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deansapplepie · 6 months

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Inherited | Chapter 1

Summary: You go back home after a long time being far away, unfortunately you’re back for your dad’s funeral. In the middle of the grieving, you re-encounter old friends and also needs to deal with unsolved things from the past.

Warnings: death, mentions of horse accident (not very detailed, but detailed enough for you to imagine), funeral, mentions of corpse, grieving, kinda angsty.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! Reader

Word count: 3,241

A/N: English isn’t my first language so it can have mistakes. Also, I have no knowledge about funerals in USA, so this is basically based on what I see on the movies and what I know from my own culture.

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Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Way back home

Of the reasons you’d come back to the only place you called home, you didn’t expect this to be the one. It was 2 am when you received a call from your dad’s best friend, Hershel, your father was involved in an accident with a new horse. Apparently, he fell from it, hit his head and was trampled by the horse. Daryl Dixon worked for your father and was the one that aided him at the time, unfortunately it wasn’t enough. He was too injured and died that night in the hospital.

You took the first flight back home in Georgia and now you were in the passenger seat of your best friend’s car. You observed the road, the trees and fences passing, you loved these lands and you’d ha e done everything for life have allowed you to be more time here, to be with your dad… You never imagined you’d not be there when he died, not that you imagined he dying a lot, but you expected him to die of age and for you to be the one taking care of him during his last days. A tear fell from your eye descending your cheek and you simply wiped it away.

“It’s ok to cry, you know?” Maggie said from the driver sit, she didn’t understand why you were trying to put the tough act, and it worried her. “We’re talking ‘bout your dad.”

“I don’t wanna cry…” you said, partly you felt guilty you were not there for him, the person that was with him during his last moments was a man that wasn’t even his son, and you, his daughter were miles away. You felt you didn’t have the right to shed tears for your daddy, even though you had already cried a river when you received the news, on the way to the airport , at the airport, in the plane…

It wasn’t your fault all this distance from your father, the only guilt was life, you guessed. Your parents divorced when you were eight, and your guardianship stayed with your mom. There would have no problem, if she stayed around town or bought a house near his farm, but she didn’t. She wanted a new life, and you couldn’t blame her… well, not now… at the time you didn’t understand it very well.

You moved to New York with your mother, a too big city for your standards. You were used to a small city where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, not the cold big jungle that NY was. It was very difficult adjusting, you hated school… The other kids made fun of you because of your accent and criticized your clothes that wasn’t the style kids of the big city used. You just wanted to go back to King County and go to school with Maggie and Daryl, they were your best friends and you hated life without them. Many and many times you called your dad, without your mom knowing asking for him to take you home and he always told you “I can’t darling, you need to be with your mom.”, he always told your mom afterwards, because you didn’t tell her all that happened at school afraid she would be upset.

Every Summer you’d come back to the farm and spend the whole summer break with your dad, taking care of the farm, treating the animals and venturing in any crazy adventure Daryl or Maggie came up with, sometimes both of them. It was perfect all those times, until your last summer before college… After that, things didn’t really went as you wanted them to.

Soon you could see the place that was going to be forever home for you, the house in the background, the new barn, the old barn… The cows and horses on the field, you could also see many cars, not too many… but the ones you could see were probably from friends, neighbors and the little family that had already arrived. Soon, Maggie parked close to the house and both of you got off the car. Some people were on the porch and they looked at you with pity. Some gave you judgmental looks, because you were never around in the last years, most of them didn’t know you still talked with your dad everyday, or at least 3 times a week when you were very busy. You took your hand baggage from the back seat and made your way to the house, Maggie by your side.

When you were going to start going up the stairs, there he was coming in your direction… not your direction, he was probably coming for Maggie. Daryl Dixon was still handsome, well this was something that wasn’t probably going to change, his hair was longer than last time you saw him, it was an accident... You and your dad were facetiming, he didn’t know and came to talk to your dad creating a very weird situation. He was all in black, and you had just forgotten, how good he looked in this color. He went straight to Maggie’s embrace, you imagined they probably hadn’t seen each other yet. They hugged pretty tight he said something to her that you couldn’t listen and she was also telling words of comfort to him while she caressed his back.

As soon as they parted from their hug, he looked at you and extended his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, it was honest, but in the same time it was very distant.

You took his hand in yours and replied. “I’m sorry for yours too, he loved you like a son.” And you stopped there, unable to say anything else or do anything else. In pain because of your loss, and also, because Daryl and you had messed everything up, and both of you were hurt and didn’t know how to fix it.

Before the uncomfortable silence could get even worse, Gleen, Maggie’s husband, showed up hugging you. You had been to their wedding and they had visited you in NY some times. “I’m so sorry, Y/N..” You hugged him back, grateful for him being there. “Give me your baggage, I’m gonna take it inside.”

“Ask Beth where is Y/N’s room. She’ll show you.” Maggie instructed her husband, and then took your hand. “Let’s come in.”

Along the way people came to give you their condolences, some would hug you, others just give you a handshake… and despite you didn’t really wanting to see anyone, you had to face all those people, because it was your dad’s funeral. First, you’d receive people at your home to see him, tell their goodbyes… The next day, you’d head to the church with him, and the last thing, you’d burry him.

“The funerary brought him just some minutes before ya arrived, he’s in the living room. We thought it would be the best place.” Suddenly Daryl spoke by your side, but he didn’t look at you. He felt like he should give you the information, he could always tell Maggie, but it wouldn’t be very correct of him to ignore you completely during this day.

“Thank you.” You said walking in the direction of the living room. You weren’t prepared to see your dad in a coffin, you’d never be prepared for it, but it was inevitable. When you got to the living room there it was, the coffin with your dad inside, but it was closed. There was some flowers around decorating. “Wh-why is it closed?” you asked.

“I think it’s better this way.” He told you, a hand on top of the coffin just as if he wanted to prevent you from opening it. “When it arrived, I opened and I can assure it’s him.”

“He’s my dad.” You were a little offended, maybe it was your grieving, how could Daryl decide if it stays open or closed, was he like a son to your dad? Yes, but you were his daughter. “You can’t make this decision all by yourself and didn’t let me see him.” Your southern drawl appearing a little, you had forced yourself to mask your accent after some time in NY, but when you were nervous or angry… You couldn’t handle it.

“He was trampled by a horse, his face… they did a make up and all, but it’s still not pleasant. Nobody should see him like this, and I think it’s better if ya don’t.” He said, hand still preventing you from opening it. “If ya don’t believe, ask Hershel, he also saw him. Or open it and see by yerself, I don’t care, I was trying to be nice.”

“Daryl…” Maggie warned, reprehended him.

You got closer to the coffin and put your hands on the top of it. Daryl distanced himself and waited for you to open it, or not. You hesitated for a long time, but opted to not open it, if he wasn’t looking like himself… you’d rather remember of him like he was.

During the day, many people came, but they went very fast too. It was the middle of the afternoon, you were sitting on a couch. Beth was hugging you, you hold one of her hands and your head was on her shoulder. Beth was a sweet girl, she was Maggie’s younger sister and was also like a younger sister to you. You all grew together, you even called Hershel an uncle. You heard a door opening in the distance and two pairs of feet walking in the direction of where you were.

You looked at the door and Daryl appeared followed by Aaron, your friend since university and also the closest friend you had back at NY. Immediately you got up and ran to him, he hugged you tightly and you hugged him back.

“I came as soon as I read your message, you should have called me. I could have come with you. You shouldn’t be alone in a time like this.” He kissed your temple and caressed your cheeks, in the other side of the living room Daryl almost rolled his eyes. ‘Really, be all lovely with this dumbass on her father’s funeral’, he thought. Anyone, that didn’t know Aaron and you well, would think you two were a couple, the way you treated each other, how you interacted… Little did they know Aaron was gay, and actually married with a sweet man called Eric. “Eric is coming as soon as he can, he has some things to solve at his office.”

“Really? I love you.” You said hugging him one more time.

Later that day others came, like Rick, his wife Michonne and a woman named Carol, you knew she moved some years ago to a small cottage with her daughter Sophia, but it wasn’t so long ago and you didn’t know her, but you thought it was sweet that she came to give you her condolences and to say her goodbyes to your dad. With the night approaching people stopped coming, leaving only Daryl, Aaron, a distant cousin from your dad and you at the big house. You had dinner and you showed Aaron a room where he could stay, you told him you where going to rest, but you didn’t want to.

You went downstairs, the house was dark except for the flickering light of the candles from the room where your father was. Your cousin was long gone in his room, he was a distant cousin about the age of your father, so having more age he’d sleep early. Daryl was probably in his room in the basement, he lived there since his teenager years, since last time you knew his brother went to jail and he couldn’t take his father shit anymore. Your father took he in, he already passed most of his time in the farm, working and helping since young age, so why not live there? When he was little he would make just little chores, you father saw the situation of his family and didn’t want him to end up like Merle, so after school he’d always come and do small chores, when you were still around you’d make your homework together and your father would help you.

You sat on the couch in the living room, you were exhausted, but couldn’t dare to sleep. It could be silly, but you didn’t want to let your dad alone. “Daddy, I’m sorry.” You sobbed, even though you were always in touch, it wasn’t the same of having you here with him. “I should have come last Christmas. I’m sorry.” Now, that you were alone, you felt like you could cry and express your emotions, you tried to not cry all day, afraid of people judgment, apparently many people thought you didn’t have the right to be sad or to even be there with your father, they could not tell you that directly, but you could hear parts of their whispers and see it in their eyes.

“Ya should sleep, tomorrow is gonna be a tough day. Too late for apologies, don’t ya think?” Daryl was leaning on the doorway, arms crossed.

“This isn’t a good time to be an ass Dixon.” You looked at him, how could your best friend become someone so unfriendly? “I’m not leaving my dad alone.”

“Hmm… like ya did all those years? Interesting…” why was he being such a dick, he didn’t even respect your dad that was in the coffin next to you.

“You should go to sleep, there’s probably more than 24 hours that you don’t sleep.” He didn’t told you, but you knew him and you knew he wouldn’t rest or sleep until all of this all over.

“I also dun wanna live him alone.” He simply answered.

He walked to the couch and sat in the other extreme from where you were sitting. Silence heavy on the room. You phone beeped and you took It to see that just now your mom had answered your message, the message you sent in the dawn before you left your home to the airport.

Mom: I’m sorry sweetie. I wish I could go, but Phil’s in a business trip and I can’t leave his bird alone.

“Just say you don’t care about your ex’s funeral, it would be more honest than making a lame excuse.” You talked to yourself, forgetting the man sitting besides you.

You didn’t bother answering her. Instead, you decided to make some prayers for your dad, this was the correct thing to do, not to stress about the lack of support from your mom, or Daryl being an asshole in front of your deceased father.

When you woke up, you were laying in the sofa, cushion under your head like pillow and a thin cover over you. You didn’t remember when you fell asleep, and didn’t even remember someone giving you a cushion or a cover. The only person around was Daryl… but no, it couldn’t be him. Could?

You sat on the couch and rubbed your eyes, when you stopped rubbing them you saw Aaron at the door. “I was just going to wake you up. Good morning Sleeping Beauty.” He said coming to you. “Go clean yourself and change your clothes. We need to take breakfast and head to the church.”

“Ok, I’m going… don’t need to boss me around.”

When you got downstairs to have breakfast, they had already took your father to the church. You ate as fast as you could. You had thought about getting your dad old pick up truck to go, but when you and Aaron got outside, Maggie and Glenn were waiting for you.

“You didn’t need to, I was going to take the truck.” You said once you were already inside the car.

“I wouldn’t let my girl drive in a day like this.” Maggie said her hand reaching you behind her seat and squeezing your leg.

“My girl, you mean.” Aaron joked, since he met Maggie they had this joke between them about who do you belong to.

At the Church the priest did a beautiful ceremony, you were called to say some words which you did with much difficulty and bursted into tears in the middle of it, having Maggie coming to your aid and taking you back to your sit. Then, Daryl was the one that spoke, everyone knew your father’s affection towards him. He was short and objective, he didn’t want to get emotional, but he said beautiful things. Afterwards, you all went to the cemetery to bury your father. When it all ended you were exhausted and wanted to just go home, cry your soul, maybe cuddle with Aaron while you waited for Eric to arrive… But that wasn’t heaven’s or even your dad’s plans.

When you stepped out of the car back in the farm, a beautiful woman, with long black hair approached you.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m Yumiko. I’m your father’s lawyer, and I need to talk to you and Mr. Dixon.” She said offering her hand to shake.

“Ugh… thanks. Do we really need to have this conversation today?” You asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. That was one of your father’s requests when he made his testament.” She said, why did he even need a testament? You were an only child.

“Ok, let’s get inside. Dixon must be somewhere in the house.” You said walking to the entrance.

You sat at the office with Yumiko and Daryl, she got all the documents from her briefcase and then started. “Mr. Y/L/N, left half of his belongings to his daughter Miss Y/N Y/L/N and Mr. Daryl Dixon, he divided everything in equal parts for both of you.”

“I dun wanna anything, ya can pass my part to her.” He said quickly, didn’t even stop to think. Having to share things with you? That was the last thing he wanted and he lived, worked and spent time with your father because he loved him and not because he wanted his belongings or anything.

“There’s one observation about Mr. Y/L/N’s testament, if any of you don’t want or can’t come to an agreement about this. Everything should be inherited by Mr. Negan Smith his nephew.” When Yumiko finished talking you both looked at each other and it was as if you had a conversation in your minds.

“We agree, both of us, right Daryl?” You said without looking from Daryl.

“Yes, we agree.” He said. He thought it would be all kinds of messed up this agreement, but he also knew neither of you liked Negan and you would both hate to see this property in his hands.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #deansapplepie

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amberizedcasey · 5 months

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pac wakes up in a field of blue flowers, forget-me-nots, he remembers cellbit telling him about them, they mean maily remembrance, but there is also a myth of a man falling in a river and being dragged by the riptide while trying to gather flowers for his loved one

he quirks a smile, who would of thought that the same man who was once called a beast would have such a passion for things as fragile as flowers? he surely didn’t, but he is happy that he did

he gets up, his fingers touch the grass below him, they are quite wet, like it had rain in the night, he doesn't remember falling asleep there, his base in the purgatory was in a cave

his base in the purgatory wasn't anywhere near a field of forget-me-nots, no, there wasn't even a flower field anywhere in the purgatory or in quesadilla island

forget-me-nots meant remembrance, they are a simbol of what remains, a way to keep the memory of the ones that are not here anymore

that's what he was, right? not here, not alive

pac was dead

but he didn't felt dead

he felt free, he felt sad, a kind of sadness that he knew quite well, saudades, he didn't knew exactly what he missed, he didn't knew for how long he had being dead, for a start he didn't even knew how he died, at least he didn't felt pain, not that some could feel pain after being dead, but he hoped that he at least went peacifully

he once wish to die holding richas in one hand and fit on the other

he felt a bitter felling on his cheast that things may not have gone this way

luckly he didn't have much time to delve in his sorrow, no, he was busy trying to understand what had jumped on top of him

"PAI"

saying that he was frozen in place would be a euphemism, he was not even breathing, and for some reason he still felt light headed for not doing so even after being dead

"Richas, come on, filho, we don't want to kill him twice"

he heard some one slapping the person who spoke, but he could care less when his son was finally in his arms, holding him tight like he was going to escape

"He is not leaving anywhere, you know that, right?"

he opened his eyes, when had he closed them? he looked up to the face of the man he once called brother, his soulmate, his other half, mike

he tried to speak but only sobs left his mouth, mike was there, not bug eyes, not black cloth, no murderous intentions, just good old mike, still a litlle weird and insane, but he was his mike, and he was there, with him, and he wouldn't leave him, not anymore

he rushed to hug him, keeping richas between them, making a little dragon sandwhich, the kid laugh, oh how he missed his laugh, he laugh too, he cried and laugh, it was a cacophony of sounds, he felt more people joining in the hug, felps, forever, cellbit, they were all there, wet faces and red noses

they stayed like this for a while, tangled legs and arms, a pile of bodies laying in the field just like the old times when they were still living in the favelas on their first days on the island

the old times, they were so far away now, everything was, his memories were staring to get blurry, the good and the bads, but the mist important ones stayed, he remembers mike with a broken glass, he remembers looking at the stars on the roof of the orphanage, he remembers the breaze of fresh air once they escaped the prison, he remembers their adventures in the labs, he remembers the boat, he remembers his son first smile, he remembers the hide and seek games, he remembers giving fit a rose, he remembers

they eventually leave the ground and start walking through the field

he sees others faces, he sees baghera, he sees jaiden and carre, he sees foolish and tina, he sees mouse

he sees the eggs, the old ones and the ones he knew, he sees trumpet finaly in his dads arms, he sees bobby with his mom, he sees juanna and her dad, he sees tilin and their dad, he sees talluah and her dad, he sees leo with her dad, he sees chayanne with his dad, he sees dapper and pomme with their mom, he sees ramon with.. he sees ramon, and ramon sees him, he rushes to him, and he holds him

fit was alive, he thanks the gods for that, but he also wish he was here with them, he knows that this is very selfish of him, but no one can blame him for that, not when most of them wish for the same

for some time he stays there in the flower field, just hugging and crying, he cries so much, he doesn't even care, he doesn't think he ever cried that much, he doesn't know how much time he spent there, hughing his two kids, they where supposed to be two, he was supposed to have two

he had now

time passes diferent when you are dead, he knows that because he sees old friends faces and they say that they didn’t wait long for him, he knows that he will see the people he lost soon, so for now he will wait

he will lay on the field of forget-me-nots, he will hold his sons hands, he will lay his head on the lap of his best friend, and he will wait, that is all he can do now, and he is okay with that

#qsmp #pac #favela five #for now #bagi will die eventually #thats a crazy sentence #but yk what i mean

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 5 months

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Hello, I see the asks are open! Here is some of this cake I got after killing a slime in the skull cavern: 🍰 just ignore the purple slime on it, I'm sure it's fine. lol. Definitely not a bribe. Anyway.

I made a character recently who adopted a child. Could I ask for some headcannons for how the characters react to the farmer tearing up after their adopted child casually calls them dad/mom for the first time.

For context, their adoption was from before they moved to stardew valley but is still pretty recent and the child has a few abandonment issues so it's a pretty big deal. If it's ok, could I ask for the expanded characters as well?

*Chewing cake* Oh, I thought that purple thing was plum jam. Hmm... *Still chewing the cake* Delicious 😋 Thank you! So, about the question...

I'm not sure, dear anon, exactly which characters you meant, so I did the bachelors/ettes, also added the ones from SVE as well. Thanks for the question! Enjoy!

Hedcanons is written on a situation where the characters know for the situation of the Farmer and their child, that they had adopted the kid before coming to the Valley, and that the child had a sense of abandonment.

SDV/SVE bachelors:

Shane understands more than anyone how much a tsunami of emotions can knock you down at times like this. The day he put Jas to bed and she sleepily called him "Dad" he'll never forget. The girl had already forgotten it, but Shane remembered it forever.

A feeling of abandonment... When Alex's abusive father left him alone with his mother, and later she passed away... It took athlete a long time to shake off the feeling of being unwanted. It's a blessing that he still has his grandparents, and that this child has a loving parent, Farmer.

