#my mom has recently begun asking me how I’ve been the past few days | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spideyhexx · 3 years

Text

the cookout; b.b. + s. l.

pairing; bucky barnes + sylvie laufeydottir + female!reader

a/n: umm thank @vineridden for talking to me about this and our shared love of Sylvie and Bucky. I couldn't help myself. Pls reblog/comment/give feedback!

masterlist

summary: Sylvie picks up on you and Bucky thirsting over each other and decides to do something about it...and perhaps involve herself.

NSFW 18+ Minors DNI please!!!

WARNINGS: mom's best friend!sylvie. college aged reader and bucky. dirty talk. threesome. grinding. spitting. soft dom!sylvie. some sub!bucky. some dom!reader. oral (female receiving). fingering. unprotected sex. facial. handjob. spanking. kind of edging. some voyeurism. use of the word "whore"

word count: 4.3k (oops)

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

Sizzling grills, water splashing, and the loud chatter erupts from your backyard.

Well, more specifically, your parent’s backyard. It’s not uncommon for them to throw huge cookouts, but this one was big. It’s an anniversary, welcome home, birthday, all the major events tied into one.

You didn’t mind these parties, but part of you wished you could just skip it and stay locked away in your room all day.

It was all good and fun, but the amount of people your parent’s would invite could become quite overwhelming.

One of the only good parts was Bucky. You hadn’t seen him in a couple months, due to the two of you attending different colleges, but that never stopped your frequent texts.

He lived in the house next door, your whole lives spent just a few paces away.

Getting through these parties together almost felt like a tradition. But this time, there was something different in the air.

You did not expect to be hit with a wave of awe as you watched Bucky greet your parents. He was always handsome and perhaps not physically seeing him for a bit made him look better, but shit was he gorgeous. His tight t-shirt was hiding nothing, making the muscles he worked hard on strain more prominently.

And you internally rolled your eyes at his swim trunks that had a cat pattern on them. Seems as though he still loved silly designs.

Your breath catches when he spots you, a grin spreading across his face as he jogs over.

“Flower! God, I’ve missed you,” Bucky says, pulling you right in for a hug. You want to tell him you missed hearing that nickname, but decide against it.

“Missed you too, Buck! Are you ready for a long night?” Bucky smirks at your statement.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you clarify and Bucky still has the smirk on his face. His hands have not left your waist and you wonder if he could tell how much of an effect it has on you.

“I know, just teasin’. Did you hear Sylvie is coming?”

There’s the other good part about these cookouts. Sylvie, a friend of your mom’s.

It was only recently you started to develop a crush on her. With her witty comebacks and smooth accent, it was hard not to.

You might’ve drunkenly admitted your crush on her to Bucky during a late night phone call and he has not forgotten. I

t was easy for you to confess this crush, but somehow not the one you had begun to develop on Bucky himself. You felt a little ashamed that you have been developing feelings for your mother’s best friend, but nothing would ever happen, right?

Bucky tilts his head and pinches your waist.

“You’re already gettin’ lost in your thoughts thinkin’ about her!”

“Oh stop, you think she’s hot too,” you tease, your voice a tinge too loud and Bucky shushes you, putting a finger on your lips.

He did think she was hot.

Bucky revealed his crush on Sylvie as well when you first talked to him about it.

Since then, the two of you joked about it pretty often, but now was your first time seeing her since you’ve acknowledged the little (maybe big) crush.

“Hey Bucky!” One of your cousin’s calls out to him and he looks back at them, before turning to you.

“I’ll see you in the pool?” He questions and you nod, watching as he runs off to talk to more people.

He trips in his flip flops and you burst out laughing, not being able to contain it. Bucky whips his head to look at you and flips you off.

You take one last look at how good his back looks in his shirt before migrating to the lounge chairs, hoping there’s a free one.

That is when you spot Sylvie, laid back in one of the chairs, a drink in her hand.

You take a deep breath before approaching the seat next to her. She smiles widely when she notices you.

“Gonna give me a hug, flower?”

Sylvie beamed, placing her drink down to pull you in for a hug.

Flower.

You could not decide if it sounded better coming from Sylvie or Bucky. Relishing in Sylvie’s hug, you have to stop yourself from pouting when she pulls away just a bit too soon.

“How’re your studies going? I know you were practically jumping to get away from here?” She asks, settling back into her chair.

“School’s good, it feels nice to be around so many new people but, I’ve missed being home if I’m being honest,” you say and she nods in understanding.

“I know I’ve missed seeing you around, flower.”

A heat rushes across your face and you’re happy it’s hot enough outside to keep a facade up. You turn your head away from her, fearing you would end up lost in her eyes.

What you did not expect was for your eyes to lock onto the sight of Bucky taking his shirt off. It’s as though he meant to take it off in slow motion as he carefully lifts it over his head and throws it onto a chair. He puts one foot in the pool and retracts it.

You can vaguely hear him yelling about it being cold.

Bucky sits at the edge of the pool, letting his legs get used to the temperature.

He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already is. Sylvie clears her throat and you turn to her.

“He is an attractive man, isn’t he?”

Her question catches you off guard for a moment, but nonetheless, you answer.

“Yeah, he is.”

A slight weight falls off your chest at admitting it, but how could you not?

Sylvie smirks, “Don’t look now, but he’s checking you out.”

You go to look anyway and sure enough, he’s gazing at you. Bucky turns his attention to a bowl of chips once he notices you caught him.

“You two are so adorable,” Sylvie says.

“Are we?”

She scoffs and leans in closer to you, almost whispering.

“Very much. You’re taking turns checking each other out.”

You laugh and look back at Bucky, who’s decided to lay back in a chair, his legs spread just enough for you to squeeze your thighs together.

“You should go over to him and sit on his lap,” Sylvie mused, chuckling at your shocked expression.

“What?! No, no I can’t do that Sylvie!”

“Why not? He was looking at your bum and now he’s rubbing his thigh, glancing at you like he’s waiting for you to take a seat.” You ponder her words for a moment.

Yes, sitting on Bucky’s lap sounded like a great idea, but you were a tad nervous.

“And I could tell you want him, honey. Do you know what eye fucking in? That’s what you’re doing.”

The fact that Sylvie could see so clearly through your lust filled eyes also managed to send sparks around your body.

“If he rejects you, you can sit in my lap. Now go, flower!”

Well, you couldn’t say no to that. Standing up, you adjust your swimsuit, then walk over to Bucky.

You run through what you should say once you’re by him, but you can’t decide on what would be best.

Too many thoughts are running through your head. Sylvie offering her lap. Her words about sitting in Bucky’s lap and the way his hands look even better against his thighs as you get closer.

“y/n,” he addresses.

“Can I..um, can I sit with you?”

Bucky raises his brow for a moment, but nods and pats a spot on the chair next to him.

“No, I mean, on you. On your lap,” you say and Bucky’s heart skips a beat.

“Sure you can, flower” he says cooly and he immediately wraps his arms around your waist as you settle against his chest, on his lap.

His hands feel warm against your skin, yet send a shiver up your spine. You allow yourself to lay your head on his shoulder, shifting around in his arms to get more comfortable.

“Careful,” Bucky mumbles, clearing his throat. It doesn’t take long to realize you shouldn’t squirm too much.

But you want to. You catch Sylvie’s eye and she smiles at you, raising her drink and then sipping from it.

“Did you have a good talk with her?” Bucky asks.

“Mmhm. She told me to sit here,” you confess, wanting to know his reaction.

He’s quiet for a moment before replying “Mischievous, huh?”

“Like always, but didn’t expect her to...help with this...I suppose.”

“I’m happy she did,” Bucky says, pressing a short kiss on your cheek.

You sit with Bucky for a bit, zoning out and trying to memorize the feeling of his hands splayed across your stomach.

How when he speaks, you can feel his breath hit the side of your face and his voice drops to a lower volume when he only wants to speak to you.

Being so caught up in your thoughts once more, you can’t help but squirm a bit, his arms tightening around you.

“You’re gonna cause a problem,” Bucky tells you, a slight smile playing on his lips. You push back against him and he contains a groan.

“Seems as though I already caused a problem.”

He chuckles and sighs deeply as you wiggle against him, reveling in how hard he’s gotten from your movements.

“We should go inside,” he mutters and you turn slightly to look at him.

“And do what?”

You feign innocence, but the smirk on your face tells Bucky you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Do I have to say it?”

You nod at him excitedly and he gently pushes your head to the side so he could lean his lips against your ear.

“I want to go inside so you could properly touch my cock, since you’ve had so much fun the past twenty minutes grinding against it.”

His words send a shudder through your body and you take one last glance at him before standing up. Bucky follows suit, placing a hand on your hip and keeping you close to his body to perhaps hide his rather big hard problem.

You lead him through the house to your bedroom. You don’t notice how fast you’re walking until Bucky pulls at your wrist and gently pushes you against the wall in the hallway.

“Slow down, flower,” he starts, bringing your hands up to his shoulders. He dips his head down to nudge your nose against his.

“Are you sure?”

You nod and Bucky, with a tinge of hesitance, presses his lips on yours. At first, the kiss is simple.

Bucky’s fingers rub against your sides gingerly and he’s taking his time to feel your mouth on his for the first time. You pull away first, your lips lingering on his own.

You catch your breath, not even realizing how fast your heart was beating. So many feelings are rushing through you, but the main urge coursing around is the one to smash his lips back onto you.

One of your hands drifts up to the back of his head to encourage his mouth back onto yours in a searing kiss.

His actions are a little more desperate as he nips at your top lip and presses his body closer to you. The strain in his swimsuit is undeniable and you whimper as you feel him pushing himself against your thigh. Bucky grunts and you trail your lips to his jaw.

Someone clears their throat and you and Bucky jump apart. Sylvie stands a couple feet away leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a playful smirk decorating her face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she teases, gesturing for the two of you to continue. You look at Bucky and he’s already got his eyes back on you.

“I’m fine with it...if you are too,” he mutters, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“It’s okay,” you reply, kissing him once more.

Heat pools in your belly knowing that Sylvie is watching you make out with Bucky.

“Tug at his hair, flower,” she murmurs and without hesitation you pull at Bucky’s hair, a soft noise escaping his mouth at the sensation.

“Little harder this time.”

You follow her instructions again, tugging hard, causing Bucky to buck his hips against you.

“See? He liked that,” Sylvie comments.

“Why don’t we go to y/n’s room? For more privacy.”

The fact that there’s a party right outside has completely glossed over your mind.

The strong desire to have this moment with not just Bucky, but Sylvie as well was enough to lead Bucky into your room, Sylvie following behind. She closes the door and locks it. She takes a seat in your desk chair.

“Continue...with what you were doing.” Her voice, firm yet soft must’ve been turning both you and Bucky on.

His cock looked like it was suffering from his shorts, while you could feel how soaked you’ve gotten since you first sat on Bucky’s lap.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

You straddle him, gasping at the feeling of his hard cock right by where you needed him. Bucky kissed your neck, sucking softly around to find what spots made you weak.

“I bet she likes it right under her ear, Barnes.”

He quickly moved his lips to the spot and sure enough, it made you whimper. You shift in his lap, slightly grinding against him.

His hands fall to your ass, rubbing the skin and pushing you forward to continue grinding.

“Now, flower, look at his lips. What do they look like?”

Sylvie asked and Bucky pulled his head from your neck. You hold his jaw in your hand and gaze across his lips.

“Wet. Redder than usual.”

Sylvie hums as a response.

“Do you think those lips would feel good on your clit?”

You gasp at her words and Bucky smirks.

“I know they would,” Bucky remarks and Sylvie tsks at him.

“I’m not talking to you, Barnes. Be quiet.”

That wipes the smirk off of his face, but does not stop you from smiling.

“They would feel good.”

You answer, and Sylvie hums again.

“You wanna make them more wet? Spit on his lips. Don’t open your mouth, Barnes. You don’t deserve her spit in your mouth right now.”

Bucky groans and you swallow hard, suddenly a little nervous.

Sylvie seems to sense this and you feel her presence behind you. Her hands slide up your arms to your shoulders and she leans her lips close to your ear.

“It’s okay, flower. You’re already doing so good. I know you want to see Buck become a mess, so do it when you’re ready.”

Her praise really does things for you. You grip Bucky’s jaw tighter, his eyes blown out as he looks up at you.

You gather saliva in your mouth and spit directly onto his lips. He has a hard time keeping them closed, but he does it.

“Smear it against his lips now,” Sylvie says, still standing behind you. Using your thumb, you rub your spit onto his lips. Bucky takes a deep breath, probably trying to control himself.

“Do it again.”

You go through the motions once more, but as you smear the wetness across Bucky’s lips, he can’t help himself anymore. He takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks on it lightly.

You pull your thumb away from him and he whimpers.

“He didn’t listen. What are you going to do about it flower? Slap him? That would be sexy.”

“He would like it though, so not a punishment,” you say and Sylvie smiles.

“Hm you’re learning, honey.”

Sylvie places a kiss on your shoulder, the first time her lips have touched your skin so far.

“He does want to cum. He’s pressing so hard against me.”

Sylvie nods, “then we’ll edge him. He needs to put those pretty lips on you first anyways, right Barnes?”

“Yeah, right,” he stumbles out after clearing his throat.

“Switch spots and take the swimsuit off, flower” Sylvie commands.

You hop off of Bucky’s lap, slowly slipping off the bathing suit. You felt the stares of Bucky and Sylvie bore into your body, but Sylvie’s soft smile made you feel more comfortable.

You sit at the edge of the bed. Sylvie leans close so she could whisper only to you.

“Tell him to kneel,” she says. Your brow raises at her and she nods. Looking back at Bucky, you spread your legs, noticing how a blush is coating his cheeks.

“Kneel,” you say, not as confident as you would have hoped, but it still affects Bucky.

You could almost see how it made his cock twitch. Bucky drops to his knees, moving in between your legs.

“No touching,” Sylvie tells him and continues “only use your mouth. Make her cum.”

You rest one hand on Bucky’s head, close to tugging at it again when he immediately places his lips on your cunt. His tongue rolls through your folds as if he’s testing what feels good.

“Pull on his hair, flower. Use his mouth to get off.”

Bucky moans against you as you tug at his hair, pushing his face closer to your pussy. His tongue flicks at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit. You slowly start to move your hips, using his face, just how Sylvie told you.

“That’s it, flower. Fuck he’s really into your cunt,” Sylvie says, sitting next to you on the bed. She was right, even though you were moving against Bucky’s mouth, he was devouring you.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking harshly, moaning whenever you gasped out his name.

“She’s close, Barnes.” Sylvie did not need to say it, but hearing it made you moan louder.

“That’s a bit too loud, honey,” she mumbles before turning your head and crashing her lips onto yours in a messy kiss.

The kiss combined with Bucky’s mouth sent you over the edge, your body exploding in pleasure. Sylvie pulls away and runs her thumb over your lip.

“Such a good girl. That felt good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Sylvie smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then the other. She trails wet kisses back to your lips and licks into your mouth.

“Am I going to get something now?”

You pull away from the kiss to look at Bucky, still on his knees, his cock still frustratingly hard.

“Don’t give us an attitude, Barnes. You’ll get your turn when we feel like it. Go sit on the chair,” Sylvie motions to the desk chair and Bucky begrudgingly takes a seat.

Even though he looks a little annoyed, he’s truly loving this. Loving that you were finally getting to do things with Sylvie...loving that he was making you feel good...and now...loving to watch.

“Can he touch himself?”

You ask, as if reading his mind.

“Your choice, flower.”

“Beg for it, Bucky.” Sylvie is surprised at your tone, but she smirks, looking expectantly at him.

“Let me touch myself, please. ‘M achin.”

His voice breaks a little and you can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not, but it does send a jolt of pleasure throughout your body.

“Go ahead.”

“But don’t cum,” Sylvie warns and she rids herself of her shorts and underwear. Bucky follows suit, taking his trunks off and grasping his cock in his hand.

“Do you want to touch me, honey?”

You nod and she points to the ground. Settling between her legs, your lips ghost over her clit. You look up at her.

“Spit on my cunt,” she says.

Bucky groans behind you and you have an urge to look at him.

You let your spit dribble onto her pussy, maintaining eye contact with her. It’s just now that you remember how insane this was, how bad it may be, but it’s felt so good.

Using your fingers, you spread the wetness on her cunt, smiling to yourself at the little noises she’s trying to keep hushed.

You prod one finger at her entrance, then slowly ease it in, locking your lips onto her clit. You suck lightly at first, trying to build up her release.

“You see how good she is at this, Barnes? Bet you want her lips on your cock, hm?”

You can’t see exactly how he responds, but you do catch a hurried curse under his breath and a wet slick of him stroking his cock.

You add another finger, Sylvie’s thighs squeeze against your head.

You curl them in sync with the sucking on her clit until she’s moaning your name and riding out her high. She bends down to kiss you, groaning at the taste of herself.

“Please let me fuck her,” Bucky whines and you both turn to look at him. He’s completely naked and flushed, his cock resting against his abdomen.

“Seems like he learned his manners,” Sylvie whispers to you, making you giggle.

“How do you want her, Barnes?”

Bucky contemplates, then stands up. He helps you up from the ground.

“Want her from behind,” he says, a low rasp in his voice.

“Do you want that, flower?”

You smile and jump on the bed, positioning yourself on your hands and knees.

You wiggle your ass a bit at him and Sylvie playfully smacks it, causing you to laugh.

“Still can’t cum until we say so,” Sylvie reminds him and then turns to you, “but you could cum whenever you want, honey.”

With that, Sylvie sits back at the desk chair to watch.

Bucky holds his cock by the base and rubs the tip up and down your cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, coating his dick in your wetness. You whine as he keeps teasing the tip at his entrance.

A few more strokes and Bucky pushes into you.

You both moan and Sylvie shushes the two of you.

“Please do remember there is a party going on,” she says and Bucky takes a moment to control himself.

The way you clench around him as he pushes himself into the hilt was enough to send him over the edge. But he held that back, focused on making you cum as quickly as possible.

He grips your hips as he steadily pulls out, then glides back in, creating a smooth rhythm. The sound of skin slapping and your short gasps fills the room.

“Spank her a little, Barnes. Not too hard though.”

Bucky does so, softly hitting your cheek and almost doubling over at how much you squeeze him when he does it again.

“Fuck, flower,” he grunts, picking up his pace.

You grip at the sheets beneath you and lower one hand to toy with your clit, still sensitive from when Bucky made you cum earlier.

“Talk dirty to her, I think she likes it,” Sylvie comments as Bucky leans down and swats your hand away to replace it with his own.

He rubs even faster circles on your clit.

“Can you feel how deep I am inside you? Bet you’ve been dreaming about this cock for a while yeah? Just like how you’ve dreamt of Sylvie.”

You whine at that, embarrassment threatening to flood in, but that’s quickly taken away when you hear Sylvie say “That’s cute, honey. I hope you dream of me more after this.”

Bucky pounds into you mercilessly, his fingers never letting up until you cry out his name a bit too loud.

He doesn’t seem to care and fucks you through your second orgasm, watching as you try to catch your breath.

“Help her to her knees, Buck.”

Bucky pulls out of you and you let out a small hiss at the emptiness. You’re tired, but you move quickly anyway, resting on your knees on the ground. Bucky’s cock was dripping with you and the little bit of precum that managed to escape.

Sylvie stands beside him, sliding her hand down his chest, then gripping his cock. Bucky throws his head back in a groan.

“Look at her, Barnes. She’s a little whore, isn’t she?”

Bucky moans, both at Sylvie’s words and the look you’re giving him.

“I think she wants your cum…” Sylvie trails off and looks at you.

It’s crazy how you feel like you know what she wants you to do...without her even saying it. You put your hands on Bucky’s thighs, feeling him tremble slightly.

Soon your mouth is open and you stick your tongue out, pleasantly waiting for him.

Sylvie jerks him off faster. What pushes him over the edge is your hand drifting up from his thigh to cup his balls.

His cum spills out of him, most of it landing on your tongue, but some onto your cheek as well.

“That’s a lot of cum for her, Barnes. Think she likes it?”

Bucky’s eyes struggle to stay open as he’s riding out his high, but he manages to watch as you swallow what was in your mouth. You wipe the rest of his cum off with your fingers and put them in your mouth, sucking them clean.

“Shit,” Bucky groans and you giggle.

You stand up and reach for your blanket, all of a sudden feeling a little cold completely naked. Bucky joins you on the bed.

“You didn’t really get to fuck anyone,” Bucky directs at Sylvie and she shrugs.

“We can’t spend too much time here. Besides, you both did well, I need to give you a reward next time.”

“Next time?”

You ask and she nods, smiling, leaning in close to you, her lips mere centimeters away.

“Of course, if that’s something you, or both of you want,” she mutters.

Sylvie is about to walk out of the door when Bucky says “I know flower here will definitely want more, you don’t even know how many times she’s told me about wanting to kiss you.”

“Bucky!”

You slap his arm and he cackles, laying back against your bed. Sylvie laughs too and sends you a wink before retreating.

Bucky’s gazing at you when you turn to him.

“What the fuck happened,” he jokes and you shake your head, snuggling onto his chest.

“Dreams came true?”

283 notes · View notes

pendragonsandbuckleys · 3 years

Text

Oh it felt so easy then.

My @malexsanta fic for @manesguerin, Merry Christmas Sarah!! ✨

This is the first time I’ve ever been given a prompt so I really hope I’ve done it justice. I’ve gone with the prompt ‘lost decade’ and as you may notice by the length of it, it kind of got away from me… but I really hope you like it!

[Also on AO3]

Summary: Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

A look at the lost decade through Michael’s eyes.

Word Count: 21,499

❄️👽🎄💌

Ten years was a long time.

Five hundred and twenty-one weeks to be filled with laughter and tears, friends and family, old secrets and new opportunities.

Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days to get over a stupid high school crush that was never going to last.

