. And your poor mum just wants Hope back.”

 Killian expected Henry to look remorseful, maybe even upset that his little game wasn’t working. Instead, Henry took a hand from each of them. He looked at them like they were the greatest two people in the world, a look he’s only ever seen from Alice. Henry looked over toward Emma and told her Remember Operation Cobra which sounded utterly ridiculous. It obviously meant something to Emma though because the gooseflesh rose on her arms and she held her head as though she remembered something. 

 Henry turned to him, still holding his hand and simply stated Remember Operation Light Swan. Killian’s eyes widened because it sounded familiar. A faint vision of himself looking at a real estate listing in the paper with a young Henry. A house circled in red. Emma in a white dress with a white cloak. What the hell?

 He wanted to demand Henry tell him where his daughter is when another vision slipped in front of his eyes. First it’s him and Milah holding Alice, but the picture is muted. The colors are off. Milah doesn’t look real. Her clothes look like she’s out of the Middle Ages. Then he’s holding her in his arms. He’s dressed in what can only be described as pirate gear, and she’s caressing his face, telling him that she loves him before her eyes close forever. But he never saw Milah die. He couldn’t get her out of the rubble. She was still calling for him when the firemen forced him down the stairs to get his severed arm looked at. But even that doesn’t seem right. Why can’t he remember the pain, the sorrow, the anguish that this recollection should bring. His memories are all scrambled and for the first time in his life, he’s really not sure what is real and what is the truth anymore.

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

Henry could see that something was getting through to them. Both of them seemed lost in memories. He had hoped that the albums would trigger something in their brains. He remembered how his paper storybook had helped Emma believe when the Black Fairy had changed her memories. That’s all he needed right now, enough belief that they realized their past memories may not be how they remembered them. He had to give it to Gothel, at least they had something more than ‘for as long as I can remember’ like Regina had done. Emma had a fully fleshed out reunion with Neal and Killian had a whirl-wind romance with Milah. Trying to undo those memories was going to take time, so the photo album and a few choice words that wouldn’t make sense in any other context was what he was placing all his hope on. He remembered when he’d had his memories erased when they lived in New York. All of his past memories with Emma seemed like pictures in his mind, but that was all they were, snapshots and nothing else. He didn’t know memories were supposed to be any other way. Believing didn’t seem that hard when it came down to it because something hadn’t felt right. Storybrooke had felt right, even if he didn’t know why at the time (and the flying monkeys certainly helped). And the same type of emotions seemed to be happening right now if what was going on with Emma and Killian was any indication.

 “Look,” Henry began, trying to figure out just the right words before continuing. “I know all of this is confusing. I know you don’t completely understand what is happening right now. But I do know one thing. I know you trust me, Mom.” Emma nodded at him. “And I know you already trust each other.” Emma looked over at Killian and he nodded as well. “Then I need you to believe in me. Can you believe in me?”

 The patio held a deafening silence while Henry waited for their answers. It felt like it was hours before they answered his question, even though Henry knew it was only a few seconds. They both answered at the same time.

 “Yes.”

 “Aye.”

 Henry smiled. “Then let’s reunite you with Hope and Alice.”

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx  @qualitycoffeethings​ @snowbellewells​

#cssns #cssns20 #captain swan supernatural summer #csff #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #gingerchangeling #inspired by the parent trap

[underoossss]

Dancing Under the Rain - H.O

CHAPTER 1 [prologue]

pairing: detective!Harrison x female reader

warning: some angst but the fluff makes up for it, mentions of death

AN: this takes place a little bit after the prologue, I hope you guys like it. I would love some feedback

--- 

The cool, salty breeze surrounds you and takes all of your worries to the sea. They float over the water and go beyond the horizon until you can’t see them anymore. That’s what your grandma used to say, anyways. She used to live in Maine and you visited her every summer with your brother. She took both of you to the beach every morning to watch your grandpa’s boat in the distance as he returned from fishing lobsters. Grandma is gone now, so is grandpa. Your mom had said it was the heartbreak because of your brother’s death; she had moved to Maine shortly after that. She left you alone in Cambridge to finish university and then move on to grad school, because that’s what parents with money do. They think money solves everything and anything. That’s why you loved your grandma, she thought the sea and the breeze solved things. They don’t. They haven’t yet, so jury’s still out.

You squint your eyes at the sun and take a deep breath, then a gentle squeeze on your hand brings you back to the present. “This reminds me of my grandparents.” You smile at the sea before looking to your right and meeting Harrison’s gaze.

The detective looks so different than how he did eight month before. His shoulders don’t look so tense, his face is relaxed and there’s an easy smile on his lips. He looks content just by standing there staring at the ocean with a cream colored sweater and jeans; a stark contrast to his usual button downs and suit jackets. You like seeing him like this, projecting his soft character out to the world, something he’d only done some mornings when talking to you at the bookshop.

---

The bell on top of the main door rings as someone steps into the bookshop. It isn’t normal for you to close the door, but it was a chilly October morning and there’s nothing worse than your coffee growing cold right after it’s served. You look up from the book you had been reading behind the counter and smile when you noticed Harrison was sitting down by the window.  The smile only lasts for a few seconds though and soon changes into a frown when you notice his demeanor. You can practically see the stress coming from him and that is enough for you to move towards the expresso machine and start making his usual coffee. A latte with no sugar but some cinnamon on top, unlike the rest of the officers who routinely ordered americanos. ‘Too bitter,’ Harrison had said when you pointed it out once.

The coffee is ready a few minutes later and you make your way to his table also carrying a plate with a ham and cheese flatbread you had toasted for him. He’s resting his elbows on the table when you reach him, his hands are in his hair and his eyes are closed. “Good morning.” You say, placing the plate and mug in front of him.

You take a sit across from him, there weren’t many customers in the shop and everyone already had their order. Besides, Harrison looked like he needed to talk to someone.

“You look stressed.” You tilt your head to your right, frowning slightly at the dark circles under his eyes. “And like you haven’t eaten in two days.” Your eyes move down to the flatbread in front of him, a silent way of saying ‘eat.’

“You shouldn’t have bothered.” Harrison finally speaks up, getting rid of his initial shock of you probably reading his mind and getting his order for him without asking first.

“I won’t hear any of it. Go on, the best detective in town needs food to think.”

Harrison opens and closes his mouth, pausing for a second to debate what he’s going to say next but settles with shaking his head. “Is it really that bad?”

“You want me to be honest?” You lean your chin on the palm of your hand and smile when Harrison nods. He picks up the sandwich and takes a bite, it gives a satisfying crunch and the detective sighs at the taste.

“You look like you could use a whole week of sleep and a month of yoga for how stressed you look, detective.” A chuckle leaves your lips when he rolls his eyes.

“Please, YN, call me Harrison.” Harrison shakes his head, covering his mouth with his hand as he chews. After a few seconds he swallows and wipes his mouth with the napkin next to his plate. He leans forward and lowers his voice to speak again. “We haven’t gotten any new leads in a while, and the evidence so far is only circumstantial. It’s taken a toll on all of us.”

You nod your head in understanding before voicing your worries to him. “It’s good that you’re taking a break then. You can’t let the case drain you Harrison, it won’t do you or anyone any good.”

“I just need to solve this case, Y/N, that family is depending on us, on me to get answers. I can’t imagine their despair, and how much worse it would be if whoever did it gets away with it.” He shakes his head, putting the sandwich down again and picking up his coffee.

Your breath catches in your throat for a second. The worst case scenario he is trying to prevent is something you had already lived. Seeing it now from an outside perspective, having first-hand experience of that unbearable pain, you understand Harrison’s urgency to bring this family some peace of mind. You constantly wish you knew who did that to your brother and you don’t wish that pain upon anyone. Well, anyone except for the person who did it. That bastard’s the only one who deserves it.

Harrison sighs at the delicious coffee smell, his shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit and his features softening. He takes another sip of the coffee before speaking again, “This is really good. As always.” He smiles slightly, though his eyes still look a bit lost when they meet yours. His smile is enough to push the bitter thought to the back of your mind.

“I wish more people in the world could be like you.” You smile, shaking your head a bit. Your heart bursts with fondness towards the detective in front of you. You’re in awe of his selflessness when it comes to helping others, his determination and his strength. A lot of people might have given up at this point so it is reassuring to know how resilient Harrison is when it comes to this case. To know there are people who care enough to pull all nighters so they can try to help others. If only they had assigned your brother’s case a detective like that.

Harrisons eyebrows furrow at your words so you decide to elaborate. “Someone who genuinely cares about others’ wellbeing. I can tell how much this case means to you.”

He nods his head and for a brief moment, his face sheds the mask he wears all day long as a detective. It softens and his smile is more genuine than it had ever been, though it looks a bit broken like there’s something else stressing him out than just this case. “Thank you, for everything Y/N. Although, you’re giving me too much credit. You care about others’ wellbeing too. This is being an example.” He gestures towards his now empty plate and half drank coffee cup.

‘Are you feeling better?” You ask, resting your chin on your palm. Your ears feel like they’re on fire at his compliment. I care about you.

The detective nods his head. “Much better, and not only because of the food.”

You laugh softly, looking down. Gosh you really like him. “I’m glad.”

----

“It does?” He tilts his head to the right, a subtle invitation to elaborate if you wished to do so.

“Mhm, they lived in Maine. My grandfather had a lobster fishing business and my grandma did all the selling for him.” You move your gaze back to the ocean. “My brother and I used to wait with my grandma at the beach for him to come back every morning.”

“Was this in the summer?” Harrison asks, his voice is soft. It’s as if he doesn’t want to disturb the memory you’re replaying in your mind. You nod your head and he squeezes your hand again. “It must have been nice.”

“It was.” You nod your head again and smile at him. It’s one of the memories that brings you joy, which is unusual considering all memories you brother in it make your heart ache. “This is a good look on you, you know.”

Harrison chuckles, looking down at his clothes. “Don’t miss my suit and tie?”

“I don’t mean the clothes specifically.” You shake your head at him. “It’s not very often I see you this relaxed. I like it.”

The detective takes a deep breath and basks in the sun for a few seconds before meeting your gaze once more. “There’s no case urging me to solve it at the moment, that’s probably why.”

“Even if you had a case to solve right now, you deserve little breaks you know.” You tug at his hand and continue walking along the shore. Your shoes are on your right hand and your feet are cold as they leave their prints on the sand, it’s lovely.

“Not working… it leaves you alone with your thoughts.” Harrison’s voice is quiet again, like he doesn’t want you to hear it. But you do and you understand what he means. “I don’t like that.”

“I get that.” You say looking down at the sand. “I used to be afraid of having any free time because that meant I had time to think about things I’d rather pretend didn’t happen.”

Neither of you speak for a minute or so before you take a deep breath and look at Harrison. He was already looking at you which brings you face to face with worried blue eyes. “That time you asked me questions for the case and I told you there was a death in my family and that’s why I moved here… It was my brother. Bryan.”

Harrison opens his mouth to say something but you shake your head. You trust him and for some reason you think he’s the only person in this whole town that you can talk to. Really talk to. If this thing between the two of you is going somewhere, he needs to know, so he can choose if he wants to back out while he can. “Someone killed him, they found him at the soccer field after practice. They, umm, they never caught the person who did it and closed the case. My family was known among a lot of people so everyone found out. I fled and came here the moment I finished grad school. Fresh start.” You feel Harrison’s hand slip out of yours and before your heart can despair he puts his arm around your shoulders and brings you closer to his side. “So, I know what it’s like to be alone with your thoughts. I used to be afraid of falling back into grieving my brother but things like this bring you joy and eventually make all sad thoughts go away.”

The breeze.

It might not solve things like your grandma said but it helps.

You hear Harrison take a deep breath and you look up at him again to see worry in his eyes. “I’m alright though, I think I’m getting better at handling it. But not knowing… it doesn’t help with the pain. I think that’s why my mom left Cambridge too, to avoid the uncertainty coming from everywhere she looked.” You shrug your shoulders and let out a long breath, feeling a heavy weight lift from your chest. Not all of the pent up pain, but still enough to let you breathe more easily than before. It is only then when you realize how much you needed to talk to someone about it, needed someone to know. Someone finally knows I’m not all smiles as the town believes.

You realize Harrison’s been quiet for a while, so you look up at him again to try to reassure him. There’s a tightness around in his eyes and his jaw is clenched while he looks at the ground. “Hey, don’t be so worried I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s have a seat over here.” He says quietly, and clearing his throat. He avoids your eyes and looks at the sea instead, his hair is being pushed back by the wind and his eyes still squinted at the sun. It almost looks like he’s in pain. You nod, feeling anxious at his change of demeanor all of a sudden but settle down on the sand anyways, tugging on his hand so he can sit too.

Harrison sighs, letting go of your hand as he starts fiddling with his fingers instead. He opens his mouth as if to say something but he stops himself before he can speak. This happens three times before you get so worried you have to say something. “Harrison please say something, it’s me you’re worrying now.”

He nods, still not looking at you and clearing his throat again. “About 3 years ago I was an assistant DI for a case, a woman had been murdered and it was one mess of a case. Our leads were dead ends and after a year the detective in charge of the case closed it. He didn’t keep trying to solve it and left this family with unimaginable grief in their hearts. I felt so disappointed in our team, my worst fear had come true, I wasn’t enough and let people down. We failed them and a killer stayed on the loose. I begged our superiors to let me finish working the case but it didn’t work.”