If you see a little river coming out of nowhere near your feet, just know it's all Elliott's tears. The writer was so touched by the event, its like as if it was his own child calling him father. Elliott doesn't want to get involved right now, but he will congratulate Farmer later.

Sebastian, without noticing it himself, smiled broadly as the crying Farmer hugged their adopted child. Even though he doesn't fully realize how important this is to Farmer, he's genuinely happy for them.

Sam, who in the absence of his father has become not only Vincent's best big brother but now part father figure, truly understands Farmer, even if their situations are a bit different. Every child should have a family and Sammy is glad that this kid have the Farmer in their life.

Humanity is capable of incredible cruelty, but also great compassion and kindness. And Harvey's glasses get a little wet when he witnesses true kindness. He can't put into words how happy he is for this kid and how proud he is of Farmer.

Victor would definitely need a whole box of tissues, maybe two. The fact that the Farmer's foster child could finally feel like a member of the family touched Victor so much that he cried quietly.

The sight of a crying Farmer hugging their kid makes Magnus both smile and feel unbearably sad at the same time. What it's like when a child calls you dad, alas, Magnus will probably never know.

Lance's heart filled with joy when abandoned children found a family again. The adventurer, however, took it upon himself to scold the Farmer if they risked their lives for no good reason, where a child might be left without a family again.

SDV/SVE bachelorettes:

Penny had to cover her face with her hands, for her face was already a little swollen and red from the endless flow of tears. How happy Penny is for them! The girl wishes all the best for this family.

No child should ever feel abandoned, and Leah is very proud of Farmer that even though they were young, they were able to be a great parent to a child. It's not something everyone can do.

As much as Abigail tried to hide her tears, she failed. And you know what? She doesn't care! Even a man with a stone for a heart would shed a tear. The little one deserves a home and a loving family. Hell yeah, Farmer, good job!

Oh, how happy Emily is for them, how happy she is! Happy people and acts of kindness will always overwhelm her with positive emotions. Especially after all the troubles the kid has been through, she is glad child found people who love and care for them.

"Awww" Maru couldn't help gasp in tenderness, and can you blame her when her friend and their child are so happy? She would congratulate Farmer later, she didn't want to distract them right now.

As Haley was about to take a picture of the happy family to give to them later, she stopped herself at the last moment. It seemed to her that it was too personal to take a picture without asking. So Haley would only observe this beautiful scene. Ugh, her tears made her mascara run....

Sophia is about to cry herself to tears. Such a touching moment, she just can't hold back her tears at the sight of her crying friend and how much a child's words mean to Farmer.

Coming out of Jojamart for a break, Claire happened to witness this moment when she saw Farmer standing in the park in the spot where the cashier usually rested. They were crying and cuddling their child. She was very happy for both of them, and decided to rest elsewhere, not wanting to disturb the parent and their kid.

The happy child and their wonderful parent are sure to be the first gossip Olivia tells her friends. Running a farm and giving a family to an adopted kid is a lot of work and a lot of responsibility, and the woman is genuinely happy for the child and proud of Farmer.

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mhbcaps · 5 months

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I was tagged by @miss--river @pinkyjulien and @wraithsoutlaws and this time I'm actually doing the thing I was tagged in XD thank you! If anyone hasn't been tagged yet, do it and say I tagged you - I mean it!!!!

OC INTERVIEW

🟦🟪 David Lozano & Viggo Day

▪ NICKNAME:

"Can call me V."

"What about that adorable nickname Heiress has for you?"

"Oh, yeah. Old lady I used to train with, she calls me Big Blue. What, you think that's cute?"

"I do, I love it! I'd call you that too but it feels like a special thing just for her. Like how your mom sometimes calls you--"

"Yeah, and this is Gogo, 'cause they never know when to fuckin' stop."

"That's me!"

▪ GENDER:

"Hell if I know! Just write down n/a. Or, no, write down "fun"! I'm not a boy or a girl, I'm fun."

"Could also write down "loud.""

"That too. And you're cis."

"Yeah. That's the one where you stuck with whatever they wrote on--yeah. Cis male."

▪ ORIENTATION:

"Oh, I like anyone who's got muscles and looks good doing manual labor. Like, all strong and sweaty. No, seriously! Not everyone looks good like that. Like, V does, but Sanctuary--our friend Sanctuary--wouldn't. They're hot too, though. Is it weird to say I'm attracted to anyone who looks like they can provide for me? Or like, kill someone for me. I wouldn't want them to, but... y'know."

"...Right. And I like men."

▪ NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY:

"Ah, shit, I always get confused by this."

"Nationality is your country, so we're both from the NUSA."

"Right, and ethnicity is like... your culture?"

"Yeah, without getting too complicated. So you're Mexican."

"Little bit of Italian, too. Had a Nonna when I was a kid. Been dead a long time, though."

"You're depressing them!"

"You're about to make it worse. Go on, kid, tell us about your family."

"They don't need to know the sordid details. My dad was Chinese, but my mom's family and the clan raised me, so I'm closer to Mexican. See? Not depressing at all!"

▪ HEIGHT:

"My heels are deceiving you, I'm only five-two."

"Five-ten."

"Ooh, so close to six."

"And you're nowhere near it."

▪ STAR SIGN:

"Misty keeps tellin' me and I forget every time."

"You're a Capricorn, and I'm an Aries. You know both our symbols have horns? Oh, new tattoo idea!"

"I'm down."

━

▪ FAVE FRUIT:

"Have you ever even eaten a fruit? Like a real one?"

"Kerry gave me a mango, one time. It was okay. I like the fucked up little strawberries we have here more."

"Oh, I love those. Yeah, strawberries for both of us."

▪ FAVE SEASON:

"I love summer, but the heat makes me really sick if I'm not careful. So spring, I guess. Before the temps get too high."

"Winter, I think. Quieter in winter."

▪ FAVE FLOWER:

"Poppies! Look, I even have them tattooed. I adore poppies."

"Roses. No reason, I just think they're pretty, I guess."

"That's a reason!"

▪ FAVE SCENT:

"Hm. What's the scent you use, V?"

"Sandalwood. Dunno what that is, but it's what the lotion bottle says."

"Okay, then sandalwood."

"Really?"

"Well, I like a lot of smells, but you're what came to mind first."

"Man, now I don't wanna say mine. 'Cause it's not whatever you're wearing."

"You don't like my perfume?"

"It's not bad, it's just not my favorite. I like vanilla."

"Ooh, vanilla is good. Especially when it's all warm."

━

▪ COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE:

"This one roasts me all the time 'cause I like brown sugar in my coffee. Like they don't put syrup in theirs."

"Okay, I do not roast you. I just have to point out that it's weird. Every time."

"See?"

▪ AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP:

"Oh, I sleep like a rock. Usually at least 6 hours, but I'll nap during the day, too. Especially when it's hot out."

"Not many."

▪ DOG OR CAT PERSON:

"Cats. Glad they're starting to make a comeback."

"Me too. Some areas that my clan would camp in had a feral dog problem, so I've never liked them. I haven't met many cats, but they've all been chill."

▪ DREAM TRIP:

"I'd love to visit somewhere tropical. Someplace with a clean beach and nice water. Or somewhere snowy. Doesn't Japan have both?"

"Fuck if I know. I'm not really into traveling these days. Seen enough of this planet."

▪ NUMBER OF BLANKETS THEY SLEEP WITH:

"Oh, this is a funny story. V and I used to live together in this horrible little one-room apartment, and I had to get rid of my mattress because something chewed a hole in it, so V let me share his bed until I could get a new one."

"Couldn't let you sleep on the floor. Would've been eaten alive by the roaches."

"It was still really sweet of you. Anyway, I guess he got used to having me there, and after I got a new mattress and went back to my bed, he kept getting more pillows until there was a human sized pile under the blanket."

"How do you know it was 'cause of you? Maybe I just like havin' a lot of pillows to choose from."

"Okay, okay. Sure. If that helps you sleep at night."

"Nah, my sixteen pillows help me sleep at night."

"Wait, shit, they were asking about blankets, weren't they?"

▪ RANDOM FACT:

"You say one about me, and I'll say one about you."

"Hm. Gogo has a degree in mechanical engineering. Or most of one, right?"

"Well, we don't really have degrees, but I was working on my specialization when Augie got registered and we went static to take care of him. So, yeah, close to a degree. I would've had a special patch on my jacket and eventually been part of the logistics team."

"You ever regret not finishing?"

"No, Augie's more important."

"Yeah. I get that."

"Now, a random fact I know about V, is his favorite meal ever is fried polenta and spicy sausage."

"Yep. I'll never turn that shit down."

"And I like it 'cause it reminds me of cooking in camp with my clan. It's good stuff."

"Yeah."

🟦🟪

#david #gogo #long post #old pic bc I'm on my phone at work LOL

15 notes · View notes

lokislastlove · 2 years

Text

Make A Splash (Lifeguard!Peter x Reader)

Summary: Your vacation with the parents is destined for disappointment, but what starts terribly wrong ends oh so right.

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, teasing. 18+ only!

Notes: Took me long enough but this is my contribution to @straywords SummerWoes2022 Challenge! It’s actually not dark like I intended it to be. I guess I just couldn’t even pretend not to want this man. 😅 went a wee bit over though, I’m sorry! ~5.7K

🍹

“I’m gonna hit the pool,” you announce through the door connecting to your parents hotel room – at least they had the decency to get you your own room this time.

“Ok honey, don’t hurt it!” Your dad chuckles, pleased with his improvised dad joke.

Your mom smacks his arm and rolls her eyes while fighting a smile. “Have fun, sweetheart. We’ll meet you back here to clean up before dinner at 6pm. Try not to be late.”

You smile and wave over your shoulder on your way out the door. Your parents are great and you understand their desire to cling to their last couple years with you before you move across the country for grad school, but it’s clear they don’t see you as an adult yet. But what you lose in independence, you gain in free vacations and all inclusive food and drinks. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

You tighten the sarong around your waist and put a little extra swing in your hips as you cross the spacious lobby. A tunnel of ivy shades the deck as it twists through a small garden of brightly colored tropical flowers and opens onto a sprawling oasis of swimming pools.

There are hidden alcoves and waterfalls. A languid lazy river loops around the collection of pools. Some are large and shallow, designed with kids in mind. Others are small and shaded, like the adults only pool - complete with its own swim up bar.

The beauty of it takes your breath away, the website you spent hours investigating when your parents told you the destination just doesn’t do it justice. Maybe vacations with your parents don’t have to be boring after all.

You adjust the strap of your book-laden bag and circle the pathway through the grounds until you find the perfect spot. A row of lounge chairs near one of the larger pools is hidden under a partial canopy of palms. It’s reasonably quiet, no one should bother you here.

You spread out your fluffy white towel and lay back with a sigh. The sunscreen makes your nose twitch as you lather a healthy portion over any exposed areas then place it back in your bag in exchange for your book. A short cough startles you and you look up over the pages at a most unexpected sight.

“Hi,” the young man smiles sweetly. “I – uh, just noticed no one had offered you a drink yet and since I’m on my way to the bar… I could get something for you if you want.”

He makes a lot of hand gestures and you get the sense that he’s nervous, but his expression would suggest otherwise. His soft brown eyes flick down your body and his tongue pokes out as he waits for you to respond. Not five minutes alone by the pool and you’ve already attracted attention, this vacation is definitely not boring.

“Oh, well I’d hate to trouble you,” you flirt as you take in his boyish but handsome features and his lean golden physique.

He smirks, “no trouble at all. What do you like?”

“Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully as you let your eyes slowly drift down his well-defined abs and low hanging red swim trunks, biting your lip at the small tuft of hair poking above the strings. “Surprise me.” Your eyes snap up to his and you smirk at the way they darken in response.

He looks down sheepishly and chuckles, running his long fingers through his hair. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says before he turns to leave.

You watch him go, admiring the quality of his backside equally, if not more, than his front. Your cheeks begin to ache from the wide smile and you bite your lips to try to control yourself. Well, this trip just got infinitely more exciting. Clearing your throat, you go back to your book as you wait for his return.

“For the lady,” he announces as he nears carrying a giant fishbowl of a drink, complete with toothpick umbrellas and sliced tropical fruit garnishes. “I hope you don’t have food allergies ‘cus there are like seven different types of fruit in that, on top of the five different liquors.”

You grin and eye the drink, “a little presumptuous of you… you trying to get me drunk?”

His smile falters and his brow dips in worry, “oh shit. You’re twenty-one right? Or do you not drink? Crap. I should have asked, I’m so sorry.”

He takes a step back another apology on his lips when you burst out laughing. “No, no, wait. I’m sorry. I was only kidding. I’d love the drink. Thank you.”

You pull it from his slackened grip as he relaxes before blowing out a breath. “That was not nice,” he chuckles with a wag of his finger.

You giggle coyly before you both turn at the sound of a woman calling across the pool, “Peter! Your shift started five minutes ago! Get your ass over here!”

You eye the athletic woman in a red suit, a whistle around her neck and a rescue buoy tucked under her arm.

“Uh – shit, I gotta go. Enjoy your drink,” he says as he rushes off to take over for the woman impatiently waiting with her hand on her hip.

You laugh in surprise as he apologizes and climbs atop the raised lifeguard seat across the pool. Well, that’s an interesting development. You take a sip of the fruity concoction and let out an appreciative moan. Okay, that’s delicious, the guy knows his drinks.

Taking a chance, you glance over at him perched on his tower and notice him watching you. You raise the drink in a salute and place it on the side table before going back to your book, stealing glances over the pages every other paragraph.

Often you find him watching you with matched interest until finally you realize you’ve read the same page about a dozen times. Back aching from the stiff seat, you decide to stow the book in your bag and tuck it under the chair as the heat brings a soft glisten to your brow. Maybe a dip in the pool is just what you need, besides it’s only polite to give him something to ogle after your free drink.

You stretch as you stand, smirking in victory when you feel his eyes on you. It’s a short walk to the water slide you spotted when you first got here. You climb the steps, and glance over at him to see if he’s still watching you and he quickly looks away, shifting in his seat.

He turns back to you and you pretend not to notice as you adjust the bikini bottoms, the tie coming a little loose as you do. You squat down slowly and let your feet dangle in the running water. You look up and meet his eye with a smirk before pushing off down the slide.

The rushing water carries you down the short bumpy plastic tube and you squeal in delight until you land with a loud splash in the pool below. The water is cool and refreshing, relief washing over you as you break the choppy surface. You smooth your hair away from your face and blink the water from your eyes.

Peter leans forward, elbows on his knees as he watches you with intense focus. You giggle at his salacious smirk and he tilts his head as you start to wade closer toward him across the pool.

“Oh my god! Tammy, look! Is that someone’s swimsuit?!”

You turn at the sound of the squealing teen voices and glance over your shoulder where, sure enough, your swimsuit bottoms dangle from a crease in the slide. How the hell did you not notice that? You duck further under the water to hide your embarrassed panicking expression and quickly swim to one of the little darkened alcoves.

The girls shrill dramatics carry across the pool while you huddle stranded out of sight, unable to escape their mocking accusations.

“Ew, I can’t believe someone just left that there.”

“What a skank.”

“Can you imagine being that desperate for attention?”

“Probably trying to get the hot lifeguard to notice them.”

“Yeah, but if she had to take off her clothes it means she’s probably ugly.”

Their derisive laughter fills your head. Part of you can’t believe you are hiding from a group of teenaged bullies, but the other part of you has no desire for this accident to ruin your entire vacation. It’s only the first day for Christ’s sake!

“I guess I finally have a reason to go talk to him.”

You watch as the young girl, likely no older than fifteen or sixteen, struts around the side of the pool toward Peter’s chair. She just out her hip as she leans against the ladder and talks to him. They are too far to hear but you groan at the way he glances over at you mid-conversation.

God, this is so embarrassing. Though, what do you expect? You are only delaying the inevitable by hiding. The way you see it you have two options. You could try to make a run for your towel, but with the dozens of people in and around the pool it’s very unlikely you’ll make it unnoticed. Or you wait for Peter to collect your suit and bring it to you, where you will suffer the shame of having to put them back on under his close inspection. Either way, you don’t see this ending well.

“Back up, ladies,” Peter instructs the teens before climbing down the rocks along the side of the slide.

They giggle quietly as they watch him descend the jagged hill with ease and lean over the edge of the slide where he plucks your bottoms from its soggy display. You cringe as he holds them over his head in victory and they all cheer. He climbs back up and waves them back toward the slide before walking back around the pool.

He meets your eye as he strolls casually along the cement while you cling to the side, hiding your face. But instead of continuing around the pool to where you are, he stops at his chair and climbs back up the ladder. Your jaw drops as you watch him fondle the bikini bottoms in his lap then look up at you through his lashes with a mischievous smirk on his face before shoving them into his pocket.

What the fuck.

You sit there stunned as the rest of the guests play in the pool or lounge in the sun completely unaware of your silent standoff with the hot lifeguard. Is he really going to keep them? And why does that turn you on? Maybe he’s just teasing you and waiting for the teenagers to forget before he gives them back? That would be sweet of him, and he does seem the type.

What feels like hours pass and you manage to skate by unnoticed. There are a few close calls where people swim close enough to see, but you curl your legs up enough to hide. Finally, your heart leaps as another guy in red board shorts nears the chair and Peter climbs down. They talk briefly and Peter hands off the buoy before waving goodbye.

Your pulse quickens as he turns away and nears the rack of towels for guests. Please, say he hasn’t forgotten. He couldn’t have. He grabs a large white towel and tosses it over his shoulder before turning on his heel to walk toward you. He beelines straight for you, eyes never leaving yours as his amused smirk grows into a full on gloating grin.

“Hey,” he says cooly as he steps into the shade of the same palm hiding you.

“Hi,” you deadpan, annoyed by his obvious enjoyment of your suffering.

“I have something for you,” he teases.

“I know,” you reply, clenching your jaw to fight the smile.

His eyes sparkle with mirth as he pulls the towel from his shoulder and drops it onto the stone beside the pool. You look from the towel back up to him expectantly, quirking a brow. His cheeks dimple with his wide smile, tongue wetting the corner of his lip as he lets out a little chuckle.

“Well, I’ll see ya,” he says and turns to leave.

“What?” You puff in surprise.

He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “hm? Is there something else I can get you?”

“Peter!” You whisper yell, nervously looking around. “Come on, give them back.”

“Give what back?” He teases. “Oh,” he fishes your bikini bottoms from his pocket, “you mean… this? Are these yours?”

He lets them dangle from his index finger and laughs at the way your face pinches in anger and embarrassment. “Peter,” you warn.

“I’m afraid these are mine now,” he delicately grips the strings and holds them up, biting his lip as he openly appraises them.

You look around to make sure those teenage girls aren’t around watching, while he proudly holds them out in front of him.

“Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun. Now give them back.”

He chuckles lowly and, to your horror, brushes them across his nose and mouth, “mmm. Sorry, but…finders keepers.”

With one last laugh and a shrug he shoves them in his pocket. He subtly adjusts the bulge in his pants before walking away, purposely ignoring your hushed desperate pleas.

“Fucker,” you growl as you grab the towel and follow the wall to the set of stairs nearby.

You drag the towel into the water and quickly wrap it around your waist as you exit the pool. The towel clings heavily to your skin, water dripping down your legs as you pad across the cement. Thankfully, your bag remains untouched, still tucked safely under the lounger. You pull out the sarong from your bag and replace the wet towel discretely before heading back to your room.