Michael closed the door behind him, furious at the sudden emotions raging inside him. He hadn’t heard from Alex in a long time, hadn’t see him in even longer. So why was his heart racing at the mere sight of the man he once loved.

Glancing at the many whiteboards and notepads filled with scientific scribble and spaceship blueprints reminded Michael that there was so much more than just the thin wall of the airstream keeping them apart. They’d been kidding themselves to even try to make it work. They were two different people with two different lives.

His eyes wandered to the other end of the trailer. He should have thrown out the box long ago, burnt it even.

He had been so proud of the fact that he hadn’t looked inside in months, hadn’t given in to the temptation to see Alex’s delicate penmanship and carefully chosen words. He had most of the letters committed to memory, but re-reading them after a difficult day used to help calm the chaos in his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d forced himself to forget about the box and all it contained but one look at Alex and all the feelings he’d spent months suppressing had come flooding back. The feelings of hope and happiness. Of love.

He slowly walked towards the closet and crouched down to rummage through his belongings. There were a few things piled inside but right at the bottom was what he wanted.

A simple shoebox. The writing on the front was long worn away and the lid was practically falling apart but the box itself wasn’t important. He lifted the lid and a stale scent of roses immediately filled the air. His hand brushed the dried petals to the side before hesitating above the first envelope.

Ten years of letters filed away with such love and care into a decade old shoebox and what was it all for?

September 2008

It started with the hubcaps.

Well, really, it all started seventy years ago when one innocent eyeliner wearing, music loving boy’s ancestors began a lifelong mission to destroy Michael’s family.

But those goddamn hubcaps. I mean, if he was going to steal anything from Kyle Valenti’s car it could have been something useful. His truck needed a new battery after all.

The thrill of the theft hadn’t quite overpowered the pain in his heart and a night in a cell, alone with his thoughts, definitely hadn’t helped the way he thought it would.

Ever since Alex had told him that he was enlisting, Michael had been acting weird around him. Getting into more and more fights, drinking and smoking and doing all he could to cause trouble, regardless of how much he could see it was hurting Alex.

And every time Alex begged him to get it together, Michael was reminded of the fact that the only person he had ever had feelings for would soon be leaving him. That Alex was choosing to leave him to follow in his father’s footsteps.

So he pushed Alex away. He got himself arrested all for the sake of self preservation which should have felt like a win but really all he had done was waste the last day he could have had with Alex.

It had been a few weeks since Alex had left for Texas for Basic Training and Michael hadn’t heard a single thing from him. Though he couldn’t blame him. Michael had made it very clear that their short lived relationship was over.

And maybe that’s really all it was meant to be. Maybe it was just some summer fling that meant nothing in the long run. Simply a way for two broken people to just breathe for five seconds.

And maybe it was stupid for him to believe it could have been anything more.

As he stared up at the starry night sky from the back of his truck he felt his phone vibrate inside his trouser pocket.

Another text from Isobel no doubt.

She had been trying to get in touch with him all evening. All week in fact. And he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it today.

After graduation she had been adamant that Michael wasn’t going to drift away from them. Not seeing each other just because they were no longer forced to share a classroom was not an option.

So she had taken to texting him. A lot. Mainly mundane things, little updates about her life like a job interview she’d managed to secure or a new boy she was possibly seeing. She’d always try to ask about what he was up to or encourage him to come over for dinner, but that was usually his cue to stop replying. A dead battery or no credit was his go to excuse but there’s no way she really believed him.

He just couldn’t face seeing her or Max, not yet. The horror of Rosa, Kate and Jasmine’s deaths and their decision to cover it up was still so fresh in his mind and any opportunity to not remember it was preferable.

It was strange, thinking about it. That night was one of the worst nights of his life for two wildly different reasons.

A very personal, homophobic attack that left his hand crushed beyond repair and a triple murder that no one would ever know the real truth about. Not even the person responsible.

And while he just wanted to take his mind off the people involved in one of these for a little while, he never wanted to forget the person involved in the other.

He had no idea if he would ever see Alex again, but just hoped that he was okay. That he was happy. That he was safe.

And that would have to be good enough for now.

November 2008

Michael’s truck jolted to a stop in the Wild Pony parking lot.

It was earlier than he’d usually be here but the day drinking was a new thing he was trying.

He’d been having regrets lately about not taking up the UNM scholarship. He was fully aware that he was more than smart enough to continue with his studies and yeah maybe the courses would be far more mundane than he’d like, but at least he could do something worthy with this life. But then every time he considered re-thinking his decision, his hopes were brought crashing back down to earth with the reminder of why he didn’t go to university in the first place.

He had slowly begun letting Max and Isobel back into his life, a coffee date here and a shopping trip there, but sometimes all the friendly conversations in the world couldn’t stop his desire to just be numb every now and then.

The excessive alcohol consumption was a recent development, but hey, a town drunk has to start at some point, right?

There was a clerk at a gas station a few miles away that had no problems turning a blind eye to his clean shaven baby face and he’d managed to get a fake ID for the more difficult purchases. Such as the Wild Pony. A typical Roswell bar without the added green alien decor. Every local knew the Wild Pony and unfortunately the Wild Pony knew him - or more importantly, his age.

Maybe he’d get lucky today and it would be a new bar tender but if not, then he’d just slip some acetone into a soft drink. That would have to do the trick for now.

It was mid afternoon so there was a decent amount of people inside, but no sign of the rowdy drunks that tended to emerge after dark. The only person working behind the bar was currently wiping down the surfaces as a pair of customers walked away with their drinks.

Michael swaggered confidently past the men at the pool table and the group of girls in the booth that he vaguely recognised from school and perched on one of the stools at the bar. “I’ll have whatever’s cheapest.”

“You got ID?” The bar tender gave him a look that just screamed I don’t have time for your bullshit, but Michael was nothing if not persistent. She walked over, arms folded neatly across her chest, cloth still gripped in one hand, and came to a stop in front of him.

The badge pinned to her denim jacket spelled out her name in thick capital letters but Michael didn’t need to read it. Everyone knew who Maria Deluca was. With her beautiful curls and disarming smile, she was a friend to almost everyone at New Roswell High.

And though she was one of Alex’s oldest friends, Michael had barely said two words to her during their many years walking the same school halls but right now she was his best chance at scoring a drink.

“C’mon Deluca, we don’t have to bother with all that.” He mustered up as much charm as he could manage as he leant forward on the bar but Maria wasn’t swayed, her face set in a clear display of annoyance.

“I told you last time, I’m not getting fired just to help fuel these little angsty life choices you’ve been making recently.”

“Your mom’s not gonna fire you for helping a friend.”

“Oh wow,” Her eyes widened, feigning surprise, “Sorry I wasn’t aware we’d become friends.”

“Well,” Michael shrugged, “Every time I come in, it’s like you’re here waiting for me, so I just thought…”

“I’m stuck this side of the bar Guerin. I have no choice but to put up with whatever you think is going on right now.”

Michael sniggered as he raised an eyebrow. The chances of him getting drunk anytime soon were dwindling by the second but he was enjoying the banter nonetheless.

“One day. One day I’ll get you to admit how much you love seeing me.”

Maria rolled her eyes as she flipped the cloth over one shoulder. “I am glad you’re here actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It means I don’t have to spend my time trying to track you down.” She rummaged through a bag sitting behind the bar before pulling out an envelope. “Someone clearly knows you well.”

Michael took it from her with a frown. One quick glance at the front confirmed that it was indeed labelled to him, only with the Wild Pony’s address neatly scripted underneath his name.

Who would be sending him a letter? Who even sent letters anymore?

He looked up to ask Maria when it had arrived but she’d already made her way over to the customers at the other end of the bar.

Without hesitation he carefully ripped it open and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Impatient as ever, his eyes immediately darted to the end of the page to see who it was from and he almost fell off the chair at the name signed at the bottom.

It had been four months since he’d seen Alex. Four month since he’d heard his beautiful voice or seen his perfect face. And yet here, in his hands, was a letter from the one person he honestly thought he’d never hear from again.

Someone on a nearby table cheered loudly and Michael was suddenly reminded of where he was. It didn’t feel right, reading Alex’s first words to him in months under the harsh neon lights of the bar so without sparing a second glance at Maria, he practically sprinted all the way to the parking lot, yanking the door open as soon as he reached his truck.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper and began reading.

Dear Michael,

I’ve debated writing this letter for a while now, mainly because of how we left things. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep in contact but I’ve been missing some people back in Roswell and I think I just needed to get a few things out of my head. I might not even send this letter, but if you’re reading this then I guess it means my sentimentality won out.

I’ve been thinking about how peaceful the desert is back home. How quiet it would be when we’d park the truck in the middle of nowhere and just lie under the sun for hours. It’s surprising the things you notice yourself missing when you haven’t been somewhere in a while.

There’s so many people here it feels like school all over again. I tried to distance myself from everyone in some last act of defiance, but I’ve ended up making a few friends. Honestly I think it would be impossible to get through this alone.

I’ve finished basic training now. It was harder than I thought it was going to be but I got through it and I’m onto the next phase. We get to choose the specialism ourselves so at least that’s a positive and who knows, maybe I’ll be quite good at it.

I’m going to be here for a least a few months to complete my training before I find out where I’m being assigned so I’ve included my address incase you want to write back.

Whatever it is that you decided to do with your life, I hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

P.S. I’m sorry for sending this to the Wild Pony, I hope Maria got it to you okay. I would have addressed it to ‘Michael Guerin’s Truck’, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t quite reach you.

Michael re-read the letter another three times before he could bear to take his eyes off the page.

Alex had written to him. Amongst all the training and hard work and confusion over how they’d parted, Alex had taken the time to sit down and write to him.

It was brief and simple and Michael couldn’t stop smiling.

He fumbled trying to get his keys in the ignition before putting the truck in gear, already planning his reply, all desire to get drunk suddenly forgotten.

February 2009

“I don’t pay you to sit around doodling.” Sanders called over gruffly from under the hood of the car he was working on.

“I’ve already finished with Campbell’s jeep.” Michael replied distractedly as he continued to scribble in the notepad.

The repair had needed longer than he had expected so he was taking what he deemed as a well earned break. If the old man had a problem with it then he could go ahead and find a better mechanic. Michael didn’t earn nearly enough to put up with his attitude anyway.

Sitting under the barely put together shelter that Sanders had the audacity to call his workshop, Michael started to scrawl a reply to Alex. Letter number four had arrived just under a week ago and he had yet to come up with a response.

Again addressed to the Wild Pony, Alex had talked about the latest shenanigans of his fellow airmen and how he’d been missing his guitar lately. He never went into detail about the work he was doing but he always made sure to mention that it was going well. Michael could practically visualise him picking out the words very carefully to make sure it didn’t sound like he was boasting, but sometimes it made writing a reply hard.

He was so pleased for Alex. Every letter he received had a more and more happier tone to it and honestly, he was glad that Alex was finding his place in the Air Force. He will always hate that he signed up, but considering he was going to be a part of it for a long time, Michael was just relieved that he had settled in.

It did mean, however, that his life felt very boring in comparison. What was he supposed to say? Hey Alex, I fixed another car today. I’ll probably be hanging out with Isobel later to spend hours listening to her moan about something before going to sleep in my truck and doing it all again tomorrow.

He was just about to jot something down when something small and hard bounced off his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Michael rubbed his head and glared at the man.

“Are you listening to me?” Sanders waved the wrench in his hand as he tried to punctuate his point.

“Obviously.”

“What did I say?”

“…words?” Michael replied innocently, throwing his hands up in defeat when Sanders looked ready to throw something else. “Alright, alright sorry, what did you want?”

“The Johnson's SUV needs its engine looking at and when you’re done with that you can change the brake pads on that pickup that came in this morning.”

“On it.” Michael gave a halfhearted salute as he grabbed the closest toolbox and headed out into the sun.

He wasn’t really in the mood to be working in the heat today but at least this way the vehicles were far enough away from Sanders that he wouldn’t have any distractions from his real task.

He’d been grabbing odd shifts at the junkyard since he was fourteen, but last month he’d finally persuaded Sanders to hire him properly. If he was to have any hope of moving out of his truck, he needed to start earning some proper money doing something he was half decent at.

He’d been trying to find a way to work this news into his letter but he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was because he was ashamed, but that’s exactly what it was. Alex was at the start of a prestigious career that would take him across the world, learning new skills and earning decent money.

Michael was a mechanic. Barely.

And he knew that Alex wouldn’t care about the difference in their jobs, he’d just be happy that Michael was a step above wasting his life. It was just so hard to fit everything he really wanted to say into one letter.

Maybe he was struggling so much with the words because he’d much rather say it in person. He hadn’t seen Alex in forever and he missed the simple act of just being with him. Of sitting in the back of the truck, shoulders touching and hands intertwined. The amount of serotonin a short handwritten note could produce was ridiculous but it in no way replaced the feel of having the real thing in front of him.

Though if Alex was feeling anything near the way he was, then maybe it didn’t matter what he wrote. The mere fact that he had replied would hopefully be enough.

April 2009

Isobel looked at him disapprovingly, switching her many bags from one hand to the other. “Really Michael? Just because you live in the desert doesn’t mean you need to actually start dressing like a cowboy.”

A shopping trip with Isobel wasn’t Michael’s first choice for a Saturday afternoon, but he’d had no good excuse to refuse as she practically dragged him to the mall.

For someone who liked to try on almost everything in a single store, Isobel had chosen what she wanted to buy pretty quickly. Now it was Michael’s turn but he honestly wasn’t sure what she expected of him. He’d been living in the same clothes for years now, he didn’t know how to do the whole shopping spree thing.

“You’re the one who wanted to buy me new clothes.”

“Yeah, because I wanted to make you look cool. Not like a nineteen year old version of the Lone Ranger.”

Michael looked in the mirror again. The black cowboy hat resting atop his head was working well with the rancher aesthetic he had going on. It hid his curls and made him look slightly older, giving him more of an edge than his baseball cap could usually muster.

It just felt right.

Growing up, he’d never had the chance to really figure out his own identity besides angry, rebellious orphan and going full-on cowboy felt like a good place to start.

Besides, he looked damn good.

“You’ve already chosen the rest of my wardrobe for me Isobel. You can’t let me make one big boy decision for myself?” Michael gave her a pointed looked as he took the hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Just don’t show Max, he’s already started a godawful belt buckle collection, I don’t want him getting any ideas.” She happily snatched it out of his hand and strutted elegantly to the till.

He had missed these moments with Isobel. The familial feeling of her bossing him around.

No one ever talked about how easy it was to drift apart from people after high school, how the close bonds you thought you’d formed over the lunch table could so quickly disappear once you’re all thrown into the real world.

But the three of them were different. Michael, Max and Isobel, the three children found wandering the desert all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of them then and turns out he still couldn’t now. Despite his best efforts to distance himself, they had managed to completely worm their way back into his life over the past few months and honestly he was better off for it.

Today wasn’t the first weekend outing he’d endured and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but his heart felt a little lighter from having spent it in good company. With the bags heavy in their hands, they grabbed some food at a nearby burger place before calling it a day. He dropped Isobel home and drove to his usual night-time parking spot.

Climbing effortlessly onto the back of the truck, he looked inside the singular bag Isobel had gifted him. He’d come away with a new pair of boots, a few t-shirts and the cowboy hat. Nowhere near enough in Isobel’s opinion but after the reminder that he didn’t exactly have a closet right now she had conceded.

He shoved the bag into the corner and leant forward to pulled out the letter that had been burning a hole in his back pocket all day. He grimaced at the sight of it, with its crease down the middle and its crumpled edges. Isobel had ambushed him coming out of the Wild Pony before he’d had a chance to read it - or put it away - which meant it had been hidden in the only place available at the time.

As much as he loved her, he wasn’t quite ready to share it with her yet.

He unrolled his blanket and threw it around his shoulders, settling back against the truck before opening the envelope. He’d finally told Alex about the junkyard in his last letter and he’d been waiting to hear back for a few weeks now.

Dear Michael,

That’s amazing news about the job! You really are the best mechanic in the whole of Roswell so Sanders is lucky to have you.

You shouldn’t put yourself down though. You used to always be fixing things when I was back home (annoyingly effortlessly from what I remember) so to get paid for doing something you enjoy is kind of the dream, right?

Plus I’m sure the drivers of Roswell will be very grateful to have someone with two eyes checking their brakes are working correctly. I mean, should Sanders even be fixing cars anymore? I swear he can’t even see three inches in front of his face!

Speaking of work, I was thinking about the Emporium yesterday. Have you been inside recently? I wonder if they ever noticed the alien with its head on backwards. Still definitely your fault by the way.

I kind of miss that uniform too, even the visor. I have to wear my uniform all the time now and it’s nowhere near as comfortable. I feel like it’s becoming a part of me, like I’m never going to be able to go home after a long day and forget about everything for a while, it’s just always going to be there.

I’m sure I’ll get used it.

I think we’re being moved in a couple of weeks so I’ll give you my new address when that happens. But for now, I hope you’re okay.

Speak to you soon,

Alex.

Michael leant his head back and watched as the sun slowly began to set behind the trees.

Alex always knew how to make him feel a million different emotions at once. He felt an unfamiliar sense of pride at the praise Alex had offered but reading the boy’s words about his own work made Michael long to have him back with him, away from all the regimented days and looming risk of danger.

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning though, thinking back to the alien statue standing in the corner of the crop circle exhibit. That had been a good day. And yeah, it was definitely his fault.

He was about to put this latest letter away with the rest when an idea came to him. He grabbed the bag that Isobel had lovingly handed over and pulled out the shoebox that had been squeezed inside amongst the various clothes.

He ran his nail across the tape keeping the box sealed, breaking it easily in a single movement, and took off the lid.

He pulled out the new boots, followed by the scrunched up tissue paper intended to keep them somewhat preserved, until he was left with an empty box. It was a decent size, not too big that it would be a pain to store under the passenger seat and not too small that he would run out of space anytime soon.

He’d been keeping the letters in his glove compartment for now but it didn’t quite feel safe enough for something so precious. But this shoebox was perfect.

He placed the letter inside before heading to the front of the truck and retrieving the rest, slotting them in neatly and closing the lid to keep them secure.

Tonight he’d sleep thinking about the last day he and Alex had shared in the UFO Emporium and as soon as the sun was up, he’d write his reply.

July 2009

Dear Alex,

You’ll never guess what happened today.

I’ve been working every shift Sanders will give me just to save up some cash and like some crazy act of luck an old airstream got dumped at the junkyard last week. It took some convincing but Sanders actually let me buy it off him!

It’s small and pretty run down but I figured it could be a fun project. I am very good with my hands, as you know.

It’s not as glamorous as a house or anything like that, but at least this way I can move out of my truck and into a place with an actual sink. Plus, I reckon I’m the smart one here. No rent to pay? Less space to clean? It’s perfect.

Do you think you’ll be able to visit Roswell soon? You’re probably working hard, getting your geek on and saving the world, but it’s been a while. A year actually, next month.

No pressure, but I look forward to the day I get to officially invite you inside my new place.

Stay safe out there.

Michael

Michael careful wrote his new address on the back, then sealed the envelope and left it by the door as a reminder to post the next time he was in town.

He hadn’t even started to unpack yet, his first priority being to share his big news. He figured that’s what he would have wanted to do if Alex was in Roswell anyway.

The airstream had been dumped a few days ago and though Michael wasn’t aware how much Sanders had paid the guy for it, he was pretty sure it must have cost more for Sanders than it had for Michael. Which was strange.

Since spending almost every day with Sanders, they had definitely worked up some form of workplace bond to some extent. Although some days, it was a wonder Michael could be bothered to engage in the conversations that were mainly a mix of complaints or disinterested grunts.

He must be rubbing off on the old man though because he had given away the airstream at a bargain.

As soon as he’d agreed it with Old Man Simmons that he could park it at Foster Ranch - along with the offer of earning his keep by working the land - he had brought all of his belongings inside and now the next task was to find a place for everything. There may not be much in the three boxes currently sitting on the bed, but they were his. They were the few things that he had been able to actually buy for himself over the past few years and really call his own.

And now that he had a home to put them in, he wanted to do it perfectly.

It felt bizarre to think about. His home. A place he could finally call his own. A place to cook and wash and sleep, safe from the cold and desert dust. The group homes and fosters parents of the past had never let him decorate his own space but now he had the opportunity to make everything his own.

And he knew exactly where to start. The clothes would go in the closet and the limited toiletries would be given their place in the bathroom. That was all obvious, another decision made for him.

But something he could choose for himself?

He picked up the shoebox and peaked inside. It had gained a few more letters since he had started filling it and they were all piled neatly in order.

Looking around, there were several places it could sit.

On the desk would make it the first thing he’d see coming home. But would therefore be the first thing Isobel and Max would go snooping through when they visited.

The drawers next to the closet would keep it safe but they were just too small for the box.

The closet itself felt too impersonal. Like he was hiding it away from himself as well as everyone else.

His eyes were drawn to the bed - his mind instantly jumping to the thought of him and Alex sharing it together - and then to the overhead compartment above it.

Lifting the latch, it popped open with a click and when Michael slid the box in, it fit perfectly. Safe, sealed and close to him where he would sleep.

Feeling happy about the very important decision, he closed the compartment.

Now, onto the rest.

November 2009

It had been a very quiet morning.

Sanders was away for a few days and he’d banned Michael from working in the junkyard without supervision after a recent accident that had pissed him off. He hadn’t meant for the hammer to hit the window of the Davis’ land rover, honest. He’d been aiming for the toolbox.

He’d get the old man to change his mind soon enough, but in the meantime what better place to spend the morning than in bed.

The recently bought sheets were soft against his bare chest as he stared up at the ceiling. The box was still tucked away in the cupboard above him, taken out frequently with every new visit from the mailman. It’s not like anyone else ever sent him post.

Alex had been getting very sappy in his letters recently, reminiscing about the previous summer. Though compared to the past year of writing, the days they had actually spent in each other’s company were few and far between.