He swallows loudly, like it it’s hard to do so. The way it is when you’ve got a knot in your throat that hurts whenever you speak.  “The look on their face still haunts me. They were so disappointed, they cried and asked us over and over again to open the case. I work so hard on cases now because I want to be a better detective than I was three years ago. I want to prove myself that I’m not the poor excuse of a detective I think I am… and yet it took me eight months to solve this case.”

“But you solved it.” You speak up, not wanting to hear him talk himself down like this anymore. You’re shaking your head, you know firsthand how much having a case closed and not getting the answers you need can hurt. But it wasn’t Harrison that closed it, he tried to get it open again, and solve it for that family. The fact that he tried shows the kind of person he is, what an honorable detective he’s always been even before you knew him.

“I almost didn’t… I’m what has caused you so much pain, Y/N. A pathetic detective that get cases solved by sheer luck. One that didn’t solve that murder case and couldn’t give that family any answers.”

“It’s not luck! I’ve seen you work, I’ve even been interrogated by you and your team so I know firsthand your thought process and your quick way of thinking, your perseverance and your kindness. All of that combined makes you better than any other detective in all of England. You haven’t caused me any pain, you know who did? The person that killed my brother and broke my family. It wasn’t you!”

You both stay silent for a minute, your eyebrows furrowed in anger and pain. It hurt you to know that this is how Harrison thinks of himself, when he is nothing other than wonderful. We all have insecurities, but the proof of his abilities is right in front of his eyes yet he fails to see how many people he helps. Then there’s the fact that he thinks you’d change your opinion of him because he couldn’t solve a case years ago because his superiors closed it and somehow blames himself for your pain ever since your brother died.

“Is this your way of saying that this won’t happen?” You gesture between you two, your hand cold now that Harrison isn’t holding it. “Because I want it to happen, I want to give us a shot. I’ve denied myself from being happy for so long and when I’m with you I feel all the happiness I thought I’d never feel again.” Your eyes stay staring at the horizon, your heart is hurting and you’re willing the pain to leave with the breeze. Go to the ocean, leave me alone.

“I want it to happen too.” Harrison speaks up, you see him shake his head from the corner of your eye. “I fell for you months ago and I’ve wanted to hold your hand ever since. I just… You can do so much better.”

You turn your body to face him, your eyebrows still furrowed and all your emotions probably showing in your eyes. “Don’t put me in a pedestal, Harrison.” Your hands reach for his face, letting his eyes linger on yours. “I’m far from perfect and so are you but we can’t let the past keep haunting us. I know problems don’t just fly away, but I think we’re both done with facing them alone.”

Harrison closes his eyes, his face falling as your words sink in. He’s so lonely, he’s terrified of not being alone anymore. If only he knew I’m just as scared. You feel tears come to your eyes, why are the kindest and most selfless people the ones who get hurt the most? You press your forehead against his and take a deep breath to keep yourself from crying. It’s quiet again, except for the crashing of the waves and the eventual cries of some seagulls. The sun shines brightly above the two of you, you can feel the heat on your skin and the salty breezy surrounds the two of you again. It’s trying to take all this sadness away and leave us with the happiness and love I feel for you instead, you think to yourself.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Harrison speaks up, his voice is quiet between the two of you. His hand comes up to you cheek as he moves away to look into your eyes. “I want to be with you, I really want this.”

You give him a watery smile, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “Me too.”

“You have no idea how happy I am when I am with you.” His thumb caresses your cheek as he returns your smile. “One smile and I’m a goner.”

You chuckle at his words, your cheeks are burning but you can’t look away from his eyes. “I can say the same thing about your eyes. I also really like it when you come to the bookshop.”

“Well, I always want to see you.” Harrison says softly, his forehead comes back to rest against yours. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

“Like another date?” You ask and then smile when he nods his head. “I’d love to.”

“Well then.” He says standing up, holding his hand out to you and helping you get up. “How does Mrs. Pacelli’s sound?”

You twine your fingers and swing your hands back and forth as you walk west, back to town. Your stomach grumbles in agreement and you smile at the thought of Mrs. Pacelli’s homemade lasagna right away. “It sounds amazing, her place is actually my favorite restaurant in town.”

Harrison chuckles and nods, “It is really great but my favorite place is further down the street.” He brings your hand to his lips for brief second before smiling down at you. “It’s a lovely bookshop with the best coffee.”

“Not a restaurant, though.” You smile back, heart beating wildly in your chest. The blue of Harrison’s eyes is even lovelier now that some of his worry was left behind at that spot in the sand; you can’t help but stare.

“You’re right, it’s not. But it is my favorite place, almost as beautiful as the owner.” Harrison shrugs as if he didn’t just flirt with you for the first time since you’ve known each other.

You push some hair behind your ear and lean your head on his shoulder, not used to what you’re feeling. Not after so long at least. Neither of you are perfect and you never will be, you’ve been shaped by your past and it’s left a scar in both of your hearts. Not letting it control your future though, that’s what makes all the difference. You had given up on love and happiness for years, but as your stomach buzzes with excitement and you feel those emotions again you can’t help but be glad that you took the chance. Uncertainty is usually scary, and you know more than anyone how much helplessness it can bring. This time however, something tells you that things will start to look up and even if you don’t know where this will lead, you’re not scared anymore.

Maybe the breeze does solve some things after all grandma

--- 

if you want to be tagged, let me know!

#Harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield fic #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield #pauwrites #dancing under the rain fic

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 4,014 Warnings: Depression, Dissociation, Abuse reference, Drug Trafficking Reference, Food, Horrible Internet Recipes Characters: Roman, Thomas, Virgil, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 19

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Roman woke up to canned laughter on TV. Virgil was watching the old black-and-white Addams Family show. It surprised Roman it wasn’t too campy for Virgil even if it was clearly his style. Virgil perched on the couch arm on the other end of the couch on his phone, but he was looking up to the show more than his phone. Roman didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep. Probably because he’s still sleeping like shit. Maybe it caught up to him. Maybe he was just sick enough of everything that his brain finally gave up. If only that power could be utilized at night. He was mad he had to wake up, though. He wanted to stay asleep forever. But he may as well be here to suffer just the same. Just staying asleep was probably too good for him, anyway. Roman rubbed his face, forgetting about the gloves. They pulled at his skin a bit. Whatever.

   Roman exhaled and stared ahead. He was feeling kind of numb. Out of energy? Out of fucks to give? His brain’s finally given up on him? Why didn’t really matter. It didn’t feel like much mattered. Stuff probably did. He had to remember there were things that did. It was something that is caseworker told him to do; he remembered that. When it felt like nothing mattered, he had to make things matter again. It was hard, though. Lita was curled up at his feet. Lita mattered. He couldn’t run with her anymore, but that didn’t matter. The Sanders mattered. They were nice. He felt like a burden on the Sanders, but maybe he could make that thing not matter. Nope, it mattered that he was an awful burden still. Remus mattered. That was always something Roman could hold on to.

   Oh, oh! It was Friday. Friday meant that maybe Mr. Hartley might have a way to contact Remus. That mattered. That mattered so much. Roman shifted as much as he could without twisting his torso to check the clock. There was still a while to go. Roman sighed and settled back down on to the couch. Why can’t he just go back to sleep?

   “Ah, nice to you, bright eyes. You’re looking slightly less pale,” Thomas said, leaning over the top of the couch.

   “Hey,” Roman said weakly and waved, barely glancing at Thomas.

   “Still not feeling great?” Thomas asked. Roman shrugged, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. “It’d be really helpful if you told me how you were doing,” Thomas said patiently.

   “I don’t feel anything,” Roman supplied. “So, y’know,” Roman shrugged again. Thomas looked concerned at him for a moment.

   “How are your ribs?” Thomas asked. Roman still didn’t know, so just tilted his head and made a dismissive motion with his hands. “How about I help you in to the backyard? You can play fetch with Lita and get a little sun. You’ve been cooped up too long,” Thomas offered. Roman blinked a few times, processing that.

   “Whatever,” Roman conceded. He supposed he didn’t really care where he was.

   “Virgil, could you reach around and knock on the window when Patton comes in?” Thomas looked over to Virgil, who nodded after a pause. “Thanks,” Thomas came around the couch and helped Roman up. His body really didn’t want to move, it seemed, since he felt stiff and creaky, but the more he moved the easier it was.

   Thomas helped Roman on to a chaise lounge in the backyard. Roman stared ahead to the fence and the garden in the back. He heard Lita’s dog tags jingle, and she excitedly shoved her nose into Roman’s dangling palm. Roman pet her head idly for a moment until she started running around the yard. Roman’s eyes followed her around the backyard until she ran up with a tennis ball. He took it and threw it kind of weakly, but she barked and chased after it all the same.

   “It’s nice outside, isn’t it?” Thomas commented.

   “Hm?” Roman made a noise, not really following what Thomas said for a moment. Then he processed it and noticed the temperature. It was nice and warm with a little breeze. “Yeah,” Roman agreed. Lita ran back up with the ball and Roman threw it a little better this time.

   “If you could do anything, what would you pick to do right now?” Thomas asked, leaning against the house.

   “See Remus,” Roman shrugged.

   “We’ll see what your social worker says. What would you do with Remus if you had all the time and resources in the world?” Thomas leaned against the top of the chaise lounge.

   “Roller coasters. Maybe a water park,” Roman responded after a pause.

   “Do you like theme parks?” Thomas asked. What was this, 20 questions? Lita made a lap around the yard again.

   “They sound fun,” Roman said dismissively.

   “Have you ever been to a theme park?” Thomas watched Lita run in circles and trip over her own leg with a chuckle.

   “No, I’ve just heard about them in school,” Roman shook his head. “I’ve been to a pool that had a giant slide and that was fun, so I bet roller coasters are, too. Remus likes heights and jumping off of stuff. Liked, I guess. I guess I don’t know what he likes anymore,” Roman said a little dourly.

   “Did you jump off things a lot when you were younger?” Thomas asked lightly.

   “All the time. Mom always got so mad at us,” Roman laughed weakly.

   “When did you last seem him?” Thomas asked, leaning against the chaise lounge.

   “The first family we were with was the only one willing to take two kids. They split us up after they kicked us back for being too much,” Roman explained.

   “You haven’t even gotten to visit him since they separated you?” Thomas sounded concerned.

   “Yeah,” Roman muttered and wrung his fingers a bit. “It was never a priority. Or they broke their promises. Or it was too far. Or it was too much effort. Blood relations aren’t important. I didn’t earn it. I’m not worth it. I’ve heard a lot of reasons. I stopped asking. We used to talk on the phone before I wasn’t allowed to use phones anymore,” Roman watched the breeze ruffle the leaves. “Can we talk about something else?”

   “Sure. What’s a hobby that sounds awesome to try?” Thomas changed subjects. Maybe it was 20 questions.

   “Um. I don’t know,” Roman said honestly. Open-ended questions were always hard for him.

   “What stuff do you like?” Thomas leaned down and picked up the tennis ball Lita dropped too far away for Roman to reach and handed it off to Roman to throw again. Roman chucked it farther this time and Lita went wild chasing it, nearly ramming into the fence.

   “Art… and doing stuff with my hands or things that are active, I guess,” Roman said after a lengthy pause of strained consideration.

   “What stuff are you good at?” Thomas asked. Roman froze. There was a knock on the window. Saved by Virgil. Thank god, he nearly said ‘fucking up’. Roman blinked and shook his head for a moment in sheer relief.

   “Patton’s here,” Roman provided, pointing to the door.

   “Keep your gloves on, please,” Thomas said and went back inside. Lita came happily trotting up again and hopped up and panted happily on his lap. Roman smiled slightly and pet her. He tried to scratch behind her ears, but with the gloves, it was more like weird rubbing, so he stuck to petting. Patton came out on to a patio munching on a muffin a few minutes later.

   “Hey kiddo!” Patton smiled brightly.

   “Hey,” Roman waved slightly and kept petting Lita.

   “Feeling kind of out of it, huh?” Patton asked, walking up to Roman.

   “Kinda,” Roman stared at the sky. He was a little more here than earlier, but still kinda… eh.

   “You want to come sit in the grass with me?” Patton asked, holding out his hand. Roman looked to Patton and took his hand. Lita jumped off his lap, and they walked off the patio into the yard. “You can take off those snazzy gloves,” Roman slipped them off and Patton helped Roman down into the grass. They both sat there quietly for a moment. Feeling the grass was actually pretty nice after wearing those gloves all day. “What did you do this afternoon?”

   “Um, I read in Thomas’s office and played games. Sorry,” Roman muttered and trailed off.

   “You don’t have to apologize for that, you were doing what we asked you to do. Thomas said you wanted to do some homework. Did you want to work on it together after dinner?” Patton said sympathetically.

   “I’ve, uh, got it,” Roman muttered.

   “We asked you to take a break so we should help you catch up, it’s only fair. I swung by the school to pick up the rest of your homework for this week,” Patton said.

   “Oh, goody,” Roman deadpanned and Patton chuckled.