—

“You sure you won’t come down to the pool with us?” Your mom frowns as you snuggle further into your blankets watching tv.

“No, I’m not feeling the pool today,” you shrug casually as you flip through the channels.

“That’s what you’ve said for the past two days,” your dad huffs as he pokes his head over your moms shoulder. “If you wanted a vacation of laying around in bed I would have just left you at home.”

You mom raises a brow at him, “maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen with you, hm?”

He slaps his hand to his chest in shock, “I’m the coolest one in this family. You two are just jealous you don’t have my moves.” He proceeds to roll his belly, sucking his beer gut in and out in a faux belly-dance while flexing his thick hairy arms.

Your mom watches and bites her lip to keep from laughing while you giggle at his antics. “Yeah, definitely good here. I might go on a hike or something in a bit, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, honey. Be safe,” your mom says as she elbows your dancing father out of the way.

She closes the door and you are left on your own. With a sigh, you get up and tiptoe to the balcony like you’ve done repeatedly for the past two days you’ve spent hiding in your room. Somehow, you have the perfect view of the large pool and water slide, which only makes you wonder if other people witnessed your humiliation from here. The thought is enough to keep you from any more trips to the pool.

Instead you’ve spent your time sleeping in, reading in your room, ordering room service and exploring the grounds. There is a lovely garden, a remarkable gym, and even a large Rec room with all sorts of games. Today, however, you decide to reserve a time at the spa and treat yourself to the complimentary massage. Maybe it will help you relax and enjoy yourself again.

The spa is chic and designed with care. Each room has a unique but subtle theme designed to calm, relax and reinvigorate you. First, you are led to a quiet dressing room with a private shower for you to clean off before your massage. While you are waiting for your masseuse you have access to the steam room and whirlpool, as well as complimentary refreshments.

You let go of your troubles, focusing on relaxing your muscles and listening to the soft eastern melody humming through the hidden speakers. The cold lemon ice water helps cool your head in the steam filled room until an attendant comes to fetch you.

“This way, Miss,” the woman ushers you toward a glass door at the end of the hall.

The salty ocean breeze fills your nose as you step out on the beautiful patio. On your left is the rocky cliff looking over the endless blue horizon and on your right is the lush resort grounds.

“This is beautiful,” you gape as you are led to the massage table in the center of the patio.

“Go ahead and lay on your stomach, your masseuse will be with you in a moment.”

The massage table is uncomfortable at first but when your masseuse, Ned, comes in all your worries melt away. He’s sweet and friendly, quickly putting you at ease before he gets started. Your tension is all but forgotten as his soft hands work into your muscles until you are limp and moaning softly on the table.

“God, I hope they pay you well for this,” you groan as he reaches your lower back, careful not to dip too close to the towel.

He chuckles, “they do. But I also just like helping people feel better.”

“Well mission accomplished, Ned,” you reply, trying to sneakily wipe away the drool forming at the corner of your mouth.

By the end of the hour you feel significantly less tense. You thank Ned as he opens the door for you and walks you back to your changing room. Just as you reach your door you hear a familiar voice from down the hall.

“Ned! It’s time, let’s go!” Peter whisper yells from around the corner but stops when he sees you.

Your eyes go wide and you clutch the towel around your front, suddenly painfully aware of your nudity beneath. Ned tries to hush Peter and wave him away but Peter ignores him and smirks.

“Hey, bikini girl! I’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding from me,” Peter flirts as he drinks you in.

“Ugh,” you grunt as you push through the door and into your room. “Thanks again Ned, you were great.” You smile politely before you shut the door, determined to wait inside until you’re certain they are both gone.

After another fifteen minutes in the whirlpool and an indulgently long shower you finally decide to dress and search for your parents. Maybe it’s the massage or maybe it’s the spite brewing in your stomach since Peter accused you of hiding – which is true, but still - you hold your head high as you walk along the outside of the pool in search of your parents.

They aren’t at the large main pool or the busy children’s area so you continue on along the leafy path to the smaller adults-only pool with the swim up bar. The pool is surrounded by palms and ferns giving it a more private ambiance, but more noticeably it is packed with people.

Every seat is taken and dozens of people lounge about on pool floats as they drunkenly cheer on a pair of women singing on a small stage across the water. The crowd is mostly older couples with a few large parties of adults gathering for what appears to be “boozy karaoke night”.

Cat calls ring throughout the ladies performance, though they hardly look bothered by it. The drunken crowd joins in singing off beat and out of tune, some even with the wrong lyrics. It’s clear the point here is unapologetic fun. So, naturally, you find your parents waiting beside the stage for their turn to perform.

You smile as you take it all in, letting the merriment infect you. You keep your head down as you make your way toward the bar for a drink and a shadowy place to witness your parents humiliation.

“Hey, can I get one of those strawberry daiquiris please?” You ask the older gentleman behind the bar.

“Bikini girl,” Peter sings with glee from further down the bar as he slides a pair of shots across the counter to a pair of tipsy honeymooners. “So, now you’re stalking me?”

He switches sides of the bar with the older man and finishes making your daiquiri. He slides the glass across the counter and you go to grab it without saying a word. How is he even here?

“What is it? Surprised to see me?” He prods, keeping hold of the glass as he tries to catch your eye.

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to take a job that requires a shirt,” you sass and pull the drink free.

“Well if you want I could lose some clothes for you … I mean you did it for me. It’s only fair,” he smirks, eyes flicking down to your hips.

You walked right into that one. “Gotta go. Thanks for the drink.”

You find a free seat near where you came in and get comfortable right as your parents song begins to play. The funky 80s beat echoes around the pool, most cheering instantly in recognition as ‘Kiss’ by Prince starts to play.

Sipping on your sweet frozen drink, your shoulders start to sway to their sloppy rendition. Despite being several drinks deep they are surprisingly endearing as they serenade the other, arms loosely wrapped around each other to keep themselves standing. Forgetting their audience, they get lost in the words they’ve sang to each other for years now. You clap and cheer with the rest of the crowd as they exit the stage by jumping into the pool, hand in hand.

“Gonna be hard to beat that.”

“Jesus! You scared me,” you startle at Peters voice in your ear, scolding him before turning back to the stage.

“So what’s it gonna be, duet or solo?” Peter asks, crouching awkwardly beside your chair. His legs spread wide, shorts hiked up to reveal the tantalizing tan line along his lean thighs - not that you notice.

“There is no way I’m going up there,” you deadpan.

“Aw, come on. Let loose. Have fun. Take your top off, whatever you want,” he laughs at your outraged expression.

“Fuck you, Peter. I don’t just get naked for fun. What happened the other day was an accident and it was humiliating enough without you constantly bringing it up.” You stand suddenly and try to walk away but his next sentence stops you.

“So you don’t want to know how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of you?”

Your face grows hot as your feet cement to the floor. You don’t know what to say. Are you angry? Flattered? Disgusted? Possibly all three.

“You’re all I’ve thought about since I first saw you,” he whispers at your back, hot breath tickling your shoulder. “I know you’ve thought about me… or else you wouldn’t be trying so hard to avoid me.”

You swallow thickly, “I’m not!” Your voice cracks unconvincingly. “I – I should go.”

“Meet me back here tonight when the pool closes.”

“Why?” You breathe as he steps close enough to brush lightly against your shoulder blades.

“Fun?” He flirts and runs a finger up your arm. The soft, feather-like touch makes your breath hitch and goosebumps spread across your skin.

The sensation lights up your whole body, you want to moan as your eyes slip closed, but you hold it in with a bite to your lip. The crowd of people seem to disappear as you long for him to continue, each of your nerves aching to erupt.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you manage weakly.

“Only if you let me.”

His hand continues up your arm and across your shoulder. You shudder out a moan as he tickles that spot where your neck and shoulder meets.

“Mmm,” he hums happily. “Sensitive too. You really are perfect, bikini girl.”

Leaning in, he places the softest, gentlest kiss to that exact spot and your knees threaten to buckle. Your core tightens and you feel just on the verge of saying something really stupid.

You imagine turning around and kissing him, grabbing his hand and dragging him back up to your room. The impulse is there, no doubt he would follow, but before you can do anything the moment is broken.

“Hey honey! Oooh, whose your friend?!”

Your moms voice is like a bucket of ice, instantly snapping you out of your hormonal stupor. You practically leap away from Peter, stammering stupidly as you watch your mom stumble toward you.

“Oh – uh – this is … um.” Its as though all the blood has left your brain as you look helplessly between Peters cocky smirk and your moms knowing grin.

Peter turns to your mom with a hand out, “hi, I’m Peter. I work here. I saw your performance and can I just say, I’m a big fan.” He’s cool, confident and she smiles broadly as she shakes his hand.

“Well, aren’t you a sweet talker,” she laughs and taps his nose with her finger, or tries to, before turning to you. “I hate to get in the middle of whatever this is,” she winks, “but your dad and I got a wee bit drunk and I think we’re going to go to bed early. Not that you need us to entertain you it seems...”

“Mom,” you say pointedly before she has a chance to embarrass you further. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

She leans on you heavily and kisses your cheek before calling for your dad who jumps up from a lounger not far away. You mother catches him with a laugh as he trips and together they walk down the path.

“Have fun and be safe you two!” Your mom calls over her shoulder before she rounds the corner.

“Oh god,” you groan into your hands.

“Your parents seem cool,” Peter chuckles. “I – uh – have to get back to the bar, but I’ll see you tonight. Yeah?”

You see the older bartender glaring over at the pair of you as he tries to handle his increasingly needy customers. Peters big soft brown eyes never leave yours as you nervously bite your lip.

“I’ll… think about it.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head with a half smile. “You’re killin’ me, bikini girl.”

—

You follow the dim trail of lights hidden among the soft green ferns bordering the pool. It’s quiet and deserted, most of the patrons inside attending the big “rave night”. The stars glitter above the dull tower of hotel rooms as the warm summer breeze rustles the short skirt of your skimpy bathing suit cover.

Maybe you overdid it, he’s probably going to think you’re desperate with how much time you spent dolling yourself up. Hopefully the darkness will keep him from realizing just how desperate he’s made you.

“This is so stupid,” you mutter to yourself as you round the corner and spot the adult pool beyond the dark tunnel of trees.

You swallow the last of your nerves and square your shoulders as you near the pool, scanning the sides for your date. But all is dark and still, no sign of him or anyone.

Suddenly, there’s a tickle on your hip and something pulls you firmly back into a wall of warmth. You gasp as the force knocks the wind out of you, but before you can say anything Peter’s hand locks tightly over your mouth and chin.

“Well well well,” Peter chuckles into your ear. “What do we have here.”

Your hands instinctively reach for his own and pull. The panicked side of you expects him to resist, but he lets you toss his hands away with a loud laugh and a quick apology.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

You huff softly and straighten your outfit, trying to pass off your flustered state for indignation. “That wasn’t funny.”

He tempers his grin, “you’re right. I’m sorry.” As soon as you relax he takes a cautious step toward you. “I just saw you standing there…in the dark… looking so vulnerable… all alone… and something came over me.”

You gulp and fidget nervously the closer he gets until he’s standing barely an inch away, his breath on your cheeks.

“I can’t seem to control myself when you’re around,” he admits, eyes dropping down your figure. “It’s never felt this intense before… like I might explode if I don’t touch you.”

Your mouth falls open at his words. Inside your head is screaming for him to put his hands on you, your body subconsciously leaning in as your hands begin to shake. Your hungry eyes meet his and you let out a breathy, “yes.”

It’s all you can offer with how fuzzy he has made you after hours of anticipation and it’s all the consent he needs. Immediately, his hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you in for a hot desperate kiss. You moan into each other in relief, dizzy at the taste of his breath-mint fresh tongue sliding between your lips.

Your bones turn to jelly, skin scalding in the wake of his touch. His hands are everywhere, tickling down your arms, across the small of your back. Through the thin fabric his nails dig into the tender flesh of your ass as he gropes you in delight.

Your breast press into his chest and your arms wrap around his torso, sliding up and down the taut muscular landscape of his back. There is not a single inch of him that isn’t perfectly sculpted, and honestly it’s a little intimidating.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he pants against your jaw and down your neck, suckling and nipping gently on the way to your chest. “Take this off and let’s get in the pool,” he orders, as he tugs at the material hiding your chest.

“Okay,” you agree, brain turned off as your pussy takes over.

You toss your clothes aside and he takes your hand, leading you to the edge of the pool. His fingers slip free of yours as he hops down the steps and dunks under the surface. He pops up and watches you gingerly dip your toes in and take one step at a time. Your confidence grows as he stands up taller in the water, his eyes unblinking as he ogles you. You slow down even more, getting a kick out of his growing restlessness.

“You’re trying to torture me aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you flirt, shrugging innocently.

“Well two can play at that game,” he growls and quickly swims closer, catching you just as the water reaches your thighs.

You giggle in surprise as he lifts you and plops you on the side of the pool, ass on the corner edge as your feet dip below the surface. “I thought I was getting in.”

“Not yet,” he tuts and grips your knees. Your breath hitches as he moves his hands up the outside of your thighs and tugs on the sides of your bikini. You hesitantly lift your ass, allowing him to pull them down your legs. “Don’t worry, I’ll give these ones back,” he winks as he sets them beside you on the stone, “…maybe.”

The vulnerable position and the twinkle in his eye are the only warning you get before he dives between your legs. He grunts and pulls your closer to the edge. You lean back to keep yourself from falling in as he wraps his arms around to cradle your thighs.

“Shit, Peter,” you exclaim as he instantly finds your clit, giving it a sloppy suck before running his tongue up and down your slit.

He moans loudly as he taste the arousal dripping from your entrance. “So perfect for me baby.”

He dives back in and your arms shake as they try to keep you from collapsing. It doesn’t take long before his fingers slide beneath his chin and slowly prod at your entrance. Suckling your clit, he scissors his fingers to stretch you wider for him.

“Oh my god,” you moan.

“That’s my good girl,” he coos. “Louder for me. I want you to moan for me like you did for Ned.”

You frown at the unexpected bitterness in his voice, but find yourself clenching at the way his jealous rage turns him a bit more rough.

“Oh yeah, he told me all about those pretty noises you make. You got him hard did you know that?”

Your moans get louder as his fingers thrust back and forth rapidly and you writhe in pleasure, orgasm nearing closer and closer.

“But he’s not the one that gets to see you come is he?” He growls. “Is he?!”

“No,” you whimper.

“That’s right. Because you’re mine.” He chuckles before landing a little slap to your inner thigh. It’s gentle, but unexpected and stings enough to make you clench. You moan at the way the light pain heightens your senses, increasing the pleasure. “Say it.”

You murmur as you look down at the serious glare in his eye. “I’m – I’m…”

He slaps you again, the fingers inside you curling up and making you spasm in delight. You need to come, you need him to keep going.

“Say it!”

“I’m yours! I’m yours! Please!” You beg and he smirks.

He watches you through his lashes as he circles his tongue rapidly around your clit and he fucks you hard with his fingers until you cry out in bliss. You go limp on the side of the pool as Peter places soft kisses to your inner thighs and shakes them gently to gain your attention.

“Ok, now you can come in the pool and we can get started.”

“Get started?!” you laugh and look down at him as you pant through the high of your comedown. “I knew you’d be trouble.”

He chuckles darkly as he starts tugging you into the pool by your legs, “we’ve barely even started, baby.”

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @emberenchanted @queenoftheworldisdead @buttercupfangirl @needleandhammer @thiskindahotkindamusic @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @threeminutesoflife @jaspearl31 @queenyanna111 @phildunphyisadilf @delightfulheroshoeflap @mischief2sarawr @thebeastywithin666

#peter parker x reader #lifeguard peter parker #lifeguard AU #smut #peter parker fiction #summerwoes2022 #writing challenge

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weebnotheree · 1 month

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Monkey King x Reader || 𝒜𝓃 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

i FOUND YOU

lThe regroups near a river in the chapter they found .)

Pigsy: "Blue ain't really my color, but uh beats looking like that , ."

: "Technically, you'd be Zhu Bajie, now that you're on the ."

Pigsy: "Oh ho ho, no, no, no. Don't go comparing me to that demon. My name's just plain old Pigsy."

: "I can't wait to meet my ancestor, . I bet he was mega cool! Right, Tangy?"

Tang: (He laughs nervously.) "Well..."

: "I wonder when we're gonna meet my ancestor."

Mei: "I thought was your dad."

MK: "He's not my dad. Pigsy's my dad."

Pigsy: "Uh, kid, I'm not exactly your uh..."

Tang: "Hmm, Mei does have a point. MK, the rest of us mysteriously inherited the powers of the . However, Monkey King is the only original companion we know for sure is still alive. And yet, you have inherited all of his , so it is possible that—"

MK: "Yeah, right. If Monkey King really was my dad, don't you think he would have said something by now?"

Mei: "Yeah, 'cause he's normally sooo forthcoming with information."

MK: "Well, whatever. When we find Monkey King's stone, then we'll just ask him."

Tang: (Simultaneously.) "What?"

Mei: (Simultaneously.) "Monkey King's huh"

MK: "Monkey King's stone. The one he was born from. Ever since I got into the , I've been having visions of Monkey King standing next to his stone."

Pigsy: Wha... You didn't think to mention that sooner?!

MK: I'm telling you no-

MK was abruptly cut off from what he was saying to his friends as a gust of wind wooshed in the middle of the dear friends. There stood a woman who looked the size of Mei but slightly shorter. She also looked confused as to where she teleported and slowly turned around and saw...MK. As she teleported non-stop, desperately trying to find someone, she noticed that the place she had landed had pigs and a big blue guy who seemed all too familiar. She wasn't even trying to specifically look for MK at the time, as she was trying to find the two people she loved most. She was actually trying to see if the Monk was there (for help), but saw MK first.

Her eyes widen as they slowly lit up with excitment. She zoomed past the 4 friends as she embraced him with a big tight and loving hug. Annd not gonna lie MK was very confused as well as his other friends. But he didnt push the woman away though..or hug back either because he didnt know as to who this woman can be or how she knew him. He just looked at the woman confused and like....[ill just show it. like this eccept hes not smoling just looking down at her]

"I've missed you so much Ming! And you got so big!" [Ming: Bright] [Heulyn: Ray of Sunshine]

[All excluding MK]"MING???!"

The woman stops hugging Mk as her eyes glance at the 4 friends(im including the cat too so dats y). "I almost forgot you guys were here" she sweatdropped. "And yes, Ming. That's his name. Ming Heulyn" she said as she broke the hug.

Pigsy: "Woah woah woah. You mean to tell me that his name is Ming Heulyn?? No no no no, his name's MK, you know, 'Monkey Kid.' And who even are you supposed to be anyway? Some girl who who what? Who's in love with him or something??"

The woman let out a laugh at his outburst. "No, no this is my baby"

[All Including MK] "BABY??!!"

"Oh- I'm sorry. I mean baby as in son?"

[All ] "SON??!!" they all exclaimed. Mei let out a breath of relief she didn't know she was holding in.