It was practically the end of the school year when Michael had borrowed Alex’s guitar from the music room. A decision which he would never regret. And though they had barely spoken during their many years at the same school, when Alex had offered him shelter it hadn’t really mattered. They had clicked so instantly that the few months that they did manage to share felt like they spanned an eternity.

A lot of bad things happened that summer, but he’d do anything to go back just to relieve those good days again.

A knock at the door interrupted his daydream. He sat up, confused, and tried to peak through the newspaper taped to the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors and he couldn’t quite make out enough of the shape to work out who it was.

He rolled sleepily out of bed and grabbed yesterday’s pants, hopping the short distance to the door as he tried to yank them up.

Pushing the door open revealed a sight that had Michael’s breath catching in his throat.

The boy in front of him looked different. Gone was the dark eyeliner that used to frame his eyes and the nail varnish that would stand out against his skin. No more septum piercing or earring, and the chain that Michael would play with as they kissed was missing from his neck.

His hair was much shorter and so not him.

But he was here.

Alex was here. Standing in front of him. And Michael hadn’t said anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything? It was like his brain had short-circuited at the mere sight of the one person he’d been longing to see.

“Hi.” Alex nervously broke the silence, playing with the zip of his hoodie between his thumb and forefinger. “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.”

Mind? Did Alex really just ask that? He’d been dreaming of this moment for months now.

He also didn’t really know how to put that into words in his current state of shock, so he did the next best thing. He stepped down onto the dry ground and immediately pulled Alex into his arms.

Alex took all of a second to reciprocate the hug as he melted against Michael’s chest.

It was cold outside, winter drawing to its peak and showing its first signs of snow, but being in Alex’s arms was the warmest he had felt in a while.

“You’re here.” Michael mumbled against Alex’s shoulder and he felt him chuckle.

“Well, I have a few days leave and I was promised an invite.” Alex replied softly.

Oh god. This was it, the official house warming personally tailored to Alex. And everything was a mess. Turns out getting a new place doesn’t stop old habits from taking hold and barely a week after he moved in there was paperwork all over the desk and clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. It hadn’t exactly gotten better since then.

Michael reluctantly broke the hug, bringing his hands down to gently link with Alex’s.

“It’s a bit of a mess.” He muttered playfully causing Alex to giggle, the enormity of the moment getting too much for him.

“I don’t mind.”

Nodding to himself, Michael turned and led Alex into the airstream, waiting for the boy to close the door behind him before he spoke. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Alex hesitated, glancing around at the cluttered desk and the half opened drawers and Michael felt so embarrassed. It looked so much worse than he remembered it being before he opened the door two minutes ago.

“I know it’s not much.” He offered grudgingly.

“No it’s…very you.” Alex said, smiling widely as he stepped closer. “I really like it.”

Really? Michael was going to ask. But it only took one look to get lost in Alex’s eyes and all words were suddenly forgotten.

Alex took another step to close the gap between them and slowly leant forward, his eyes not leaving Michael’s lips. Talking could come later, this is what they had really been missing.

It’s their smiles that touched first, excitement rushing through them making them giddy. But then as Michael’s lips parted and Alex leaned closer, it was as though time stood still. They had been waiting for this moment, longing for it for months.

Michael’s stomach fluttered at the familiar feeling of Alex’s hair under his fingertips, the soft lips against his own. He could practically feel Alex reflecting back at him every feeling of want and desperation that had occurred with every new letter and he had to half open his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

However long Alex was home for, Michael planned to make the most of every single second.

May 2010

Michael took another swig of beer as he watched the last rays of light disappear beyond the horizon. He had driven out into the desert hours ago with the strong desire to get so blackout drunk he wouldn’t be able to remember his own name.

He couldn’t do it at the Wild Pony with its many prying eyes and the airstream just felt too small tonight. So instead, he had parked the truck at a spot that he and Alex used to frequent when they had wanted to be alone.

Alex had taken longer than usual to reply, but Michael understood - between the two of them, Alex’s duty to Uncle Sam would have to take precedence. It just made the warmth that each letter provided that much stronger.

But today’s letter was different and all the wrong feelings had taken root. Fear, sadness, loss. They were swirling around his mind and sitting on his chest and no amount of alcohol seemed to banish them.

Because for the first time since they had begun writing, the return address on the envelope had not read United States, but Afghanistan.

Michael had barely registered Alex’s words during the first read through with his imagination going into overdrive, but taking a deep breath he had sat on the bed and forced himself to focus.

I can’t really give you any details, Alex had said.

I’ll be okay, he was brave enough to promise.

But he couldn’t promise that. Not really. Michael had done his research over the past two years, frantically gathering every measly scrap of information that the search engine could offer. He had seen the number of deaths to come out of every combat zone, read the stories of those whose lives would never be the same again and had the nightmares of every worst possible outcome.

The Air Force doesn’t deploy as long as the Army, but every second that Alex was on war-torn soil increased the risk of him not making it home. It was going to happen at some point, Alex’s first overseas deployment. Michael had just really been hoping for Spain or Turkey. Not this.

He had convinced himself that he would be prepared. That he would be rational and calm and wouldn’t jump to conclusions or freak out. Clearly he was better at lying to himself than he realised.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so sorry for himself. He wasn’t the one being sent halfway across the world to dutifully serve his country. No, Michael was stuck at home, waiting for the outcome.

It was dark now, his mini camping lantern emitting the only glow of light, but he had plenty of beers to keep him going through the night. He’d reply tomorrow - or the day after once his head had cleared. But for now he just wanted to forget everything and let the world fall away.

And maybe if he was inebriated enough it would keep the nightmares at bay.

August 2010

To anyone who asked, Michael was a stoic twenty year old who didn’t engage in something so pathetic as having emotions.

But to himself, he would reluctantly have to admit they often played a part in many of his life choices.

Like the big choices that had been fuelled by pain and confusion, standing in the middle of the desert with his two remaining family members standing by. Or the smaller choices made in the dead of night encouraged by a sappy romantic notion he had witnessed in one of Isobel’s romcoms.

Small, but no less important.

Like the decision to fill a shoebox with dried petals to help rid it of the musty smell that often accompanied any container that had been closed for too long.

He dedicated an entire day to researching flowers, finding out how to preserve them and which ones gave off the best scent.

Hydrangeas were a strong contender. Their pastel hues of purple and blue would add a nice drop of colour to the box and they were one of the easiest flowers to preserve. But they would last less than a year and Michael didn’t want to run the risk of the petals flaking into a hundred pieces and ruining the box.

Chrysanthemums were next on the list. The drying method seemed simple enough and though the petals were fairly small, they came in a whole host of vibrant colours. They were also the official flower for mother’s day in Australia and though the country itself meant nothing to him, it would give the petals a bittersweet double meaning. A way of keeping two separate loves alive alongside each other. Everything about them seemed perfect and several nearby florists even had them in stock ready for him to collect that day but when he stumbled upon a website stating that they also symbolised death they were instantly scratched off the list.

Pansies or larkspurs or little cuttings of lavender were all possibilities but they just didn’t feel right.

He didn’t want to become a stereotypical old romantic but his mind kept wandering to the roses. The elegant petals would sit nicely atop the letters and the sweet, fresh scent would be a pleasant addition to the box. Their frequent association with all things love and romance fell alongside the lesser known connotation of secrecy and confidentiality, words that all seemed to sum up the box completely.

The drying process would take time but it would be time well spent. Not to mention the intricate symbolism linked with each soft colour would add an extra touch to the box.

Red was a given with its instant connection to love.

Pink meant grace and gratitude and though he most certainly lacked one, he was definitely filled with the other. Every letter that arrived at his door was further proof that Alex was still alive and as long as they kept coming he would be eternally grateful.

Oranges roses were the symbol of passion and enthusiasm and while you could definitely use both of those words in relation to the last time he had seen Alex, the letters felt more innocent than that.

That didn’t necessarily mean that white roses were the way to go though, with their implication of innocence and purity. Not even he could kid himself that much.

With his mind made up, he grabbed his hat and headed out to engage in a spot of criminal activity.

Was it technically a crime though to cut someone else’s flowers? I mean how could Mrs Wilson really own her rose bushes when they belonged to Mother Nature first.

He wouldn’t have even thought about taking someone else’s, but the internet had very clearly specified that home grown roses were much better than shop bought flowers and who was he to argue with that?

It was mid-morning on a Wednesday so no one was around to see him attack the hedge with some clippers. It would have been a lot easier to literally be a thief in the night, but roses were best picked before the midday sun had a chance to warm their delicate petals. Any later in the day and they would lose their fragrance, so daylight robbery was the way to go.

He snipped at the branches, grumbling as his fingers caught the sharp thorns protruding from the stems, and once he had retrieved the optimum amount of red and pink flowers he headed back to the airstream to begin the lengthy drying process.

It would take a few days but the outcome would be worth it.

February 2011

The sight of one man should not leave Michael freezing in his tracks. He was an alien for God's sake. A superior species with actual powers.

Who the hell was Jesse Manes compared to that? An old man with a limited wardrobe and receding hairline? A divorced father of four kids who hated him? A nameless soldier overshadowed by his peers?

No, Jesse Manes was a respected member of the community, known and loved by all. A loyal airman with several commendations under his belt. An intimidating man prepared to brutally disfigure the hand of a child and easily get away with it.

Why Alex would choose to follow in his footsteps he would never understand.

Michael hadn’t seen Alex’s father since the night in the toolshed. The night he ruined what, up until that point, had been a perfect day. And he destroyed so much more than Michael’s hand that night. He destroyed the memory of his and Alex’s first time together, the possibility of him using a guitar to quiet the world around him, the opportunity for a roof over his head.

He had destroyed the chance for Michael to heal and move on and gain some faith back in humanity.

And three years later, here he was across the street from Michael’s truck, sitting at the window of the Crashdown, keeping Michael frozen to his seat.

He was supposed to be meeting Max for lunch in ten minutes, but there was no way he could go inside now.

Maybe Alex’s father wouldn’t even remember him. He had only seen him one time, several years ago. He couldn’t possibly have committed Michael’s face to memory in the three minutes they had shared a space together. But then again, Michael couldn’t imagine he went around hitting kids with hammers all that often so maybe it had been a memorable night for him.

Whether it had had impact on Jesse Manes or not, Michael still remembered it vividly.

The way the door slammed open and Alex flinched away from his touch. The quiver in Alex’s voice as Manes picked up the hammer. The sight of Alex whimpering as his father’s hand squeezed around his throat. The pain filled shout Michael could barely make out over the sound of his own bones cracking.

In shock and in agony, he vaguely recalls being thrown out of the shed and staggering to his truck, but admittedly that part was still blurry.

To this day though, he still didn’t know what happened to Alex once he’d gone. They had never really talked about that night, not properly at least. Alex had been very eager to check how his hand was healing or offer to take him to a doctor, but always reluctant to discuss what he’d endured.

In all honesty, Michael still didn’t know if Jesse had done anything to Alex but it was always his suspicion. He’d recognised the fury in the older man’s eyes to know that that anger needed an outlet and Michael’s hand probably hadn’t been enough.

His hand ached suddenly at the memory and he clenched it hard in a useless attempt to make it stop. It had been hurting a lot lately, seizing up and making it impossible to do anything.

Max had offered to heal it a number of times but he still refused. He’d tell himself that it was because of Alex. How would he explain a perfectly healed hand to the guy who had witnessed the brutality it had suffered?

But if he ever decided to admit the truth to himself, he’d accept that really it was all for self preservation. A constant reminder moulded under his skin of what humans were really like. A way of reminding him not to get too close to people, not to let them into his life.

Clearly, Alex was the exception to this rule and Michael honestly couldn’t explain why. Right from the start their connection had just been something else. Something unexplainable.

Feeling the panic starting to bubble in his chest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could text Max. The I’m held up at the junkyard excuse would keep him busy long enough for the police officer’s lunch break to end. He could dodge the bullet completely that way and just make it up to him tomorrow.

Or would that be like letting Jesse Manes win? What would he even be winning? There was no way that man remembered who Michael was.

Looking over to the window again, he watched as Alex’s father handed something to the waitress.

Was he really going to let his past trauma dictate where he could have lunch?

At the moment? Yes.

Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he unlocked it quickly and opened the messenger app, his thumb hovering over Max’s name but then he had an idea.

He clicked on the little notepad icon and began to type.

Alex’s latest letter arrived last week and was still awaiting a reply and what better time to write one than when you’re freaking out slightly at the sight of a man who had once attacked you.

He barely noticed the autocorrect working hard to fix his many mistakes, he just needed to get the words out.

He didn’t mention Jesse, deciding to steer clear of the man entirely and focus on the positives instead. Alex was free from his father’s harsh rules and strict parenting for the time being so there was no point wasting his words on a man he most likely didn’t want to hear about.

It was overly sentimental and he’d probably edit it massively before writing it up, but for now he impulsively typed up everything he wanted to say. Everything he would say if Alex was sitting next to him right now.

Dear Alex,

Glad to see that you’re stateside again, it stressed me out every day you were overseas.

I’m really happy that you’ve settled in with the work you’re doing and I’ve almost come to terms with the fact that your job is going to be dangerous at times, but that still doesn’t stop me worrying about it. And even after all this time you’ve been away, it’s still weird to not have you here.

Everything has been reminding me of you recently, which is both beautiful and horrible because at least you’re here when you’re not here. But you’re not here and I really wish you were. Like when a song by that band you like comes on the radio, or if I walk past the Emporium, or I order a milkshake at the Crashdown or even just seeing Maria at the Wild Pony.

Max was telling me the other day about this kid who reported his guitar stolen and I couldn’t help but think back to when I stole yours. Well, I say stole, I promise I really was just borrowing it. I knew it was yours though and part of me definitely wanted you to find out that I had taken it, anything to get you to notice me. The offer of somewhere to sleep was completely unexpected though and proves just what a good person you are. I took your belongings and in return you gave me shelter and I don’t think I thanked you enough for that.

You’re in every corner of this town for me Alex and I know we didn’t have long but the time that we spent together before you left were some of the best days of my life.

I miss you.

Come back soon.

Michael

As he reached the last sentence, a knock on the passenger side window made him jump.

Max, in his uniform and hat, lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave and tilted his head towards the Crashdown as if to say are you coming?

A quick final glance through the window showed no sign of Jesse Manes and Michael slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

September 2011

“This is a good look for you.” Michael whispered.

“What, naked?” Alex smiled softly, peering sleepily back at him.

Michael began to lightly trail his hand down Alex’s chest, watching Alex close his eyes at the sensation. “Naked. In my bed.”

Alex had shown up at his doorstep late last night, this time with some warning in his latest letter, and they hadn’t wasted any time. So fuelled with longing and desire, Michael couldn’t remember a second of last night where their bodies hadn’t been touching.

Looking at Alex now, with his perfect bed head and sun kissed skin, Michael wasn’t sure he was going to be able to let him leave.

He did have something important to talk to Alex about though. Something they had never really discussed that had been leaving Michael feeling very confused lately. He was twenty-one years old having the awkward teenage thought of are we together or is this just a bit of fun? Is this guy my boyfriend? Can I even say the word boyfriend without freaking him out?

“There was something I meant to talk to you about last night-” He began, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Did we actually talk at all last night?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Alex smiled, holding his lip between his teeth. “Go on, what did you want to say?”

“You know I do have a phone, right? An actual expensive one and everything thanks to Isobel buying it for me. So you can text me, instead of spending weeks waiting for a reply.”

Alex paused for a moment. How was it best to tell Michael without looking weak? How during Basic Training one nosy guy thought it would be fun to take his unlocked phone and look through his messages. How he was terrified of being outed that day and that fear had followed him through his few years of serving. How even though his letters are technically much easier to read, the lock on the box they were kept in is so thick you would need to have a bolt cutter handy to break it. Or the key, which was kept in a very secure location.

“There’s something more…personal, about writing a letter. ” He decided to go with. “Besides, phones can get hacked.”

“Who the hell is gonna want to hack into your phone?”

Alex shrugged with a smirk, “I’m just saying, after learning what I have in training, hacking your phone right now would be a piece of cake.”

“Right, and these hackers would want to, what? Use all our discussions about broken alien statues and nights out in the desert against us.”

“There are some terrible people out there.” The fake sincerity in Alex’s eyes as he nodded his head made Michael chuckle.

Alex pushed himself up fully in the bed, letting the sheets pool around his naked hips. He leant forward and Michael didn’t need to be asked twice to drop the subject and meet him halfway. As much as he loved last night, their slow morning kisses were even better. Soft and all smiles, filled with the gratitude that they were still sharing this moment together.

“I’m sorry I was late last night, the move this week has been busier than I expected.” Alex whispered between pecks.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad you made it. Where are you based now?”

“Maryland. Probably just for a month or so though until I get more permanent orders.”

Leaning back, Michael could see the weariness in Alex’s eyes. He knew that being in the military was a hard job - even harder if you had been forced into it - and Michael hated just how much responsibility had been put on Alex’s young shoulders.

His eyes twinkled as he got an idea, a way of lightening Alex’s load for a few hours. “You fancy going out tonight?”

Alex’s face dropped and Michael’s heart along with it. “Like, together?”

“No, I figured we’d go to different bars and get drunk separately.” Michael replied sarcastically.

This is not what he had expected. Alex saying no to a night out? Fine, not a problem, wouldn’t have been that surprising of an answer. Maybe he doesn’t fancy a drink, maybe he’s just not into partying anymore.

But was Alex saying no to them going out together?

“Is it because of me?” Michael could hear the anger beginning to grow in his tone but he couldn’t help it. This conversation had flipped completely out of nowhere. “When I told you about the whole drunk cowboy reputation I’ve gained, it was meant to make you laugh. Not make you ashamed of me.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Alex defensively shook his head.

“Then what is it? Cos I like doing this Alex, but I need to know what it is that we’re actually doing, where we’re going with it. Are we going anywhere with it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Guerin! Things are complicated right now.”

I want you to say you want to be with me! I want you to tell me you love me as much as I love you! Michael hadn’t expected for this to turn into an argument, but he was prepared to cause one if it meant getting answers.

But as he took a breath, he looked at Alex. Like properly looked at him. He had grown up so much since they’d last seen each other. He’d changed so much. But for the first time he was the one who was looking unsure about what to say.

The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the nervous look in his eyes. It reminded Michael so much of when Alex had first told him he was leaving. And those goddamn hubcaps.

This was the second time he had caused that look in Alex’s eyes and if he never saw it again it would be too soon. He still had a few days before Alex was going to leave him again and he should be making the most of them instead of pushing him away.

If Alex was unsure of what they were doing then so be it. They would have to discuss it at some point this weekend, for Michael’s own sanity more than anything, but for now he would have to let it go if it meant keeping Alex happy.

January 2012

Earth wasn’t his home.

He knew that. He’s known that since he woke up in a glowing alien pod. But it’s only through life’s lessons over the years that he’s really learnt that.

He didn’t belong here, with an inferior species that enjoyed hurting others simply because of who they were. He’d seen it happen in shops and on the street. People targeted for being different. It was such a human response and he shuddered at the thought of what it meant for them if their secret ever came out.

And who was keeping him here? Max and Isobel? Alex?

Him and Isobel were close, but she had her own life. Parents that loved her, a boyfriend she was besotted with. She didn’t need Michael hanging around, bringing her down.

His feelings on Max were like a sliding scale of rage. The other man had been acting like his father for most of his life, telling him what to do and how to live. Max says they should cover up Rosa’s death. Max says they should keep what they are a secret. Max, with his fancy job and respected standing in society. Michael didn’t need his help anymore or his pity.

And then there was Alex. The boy who made him believe there was a place for him on Earth. But now, Michael wasn’t so sure.The last time he had seen Alex in person, things hadn’t ended that great and though they’ve still been writing to each other, something had definitely changed. They had changed.

Michael reminded himself of all this as he climbed down the stairs into the junkyard’s fallout shelter.

He had discovered the hidden bunker one day after slipping away from Sanders during work hours to hunt for some more copper wire. The opening had been covered by a beaten up truck that had been sitting in the junkyard for years, he wasn’t sure if the old man even knew it was down there.

From that day on he had claimed it as his own, making sure it was covered every time he left.

His collection had started off small. A few legit pieces of alien artefact that he had stolen from the Emporium and the odd dark web purchase, but after a few stealthy ventures to the UFO crash site he had begun to discover even more fragments. Considering the people of Roswell had been obsessing over the crash since 1947, Michael was honestly surprised that not every piece of the ship had been excavated already.

Luckily for him, his latest night time search in the desert had proven successful and he had made it back to the bunker with two small glowing pieces.

Building up the secret bunker’s workshop had taken time and a few stolen supplies, but now there were tools and shelves and bulbs in the mismatched lighting decor that had thankfully already been installed.

Littering the worktops were sketches and blueprints of the measurements and calculations he had spent months working on. There were spools of tubing and a portable generator sitting on the shelf. But his prized possession resting on one of the tables was his slowly forming alien spaceship. He was pretty sure what he was building was the console, but maybe one day it would turn into the entire spacecraft.

Covered in alien symbols and shimmering to the touch, it could be his way off of this stupid planet.

Michael gently took the pieces out of his pocket and held them close to the ship. One did nothing, staying stubbornly in his palm, but the other rose into the air and delicately travelled to one of the broken sides, a faint blue glistening the surface as the sharp edges knitted together like they had never been broken.

Placing the remaining piece on the table, Michael sighed. One day he would find all the pieces and finish this. And when that day came, there would be nothing to keep him here.

October 2012

“You’re staying whether you like it or not.” Isobel gave him a pointed look as she rummaged through the crates of decorations piled on the table in front of her.

“Yeah Michael, it’ll be fun.” Max said enthusiastically, holding a fist under his chin and batting his eyelids. A move they had both seen Isobel pull several times when mocking her mother.

She smacked Max on the arm, furious that he would belittle all of her hard work, before shoving a large plastic box into his chest. “The crop circle exhibit needs more bats.”