   “What kind of food do you like? You don’t normally say you want anything specific,” Patton asked, leaning forward on his hands in the grass.

   “I’m really not picky,” Roman shrugged and worried a blade of grass between his fingers.

   “I’m just wondering if you have a favourite food,” Patton said, tilting his head and looking over hopefully to Roman.

   “Not really,” Roman shook his head.

   “So, what would be your last meal if you got to pick one?” Patton asked, holding up a finger.

   “Something fancy, probably. Lobster is fancy, right?” Roman picked at a grass blade that came off between his fingers.

   “So there're no foods that make you excited?” Patton asked curiously. Roman shook his head. Not anymore, anyway. “Maybe we need to find your new favourite food, then! We can try out fun recipes online,” Patton offered.

   “You don’t have to do an effort for me, I’ll eat whatever,” Roman held up the grass blade he was picking at and released it to the breeze.

   “I know you’ll eat ‘whatever’, but it’s fun to try new foods! I was trying to pick what to make for dinner tonight,” Patton explained.

   “Virgil usually has a preference, you could ask him,” Roman motioned with his thumb towards the house.

   “He normally does,” Patton chuckled in agreement. Roman considered what he thought Virgil might like for a moment and got an idea.

   “I saw this recipe for enchilada lasagna he might like. Us mortals should be able to eat it with sour cream,” Roman offered. Plus, he was curious if any of those foods in the videos he’d been watching lately were any good or if they were just for show.

   “Oh, it’s a spicy one?” Patton snickered curiously.

   “Not inedible. He’ll probably still want to put hot sauce on it,” Roman mimed using a hot sauce bottle, with a slight grin.

   “Let’s go see if we have ingredients for it. I’m not sure about enchilada sauce,” Patton said, sounding like he was thinking hard.

   “My grandmother would yell at me from beyond the grave if I used canned enchilada sauce when it’s cheaper to buy tomato sauce,” Roman laughed, moving to get up.

   “Oh, did you used to cook with her?” Patton scrambled up quickly to help Roman take the pressure off his feet.

   “She watched us often,” Roman said dismissively.

   “Was your grandmother the one who taught you how to cook?” Patton held open the door for Roman to head back inside.

   “My mom and grandmother both learned quickly it was better to keep us busy, so we helped them cook often. We were too young for lots of it, though, I finished learning at the library,” Roman said, the pair of them heading into the kitchen.

   “That’s very proactive of you! So, what do we need for this?” Patton asked as they entered the kitchen.

   “Enchilada stuff. Meat, black beans, cheese, tortillas, onion, peppers, bell peppers, tomato sauce,” Roman supplied.

   “Oh, sorry kiddo, we don’t have tortillas,” Patton frowned.

   “They’re flour and water. Do you not have flour and water?” Roman smirked, leaning into the vegetable drawer in the fridge.

   “Oh, really?” Patton said curiously, digging in the pantry.

   “What meat do you want to use?” Roman asked as he procured the needed vegetables.

   “What do you think is best?” Patton asked.

   “Chicken thighs, probably,” Roman pulled that out from the meat drawer as well. “Do you have canned peppers? There’s none in here,” Roman stuck his head out of the fridge to ask Patton.

   “We do, I’ll get them,” Patton said and withdrew a few cans and brought them to the counter. “Grandma won’t be mad about canned peppers?”

   “My grandmother grew her own peppers, but she supports the use of canned,” Roman smiled fondly. “Whatever was cheapest was the best option. She was on a fixed income. She planted seeds from the ones she got from a friend. She was always proud of her ‘stolen garden’,” Roman put the things from the fridge on the counter.

   “Wow, your grandma was awesome,” Patton smiled.

   “She was determined,” Roman dug around on the spice shelf for the spices they’d need.

   “So are you! Let's get you a chair so you can get off your feet,” Patton said, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and putting it next to Roman.

   “What’s first?” Patton asked brightly.

   “Seasoning the chicken,” Roman provided. He kneeled on the chair so he could still reach the counter but get off his feet. They were already hurting. Patton let Roman do most of the cooking. It was understandable, he didn’t know the seasonings and only Roman knew how to make tortillas. But he ran around the kitchen getting Roman things and chopped up the vegetables to he could make them. He even let Roman cook the filling, which he could have taken over for. But Roman really liked being able to do something after doing nothing for days, so he said nothing, even when his knees got kind of sore.

   Roman sat down on a kitchen chair in with an exhausted exhale after Patton slid it in the oven to finish cooking. Roman leaned forward on the table tiredly, hoping the monstrosity would taste good. Patton sat down with him with an odd-looking smile.

   “It smells amazing in here. I’m sure you did your grandma proud,” Patton said brightly.

   “I’m pretty certain she would say this is an abomination, actually, but she’d laugh while she said it before ranting about how deeply and horrifically wrong it is,” Roman smiled and shook his head. He was acutely aware of how wrong this ‘meal’ was, too. But the morbid curiosity about Virgil’s capacity to eat garbage was louder than his good sense. The ingredients were all good, so it was relatively low risk, dinner wise. Unless they got mad at him for making garbage food, maybe. God, did his knees hurt after all that kneeling. He stretched them carefully under the kitchen table. “She always liked what we did, even if it was terrible. She had crayon drawings from when I was 3 framed on the wall.”

   “She sounds very sweet,” Patton smiled softly.

   “You would have probably gotten along with her,” Roman leaned on the table. “Are your grandparents still alive?”

   “Oh, yeah. I’m afraid they wouldn’t get along with your grandma, though,” Patton said pensively.

   “How do you mean?” Roman furrowed his eyebrows.

   “They’re just very old fashioned,” Patton said dismissively. “Would you like some orange juice? You’ve got to be a little hot from all the cooking,” Patton said, getting back up.

   “Um, yeah, that sounds good,” Roman mumbled as he continued to stretch his legs under the table. Patton grabbed Roman a glass of orange juice before pulling out dishes to set the table. “Sorry for having you do all this stuff for me,” Roman apologized quietly.

   “I offered, and I’m doing it because I want to,” Patton smiled and started setting out dishes. Roman sipped his orange juice and watched Patton as he set out the dishes. “Are you feeling less out of it?” He eyed Roman with interest.

   “Yeah, I guess I am,” Roman said, not realizing it until now. “Thanks, I think?”

   “You came back yourself, there, champ. I just helped show you how,” Patton winked.

   “Is hanging out in the grass and making dinner really how to do it?” Roman asked, leaning on his hands and tilting his head.

   “You just needed some grounding. You’ve probably been thinking lots about the past and getting stuck there. Grass, sunshine, chatting, and making dinner just helped pull you back to the present,” Patton smiled softly.

   “How do you know so much about this stuff? Aren’t you an animal doctor and not a people doctor?” Roman asked curiously, stroking the perspiration on the glass.

   “I was in therapy for a long time, kiddo. It really helped me out when I was in a bad place. My therapist gave me lots of tools to help focus on the present and being a good person,” Patton said, leaning forward.

   “Does it have something to do with why my grandmother wouldn’t like your grandparents?” Roman asked carefully.

   “You’re a sharp kid. But you’ve got plenty on your plate right now. I think it’s better for you to focus on good things at the moment since you’ve been struggling lately. Like the enchilada abomination in the oven!” Patton chuckled, motioning to the oven.

   “A-, uh, my grandmother-” Roman caught himself. “-would really like you. Maybe she’ll come to make fun of this freak feast on November first,” Roman smirked at the folly of man in the oven.

   “Do you celebrate the day of the dead?” Patton perked up.

   “She did. Mom kind of did. I’ve never really done it without her. Dad didn’t like it. I just think if anyone would visit, it would be her, I guess. I know it’s kind of dumb. Really dumb. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Roman mumbled and nervously fidgeted with his hands.

   “Stop right there, kiddo. It’s not dumb. It’s okay to miss your grandma and hope she visits. Nobody else has the right to tell you your dumb for your beliefs, okay? If you want to set up something on November first, I’m happy to support you. Maybe Virgil wants to join. If I remember correctly his dad was from Mexico. Even if he doesn’t, there’s no harm in trying, just because it reminds you of her,” Patton reassured him. Roman nodded silently.

   “Patton, will you be honest with me?” Roman asked after a pause, nervously picking at his nails.

   “Of course I will,” Patton nodded and looked a little nervous, but smiled nonetheless.

   “Would you rather have gotten someone else less fucked up? Are you just settling on me because it’s the nice thing to do?” Roman asked quietly.

   “Roman, please don’t use the F word. I don’t like that language,” Patton frowned.

   “Sorry,” Roman muttered, dropping his head.

   “I’m not settling on you, Roman. Thomas and I went going into this ready to love and support anyone who came to us. I think you’re a great kid and I think we get along just fine. I’m sorry if my emotional reactions scared you or made you think I didn’t think you were worth it. Sometimes it’s hard to deal with stuff that hits so close to home for me,” Patton admitted.

   “You didn’t also sell drugs, did you?” Roman asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Patton.

   “No! No, I just didn’t have a great time with my grandparents and there wasn’t anybody to stand up for me,” Patton explained, shaking his hands. “I was upset about it not seeming like anybody ever stood up for you, because you keep blaming yourself for things that objectively don’t need blame taken for. I freaked out because in a million years I never expected to hear about a teenager making drug deliveries because his guardians refused to take care of him. Especially about such a sensitive kid like you who always tries to put other people’s feelings first,” He motioned to Roman.

   “I, uh… sorry. But I started running for Jet at 12,” Roman muttered. Patton’s eyes widened and he kind of looked like he wanted to scream, but he didn’t move or make a sound. Roman still leaned away nervously. “Sorry. I was 13 when the Halls… uh,” Roman paused. Patton took a deep breath.

   “If you want to say it, you can,” Patton said, taking a deep breath.

   “This, um, maybe ‘hits close to home’,” Roman rubbed his arm. “Um, it was about wanting more money from us and it got so bad my caseworker was fired. Jet’s might have, too. I never called him to find out. I kinda took the excuse to cut ties. After things got bad he got bad, too. I don’t blame him or anything, but still…” Roman trailed off.

   “Do you still have his number?” Patton asked curiously, looking less like he would scream, but now and much more sad.

   “Um… yeah. Just in case I needed to make some fast money. It was a burner, so the number is probably long since disconnected from him. It’s more of a reminder now. I can’t bring myself to throw it away,” Roman admitted, not able to meet Patton’s eyes.

   “As long as you’re not using it to hurt yourself, I suppose,” Patton muttered, not sounding like he actually believed what he said.

   “Sure, I won’t give myself a paper cut with it or whatever,” Roman said, kind of baffled by the implications.

   “No, I mean looking at it to remind yourself that in a time of desperation you did something you didn’t want to do and judge yourself harshly for your choices,” Patton explained.

   “Uh, yeah,” Roman said meekly. Patton’s lips tightened, and he hummed suspiciously.

   “When you’re a kid and you make bad choices, it’s important that you learn from them but you can’t hate yourself for them. When you’re young, you don’t have a lot of resources and you don’t have all the information. Parents are supposed to protect you from all that stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised Jet made it seem like it was harmless at first. He was older than you and offering help, so wanting to trust him was natural. Nobody was there to take you, or even Jet, out of that situation, and that wasn’t your fault. That was your guardian’s fault, full stop. You should never have been in that situation in the first place and you can’t blame yourself for what you did while trying to survive if you really were trying not to hurt people. And I can’t imagine you did, kiddo. I just don’t see it in you,” Patton said firmly, and Roman could barely take hearing it.

   “Pat, dude, it’s not going to look good for you if I’m crying when Mr. Hartley gets here,” Roman joked while sniffling. He rubbed his eyes and put his head down on the table.

   “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I think you needed to hear it,” Patton said. “Do you want…” Patton paused and Roman nodded into his arms on the table. Patton got up from the table and put his arm around Roman while he tried to pull himself together. The oven timer went off and Patton let go with after lightly rubbing his back to go pull the monstrosity out of the oven. Roman sipped his OJ and wiped the tears threatening to escape again. Virgil walked into the kitchen and looked oddly at Roman for a moment.

   ‘Smells awesome. But what the fuck?’ Virgil signed.

   ‘Patton was being an asshole,’ Roman signed back with a weak smirk.

   ‘I always knew it,’ Virgil side-eyed Patton facetiously. ‘Seriously, you okay?’

   ‘No,’ Roman signed and shrugged.

   ‘Valid,’ Virgil fingerspelled. ‘What’s for dinner?’

   ‘An abomination unto god,’ Roman fingerspelled slowly. Virgil’s smirk widened into a mischievous grin.

   ‘I always wanted to eat an unholy abomination,’ Virgil signed back and sat at the table next to Roman.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15  @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst:  @k1ngtok1

Hurt/Comfort:  @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #ayri writes #dreaming while i wake #roman angst #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts character thomas #depression #disassociation #food #dog #chapter fic #fanfiction

[imaginarycircus]

Today is my birthday and all well wishes are giddily accepted. I’m going to level with you. I’ve felt disappointed in myself lately more and more. For the last few years I’ve been increasingly selfconscious and kind of embarrassed about my age, my appearance, and my lack of success for a given value of success. Like I’m an old washing machine that needs to be taken out back and disassembled for parts or used as a fire pit. The worst part is that I knew I was selling myself a bill of goods and I couldn’t stop.