MK: "WAIT-"

Tang: "MK IS YOUR SON?!" Tang exclaimed and got a nod and a soft smile in response. "That's amazing! *nudges Pigsy* Right Pigsy?" Sandy smiled and said wholeheartedly. "That means you're...[eyes sparkle] My mom"

"Yes sweetheart"

MK was in a daze hearing her call him that and that he actually had a mom. Pigsy huffed as he crossed his arms slightly looking away. "Why show up now? Why did you even leave him in the first place? He's been just fine without you"

"Now Pigsy, I'm sure there's a good explanation for this situation. No need to be so rude to..to um.. what's your name again?" Tang asked nervously sweatdropping because he thought it was rude to not know your name. "My name is Y/n"

[N/N - Ai: love, estimation]

Tang: "Miss Y/n. What a lovely name for such an elegant lady."

"Please, don't be so formal. Just say Y/n" She reassured. "And I never left Ming, i just came back and he wasn't there. [frowns]And I've been looking for him for ages and i couldn't find him...[smiles again] But I finally found him and I'm never letting him out of my site ever again"

MK snapped out of his daze with a serious look "You said you been looking for me?" And he got a nod in response. "So that must mean MK was taken from her then..." Mei added. Tang nodded in speculation as he pushed up his glasses. "But who would want to take him away from his own family though?" Pigsy added, a little upset someone would do such a thing.

"You know...you four remind me of people I used to know but...you're not them. You just look really identical" Y/n mentioned. "If you mean our ancient ancestors then, yes. But rest assured we are not them" Tang replied.

"And far from it" Pigsy added.

Y/n chuckled. "Dont worry, I could tell from the moment I saw you." "Was it that easy to tell??!" Mei asked astounded as y/n nodded.

"We were just talking about being able to meet our ancestors until you showed up" Sandy mentioned. "Really?"

Tang nodded "Yeah, and we were wondering if MK had any ancestors"

Me: "He also said Monkey King wasn't his dad even though it was clearly obvious. I mean, he has all of the traits Monkey King does" As Mei went on and on about how similar MK and Monkey King were Y/n zoned out at the name and more as she spoke. "I mean come it's clear that the Monkey King is MK's dad" She stood proudly with her hands on her hips but there was silence so she opened her eyes only to see her friends looking at Y/n with confused looks. "Arrrree you okay?" MK asked with a finger on his mouth. "You're dad...Where is he exactly?"

"She does not seem happy to hear his name" Tang whispered to Pigsy and Sandy and they both nodded. . . . "Wait, did you just say dad??/DAD?!"

MK started as he rubbed the back of his neck "Weeeee-" "-dont exactly know where he is.....right now" Mei finished also sweatdropping putting her fingers together repeatedly. "Did he even tell you guys anything??" Y/n asked the friends and her son but was only met with them shaking their heads in sync. "He's so forthcoming with information," Y/n said as she rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what I said!" Mei exclaimed.

"By the way, MK says he's been havin' visions of the Monkey King standing next to this stone he was supposedly born from after he got hold of the scroll. Do you know anything about this?" Pigsy asked Y/n.

"Vision?"

"Yeah, like, visions of his past...things like that" MK replied. "Hmm...I only know a little bit of why it's happening... but not all of it. Your dad will have to tell you the rest"

"Could you tell me what you know? [puppy eyes] Pleeeasee"

"Finee. Wukong is tearing through his past memories to get to you...he must have sensed that I'm here now and is making a very destructive way of getting to us hm?" Y/n chuckled. "But Since he's going through his memories he can't find his way out. [boops his nose] I think he needs you to help him with a little encouragement" MK nodded confidently.

#lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk

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nostalgicamerica · 11 months

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True story:

When I was a young teenager I truly lived a blessed life thanks to my mother and father. I never really wanted for anything. All my needs and most of my wants were met, I felt loved, I had a warm bed, and I never went hungry. I had more than I deserved and certainly more than most.

So I felt a little guilty to feel a longing inside me that seemed to grow with time. Eventually, the yearning crowded out all other passions (with the possible exception being Maija Saaronen, but that's a story for another time). That longing was to have a dog of my own.

To be sure, we already had a dog, but Musta, a black lab, was the family dog. He belonged to everyone, and by the time I pushed through puberty, Musta was already old and spent most of his time on his bed, snoring and farting.

To be honest, I loved Musta as much as the rest of my family did, but he wasn't mine. Besides, his hips and joints were too sore for him to hike the rivers with me, and on cold or rainy nights he was as likely to curl up with any of my other siblings as me.

I repeatedly talked to my parents about getting my own dog and the answer was invariably, "No." Or, "They are too expensive and money is tight as it is and if we let you get a dog, then all of the kids will want one of their own and we'll be overrun with dogs." Or, "You can't have a dog because we are evil and we want you to be as miserable as possible." Well, that last one I made up, but that is how I read their refusals.

Even the promise to pay for everything myself fell on deaf ears. I had my paper route. No. I could mow lawns and shovel snow and do other odd jobs to raise money. No. I'll not shirk my chores around the house anymore. That's what you're supposed to do anyway, and no.

I think Dad had more sympathy for my yearnings than Mom did, because he only acquiesced to her refusal. I don't recall him ever putting his foot down like Mom, and after one particular defeat at the hands of the 'No-Dog-For-You-I-Don't-Care-How-Miserable- You- Are-Woman' who professed to love me, Dad followed me from the kitchen and, gripping my shoulder in his large hand, he winked and whispered, "Don't give up, buddy. Life has a way of getting us what we truly want."

So I wandered through my days essentially dogless. Most of my friends and acquaintances had dogs, if not their own, at least their dogs had the decency to occasionally act like it. Here comes Eino with his beagle trotting along beside him. There goes Skunk with his Dachshund/Chihuahua yipping at his heels. I don't know who that kid is, but he has a dog, too.

Darned near every family had a dog that the boys in the family could do things with. Even the meanest local bully, Mikko Aho, had his own dog, a German Shepherd cross named Daisy that was just as mean as her owner. Daisy easily topped 120 pounds and, although she was getting long in the tooth, she still made my bowels loosen whenever I saw her, whether she was on a lead or not.

Fortunately for the rest us - not so much for him - Mikko, a few years older than me, had recently begun his life-long love affair with alcohol, so Daisy spent her days chained up in the Aho's back yard. Periodically she would get bored, break her chain, and wander around looking for somebody to bite, which usually wound up being a child or defenseless grandmother working in her garden.

As a general rule, I didn't believe there were bad dogs; just bad owners. Poor Daisy had been raised to be a kusipää by and like her owner.

July and August came and went with no movement from Mom despite my best efforts to wear her down. With September came my fourteenth birthday, school, and cooler, rainier weather.

I was a freshman that year. A new school filled with new challenges, new classmates, and, of course, new girls. I didn't dislike school, generally speaking, I just disliked the feeling of being jailed.

Never an academic, I did well enough in English, Literature, Civics, and History, but I never got along with Math and the sciences. Those two thugs would wait for me every afternoon at home in my room and taunt me and my lack of mental acuity. I always managed to squeak by those courses, but it was always a knock-down free-for-all to even manage a C.

To this day, if somebody asks me what endoplasmic reticulum is, as a general rule, I punch them in the face. And in well over 50 years I've never once had to solve a quadratic equation. But apparently, to continue on into my adulthood, these subjects were a rite of passage.

I can't remember the first time I saw him. I was getting off the bus after school and happened to glance behind the general store and saw a scruffy, black and white dog pulling at a garbage bag. The mongrel was dirty and looked emaciated and only glanced at me warily when I whistled for it. I didn't see a collar.

When I approached, the dog sidled away and whined at my impertinence in disturbing the meal it just knew was in the black plastic bag. The dog took one last wistful look at the trash bag and slipped into the waist-high weeds at the rear of the parking lot.

I dug out the remnants of my lunch and left half of a liverwurst sandwich and a couple of cookies at the edge of the pavement where the dog had disappeared and headed for home and the dreaded algebra homework I had facing me that night.

Over the next couple of weeks I saw the stray a few more times, usually scrounging for food, and looking forlorn. Each time I tried to coax it to come to me I was met with failure. The dog, who, my brother opined was the filthiest dog he'd ever seen and bestowed the name Lika (short for Likainen) on, was as skittish about me as I was about polynomials.

Lika, was unlike any dog I had ever dreamed of owning, but even a mongrel was better than no dog at all, and I was sure I could convince Mom to let me keep it if I could convince it to follow me home.

One Saturday near the end of September heralded the arrival of that most glorious of natural phenomenon - Indian Summer. One last taste of summer and a brief and wonderful reprieve from the winter that was headed our way.

By the time our chores were done the mercury was nudging up against 70, and my brother and I decided to head to the river for a few Rainbow or Brown. We threw a few sandwiches in a bag, grabbed our gear and headed for the trailhead.

Our day turned out beautiful; an azure and cloudless sky, yellow, orange, and red foliage everywhere we looked, and the river was almost languid. We wound up getting skunked, but that was no matter. My motto was - and is - a bad day fishing is better than a good day doing almost anything else.

Walking home through town, I saw Lika again. The dog didn't immediately dart away when I approached but it was cautious. I extended one of the remaining sandwiches to it and crouched down to make myself smaller.

Ever so slowly Lika inched closer, the liverwurst acting like a magnet to an empty stomach. Up close I could see Lika was a male and that he was terrified. But his hunger was stronger than his fear, and delicately, he took the triangle-cut meal of home-baked bread, liverwurst, and horseradish and skittered back a few feet. I watched him wolf the sandwich down, his eyes never wavering from mine.

My brother just laughed, "You know Mom's going to flip out if you manage to convince that kirppupussi to follow you home." My brother always was smarter than me, but I ignored his negativity. "I just gotta get him there. She'll come around."

Lika looked like he was ready for a nap. Up close I couldn't see anything wrong with him. He just needed a bath and a few meals to fix what ailed him. And a boy to call his own. And maybe some flea powder. He was a medium-sized dog, maybe forty pounds or so, a patchwork black and white but so dirty the white looked brown.

When my brother and I resumed our trek home, Lika did follow us, to a fashion. He stayed about 10 yards behind us, stopping occasionally as if unsure about the bipedal creature who gave him food. As we turned down our street and I whistled to encourage Lika, he stopped at the corner and wouldn't come any closer.

The following morning, after breakfast, my mother gave me a dollar and sent me to the general store for a bag of flour. Almost immediately, Lika emerged from the ditch at the side of the road and cautiously approached me. I sat down on the shoulder and waited as he nervously edged closer.

His tail was slowly wagging. Whether it was me, or the scent of the breakfast sausage I had squirreled away in the front pocket of my overalls, I'm not sure, but it didn't matter. The little black and white stray stopped within arm's length and sat down, looking at me expectantly.

He shied away when I reached into my overall pocket but showed renewed interest when I eased the napkin out and unrolled one of the venison links. I broke off a small piece and held it in the palm of my hand and I almost squealed like a school girl when Lika leaned forward and took it from me.

I could almost see gratitude on his face as he ate one chunk of sausage after another until, with a silent gesture I held up my hands to him, fingers splayed. I wondered if he could smell Musta on me or it was something else because he recoiled away when I tried to pet him.

"It's okay, buddy." I grinned, "I have time."

Lika followed me to the store, waited in the parking lot as I went in and was still waiting when I came out with a five pound bag of flour on my shoulder and a couple of coins jingling in my pocket.

The two blocks home found Lika shadowing me close enough for our morning shadows to almost touch on the dirt road. I talked to him softly, almost whispering, and tried to avoid sudden movements. My confidence and joy were growing with each step. What I would do about Mom and her 'no dog' edict eluded me. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I got to it.

I spent the rest of that week sneaking food to the dog in the mornings and after school, while trying to avoid Mom's scrutiny, as well as that of my older sisters who would likely rat me out, depending on their mood. Musta wasn't eating much by that time so I was able to swipe some of his kibble, and I could always slide a hot dog, or some kielbasa, or pork chop from my plate into a pocket.

The problem was, the days were creeping towards October and the nights were getting cold. I couldn't let Lika fend for himself. I thought about hiding him in the basement where at least he'd be warm, but Mom kept her canned goods there and I could imagine the fun ensuing if Mom or one of my sisters tripped over the dog.

The best solution I could find was the dilapidated tool shed behind the garage. The shed was no longer used for anything, it listed badly to the south, had large cracks between nearly every board, and it survived only because Dad always told Mom he'd tear it down as soon as he got the chance. To that point the chance never presented itself.

But cardboard would block most of the holes and keep my new dog out of the wind, and a quilt I stole from the attic would make a decent bed.

Lika wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the accommodations but the shed was better than bedding down in the open. It would work for awhile until I could figure something else or wear down Mom.

The real problem I faced was I couldn't be at home every moment of the day. I had school and my paper route and other chores that would take me away from my dog, and hockey season was bearing down. On top of it all, Lika didn't seem overly concerned about being discovered.

I considered asking one of my friends to keep him until I broke Mom but immediately discarded the idea; all my friends already had dogs, larger families than my own, or both. The shed was the best I could do.

By mid-October, the stray was no longer a stray. He was mine; I was his. His whole body would wriggle insanely at my approach and his tail would wag so violently it would create a ruckus banging against the side of the shed. He would let me pet and hold him and for hours, when I wasn't in school, we'd lay on the quilt and talk to each other.

I had no way to bathe him - the weather was too cold to use the garden hose, so I tried a few wet towels, which helped a bit, but he needed a bath in the worst way. He smelled worse than a week old and well-used gym sock.

January and February are typically the coldest months of any year on the Keweenaw Peninsula. The year I turned fourteen, however, October reminded us that we were closer to Canada than Mexico and tossed us a surprise; a week before Halloween a storm rolled through that dropped over 20 inches of snow and, after the front passed, the temperature plummeted.

I was in a panic about what to do about my dog. It was already 10 degrees and the radio breathlessly informed us that we could expect sub-zero temps overnight.

I didn't care if I got caught, when our parents weren't paying attention, I was going to bring Lika into the basement. It was then I learned one of those lessons that usually seemed to pass right over my head.

I was getting frantic and Mom always seemed to be underfoot. "Go knit a sweater or dust something." I pleaded with her in my head. Usually Mom was always dusting or cleaning as if the Pope was going to drop by. Maybe she sensed something wrong, or she decided the pretense was over.

She touched my shoulder as I was pulling on my boots and smiled gently. "Why don't you bring your dog into the mud room?"

I just stared at her in disbelief. "You knew?"

I could hear Dad laughing in the family room, "Honey, we've known since the first day you brought him home. You can't put anything past us, besides," She smiled, "He isn't exactly stealthy. That little guy waits everyday in the middle of the yard for you to get home from school. Besides," she smiled again, "Your little bothers have been playing with him for weeks."

As I raced out the door to get Lika and his quilt, Mom yelled at me, "He can only be in the mud room and it is just temporary."

So Lika moved indoors where it was warm, and where there was no shortage of little people willing to bestow hugs and belly rubs and snot on him. He stayed in the mud room on his quilt for a few days and then we began testing Mom by letting him in the family room for a few minutes until she yelled.

A warm bath with Ivory soap worked miracles. His black was inky and his white patches glowed. He was still scruffy, but he was clean. A steady diet packed a few pound onto his frame and his eyes seemed to leak the happy he had been missing. A visit to the vet two towns down the road confirmed Lika was healthy and about two years old, and although the veterinarian suspected a terrier-husky mix, he really wasn't sure.

Over time Lika warmed to everyone. My siblings couldn't leave him alone and I even caught Dad feeding him and rubbing his head. Even Musta welcomed Lika and acted like a puppy when Lika approached his bed in the family room. Mom, though, kept her distance.

She often said the dog had to go in the spring when the snow melted and it was warm. She was insistent that we could easily find a good family that would be happy to give him a home, especially since he was so well behaved and quiet.

She was right. Lika was nothing if not quiet. In the entire time he was capturing my heart, I had never heard him bark.

Things went that way for awhile.

I once overheard Mom telling Dad about how she couldn't help noticing how responsible I was becoming in taking Lika for walks every day, feeding him on schedule, and cleaning up his lawn mines after he did his business. She showed Dad her tally book showing my payments for his food and the vet bill and she was smiling. It made me feel good inside, and I was sure she was coming around.

By the time Christmas showed up, Lika had moved in with Musta and they shared Musta's bed like two old friends. Their food bowls were side by side. In a testament to the size of his heart, Lika would walk by the old dog's side until they reached the bowls and he wouldn't eat until his new friend began.

Mom had ceased threatening eviction for Lika and on more than one occasion I caught her slipping him a scrap of ham or bacon. She hadn't said he could stay, but at least she wasn't proclaiming from the rooftop he was gone.

One January night, I was wakened by a cold dog nose on my back. It was probably around two am and I had been sound asleep. Groggy, unable to focus, I tried to roll over and go back to whatever dream I had been involved with; around that time it likely would have involved Maija. Again, a cold nose.

I rolled over and sat up. Lika was sitting on the floor at the edge of my bed just looking up at me. In the dark, I assumed he just wanted to snuggle with me and I held up the blankets. He stood up and moved halfway to the door, looking back at me.

I lay back down and my dog came back to the bed and raising up on the edge, he gently nudged my leg. He waited as I reluctantly rolled out of bed and then led me out into the hallway. Silently he led me down to the first floor and into the family room. Lika almost looked sorrowful in the dark as he walked up to Musta and looked down at him.

Sometime in the night Musta slipped his leash on life and quietly slipped away. I knelt by his side and held Lika and together we said goodbye to a good boy.

February, March, and April visited awhile and departed without fanfare, leaving May to set up camp. It was unseasonably warm for May and most of the snow was gone save for the plow piles and those were nearly melted. On the last Sunday of the month my youngest brother turned six.

Mom always celebrated her brood, and even after 13 kids, she still went out of her way to ensure our birthdays were memorable. That meant a party for the birthday boy and several of his friends from school and the neighborhood.

So after church services, a group of boys feted my youngest brother outside at our house. The day was certainly warm enough for the gathering to be held outside, but I mostly think my parents just couldn't tolerate to have eight or nine 6- and 7-year olds under their roof.

The kids were roughhousing in the backyard as young boys do, laughing, and crying, and picking their noses, Mom and one of my sisters were shepherding the group, and Dad was in the garage working on his truck. Lika was laying in the yard in the shade of one of the Maple trees probably trying to decide if he should join the festivities, or find somewhere to hide.

I was in the bathroom doing my business, reading an article in the Culture and Entertainment section of the Sunday paper about some actor (Ronald Coleman, if my questionable memory serves) who had passed away a week previous. I happened to glance out the window towards the street and saw Daisy skulking along the ditch, dragging a length of chain in the dirt. Even from where I sat I could see her attention seemed riveted on the gaggle of boys and Mom, who were all oblivious.

I raised up off the commode, slid up the window and yelled as loudly as I could in warning. Dad, stepping out of the garage, heard me, and saw Daisy. I've never seen Dad move as fast as he did at that moment. He brandished a tire iron as a weapon and sprinted towards Daisy who had decided she was going to gnaw on a few limbs and was running towards the eighteen legs, all ripe biting targets. From where I watched, petrified, my butt bare and still unwiped, I could see Dad wasn't going to be fast enough.

I watched in disbelief as a grey streak passed Dad and slammed broadside into Daisy, knocking her off course and off kilter. My little dog was full of righteous fury and tore into the much bigger dog, jaws snapping at her legs and neck, snarling like a banshee.