Her brother took the box with an exaggerated sigh but obliged nevertheless. He had learnt long ago that when Isobel was running things you either got on with it or got the hell out of her way.

With one brother now busy, she moved onto the next. “Right, there’s a few banners that need putting up and then you can go get changed.”

Her demand was met with silence which worried Isobel greatly and when she glanced up from her checklist, she didn’t appreciate the confused look in Michael’s eyes. “Please tell me you have a costume. It’s Halloween Michael!”

“I didn’t exactly plan on staying, Isobel!” he retaliated. He’d been asked to come and fix the glitchy projector in the knock-off Men In Black room, not spend all night with a bunch of people he didn’t know, surrounded by dumb gimmicky aliens. “Why did you choose to have it here anyway? Isn’t it a bit degrading to us as a species?”

“I didn’t choose it. The Emporium wanted a Halloween event and I’m just part of the committee running it.” She ticked off another item on her list, not rising to his provocation. “Now, go help Max.”

Accepting an easy defeat, Michael took the closest pile of decorations and headed to the exhibit. There were several people milling around each room of the Emporium, all engaged in one task or another. A group of middle aged women were rigorously dusting the artefact cabinets and two guys he vaguely recognised from around town were fixing lighting rigs to the ceiling.

His heart skipped a beat as he reached the UFO room, his eyes drawn immediately to the spot where he and Alex shared their first kiss. He had been so nervous that day, tentatively grabbing the other boy’s face before he could talk himself out of it, praying that Alex wouldn’t pull away.

Through the red fabric curtains at the back of the room was the crop circle exhibit. It was completely empty of people save for Max attempting to loop a small fuzzy bat around one of the hanging lights.

Taking pity on him, Michael willed the creature to float the extra few inches and fasten itself around the wire. It had been a while since he’d used his powers in a public setting and it gave him such a rush to get away with it unseen. It was quite embarrassing really. It’s not like he was committing a crime in the middle of a police station. Unless you were looking closely, the fact that some objects floated when he was nearby was actually surprisingly easy to miss.

Max’s head immediately whipped round, eyes wide with trepidation. “Dude, what if someone walks in?”

“Chill, Deputy. We’re safe.” Michael rolled his eyes as he began to stroll around the room. He hadn’t been in here since Alex’s last day and literally nothing had changed. I mean, fair enough, there hadn’t exactly been any more alien encounters since then to add to the exhibition. But they could have put some effort in and switched things up a bit.

As he turned to speak to Max his foot caught something, but without hesitation his telekinesis acted fast to catch the alien statue mid-fall. Settling it back on its two feet with his mind, Michael chuckled to himself as he realised exactly what it was that he had knocked over. Turns out the little guy did still have his head on backwards.

It had been four years since Alex’s last day working the ticket booth, when they had sneaked inside during his lunch break to passionately kiss in the dark corners of the museum. If Michael hadn’t been so distracted that day he would have caught the alien before it had a chance to decapitate itself and ruin his make out session.

They had frantically tried to re-attach it, getting their fingers covered in the glue. But alas, as an excitable eighteen year old, Michael had been too focused on the boy he was with to notice he was putting the head on backwards.

Four years and nobody had dealt with the owl impersonating alien. The Emporium really was going downhill.

“You know, if you don’t want to stay I’ll cover for you with her majesty.” Max interrupted his thoughts as he took a banner from the pile still bunched in Michael’s arms and surveyed the room to decide where best to hang it.

“Nah, it’s alright. Can’t leave you without a wingman, can I?” Michael playfully raised an eyebrow as he dumped the pile on the floor and grabbed the other end of the banner.

“I’m serious Michael. You don’t actually have to do as she says you know.” Max grinned at him, hooking his side onto one of the picture frames hanging on the wall and watching Michael do the same.

Michael looked over at his friend. When the day began he had planned to end it in the airstream, drunk on whiskey and in bed with a beautiful stranger. But standing in front of him was his chance to do something different for a change, to spend some time with the only family he had left and maybe even remember it all in the morning.

“I know. But maybe you’re right. It could be fun.”

March 2013

So it was letters like these that made Michael feel guilty about how he’d been spending his time. Or more specifically who he’d been spending his time with.

For the first time in years he could go entire weeks without thinking of Alex once and the odd drunken hookup definitely helped to keep his mind off the boy who barely wrote to him anymore.

It had become a recurring thing for him, much to the chagrin of Isobel who vehemently disapproved of his life choices. She couldn’t understand why Michael wouldn’t want to find someone special and settle down with them. But he wouldn’t expect any less from the girl who was so head over heels in love with her boyfriend.

Isobel had Noah, and Michael?

Michael had Vicky. Last night.

They met at the Pony, as these stories often started for him, and had enjoyed a very long, very sensual night together within the small confines of the airstream.

She made him coffee in the morning, engaged in an appropriate amount of small talk, then left. A perfect night by all accounts, so why couldn’t the rest of his day be perfect too?

When the mailman loudly interrupted his work on his latest batch of sketches he had been tempted not to answer. When he immediately recognised Alex’s handwriting on the front of the envelope he had been very tempted not to open it.

One day he would stop giving in to his feelings for Alex. Today was not that day.

Dear Michael,

I saw someone die today.

I feel kind of numb right now which doesn’t seem right to me, but it’s like I can’t tell what emotion I should be feeling, so I’m just hoping that getting the words onto paper might help get them out of my head.

I don’t know whether I’m supposed to have been prepared for it or not, I mean it’s an occupational hazard that I signed up for so I should be fine, right? I’ve been in Iraq for almost two months now, on my second deployment, and yet this is the first time I’ve actually seen someone get killed right in front of me. So does that make me lucky to have gone this long without it happening?

I could have saved him. If I had just been closer, if I had gotten there quicker, he probably wouldn’t have died. But then if I was closer I probably wouldn’t be writing this right now so I guess I am the lucky one.

I hadn’t known him long but he was a good kid, always hard at work, always looking out for everyone. He was younger than me.

The guys are so quiet. Nobody knows what to do with themselves and this bit I’m strangely used to. It’s not the first time someone I know has been killed and things can’t come to a stop while we’re out here no matter the circumstances. But for a short while after something like this happens it’s like the light inside of everyone just disappears. Like we’re reminded all over again of how quickly things can change here.

We’ll be okay though, we’ll pick each other up and move on. But we’ll never forget him.

They’ll never forget his service. And I’ll never forget what I saw.

I’m sorry, it’s selfish to burden you with this but I just really needed to tell someone.

Hope everything is okay in Roswell.

Stay safe,

Alex.

And just like that Michael was drawn back into the little Alex loving bubble he had been desperately trying to pop.

Stay safe. He writes an entire letter about seeing someone die and he tells Michael to stay safe. And if that didn’t sum up Alex he didn’t know what did. Always trying to look out for other people, even if it hurts him.

Michael re-read the line about being quicker, being closer and something tightens in his chest. He could still remember how guilty Alex had felt after the incident in the toolshed all those years ago, so Michael knew exactly how much Alex would be putting his colleague’s death on his shoulders right now. And if he had been close enough to help, Michael was well aware of how willingly he would have sacrificed himself to keep his teammates safe.

He didn’t even know that Alex was in Iraq. Their communication had slowed so much recently and this entire time Michael had chalked it up to him no longer wanting to keep in contact but maybe this was why he hadn’t been writing.

It reminded him yet again of how little he really knew about Alex’s job and the things he had to face. As much as he would love it, he could hardly expect constant letters with updates of every little part of Alex’s life.

But he could support him. From the safety of his airstream where there were no bullets flying and people dying around him, he could listen to what Alex had to say no matter how long it took to arrive.

His sleeping around had been a poor attempt of cleansing Alex and the war he was fighting from his mind, but Alex would never get that luxury. Not until he was out of the Air Force and back home at least.

The fear of Alex dying was at the forefront of his thoughts once more, but maybe it was a good thing - the kind of fear that propels you forward and gives you hope that things will change. Habits were hard to break but maybe he would take Isobel’s advice and wait for his someone special to make it home.

August 2013

Friday night at the Wild Pony brought out all manner of locals. Friends reuniting after being away for months, married couples taking the time to cool off after a long week at work, the happy drunks, the racist drunks, and already at the bar being served his first drink of the evening, the lonely cowboy.

Max’s shift didn’t end for another hour, but Michael figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to the Pony early. He had a higher tolerance than Max anyway so it was better to get a head start.

As he was lifting his first alcohol filled glass to his lips he heard the voice of someone he hadn’t seen in five years. He barely suppressed a groan as he sneaked a glimpse to his left.

“More tequila’s please, Maria.” The man’s voice dripped with confidence.

Michael watched as he placed a tray of empty shot glasses on the bar top before leaning forward, his forearms dropping heavily onto the wood.

Maria took the tray with a smile and got to work.

“Guerin. Still in Roswell, I see.” He said casually, turning to look at Michael.

“Valenti. Still a dick, I see.” Michael replied, giving his best fake smile.

Kyle’s brow furrowed in surprise at the attitude being directed towards him. He must have remembered Michael’s reputation from school, but he clearly hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of it half a decade later.

“How have you been?” He continued regardless, somewhat optimistic in the face of Michael’s pre-drunk demeanour. Maria unscrewed the bottle cap and Michael could see her watching them carefully as if they were the main feature of her Wild Pony nature documentary.

“Since when do you care?” Michael remarked tightly, smile still plastered on his face and when Kyle scoffed and looked away, Michael was almost disappointed. The guy from high school would have had him on his ass by now.

“Whatever.” Kyle muttered just as Maria filled the last glass. He slapped some money onto the bar, sliding it forward to meet Maria’s waiting hand and she took it gratefully, put it straight in the till.

“See you around.” He spoke to no-one in particular before leaving with the tray, though not fast enough in Michael’s opinion.

Maria rolled her eyes as she put the tequila bottle back on the shelf. “What did Kyle ever do to you?”

“Do you not remember him in high school?” Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Kyle was handing out the shot glasses round the table. It wasn’t a surprise to see that he was still Mr Popular with the big group of friends.

“Oh no, I remember him. I just don’t remember you ever talking to him.”

“Didn’t have to talk to him to know he was an asshole.” Michael muttered as he downed the last of his drink.

He’d witness enough of his taunting to know exactly what kind of person Kyle Valenti was. He was the cliche jock surrounded by a constant posse of football players, using his popularity to get away with bullying innocent kids.

Nerdy kids whose fear of authority and eagerness to please everyone would be taken advantage of.

Poor kids whose worn down shoes and too small clothes would be an instant target on their backs.

Gay kids who did absolutely nothing to deserve the brunt of Kyle’s torment for so many years. Gay kids who could also pack a mean punch when it really came down to it.

Kyle had made it his mission in high school to ruin Alex’s life and Michael would never forgive him for it. Simple as that.

“What is he even doing here anyway?”

Maria picked up the closest bottle of whiskey and refilled his glass. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed at how well she knew his drinking habits.

“He’s been travelling to visit family but now he’s back for a few weeks to see some friends before his next year of med school starts.” Maria answered easily, letting out a huff of laughter as Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “When you’re this side of the bar, people tell you everything…like I’m sure you’ll be doing soon enough.”

Michael smirked as he took another swig of whiskey. It burned in his chest before settling uneasily in his stomach. “You love it Deluca, don’t try and deny it.”

Taking another look behind him, Michael watched as Kyle spoke, gesturing wildly with his arms as his words held the attention of everyone circled around him. He looked no different from high school, same dark quiff styled neatly with gel, same bulging muscles on show under his tight fitting top, same punchable face.

Watching Alex take a swing at Kyle during prom had been a very proud moment for Michael - and he had barely even known Alex by that point. If he hadn’t been worried that Alex would get hurt, Michael would have gladly watched him punch Kyle for the rest of the evening.

“I think he’s changed, you know.” Maria interrupted his thoughts as she wiped down the bar top in front of him. Her bracelets jangled noisily with every movement. “College has been good for him.”

Michael watched as she ran her necklace between her fingers and went about collecting the empty beer bottles sitting at the end of the bar. “Kyle Valenti will never change.”

Deep down a tiny part of him would admit that Maria was right. Since leaving high school everyone he’s known has changed in some way or another - normally for the better as they grow out of their ignorant, childish ways. But he just couldn’t imagine golden boy Kyle Valenti turning his life around that much. And even though one day Alex, with his heart of gold, will probably end up forgiving Kyle, Michael never would.

June 2014

“I’m just saying, if Noah expects me to take it easy with this wedding organisation, he’s got another thing coming.” Isobel spoke animatedly as the three of them walked down the street. “I am practically the unofficial Roswell party planning committee after all.”

“Isn’t a committee normally a group of people?” Max quizzed, moving out of the way for a little boy on his bike that was riding towards them.

“Not what you’re supposed to be taking from this conversation, Max.” Isobel glared at him. “I got proposed to guys!”

“Yeah, we got that from the first fifty times you told us.” Michael remarked, righting the cowboy hat that had slipped down on his head.

“Well, I’m allowed to be excited!”

Max gave his sister a fond smile. “Of course you are. But I think any more wedding talk today will literally melt Michael’s brain.”

It had been over a week since Noah had gotten down on one knee and Max and Michael had heard every possible recounting of the evening along with every guest list suggestion, every wedding hairstyle idea, even every floral arrangement possibility. As a couple, they had barely had a chance to set a date, yet Isobel was now firmly stuck in wedding planner mode.

It was Max who had put forward that the three of them meet up. It was his first day off after a busy week of shifts and it was warm out, though the suggestion to make the most of the sun was also a ploy to force Isobel to take a break from her obsessing. But unfortunately the wedding seemed to have followed them.

It didn’t really bother them though as they strolled through town, soaking up the warmth of the rays and enjoying each other’s company. Isobel was happy and in love and it was exactly what she deserved.

As they neared the end of the road, they reached the Crashdown. The cafe was a hubbub of happy, smiling customers and servers in their uniforms and antennae, but it was hard to miss the derogatory, racist words spray painted across the windows. Michael didn’t envy the poor waiter who was desperately scrubbing at them with soapy water.

Every year on the anniversary of Rosa Ortecho’s death the Crashdown was vandalised and every year it hurt more and more to witness.

Arturo Ortecho didn’t deserve the hate he got because of what happened to his daughter. He didn’t deserve for his livelihood, his home to be wrecked every year because of a choice Isobel made. A choice they all made.

After the fateful night six years ago, they had sworn to each other they would not set foot in the Crashdown again, to separate themselves from the Ortecho’s completely. But over the years, whether it be from guilt or concern, they had never been able to keep that promise.

“Let’s go in,” Max said after a moment of staring inside.

“Max-” Michael warned. He was all for keeping up appearances but today of all days they ought to be keeping a low profile when it came to the Crashdown.

“We should show our support. It’s the least we can do.” Max turned to look at him pointedly. And as much as Michael hated it, he was right. They had managed to keep the events of that night a secret for so long now. Avoiding the place once a year wasn’t really going to have as big an impact as they liked to think it would.

And being the cause of Mr Ortecho’s suffering, it was the least they could do.

Entering with a smile, they found a booth in the corner and Michael was made designated ‘seat saver’ as Max and Isobel went up to the counter. They all knew each other’s orders off by heart, but neither sibling wanted to run the risk of potentially running into Arturo alone for fear of not knowing what to say.

Michael watched as the waiter outside finished with one window and moved onto the next.

He was lucky in a way. He could go months without thinking about what they chose to do to those three girls. How they covered up the murders and framed an innocent for it. He doubted Arturo ever had the pleasure of forgetting about the death of his eldest daughter.

And now, as he tried to forget once more about certain events of that night, his mind was drawn to the other life changing incident and his worry for Alex reignited all over again. He had been able to protect Alex from his father back then, but whilst they were on two separate continents, Michael was powerless.

Not that he thought Alex needed his protection. Michael knew just how strong he was, but the job of an airman was unpredictable.

In an attempt to calm his mind, he thought back to the letter he had received yesterday and tried to recall the words it contained.

Dear Michael,

I can’t believe you managed to find work on Mr Anderson’s ranch! Or more specifically, I can’t believe he willingly hired you after the amount of trouble you caused him. I’m guessing you didn’t tell him that it was you that drove straight through his crop field or let all those horses out when we were younger? Because you know as well as I do, that man holds a grudge.

I’m glad you’re finding all this work. I used to worry that you wouldn’t realise how skilled you were so it’s nice to hear that people are actually appreciating your hard work.

I’ve spent the past week updating security measures here and the all-nighters are reminding me of high school before a math test or something. I think I actually used to go days without sleeping sometimes if I was trying to cram in revision and I honestly don’t know how I managed it back then. Teenage me was obviously a lot stronger.

There’s rumours that we could be heading back to North Dakota next month, but I’m not getting my hopes up. Germany’s not too bad, the people have been great and the food is delicious. On our down days we’ve been going to this cafe just outside of base. They have this type of iced coffee that tastes amazing and I’ve definitely had it far too much judging by the amount of teasing I get from my team every time I order it.

As nice as it is here though, it would be good to be back on home soil. I feel like I’ve been away from America for so long.

I’ll let you know if we do end up moving bases and maybe I’ll visit Roswell again soon.

Hope you’re okay.

From,

Alex.

Michael was pulled out of his thoughts as Max and Isobel took their seats. They were bickering about something or other and the familiarity forced all his worries to the back of his mind.

Alex would be home soon and Michael would be able to hold him in his arms and everything would be alright. And for now, he would make the most of his time with the rest of his family.

October 2014

Michael was warming himself by the fire when a car pulled up by the airstream. He had managed to find the old burn barrel at the junkyard a few months ago along with some mismatched chairs and lighting the fire had become a calming night time occurrence for him.

He brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a sip, wordlessly watching as Alex stepped out of the car and wandered over to him. He wasn’t sure why Alex was even here. The letters had been getting infrequent again, the enthusiasm dwindling, and Michael had been starting to suspect that their hearts were just no longer in it.

Alex had informed him that he was on leave for a few days and Michael had been happy, excited even. But at some point between this morning - where he had been frantically trying to calm his nerves as he tided up the place - to this evening, something had changed. He’d managed to overthink everything he’d been wanting to say to Alex for a long time now.

“Hey.” Alex smiled politely as he came to a stop by the fire. If he thought it strange that Michael hadn’t greeted him he didn’t mention it, but he did pause, hands clasped behind his back, almost waiting for permission to take a seat.

Michael took another gulp of beer, watching Alex carefully. “You can sit down you know.”

Alex didn’t need to be told twice, dropping into the seat closest to him. He looked older, the years of service catching up on him, hardening him against all that he had seen.

“How have you been?” He asked. His voice was calm but Michael could see the wariness in his eyes. So he had noticed Michael’s rather frosty welcoming.

“Same as always.” Michael muttered, looking off into the distance.

“Are you okay-”

“What are you doing here, Alex?” Michael blurted out before he lost the nerve.

Alex’s eyes widened at the outburst, “Sorry, I thought you said I could drop by when I got back.”

“Okay fine, what are we doing here?” Michael rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I mean this thing we’re doing, is it real or just some hookup for when you come home?”

Alex recoiled at the accusation and Michael could feel the guilt creeping in once more at the hurt in Alex’s eyes. Okay so maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was no point dragging out this conversation for the next three days. Plus, he suspected his veins were filled more of alcohol than blood right now and when he was on a roll there was no stopping him.

“Last time you were here I tried to have this conversation with you and we got nowhere. That was years ago and we’re still dancing around it.”

“You know it’s not like that. The sex I mean. I don’t come here just to sleep with you, I come to see you.” The fire crackled loudly, the flames casting an orange glow over Alex as he spoke. “I’m sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. Your letters mean everything to me and I like doing this with you, but I just…”

“Just what?” Michael demanded. He could see Alex take a breath as he tried to word the next sentence correctly in his head.

“Anything could happen while I’m in the Air Force and I just don’t think you should pin your hopes on this.”

If Michael could stop with the tunnel vision for two seconds he would realise that Alex was trying to protect him, but all he heard was that Alex didn’t want to be with him, not properly at least. Not as his boyfriend, his partner, his other half.

Michael didn’t have an answer and Alex had no more to add.

They had barely spent five minutes in each other’s company after years apart and they’d already been rendered quiet. It isn’t how either of them had expected it to go. They sat in the uncomfortable silence, their gazes fixed on the fire but barely registering the flames licking the air. Neither wanted to make the first move.

The beautiful boy he had been in love with since they were seventeen had practically just told him that they would never be together and instead of feeling sad or desperate, Michael fell back to his default emotion. He was filled with so much anger he could practically feel it burning under his skin.

The moment he kissed Alex in the museum all those years ago he had seen the future they could have together, but now, in the cool autumn evening as he watched the tips of the flames reaching up to the sky, that dream was crumbling.

“Do you want me to go?” Alex asked faintly after a few minutes.

Yes! If you walk away now then I’ll have my final answer and it will make all of this so much easier.

“No.”

Alex had only just gotten there and as pissed off as Michael felt, the thought of him leaving again suddenly hurt like hell. “I miss you.” He whispered, struggling to make eye contact at the admission.

In his peripheral vision he could see Alex pause uneasily, almost waiting for another outburst, and when none came the airman replied with a wary smile. “Me too.”

May 2015

Another soda can went flying into the air and Max shot it down with trained precision. It almost hit Isobel on the way down who couldn’t hold back a squeal as she moved out of the way.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this.” She huffed at the boys as she righted herself in the chair. Her plans for the weekend had involved shopping, TV and sleeping. It had been a long week and it was what she deserved. Instead, she was getting sand in her shoes and cans flung towards her face.

“You’re the one who said we should practice using our powers more.” Michael smirked, concentrating on the unopened can sitting on the desk inside the airstream. With barely any effort, he watched as it floated through the doorway and over towards Isobel.

“That was an excuse to get into Old Man Simmons’ head and you know it.” She narrowed his eyes at him but grabbed the can anyway. “Besides, isn’t there a more productive way to train?”