This is venting. I’d love it if you have time and energy to listen, but please don’t give me advice. If you want to share your experiences or feelings that is cool. I’d love to hear about you. I’m sorry this is like a 3 TED talk series, but you do not have to read it and I don’t expect anyone to do so.

If a friend told me they felt like this I’d theoretically grab their face in both hands and look into their eyes and say, “You precious, wonderful, jar of dumbass jam.”

“You have a messy life and stuff that gets in the way and maybe you’re not always doing your best, but you try to and you’re nice to animals and you sure do cry about them a lot. This writing deal is hard. You started 17 years ago, which was a bit late, and you’ve worked really hard. Despite every rejection, you have not stopped. Do you realize how much better you’ve become than you were? Sure. You’ve had some bad luck. Everyone has, but yours is yours. It sucks, but don’t let it define you. Oh. You already let it define you. Past-you is gone and now-you can stop doing that.

You got the MFA. You wrote a novel and your agent couldn’t sell it, but you did it. And you got an agent, which is pretty good. You did well in that Penguin contest. You didn’t win, but top 50 out of 5,000 isn’t too bad. You created two scripted series and wrote the first season of one of them 2-3 times and planned the other in exquisite detail. It’s in development hell and I know you’re tired and you’ve kind of given up hope, but the people negotiating stuff believe in your work (also @kyrieanne‘s work.) You’ve written a lot. You’re writing a novel right now and your agent is on board. Plus you’re still riding around on this planet. There were times you wanted to get off the ride, but you didn’t.

No one else but you swims in the alchemical product of your past, your traumas, your joys, your education, your hard work, your chronic health issues, and your many mistakes. Own it and fucking walk up the chest of anyone who says you’re not good enough. Yeah. You got walk up your own chest now, buddy. Take some advil. I love you. Take out the trash. And remember you had three separate cancer scares this year. Two surgeries. Two biopsies, one of them a total nightmare, and you were bleeding so much because of that uterine polyp you had no iron for carrying oxygen to your bits and bobs or your brainbox. Take a breath. Take a shower. Drink water. Go out this evening and eat a warm buttered lobster roll and drink some good wine and realize how fucking lucky you are to be able to do that. I love you, you beautiful, dumbass jar of jam.”

But my inner convo has been like, “Dude. Honey. Me. Plz stop. Comparisons are odious. Yes, we like John Donne. No, we do not usually think about ourselves in the third person, but for this exercise it makes sense that even when I am talking to myself I may be talking to another part of myself I’m so at odds with they seem like a different person. We contain multitudes! We also have the adhd and what were we talking about? Oh, yes. We think we’re old and a failure. We’ve bought into it so hard that it keeps us up at night and stalks us during the day. If it walks like a failure duck and talks like a failure duck...

Okay. The WE thing has to stop. Switching to 2nd person, extremely goddamn familiar.

You’re 48 (49 today) and everyone around you is seems so accomplished and has racked up cool resume worthy successes, which you learn about on that bastion or truth and moral rectitude--the twitter. They ARE things. While you? Are nothing in particular. Mostly a lot of “does not live up to potential.” And what the fuck have you done? 3k NY Times crossword puzzles? You haven’t published anything and maybe that’s because you’re not a very good writer. You’ve written a lot of shit in the last two decades, but where has it gotten you? Maybe you’re a dilettante with no substance. You can’t prove you aren’t.

People 20 years younger have accomplished so much more. Now you’re old and annoying and occasionally confused by the youths and their slang. You’re still never sure of the nuance of bougie because it seems to be used in so many different ways. You got cagey about telling anyone your age bc the number sounds alarming. You know you’re buying into a bullshit patriarchal system that devalues people further if they’re no longer baby factories.

And there was that bullshit when some partially baked people told adults to get out of fandom and you kind of said fuck that noise gently with a chainsaw, but you also felt bad. Like an old cranky dude in a ratty old bathrobe who pours  beer on his generic cheerios (tragically called rings’o’oats) and shovels them into his mouth thinking about how he could have BEEN someone, but was struck down by tragedy, or an ego so fragile a light breeze destroyed it. Who refuses to teach a young whipper snapper the ancient art of smacking an object from one place to another bc he’s golluming over his manpain. An off-brand Obi Wan who must be harassed to rejoin the human race and who starts to live again after helping some prodigy succeed. Except you? You’re in the ratty bathrobe phase, probably for eternity, and no one is coming to ask you to do anything, because you never did anything. You’re getting wrinkles and you feel invisible a lot of the time in a way that makes you want to set things on fire bc you’re a middle aged lady, who is not particularly pretty, accomplished, or a mom so wtf are you? And you know that’s a world of absolute bullshit, but you’re soaking it like it’s the world’s biggest tub of Palmolive and you don’t remember getting into it. You know what would make you feel better and give you an ersatz sense of accomplishment?”

And then I do another crossword puzzle. I went back into therapy with someone who specializes in adhd. It’s helping. I haven’t been around here much bc... welp. You’re reading this. I didn’t want to be No Face in Spirited Away vomiting all this trash on you, especially because I know it’s the most womp womp, irritating, middle aged white lady thinks her life is hard and must tell you about it at great length. But then I remember my shitty feelings are valid and I do not ever expect anyone to read this so I can put here if it helps me.

I will be fine. These are human shaped problems. But if you’ve read this nonsense and thought about it, giggled at it, or wondered if you should call someone like I’m a cat stuck in a tree who did not know fully comprehend the consequences of her actions? Thank you. I appreciate you. As always I hope a dog looks at you and wants to be your friend, or a cat walks on your hair because it loves you. (It should go without saying, but feel free to substitute any animal or item into my well wishes as per your requirements.) If you need an excuse to eat cake today--I have decreed that you must do this in my honor. But only if you feel like it and you can eat cake. Also the cake can be made of anything. The cake could be avocados or mathematical. Use your imagination.

To wit; I am 49 fucking years old today. I’m owning it. I’m owning every wrinkle and sun spot. (I started using a serum to deal with sun damage and it seems to work. People told me to wear sunscreen, but I did not.) I’m owning my own failures (and sun damage). I’m learning to own my successes too, especially the ones that don’t make sense to other people without a power point presentation, a Q&A, and a ritual burning of certain artifacts.

Here’s what I’ve done with my life. I’ve lived it.

#personal #food cw #blithering about my own nonsense #I'm Stuart Smalley #It's 17 degrees for the 17th? #I apologize for my needlessly Baroque prose #mental health #I never thought I'd be middle aged because it's a state of mind #Now I realize it's the physical equivalent of being a 1985 Honda with 150k miles on it

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Broken Like Me: The Party

Summary: Dean and the reader attend his agency’s annual party where they run into a not so friendly face...

Masterlist

Pairing: Model!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, small fight

A/N: Enjoy!...

_____

“Wow,” said Dean as you stepped out of the hotel bathroom. “Wow, sweetheart.”

“Is it bad?” you asked. He shook his head and stepped over with a big smile.

“It’s amazing. You look beautiful and hot and sexy and I just want to take that dress right off of you,” he chuckled.

“Considering the amount of time Carla spent finding this for me, I think she’d kill you,” you said. “How’s my back look?”

“As beautiful as the rest of you,” he said, touching a hand to your bare skin. It was an open back dress and far more risqué than you had any right to be wearing. Dean trailed his fingers over the faded scars covering the skin there. “I packed the emergency dress just in case.”

“Thank you,” you said with a smile. “But I’m okay. I love this dress and if your model friends have a problem with my scars, then fuck them.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, kissing your cheek. “I can’t wait to show you off.”

“Or we could skip this agency party thing and go to a nice dinner instead and then come back here and get naked?” you said.

“That is incredibly tempting but we flew all the way out here for Carla,” he said.

“I know,” you sighed.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Y/N, is that you?” said Carla when you got to the party. “Dean must be drooling.”

“Yes, he is,” you laughed, getting a hug from her, Dean getting his own.

“How you doing babe? Getting along with your parents? That goes for both of you,” she said.

“Yes, mom,” teased Dean. “It’s been pretty good. Y/N’s parents gave her her trust fund back. With interest.”

“To which we promptly decided to leave it be for kids and future weddings and all that stuff. Dean and I have plenty between our jobs,” you said.

“Well I’ve never worried about you two and money. So you’re doing better with your parents still?” asked Carla.

“Yeah. It’s a little awkward sometimes still. They grovel a little bit,” you said.

“They’re trying their best,” said Dean. “Excuse me ladies, I think I see a friend over there.”

“How’s he and his dad really doing? It’s like pulling teeth sometimes,” she said.

“John is going to Dr. Bram every other week,” you said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. John’s got a whole bunch of crap he’s gone through apparently. He’s still not a fan of going but he does it for Dean,” you said.

“It sounds like things are calming down for you two finally,” she said.

“Hopefully. We could do with some quiet,” you said.

“I take it you haven’t started wedding planning yet then,” she teased.

“My mom is looking at professional planners for us so that’s a joy,” you said.

“Want me to say anything?” she asked.

“No mom,” you laughed. “I’ll calm her down if she gets too wound up. Dean and I love each other. There’s no need to rush into a wedding.”

“A wedding is honestly just another day in your relationship, sweetie. It’s a very happy day where you celebrate your love for each other with friends and family. But in the end, it’s a day. You love him and the babe is head over heels in love with you. You’re young. Take the time to make it what you want it to be,” she said.

“Do you think I’ll ever get to the point where my mom would say something like that?” you asked.

“I think so. Dean and his father...I thought about coming to pay John a visit more than once and give him a piece of my mind. But now, they seem to be healing that relationship. I’m sure if you’re patient with them, you’ll get there.”

“I hope so,” you said.

“Well when I met you, you never would have been caught dead in a dress like that,” she said. “I think you got this.”

“Well the scars on my face and arms and chest are gone,” you said.

“Your back is actually not what I was expecting,” she said.

“I got a better scar cream,” you smiled. “A whole lot cheaper than laser surgery.”

“Dean ever offer to pay? He can plenty afford it,” she said.

“He brings it up now and again. He makes so much he doesn’t need. He just puts it out there that he would help if I choose to get rid of the rest,” you said. “A majority of the time though, the only person who ever seems them is Dean though so it doesn’t matter. I tell him to put the money towards something he wants.”

“Looks like what he wants right now is you to come save him,” she said, Dean looking like he was pleading with you to get over there. You walked over with a smile, Dean easing a little as you stopped at his side.

“So is this the farm girl that you gave up Calvin Klein for?” said a guy in a white suit, the other guy with them walking away.

“Down girl,” said Dean when you opened your mouth. “This is Kyle.”

“I think she was ready to tear my throat out,” laughed Kyle. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Dean doesn’t speak kindly of many of his model friends. But Kyle Kendricks is always okay with me,” you said.

“I told you I’d win her over,” said Kyle.

“Yeah well you’re a loser so it’s not too hard,” chuckled Dean.

“I don’t think those pictures Dean posts of you did you justice, Y/N,” he said.

“Always a suck up,” you said. “Hey, how’d that shoot for the baby food go?”

“Didn’t happen. Super weird. I was ready to sign the contract and everything and apparently the owners themselves said they got somebody else in mind,” he said.

“Was it Gerber?” asked Dean.

“Nah, the other one,” he said. “I don’t have the new dad look they were going for.”

“Considering you do alcohol commercials, probably not,” teased Dean. 

“You been keeping him out of trouble lately?” asked Kyle.

“I do my best...unless of course I’m the one causing it.”

“You should come visit us sometime. We got great barbecue,” said Dean.

“I’m on a diet,” grumbled Kyle.

“Why?” you asked. 

“Calvin Kline contract is going up soon. Michael Reyburn is apparently more trouble than he’s worth,” said Kyle. Dean nodded and Kyle gave him a smile. “Dude I know it was your gig and-“

“I had it for all of five seconds,” he said. “It’s a lot of money if you can swing it. Just be careful bud.”

“Maybe I’ll stick with beer,” he said, getting a tap on the shoulder from a man. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“The way you described him you would think the man has a pocket protector and grandpa pants,” you said.

“Kyle’s a nerd. We always stuck together. That other guy was Jack Bilson. He’s besties with Reyburn so-“

“Also a dick. Good to know,” you said. “So how long do we have to be here?”

“An hour tops. I promise.”

“Well hello,” said a deep voice. You spun around from where you were eating a tiny piece of lobster on a cracker, the man chuckling at you. “That is a hell of a dress.”

“Thanks,” you said, your mouth full.

“You’re Dean Winchester’s charity case, right? Or maybe he’s yours.”

“I can see why they’re going with another model, Michael. Must be pretty hard to fill out those shorts with what you’re packing,” you said, getting a few laughs out of people close by.

“Sweetie you ought to see what a real man is like.”

“Then why the hell am I talking to you?”

“Never been with someone who looks like they beat a lawnmower in a fight,” he said. You smiled and glanced down, grabbing another snack and popping it in your mouth. “Do you ever stop eating?”

“Michael. Try therapy for why ever it is you’re so angry and leave me and Dean the Hell alone,” you said.