Daisy tried to put up a defense and bit at the insane dervish that chewed at her, but she was almost as old as Musta, and much, much slower than Lika. She also didn't have a vested interest in attacking the kids - maybe she was just bored - and her heart wasn't in the fight. She turned tail and ran with Lika chewing on her backside, just as Dad reached the cloud of dust and dog.

Mom had put herself between the dogs and party and held her hand over her mouth at the scene playing out in her yard. Her fear overwhelmed her and she was sobbing even as Lika returned to where Dad knelt, holding out his arms for the little dog. Lika's hackles were still up, he kept looking back at where the bigger dog had disappeared, and I could hear his low growling from where I watched from the bathroom. And he was limping.

Fortunately, his one wound was insignificant. Daisy had bitten him on his right front leg, but there was only one small puncture wound. Dad scooped him up and tried to carry him into the house but Mom stopped Dad and descended on her little furry hero, smothering Lika with hugs and kisses and I knew two things at that moment: 1. Lika wasn't going anywhere, and, 2. I had lost my dog to Mom.

And I was okay with that.

I knew I could still take him on my fishing trips, or walk the streets of town with 'my' dog by my side, but Lika belonged to Mom just as surely as I did.

So Lika earned a permanent home, I got my dog, although he belonged to everyone else, too, especially Mom. He was her hero and she showered love and affection on that little guy throughout the remainder of his life. Without consulting me she changed his name to Pela - a shortened version of Pelastaja. I had to admit it certainly fit him better.

I'd like to say that Pela had bonded to me more than the rest of my family but that simply wasn't so. He snuggled with me on cold nights, but no more than with any of my siblings. Pela didn't exactly take a rotation - he somehow chose the child who needed it most; the child who was sick, the child who was sad because of a bully at school, or the child who just needed more.

Growing up is about learning lessons and along the way I mostly learned them (except Plane Geometry). Many I learned from my teachers along the way but more I learned from my parents.

One in particular I learned in my efforts to bring home a dog - Dad was right. Life does have a way of getting us what we truly want. I've tested this idea many times over the span of my life and added to it: Life has a way of getting what we truly want if our motives are right and if we maintain a positive outlook.

When I left for college and, later left Michigan to see what I could make out of life, I left Pela with my family. It was the right thing to do for them, and for Pela, and it would have been selfish to do otherwise.

When I returned home as I often did, Pela always acted like I had just been using the bathroom or at school. He'd cock his head up at me as if to ask, "Where've you been?" before jumping up on my lap.

They say love goes on and maybe the love I had for my first dog never left at all. I can still feel it.

Note: The photo is not of Pela - I know some exist but I have no idea which of my remaining seven siblings have Mom and Dad's photos. Ultimately, it doesn't matter - I can still see him in my memory. The photo I used as a heading is from a Google search for "Scruffy Dog Black and White." Of all the images, this one looks most similar to Pela.

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artemis-fowl-incident-report · 8 months

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Here is my contribution for Fowl Fest day 2 (should I make this a full story?)

Diary of André Price, 16 years old, Portland Oregon (aka the Baby from the wrestling match in the Atlantis Complex)

Dear Diary

Okay, brain very loud right now, need to vent.

Kind of a lot happened today. New guy finally arrived, you know the one everyone was convinced must be some juvie reject because he was being transferred in from out of state. Turns out no, his dads in the military, and new guy’s been dealing with long covid. His names Jayden, he’s really cute. I give him an 8, no 9, no… 9.5/10 (still not quite up there with Jacob, but got just a little more rizz than Liam).

Not the point, moving on.

When we were let out to lunch, Em was waiting for me outside class (she never does this, since it’s embarrassing enough to be my sister, let alone people seeing us together, but I digress) said she had to talk to me. Something weird happened this morning when she was getting on the bus (I drove in today, so I missed this). She spotted all these guys in big SUV’s scoping around the woods near the river. They apparently didn’t look like the normal military we get around here, and they had these devices in like a backpack thing and were scanning around the area. She looked really freaked out, because apparently they were scanning the area where I usually go to practice.

Em is the only person who knows about my powers. Thank God it wasn’t Sophie. That 10 year old little weasel would have ratted me out to Mom faster then I could have bribed her. Downside, Em has been treating me like her own personal science experiment ever since (perks of having the local town mathlete/spelling bee/science fair champion around, while you are but a smooth brained gay little lizard) but I guess it’s not all that bad. I know way more about my powers now then I did at the start of the year. I’ve gone from lighting little fires when I look at twigs hard enough to being able to jumpstart my car with electricity.

But maybe that’s not such a good thing.

After school Em and I drove out to investigate. We decided not to get too close, giving ourselves an excuse to be there by picking up Mr Hernández’s dog Chika (still the most adorable Pitbull I’ve ever seen, and a total wimp) and taking her for a walk since he’s still recovering from surgery.

Em was right, a whole swarm of men in black vans with the word A.C.R.O.N.Y.M, stitched onto their uniforms (none of them were even slightly attractive! Total let down). But they were scanning around the old well, exactly where I’ve been practicing for months. That must mean they’re looking for me.

We must have made a noise or something, because one of the men pointed and shouted in our direction. We ran, they ran after us, but they didn’t catch us. I think someone on the team, someone who likes to believe they have sense, must have told them to let us go. After all, we were just kids being curious (shows what they know).

Instead of going home, Em suggested we pick up Dairy Queen and hang out for a few hours. She said it was to throw off suspicion in case these A.C.R.O.N.Y.M guys decided to keep an eye on us. I think she just wanted to get me to pay for Dairy Queen, since I’m not reckless with my money like she is. We got Chika a puppuccino from Starbucks (such a spoiled puppy, but she deserved it after our fright in the woods). While we were there, we saw flyers being put up for a wrestling event that’s coming to town next week. Apparently the Jade princess is gonna be there (you’d think our family’s collective obsession with wrestling would have died down somewhat since that accident when I was a baby. Nope.) so we'll probably all being going.

We were just about to head home when I saw something else weird. Four people parked up outside the general store arguing. There was this tall, bald muscle guy (a 10/10), a tall blonde who looked like tall guys sister (Em informed me she was a 10/10. She was totally having a case of lesbian-itus), this small child in an oversized hoodie (Very loud, could hear them over the entire parking lot), and a dark haired guy in a suit (a 100/10, are you kidding me??? Edward Cullen wishes he looked like this dude!!!). I only took notice of them because I heard the kid in the hoodie shouting something about “magic” and “human babies”. I mean… that’s me! I was a human baby (Shocking I know) and I do have powers (maybe magic???). It felt like too much of a coincidence for both the A.C.R.O.N.Y.M guys, and the hottie bunch (+small child) to all be here on the same day.

All this, and I still have algebra homework to do.

Update.

Hot vampire guy is downstairs with muscle man and blonde lady. They’re asking for me!

#artemis fowl #fowlfest2023

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beenjen · 1 year

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These past weeks - and it is weeks, near on a month, because I had to look back - have been an exercise putting one foot in front of the other. I flag on what even to say, because it feels everything that comes out of my mouth is sad and I don’t want to be? It’s life though, so, honesty is the best policy? Who knows.

//mom was hospitalized for a small bowel obstruction. It was a super involved process where we had to rule out, as we did last year, a metastasis of her current cancer. It was such a suck if essence - I don’t know how else to say it. She was sick for a couple weeks before, was not forthright in her symptoms, was hospitalized on a Friday afternoon and spent the weekend.

It’s the first time I had to really poke my head up with my years of ICU experience and dictate her care and the steps we would be taking. I hesitate to ever share that I have the experience I do, because then people get super nervous about their performance and tend to steer clear, this group involved with her care though, embraced what I brought to the table, and we were able to institute a strict care plan and get her a$$ -no pun intended - on the go.

She’s home. Not had a great appetite, down to the 120s, and it’s take some Out of the box planning to get her revitalized. It’s been something.

\\ her follow up CT this week showed not only that the small bowel obstruction was gone, the previously spotted abdominal tumor was as well. That’s obviously incredible information, we are just so beat down with the perpetual bad news, none of us knows quite what to do with it. So, we persevere…. Will await some Other tests, and I may not ever be able to relax when it comes to moms monitoring. It’s been extensive. Hard. Traumatic.

//dads last biopsy through interventional radiology, was unable to produce a diagnostic result. He had a bronch this past week that was an attempt for more answers…. And it went over 2 hours, old colleagues coming out to talk to me, because apparently, everyone knows this is my dad, and the chief of the service came down to perform the tests…. It still was a no go… they are 50% positive even with cytology at bedside, we will know what we need to for diagnosis as the spots were very illusive - the bastards.

Fingers crossed we can get some answers. They outlined next steps in case we can’t, and that just sucks, because it means they had a much harder time than they lead on to…. So we wait.

\\it finally happened as well, that I missed something huge with all this stress. It was a big enough error I could have really put us in an awkward place, fortunately, it’s all worked out, and it’s still pending full resolution so I’m keeping my lips sealed.

\\shit hit the fan with my niece - again. This time, she is expelled from her school. It’s at least something everyone is taking seriously. She is getting the support she needs emotionally. We’ve had some tough talks with her parents, her, etc, that she is the person she is, and we are here to support that growth, not block it. It’s been good for my relationship with bro/S-I-l and it’s overdue. I guess the proof is in the pudding folks

//the back retaining wall deck has a foundation crack from the negative temps in December. Able to get that on the schedule for repair, some high dollars later and it’s a go. Just glad it’s not falling into the river as I adore that patio and c laughs when is at it’s why we bought this house - but it is friends.

//Lilith is in ballet and loving it. We take her to tour pre-k this weekend, and the kids will both be at the same place FINALLY. Amen.

//j is wanting to start drums and we are finding a local teacher. He’s doing excellent in school, aced an Einstein presentation. He’s awesome

// Found a yoga home.

//c is the best saved for last. With the stress of the past stretch. He’s stepped up time and time again. We butt heads as any couple, this past weekend expressly, when I messed up so hugely, he was unwavering, protective and encouraging. How is it possible after all these years, I keep finding I can lean more and more on him, that he has my back, that we are solid and it won’t change?

Real question for my relationship people? Is it a thing that you keep dipping deeper into your partners well and they just keep stepping up? That intimacy keeps unfolding like a flower or is it just me?

Down and dirty quick post about a lot of shit. Love you guys.

Blessed be friends xx

#down and dirty #long story long #east nashville #life #the daily grind.#more of the same

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tendencyblue · 2 years

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Final Days of Eden

For @deanwbigbang

Art by @ncdover1285, who was awesome to work with! | Art post is here

Summary: Dean’s got a great girl he’s in love with, and he’s managing to split his days between working at a mechanic’s shop and hunting while still having plenty of time for Cassie. He could definitely see spending the rest of his life like this (if only he could stop feeling so guilty about the lies he has to tell her).

Thanks to bexgowen for betaing!

11k words | rated T | read on AO3

Dean parks a block away from the abandoned Morse house. He's far enough from the college that a lot of the houses on this street probably have families living in them, with the possibility of nosy retirees and nannies and housewives that that comes with. But hopefully some of the houses have students staying in them with enough people coming and going that the Impala will blend right in, just one more car in a busy college town.

It would be easier if he'd come here at night, but that's not the way his life works these days. So he's just got to act like he belongs here, and hopefully no busybodies will poke their nose out a window and then call the cops, because Dean would rather not have to simultaneously run from the cops, destroy the ghost, and probably save the cops from the ghost too. Time was when he would have enjoyed a bit of excitement like that, but Athens is a small enough town that he'd have to skip town completely if that happened, and he doesn't feel like leaving any time soon.

He could get used to the life he has right now, honestly. Spend half his week in a windowless library reading room researching hunts, the other half fixing college kids' cars at the mechanic's shop down by the river, and slip away on afternoons and weekends when there's a hunt in the area he needs to take care of. Hunting is a bit more complicated when he has to sneak around and avoid looking like he's been up to anything out of the ordinary, but that's completely worth it because of the one other piece of his life that he's somehow already gotten completely used to, and that's going home every night to share a meal and a bed with his girl. Cassie hasn't officially asked him to move in yet, but he hasn't slept at the motel in over a week so maybe they're just going to kind of skip right over that step.

Dad used to be a mechanic, back before—well, just before, that's all. Was this how it felt for him when Dean was little, going contentedly to work every day because you know what kind of happiness is waiting for you when you come home? And then you go to work the next day and do the same thing again, over and over for the rest of your life or maybe just until your wife gets murdered on the nursery ceiling because nothing good lasts forever.

But nothing like that is going to happen to Cassie. Mom's death was just a coincidence, wrong place wrong time. Dad's never been sure exactly why whatever it was went after her, but they haven't seen any sign of the thing in all the years that have passed since then, so Dean has to figure the chances it would come after someone else he cares about are pretty infinitesimal. They could have it all, Dean really feels like they could: keep working part time and hunting part time, maybe move back to Missouri with Cassie since she keeps talking about wanting to work at the paper she interned at in high school. And just one (massive) secret in the midst of it all, that Cassie can never find out because she'd never understand.

One secret is okay, right? Like, chances are Cassie's keeping at least one secret from him herself, even if it's nowhere near as big as Dean's secret, because, like, everybody has secrets. And he'll tell her everything else, he absolutely will—even about Mom dying, and about how Sammy left and he probably isn't coming back ever, and Dad's gone more and more these days so Dean is all on his own...except he isn't anymore, because he's got Cassie, and he can't lose her no matter what, can't risk pushing her away by telling her who he really is and why he's never belonged in a place like this.

Dean brushes tears out of his eyes that he doesn't remember shedding, and grabs a shotgun out of the trunk of his car. What Cassie doesn't know won't hurt her. Just break in, burn the ghost, and be home in time for dinner. Easy-peasy.

He walks down the sidewalk, holding the shotgun at his side as discreet as he can. This is the second solo hunt he's done since Dad left town a week ago Sunday, and if he's lucky, it'll be as quick of a salt and burn as the first one. The hunter's journal he's been working his way through in the library is almost a century old, but it takes more than mere time to make ghosts, and other things that go bump in the night, go away. At least Grafton, the hunter, had dealt with a lot of them, but he clearly hadn't gotten them all. This house has had several near accidents in the decades after that, before it was finally abandoned. Dean checks the locks on the front door and finds them badly rusted, which is more evidence for his assumption that nobody's been here to deal with the ghost in the years since then. He heads around the side and finds a back door where his break-in attempt will be more likely to go unnoticed. Not only is it out of sight of the road but there's some overgrown rose bushes to hide him from the neighbors, which is good because the pins in the lock refuse to move smoothly and he ends up kneeling on the rotting porch alternating between oiling the lock and raking the pins with a half-diamond pick to see if he can get them to shake loose.

His phone rings right as he finally gets the door open, rock music blaring loudly in the stillness as he scrambles to grab it, and thank goodness he's breaking into an empty house so there's nobody here to catch him before he's even gotten started. He flips the phone open at the same time that he pulls the door shut, keeping his flashlight aimed low so it won't reflect off the parts of the windows where the curtains have rotted through and he might be seen from outside. "Hey sweetheart," he says into the phone, and readies his shotgun even though there's no way in hell he's going to fire a gun while he's on the phone with his civilian girl. (If necessary he can just hang up real fast, he supposes, already running through scenarios in his head. Tell her it was a bad connection or something.)

"How's your day going?" Cassie asks, and Dean tries to remember what he told her he was doing today.

Not the library, definitely, because there would have been the risk she'd drop by—not to check up on him out of distrust, but because she thinks he's worth going out of her way just to come give him a peck on the cheek and say something encouraging about his research. So he must have told her he'd picked up an extra shift at work: right, that sounds vaguely familiar. "Not bad," he says. "We're not as busy as Roger thought we'd be; he's just had me rebuilding the engine on the Camaro all morning." Lying to civilian witnesses has never made his heart pound like this. Is this what guilt feels like? But he's only lying to her for her own good, to keep her safe. There's no need to feel guilty.

The living room is full of dusty, half-busted furniture. Looks like more than one group of bored, drunk college students has broken in here over the years for a lark. There must be a broken window on the other side of the house, because they certainly didn't get in through either of the locked doors. "Professor Enkel let my special topics class go half an hour early so I already finished my reading for lit," Cassie says. "So now I'm eating lunch and I'm bored, thought I'd see if you were busy."

"Yeah, I'm having lunch too," Dean says. The wood flooring creaks as he treads carefully, testing his weight on each board before completing each step, just in case. He doesn't trust this place, it smells like mold and decay. Maybe the body is even in the building. Grafton's journal had said that he burned the body, but it's pretty easy to swap out a body between death and burial if nobody's paying attention. "I've already been on break for more than half an hour though so I shouldn't talk long," he adds, covering the hallway with his shotgun as he steps past it into the kitchen. "You know Roger's not a stickler for that sort of thing but I want to keep my reputation as a good employee, you know? In case we stay in Athens after you graduate." Half the cupboards are missing their doors and the other half are swinging open on rusted hinges, and there's broken dishes all over the floor and the counter that might be the result of drunk frat boys or they might be from the ghost, and he really didn't mean to let the word "we" slip out but he's been thinking of his life in terms of "we" and "us" more and more lately, and he's not sure how Cassie feels about being half of a "we" but he hopes she doesn't hate it.

"What would you think of coming back to Missouri with me?" Cassie asks, so she at least mostly doesn't hate it. "I bet my dad would give you a job at his car lot. Since you're such a model employee and all."

"I dunno, I've grown pretty fond of Ohio these past few months," Dean says. "There'd have to be some pretty awesome girls in Missouri to get me to go all that way. Do you know of any girls there who might make it worth my while?"

"Dean," Cassie says, and Dean can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "But seriously, you don't mind meeting my parents already, do you? They'll be coming out for graduation, so even if you don't come back to Missouri you'll still have a chance to meet them. If you want to, of course."

"Hey, you already met my dad when we'd been dating for less than a week, so I don't think I'd have a leg to stand on if I didn't want to meet 'em," Dean says. He opens the fridge but the rotting smell that pours out of it is enough for him to wrinkle his nose and slam it back closed—just years-old food, nothing dead, thankfully; they have completely different odors and he's certainly smelled enough of them both in his lifetime to know.

"I don't think waving at someone across a parking lot really counts as meeting them," Cassie says. She's humming a bit under her breath, so she must not be eating her lunch in the library while studying like she too often does. Maybe she's out on the quad, with the sunshine bouncing off of her gorgeous curls.

"You got your internship today?" Dean asks, crossing his fingers that he's remembering correctly. Girls like it when you remember the little details of their lives like that. More specifically, Cassie likes it when he remembers things about her, and when did he switch from worrying about attracting girls in general to worrying about holding on to Cassie in particular? Sometimes it almost hurts, how much he wants to stay with Cassie and have her in his life forever and ever, and he realizes he's stopped moving through the house because he can't talk on the phone and hunt and worry about his romantic future all at the same time, and Dad would say that hunting comes first, but Dean's an adult now and Dad's left him here to run this research-project-with-bonus-hunts the way he sees fit, and maybe that means putting the girl first once in a while.