“What are you talking about? We used to do this all the time.” Max lifted the gun and signalled for Michael to throw the next can into the air.

“Yeah, when we were like seventeen. Don’t know if you noticed but we’re not kids anymore.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know Sheriff Valenti let me assist on another murder case last week. She said I’m showing potential.”

“Bit of a morbid thing to brag about there, Deputy.” Michael grinned as he used his power to send the next can flying, trying to catch Max off guard with its speed. Max was too slow to hit it during its ascent, but before it touched the ground he had sent a bullet clean through it.

Michael whistled in amazement and clapped Max on the back. They may be adults now but hitting a target was just as exciting as when they were kids.

Isobel was less than impressed if the furrowed brow was anything to go by. She honestly couldn’t understand the desire to shoot things. “Great, you hit it. Can I go now?”

She made a point of checking the time on her phone with a sigh and Max gave Michael such a sibling look. The kind of look that clearly conveyed annoyance, irritation and the simple question of will she ever stop complaining.

“Will you lighten up Iz, it’s just a bit of fun.” Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Now hurry up and drink that, we’re gonna need it soon.”

He was about the throw another can when he noticed a white van driving up the path, recognising it immediately. He felt bad for the guy, having to come out to the middle of nowhere every month or so just to drop off a single letter.

He walked over to meet the mailman as he parked in front of them and gratefully took the letter passed to him through the open window.

“Who the hell is sending you mail?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair as the van drove off and Michael was worried for a second that she would get up and take it from him before he could stop her. She never did have good impulse control.

“It’s probably just junk.” He said dismissively, staring down at his name and address. He didn’t need to open it to know who it was from. He had literally never received a single letter from anyone else in his life.

He tried to plaster on his best nonchalant face as he jogged over to the airstream and prayed that the others wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s fine, I’ll check it later.”

Bypassing every surface entirely, knowing full well that if Isobel saw it on the desk she would open it, he opened the compartment above his bed. The cupboard had gotten more crowded over the years, but the shoebox still had its special little place inside. He looked down at the letter in his hand one more time, debating whether to just rip it open then and there, before sliding it on top of the box.

He’d read it later when he wasn’t busy.

September 2015

“Ahh Deluca. It’s been while.” Michael grinned as he took a seat at the bar. It was early evening on a Friday so the place was pretty packed, but luckily for him there was always a stool empty.

Maria grabbed a glass from the rack and the bottle of whiskey from behind her and began pouring. There were other servers behind the bar so she could afford to take her time conversing with this particular regular.

“Yes, surprisingly I did notice your absence from my bar recently and honestly I’m not sure who that looks worse for.”

“You. Definitely you.” Michael said dryly as he picked up the nearest coaster and began to twirl it between his fingers. “Besides if you were that desperate to see my ruggedly handsome face you wouldn’t have skipped your shift last Friday.”

“The fact that you know my shift pattern is not a good look for you Guerin.” Maria raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Besides, I’m allowed a night off every now and then.”

“Oh yeah? To do what? Paint your nails? Have a nice little bubble bath? Some other girl related activity?”

“To see a friend actually. Because I have those.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He muttered playfully and she moved forward to dramatically knock the coaster out of his hand.

“We had a lovely time, thank you for asking. He hasn’t been back home in ages so we decided to make a weekend of it.”

Michael froze at her words. There was really only one person she could be talking about but he asked the question anyway. “What friend is this?”

“Alex? Manes? He went to school with us. Former emo kid turned airman.”

Michael’s mouth suddenly felt very dry and he couldn’t get his words out. He grabbed the drink that Maria had poured and took a large gulp. “Alex was here?”

“Yeah he had a few days leave so he came to see me. It was really sweet of him, I mean he’s worked hard for that time off and he could literally do anything with it but he chose to come here. I think he was missing home a bit actually.”

Michael bit his lip, almost enough to draw blood. He was suddenly filled with so much hurt he didn’t know what to do with it. “Was he okay?”

“Yeah. I think his work has been a bit tough recently but he seemed happy.” Maria smiled gently.

Seemed happy? Did that mean Alex was happy because he was home? Or because he was spending his time with someone other than Michael?

Michael was glad he was happy, of course he was glad. Alex’s happiness is all he’s ever wanted. And of course, he has a right to visit other friends, it was never Michael’s place to tell him not to. Even when he had stayed with Michael in the past, he had always made time to say hello to other friends before he had to leave again.

But this time he hadn’t even mentioned to Michael that he was coming home. Not a single word in any of the intermittent letters.

And maybe Michael was to blame. The last time they had seen each other hadn’t exactly been perfect. And recently he’d been putting off replying for weeks which Alex must have noticed. But he still always replied in the end! So that must have meant something, right? It must have proven to Alex that he still cared, that he would still want to spend time with him.

There was no way Alex could have known that he would find out. Michael had never properly mentioned the little love-hate friendship he had struck up with Maria over the years, so really Alex could never have predicted this. And that’s probably what he had wanted, to spend time in Roswell under the radar, away from Michael.

Should he be angry about this? Was he angry? Yes. He was probably being overdramatic but this seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their unspoken relationship.

Suddenly, he had the desperate urge to take his mind off everything he’d just heard so without thinking he turned to what he did best. Paying Maria half of what he owed for the drink, he locked eyes with a cute girl at the other end of the bar and eagerly slid off the stool, ready to make a night of it.

January 2016

Isobel grabbed his face and kissed him on the cheek before he could stop her. The fireworks exploding into a hundred sparks above their heads were loud, but the cheering from the mass of people crowded outside of the Pony seemed louder.

“Happy New Year!!” Isobel practically screamed in his ear before turning to plant an overly enthusiastic kiss on Noah’s lips. This was probably the most drunk he had ever seen Isobel and every second of it was brilliant.

Max clapped a hand on Michael’s back and they tapped glasses in a less enthusiastic celebration. When Michael had suggested that the four of them go to the Wild Pony for New Year’s he had expected to be shot down instantly, but now that they were here he was glad they had actually agreed.

It had been a good night. There was plenty of alcohol, loud music and he’d won several games of pool - all without using his powers! Even Deluca had seemed almost happy to see him but he put that down to the Christmas spirit she’d been radiating for the past week.

Watching the fireworks felt like such a cliche way to end it. It was perfect. The colours lit up the sky, the bright blues and pinks of the explosions reminding him of the alien console that was slowly coming together beneath the earth of the junkyard and the booms were so powerful he could practically feel them reverberating in his chest.

He had drunk far too much to be able to quite remember how he made it home, but closing the door behind him, he noticed how lonely the airstream felt after spending the evening in a crowd of people.

He threw his hat onto the desk and his shoes into the nearest corner and dropped onto the bed with a sigh. He clenched his left fist a few times as the ache became noticeable again. Even after all these years, the cold weather still wreaked havoc with his injury, making it cramp or stiffen up at the worst times.

As he stared up at the ceiling he had an idea. A truly terrible idea. And if he was sober he would have realised that, but sensible Michael had taken a break for the night.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled the short distance to his desk. For a messy person, his supplies were surprisingly organised with the paper stacked in one draw and a few envelopes scattered in another. He grabbed the closest pen to him and tested it worked on a scrap design that he hadn’t had the heart to throw away yet.

His uneven lettering would probably give away his drunken state but he didn’t care. This was probably the most honest he would ever be with Alex so why not take advantage of that.

Dear Alex,

I guess I should wish you a happy new year.

You know we’ve never spent a new years together? I know you’re really busy in your super important job but it would have been nice for you to celebrate it at home one year. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t tell me.

I’ve been thinking about leaving Roswell. 2016 has officially begun and I’m stuck doing the same thing I’ve been doing my entire life, living in some tiny metal box and getting paid a measly amount at a job I only half show up to.

So maybe I should just leave. Get out of the town that’s filled with heaps of bad memories. Like all the shit that happened with Max and Isobel, all the stuff with your dad. Everywhere I look in this town has been tainted by bad people and bad choices.

So you know what they say, new year, new start.

I might go to Vegas and try my luck there. Or Texas. It’s not as far but at least I’d fit in. Or maybe I’ll just leave America completely! Europe sounds nice and I bet it isn’t just miles of sand.

I used to wish we could leave together. I’d save up enough money and as soon as you got out of the Air Force we’d just leave. It wouldn’t matter where, just anywhere away from this town. And we’d probably run out of money and it would be an absolute disaster but that would be okay because at least we’d be together.

I don’t think you want that though Alex, I think you’ve already moved on and that really hurts. So maybe I should just move on too.

Enjoy the new year with your boys.

Michael

Without reading it over, he folded the paper into an envelope and sealed it before he could second guess anything.

In the morning he wouldn’t remember what the letter said, but he’d post it anyway.

November 2016

Roswell always did go all out for Veterans Day. There were banners hung in every building, flags flying proudly from every window and it was as though every Roswell born member of the Armed Forces - past and present - had returned for the annual celebration. All except one.

The evening’s event was held at the drive in, organised by the one and only Isobel Evans-Bracken and that was the only reason Michael was there. To support Isobel and that’s it.

This day was hard most years. The constant reminders of Alex everywhere he’d go, the odd sighting of Jesse Manes being thanked for his service when that man was the entire reason for Alex’s absence.

He had always believed that he would get used to it the longer Alex was away. The town was very pro-military and there always seemed to be some parade or other so the constant reminders should have made him accustomed to the feelings it brought up.

But wishful thinking strikes again.

And this year seemed to be the worst of the lot.

He and Alex had hardly spoken all year and the letters he did receive sounded like Alex was just checking if he was still in Roswell more than anything else. He never quite worked out what gave the airman the impression that he would be leaving anytime soon.

To be fair though, all of his replies had been short and vague with a rather blunt tone that he couldn’t help. A small part of him knew that he was pushing Alex away and it was screaming at him, begging him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Unfortunately, when he was hurt his self preservation kicked in big time.

Grabbing another beer from the cooler, he took a seat next to Max on the back of the truck and watched as Master Sergeant Jesse Manes took to the stage to give a speech about duty and sacrifice and how those who had lost their lives had done so proudly in the service of their country.

It made him wonder if Alex would feel proud in his last moments. If the worst happened, would he be glad to die for his country or would he be afraid? Would he be filled with fear as he lay in the dirt, cold and bleeding, waiting for help that wasn’t going to arrive on time? Would he be with his team, surrounded by love and friendship and people begging him to be okay or would he be alone?

Or maybe it would be quick. A swift bullet to the head or heart. A nice clean shot and a point to the enemy. There one minute and gone the next.

Would Alex even feel it?

Would Michael?

As the townsfolk and various uniformed men and women began clapping loudly around him, his mind was brought back to the present. Manes gave a wave to the crowd as he ended his speech and passed the microphone over to Isobel to announce the evening’s agenda.

As she listed the live music and entertainment that was in store, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on her words instead of the thoughts circling his head. He didn’t know why he still cared so much. Alex wasn’t Michael’s to protect or worry about. Not anymore.

Michael had moved on and maybe if he drunk enough tonight, his heart would finally believe that and his mind would stop reciting the latest letter that had arrived at his door.

Dear Michael,

We were shipped off to Baghdad two months ago.

I wasn’t going to tell you because I don’t want you to worry and it’s not fair for me to force this onto you when you’re off living your own life now. It’s just a lot has happened on this tour already and I’ve been getting this feeling that I should probably let you know that I’m here.

All things considered, I’m actually quite lucky that this is only my third deployment bearing in mind how many years I’ve been serving. I’ve heard stories about some people who are on tour after tour and I don’t think I’d be able to handle the never ending missions.

It turns out I must be quite good at my job though because the team I’m with requested me. They needed someone with my specialist skillset so I guess its rather flattering but it makes me think that this job is going to be harder than the others.

It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve accomplished since I first joined. Seventeen year old Alex would hate that I’m still here but I guess he didn’t know the world like I do now. I still think about him sometimes though, the rebellious kid who wore too much eyeliner.

I know I don’t say it much but I’m really grateful for the time we spent together back then. And since then. They’re some of my favourite memories.

But I’m glad you’ve found your own path in life. You have a job that you love, a place to live that you can call your own and friends and family that you can always turn to.

I hope everyone is okay back home. I hope you’re okay.

And more than anything, I hope that you’re happy. It’s what you deserve and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who sees that and makes you even happier.

From,

Alex.

He hated that Alex was back there.

And he hated that the letter sounded like a goodbye.

February 2017

Dear Alex,

I know it’s taken me a while to reply. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve just been thinking about everything that’s happened and I didn’t want to say something I would regret. You’d probably tell me that I was overthinking and I’d dramatically disagree of course. But you would be right.

I’ve been thinking a lot about where you are right now and all of the bad things that could happen. I’m not going to go into how many soldiers have died over there because I’m sure you know more about it than me, just make sure you’re not added to that list, okay? I haven’t acted like it recently but it worries me that you’re somewhere so dangerous, so please be careful.

I know we’ve drifted but I still care about you Alex so I need you to be okay. I’ve been distancing myself from you these past few years and I’m sorry for that. I thought you were pushing me away so I did all I could to push you away first. I know I can’t change that now but maybe it can be different going forward.

It’s been almost three years since I last saw you in person and in a weird way it feels like yesterday. Three years sounds like a long time but looking back, it’s flown past way too quickly. So much has changed since then. I see Sanders occasionally but I haven’t worked at the junkyard in years, Isobel is married, the Wild Pony has starting having open mic nights and the Crashdown has gained about ten new milkshakes.

But I suppose the one constant is that you haven’t been here. You’ve been off being an American hero and that’s such an incredible achievement. You’ve travelled to places that I will never go, accomplished things I will probably never understand and been involved in so much that I can never know about.

I’m sure it hasn’t always been the positive experience that people make it out to be, but I’m so happy you’ve been able to make something of your life.

You’re probably on some super secret mission right now with your little carefully selected team, but if you’ve got a minute, let me know that you’re okay.

Michael

July 2017

Alex hadn't answered. Five months and four goddamn letters and Alex hadn't answered a single one. And Michael was pissed.

Well, first he was terrified. He had made up all manner of excuses. Maybe the letters got lost in the post. Maybe Alex was too busy to reply. But the never ending weeks of radio silence soon left Michael thinking the worst.

He had scoured the news headlines for any reports of American deaths in Iraq, he checked the obituary lists for any updates and he kept an ear out for any locals discussing the untimely death of Alex Manes.

He didn’t want to find out but he needed to know the truth.

Maria hadn’t mentioned anything in the many nights he had spent drowning his sorrows at the bar, so he took that as a good sign but then again she could just be as in the dark as he was.

After a while though, when no bad news had surfaced, he accepted the sad fact that Alex had chosen not to reply.

That the man he once loved had read his letters and hadn’t cared enough to respond. That he’d read the carefully selected words that conveyed Michael’s love and gratitude and worry. That he’d held the paper in his hands, each letter more honest than the last, and had decided to leave Michael hanging.

And if it proved one thing, it’s that he was right to stop waiting for Alex.

He had woken up that morning missing Alex desperately. Missing his face, his voice, his laugh, his words. But when, once again, no letter arrived, his anger tore through as he finally decided to face the cold hard truth that had been waiting in the back of his mind for weeks.

Their relationship had been going downhill for a long time and now the airman had clearly made the choice for the both of them. Alex had ended whatever it was they had going on and so now Michael would do the same.

That night he went to sleep, vowing to never think of Alex again, so painfully unaware that Alex, now with half a limb cruelly taken from him, had read the letters. In fact he'd read over every letter in his metal box, mourning the end of their relationship with each one.

Waking up in the hospital bed five months ago he'd seen his future. The future filled with therapy, physio, phantom pains, decreased mobility, the constant awkwardness from other people. And he refused to burden Michael with that. His beautiful cowboy deserved so much better.

Soon the letters would stop completely and Alex would accept that because why would Michael keep trying when he was receiving nothing in return? And maybe they’ll never see each other again and maybe they’ll never reconcile, but that would be okay because at least this way, Michael would be free.

December 2017

It was two weeks until Christmas and Isobel was on his case about a present. Why do you have to make my life difficult, Michael? You’re the only person I haven’t bought for, Michael. Can you find some actual hobbies so that I know what to get you, Michael?

The queen of organisation was getting very stressed at the mere thought of having to do any last minute shopping but how would Michael tell her what he really wanted for Christmas when obtaining it was impossible?

And yeah, yeah, he said he was going to stop thinking about him. But let’s be real, that was never going to happen.

Instead he drank. A lot. And gambled and hooked up with pretty girls and committed enough petty crime to make Max consider a very early retirement.

Anything to get his mind off Alex. But as blissful as the forgetting was in the night, it always came flooding back in the morning. Because every morning he woke up and stared at the compartment where the box was stored and every morning it reminded him of Alex. Well, no more.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he tried to ignore the cold winter wind raging outside, he made the decision to move it. If he hid it away and promised himself that he would never look inside again then maybe, just maybe, he would finally move on.

Standing up was a choice he instantly regretted as the room spun slightly and the sun blaring in through the newspaper covered window immediately fuelled the hangover burning behind his eyes. But as soon as everything settled he wasted no time in opening the compartment and taking out the box.

His fingers were itching to lift up the lid and peek inside but that would only make it harder. Instead he clamped the sides tightly in his grip and headed straight for the closet.

It was ironic really, hiding Alex in the closet - a thought that only came to him as he was opening the door - but it was the only place in the tiny hamster cage of a home where it would be safe from prying eyes, Michael’s included.

There were a pair of boots at the bottom alongside some old clothes Max had given him years ago and a cardboard box of blueprints, photos and spaceship pieces he had yet to take to the junkyard.

He lifted them out easily and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to where he was kneeling - they had been shoved in the bottom of a closet for god knows how long, they could manage a bit of manhandling.

With the space now empty, the shoebox went in first, being pushed as far into the corner as possible before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. The larger box went back in next, taking up the remaining floor space, then the boots and bag of clothes were thrown in afterwards. As long as they didn’t fall out, he didn’t care where they landed.

As he closed the door his phone rang and looking at the caller ID the timing couldn’t have been more perfect as he’d finally thought of an idea for what Isobel could buy him.

Because why spend your own money to fuel your drinking habit when someone else could do it for you.

March 2018

Michael was shocked awake by a loud thump. Sitting up too quickly, scrambling to get his brain in gear, he noticed Max standing on the other side of the cage with a large pile of files on the desk in front of him. That explains what caused the rude awakening then.

“Thanks.” He groaned, lying back down on the metal bench. His head was thumping and he was not in the mood for the conversation that was bound to follow.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing with you?” Max asked as he took a seat at the desk. The chair scraped horribly on the floor and it made Michael wince.

He stared up at the ceiling and took a few breaths before talking. He didn’t normally feel this bad after drinking but he’d forgotten to grab a bottle of acetone before heading to the Pony and it had been a long night.

“I thought you wanted to spend more time together.” He replied impudently after a moment.

He heard Max sigh and could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Michael.”

“It’s a little funny.” He smirked, attempting to sit up again, groaning as it became clear how much his back hadn’t appreciated his drunk tank sleeping arrangements. Max didn’t even glance up at him from the file he was reading. “Right, are you gonna let me out or not?”

“Nope. Valenti’s just outside and she’ll know if I go easy on you.”

Michael scoffed and debated just lifting the keys from the desk with his powers. Why did Max have to be such a rule-following little Deputy? It was as if Max was the mind reader of the trio though as he grabbed the keys without looking and put them straight into his pocket.

“I’m just trying to help you.” Max gave him a pointed look that Michael just wanted to punch right off his face sometimes.

“Like always…” Michael muttered under his breath.

“I’m surprised Maria hasn’t barred you yet. You cause her more trouble than it’s worth.”

“The fight wasn’t even that bad, everyone just overreacted. Besides, the other guy totally started it.”

Max shook his head as he got back to his work. Michael wasn’t lying, he hadn’t started the fight, he had just been rather eager to join in. Sometimes punching things felt good.

Max was clearly not letting him out anytime soon and it was well before noon so no-one was expecting him to be at work for a good couple of hours. He could try to negotiate his freedom but Max had this whole save Michael from himself agenda going on recently so it would probably just be a waste of breath.

Instead he could take the easy route and catch up with a bit more sleep.

June 2018

“Quick Alex, run and tell your daddy.”

Michael instantly regretted his words the second the door had closed behind him.

But he hadn’t seen Alex in four years, hadn’t heard from him in months. He had every right to be angry. Right?

Except he wasn’t angry, not really, that was just a façade he was forcing forward to help protect himself from the heartache threatening to break through. He never could stay angry at Alex for long.

Looking through the shoebox filled him with a cautious kind of hope. Just because Alex was back didn’t mean anything was going to change between them but Michael just couldn’t help it.

He sat on the floor for a while as he read over some of the letters, his legs getting cramped in the small gap between the bed and the closet. He had forgotten how happy the earlier letters were, the ones sent before Alex had had a chance to experience combat. They had both been so young back then, so unaware of how life would turn out.

Once he was finished, he left the shoebox on his desk, feeling too nostalgic to put it back in the closet but not yet ready to commit to the overhead compartment again. Thoughts of Alex followed him well into the afternoon of the next day and they didn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Twenty-four hours since Alex had been standing right in front of him and he had completely fallen for the airman all over again.

But that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let Alex in again. Not if it was just going to end the same way.

So when Alex approached him at the reunion, suggesting that he had turned his trailer into a meth lab, Michael did all he could to put the wall back up again. He was sarcastic and aggrieved and did his best to rile Alex up. You trying to hold my hand, Private?

And when he shoved past Alex he pretended to himself that it felt good.

But the heart wants what the hearts wants and all evening his eyes kept being drawn back to Alex. He barely noticed the girl at his side as he watched Alex smile politely and engage in conversation with people they had both gone to school with and when Alex ducked into a side room, he couldn’t stop his feet from following.

Watching Alex check his prosthetic broke Michael’s heart. He wanted to ask a million questions, how did it happen? When did it happen? Does it hurt? Are you okay? Alex was walking on it, albeit with a crutch, so it must have been at least a year since he was injured and Michael had been oblivious to it all. Although an entire year of unanswered letters were suddenly provided with a devastating explanation.