“Said the freak show,” he said.

“Reyburn,” said Dean as he came over, stepping in front of you. 

“Oh look, fatty’s here,” he said. Dean clenched his fist and you stood between them.

“Kindly apologize and leave,” you said.

He started to laugh and you got in his face.

“I literally pulled myself from a burning car only to then find myself bleeding out on the side of the road. You know what you do when that happens, Michael? You make a decision and I made the decision to shove my own fingers inside my rib cage to squeeze an artery shut. Do you know how much that hurts, Michael? Do you know what it’s like to sit there, putting yourself in excruciating pain just so you have a chance at living? No. No you don’t. I am very good at dealing with shit and that includes you. Now apologize, please, and stay away from him. Or else.”

“I see who wears the pants in the relationship,” said Kyle.

“I see who isn’t in a relationship,” you said. Michael narrowed his eyes and stormed off. You ate another cracker, turning to Dean. “This is so good. You got to try it.”

“You never talk about your accident,” he said.

“Because I don’t remember half of it,” you said. “Come on. He’s a douchebag. I want to go dance with my very handsome fiancé.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“I am so glad to be out of there,” you said when you were back in the hotel room.

“Remind me not to accept next year,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and heading straight into the bathroom.

“You alright?” you called as you stepped out of your heels. You didn’t hear anything and undressed, walking into the bathroom naked and taking your hair out of its bun. “Mr. Winchester…”

“What?” he said grumpily before he spun around.

“What’s wrong, De?” you asked. He looked you over and rested his hand on your right side, tracing over the long scar there.

“You’re beautiful and I can’t defend you because I’m...this,” he said, glancing down at his body.

“I don’t need a man to defend me. He was bullying me and my best friend. I will always stand up for us,” you said. “My handsome and healthy soon to be husband.”

“Why would you even want me?” he asked.

“Because I love you,” you hummed, giving him a smile. He rolled his eyes and turned away.

“I’m gonna shower. You mind?” he asked.

“Alright,” you sighed. You left and went back to the bedroom, changing into a pair of shorts and one of his shirts. You flipped through the room service menu and ordered some fries and a brownie, listening for Dean to be done with his shower.

When it was still going by the time the food got there though, you went back in.

“Dean. I ordered a late night snack if you want some,” you said.

“I’m not hungry, sweetheart,” he said. You sighed and opened up the steamed up shower door. “What the hell?”

“It has been an hour. You never take showers this long unless you’re upset,” you said.

“I’m not upset,” he said. You stared at him and he groaned, turning off the water. He brushed past you for his towel and you rolled your eyes, going back to the room and nibbling at the food. He didn’t say anything as he came in a minute later, taking his clothes with him to the bathroom to change.

“Since when are we shy in front of each other?” you asked. Dean shook his head and went over to his suitcase, folding his suit nicely. “Silent treatment, very mature.”

“What is your problem? I want to be left alone,” he said, shoving the suit down.

“Tough shit,” you said as you knelt up on the bed. “I care about you and right now, I get the feeling I care a hell of a lot more about you than you do yourself so until further notice, I’m in charge.”

“You’re in charge? Of what?” he scoffed.

“Get in the bed.”

“Make me.”

You stared at him, Dean crossing his arms. You stood up and walked over to him, getting in his face.

“You gonna push me?”

“If you don’t want to talk then at the very least you can indulge me and go lay down on the damn bed,” you said.

He glanced down and went back to his suit, fixing it before he went to a side of the bed and sat down. You went right next to him, Dean stiff until you shifted behind him, wrapping your legs and arms around him.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you,” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“Do you remember that night I missed our date? I went to Dr. Bram’s and was a complete mess?” he asked.

“I remember you had a bad night,” you said. He put one of his hands over yours and held onto your arms.

“Part of that night was because of the model that got the contract after me. Reyburn. He made some nasty comments. I thought I was over it but apparently not,” he said.

“Dean. Yes, Michael Reyburn is a physically fit person and yes he is physically attractive. He’s also a horribly ugly person. He’s disgusting and mean. You on the other hand are the kind of person that made someone like me, someone so beaten down from a lifetime of crap, feel happy and beautiful and loved. You’re the most attractive person I’ll ever meet, Dean. The way you look on the outside, everything else, that’s just a bonus, De.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, peeling your arms away so he could turn and kiss you.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“S’okay,” you said. You ran your fingers through his short strands, Dean curling into the touch. “They had cheese fries. I got them just for you.”

“I really should watch what I eat,” he said.

“You had a salad for lunch and we skipped dinner. I say it’s okay, Dean,” you said. “It’s got bacon-“

“That should have been your opener, sweetheart,” he chuckled. You gave him another kiss and hug before you let him go to the table and bring over the food. “I’m sorry Michael was such a pig to you.”

“Well he sounds like he has his own issues to work out,” you said. “Forget him. I also had a great idea while you were in the shower.”

“What’s that?”

“Instead of flying home, want to do a road trip? Hit up some of those places you see on the food channel on our way back?” you asked.

“So no flight and awesome food? I’m sold,” he said. “What about work?”

“I have a lot of unused vacation time. It’ll be fun. We’ve both been busy lately,” you said. “What do you say?”

“I say I’m going to marry a little genius,” he said. He kissed your nose and started to eat, the two of you quiet for a while, your head leaning on his shoulder when you finished. “Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

______

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #au #model!dean x reader #timestamp

[hokusu]

(1/2) ❤ Best secret ever & it's meant to be!! I already looked through your info, but I didn't find anything about your bday, so if you ever want to tell when it is, please do D: if not, it's totally fine! yeah what is time... not something we can eat, sigh. you won't dissappoint me, don't ever think that! your edits will be awesome, what you already told me sounds more than awesome AND thank you for creating beautiful edits, no matter how "simple" they are! you must be so happy about the new

(2/2) snk season, right? omg you have so much to do &while you make many people happy, take care of yourself, ok? ok. & you should smile, that's my job, Eva!! I always wanted to try green tea ice cream!! I LOVE TEA! the last flavor sounds tasty, damn. my faves are lemon ice cream & cherry-amaretto :D thanksgiving seems nice?? what do your family ususally eat? I'd also like to know how it came to be a holiday but I don't want to bother you with that, I should just google it :D ❤ - Secret Santa

...Santa you went and looked for my bday? Omg, what a cutie, but I don’t mind telling you! It’s Jan 2nd! (And I’d love to know yours if you’re comfortable telling me when? cough let me make something for you later). lol considering I love food even though I don’t eat that much, if time was edible, I’d surely eat it all too....

And gonna become a broken record here telling you thank you for your kind words but gonna do it anyways!! Yes! I am happy about SNK, ahhh but I’m not ready for it to be over so while I’m hyped, it’s like a happy sad? lol. Aww don’t worry, I enjoy doing it (but that procrastination life hits me hard haha) and I’ll take care of myself too! Santaaa, I assure you that you make me smile every time you drop your cute little asks and then come in here being my friend, hello, who wouldn’t be smiling?

Ohh I wish I could share my green tea ice cream with you! Which kind of tea is your fav? But ohh you like those fruity flavors don’t you? That reminds me of gelatos...and man I really love gelatos too ;-; Mango flavor is my fav. I’ve never had cherry-amaretto, I had to google that actually but it looks good?? Would love to try that.

My mom really only likes Chinese food so that’s usually what we get when I go to my parents lol. (Though I’m a huge sucker for all types of food/cuisine and japanese is my fav). This year for thanksgiving we did have a turkey though!  And then idk if you’re familiar with any chinese dishes, but we had duck with this type of white bread made for eating with it, black pepper cubed filet mignon, lobster noodles, lamb chops with vegetables, kung pao chicken, honey glazed walnut shrimp, some kind of fish anddd I can’t remember what else? :’ )

No worries! Long story short, if I recall my history correctly from grade school (so long ago lol), I think the story most Americans know about Thanksgiving is that it came to be when the first people who settled in America were given food by the Native Americans to survive the winter and they shared a feast with them. It’s also to celebrate like “good harvest” for the year and for next year. But I think as a whole when Thanksgiving become an official holiday here, it was just a day to give thanks. xD

Also you are free to bother me always, I welcome it! ❤ ❤ ❤

#santa anon #❤ #ask

[daily-best-jokes]

I wrote 400 jokes this month as a way to combat the sadness I was feeling not being able to do regular stand up. These are 139 of my favorite.

My names Sam Miller, I'm a comedian from Olympia Washington. I was really sad when this started, I love stand up so much, I didn't do anything for the 1st 2 weeks outside of trying to be a good Dad/Husband. I decided one week to write 100 jokes and then tell them on Facebook Live to benefit a local charity. I did the same thing the next 3 weeks. We wound up raising over $3000. I'm trying to edit this list down to 100 by Saturday but most of these joke I really like or other folks have told me they liked. If you have the time by all means let me know, What are some of your favorites? What should I cut?

I hate sweating, which is weird, cause it’s salty.

I got expelled from the 8th grade so my mom made me go to a catholic school and they didn’t teach us about sex. So now everytime I fuck it’s just like a really cool field trip.

If turtles are scared they hide in their shell. Which is why it hurts so bad when someone throws a turtle at you.

R.E.M. is Pearl Jam for very tired people.

This quarantine would be a lot easier to handle if I knew how to spell it.

This corona virus shit isn't going well for me,I yawned at Safeway yesterday and accidently swallowed my mask.

This pandemic has given me a lot of time to get to know my kids better……..or worse.

I do not have the balls to get another vasectomy

Wrists are just shoulders for your hand.

Nothing is more dangerous than a chilly arsonist

Someday my kids will get older and leave the house and I’ll have plenty of time to try to figure out why the fuck I did that.

Whenever I make spagetti I eat one of the noodles raw just to let it know I’m not fucking around

Did you know that if you lined up 477,800 things that are 1 mile long you could get to the moon and back?

I learned how to work hard as a teenager, jerking off to scrambled porn

I can't afford lobster but I can afford a pretty big shrimp

Anal beads make for a shitty necklace

I wear a lot of baggy shirts. Like they're not baggy on me but if you wore them they would be baggy.

Mid air collisions are very rare, and I've never even heard of a low or a high air collision

I wonder if back in prehistoric times if a caveman ever had the idea for like a helicopter. But all he had was a stick. So he had to let it go.

Getting fired is a lot like getting broken up with, especially if you're dating your boss.

I'm losing my hair the same way trees lose their leaves except my hair is not gonna be back in the spring.

It’s easier to get a job with unemployment right now then it is to file for it.

If you ever get really lost in a corn maze just build a house and become a corn farmer

Nobody can get haircuts during the lockdown, I prepared for this by going fucking bald.

Slip and slides are really scary if you don’t know they are there

Soups can only be so delicious because if they're to delicious they become gravy.

Jeff Bezos is just Lex Luther without principles

I think Olympic runners would go even faster if they had to poop really bad.

It’s weird how no cheetos are exactly the same, However when I eat a whole bag I feel the same

I thought my vasectomy was sorta fun. Like skydiving but just with my dick

If I had a dollar for everytime I got high I would have enough money to get really really really high

When I was in high School they showed us a video about the vietnam war and you could see someone smoking pot out of a shotgun. I was like damn, I really want to go to Vietnam.

If I was god I’d give everyone free wifi and maybe do a little less cancer too

I’ve been down a few sewer pipes and I gotta say Mario is full of shit man.

I’m not supposed to touch my face and it’s really hard because I’m pretty sure there’s spiders on me

The streets are rough……….. cause concrete

Do secret service agents have to jump in front of coughs right now?

Traffic has been so good I can get to all the closed places so fast.

The beauty product I use the most is bark.

The Coronavirus is like jail but my kids are my cellmates.

Eggs are delicious, So is chicken, Now that's consistency.

Warren Buffett says the economy is going to recover, of course it is, if you're Warren Fucking Buffet.

I would be down to try a comedy show at a Drive in but I'm worried people will roll their windows up

A real Spiderman would shoot webs out of his butt, as nature intended.

Sunsets are like truck nuts for god

Jeopardy is a game I'm not good at, I mean, What is a game I'm not good at. SHIT! See what I mean.

My impression of a strict gardener "Do you know what time it is? You're a daylily dammit!"

The best way to get out of jury duty is to be the defendant

As water becomes more and more scarce, we'll have to transition to "moist t-shirt contests.

People who think the stock market can be risky have never tried to rob a drug dealer.

Every plate is a disposable plate if you're rich

Because of Covid some bars are offering beer to go, but what about the folks who go to the bar to get coke?

Gender reveal parties are stupid, tell me if the kid on purpose!

Maybe if we stopped calling them murder hornets they would chill the fuck out.

Those hot dog cookers at 7-11 make hot dogs look so good. I think the way they roll back and forth triggers some kind of predator shit in me, like I don't want them to get away.

People are exaggerating this whole murder Hornets thing, they're manslaughter hornets at best

The hardest part of being from Texas is pretending you don't like Alanis Morissette.

If you like avocados don't go to jail! They don't have those there

I'm very earth conscious, I don't like to waste anything. That's why whenever I'm done painting I take what's left and huff it.

You think Fionna Apple is good, you should hear her sister Jackie Pear!