Cassie is saying something about her internship (because Dean guessed right—he is so awesome at the whole boyfriend thing) and the ceiling is creaking in that way that might just mean an old house or it could mean a ghost is about to show up, and if Dad knew Dean was on the phone with a civilian in the middle of a hunt he'd be furious (but Dad's not here). "Oh, and Norma texted me and asked if I can stay till five thirty instead of four," Cassie adds. "I know I said I'd make dinner tonight, but it's going to have to be a little late—"

"I'll do it," Dean says quickly. "Roger will be fine if I leave whenever, like I said, we're not busy." There's a slightly louder creak from above, and he spins around quickly, gun tracking towards the entrance to the kitchen, but there's nothing, still nothing, and he lets himself relax marginally though he keeps his finger on the trigger. "If you want, we can trade and you can cook on whatever my next day was supposed to be."

"Friday."

"Yeah, Friday. Or we don't change anything and I just cook today because I'm less busy than you and that's what couples do, right? We work as a team?" It's hard to be as good a team as you can be when one of them spends all his time lying and the other one has no idea (at least, he sure hopes Cassie has no idea). But Dean's kind of a newcomer to the whole concept of having a normal life, so this is about as good as he can do right now.

"If you're sure you don't mind," Cassie says, but he can hear the relief in her voice and he can't help but smile in response.

"Of course I don't—" Dean says, and that's when the ghost shows up.

It must have come through the wall, because Dean was looking right at the entrance to the kitchen and he definitely didn't see a thing before he was flying through the air and bouncing off of the front of the refrigerator. There's not a lot of iron in most kitchens but there ought to be salt, and Dean dives all the way across the small room in one inelegant flailing motion to grab the matching beat-up salt and pepper shakers he can just barely see in one of the door-less cupboards. He doesn't bother figuring out which one's which but just shakes them both in the ghost's general direction. A little pepper won't hurt anybody (as long as he's careful not to breathe any of it).

"Dean? Dean!" Cassie's voice is tinny and distant, and Dean has absolutely no idea where his phone ended up but his flashlight is easy to spot so he grabs that first before rummaging through the detritus on the floor for his shiny (well, probably not any more) new phone. He only bought it two weeks ago, and if it broke when he dropped it he's pretty sure that will be a new record for shortest time a phone has lasted him. "Dean!" At least if the call is still connected, it can't be completely destroyed. As much as he likes the convenience of modern flip phones, the old flat candy-bar-shaped ones had a lot less moving (and breakable) pieces.

There it is, half under the stove. Dean sets the flashlight on the counter and, shotgun at the ready, grabs the phone with the same hand that still holds the salt and pepper shakers. "Hey hon," he says quickly. "One of the lifts malfunctioned, gonna have to go help out with that. I'll have dinner ready for you when you get home at five thirty."

"Five forty-five," Cassie says. "I don't get off work till five thirty."

"Okay, five forty-five," Dean says. "It'll be hot and ready for you. Love you. Bye." He flips the phone shut (which is one point in favor of flip phones, they're so easy to hang up) and he's just in time because the ghost is coming at him again, and he doesn't have to settle for the salt shaker this time because he's off the phone now and there's nobody to hear the blast of the shotgun as he lets the ghost have it with both barrels. He drops the phone into his pocket and grabs two more shells off of his belt in the same motion. He cracks open the action of the shotgun to reload but the ghost has recovered way too fast and it's already back in his face and his hands are too full to fling salt at it this time and the next thing he knows, he's flying through the air again.

Something jabs painfully into his side—he really should have closed all the cupboard doors as soon as he came in here—and then his head bounces off of something hard and unforgiving and he falls to the floor. His last thought as his head swims into something resembling unconsciousness is that at least he got off the phone with Cassie in time. Because obviously that's the most important thing when he's in imminent danger of getting killed by a ghost: being glad that at least his girlfriend will never have a clue what happened to him.

Maybe he lies there unconscious for a bit, or maybe the adrenaline from realizing that Cassie's going to be terribly worried pulls him back to his feet right away. He's not entirely sure, because his head is spinning and time feels merely theoretical, and full of infinite possibilities. And the ghost is probably going to come back, and he needs to find his gun and get up, but he really just wants to lie there and stare at the ceiling. There's a water spot that's shaped kind of like a dog, and he smothers a giggle. Sammy liked dogs. If Sammy were here now, Dean probably wouldn't be bleeding like a stuck pig. And why is he bleeding, anyway?

If Dad knew he'd let a ghost get the jump on him, he'd be furious. But Dad isn't here any more than Sammy is. Dean's all alone. Just him, his shotgun, his civilian girlfriend all the way across town, and a really pissed-off ghost.

Dean clutches his head, which doesn't seem to be bleeding though it's certainly hurting bad enough, and drags himself to his knees. He's got to keep going. Got to get the job done, no matter what. There was a fireplace in the living room, he saw it on the way in. Hopefully nobody's watching this house closely enough to get suspicious as soon as smoke starts coming out of the chimney, because he'd prefer to keep "burn the whole house down and run" relegated to a mere backup option.

Grafton's journal, which is the only source of information Dean's found on the ghost besides a few vague newspaper articles, said that he thought the husband of the family—a professor at the university and great-grandfather of the last owner before the house was finally abandoned—was most likely the source of the haunting. But Grafton must never have gotten a good look at the thing, because Dean's pretty sure men back in those days didn't go in for waist-length hair and long nightgown sort of dresses, which as far as Dean could tell (in the moments before his head collided with the fridge) is what the ghost chick was wearing. So the wife then? Or maybe one of the daughters? Whoever it is, Grafton burned the whole family plot at the cemetery and it's been ages since they lived here so there really shouldn't be anything tying her to the house anymore. Maybe a family heirloom?

Dean's eyes have adjusted enough to the half-light in the house that he abandons his flashlight as he crawls back toward the living room, shotgun in one hand, half-empty salt shaker in the other (he's finally figured out which one was the pepper and leaves it on the kitchen floor: with all the broken dishes already there, nobody's going to realize it's a newer addition). The ghost has backed off; maybe she just didn't like him talking on the phone. Jealous, or something. Well, if she wants to get to know Dean she's going to have to be a lot sweeter, because he's never had a thing for crazy murder-suiciding dead women. (Besides, he's taken now, so sorry weirdo chick, you're out of luck.)

His side aches like hell where he bounced off of the open cabinet door, and as he looks down he realizes he's been leaving a small trail of red smeared on the floor between here and the kitchen. Oh right, it's bleeding, how did he manage to forget that. Probably because his head bounced off of the fridge at the same time and it's still spinning every time he moves, which feels like another reason that Dad should never have okayed him to go off and hunt all by himself. But Dad was doing this sort of thing all by himself most of the time until Dean got old enough to tag along, so if Dean is going to measure up like he's always told Dad he can, then he'd better get his act together and complete this hunt.

Telling himself that doesn't make his head hurt any less, though. He takes a break mid-crawl to rub his eyes hard with the back of one hand, but the living room still looks just as blurry as it did before. But he's almost to the fireplace, and there's iron there, and pokers and ghosts are both big enough that you don't really need fine motor control or clear vision to swing the one at the other.

There's a half-burnt log in the fireplace but no tinder or kindling. With time still of the essence since the ghost could turn up at any moment, anything halfway flammable will do: there's a bookcase on the wall a yard away from the fireplace and so Dean grabs a book and starts ripping out pages. As much as he'd like to do this job neatly and without too much damage, all bets are off when you're bleeding and all alone and haven't even made a single dent in the ghost yet.

And here she is, coming for him again, but this time Dean's got a poker, which has a lot more range than the little salt shaker had, and doesn't need reloading like his shotgun. She dissipates as he swings, reappears across the room, dives at him again, and gets dissipated a second time for her trouble. Poker still clutched in one hand, trying not to make any more large sudden movements than he has to because his side already hurts bad enough, Dean tosses a few more pages in the fireplace, follows them with the remains of the book for good measure, and throws his lighter in to top it off. He just hopes he's on the right track with the living room, because he really doesn't want to have to burn the whole house down. That would be so embarrassing for Cassie, to have her boyfriend get arrested for arson and run out of town. And there's no way she'd believe him about supernatural things if the first time he mentioned them was as an excuse for a crime.

No, if he's going to tell Cassie about hunting, he's going to have to go ahead and bring it up out of the blue, and not wait until life circumstances force him to. It's just, he really doesn't know how she's going to take it, and he doesn't know how Dad's going to react when Dean tells him that he broke the rules and told his girl, and all in all he really shouldn't tell her; it would just be so much easier if he doesn't tell her anything (but he's so tired of lying).

A log this thick would really do better with some sticks or wood shavings or something more than just paper, but that's all he's got and thankfully the fire is starting to catch so he won't have to waste any more time ripping up books. He glances around the room, searching for anything that looks like it might have been in the family for a century or close to it. (Hopefully something that's also flammable, though at the moment he thinks he'd be quite happy to toss even something fireproof in the fireplace just to see what might happen. It feels kind of nice, destroying things like this. It's the simplest and cleanest part of the whole process. Much more fun than research, definitely. (Though research is more enjoyable these days than it has any right to be, because half the time Cassie's there.)

There are some knickknacks on the mantelpiece, so he tosses those in first with one quick sweep, and heads back to the bookcase. Most of the books look old enough to have been in the family since the murder-suicide, but for now Dean's just focused on a few random decorative objects that are still sitting on the shelf in front of them: they look old enough, so into the fire they go. (He really, really hopes the ghost isn't anchored to one of the books because he would have to burn those a few at a time and he'd be likely to take a few more hits from the ghost before he managed to burn the right needle in this particular haystack.)

The ghost is back, but Dean's got his poker ready. He swings, she dissolves into mist and reappears across the room:, he gets ready for a second swing—but then there's flames shooting up from her as she dissolves into nothingness, so she must have been anchored to one of the knickknacks after all. With the long hair and the white dress, for a moment before the fire completely takes her, she almost looks like Mom. But the very idea that he had that thought at all sickens Dean, and he pushes it out of his head. This woman is nothing like Mom. Besides, the hunt is over now so why bother to give her any more thought? He needs to hurry up and get home so he can cook Cassie the dinner she deserves. And he's got to get out of here before someone notices smoke coming from the chimney. He kicks the remaining embers and half-burned rubble apart and only leans a little bit on the mantelpiece while he does so, even though his head still aches like hell. He doesn't think he'll bother to wait for it to fully burn out: the house is abandoned and worthless (though at least no longer haunted), it can take its chances on not burning down.

He hides his shotgun under his jacket as he walks back to his car. He's moving slower than he'd like, and his side is screaming at him louder and louder with every step, but as long as he focuses very carefully on walking evenly, he's able to keep from limping. He feels as beat up as he usually does after a big hunt, even though this was supposed to be just a little milk run. (Speaking of milk runs, that reminds him that he used up the last of Cassie's milk on his cornflakes this morning and he'd been planning on buying more on his way home. Obviously that won't be happening now, so he'll have to remember to warn her when she gets home that it's gone and that he'll get some in the morning. Or maybe later tonight. Although half the time Cassie has scrambled eggs and toast and orange juice for breakfast, so she probably won't mind going without milk for one day. God, he sounds so domestic.)

He doesn't think his actions have attracted any attention yet. The shotgun must have been audible, but it would have been difficult for anyone to figure out which direction the sound was coming from, at least until a few minutes ago when smoke started coming from the chimney of a house everyone knows is abandoned. But even so, he wants to clear out as quickly as possible: he takes the time to put the shotgun back under the false bottom in the trunk because that's just being smart, but he doesn't take the time to check how bad he's bleeding. It's not enough to make him feel sick or to soak through his jacket (his t-shirt might be a different matter but if so he'll be happier not knowing until he has time to deal with it). It's fine. He presses his arm to his side anyway as he gets in the car and starts her up.

Cassie's apartment is a cute little place near the university, off campus but close enough that even though she owns a car, she walks pretty much everywhere. It's a bit too cottage-y for Dean's taste, with flowers lining walkways that lead to the different apartments. Her parents are well-off enough that they paid for her to have an apartment all to herself, thinking that would help her have a private place to study. As it happens, she does almost all her studying over at the Alden Library and spends most of her apartment time getting cozy with her boyfriend, which might not be quite what her parents had in mind, but hey, Dean's keeping their daughter fed and looked after and very happy as far as he can tell, so he figures they can't complain. (There's always that flash of guilt, that Cassie wouldn't be so happy if she knew he was lying about such a major part of his life, but she's always been understanding when he's shied away from talking about himself in the past. So hopefully if—when?—he tells her about supernatural things, she'll understand why he couldn't tell her all this right away.)

There's a parking spot right in front of Cassie's place, which is good because his side has stiffened up a bit now that he's not moving as much, and he really doesn't feel like walking further than he has to. Especially since he doesn't dare let the neighbors notice him limping. They all know him by sight now and they'd be sure to ask awkward questions about how he hurt himself.

But even if he escapes those questions, he's sure to get asked what happened by someone else. For one thing, there's no way Cassie won't notice whatever gash he's acquired. Which he should probably check on, and stop kidding himself that it's not as bad as it feels. Steeling himself, he opens the car door and pulls himself to his feet. Every step feels like it's stabbing straight up from his feet to his ribcage; he's pretty sure nothing's broken, but ghost chick sure did more of a number on him than any of his previous solo hunts while he's been in Athens.

He locks the front door of the apartment behind him, and for good measure kicks the little rubber doorstop under it that Cassie puts in place every night for extra security. (It used to be that she wouldn't put it in place until he left, but now it's a given that she wants him to stay, and that silly little piece of rubber feels like belonging, that he's not a guest here but a part of her home.) He doesn't expect Cassie back for another hour, but just in case something changed at her internship and she got sent home at her usual time, this will give him a minute to clean up and make the apartment look less like a murder scene. He's not sure she'll buy it if he claims that he just forgot what he was doing and put the stopper in place too early, but at least she's unlikely to guess the exact "because I just burned a century-old knickknack and banished the ghost that was tethered to it but not till she threw me into a fridge" explanation.

In the bathroom, he finally lets himself take off his jacket and look over the damage. There's a jagged, slightly bloody rip in the side of the jacket, and maybe he'll sew it up later or maybe he'll just get a new one, he doesn't want to decide right now. He dumps it on the floor and follows it with his t-shirt, which is definitely a lost cause: there's not as much blood on it as he'd feared there might be, but it's got a tear half as long as the one in his jacket, and it might be simple enough to stitch up but he doesn't care about this shirt enough to make the effort. Besides, he's got a more immediate problem at hand, because there's blood smeared all over his side and he's not sure if it's still bleeding or not.

He grabs the darkest-colored washcloth from the cute little basket on the counter (where they're all rolled up neatly with the hand towels and a little sachet of potpourri Cassie says her aunt gave her) and starts rinsing away the blood. It takes a few passes (and he really should have warmed the water up, but he didn't want to wait and as nice as this apartment is, the hot water heater is kind of pitiful) but eventually he manages to clear away the clotted and dried blood and confirm that the cut's barely the length of his fingertip, nothing that will need stitches though there's a couple of splinters in it. He digs under the sink to grab the tweezers out of the first aid kit Cassie keeps there. He hopes she hasn't noticed how frequently he uses it. He's managed to conceal all of his hunting injuries from her before, though this is the first time he's had one draw blood since he's been in Athens and he might not be able to hide it this time. It's small enough he can just say he bumped into something. Though from the way his side feels, he's liable to wake up all black and blue tomorrow morning, so whatever lie he tells will have to account for that.

He sterilizes the tweezers with a lighter and gets to work on the splinters. It's an awkward angle and would be much easier with help, but he's all on his own, and even if Cassie were here he wouldn't want to worry her. He's had way worse: this is nothing. What he really needs to be worrying about is what he's going to make for dinner, because Cassie's due home in less than an hour and he told her he'd have it hot when she arrived so that doesn't leave him time to bake anything, or to go shopping. Especially since before she gets here, he's also going to need to have the first aid kit all disinfected and stored away, and get rid of that t-shirt somewhere discreet.

The first splinter comes out without too much trouble; he doesn't even notice any pain from it beyond the way his side is already throbbing. He's done this sort of first aid enough that he barely needs to pay attention to what he's doing, and his mind moves to dinner. Cassie keeps an assortment of pasta and rice in one of the kitchen cabinets so he has plenty of options, although he quickly decides against rice because it takes more time to cook than he has left. He feels like mac and cheese, even from scratch, is just a bit too childish no matter how much Cassie tells him she doesn't mind it. But they've got cream (he knows this because he stole a tiny bit of it to top off his cereal after he used up the milk), and cream means alfredo. Well, as long as you've also got butter, and a block of parmesan too, which is another one of those things that Dean never knew people just kept on hand in their kitchens until he started dating a girl who is a bit of a nerd about more things than just her schoolwork—okay, to be honest, he didn't even know it came in blocks, he'd never really considered that it didn't just magically appear in a shaker can without going through any other form that cheese came in. Anyway, Cassie's kitchen is the sort that has all those things sitting around, which means Dean can make alfredo for her, and alfredo is definitely not childish. He bites his lip, trying to keep his hand steady as the second splinter is embedded a bit too far under the skin and he can't seem to get a grip on it. When it finally slides loose, it takes a bit of the surrounding skin along with it but Dean doesn't really care because he just wants to get it over with.

Cassie was brought up to think that something isn't a full meal unless you've got at least a protein, a veggie, and a carb on the table. As much as Dean could care less about the green side of things he does like having multiple components to dinner, and the way you can actually make a plate look nice and varied like when you're eating out at a diner, instead of just a drab pile of a single type of food like back when he was always cooking dinner for himself and Sammy on a single burner in a motel. Cooking for Cassie feels so much more satisfying, because when he puts her plate in front of her he knows it's something that he can be proud of, and she always has such a gorgeous smile when she sees what he's made. (Sammy was always happy too, but Dean never felt like his cooking really deserved the excitement back then.)

Dean's spent so much more of his life destroying things than he has creating them, and it feels nice to have a change. The tweezers' grip on his last splinter slips, and he clenches his teeth. So, the carb is taken care of—pasta and alfredo sauce—but he still needs to figure out the other two elements. Also a dessert, which Cassie insists is an optional extra but after the first time Dean saw her eyes light up when he set something rich and chocolatey in front of her, he told himself that dessert is definitely not optional. The splinter finally slides free and he can't suppress a little yelp as the pain is sharper than he expected. But at least it's done now. Another wipe with the washcloth, a dab of the fancy nerdy antibiotic ointment that Cassie probably doesn't realize is already half gone, a big band-aid, a couple of tylenol, and that's all there is to it. The damage done by the ghost's kitchen cabinets can now be forgotten, and Dean can focus on some much more appealing kitchen cabinets: the ones containing tonight's dinner.

He chooses his protein and veggie by sticking his head in the fridge and grabbing the first thing he sees of each: broccoli and chicken breasts, which both sound like they'd go fine with alfredo. He really ought to have preheated the oven as soon as he got here, but he hadn't wanted to risk getting blood on anything and there's nothing he can do about it now. He throws the chicken in a pan, drizzles a bit of oil on top, and sticks it in the oven right away. Even if it's not quite done by the time Cassie gets home, he's not too worried. There's no reason they would need to eat right at 5:45, and he knows a lot of enjoyable ways to kill a few minutes with Cassie—though most of the best ones work better when you don't have to be ready to jump up any second when the kitchen timer goes off.