To lose a limb must be unimaginable, but whatever had caused it, Michael was just so glad that it hadn’t taken all of him.

He leaned against the doorway as his eyes roamed over every part of the man in front of him, taking him in completely. His beautiful face that Michael was desperate to put a smile on, his soft hair that had grown since he had last been home, the checkered shirt that looked so much more Alex than the uniform, the way he glowed under the coloured lights.

They had both been through so much this past decade but Alex was back, potentially for good this time, and Michael was about to dive headfirst into the possibility of them rekindling whatever it was they once had.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” He spoke up, hoping beyond anything that Alex wouldn’t walk away. He allowed a gentle smile and when Alex dropped his leg to the floor and faced him properly, he felt his heartbeat quicken.

Alex took a moment to reply and when he did his face gave no hints as to whether he was happy to see Michael or not. “I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq you would be long gone.”

“Is that what you want?” Michael avoided eye contact, suddenly not wanting to witness the moment Alex turned him away but still, he walked closer.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Alex whispered, the words catching in his throat, and still Michael kept walking. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

They were so close to each other now, barely an arm’s length away from touching and the close proximity gave Michael all the courage he needed. He drew his longing gaze away from Alex’s eyes to his soft lips and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

One moment they were two separate people and the next they were crashing together like waves that had been parted for an eternity.

Michael’s entire body tingled, the feeling of Alex’s palm on his back, Alex’s lips against his own. He was hardly aware of what his hands were doing, cupping Alex’s face and pulling him closer, hungry and intense and desperate to reclaim what they had lost. He barely breathed as the rest of the world fell away until it was just them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

His anger at Alex and his year long desire to banish any thought of him was long forgotten. He was back, he was here and Michael didn’t ever want to let go.

As they parted, foreheads still touching, Michael couldn’t bear to take his eyes off the man in front of him, convinced that if he closed his eyes for even a second it would all disappear. The moment was so perfect, part of him felt like he was dreaming.

Their relationship over the past decade had been a complete rollercoaster but now, feeling Alex pressed against him, Michael was convinced that things would be different now.

And maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

The End.

Thank you for reading ❤️✨

#malexsanta #malexsanta2020 #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #michael guerin fic #malex fic #my fic

44 notes · View notes

lightlessons · 4 years

Note

Lawlight in Hogwarts AU, please ❤️❤️❤️ Maybe visiting Hogsmeade?

Sorry for the wait! It’s been crazy days and you know how much I love Hogwarts AU’s so I wanted to do this right.

That being said, hope you enjoy ❤️

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

Word count: 1,316

"I take back what I said, I'm not going to miss you and I'm certainly not going to miss you pulling these ridiculous stunts on me."

"You're such a bore, Light. Believe me, I didn't want to be tied to a sniveling self-important schoolboy either, but we can't help what hell likes to throw at us sometimes."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Light didn't snivel! "I'm starting to think you made this binding spell on purpose. I don't know why yet, but I'm not going to follow you to France just so you have somebody to talk to."

"You really are such an arrogant prick, Light. I hope by the time you leave this school, people come to realize that."

Light, offended but too tired to continue arguing, sighed and threw his head back on the sofa. They were both sitting in Slytherin's Common Room, after three days of being bound at the wrist together and having to rely on all kinds of lies and schemes to avoid anyone finding out. The sole person responsible for their current predicament? Oh yes, none other than the plague of Light’s life ever since having entered the wizarding school, and one of the most talented students it’d had in recent years.

And yet he was utterly incapable of undoing his own hex.

“I need some air,” Light declared and after a few minutes of further bickering, they were both walking the few yards to Hogsmeade.

*°*°*°*°*

“There are many things I’m going to miss from this place, but Honeydukes has to be at the top of the list,” L remarked, greedily sucking on a liquorice wand the way a young calf would it's mom's udder. Light grimaced, but a cold, tiny needle bore into the center of his chest at such a well-known sight. The school year was about to end, and with it L's time as a Hogwarts student. Light had been feeling nostalgic as the fateful day approached and had invited L for a night escapade to the Room of Requirements, where between silly magic duels and more beer than either of them had intended to take, L had confused two spells and ended up tying them together as they were now, through an invisible chain that couldn't be longer than six feet.

"They're going to lose a significant amount of their income once you're gone," Light pointed out, meaning for it to sound mocking but betraying an unintended wistfulness behind his words.

"At least someone is going to miss me," L replied, only barely lifting his lips from the candy to pronounce the words, dramatic as they were. Light stopped in his tracks and eventually, the chain’s strain had the soon-to-be Hogwarts alumnus turn to face him with a curious look.

“You know I was only angry because of the absurd situation you put us in. I wasn’t actually… I mean, I’ll…” This didn’t come as easily without alcohol. “It’s… going to be weird not to have you around.”

The rascal’s only response was to regard him with a wide, impish grin, at which Light reacted with a roll of his eyes. Of course L would trick him into saying stuff like that, L’s only purpose was to obfuscate Light and confuse him with those big eyes and that kicked puppy act he had so well-polished. Light was about to dignifiedly walk past him when he felt the chain tugging at his wrist in another direction. L had begun to trot towards the Three Broomsticks, but instead of going through the door like Light had expected him to, he made a turn to the side and directed them to the back of the store, where there stood an apple tree surrounded by its dramatic June drop.

“What’s gotten into you? I told you not to drag me like that.”

“I have something for you.”

“And why did you bring us here?” Light asked with less irritation now that he knew there was something for him.

“I wanted some privacy,” L shrugged and from his cloak’s pocket he took out a small package wrapped like a gift in violet paper.

Light took it from L’s thin hands, not looking at him as his heart hammered against his ribcage with every unwrapped bit of paper. Finally, he revealed a small crystal ball resting over a howlite base, but the beautiful white gemstone wasn’t what captured his attention; there was a glowing, silver animal inside the ball, and Light recognized it immediately as a miniature version of L’s Patronus. An Anglo-French Hound shook it’s tiny tail as it leaned on the rounded crystal surface facing Light. It barked soundlessly towards him before circling around the base and finally resting at the center, Light was taken aback by how angelic he found the whole development.

“I admit I needed help making it, but I’ve tested it and it works just fine. It’s… nothing very useful as it barely has any of the power of an actual Patronus Charm, I’m afraid. But I’ve made it so you can summon this one by merely saying my name. At least, if you ever find yourself so morose that the sight of my dog might animate you. It's not your fox because I wouldn't have been able to make it myself. If you want your own one you'll have to ask Linda about it, but I thought it might be a nice remember-me-by present, and it also--"

"It's lovely, L," Light interrupted to save L from babbling to death.

"I wasn't finished yet."

"I thought you were just rambling."

L shook his head and breathed in through his nose.

"It appears that it also sometimes makes an appearance on its own, if I'm thinking about you."

There was a tightness in his throat now that wouldn't be easy to dissimulate, and he was about to make a joke about him now knowing if L ever forgot about him, but he desisted from it. Instead, he diverted his attention to a smaller, cylindrical wrapping that had come inside the bigger one. Unprepared for another shock of emotions without a proper warning, he asked L what it was this time.

"Oh, that's just a quill," his friend answered. "I just took--bought it!--from Scrivenshaft's, in case you didn't care for the ball."

"You just stole this from Scrivenshaft's"

"I left the money where they'll find it. I couldn't just buy your gift if you were going to see it."

Light couldn't help but laugh quietly as he unwrapped the second gift. It was indeed an elegant black pheasant quill with a golden nib and a red, pointy tip. It was just his style, and he was touched that L would go out of his way to buy him something he was sure he’d like, despite finding his worries that he may not like the most personal gift of the two rather unjustified.

“It’s beautiful, too, L. Thank you,” he said honestly with a smile, and if L noticed the strain in his voice, he didn't mention it, and only smiled back.

By the time they began to walk back towards the castle, dusk had already settled across the town, painting the sky in soft pink hues, and the magic chain remained an unyielding presence around their wrist with no indication of a prompt disappearance.

"Maybe you'll actually have to leave for France with me," L suggested unhelpfully.

"Or you'll repeat seven year." Light countered, to which L shrugged. "We still have two days to figure it out. We've gotten out of worse ones before, there's no need to fret." They probably hadn't been trying hard enough.

"Two days," L repeated for no reason.

"Yeah," Light stared ahead at the castle, by now the only spot of warm candle light in a world of black and blue. "Two days."

The remaining of the walk was spent in silence.

#lawlight #light yagami #l lawliet #hogwarts au #my writing #my fic #drabble #unbetaed #sorry for english mistakes #pining friends yay #thank you so much for the prompt sophya #it was soo fun #a lot of this was half based on your headcanons and half on mine #thank you for that wonderful hp lawlight art too it helped a lot for inspiration #fanfic

70 notes · View notes

seriouslyhooked · 3 years

Text

Can’t Say No (At Christmas)

CS one-shot set in the future. Hope is three and Emma and Killian are still very much in the throws of a happily ever after, but Killian wants to do something special for Emma for Christmas. With the help of their family and the town, he manages to fulfill a Christmas wish for his wife in exactly the kind of over-the-top fluffy and sweet way you’d expect from me. Includes holiday surprises, Christmas cheer, and a healthy dash of true love. Rated T. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey all! I really did not know if I was going to be able to get this drabble done, but I am so happy to say that I did and to share it with you all tonight. I know that this Christmas is going to be so different for so many of us, and that it has been a hard year of uncertainty and stress. My gift to our little fandom is this story, focused on Emma and Killian a few years after we got to see them in the show. It’s inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the cheesiness that only Hallmark movies can provide, and the song ‘No Problem’ by Dylan Schneider. I love the idea that Killian cannot deny Emma anything, and that at Christmas he has to make Emma’s wishes come true. I hate to spoil any more of this, but I will just say thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t know how the hell you pulled this off, mate, but I got to hand it to you, this is really something special.”

The words David uttered from the bottom of the ladder were high praise, despite the dig at Killian’s favorite endearment. Tonight though, Killian would let the jab slide. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to pretend to argue with Emma’s father. Instead he hustled down the rungs and back to solid ground beside his friend. He took stock of the room once more, running his hand through his hair and tracing each corner of the barn with his gaze. There was very little about the place that was recognizable. It had been sufficiently transformed, from an old, dusty tomb of farm equipment, to a space fit for the evening ahead.

“It pays to be a good guy in the end,” Killian joked. Playing up the early days of their knowing each other when Killian was anything but a hero. “Turns out I’ve helped quite a lot of people these past few years. They were eager to return the favor.”

“That’s true enough, but I think the fact that you did this all for Emma plays a big part too.”

There was no doubt about that, and the mere reminder of his wife brought a smile to his lips. She was going to be surprised by this, and there was nothing that he loved more than surprising his Swan. Killian could hardly wait for the look of excitement that would spread across her face, and the light that would appear in her jade colored eyes. Her cheeks would flush from realization, and her hands would move unbiddenly, as if she couldn’t quite contain the excitement or suspense. Emma was always the most beautiful of women, and a miracle to be sure, but when treated to a gift that was truly worthy of her, she was transcendent, his own personal star and tempting taste of heaven.

“Any word from Snow?” Killian asked, checking his watch and seeing they had made good time, despite the hecticness of the day. He had enough time to catch a shower and prepare himself, but he needed to be sure that Emma and Hope were sufficiently occupied in the meantime.

“Better – she sent a video while you were hanging the last of the garland.”

David offered his phone and Killian laughed at the sight. Snow and Emma had taken Neal and Hope out of town to a nearby ski resort that was hosting all sorts of winter activities for kids. In the video Emma, Hope, and Neal were all making snow angels, until Neal gave the signal and he and Hope pivoted to throwing snowballs at Emma. The only problem was Hope was far too little and bundled up in snow gear to be effective. She was having the time of her life though, and at the end of the video, Emma scooped their daughter up and nuzzled her close, bestowing a kiss on her curly brown hair, which had escaped its winter cap. Hope was a dazzling blend of him and Emma, but her goodness and ability to inspire love was totally her mother’s doing.

“Perfect. You good here for the time being?” David nodded, pivoting from his assistant role to commander in chief with the quickness of one-time prince. Content that his tasks were in good hands, Killian headed out, eager to put the next parts of his plan in place.

Things moved quickly from there. He showered and readied himself for the kind of night his Emma had imagined, ignoring the strangeness of his reflection as he did. He would never feel quite right in these damn tuxedos, but Emma’s wish was specific and it included the blasted suit. It also included a number of gifts for Emma and for Hope, which he pulled from the one place in the house Emma never ventured to – the garage. From the back of the storage space there, he grabbed a number of boxes that he’d stuffed away last week, and brought them all inside. After checking the contents were free from any water or dirt, he was convinced things were as they should be, and he left the gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

The only thing left to craft was the note for Emma that would set her surprise in motion. He hadn’t dared to write it out before, wanting to save it for this moment. It felt right to speak from the heart and to put in words exactly how he felt tonight. Still, it took time to get the letter exactly right, and he must admit he grew a bit sentimental when crafting it. A time or two he fell into recent and more distant memories of their lives together, feeling the warmth in his soul that could only ever come from the truest love. Luckily, he had enough of his wits about him and time was on his side. Soon he heard the sound of a car pulling up the drive just as he closed the envelope with Emma’s name and placed it on the tree, and with the stealth accrued in his past life, he slipped out the back door just before his girls came in.

“Mama, look! Santa came early,” he heard Hope say as he quietly rounded the side of the house. For a moment he was truly tempted to steal a look and watch this scene play out, but he reminded himself that there was still more to be done, and instead headed down the street to where a not so patiently waiting Snow was parked.

“Killian, thank God! I thought you’d never get here!” she exclaimed as he opened the door, but before he could reply, young Neal let his own thoughts be known.

“Mom, it’s been like sixty seconds. Literally. Look, I timed it on the stopwatch Henry gave me. 63 seconds.

“No, has it only been a minute? I’m so excited I can’t tell. It feels like forever. I was waiting for this all day. It was so hard not to spill the beans.”

“But you didn’t, right?” Killian checked, pivoting to Neal for the truth. When the boy gave him a thumbs up, he let out a breath. “Good. But it all might be for not if we don’t get a move on.”

“Oh, right. We’ve got to go. We’ve got a Christmas miracle to deliver.” Neal groaned at the words and Killian remained quiet prompting Snow to ask the question, “Sorry, too cheesy?”

“For tonight? No, strangely it’s just right.”

And with that, they pulled away from the curb, headed back towards the barn and the long-awaited surprise.

……………….

“Mama, look! Santa came! Santa came!”

At first Emma didn’t understand the words from her daughter. She was just trying to get her bearings after peeling the snow clothes off of Hope and discarding her own jacket on the hook by the door. Her boots were barely off and her scarf was still wound around her neck. She couldn’t imagine how Hope still had so much energy, but then she remembered – three year olds were like comic book characters, with a super power of endless energy.

“Christmas Eve is tomorrow, honey,” Emma said, righting her clothes and letting go of a big breath, before walking towards the living room. “Two more sleeps until Santa.”

“But look, Mama, pwesents!”

Emma followed her daughters pointing finger across the way, and low and behold there were gifts under the tree that had not been there this morning. Her curiosity was peaked, but when she saw the white envelope secured in the branches of their evergreen tree, she had an inkling of what was happening.

“Killian,” she murmured walking forward, and running her fingertips across the delicate paper.

“Daddy?” Hope asked excitedly, and Emma nodded as she opened the envelope, only to fight off tears of love when she read the letter.

My Dearest Emma,

There are no gifts that I could ever give you that compare to all you’ve given me. I know and accept that, but this time of year is different. It’s a season predicated on love, light, and yes, even a bit of magic. So I had to try, for your sake and for mine.

Christmas is about showing the people you love what they mean to you. It’s about giving love and feeling love, and knowing that even in the dark of a winter night, there is hope and light ahead. It’s about reminding loved ones that you care, that you’re rooting for them, and that their dreams are your dreams too. You taught me that, you and Hope and Henry, and I swear to you that all I could ever want is to make you happy, and to grant the wishes you carry in your heart.

“Ooo, pwetty,” Hope said, dragging Emma’s eyes down to where her daughter had already begun opening the parcels below. Inside the white garment box was a gorgeous crimson colored dress, breathtaking in its elegant design. The satin and the beading were exquisite, and the color was to die for, and like something from a dream. Hope offered the box to her, knowing even at age three that it wasn’t the right size for her. “For you, Mama.”

“Thank you, princess,” Emma said, taking the box in hand, wanting to look at it in full, but knowing the letter was still more important.

You are everything to me, Emma. Everything and so much more. You and our children hold my whole universe in your hands. Tonight, I hope to take your hand in mine, and remind you that in life, all you really need is the perfect partner.

“He didn’t,” Emma whispered, looking down from the letter which had been signed with love by her pirate. Then she looked at the other presents Hope was opening. A beautiful pair of heels, a white fur muff, and a necklace that sparkled, along with all the same things for Hope that were more their daughter’s style and perfect for her size. The last gift was another envelope, with a card. On the top in cursive script it read ‘Selected Suitors for Emma Jones’ and the only name was Killian’s. “Oh my god, he did. It’s a dance. He planned a Christmas dance for me.”

“Dance?” Hope asked and Emma crouched down to help her daughter really open her own garment box, where a beautiful princess-style dress was waiting for her. As soon as she saw it Hope let out a sound of pure delight, clapping her hands together at a hastened clip. At that moment, the front door opened, and Emma looked, expecting to see Killian but instead seeing her son, dressed up in a tuxedo and looking downright dashing. It would have been a shock either way, but this year, when she’d been bracing herself for her son being away for the holiday, it felt like an even greater gift.

“Henry?” she asked, as Hope bolted for her brother. Instinctively, Henry scooped her up, accepting all her hugs and kisses before turning his eyes back to Emma.

“Surprise! Well, part of it anyway. But we’ve got to get a move on, or we’ll be late.”

“Where are we going?” Hope asked. Henry responded by whispering in her ear, low enough that Emma couldn’t hear. Whatever he said made Hope gasp. “Really? We’re going there?”

“Sure are. But we have to get ready. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve got Hope. You do what you need to do.”

Emma was spurred into motion, grabbing the gifts marked for her and heading upstairs. In thirty minutes, she and Hope were both ready for whatever awaited them, and though Emma had her suspicions, she was in no way prepared when they arrived at the old McDonald farm. Pulling around back to the barn, there were dozens of people milling around. Everyone in town was here tonight, dressed up and partaking in merriment, but when they left the car and walked inside, Emma was truly stunned.

“It’s beautiful,” she said aloud, taking in the gorgeous decorations. The space was totally transformed, a perfect blend of rustic refinement. The colors were vivid and vibrant, the air was warm and filled with the scent of cinnamon and honey, and the joy here was palpable. There was a buzzing electricity that crackled in the air. This was what all those Christmas movies strove to recreate but could never quite capture, and Emma took it all in knowing that her husband had made this just for her.

Scanning the room for him, Emma was first greeted with the sight of her Mom and Dad and brother. They came forward immediately, hugging her and Hope and Henry and extending their thoughts.

“Oh, honey, you look spectacular!” her mother exclaimed with tears in her eyes, holding her hands and looking at her red dress. It was a truly wonderous design, that hugged every one of Emma’s curves just right while still feeling of the season. It was classic and timeless and more than a little sexy, but it was appropriate for the night, when everyone was dressed to the nines.

“So do you guys,” Emma said honestly, taking in her mom’s sapphire ball gown, and her Dad and brother’s tuxes.

“I’m a princess, Grandpa,” Hope said happily and Emma’s father immediately agreed as the band began to play a slower melody.

“There’s no denying that. Care to dance with me, Princess Hope?” He asked, bowing to her daughter. Hope giggled but took Emma’s hand instinctively, looking at her for permission and clarity.

“What about you, Mama?”

“Don’t worry, sprout,” Henry said nodding across the room and using his favorite nickname for his sister. “Dad’s got her taken care of.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Killian, as if this was a first date and not years into their marriage. She couldn’t help the butterflies swarming within her, and then, like magic the crowd of people parted, and there, across the room was her man. It should have come as no surprise how handsome he would look. Emma was well versed in how roguishly hot her pirate could be, but in a tux it was a whole other story. Maybe it was the rarity of seeing him like this, or maybe Killian was just one of those men who was born to wear a tux, but either way she was struck by him. Everything seemed to stop around her, and all she could sense was the man who completely owned her heart.

A few moments later they were together again. Emma hadn’t even realize she’d been walking towards him, and him to her, but when he took her hand she felt her blood hum in anticipation. She was caught in his eyes, sensing the mixture of love and desire that was so intoxicating, and waiting for him to speak, because words in this moment truly failed her.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he said to her, the gravel of his tone washing over her and sending a shiver down her spine in that delicious kind of way. “The fantasies I’d conjured in my mind’s eye could never do you justice.”

“So you were fantasizing about this, huh?” she asked, her voice thready as she turned, purposefully taunting him with a view of all her best angles. This time he let out a low growl that spiked her desire to tease him. God damn, there were people around! How could she be this hot and bothered? Oh right, she was married to a sinfully attractive and impossibly romantic man. This was par for the course.

“Aye, love, and I promise those musings will prove more than satisfactory when we get home.” His voice dipped low and she swallowed hard, trying to tamp down her own building need. Then something shifted in his eyes, and she knew before he said a word that something immensely thoughtful was about to be shared. “I hope it’s everything that you wanted, love. Those blasted ‘Hallmark towns’ have a lot more built-in Christmas cheer than Storybrooke, but all it took was a hint that this was what you wanted, and everyone came together.”