I put bread into the toaster and then get distracted with other shit. When it pops up I'm always like "Ohhhh toast! That sounds good!"

I think Coranavirus waited until we were stupid enough to attack. Like it saw people eating tide pods and was like now's My chance.

The bible…….. I can take it or leviticus

The worst part of being a sheeple is when the farmer pins me to the ground and cuts off my wool

This pandemic is not like jail, nobody ever blamed being in Jail on 5G

I'm thinking about getting a job at the unemployment office just so I can process my own claim

I was a crappy drug dealer. My only customer was myself and I never had any money.

Before you get a vasectomy play paper rock scissors with your doctor. If he picks rock get a different doctor

Helicopters are just box fans that have really forgotten their roots.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I went back in time and never did drugs and went to a good college and got a job and I think, “Jesus I'd still be fucking stuck in my house right now.”

I FEEL essential.

I'm looking forward to losing my memory because my life has not been that good.

You can only see the tip of the iceberg but take it from me, it's just more fucking iceberg under there.

I love eating donut holes…….. Oops I mean Donuts whole

I bet regular Hornets really feel like some sorry ass bitches right about now

People hate wearing condoms and they hate wearing masks which makes sense because condoms are basically dick masks

This lockdown is a great time to either catch up on projects you might have forgotten about or Forget about projects that you really don't want to do.

Sometimes my kid gets a bloody nose from picking it too much. THAT'S HOW MUCH HE LOVES BOOGERS.

I'm pretty sure I can do the splits. Once.

Boring people are commonly referred to as wet noodles. As opposed to me! A very dry and hard noodle.

Sometimes people pull up their carpets and find beautiful wood floors. Then they pull up their wood floors and find dirt. And they're like "Shit, I got carried away.”

One time I sneezed so hard I farted. Nobody could hear it because of the sneeze. And I thought “sometimes things work out”. Then I realized I shit my pants.

I don't wear a lot of risque clothes, I learned my lesson with "my angry spider speedo"

My wife is the pringle of my eye. Sorry but apples are not my thing.

If my kids have taught me anything it's that you do not HAVE to wipe your butt

I was so sad when the Sonics left. That's what Coronavirus feels like, it's like the sonics left again and this time they took everything with them

Any hole can be a glory hole if you put the work in to get there

The best part of having kids is when they tell you they love you, also when they stop telling you shit for like 10 seconds, that’s amazing

I know some weird people. For instance my friend Gary was born with a hat.

Anyone who thinks fences make great neighbors have never tried to get a fence to pay for half of a new fence.

You can tell me it’s impossible to milk a chicken but don’t tell me it’s not intriguing.

Streams go into rivers, rivers go into seas, seas go into oceans, I go into 7-11.

I thought about getting a pair of airpods but I'm worried I might swallow one.

When I was locked up some of the biggest assholes were in for minor shit, and some of the nicest dudes were on trial for murder. It's like they were trying to prove to us they didn't do it. “That guy that just gave me a cup a noodle isn’t a murderer!”

Sometimes I wish people were still eating tide pods because that was super easy to write jokes about.

Marriages are all about sharing……. or getting to stuff before your wife does.

Whenever someone is like 2020 is the worst, I'm like sure it’s bad…….. but 2003 was way worse, I lived in a barn and did meth all the time

Did you know pirates still have to go to work? It turns out they're Arrrrrsential

In the back of my head I always had a small hope that the cops that were arresting me were strippers. Like is someone surprising me?

There's a lot of High school seniors that couldn't graduate this year. Welcome to the party.

I thought about being a proctologist but my high school guidance counselor said my fingers were too big.

My kids wanted to help so they made a ventilator out of legos. We’ve lost like 6 patients but they’re really trying.

My stimulus package looks small but that just because it's cold out.

Some people are really into feet….... They're called podiatrists.

The best part of arguing with strangers online with people is when they're like "Oh wow, that's a great point, never looked at it that way, I guess I was wrong." It hasn't ever happened but that would be the best part.

I'm scared of dying, I'm also scared of almost dying. In fact almost dying seems worse cause that could happen a bunch

Ostriches are big and strong enough to kill a human being so I need to be big enough to walk away when they make fun of me.

If a bug flys into my mouth and its smaller than a sesame seed I just eat it

Did you know that before Cop cars had Sirens the cops just stuck their heads out the window and made their own siren noise. That's why it sorta sounds like a squeal.

I used to love my sunroof but then I realized that's how all the acorns were getting in!

Dish Network sounds like a secret old lady casserole club.

Life would be so much simpler if everyone stopped loving genitals.

The only thing kangaroos put in their pouches is their babies so if you're with a kangaroo you're gonna have to carry your own shit.

I can't fit my whole body in a bathtub I just have to pick the parts I most want underwater.

I used to pause and think sometimes when I was in high school and be like, "am I too delinquent?"

I loved getting out of jail so much that I kept going in again.

I hate being accused of shit, when I know I did it

My kid just said "I'm so tired of people judging me for how I act! It's not fair!" Like how should we judge you?

They say don't look a mountain lion in the eyes, but I don't want to look at its dick either. And let's face it it's one or the other

Has anyone checked if their broom can still stand up on its own or did Coronavirus take that too!

It's a real dick move buying a teeter totter for an only child.

I weigh the same as my area code. Now that's hometown pride! 360!

Anyone who complains about traffic circles has never tried to navigate a traffic triangle.

I think if you propose on a jumbotron you should also get divorced on a jumbotron

The real lazy rivers are lakes.

I don't know if the Spanish Flu is better or worse than Covid 19 but it definitely sounds more attractive.

I used to go to Subway and take notes while they made my sandwiches. Now I know how to make my own sandwiches! Take that!

I can be really charming but only if you're depressed

Introverts are really thriving during quarantine but eventually they'll go back to being sad weirdos.

I thought I was having a hard time sleeping cause my bed was lumpy but it turns out it was me.

Do you ever get carried away when you're washing your hands? Like oh shit, I’m in the shower now.

You ever fart so hard in your car that the windows just go down automatically

I told my kids since we don’t have a Chimney Santa just comes in like a SWAT team

The only reason I'd ever wanna be skinny was if there was something delicious at the other end of a small diameter pipe.

My mom asked if she should call my deceased father Bob or Dad. I said I really don't think it matters.

“God dammit Sam that’s mayonnaise not Vanilla!” and that was my last day at the cake shop.

People ask me. “Hey Sam do you like really small things?” I say “Not Particularly.”

I’m gonna start a store where people donate old scarves and then we sell the yarn back to people. We’ll call it “Knit Pickers”

The same people that blame me for not staying on task are usually the same people that ask me to do boring shit.

submitted by /u/Biggersam67 [link] [comments]

#jokes #fun #humor #joke #funny jokes #funny #lol #texts #funny texts #haha

[isabellaospinaonfire]

The Blessing

Chapter 1

The Adoption

Image courtesy of: https://www.yaelshahar.com/

I always knew I was different from everyone but not understanding why. I recently figured out why I felt like a misfit, but I never really thought I would be that odd. Let me tell you everything from the beginning. First of all, my name is Eleanor Richardson and my parents both died in a car accident 3 years ago. I’ve been stuck in this horrible orphanage since then. To make matters worse, no one would ever even think of adopting a 14-year old, especially me, the misfit.

One day, about two weeks ago,  a different type of woman (I really don't know how to explain her) came in and said that she was looking for me and wanted to adopt me. At that moment, I was in my room thinking about how bad my life had been so far, my parents are dead, I´m stuck in this orphanage, and I´m not normal. Then, someone knocked on the door, it was Hellen Velasquez, the owner of this dreadful place. ¨ Honey, I have some exciting news for you AND for me !!!¨. ¨ I´m not in a good mood.¨ I responded. ¨ You're getting adopted !¨ She said happily as if I had been the worst orphan she ever met, but honestly, I don't blame her. ¨ Who is it ?¨, I questioned. ¨ Oh, a fairly nice old lady, looking pretty young for her age.¨ she said. ¨Be down in a minute¨ I said hoping she would go away. ¨You always say that and then come down the next day only to eat breakfast, so NO you come down immediately with me!¨ she hollered at me. We had an argument and of course, that stubborn, mean lady forced me down by barging in my room, grabbing me by the ear, and dragging me down-stairs. Then to not make herself look like the lady with the harsh personality she has, she let me go and told me to tell the old woman how great and thoughtful this orphanage was. I had to do it (I had no choice because if I didn’t do it Mrs. Velasquez would deny the adoption and give me a rigid punishment afterward). I told all those lies while examining the lady. She had a soft, tender smile, beautiful blue eyes, young-looking just as Mrs. Velasquez said, and, well, an overall pretty face. 

They started talking about the adoption process and all that important paper-work. Meanwhile, I took one last look around the place, knowing that I wouldn't miss it at all. I came back to the lady who wanted to adopt me. She seemed different than the other people I saw that came to adopt other kids. You know, the way I feel different from everyone else, but around her, I felt normal in some sort of way. They finished talking and the lady finally introduced herself to me. ¨ My name is Rebecca¨ she paused for a moment and then continued, ¨ let’s save the last name for later.¨ she gave me a sweet smile. ¨Where do you live?¨ I asked. ¨In a modern mansion on the top of a hill.¨ She said proudly. ¨ Really! How big is it!!¨ I asked excitedly mostly because I was going to go from a dirty orphanage to a mansion. Hopefully, that was true because a lot of people say they live in a ´modern mansion` but end up actually living in a rotten, broken-down house. ¨Oh, it’s about 3 times bigger than this place.¨ she said. ¨Can we go now, Rebecca?!¨ I said now even more excited. Come on, I was going to go to a place 3 TIMES bigger than this huge yet mistreating place! ¨ Surely hon´, let’s go get in the car.¨ She waved goodbye at Mrs. Velasquez and when Rebecca thought I wasn’t looking she shot a deep glare at her that I saw through the corner of my eye. Mrs.Velasquez sat confused about what it was for. We walked out the door and I saw a Lamborghini and wondered who it belonged to. All of a sudden the car unlocked and I looked around but saw no one else other than me and Rebecca.  

 ¨ Hop in, Elleanor!¨ She said while holding the Lambos´ door wide open. ¨THAT'S YOU CAR!!!¨ I said not believing how my life had changed just by getting adopted. I know that getting adopted was huge, but to me, it felt like Rebecca and I had some sort of connection, like she was meant to adopt me. ¨Yes, now get in, it’s going to get dark soon.” I went in, looked around, and squealed with excitement. 

Chapter 2

The Forgotten Family Member

Image Courtesy of: https://www.happierhuman.com/loneliness-quotes/

We went up a small hill, through these huge doors that opened up and led up to this round-about with a water fountain in the middle. “Is all this land yours?” I asked Rebecca. “Yes hon’, I know how amusing it is to see such a big home after spending 3 years in a stinky orphanage. Even I was amused by this place when I first saw it!” I couldn’t believe my life changed in a day from living in a sucky orphanage to moving into this marvelous mansion. We got out of the car when inside a luxurious garage. “Can you give me a tour of this luxurious place, please, please, please, please.” I continued that until she said “ OK, but you need to calm down” she said while letting out a small titter. “Sorry, I might have gone a bit overboard, it’s just that I’m SOO excited to be living here! I mean I can’t even believe this place!” I said hoping that she’d give me a tour. “Let’s hasten in, we don’t want to be late for the tour!” she said, giving me a warm smile. 

She showed me so many rooms that I couldn’t even keep count. I think it was about 11 rooms and 16 bathrooms. It also had a liquor room, entertainment room, HUGE game-room with all the games you can think of, a lot of modern living rooms, many dining rooms, an ENORMOUS kitchen for the CHEF to make most of the meals, and another kitchen, small compared to the other one, but huge compared to any other. Supposedly that kitchen was only to make small snacks. For example, mini crepes. I know what you're thinking, but you know, this is a rich old woman’s mansion, what did you expect?

We finally came to the end of the tour, it was my new room. Well, for average people, this would be a full-on house. But no, now I was one of the wealthiest people of them all. Our rooms, just like what is now my room, have to be like this, apparently. You enter through a big door into a hallway with more doors that lead to closets, balconies, bathrooms, a kitchenette, your private, mini, entertainment-room, and at the end of that long hall is a huge bedroom with normally a king-sized bed with fancy covers and everything. All that information, I did not know, because I, even when my parents were still alive, was not that rich. (but we had enough money to survive, it’s not like we were homeless people begging for money and food on the streets.) Until Rebecca revealed all those wonders of rich people’s mansions. ‘Ring, ring, ring’. “ Eleanor, it's time for dinner. The chef just informed me,” she yelled trying to get my attention while I was exploring my new house. I mean, my room. Since I was at the end of the hall admiring my new room and she was at the entrance of my room, it sounded like she was whispering as soft as she could, that's how big my house is. I mean, my room. It's going to take me a while to get used to that. “Coming. Go on and eat, I’ll be right there.” I paused, “if I can find my way around.” I mumbled under my breath. I was trying to think back to the tour and which dining room she said we’d have dinner at. “ Oh no, don’t worry honey. I’ll wait. Don’t want you to get lost. I myself did that many times when I first moved here.” She said. “OK be right there,” I said while I ran as fast as I could through my enormous maze/room. I finally got to the entrance of my room after about 3 minutes of running around like crazy searching for it. “ Hurry now, don’t want the food to get cold.” We walked for what felt like 10 minutes. I know I’m exaggerating, but that's the truth, that's what it felt like.