His side still hurts whenever he isn't standing completely still, but it's settled down to more of a dull ache that's not too hard to deal with. He presses his arm to his side just to take the edge off as he hurries around the apartment returning it to normal: doorstop goes back against the wall again, jacket and t-shirt get buried in his duffle until he can dispose of them, first aid kit gets stowed back under the bathroom sink. He puts a couple of pots of water on to boil for the pasta and the broccoli, then has to pause again to clutch at his side. He's going to have to try harder, there's no way he'll be able to keep this from Cassie if things keep going at this rate. Leaning heavily against the counter, he flips through the Betty Crocker cookbook that Cassie got that time they went to a used bookstore on a date. (Dean has never had that much fun in a bookstore before.) He wants to make something with chocolate in it, because it's getting near the end of the school quarter and Cassie says that coffee and chocolate are the only things keeping her going. And considering she hates the taste of coffee, saying she only drinks it for the caffeine (and would much rather have tea), that narrows his options still further. Fortunately, there's a lot of things you can do with chocolate. Unfortunately, most of those take more time than Dean's got. Pudding doesn't take long—he shoves the cookbook aside when he notices the pasta water boiling so that he can grab a bag of linguini from the cabinet and dump it in the pot. But yeah, pudding. He really should have gone to buy milk this morning before he'd headed over to the Morse house. He only needs half of the cream for the alfredo sauce, so maybe he can substitute cream for milk in the pudding recipe and it will just make it extra rich? And then he can just buy another carton at the same time that he's buying the milk tomorrow. He's running out of time and he doesn't have any other ideas, so he'll just have to try it and see if it works.

He whisks the pudding ingredients together on the stovetop and starts chopping the broccoli, then the garlic for the alfredo while the broccoli cooks. Cassie hasn't texted him, so he assumes she'll be home at the time she'd said, a bit after half past five, and at this rate he doesn't think everything will quite be ready in time because he's moving too slowly. Every motion only hurts a little bit but it all adds up and he wishes he'd suggested that they have dinner late today because he really wants to sit down and rest right now. On the other hand, at the moment if he sat down he's not sure whether he'd be able to convince himself to get back up. As the pain in his side fades a little bit, all the other bumps and bruises are making themselves known and honestly this is the worst part of hunting: that he can't just compartmentalize it into one part of his day but it expands into the rest of his life, and it's going to make his date with his girlfriend less fun because he'll be having to hide how much pain he's in.

And the Morse ghost hadn't even hurt anyone in a couple decades to the best of his knowledge, so even though he knows it's worth it, he still wishes that maybe he'd postponed this particular hunt a little longer.

The timer goes off for the pudding, and it doesn't look awful so hopefully the cream worked okay. He hurries to split it into two bowls and stick it in the back of the fridge so Cassie won't know it's there and he can surprise her with it later. The pasta timer goes off while he's still carefully crouched down rearranging things on the bottom shelf of the fridge, and unfortunately pasta is the most time-sensitive part of the meal and can't be ignored. He jumps up and heads for the stove, and for a second his head swims like it did back at the abandoned house, but he tells himself it's fine and after a few seconds it clears a bit. He really doesn't need a concussion on top of everything else, so he's just going to have to hope that it doesn't get worse. He doesn't have time to have a concussion, he tells himself sternly as he drains the pasta. It's nothing, just a bit of dizziness. He's dealt with dizziness before and he'll do it again. Cassie doesn't need to know. Cassie doesn't need to worry.

He goes through the list in his head and ignores the way it throbs as he's trying to think. Pudding is done, pasta is done, chicken and broccoli are cooking, that leaves just the alfredo sauce. If he can have that done by the time Cassie gets home, then she won't have any reason to suspect that he hasn't been here for hours relaxing and planning dinner instead of throwing it together at the last minute. Which is just simpler all around, because then she won't ask questions that he can't tell her the true answer to, and if she doesn't ask those sorts of questions then he can take a break from lying to her. He grabs the parmesan and starts grating it. Sure, moving his arm that much will only make his side hurt more, but maybe a bit more pain will make him think a bit less clearly, and he can stop thinking about how much he hates lying to Cassie. It doesn't help, though: he can picture the look on her face perfectly—a little surprised, a lot hurt—if she found out how many of the things he's told her are actually lies.

He whisks the cream and butter together in a saucepan and thinks about Grafton's journal, over in Alden Library in the rare books room. He'll probably go over there tomorrow and spend a quiet day doing research, combing through the journal to see if Grafton had other incomplete hunts that he needs to follow up on. Reading wouldn't usually be Dean's preferred way of whiling away the hours, but with the impressive collection of bruises he's accumulated today, sitting down all day sounds like a nice change of pace. And after all, he doesn't have any more hunts lined up so he'll need to do more research before he can hunt more anyway.

And the nicest thing about going to the library is that he doesn't need to lie to Cassie about what he's doing. Sure, the whole thing is founded on a lie (she thinks he's writing a book on turn of the century immigrants to Ohio, as opposed to just researching the work of one particular immigrant for his own purposes) but as long as she doesn't ask him any specific questions about how his book is going at the moment, then they can just enjoy the camaraderie of how much time they've both spent in that little reading room, sitting next to each other in companionable silence as they each work on their own projects.

Cassie's key clicks in the lock, and usually he tries to meet her at the door with a kiss to welcome her home because he loves the way it makes her smile, but he's just added the parmesan to the sauce and he doesn't know what will happen if he stops whisking it before it's melted but he suspects it wouldn't be pretty. So he just turns to face her (which conveniently angles his injured side towards the counter where she can't bump up against it accidently) and smiles but doesn't stop whisking, and she comes right over to him. They're like magnets, the two of them. Always drawn to each other since that first day in the library reading room, and after more than a month Dean's still not used to how much turning to each other just feels right any more than he's used to the way he immediately started thinking of this cute little girly apartment as "home", but he's pretty sure he's happier than he's been in years.

"Smells good," Cassie murmurs, and kisses his neck. "What did you make me?"

"Mm, you know," Dean says. "Sugar and spice and everything nice."

"Mmmmm," Cassie says, and he can just feel her breath on his ear as she leans against his back, head cradled in the crook of his neck. Her arms slide around his waist and he maybe winces a tiny bit when she brushes against the cut but he's facing away from her so she doesn't see his reaction and it's fine. "Want me to set the table?"

"If you like," Dean says. "Or if you'd rather sit down and let me wait on you hand and foot, we can do that too. You've had a long day and I've got this."

She kisses his neck again and she's so perfect: he can't believe this is his life now. "I'm sure you've had a long day too," Cassie says. "I'll get the table, you get the food."

Dean grins. "Your wish is my command." He plates up the pasta with broccoli on the side, and ladles some alfredo sauce on top. The chicken is almost done baking, and Cassie is humming as she sets the table right behind him. It's some pop song because he hasn't quite converted her to liking his music yet, but she sounds as pretty as she looks so he can't really bring himself to care about her questionable tastes in music.

"So how was your day, hon?" Cassie asks, and there it is: his least favorite question. (Why couldn't she have just kept humming? Even getting a Kelly Clarkson song stuck in his head would be better than having to lie to Cassie when she's smiling so brightly.)

"Oh, you know," Dean says. "A bit of excitement with the lift but it turned out it wasn't broken, there was just a miscommunication about who was supposed to lock the control box so the new guy turned it on when he wasn't supposed to. But it didn't have a car on it at the time and nobody was too close to it, so other than Roger yelling at the poor kid for like half an hour it all blew over. Back to the grindstone. What about you?"

"I'm still just filing papers and typing things," Cassie says. "I'm going to give it another week before I ask Norma again if I can shadow one of the reporters. That smells great, are you just waiting on something in the oven?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I got home from work in plenty of time but I sat down to channel surf for a few minutes and lost track of when I needed to put the chicken in the oven." The lies flow so easily, once he gets going. He didn't even have to say that; he could have just told her the chicken was still in the oven and she wouldn't have asked why.

Cassie is smiling, because of course she believes everything he just said—why wouldn't she? "Don't worry about it," she says. "I don't mind. So how was the Camaro? I hope the Impala didn't mind too badly that you spent the whole day hanging out with another car."

Actually the Impala has no reason to be jealous because he spent more time with her today than any other car, and he ought to feel good that he's treating his car right but it's just another reminder of how he isn't treating his girl right and she doesn't even know it. "Uh, pretty boring, actually," he says because she's sitting there waiting for an answer, and she's got that inquisitive reporter look in her eyes that means she's really curious to hear the answer, because she likes knowing things and likes knowing him. (Except for how she doesn't really know him at all, and he needs to fix that.) He braces himself for a follow-up question that's sure to cut right through the web of lies he's spun so far and to need even more lies to tape his story back together, but to his relief the timer for the chicken finally goes off, and he abandons the conversation to hurry over to the oven. The chicken is a breath of fresh air: he's not lying to it, he's not lying about it, it's just sitting there in the pan and he can serve it onto their plates guilt-free.

There's just one piece of chicken for each of them and it shouldn't take long to serve it up but he takes his time anyway, hoping the lull will make it easier to redirect the conversation. He puts the chicken on top of the pasta, then moves it more off to the side, back on top when he decides that doesn't look quite right after all, rummages in Cassie's spice cupboard for parsley flakes and shakes a bit on as a garnish. Cassie sits patiently at the table through all of this; he can feel her eyes on his back and he doesn't get a sense of danger from it like he does when he's out on a hunt and an enemy's watching him, but it's still kind of itchy, not as relaxed as their first weeks together. And he's pretty sure that's all his fault, because she's sitting over there happily looking forward to eating the dinner he made for her, while he's over here lying to her about everything but the chicken.

"So, what's next on your research project?" he asks as he turns around, carrying their plates over to the table. Cassie can talk about research for hours, and she rarely cuts herself short now she knows he's willing to listen to her talk about it (because the way her eyes light up when she gets excited about something is one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen) so that ought to be enough to get them most of the way through dinner without too many more lies. He takes a bite of pasta, smiles at his girlfriend, and settles in to hear what she has to say about the history of news reporting in 19th century Ohio.

The broccoli is just a little bit softer than he'd like it (not that he's ever particularly liked broccoli, at any level of doneness), but the chicken is just right and the alfredo sauce turned out great, maybe the best he's ever made. He never would have thought stories about newspapers that went out of business before his dad were born would be interesting, but Cassie spins up a tale about the two rival papers in town and how they'd poached reporters from each other, and by the time he's eating his last bite of pasta he's pretty sure that somebody ought to make a movie out of this stuff, and he's opening his mouth to tell Cassie that when she abruptly cuts herself off. "Dean! What happened to your head?"

"My head?" He hasn't even thought about it since she got home, but now that she mentions it, he supposes it still aches a bit.

"You're hurt!" Cassie reaches out and gently brushes her thumb over his left temple, along his hairline. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize! What happened? Are you okay?"

Last time he looked at himself in a mirror was probably around an hour ago, when he was in the bathroom patching up his side, and he hadn't noticed any marks on his head then. It must be starting to bruise, and if his head is bruised his side probably is too so he needs to make sure whatever lie he tells takes that into account. "Wasn't looking where I was going," he says. "Ran into a door. It doesn't hurt though. I wasn't even thinking about it until you mentioned it."

"Are you sure? How fast were you walking? Do you think you could have a concussion? If there's even a chance you have a concussion, we should take you to the ER and get you checked out." She strokes her fingers ever so gently down the side of his face again, and it feels so good that he doesn't even notice the pain.

"I don't think it's bad enough to give me a concussion," he says. "Really, I didn't even realize it hurt until you said something." He's had worse, lots worse. He's not used to being fussed over for any sort of injury, much less something that's just a few bumps and bruises, but her hand is so gentle and he thinks maybe he doesn't mind her fussing. Is this a girl thing, or a civilian thing, or just a Cassie thing? Dad would laugh at her overreaction and remind Dean that he needs to take it like a man, but her hand on his cheek and in his hair feels so good that Dean doesn't want to tell her to stop. He wonders how Mom would have reacted to something like this if she'd lived, whether she would have agreed with Dad or maybe she would have fussed over him just like Cassie is. He likes to think Mom would have been a lot like Cassie is: sweet and smart and kind and caring, the kind of person who's going to worry about his random bruise even though it would be more convenient for both of them if she overlooked it.

"You're not seeing spots or anything, are you? Or ringing in your ears?"

Dean shakes his head, which maybe makes his headache come back a bit too much but it's nothing to worry about. "I'm fine. Look, if I'm not feeling a hundred percent in the morning, I'll go get it checked out then. I promise." (This is probably another lie, but if it really really hurts he'll go to the hospital, he really will, so it's almost like he's telling the truth.)

"Good," Cassie says. She leans over and kisses him on the forehead, right next to the hurt place, and when he focuses on the velvety feeling of her lips against his skin, his pain fades into the distance and he's once again scarcely aware that he's hurt at all.

Of course there's one thing that will make this kiss even better, and so Dean tips his head up until he's captured Cassie's lips with his own. Her hand slides down his cheek, caressing. Her hands are small but perfect, warm against his face, and really, does it get any better than this? He's still making a difference and saving people's lives with hunting, but he's also making a life of his own, and he really wouldn't mind staying here in Athens forever, without changing a thing.

He leans further into the kiss, but it seems like only a few seconds before Cassie pulls away. "You should rest, since you're hurt," she says, and pats his hand. "I've got the dishes."

"You sure?" Now that she mentions it, he is feeling pretty beat, so he doesn't immediately jump up to insist on helping as she heads into the kitchen. He does stack up their plates and utensils in a tidy little pile for Cassie to take, because he's always hated doing nothing.

Cassie wanders back from the kitchen and takes her MP3 player out of its dock, scrolling idly through it. "Yeah, I'm sure. Besides, even if you weren't hurt, I owe you for doing all the cooking. Ella or Billie?"

"Your choice," Dean says, handing her the stack of plates on her way back into the kitchen. Maybe she just feels like listening to jazz; maybe she'd rather listen to one of her pop-bopper favorites that won American Idol or whatever, but she's making a concession to his tastes. Either way, it's kind of nice. It feels really homey, just sitting here with the music playing and behind him the clank of plates and pans in the sink.

The tea kettle whistles, and the clanking stops for a minute and then starts back up again. Dean's glad he's not trying to move too much because now that he doesn't have anything to take his mind off things, his side is really starting to ache again. And his head. And now he doesn't have Cassie's sweet lips brushing over his skin to distract him from the fact that the ghost really did a number on him and he's not going to be able to hide what he's getting up to from Cassie much longer.

Cassie sets a cup of tea down next to him without a word, and kisses him on the top of the head as she goes back to the dishes. Tea has never really been Dean's thing, but when Cassie makes it, it's not just a cup of weird brackish liquid, it's a tangible sign of love and care and good stuff like that. Which doesn't exactly make it taste better, but it's enough to get Dean to take a few sips. Besides, it gives him something to do besides sit here and listen to the music and think about Cassie.

Not that the bitter tea could ever really be enough to take his mind off of her. She's humming along as Ella Fitzgerald sings, and she sounds so happy, and why shouldn't she be? She's almost done with her college degree, and she's got a great research project and good job prospects, and she's got a boyfriend who makes her happy—a boyfriend who she trusts, and that's the part that hurts. Because he's been lying to her all day, and smart as his girl is, she hasn't got a clue. He's just that good of a liar, and in his line of work that's always been a skill that he's proud of, but right now it feels even more bitter to him than the aftertaste of black tea in his mouth. He can't keep doing this. This is the girl he wants to spend his life with, and if they're going to do that, they're going to have to do it right. He's got to tell her who he really is. He's never done that before with a girl, but then, Cassie isn't just any girl. He's tired of lying. It's time to come clean.

Cassie is back in the dining room, flinging her arms around him from behind. "Dishes are all done," she says. "Got any ideas what we should do next?"

Dean's heart is pounding like he's about to go toe-to-toe with a dozen ghosts all at once. "Cassie, I—" He has to tell her, he has to. Dad's going to be horrified when he finds out, but she needs to know. She trusts him too much to—to—

"Yes?" Her eyes are so big and brown when she smiles. What are they going to look like in a minute, after he tells her that nothing he said was true? That when she was telling him all about her day because he cares about her enough to want to know those details, in return he fed her a made-up tale because he didn't trust her?

She's still smiling at him, her fingers trailing back and forth along his neck, and he just can't bear to tear this moment apart. He wonders if she'll cry: he's never seen her cry before and he doesn't want to, knows too badly how much it's hurt in the past to see her hurt. "I—" he says again. "I made you a surprise." He goes to the fridge and kneels down, pulls the pudding off of the bottom shelf. "I know you like chocolate and all..."

He turns once more to the table, pudding bowls in his hands, and her eyes are all lit up just like he knew they would be. She's so gorgeous. She's so perfect. She's his.

He sits down at the table, and Cassie runs to get two spoons. He takes a spoonful of pudding, but instead of eating it himself, he holds the spoon out, and Cassie lets him slide it between her lips. "Mmm, perfect," she says, and her tongue flicks over her lower lip to get the last little bit of chocolate. "Thank you."

This isn't the right time to tell her. It can't be. Tomorrow, he'll sit her down and the lies won't be quite so fresh and he'll explain the whole thing, and then the last stumbling block will be gone and they can move forward towards a life together. They're so obviously meant to be, and he's sure Cassie knows that just as well as he does, and she won't let a few lies and a slightly unusual job get in her way. (She won't, won't she?)

Cassie's holding her own spoon out in turn, and he opens his mouth and lets her feed him a bite of smooth rich chocolate, and it's delicious, but it's not even half as perfect as the look of love in her eyes as she smiles at him.

He's had a long hard day, and he has a right to relax for once and just enjoy himself. He's got a pretty girl snuggled up next to him, and an evening with nothing to do but enjoy each other's company, and it's a good time to focus on enjoying the moment.

He feeds Cassie another bite of pudding, and laughs together with her when his hand slips and a bit of the pudding ends up on the tip of her nose. "I love you," he whispers, and kisses the chocolate away. He'll tell her tomorrow, and then they can get started on living happily ever after. It's going to be fine.