It dawned on her that the wish he was referring to was one that she’d made a few weekends ago when they were laying in bed watching TV. She usually skipped the Hallmark Christmas extravaganza, but this year she was feeling sentimental. Maybe it was the fact that Hope was finally hitting an age where she was starting to understand the season, or more likely it was the pregnancy hormones from their little one on the way. She was only twelve weeks along, and wasn’t even showing yet, but her self-coined pregnancy induced crazy brain was in full swing, and had been from the start. The only thing getting her through most days was Killian, and then he went and did something like this… it was too much for her, she couldn’t take it.

“I love you,” she confessed, blurting it out like it was some big secret instead of established fact. “Like a lot. A lot a lot.”

“A lot a lot,” Killian parroted with a grin, pulling her with him out to the dance floor before taking her in his arms. She melded into his muscled physique, trying not to swoon as the melody carried them away.

“You know I’m not as good at the whole poetic declarations thing as you are.”

“Few can be, love,” he joked. She raised her brow at him in quiet consternation, and he only laughed before turning her into a low dip on the dance floor and reminding her that he was in total control of himself out here. “But where words might fail you, action is your strong suit. You show me every day how much you love me, Emma. And every day I thank my lucky stars to have that love.”

He made a fair point. Emma was, after all, a woman of action, and so she decided to take some now. Though they were dancing, she stalled their moment to pull him in for a kiss, giving them both a taste of what was to come when the night drew to a close. The sparks between them ignited instantly, and without looking, Emma knew some of her magic was radiating from within. When they pulled apart she was almost dizzy from the delight, but Killian was even more effected. He had that boyish grin of his in full display, and that tiny hint of bashfulness that came when he’d done something really well. Only when she heard the oohing and aahing of the people around them did she realize their magic had created stars along the ceiling of the barn, making it appear that they were all dancing under an inky black sky bursting with constellations.

From a distance, Emma heard her daughter ask if it was ‘magic time’ now, but before she and Killian needed to step in, Regina told her ‘Not tonight, kid,’ and Henry whisked her off for her another dance. This gave Emma and Killian time, time to enjoy the fruits of all he’d done, and to revel in this moment for as long as they could.

“Merry Christmas, Killian. You’ve made it so perfect, I never want it to end.”

“What is it they say in those movies, love? Oh right – every day is Christmas when we’re together.”

And even though it was horribly corny, and she should have rolled her eyes at such a lame joke, Emma found that she couldn’t. She was simply too happy and grateful to feign otherwise. Instead she savored every moment of their Christmas dance, and the night they shared thereafter, knowing this would be one of the best days she’d ever had, and that somehow, some way, her pirate would find other means of making the future just as bright.

……………………

Girl I got a no problem Yeah, it's a bad habit, the way I gotta have it With or without you around All ya gotta do is call me, and tell me that you're lonely You're always stringing me out Yeah, they say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, so here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Girl, I should know better, yeah, I should know never To let you in just to leave If it's just two letters, then why can't I ever Find a way to piece 'em together Let's say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, I'm admitting it, here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Yeah, you already know if you're asking me What the answer's always gonna be It's gonna be, yeah Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Can't say no to you Yeah, you already know if you're asking me Girl, I got a no problem That the answer's always gonna be 'Cause I can't say no to you Girl, I got a no problem 'Cause I can't say no to you

Post-Note: So, what did you think? Hopefully you enjoyed this little dose of holiday cuteness and none of this is offensive in any way or to any story line. Most of you know I never watched the last season of the show, so I don’t know what they say happened to Henry and everybody. I only knew Emma and Killian did eventually have a baby girl named Hope. Anyway, I want to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and healthy holiday season. I am grateful for you all, from the ride or die readers who comment on every post, to the people passing by who just wanted a little bit of Christmas cheer. You are such a force for good in my world, whoever you are, and I thank you for your light and kindness in these trying time. I wish you all the best this Christmas and in the New Year, and more than anything I wish you love! Sending my best vibes your way now and always, xE.

The Captain Swan Mixtape oneshot series:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195

28 notes · View notes

meltalks · 4 years

Text

my experience with addy / hiqey

i’ve contemplated posting my history with addy/hiqey for awhile now. my friends have encouraged me to do so, but due to her stance in the rpc i was always far too scared to do so. with all that is coming to light with her recently, not only is a huge weight off my shoulders as far as comfortably roleplaying as my escape, but knowing i’m not alone. my story with addy dates back to about september 2018. i do warn you this will be long, and i’ll try to include enough details to make it make sense while not dragging things on and on. this includes both my personal relationship with addy, as well as my experience with her in groups one where she she was an admin, and groups where i was an admin. as well as i believe we coadmined one together. i’ve put screenshots where i could, but some of this dates back to 2018 and i just don’t have access to those texts/rp accounts anymore.

a huge huge shout out to @bumkeyz for starting this avalanche, and for also supporting me one on one along with all my friends to feel safe enough to come forward. i’ll put all of my story under a read more.

i’m going to start this by saying, my name is mel/melanie. you may have heard of me because back when addy was on rpslayed she wasn’t a big fan of me for awhile. predominantly my group the cape(?) the main isn’t up anymore so i can’t remember the exact @. i’m 21 years old, i will be 22 this month. i am married & i have a 3 year old daughter. this is information i don’t normally tell people i’m married / have a child, because well, i just feel a little judged. not because anything anyone has specifically done or said, but my own anxieties worried that people will think it’s weird to be married with a child and still in twitter rp. but it is important to my story with addy, which is why i’m letting everyone know right off the bat.

i met addy in a group called producers. this group is from september 2018, so i’m not able to access anything right now, but am digging. i played (feel free to clown me) a g-eazy character named pierce. addy played a carlson young who’s name i can’t quite recall, and a gracie abrams named lolly. lolly & pierce became friends first & at some point we exchanged phone numbers. lolly & pierce flirted a lot, pierce was a player yada yada. eventually she ended up getting a different ship on lolly & pushed her carlson young onto pierce. pierce had a different love interest & didn’t end up going for her. this should’ve been the first negative sign/red flag. when pierce didn’t get with her character, she got very short & snarky ic and ooc. i believe both of her characters blocked me ic. even though pierce had made no ic promises to either to not be with someone else. we still maintained some level of friendship, but she was extremely weird about when i mentioned my ship. our friendship ended for a few months because of an incident that started ic between me and another character. the mun who played this character and i had bonded ooc over having been pregnant, we talked somewhat often about her dealings with her pregnancy. so i felt close enough/friendly enough with this mun that when something happened with her character & another character ic i dm’ed her to see if she was ok .long story short it went bad. i texted addy and told her that. i explained that i felt as if this mun & i were close and it was like dm’ing a friend. she held onto the fact that i shouldn’t have messaged her. when i didn’t immediately conform to her thought she kicked me out of the group. i was literally devastated. i loved that group, that character, my ship; all of it. she blocked me. though this story is 2 paragraphs long, it’s minor in the grand scheme of things. after this she smeared me on rpslayed for months until our paths crossed again in a group called glitches/glitch? we decided to squash our beef. this was december 2019.

in december 2019 we became friends again. honestly, i wish we never crossed paths. we got very close right away. she started telling me about a bad friendship she had, with someone we mutually knew from producers who i will not name since it’s not my place to put their name in this, and gained my sympathy. so much so that i ended a friendship with that person based solely on accusations that addy had told me. this is something that i can now realize i did wrong. i literally cussed this person out on the phone, solely based off things addy told me. i didn’t listen to someone who had been my friend for months, who defended me and picked me up when addy was tearing me down on rpslayed. i turned my back because addy convinced me to. she made this person seem awful. and again, i’m not naming them, but they know exactly who they are. and when thy do read this, i’m sorry.

now this is where things get out of hand. addy & i begun an intimate relationship. this is very personal, and i know some may pass judgment. but my husband was cool with it. addy also began talking to my husband, they texted. we had a groupchat. not to get into details about the relationship, but it was romantic. i am going to try and organize my thoughts. into themes.

money

this relationship lasted from about january ish to april romantically. i became addy’s crutch. she began going through personal issues with her family. and i started sending her money. to be frank i don’t remember how it started. i helped her with a job search, supporting her through these tough things that were going on. the money started casually i suppose. it was $10 for lunch. $25 for nails. but then it got worse. i bought her a phone. and slowly she grew more entitled to my money. asking for it. demanding it. guilting me when i didn’t give it. i lied to her and told her i lost my credit card and turned it off, but the guilt i had i told her that i could turn it on when she needed it. in screenshots i will post below she guilted me because i was sick and fell asleep before turning my card on. whether what she’s saying occured is true or not, it was just one example of how she made me feel. at one point she had my credit card on her uber, and charged nearly $400 of ubers on my credit card that i didn’t know about. she claimed it was an accident, because i let her put my card on her account under the agreement that she would turn it off. we had an agreement of what she would pay me back, some things that i got her were gifts and i didn’t want/need back. other things it was always an agreement she would pay me back. however whenever i would mention sending me a payment she had an excuse. one time even guilting me by reminding me how much better i have it than she does. all in all i spent / sent upwards of $2500/$3000 on her. only about $1500/$1800 i wanted back. i never saw a dime back, she never made good on her promises. at some point i gave up on asking.

ETA: as far as the uber situation goes, she did apologize and state that it was never on purpose when i found out that there was nearly $500 in charges. she said she thought she was charging her moms card. this shows a photo of 1 page of a 5 page statement of all the transactions put on my card by her in one month. there are only 6 of these transactions that were me. all of the ubers and venmo were her. i didn’t make her take off my card, which in hindsight was obviously a very bad decision. i just didn’t want to leave her stranded without ways to get home/where she needed to be.

this is her demanding money. this was in the summer. at this point i was so manipulated by her/scared of her/scared of losing her that i didn’t know how to say no. in this instance i deflected with a picture of my child. screen shot.

in the screenshots here, this is where i fell asleep. i was on vacation and got extremely dehydrated in the sun. i literally felt so sick and she made me feel guilty for falling asleep. X X X

this screenshot shows one of the times i actually asked her when she would repay me. at this point my credit card was nearly maxed out from ubers and sending her money. i was anxious about it and she made me feel bad for asking because her situation was worse than mine. this was the same day she asked me for $250 for a down payment on her car. X asking for money. X making me feel bad for asking when she’s gonna pay.

literally to this day im still in credit card debt because of this. yes i make good money, yes my husband does too. but credit card debt is hard and everyone knows it. i do fine for myself, but i don’t have hundreds extra to pay this down.

also, i cannot locate the bank screenshot. but as recent as this february, six months since she spoke to me, she still had my card on her uber and usted it again. i can’t find the screenshot of the actual of the bank transaction because i’ve completely had to close that account for fraud and transfer my balance to a new card. but here is a screenshot from february 12 where i tell my friends i caught her doing it. X .

manipulation in groups/related to groups

orbis. i ran a group called orbis, it was a reality show group. addy was one of my friends who really wanted me to open it. all of my groups i’ve adminned i’m the lead. i just always take on that roll so i do get very busy with them on top of my real life. i work full time and i’m a mom so i spread myself thin.she made me feel really guilty for this, saying i wasn’t giving her enough time, she wasn’t anyones dog. so i posted my unfollow. then she told me i was stupid for doing that. so i deleted my unfollow. then she said that me deleting my unfollow showed that i didn’t really care how she felt. screens. X X

lumeer. very similar situation to above. only this time i left the group completely for about 3 weeks. i called my coadmin crying about what she was doing to me, sent her the psds and templates for grpahics and left fully, though i helped them out if issues arose/they needed anything.

impulse. this was recently and this got brought to the tags. im going to copy & paste what i sent to bumkeyz as far as the story goes for what happened.

“ what happened in impulse is only one of several examples of addy being awful in groups i've adminned. this goes back to our friendship but specifically here's what happened in impulse. addy played a character named briar, the other characters involved were as mentioned in other posts loki & khalil (fai fc). one of he first days of the group khalil hooked up with both loki & briar. when the "updates" account posted about loki & khalil's hook up (we posted any and all plot drops that were sent in, it was a reality show so we consistently updated what the cameras caught), briar got upset on main. addy then messaged khalil's mun ooc and asked for the plot to be erased. essentially because she didn't like that khalil had hooked up with both her and another girl in the same day/same manor. as odd of a request as i was the khalil mun agreed to wipe it & asked that if there was anything that ever came up again that made addy uncomfortable to please not hesitate to dm. addy then softblocked khalil. which is strange. why soft block with briar's reason to dislike khalil has been wiped? that night addy posted on her personal tumblr hiqey "i forgot all fai khadra fcs are weirdos" or soemthing along that line. the khalil mun reasonably got uncomfortable with that, but was softblocked & didn't tell the main. they just ignored it since their characters weren't interacting now. for the next few days addy continued to shade khalil and loki on main, despite any ic reason for disliking them being wiped. loki then approached briar IN CHARACTER asking what was wrong/why she was shading/why they didn't like her. i don't know all the details of that conversation, but i know it ended with loki saying she was going to block briar & briar saying that was fine. bear in mind the admins had no idea any of this was happening at this point. addy then dmed the main, playing victim. after more shading of khalil, khalil's mun decided to block briar as well. addy despite wiping this plot and having 0 ic communication with khalil continued to shade the characters ic. so addy dmed the main playing innocent. asking for us to have them unblock, saying she had no idea why they blocked or what she did. as admins we had no idea why either, figured it was something ic so we dmed both muns. khalil's mun agreed after some hestiation, and asked if they had to follow her and i said no. they didn't elaborate. loki's mun however refused, & i'm glad she did because she told us what was going on. of course once we were told everyting we didn't make her unblock. up until we told addy that we were not going to make those muns unblock her, she was extremely sweet to us. she praised us on her rpt. said she loved the group. fed the main compliments. but when she didn't get her way out of us, and was essentially told on, she started causing issues on the timeline with different characters. she sent us a dm on the main telling us to "learn how to handle your group melanie" and deactivated before i could get a chance to reply. “

what i didn’t tell bumkeyz is that deejay/rpslayed played khalil. another example of addy’s manipulation is that when she saw deejay getting anons she followed deejay and texted her after several months of no communication, starting to tell her side of the story and play innocent -- not knowing that deejay was the person who was behind khalil the entire time. she made khalil out to be the bad guy, not knowing that it was deejay. after finding out deejay and i were friends, when deejay posted on rpslayed for people to follow me shortly after trying to get deejay on her side, addy blocked us both (again).

manipulation between friends (?)

i don’t really know a great way to title this, but this is similar to the situation i mentioned with the unnamed person above -- how addy made me think that person was the worst so i would stop being friends with them. this is a few more examples of that.

the entire time i was friends with addy, she told me that deejay hated me. she told me that deejay was convinced that i was this person who tried to get her kicked out of a group. she told me that she did her very best to convince deejay that it wasn’t true, but no matter what she did deejay just hated me. nearly a year later deejay and i cross paths in a group. we started talking ooc and i mentioned this. i asked her why she thought that was me. we found out that basically, while addy was telling me she was trying to convince deejay it wasn’t me, she was telling deejay that it was me. she would also tell me personal information about deejay that i had no business knowing, whether it be real life information or just telling me the groups deejay adminned when she knew deejay didn’t want anyone knowing.

i have found out recently that addy has recently been telling people a lie about when she came to visit me. on one evening when she visited me in june of 2019, we went to my friend’s house. we both drank, and smoked. i am someone who neither drinks nor smokes, and i got a very bad mix from it. my anxiety sky rocketed. i was crying on my friends couch practically paralyzed. i didn’t want to move. i felt sick. i felt scared. my friends were going to drive us back to my house and shortly before we were about to walk out addy said she needed to go to the hospital. my friend’s boyfriend drove her there, and when he came back they took me home. this night is very blurry for me. i remember barely being able to see straight, my friend helped me walk to and from the car. addy has told her friends that i refused to pick her up from the hospital that night, and i’ve now heard this from two of her close friends. when in reality, i was so far gone that not only was i sick and scared, but i couldn’t see straight. i had absolutely no ability to be behind a wheel. i’m not surprised she twisted this against me.

i provided a few people screenshots where addy was telling me to block them/trying to convince me that they were awful and hurting me. at the same time that addy was telling me this, she was doing the opposite to them -- to keep us apart. i believe this is some sort of power. always wanting to be everyones number one.

i don’t have a lot of screenshots for this, so i won’t go into much detail, but i can say on more than one occasion, or more than five or ten she told me who to and not to be friends with. told me to block people who had been our friends who were no longer friends with her.

flat out manipulation.

i don’t want to go back through my texts too much honestly. it’s still a sore spot. it still sucks and it still hurts. but i think anyone and everyone involved with addy at some point or another has similar stories about the way she treats her friends. there were points where i begged. begged and begged her not to leave me. i can’t even count how many times she blocked and unblocked me. how many times she made me feel the worst and then came back. she came back because she knw i was there. and that my generosity was practically endless. i couldn’t say no to her, frankly i can’t say no to anyone. if anyone dmed me today and said hey i need $15 for a ride home. i’d probably send it. that’s just how i am. addy completely had me wrapped around her finger. to the point that i left friends who were good to me. i left my own groups i worked hard on. i nearly ended my engagement (which cannot be entirely blamed on her, but the relationship she and i had was built off lots of manipulation). i know that i could go find 100 screenshots and texts of her manipulating me but honest i just don’t want to do that to myself again. she has made me out to be the villain to anyone she can. i have had 2 different people tell me that she told them i say the n word, which is the furthest thing from the truth. i fear the things she’s said about me to people. if she can 100% make something up, what can she twist from actual arguments or issues we had?

i know this sounds like a lot of rambling for nothing. but for nearly two years i’ve lived in fear in the rpc of addy. less so when we were friends. i’ve feared telling my side because i felt invalid. frankly even as i type this im scared. scared she’s already convinced everyone i’m awful and no one will read this or care. i just am thankful that this finally came to light. i am glad that i won’t feel scared anymore. roleplay is my one place to be free. as a mother, a full time worker, i don’t have a lot of time for hobby’s and frankly i don’t have a lot of them. i don’t draw, or read. i like to write. and i’m just thankful this can finally be lifted off me.

#twitter rp #rpt #rpc #rph #addy tw #hiqey

115 notes · View notes

drummergirl231-2 · 3 years

Text

I don’t even know what to title this.

I’ve been trying to come up with a title for I don’t know how long and now I’m legit crying because I can’t even figure out how to start this post... so this will have to do.

I’m not okay. I can’t keep up with all this and everything going on in my life. I feel like I’m strapped into a car on a collision course for a brick wall and I’m just frozen in fear anticipating the impact.

Everything has kind of been spiraling out of control in my personal life (if you want you can skip to the bolded headings for what’s relevant to this blog).

My parents - whom a lot of you know about from my GoFundMe - are moving from California to Tennessee. I can’t afford to stay in California so I have to go with them (though they insist my going with them is my choice and that I totally have other options... but whatever. At least I’ll be out of California).

If my job can’t transfer me, I’ll lose it just when I was going to get the most hours (and therefore money) of the year, but my parents refuse to wait until after Christmas to sell.

My grandma recently died and even though my grandpa (step-grandfather) invited us up to the house at one point, his horrible son met us on the porch and rudely refused to let us in, telling us his father wasn’t seeing anyone. Now that his horrible son has left, grandpa invited my uncle and aunt up, but not my parents or me, and my uncle said he’s going to do what he can to bring us what we want of grandma’s. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandma because her death was sudden, and now I’m scared I won’t get to say goodbye to the only grandpa I’ve ever known, either, because I’m moving to Tennessee and he’s 89 and has heart problems and I’m scared he’ll die of a broken heart in every sense. I’d have liked to say goodbye to the house, too. My grandma didn’t want a funeral. She was one of those “Don’t fuss over me,” types who fussed over all of us. I have zero closure in this situation.

I have to get ready to move but have no idea how/when/where to start. I’m terrified of the 4 day journey to Tennessee, trapped in an SUV with my parents and five animals, including my poor elderly cat, Kira, whose anxiety makes mine look mild. I have Misophonia and so many food allergies I can’t eat out so I don’t know how I’ll do food for four days. My parents say they won’t bring the camping stove for me to warm up my lunches. It’s like they never raised an autistic child.

Things have been crazy for “Kristen,” me, but losing my grandparents, my home, possibly my job, and moving far from any family or friends I trust aside... things haven’t been easy for “DG,” me, either.

As badly as I want to start a youtube channel about Autism, Misophonia, food allergies, gut health, emotional abuse, etc., I cannot find the answers no matter how much I google when it comes to the tech problems I’ve faced. And I’m not even sure when I’d be able to record these videos because my parents are almost never gone. And when they are it’s not for long, and I just want to relax, and breathe, and be in the living room, and talk and sing out loud, and do all the things I don’t get to do when they’re here for just a little bit. I stay in my room so much I feel like I’m a diver holding my breath and as soon as they leave I can surface and gasp for air.

Also, I’m getting more and more self-conscious about my acne and this one tooth I have that’s crooked because my mom has enjoyed commenting on them lately and it makes me kind of scared to share my face with the internet and last night I legit had a dream about trying to get these things fixed with more braces and foundation. Like what even I literally don’t care about this stuff when people don’t comment on it. Why do I have to be so sensitive?

Problem is, I am figuring out why. I’ve been doing so much research on Narcissistic Personality Disorder and narcissistic abuse to try to understand my parents and childhood and young adult years, that not only have I been able to identify it in my abusers, but I’ve found some traits in myself. And I’ve searched and studied and tried to see if I have it and after this inward witch hunt I have to conclude I don’t have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but I have a few signs of vulnerable narcissism. Even if they’re not enough for a label, they’re definitely things I need to work on (things like hypersensitivity, victim mentality, sulking and shut down, self-sabotage, things like that... and now apparently vanity, but only when people frequently give me flack about my face). Trouble is I don’t know how to work on these because I have no mentor, no counselor/therapist, no pastor, nothin’. And most of the videos about Narcissism are about identifying it or surviving it as the victim, not growing past the traits, because full-blown narcissists generally don’t acknowledge their flaws and try to fix them. So I’m at this annoying and fruitless phase of “self-improvement” where I just frequently scold myself for my thoughts.