“How’d you know this was my favorite meal!!” I asked when I saw the lobster with oysters on the side. She chuckled then said, “ You know, normally adoptions aren’t that fast. I’ve been asking to adopt you for a long time now. First of all, older kids require more paper-work and they are harder to get. Not to mention all the time it took for me to look for you, going from 1 orphanage to the other. So, in all that time I got to learn many things about you.” She said, “ Why were you looking for me? How did you even know who I was? Oh, another question I have, irrelevant to what we’re talking about, What’s your last name? You said you would tell me later.” I said excitedly to know what family she was from. I knew most families around town because most of them wanted to adopt kids even though some had kids of their own. Rebecca was the first one who ever even thought of adopting me. “ Eleanor, there are some things about your family you don’t know. You are supposed to learn this when you are 15, but I think you’re responsible enough to use this information wisely.” She said now kind of serious. I have never heard her talk like this, this must be important. “ What does MY family have to do with YOUR last name?” I asked confuzzled. “ Eleanor, my full name is Rebecca Richardson.”

Chapter 3 The Garden Of Seasons Magic

Image courtesy of: https://www.lifeinthefingerlakes.com/art-four-seasons-garden/

I stared at her with a blank face. “Wait, so you’re my…” I asked her, expecting her to finish my sentence. No one in our quite small family was willing to take me in after my parents died and if she was part of my family, why did she say that she had been looking for me this whole time? Shouldn’t relatives be the first ones to be asked if they would take me in? “Grandmother, the young type.” She giggled. “ Wait, but my mom said that you were dead. She said you died about 7 years ago, suicide.” I said, lowering my voice as I talked. “ I can explain that. Your mom and I didn’t ever really have a good mother-daughter relationship. So, she decided to say that I was dead to everyone and basically kept me apart from the family and everything having to do with this family. Your mom never put me as part of the family in anything, even the most important things. For example, she didn’t put me in the system of the first people to contact if you were ever an orphan so if I ever did take you in you wouldn´t 1. Accuse your mom of lying to you that I was dead, and 2. She wanted you a mile away from me at all times.” She said with a sad look drawn on her face. I can’t imagine being locked out of your family for everything because 1 person doesn’t like you. Wait, that's how I feel, except no one likes me except my supposed grandma.

 “ Hold up, you said that there was something in our family I needed to know about, what was it?” I asked. “ Eleanor, I’m trusting you with this information that you may ONLY reveal to people that are fully trustworthy but preferably no one.” I nodded “ Our family has a blessing, a very special one.” She inhaled and then exhaled and paused for a moment to think if this was the right thing, she continued. “ Our ancestors got The Golden Key from the Gods at the beginning of time.” “Wait,” I interrupted,  “What is The Golden Key?” I asked. “The Golden Key is sort of like a key to a jewelry store. Only VERY few people have it and it has extreme value. Another similarity it has to a jewelry store key is that it opens an AMAZING place called The Garden Of Seasons. The Garden Of Seasons is a place full of magic, yes the enchantments, cauldrons, wands, and everything from fairy tales like cinderella's slipper but if you decide to use this magic for bad, our whole family will be cursed for a period of time depending on how bad was what you did.” She gave me a glare making sure that all that she had just said got into my system.

 ” Let me just get this straight, our family has the Golden Key that opens up The Garden Of Seasons, which has magical items in it, right?” She gave me a nod and I continued, “And if anyone in our family uses that magic for bad, all of us get cursed for a period of time depending on how bad what they did was? ” She nodded and said, “ Very well. I see that you paid attention to me.” She smiled and showed me a shiny, golden key. “We each have our own key. You must never lose yours and must never give it to ANYONE even if theyŕe the most trustworthy person you´ve ever met.” She gave me a serious look, I stretched my hand out to grab the key. “No, this is my key. I wasn’t supposed to tell you until you were 15 and that's when you're supposed to get your key until your key. But there’s a twist, if you aren’t responsible enough, you won’t get it.” She seemed even more serious now than before. “ How do you get it? I know that you have to be responsible and all, but does it just appear by magic or something?” I asked confused. ”Yes it will appear on your birthday if you have been responsible enough. Think of it like Christmas morning, if you have been good, you´ll get presents, but if you have done bad things, you won't get your key until proven trustworthy.¨ I finished my food in silence trying to take in everything my grandma had just mentioned about our family. I finished my food and said goodnight. I had just remembered that my birthday was in about 5 days. I was so excited. I think that I’ve been pretty responsible for my whole life. I couldn't sleep imagining what the Garden Of Seasons looked like.

4 days passed by pretty quickly and soon enough, it was 1 day away from my birthday. I started feeling like I was being stared at the whole time, I felt weird. Soon enough it was my birthday and I saw this package on the countertop with this weird wrapping when I woke up. All I wanted to do was get a small snack until the chef woke up and made me food. I opened the box, only because it said my name and it was this golden key. ¨My Golden Key!!!” I screamed with excitement that I woke up my grandma. I felt like I was being watched over since I woke up and now it felt like multiple people were watching me. My grandma came in running and congratulated me. I tried to go in and open the Garden Of Seasons. ¨I did it!¨ I exclaimed. All of a sudden, the room started dissolving into what seemed like the Arctic. ¨This is the Garden Of Seasons. Each magical item is sorted by its biggest similarity to a season. For example, Freeze Spells books are in this area. There are also fairy tale items, the ones I mentioned before.¨ She said proudly that her grandchild got her key. ¨Whoa.¨ was all I could say to her. ¨Eleanor, there have been people robbing us. They try to take our keys, open this place up, take the items, and sell them. All the items you see here, have extreme value, not only in money but in power. Your parents died because of them. They were just coming back from a friend’s party and they attacked. They got in the car and tried to take away the key. Your mom was driving cause your dad was so drunk. So, when they got in they blocked the view for your mom and she couldn’t steer the wheel and without knowing, your mom made the car roll down a big hill, the car flipped over harshly and they all died .¨ Her voice cracked and it was obvious that she was trying to hold back the tears. ¨Grammy, who are ´they´?¨ I was confused and afraid the same thing would happen to me. ¨ ´They´ are Eric Darmon and his workers.¨ She said with the tears now flooding out of her beautiful blue eyes.

Chapter 4 In Eric´s Lounge

Image courtesy of https://www.dsigners.net/2019/09/27/find-our-which-interior-design-style-defines-you/shagpile-grey-rug-block-sofa-modern-lounge/

¨I have to get our revenge and end this robbing,” I said furiously. ¨Eleanor, you're only 15 years old and you are only 1, they are so many more.¨ She said unapprovingly. ¨I have to do it for 2 reasons. One, I have to get revenge and two I have to end this robbing especially because the items they are robbing are MAGICAL!!!¨ I said putting an emphasis on magical if you didn't notice. ¨If you hurt yourself, I´m not paying the hospital bill.¨ She said, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to convince me to not do it. ¨Here's my plan. Whenever they try to make a move on me to get the key, I´m going to fight them until they go away and then follow them to their hiding spot and end with this ´Eric Darmon´.¨ I said furiously. She gave me a reassuring nod that said ´good plan, it might not work but, you got a good imagination.´

We went back to the house, ate breakfast, and went our own separate ways to our rooms to find a way to entertain ourselves. When I was in my bed staring at the ceiling, I felt someone staring at me through the window. I looked up and saw nothing other than the normal tree moving through the wind. When I looked up for the second time, the window broke open and someone came running. I immediately got up and got in a stance position for karate (my dad taught me when I was young). The covered-up person in a mask tried to come at me and stretched its hand towards my Golden Key but before that person touched it, I apparently, kicked a man where it hurts. He screamed in pain and ran out. I followed him until we got to a huge place with the type of glass cars have, the one that you can see from the inside, but from the outside, it's just plain black. The man scanned a code and a huge door opened up. I ran and was surprisingly able to make it inside before it closed (I´m not the athletic type of person FYI) As soon as I got in, I hid in a corner where no apparently one goes, not even the janitor. When I was completely sure that the man that barged into my room was already gone, I came out of my hiding spot and walked along with everyone else with my head down in case anyone noticed me in here. 

As I walked farther in the building, I saw some signs overhead and read them ¨Boy Bathrooms, Experimenting Lab, Magic Items For Stock (floor 3, located in Erin´s lounge), Girls Bathr. Wait, Magic Items for Stock!¨ I said in my head. So they have been stealing stuff from The Garden Of Seasons. My theory is that they stole someone’s key but then lost it or something so they targeted my mother´s key and succeeded and now have direct access to The Garden Of Seasons. Wow, how my life changed after the adoption, more than normal. Oh, wait, my family is not normal. I finished reading the sign in my head, ¨Girls Bathroom, Eric Darmon´s private lounge/workspace (floor 3).¨ That was it, all I had to do was not get caught, finish Eric, take his key, go back home, get my grandma and fill her in with all that happened this afternoon, and make her help me get the magical items back in the right hands. Not long at all right?

I went over to an elevator that looked normal from the outside but on the inside, it was super-complex and high-tech. They must´ve gotten all the money to create this place from stolen magical items that were sold. The elevator door opened and I walked out slowly now doubtful that my plan would work. But you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. I tried to blend in with the crowd as much as I could and no one even showed suspicion towards me. I eventually found a door that said ´PRIVATE must have permission from Eric Darman to proceed any further`. I turned the doorknob and the door opened, no hard part so far. I walked in and saw no one so far. I started searching for my mom's key but it was nowhere to be found. ¨Hey, Eleanor, looking for this?¨ said someone from behind me. It was a middle-aged man holding a Golden Key with the name Margaret Richardson. ¨Who are you? How do you know my name? That key is my mom´s. Give it back you thief! Are you working for Eric Darman?¨I said while trying to get the key out of the man's hand. ¨I am Eric Darman.¨

Chapter 5

The Last Battle

Image courtesy of: https://wallpapersafari.com/w/nXAG0t

I ended up using my ´kick him where it hurts technique` on Eric, it really works cause they immediately go to the floor cause they can't stand the pain. At that exact moment, I snatched the key out of his hands and ran out. He hollered at me ¨This won't end here, Eleanor!¨ I ran out, into the elevator and out of the building. I took the first bus back home to inform my grandma about what just happened.

I knocked on the door and I immediately saw my grandma open. ¨The kick him where it hurts technique is a good one Eleanor!¨ she said with the smile you give your child when they make a great accomplishment. ¨How do you know?¨ I asked. I didn't see her around in the building. ¨I also have a key to The Garden Of Seasons, which holds crystal balls that show me whatever I tell it to. So when I found out that you were missing, I used it to watch the whole thing. It would´ve actually made a pretty good action film.¨ she said as if taking all this as a joke. ¨Grandma, I know this is kind of weird to ask a grandma but would you please help me take back all the stolen magical items Eric still has? Oh, I got mom's key back.” I said as I handed it over. ¨I better keep this someplace very safe. I'll put it in my safe in a minute right after we get back the items that fell into the wrong hands.¨ she smirked at me and told me to call an Uber to take us to Eric´s layer. I have a pretty good eye and memory because even though I wasn't even paying attention to the street name I remember it perfectly. We arrived and waited outside in a corner until someone opened the door. ¨Hey, that was the man that barged in my room this morning.¨ I said as we ran towards the door as he opened it. I guided my grandma around until we got to Eric´s lounge. I warned my grandma that Eric just appears out of thin air and it creeps you out. We walked in and I took her to the area of the room that I had not yet explored to see if he kept stolen items there. Well, what do ya´ know! All of the missing items from The Garden Of Seasons were in there. They were either stacked on the floor to ceiling shelves or in cabinets or in drawers. My grandma brought out a small bag and I asked her what it was for and she said ¨It's a bottomless bag that I got from the Garden Of Seasons, you always gotta be prepared.¨ She winked at me and started putting all the magical items in it while I passed them over to her. We opened up The Garden Of Seasons and all of a sudden I saw a shadow walking over to us and coming in the Garden Of Seasons. ¨Good evening, ladies.¨ said an unknown voice. Wait I know that voice, ¨Eric what are you doing here?!¨ I asked, knowing the answer. ¨You took my key so now I'm taking yours and besides, you just gave me a free pass in here by opening it in MY lounge!!¨ he said then started hysterically laughing. We grabbed the closest spell. It said ¨Hold the wand pointing directly at who you want to cast the spell at, sing this chant: Forever be gone, your bad here is done. Your decisions, very bad they were, now I shall send your butt to Nowhere. If you did it correctly the person you wanted to put the spell on should have vanished and if it didn´t, you´ll know.¨ I followed the instructions even though Eric was running around like crazy trying to get all the items he could possibly get but eventually, I got him and he did disappear to Nowhere. ¨Hey grandma, can I ask you something or somethings?¨. ¨Sure hon´ whenever you want.¨ She gave me a warm smile. ¨ 1.Whats Nowhere? 2. Did you get rich by selling magical items to people? Is that why you have soo many luxurious and expensive things? 3. Is there some sort of spell that could bring back my parents? ¨ I asked still thinking about more questions to ask. ¨ 1. Nowhere is sort of like a prison but if you do a spell sort of like the one you did on innocent people you, 1. Get your consequences and 2. The person you did the spell on won´t go to Nowhere. 2. Yes, but it's not exactly like that. You see I sort of loan them to people and keep trackers on my the items to make sure no one tries to steal them. 3. No, but there is one that you can have your parents’ spirits around for a period of time. It will be like they´re there just not flesh. Was that all?¨ She asked, sounding tired. ¨Oh wait, there's one more. Is this family always like this? I mean like fighting people that want to steal the magic from the Garden Of Seasons?¨ I asked, feeling prepared to keep fighting if she said yes. ¨ Yes, there are very selfish people that want the magic all to themselves but just as I said there are trustworthy people in this world too, that's the only reason that I started this ´loaning magic items business`. But you must also always take precautions like what I did with the loaned items and the trackers. And at times whenever one bad guy sees that we just defeated the other that makes them want to come in more and take more magic items since they think that we had drained all our power on the previous bad guy but they're wrong, that makes us even stronger. Why?¨ she paused and I joined her, ¨Because we´re the Richardsons!¨ we said in unison.