#deancassie #spn fic #cassie robinson #dean winchester #cooking #dwbb #tendency writes #tendency's fanfic #tendency's spn fic #my fic

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nityarawal · 6 months

Text

11/4/2023

Favorite Prototype

Morning Songs

Happy Saturday

Thankyou Anyway

A Week Of Cray Cray

We Wouldn't Wish

It On Anyone

Estrangement Sin

We Keep Saying

Avert The Danger

Don't You Hear

4 Billion Moms Screaming

Put The Prude

Back In Pride

Avert The Danger

Don't You Hear

#4BillionMothersStrong

"Avert The Danger,"

Maharishi Said:

"That Has Not Yet Come,"

Prudent Moms

9/11 Was A Red Flag

911 Number

Emergency Services

Even Worse

Jihad Smears

From Courts

A Curse

On Any

Mixed American

Other

Or A Brown Mom

Unwanted

But For AI

Confusion

Taunted

For AI Dolls Like Us

#FreeBritney Delusions

Brands

For Poisons

Courts Don't Call

Back

We Know About

Rats

King Henry

Didn't Matter That

Princess Diana Procured

2 Perfect Son's

She Was Still

Killed By

The Monarchy

So We Scare

For Starter Wives

Apartheid

Who Wouldn't

Want To Be A

Disney Princess

Sing Your Boys Home

Pull The Plug On

Fighting

Wars

Dance With #FreeBritney

Spears

Yellow Snake

Kardashian

Belly Dancing

From The Sandiego

Zoo

Let Him Free

Just For A Few Minutes

With You And Me

Dancing

Shiva's Leopard

Cobra

Dancing Free

He Must Be

Grateful

Dreams

Henna Tattooing

Private Parties

Only Women

Like Middle Eastern

Sacred Sisters'

Nights

Dancing Free

Mystical

Bringing Mitraism

Back

How Many Ways

To Be A Man

And Clap

For A Dancer Graciously

Kvon Prince Will Tell You

In Comedy Clubs

Clap

Tip

For The Women

For The Comedians Cry

Often No Alibis

At Misunderstandings

To Sufi Tribes

On Courts Bribes

Persian Men Clap

Dance Like Elvis

Eyes Sparkle

"Baraye,"

Twinkling Something

Transcendental

"Peace Love Liberty,"

Sufis Of The Middle

East

What Is That Unknown

Flicker

Knowingness

Please

Prince Cousins

Royalty

Tell Us

Please

Merci

Mitraism Lucky Ones

Remembering

Mystical Songs

Dancing Jigs

Hustling From Morning

Till Dawn

Jiggling lt

Skiing Writing Jokes

Swimming

Near Olympic Athletes

Models

Hiking

Cleaning

Out

Cleansing

Teaching

Preaching

If You're One Of The Lucky

Ones

Free For A Moment

Here Today

Now

In Your Dressing Trailer

Too

Send A "Tootsie," Photo

To Me

#FreeJosh

I'm Sorry What

Israel Did To Thee

In Your Dressing Room

If You're Really

#Free

Send Your Favorite

Most Beautiful

#FreeBritney Photo

Remember Me

Lightly

Sophia Loren

Gwyneth Paltrow

Gwen Stefani

Lady Saw

Gwen Stefani

Lady Gaga

Beauties

Claudia Schiffer

Brigitte Bardot

Guess Ads

If You Got A Little

Legally Blonde Light

For You

Let Her Out

Please

Legally Blonde

Legally Brunette

Full Disclosure

I Know You Danced

In My Shoes Once

The Odds

Are Strong

Dance Me A River

Dance Me To Freedom

Dance With Me

Forgive Me

Polarity A Blessing

Men Are For Mars

That's Why You

Tell Us

Calmly

Freedom Of Speech

Is A Good Light

And You Bought It

What About China

What About The Middle

East

What About Apartheid

America

What About Me

What About The Microcosm

The Little Mom

In Every Family

What About My Sisters

Crying In Their Pillows

Because It's Illegal

For Them You See

Mamma Lost Her 3

Baes

She Told Me Yesterday

At First She Coached

Them Full Disclosue

Then Tell Them

Not

Scared

Stopping Foster

Wars

Sexual Assaults

Not Dad

He's Innocenr

Officer Aikens

Stole Her Car

Like Enoch The Pig Stole

Mine

Her Home

Her Husband

It's Been A Month

3 Babies Trafficked Too

CPS Promising

Re-Unification

Not Showing Up

Raped

Middle Man

Got Mammas Worried

4 Billion Strong

She Looked Like My

Best Friend Under

Her Stressed Mom

Exterior

She Looked Like My

Best Friend

A Mothers Heart

Freckles

Worn

Maybe Native

Once

She Looked Like My

Best Friend

Big Lips

Near Cahuilla

Why'd These Officers

Ever Think

They Had Carte

Blanche To Kidnap

Her Kids

Or Mine

They're Not #FreeBritney

Intelligence

To Barter

Who Was Your Favorite

Prototype

Of BBVA Then

PNC

Displayed

Wells Fargo

Fidelity

Blue Cross

IEHP

How Many Banks

Oxford

Silencing.org

Cambridge Analytica

Insurance Companies

Nurses

Dr's

Pleas

BBC

Scams On

#Nitya4Eternity

Or Was It Teen

Paris Hilton

Reality Winner

Winona Ryder

Alicia Silverstone

Jessica Alba

Who Was The Favorite

Robot

Cybergal

Madonna

Cindy Lauper

Taylor Swift

Which Singer

Wooed You All

The Prudent Firm

Nanny

That Put A Stop

To The AI

Usurping Protocall

Peace

All

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal

0 notes

manifeststories · 2 years

Text

Miraculous Empire: Red Light! Chapter 1

As the school day came to a close, an unassuming teenager stepped outside her dimly lit high school and turned to face the Hudson River waterfront. The sun had begun to descend upon the city skyline causing shafts of light to peek through the skyscrapers that littered throughout the metropolis. Off to the distance, she could see the ferries coming and going between her city and the suburban bastion across the waterway. And as she took in the scenic view, she could hear the dull drone of activity from nearby streets that filled the air with honking cars, rumbling buses, and the chattering of pedestrians as they went about their evening.

Olivia, a senior at Stuyvesant, had just finished her second day at school and was already assigned a laundry list of homework due by the end of the week. Life wasn't easy as a student but she always felt fortunate for being where she was in life. Her parents were the very definition of a perfect love story; her mom was an immigrant from China and her father was born and raised in a hispanic neighborhood right here in the city. Shortly after the turn of the millennium, the two met at a park and fell in love at first sight. The couple soon birthed a daughter who took the best qualities from both nationalities. As a mix of Hispanic and Chinese, she was quick as a whip on the inside and a soft fusion of physical traits on the outside from her long silky black hair to her sun-kissed skin that emitted a certain glow whenever she was exposed to the sun.

She looked down at her watch and started to make her way across a pedestrian walkway between the steps of her school and the city at large. Olivia was on her way to meet her parents at their new confectionery store housed within The Oculus at the World Trade Center. Ever since she was a child, she would occasionally help her parents make treats for their store from traditional sweet Egg Tarts to her father's signature flan. And as the years passed by and her parent's business started to boom, they decided to relocate their enterprise and move to a bigger space in the heart of the city. Fortunately for Olivia, The Oculus wasn't too far away from school; just a ten minute walk downtown.

However, as she made her way across the walkway she was suddenly bombarded by a pair of students who ran beside her and knocked her onto the cold concrete floor. Fortunately, she caught herself by the palms of her hands and looked towards the two careless teens that raced ahead of her. As her vision came into focus, she instantly recognized the two hooligans: the school's rich kid, Chloe, and her assistant Sabrina. Chloe came from wealth and, more recently, power with her dad's recent rise to power as the mayor while her mother held a position as the editor in chief of a well known fashion magazine publication. And Chloe herself had a reputation of not only being a spoiled brat but also carrying an ego that would trump the opinions of others around her. Sabrina, on the other hand, was Chloe's personal lackey and effectively her only real peer who tolerated Chloe's personality.

Once they were out of sight, Olivia picked herself up, dusted herself off, and let out a deep sighed as she continued on her way to see her parents.

===

The Oculus. 4 PM.

As Olivia turned the corner near a Post Office, she was greeted by an architectural marvel that looked down upon the streets of the financial district. The Oculus' oblong shaped form looked like a bird that was preparing to soar into the sky with its ivory wings. At the front entrance, its maw greeted customers and commuters alike into the belly of the beast that led to a hybrid space consisting of a shopping center and a transit hub. She always admired unique designs like The Oculus since it gave her a source of inspiration for her own creations whenever she journaled and doodled in private.

When she approached the sidewalk across from the shopping center, she looked toward the pedestrian signage and noticed that she just missed her chance to cross. Her parents always reminded her to refrain from rushing or jaywalking regardless of what others did around her. As she watched the traffic lights turn green, she turned her gaze towards the crosswalk and noticed an elderly asian man in a red Hawaiian shirt making his way towards her side of the sidewalk. She saw the crouched gentleman stumbling and struggling with his cane while barely making any progress to cross the street. Olivia panned around and saw a bus bolting down the street and realized that if someone didn't act fast the gentleman could get fatally hurt and end up on the ten o'clock news. She started to panic internally as she looked around to see if anyone noticed or bothered. And then, on instinct, she darted onto the middle of the road and quickly pulled the elder onto the curb; narrowly missing the front of the bus by a few inches. The gentleman's eyes widened in surprise as he turned to look at the speeding bus that almost turned them into roadkill. He then turned towards Olivia who had ended up face-first on the ground after flinging herself to get them onto safe ground.

He leaned forward on his cane and smiled at the young lady. "Thank you Miss, are you all right?"

Olivia picked herself up, for the second time of the day, and reassured the concern citizen. "Don't worry, I'm no stranger to disasters. Have a nice day sir!"

The gentleman nodded and continued on his way while Olivia crossed the street and headed into the shopping center to greet her parents before closing time.

As soon as she was out of sight, the asian elder stood straight up and turned the corner while chuckling at himself. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dark-colored jewelry box that was inscribed with a series of intricate symbols on its top case.

"Are you sure she's the one, master?" A voice called out to him.

"I think... it's finally time to pass the baton, Wayzz," the elder whispered to himself as he made his way towards a subway station that connected to the other end of the transit center.

=====

Always look both ways before crossing the street...

I'm excited to explore a new series inspired by the superhero cartoon: Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir. For those who enjoy the original cartoon, I hope you find reimagine motifs and characters. For those who generally enjoy superheros or transformations, I hope you find this interesting as the action heats up!~

Let me know your thoughts by leaving a like on this chapter if you enjoyed it! If you'd like to see more stories in the future, please consider supporting me with some coffee for my late-night writing sessions.

#ladybug #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous cat noir #newyork #asian #latina #master fu #miraculous tikki #plaggclawsout

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yutahoes · 3 years

Text

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Nineteen)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff, Teasing

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

19. First Date

Yuta woke up once again without her by his side. Why is she such an early riser? And why is he nervous every time he would wake up without her by his side? Shouldn't he be used to it? Especially when she gets back in living at Jungwoo's apartment. Maybe he can just ask her to live with him instead.

He found her seated on the couch nursing a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?" He asked sitting next to her, head leaning by her shoulder.

(Y/N) had to giggle then nodded. "You? Why did you sleep so late?"

The guy had to smile. "I think I was too excited." He hugged her by the waist, nuzzling his head on her shoulder. She feels so warm. "We can just stay at home like this and continue what we planned to do." He suggested that made her laugh.

His right hand cupped her clothed breast, surprised that she isn't wearing a bra under her clothes, his clothes rather. His thumb rubbed her nipple which perked up at the sensation and a breathy moan escaped her lips. "You're turned on with just that?" He breathed against her neck, kissing and sucking that soft spot that made the moans louder.

"Yuta…" she called. He hummed in response, lips still on her neck. "Han river…"

He smirked at that. "We can't do this there, sweetheart. Are you an exhibitionist now?" She rolled her eyes at that and his eyes darken in lust. The things he wanted to do to this brat. He kept on attacking her neck, hand moving south until the hem of her underwear.

She whimpered at the thought of him taking her on this couch but Yuta sat properly, inching away from her leaving the girl in a confused state. Why did he suddenly stop? She's already in the mood. "Let's go to Han river." He grinned like a small child that made her pissed. This guy really.

"Otou-chan…" she whined, batting her eyelashes at him. "Let's just be quick." (Y/N) pulled the strings of his waistband closer, palming his erect member.

"I'm telling you, I don't do quickies (Y/N)," Yuta claimed, stepping backward to move away from her. She only pouted at that. "Later. Let's do this date first."

They had breakfast in a coffee shop and (Y/N) was heavily reminded of their encounter in Paris. It's still a mystery how Yuta found her that time and she confirmed it when he said that he saw her entering that shop back then. "I honestly didn't believe in destiny back then but I was convinced when I saw you." A blush crept her cheeks at how Yuta was staring at her. How can he say those words so effortlessly? "You're really adorable, (Y/N)." And he badly wanted to pinch her cheeks at that.

Her eyes widened in surprise. When was the last time someone told her that? Her mom, she remembered, she used to say it to her. Her mom? She was the reason why she wanted to go to Paris honestly. How can that mission bring Yuta to her life? "I'm glad I came to Paris," she said while beaming at him.

Yuta had to smile. The effects of this girl on him are really hard to shake off. Didn't she just regret going to Paris? "At least I get to meet you." she continued while rubbing the rim of her cup. "I hope we can still be like this for years," she said absent-mindedly.

The guy smirked when she took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Then do you want to get married?" The girl choked on her drink at the sudden question. She didn't mean it that way. But they seemed like a married couple now anyway. Will something change if she says yes? "Why do you look so serious? We're still at breakfast." he teased then took a sip of his coffee. "At this rate, we'll probably talk about our children at lunch and divorce at dinner." He joked that made her chuckle.

At least he still has some humor about this, she thought.

Too early, she might not be ready, Yuta thought.

They were walking along Han River after their late breakfast. Luckily, the weather isn't too hot and the breeze is refreshing. "This is my first time here, honestly," Yuta claimed that surprised (Y/N).

She then remembered that he's Japanese, a foreigner. Maybe he's too busy to have time to go to this place. "Taeyong and Jaehyun would always just bring me to Myeongdong and Gangnam."

"How long have you been staying here in Korea?"

"Four years?" That long? Maybe that's why he's fluent with the language already. "But I kept going to other countries so I don't really stay here that long," he explained.

It must have been tough for Yuta. Imagine living in a foreign country, away from your family for years. "You must have missed your family," she noted sitting on a vacant bench, overlooking the river. "Do you have siblings?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm an only child." That made her nod. "My dad would sometimes visit me here in Korea. I visit my mom in Japan." That made her confused, is his parents separated? "My mother died when I was in my second year at university. Cancer."

She didn't know Yuta's life can be this sad. He only has his father now? Same as her. Yet, she's bitching about it all the time. "I'm sorry." But he shook his head, claiming that it happened a long time ago. "It must have been hard staying here alone."

"Well, Taeyong, Jaehyun, and Doyoung were of great help. They made sure I can adapt well here in Korea," he answered then slipped his hand to hold hers. "Besides, I'm happier here." He smiled at her and she smiled back. "Especially when you came."

(Y/N) had to giggle at that. How can Yuta do that? She stood up then tugged their held hands to make her stand. "Come on, otou-chan. Let's talk about our children already."

Yuta grinned. How adorable.

The two decided to eat late lunch in an Italian restaurant inside a mall. (Y/N) was just amazed at how Yuta said the dishes on the menu, sounding like a true Italian. "Have you been to Italy before?" She asked and he nodded claiming that it's just a train ride from France. Again, she was amazed. Yuta is indeed rich.

"Do you want to go to Italy? We can do a quick stop from New Zealand." He said casually that surprised her. But she didn't even have enough savings for that. She's still struggling from the Paris trip. How can she go to those two places? "Just bring your passport, I'll take care of it." But she just glared at him. Yuta really is in another world as her.

When the food came, (Y/N) remained quiet and just enjoyed the risotto she ordered. Sensing the stillness, Yuta took some vongole pasta on his fork and fed the girl in front of him. She hummed at the taste, staring at Yuta's dish with a lot of want on her eyes. She should have ordered that. "You're really easy to read." He said while exchanging their plates. "We can order some more if you want." But she shook her head, grinning at the food in front of her.

They were in desserts, an affogato that Yuta suggested she should try since she liked ice cream and coffee, when a young boy came to their table. He handed (Y/N) a red rose that surprised her. "I found this on my table noona, do you like it?" The young boy asked and she nodded, thanking him. "When I grow up, I'm going to marry you noona." And it surprised her. What's with the sudden proposal?

"Hey, kid. She's going to be an old woman when you grow up." Yuta claimed that made her glare. "I'm going to marry her first." He said while pouting. That was really cute, (Y/N) thought.

She only smiled at the young boy, ruffling his hair. "Meet me when you grow up, arasso?" And the young boy grinned, running to his mom. (Y/N) giggled at that encounter, staring at the single red rose and smiling to herself.

"You like it?" Yuta asked, obviously annoyed.

She nodded as an answer. "It's not every day that you get a cute proposal like that." Then she went back to the ice cream that made him glare.

He rolled his eyes, calling for the waiter to ask for the bill and she whined that she's not done with her ice cream. "It's because you rejected my proposal earlier." He mumbled to himself but she just smiled. Yuta is really cute.

The Japanese guy remained quiet the whole ride home, only giving glances to the girl who was watching the scenery from the passenger seat. At one stoplight, she caught him staring at her but he looked away as if not doing anything that made her giggle. He opened the radio to at least have some background noise between them. "Are you mad?" But he didn't answer. "Otou-chan, are you mad?" She asked cutely.

Yuta sighed heavily then sang along the music on the radio that made her pout. He belted out a high note from the said song that made (Y/N) gasp in awe. Yuta has such a heavenly voice. Why is this guy so perfect? It makes her feel less and less once again. Johnny is wrong, whatever she does she can't really reach this guy.

She leaned her back on the passenger seat as Yuta drove on the highway, humming to a lovesong in the radio. "Do you want to drink, Yuta?" She asked and he turned to her. What's with the sudden invitation to drink? "Let's not have divorce today, let's drink." Her smile looked so forced yet he nodded. If that's what she wants then let it be.

They found themselves in a soju tent near his apartment. How they manage to get here is a mystery, Yuta doesn't even know that this place exists. (Y/N) quickly downed two glasses of soju that surprised Yuta. Does she always drink like this? "Why are you planning to get drunk?" He asked that made the glass stop midair. "Are you planning to forget me again?"

(Y/N) laughed at that. She remembered the last time she got drunk, the first time they saw each other after the Paris escapade. When she wanted to badly forget about him. Now, look at them.

But what surprised her is that he knew that she wanted to forget him that time? Jungwoo is right, she's talking in her sleep whenever she's drunk. "Do you think I can forget you?"

He chuckled at that. She's getting red already and it's not even dark yet. Another thing, she hasn't finished the whole bottle of soju yet. "You are a terrible drinker, (Y/N)." She just smiled at him, finishing another shot of soju.

But she is cute like this, Yuta thought, another vulnerable side of (Y/N) in front of him. The more he watched her drink and get redder by the second, the more he wanted to take care of her. He hoped she cannot forget about him. He hoped they can be like this even if she doesn't return his feelings. He's willing to love her without asking for anything in return.

Damn, Yuta realized, he's falling deeply in love with this girl.

Yuta was just falling asleep on the couch. His paperwork took some time to finish that it was already almost midnight. He badly wanted to check on her, to see if she's sleeping well. He decided not to sleep with her on the bed even if she was whining. (Y/N) is drunk, too drunk for her own good. And although they shared really intimate moments before, it will still be wrong to lay down beside her in her state. So here he is, lying by himself on the couch.

He wasn't that deep in sleep when he felt a certain weight next to him. Instinctively, he opened his eyes to see (Y/N) lying down beside him, hugging him. "You feel warm." She commented, making him smile.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, caressing her hair. "Is your head hurting?"

Her hug on him got tighter that they're compressed on the sofa. Yuta now realized how big his couch is that the two of them can fit here. "Johahae." She muttered all of a sudden. Is she still drunk? "I like how warm you are. I like how safe I feel whenever I'm next to you." Is she sleeptalking? "I like how you take care of me." She probably is.

"Yuta…" she called, staring at him. "Johahae."

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 18 / Chapter 20

#yuta smut #yuta nakamoto smut #nct smut #yutanakamotosmut #yutasmut #nctsmut

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