The End

#fantasy #magic #writer #idea #creative writing

[ficstogo]

Christmas With You

Pairing: John x Reader

Summary: You spend your first christmas with John.

Word Count: 2875

Warnings: None

A/N: What was suppose to be a fic at first I turned this headcannon to what you see here now. Sorry for the mix up! I need to learn how to read things over.

Exams were Exams. You were on your last one for the day and you were happy it was the easiest one you’ve taken before your holiday break officially began. You didn’t care much for the holidays all too much, the older you got the less magic it had. You didn’t hate it but you didn’t care for it either. You were mainly looking forward to spring and the warm weather to come back. That and the end of the semester. Happy that you were on the last question, you smiled at your freedom. Walking out the door, you see John waiting with his books in his hand and all snuggled up in a winter coat. It made him look cute, like a small child.

“Hi.” You said as you give him a peck on his lips.

“Hi.” Walking out, holding your hand with a smile, he asks, “How’d you think you did?”

“Pretty sure I passed. It wasn’t too hard of an exam.” You said with a smile to return.

“Well how about we get some coffee to celebrate.” He responded back as you gave a nod. Even if there was nothing to celebrate, it was a ritual to go to the coffee shop whenever the both of you got done with classes. It was your guys thing even before you two started dating about a month ago.

As relaxed as two people can be, you and John spent the time conversing with each other about whatever came to the top of your heads, no matter how ridiculous. The conversation then turned to the reason why everyone was out for classes. Christmas.

“So what are you up to for Krimble?” John asks as he takes a cautious sip of his refill.

“Uh, nothing really. Sleep in and all. My parents are actually away on holiday now that I’m in school so, no plans really.” You explained to him. Although you would like to spend the holidays with them, you were actually happy that they finally had some time to spend together alone.

John looked at you with a bit of concern. He didn’t like the idea that you would spend the holidays on your own but he was going to be visiting his parents also. “Oh, well I’m going to be with my parents to help them set up a small christmas party but I’d really like it if you’d come along to it, if you want.”

You only smiled at his kindness as you went to hold his hand. “I’m sure it’d be a fun time if I went.” You didn’t think too much of it. You already met his parents beforehand but as a friend. This would be the first time you would see them as his girlfriend but it didn’t worry you that much. They did like you, which you appreciated and they were always so kind to you, a second family you could say.

During the days leading up to the party, You spent your time doing the usual errands and going to work while John did the same coming in and out of your apartment to spend time or have dinner with you. There was that day you hadn’t seen John. He rang you up a little late since he went to help his parents. He sounded so tired but he wanted to talk to you before he went to bed for you him to go out tomorrow.

“I really wish I brought you along today, really. There was a street fair happening and there were so many knick knacks and paintings and just so many things I wish you’d seen…” He sighed out in content. You could only imagine his sweet smile as he was telling you about his day. You could honestly fall asleep to the sound of his voice, always so soft in your ears. Gentle as though he’s never shouted a day in his life.

As he went on about his day while you listened to his sweet voice, he brought up the plan for tomorrow. “So I was thinking maybe we’d stop and have lunch and then go round my parents house to help them set up. Julia should be there a little later.”

“And what do you suppose we should have for lunch then, love?” You smirked as you asked.

“Of course the usual! A great big lobster with some oysters! Maybe even snails! Fancy enough for you, dove?”

“Oh very!” You laughed. His sarcasm and sense of humor is what made you swoon over him, even when you first met him. After the laughter has subsided, you then ask “What time should I expect you dear?”

“Sometime around noon. We’re not expected at a specific time, so we’ll just goof around beforehand.”

After things were settled and planned, morning seemed to come by in a flash. You were up and ready to take on the day. The day of christmas eve seemed so busy as you and John walked around town noticing all the last minute shoppers. The two of you only enjoyed your time together before heading over to the Deacon household, where there was a whirlwind of activity going on in there, and being the good samaritans that you are, helped with these chores.

Soon evening came around, you helped Julia and her mom with making dinner while tidying everything up. John went out with his father to finish up some errands and making sure the guests found their way to their residence.

The night was filled with laughter, stories, family, friends, and of course, some alcohol. Although it was a fun time for you all, you only found yourself speaking to either Julia or their parents as all the other guests were unfamiliar faces. John on the other hand, had to be the good son and speak with all the guests, such as his uncles and cousins as well as some work friends and neighbors. It was a bit hectic to say the least but fun over all. At times you find yourself talking to John in the kitchen before he gets dragged out to see another aunt from a far away land, but as the night dwindled down, you found yourselves to each other once more as you huddled up against his side while his arm was slung around your shoulder, his fingers playing at the tips of your hair.

You realized the time and how the both of you were beginning to be in the state of fatigue. Everyone else seemed to still have some energy as they kept at talking to each other, eating, and drinking. Lifting John up by his arm, he was ready to fall asleep. “It’s about that time we get home now, don’t you think so love?” He only nodded his head as his eyes were trying to keep open. You went to go find John’s family to let them know you both were heading out, giving them your thanks and goodbyes, you both found yourselves out in the cold. Walking a couple blocks with the both of you looking as if you were connected to the hip, you headed to the direction where most of the taxis would drive by.

The feeling of his hand holding on to yours while his head rested on top of yours as a temporary pillow only made you smile. Your poor boy was tipsy and tired and he only wanted to sleep. It was your mission now to get you both home and tuck him in for a good night’s rest.

You were happy that there was at least one taxi out this late at night for this time of the month because you didn’t know how long you were able to hold to John. You only relished on to the feeling of John snuggled up so close to you with his head still on top of yours as you rode all the way to his apartment. These little moments were what you really liked to think about and to live in.

Once you both arrived to John’s apartment, you fished for his keys in his pockets as he chuckles, saying, “Getting a little handsy there bean?”

“Come off it John, you know that’s for tomorrow morning.” You replied with a wink, unlocking his apartment door. He mainly spent time at your place as it was a little more spacious than his, at least by a few units. He also felt more at home there with you then he ever felt here by himself. And he’s lived in his apartment for a good amount of time. The thought crossed his mind to express that feeling but he thought that that should be saved for the morning as well.

The last time you were at John’s apartment was right before he asked you out. Both studying in his small living area as he left all the necessities to do so at home. A fond memory it is as it was out of the blue yet it was bound to come up at some point. Everything was the same since then. Neat, orderly, clean yet bare. There was nothing there to really indicate that there was actually someone living here. What made you chuckle though was the small plastic christmas tree that was on the coffee table with lights twinkling around it. It was cute in the sense that that was definitely a John thing to do. It was small gesture yet it showed how he was very much into the christmas spirit.

You two once again dropped yourselves on his couch, a comfortable silence taking over as your heads leaned against each other. You only had a smile on your face as you made sure to save this to memory bank. Taking a peek at John, you see that his eyes are closed. You leaned in to kiss his cheek and asked, “Got any hot chocolate?”

“Yes. In the cabinet left of the sink.”

“Would you like a cuppa?”

“Yes please, love.” He says in a small polite demeanor, as if he were a child.

Getting up, you took a second to look at John again, brushing his hair to the side of his forehead while he smiled at the touch. In the cabinets were packets of hot chocolate as you had the kettle going on the stove. With your back against the counter and arms crossed, you looked at the sight before you. All small and dimlitted, quiet and peaceful. For some reason you wanted to save this particular memory in your storage system as well. Nothing was going on but you could only assume that you wanted to save the atmosphere, the way everything felt in this exact moment.

Heading to John, you nudge him a bit as he was close to being knocked out and passed him his hot chocolate. Sitting up straight, he takes the mug from you and asks, “I hope you had a good time. I prayed that nothing embarrassing happened while you were there. Julie told me nothing did but, you know…” He chuckled.

You smiled at him taking your spot next to him. It was cute how he still worried about his family embarrassing him even though many of those occurrences have already happened. Baby pictures, 11 year old girlfriends from grade school, and so on. What else could possibly embarrass him that you hadn’t already witnessed? “No, I had a good time. I just didn’t know most of the guests there.”

“Neither did I and the funny thing is that the majority of them are family.” he chuckled taking a sip from his mug. You two talked about the events of today until you finished your mugs of hot chocolate. Looking up at the clock that faced you both, you knew you two were going to sleep in later than usual as it was nearing 1:30 in the morning.

The night ends with his arms wrapped around you and your head against his chest. His breathing soothes you into a deeper sleep while his head rests on top of yours once again, loving the feeling of someone holding onto him throughout the night.

Before you know it, morning takes over and you find yourself staring at one of the walls at your side of the bed. You blink a few times as you try to recollect the events from last night as well as what today is. You were excited about today as you quietly got off the bed and headed into the living you room where you left your bag to retrieve John’s present. Before you could even take it out, you hear John calling out your name in his raspy and groggy voice. “I’ll be right in!” you say in a tired yet happy tone.

Slipping back in the room, you see John with his back facing you while he stretched out his limbs. Taking a seat next to him, he raises an eyebrow at the package you have in your hands. You have a wide smile as you landed the package right on his lap, only for him to look down, realizing what the box is. “Seems that father Christmas has left me a gift!”

You scoff at his comment and say, “Ppff, father Christmas, it’s me you should be thanking!”

“Oh, I’m sorry love! Of course!” He says as he leans in to kiss your cheek. He then looks back down at your gift and starts to unravel what’s inside. His eyes go wide as he sees the gift that you got him. He’s in shock to see that you got him a brand new camera, obviously a replacement for his broken one. “Jesus! Y/N, this must of cost you all your savings! You didn’t have to get me this!”

“Deaky! Of course I had to get it! This was the one thing I was really looking forward to and I wanted to get the best for you. You deserve it.” John could feel his heart constraint a bit. He sees how the devotion and care in your eyes and it only made him question how lucky he is to find someone like you. You were too sweet to him and terribly caring. He knew from there how thoughtful you were and attentive you are to his needs. He only wished that he could be up to par with you as you deserved much more than him.

John leans in to give you a peck on your lips as he looks back down to his camera with heated cheeks. “Thank you love. I think it’s perfect, especially for what’s coming next.” He then gets up to his dresser that’s nearby and pulls out a dark blue velvet box and starts handing it to you but when you reach for it, he pulls away. You look up to him in confusion when he explains, “Now I don’t want to hear any “you shouldn’t have”s because if we’re being honest, your gift might’ve costed a lot more than mines.” He then hands you back the box as you look at him in wonderment. Inside contained a beautifully crafted wired necklace where it wraps around a crystal of your favorite color. You’re taken back at the fact that he had gotten you such a wonderful gift.

He takes back his seat as he looks down at the necklace in your hand. “Remember how I went to my parents to help them with some errands while there was also a street fair going on? Well I might’ve asked this nice lady to make a gift for my special girl and, well, I think she did a right job, don’t you?” You turn to look at him, feeling some tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck while burying your head into his neck. You were so happy in that moment, knowing that out of all the men that you have dated or would have possibly dated, he was the one that made you the absolute happiest. If anything, he was far better than any gift you had ever received and you never wanted to lose him. His face heats up once more as he feels you kiss his neck and ask him to put it on you. You blink away the small amount of tears that were piling up in your eyes and hand John the necklace. Sweeping your hair to the side to clasp your necklace, he kisses your shoulder while rubbing them as well and then lays his chin on top.

“Merry christmas dear.I hope there are many more to come…”

You turn to wrap your arms around him again saying “I’ll bet money on that. I can’t possibly imagine that this is the last christmas I’ll spend with you.” John gives you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he plants a passionate kiss to your lips. His heart swelled at hearing you say that. He loves where his relationship with you is and where it’s going and the fact that you felt this wouldn’t be the last of you two not only eased his mind, but made him think of future with you.

#fic #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #john deacon one shot #john deacon fic #john deacon fanfic #john deacon fan fiction #deaky #deaky x reader #deaky one shot #deaky imagine #deaky fic #deaky fanfic #deaky fan fiction #deacy' #deacy x reader #deacy fic #deacy fanfic #deacy fan fiction #queen #queen band #bohemian rhapsody #borhap