YouTube ambitions and flaws aside, I have people waiting for the next chapter of my fanfic, and no one’s been pushy or anything, but there’s this huge weight on me to write, write, write, but with everything else going on in my life I just feel stuck. Like my brain is just “NERP.” And I feel guilty, like I’m the biggest disappointment to people.

And then there’s this blog itself.

It’s begun to feel more like an obligation for me rather than recreation. Every week I dread the time after a new episode airs. I want to make posts at my pace, about what I want to talk about, like what I used to do.

But sometimes the link I get has a weird video player window that I can’t make the right size to make decent gifs, and sometimes I can’t even take screenshots because when I pause it it’ll have the play triangle in the middle of the screen and the bottom of the screen will get dark, or sometimes the link just stops working. So I wait for the episode to go up on watchcartoononline because that’s where it works best for me but in the meantime I’m missing out on the fandom being online and by the time the episode goes up I’m just like, “What if the post I make of this moment gets like zero notes because it’s already been giffed and talked about a million times and I’m late to the party? What if I’m disappointing everyone?”

I try to not post anything until I can post about the episode properly, and I’ve asked people not to send me asks or messages with episode spoilers until they’ve seen proof on my blog that I’ve seen the episode, but that hasn’t stopped them. I get spoilery asks anyway.

I get a link relatively quickly but mainly I ask for people to wait for proof I’ve seen the episode because I want a chance to get my own thoughts on the episode out first before people ask me about specific things or straight up demand I talk about what they want me to talk about on my blog.

For a couple weeks I even made all my posts and saved them as drafts first so real quick I could just post ‘em all in a row and get ‘em out, because I know the second I post one thing I’ll have everyone going “OMIGOSH SHE’S ONLINE,” and trying to send me asks and messages and I’ll be trying to juggle them all while trying to make more posts about what I want to talk about. I feel like I have to reply to those messages because if I don’t I’m scared they’ll see me make another post after they’ve sent their message and be like, “What the heck she’s online why won’t she reply to me?” So sometimes I’ll just stop posting and hope and pray they think they just missed me or something, which isn’t fair to them.

But then I’ll see something new on my dash - art from khionyohann, new screencaps for the upcoming episode that DuckTalks shared - and I’ll want to reblog it, but then I’ll think: “I can’t reblog anything... people will know I’m online then. And I still haven’t posted about the episode. I can’t do things out of order. They’ll think, ‘Why isn’t she talking about the new episode? Why isn’t she answering my asks? Why isn’t she replying to me?”

And by the time the episode gets posted on watchcartoononline (and as long as I don’t have a migraine and I’m not paralyzed with fear), I make my posts, but by then I feel like I’m super late and I don’t even know what the point is of me reblogging things anymore, if I even remember there were things I wanted to reblog.

My time here has become nothing but me trying to please people while simultaneously trying to hide from them.

So... blarg. All that to say, I’m closing my ask box for a while. And I’m sorry to disappoint people. I’m just so overwhelmed by everything right now. Extroverted thinking isn’t even a cognitive function that comes naturally to an INFJ! It’s utterly exhausting.

And while I do still want to do more posts about the latest episode, I hope you’ll understand that things are just crazy for me right now and I’m not in a good place. I’m trying to be okay and I’m trying to be so excited about an episode that I get motivated enough find ways to blog about it no matter what but I don’t have the energy. I want to reblog stuff, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to interact.

And for the few I consider true friends on here, please know I’m not asking you to leave me alone or anything. Just know I might not respond as soon as you message me... which, honestly, you’re probably all used to by now, but I still feel super guilty about it.

I just need to simplify my time on here a little bit because I’m not okay.

#personal post #probably the longest i'm-closing-my-ask-box announcement ever #is ask box one word or two when it's referring to tumblr?

35 notes · View notes

gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Wedding Preparations

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author’s Note: So, this was going to be one part, but I decided to make it three. Back to my roots with Jack Ryan on this one. This was requested by @hiqhways. Hope you like it!

Warning: Abduction.

Pairing: Jack Ryan x Reader

Summary: For every bride, there are things you need to be prepared for as your wedding day approaches: from the possibility of last-minute guests to unknown allergies of some distant relative, or catering mishaps and, God forbid, rain. And you had mentally readied yourself for all of it, even the chance that red wine spilled on your wedding dress.

What you didn’t prepare for was being kidnapped the night before your wedding.

Rome, Italy.

Upon the Spanish Steps at the Piazza di Spagna, amongst the hustle and bustle of Rome’s afternoon, a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, descended the steps.

She was beautiful, undoubtedly, and dressed like so many of the city’s socialites were: red bottom heels paired with an expensive black dress, large sunglasses covering her face, and a string of pearls around her neck. In her arms, an array of bags from stores across the city, and when her feet hit the bottom of the steps she was greeted by an awaiting black car and chauffeur. With the extra set of hands, the young woman had all her bags into the trunk rather quickly, and had a chance to breathe before she slipped into the backseat of the car and her phone rang out.

“Ciao… Yes mom, I realise that you wanted to see the dress before the wedding tomorrow, but I had to go pick it up earlier than I expected.” Her voice was more than surprising, an American accent coming from a woman who dressed so very Italian, and caused a few glances from passers by as she closed the door and signalled for the driver to go.

“Look, when does your flight get in?” She asked, removing her sunglasses and pulling out a pen and paper, starting to jot down flight details given by her mother on the phone’s other end.

“Well, it’s simple. Alessandro will pick you up from the airport in a few hours, and bring you straight to my building. We can invite Monica and Layla over, pop some champagne for it, and you can all see the dress.” The young suggested with a smile playing on her lips, her voice bubbly and warm to match her cheerful disposition.

“Yes, I promise you it’s beautiful. Do you not think I have good taste?” She asked, listening to her mother on the other end. Over the course of a minute or so, her smile faded, and she let out a long sigh.

“Mom, he’s a busy guy. His most recent trip is finishing tonight, ok? You’ll meet him at brunch tomorrow.” The car slowed to a stop, the driver parking and walking round to open the young woman’s door. She stepped out, pressing a kiss to the older gentleman’s cheek in thanks before returning to her call.

“I know you wanted to meet him sooner, mom. If you had met us while I was in DC this wouldn’t be an issu-“ she was cut off, and slipped her sunglasses back on as a few people began to aid the chauffeur with the bags.

“Look, I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” With that, she ended the phone call, taking a deep breath before heading into the building before her.

Her day had been long enough to begin with, the last thing she had needed was her mother on the phone.

“Come on, where’s the blushing bride who left here an hour ago?” A voice called from down the hall, the steps quickly approaching the young woman were sure, bouncy, like his good mood had affected his walk. “Your mother called your office thirty minutes ago, was it her?” He asked, and the woman gave him a pointed look.

“Mike, where’s Alessia? She has my schedule for the afternoon.” She asked, beginning a quick walk towards the staircase as, behind her, the chauffeur and two men in uniform emptied the contents of her car and placed them inside the building walls.

“Come on, Y/N, cheer up.” Mike pleaded, nudging her a little, and causing her to pause in her tracks. After a moment of glaring at the man beside her, she broke into a smile.

“It’s your fault this mission has been drawn out, Kelly. I am having to stay in this embassy until Lord knows when and I just…” She teased, and let out a happy sigh. She couldn’t stay mad at anyone for very long, what with tomorrow being her wedding day.

“Good news on that front.” Mike responded, leading her down a hallway to their right, and off the original route to Y/N’s office. A left turn and four doors later, the pair entered a control centre, the current base of operations for a high priority case. The team was swarming with people, including Y/N’s assistant, Alessia, who hurried herself over upon the woman’s arrival.

“Ambassador Y/L/N.” Alessia muttered, handing over a black notebook planner. “Your meetings for the afternoon.” Y/N smiled at her assistant, glancing over the scheduled meetings.

“Nothing this evening?” Y/N asked, glancing between both Mike and Alessia.

“No, ma’am. You can be at Villa Taverna before your mother even lands.” Mike told her with a grin, the expression reflected by the woman at his side. “Now, would you like to see what’s happening on the ground?” With a quick nod, Mik led her further into the room, pulling a chair out for her and offering her the seat. Y/N took it gratefully, Mike drawing the room’s attention to him and the Ambassador. Without prompt, one officer handed her a stack of manila folders, at least 35 separate folders all a novel in depth.

“Madam Ambassador. Each file contains information on those arrested today in Milan. These files,” The man continued, bringing two more stacks of files to the table. “Are those arrested in Rome.” He took a step back, Y/N reaching for a file from the top of a stack, her eyes skimming over the pages before closing it over.

“Mike, your team has done an excellent job. And I,” She paused for a second, smiling a little more, “It’s a really wonderful way to end five years in the office. Thank you all, for your dedication and service to the United States. It’s truly been a pleasure.” She stood from her chair to a round of applause, and Mike squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

“Five years went by so fast.” He remarked, the team slowly getting back to work around them.

“Is he still on the ground?” She asked, and Mike nodded. Her smile didn’t waver at the response, she knew the commitment her fiancé’s job required; her own job insisted it as well. “Alessia, will you do me a favour? The bags Alessandro brought in, is there any chance you could take them to the Villa?” She asked with pleading eyes, her assistant only smiling.

“Of course ma’am. I directed wedding gifts there as well, I hope that’s alright.” Alessia checked, but the smile on her boss’ face assured her that, like always, she had done the right thing.

“Mike, I am a phone call away. If anything goes wrong, anything at all, please let me know.” Y/N urged, and with a promise from the embassy’s chief of staff, she and Alessia headed back out to the foyer, parting ways as Y/N slipped back into the black car, this time flanked by a military escort as she headed towards the Palazzo del Quirinale.

—

Y/N Y/L/N had led a rather fulfilled life, that much was true, but had she not been so very fortunate she would have never ended up an Ambassador of the United States, nor would she have met the love of her life. To understand how she had come to exchange pleasantries and receive a wedding present from the Italian President, one had to look back to Y/N’s earlier years.

Y/N was born in New York City, and raised in the metropolis by her mother, father, and nanny. While her parents were loving, kind people with well-paying jobs, her father being a well-to-do businessman on Wall Street, her mother a doctor turned socialite, Y/N Y/L/N did not grow up with any connections to the US government, nor did she have much understanding of the diplomatic sector. That is, until she reached high school, where her interest in politics and modern affairs truly took root. From the ages of 15 to 23, Y/N became engrossed in the diplomatic sector of her country, and the work so many Ambassadors do abroad on behalf of the US Government.

After excelling in high school, Y/N was offered placement at Harvard, and began her college career two years early, studying International Affairs and Politics to doctorate level by the age of 23. Her countless hours of studying and excellent grades had been noticed by the Harvard staff, and after her dissertation was handed in, a paper that provided a new methodology for the future of the diplomatic sector, her Dean recommended her to the US Ambassador to Uruguay.

By 25, Y/N was working in Uruguay as the Ambassador’s secretary. By 26, she voiced concerns on elements of the diplomatic sector directly to the President of the United States at an informal dinner, and offered him her dissertation to read. By 27, with her recommended changes implemented, she became the youngest female Ambassador of the United States, posted to Italy after the untimely death of her predecessor.

And not only had her career received great fortune, but her romantic endeavours also.

During her third year of service to Italy, Y/N decided to take a two week ‘vacation’ home: she had been invited to speak at the George Bush Center for Intelligence, in Langley, Virginia, and her parents had demanded a visit from her the next time she was on US soil. While a part of her had wanted to correct them, that the Embassy and Ambassador’s address in Italy were both on US soil, technically, she refrained, knowing she needed a holiday.

Upon her arrival at Langley via a helicopter from New York and after a two hour long lecture on the importance of diplomacy, and her revisions to the past methods used by the US government, Y/N had begun packing her belongings as her auditorium slowly emptied, planning to head back to New York that evening.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone hold a crowd quite like that before. Especially on a topic so dull.” The comment caused Y/N to literally spin into the chest of its host, a strikingly handsome man. “You alright, Madam Ambassador?” He asked, and took a step back to help her steady herself.

“Quite. I would argue your point, I really would, but I don’t think there’s much point.” She said after a moment of studying his face. He smirked at that, holding out a hand to shake.

“And why do you say that?” He asked, Y/N’s hand clasping around his own, the pair lingering in each other’s grasp.

“If I tracked terrorists for a living, I would probably think diplomacy was rather tiring too.” When she smiled at him, the man before couldn’t help but smile back, even though it was clear she knew who he was.

“Doctor Jack Ryan.” He introduced himself nonetheless, letting go of her hand after they shared a firm shake.

“Dr Y/N Y/L/N, United States Ambassador to Italy.” She responded, but the tone of voice was friendly, flirting almost. She glanced down for the first time since they began talking, finding a duffel bag sat at the Doctor’s feet. “Where to next?” She asked, picking up her own bag. It prompted Jack to do the same, the pair headed for the door.

“Venezuela. My flight leaves in twenty minutes.” Doctor Ryan explained, the pair automatically quickening their pace towards the main entrance to the building.

“I’m touched that you stayed for my lecture, Doctor Ryan.” She replied, coming to a stop at the elevators: he was off to the landing strip, she was up to the heliport.

“Please, call me Jack.” He asked, a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t have missed it, I read your dissertation a few months ago, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear you speak, Madam Ambassador.”

“Please, call me Y/N. It was nice to meet you Jack.” She bid him farewell, stepping into the elevator with a smirk on her lips and a faint blush on her cheeks.

What started that day as a polite conversation soon became more. Jack’s work with the CIA had him travelling fairly often, and after Mike Kelly moved to CIA’s Chief of Staff position in Italy, Y/N and Jack now acquainted by a mutual friend, Y/N’s next visit to DC led to a first date with America’s Golden Boy, followed by another, and another.

While most of their relationship was long distance, Jack travelled to Italy when he could to see her, and when four months before he had received word on a terror cell in Italy with ties to the Mob and ISIS planning a series of attacks on America, he followed the money right to Rome.

A month into the case, he proposed to Y/N.

And now, three months after that, he was out in the field, arresting the men who had brought him here in the first place, and Y/N’s time as Ambassador for Italy had come to a close. After the wedding, they were both headed back to DC, Jack for a promotion at Langley, and Y/N for a high-ranking administrative position within the CIA.

—

There is nothing quite like a sunset over Rome, and as Y/N looked out her car window, watching the street lamps across the city buzz to life and the sky become a canvas for colours the light painted, she had never felt so happy to have lived in the amazing city. She had formed her career here, spent half a decade living and improving and living in Rome. It would be the place where she married the man of her dreams in only a few short hours, the place she would soon be visiting every year come her wedding anniversary.

For so long, Rome had been her home, yet she wasn’t sad to leave. Because, while Rome was where she had lived, somewhere along the way her home became a person, rather than a place.

Jack was her home now, and no matter where they were, it would always be him that made a place home.

“Signora Ambasciatrice.” Alessandro called from the driver’s seat, pulling Y/N from her train of thought. “Siamo a casa. Hai bisogno di una mano con qualcosa?”

“No Alessandro. se potessi andare all'aeroporto e prendere mia madre, ci vediamo domani.” Y/N responded, stepping out of the vehicle and pulling her keys from her beg. Her day had been long, but nothing except good news and fond farewells.

“Certo signora. Buona notte.” Alessandro bid her a good night, driving off down cobblestone roads and out of sight.

Y/N watched him leave, unlocking the gate and making her way to the front door. She had seemed to arrive just as the guards were changing, not that she cared very much. She unlocked the front door, switching on lights as she entered her residence, and finding her shopping from that day placed neatly on the table in her entryway. Alessia has even taken the time to hang up the wedding dress Y/N had decided on, in hopes of minimising wrinkles.

Locking her front door and stepping out of her heels, Y/N gazed at the wedding dress for a few moments. Her mother would be at the villa in a matter of minutes, her friends possibly less time. And she wondered if she should surprise them, to already be in her wedding gown when they arrived?

The grin that settled on her features sold her on the idea, and she lifted her dress and the white heels she had picked out before heading to her bedroom to change. Quickly changing out of her work clothes, she took a few moments in her en-suite to brush her hair out of its tight bun and brush her teeth before heading back to the bedroom. The dress fit like a glove on her, the shoes perfectly sized, and Y/N had to take a moment to really process how she looked.

It was a fairly simple lace number, with an A-line neck and open back. Some might call it bland. But, those people wouldn’t see the details Y/N saw: how the floral lacing depicted her favourite flower; or how she chose that specific shade of creamy-white to emphasise the colour her skin had turned in the Italian sunshine. They didn’t see the cinching at the waist was done with the stitch her grandmother used when she embroidered, or that the button fastenings were made with the same type of white gold as her engagement ring that Jack gave her.

It was her dress, and hers alone.

Y/N was not a vain woman, she never had been, though she couldn’t help but feel like a queen in her wedding gown. Had she not been so mesmerised by the details her dressmaker had done so well to include, she might have heard a clicking coming from the vent above her closed bedroom door, though it was unlikely.

In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Before Y/N knew what was happening, she was struggling to breath, choking on the air surrounding her, and passing out on her bedroom floor.

Once the clicking from the air vent stopped, two masked men entered the room, having to unlock the door from the outside to get in. They were soon followed by another man, all three carefully lifting the bride-to-be out of the room and to a waiting van parked around the corner.

The security cameras caught it all, but by the time the change of guard arrived at the same time as Y/N’s mother, the van was long gone, and the US Ambassador had been kidnapped.

—

“Mrs Y/L/N, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened. Slowly.” Mike Kelly spoke into a satellite phone, running a hand over his head and sighing. It was 8.30 in the evening, and Mike was waiting for the return of Jack and Greer before heading for dinner. The three had planned for a meal to celebrate Jack’s last night as a bachelor, and the pair would be back from Milan in less than five minutes. “Ransom note? Wait, hold on.” Kelly pleaded, taking a second to wave over Alessia. He needed someone writing notes, and she had stayed late to finalise Y/N’s last acts as Ambassador, digitising everything. “Mrs Y/L/N, you are on speaker phone. Can you please repeat what you just said?” Kelly asked.

“Alessandro and I just arrived at the house Mike, and Y/N is missing. Her phone and purse are still on the bed, the guards found a canister in one of the air vents…” Y/N’s mother rattled off, her panic switching to anger through the sentences. “It’s his fault, isn’t it?! That fiancé of hers.” She snapped, and Mike shared a look with Alessia.

“Mrs Y/L/N, please. We’ll be on the scene as soon as possible.” Mike sighed, running a hand through along his jawline. Hey, you deserve a break. Take the posting in Italy, the CIA had offered, and like a fool, Mike had jumped at it. After the cleanup job he was tasked with in Venezuela, he thought a quiet posting in Rome would do him good.

Now an Ambassador had been kidnapped from right under his nose.

“Where is he?” Y/N’s mother asked, and Alessia cleared her throat.

“He’s landing just now, ma’am.” She squealed, and the woman on the other end laughed coldly.

“Michael, get here and find my daughter.” She demanded, hanging up the phone. Mike and Alessia stopped for a second, both trying to figure out what the hell they should do.

“Don’t you both look happy to see us.” Their thoughts were interrupted by a low voice of a tired Jim Greer, walking through the doorway to Mike’s office with a travel bag in hand, and beaming Jack walking in behind him. Despite the tools of the day, Jack couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

He was getting married the next day.

“You guys alright?” He asked, glancing around, surprised to not see Y/N when Alessia was in the vicinity. “Where’s Y/N?” He asked, and Mike’s face fell. Alessia walked out of the room, holding back a sob, and suddenly both Greer and Jack were on high alert. Something was wrong. “Mike, where is she?”

“We don’t know.” He responded, dialling up an extension on the phone and waiting a moment. “I need everyone back on the floor. We have an emergency.” Mike finally met Jack’s eye as he said the rolling words, hating he had to be the one to break Jack’s heart the day before his wedding.

“The Ambassador has been abducted.”

Tags: @hiqhways

#jack ryan x reader #jack ryan #tom clancy #dr jack ryan #fanfiction #fanfic #jack ryan fanfiction #john krasinski

74 notes · View notes

sixsclassic · 3 years

Text

Where The Shadow Ends

Anne is in an unfamiliar park, seeing someone she hasn’t seen in years.

Inspired by the current season of Grey’s Anatomy, don’t worry no spoilers. I would recommend listening to the song that this story comes from.

TW: mentions of suicide.

WC: 3, 057

It was a quiet morning, something so peaceful about the empty space of the world. The dawn had just barely broken and the dew was free on the grass, it was so peaceful, she loved it. The world was just waking up, the birds were now chirping, and life was beginning to start. People beginning their morning runs as she sat on the faded picnic blanket, she was waiting for someone. The park was still relatively empty as she glanced around her horizons, attempting to see if she spotted those pink locks.

“Did you miss me?” a voice cracked behind her and she whipped her head around to see a small figure washed out by the rising sun. It was her little cousin, the one she hadn’t seen in a few years, and a smile instantly grew on her face. “Kat! You’re here!” she exclaimed, standing from the blanket and throwing her arms around her little cousin, who was barely fifteen. “Of course, I’m here. I’ve been waiting to see you, Annie.” the young teen smiled as Anne Boleyn grinned at her little cousin.

They’d grown up together, her mother and Kat’s brother being siblings, so every holiday and family vacation was spent together. Kat was only two years younger than Anne was and they were joint at the hip through childhood, Anne famously coloring Kat’s hair pink for the first time and giving her the nickname of Kat since two year old Anne couldn’t pronounce Katherine quite right so she insisted on calling then baby Katherine, Kat. Though Kat was no longer a baby, the girl was almost Anne’s height, but she always said that she stunted her growth from all the Starbucks coffee that she drank. The young girl’s hair was a mix of her natural caramel brown as well as highlights of neon pink. Pink had always been Kat’s favorite color, ever since Anne could remember, whenever they’d have to wear pretty dresses, Kat would be in pink and Anne in green.

“I missed you so much.” Anne spoke, gesturing for her cousin to sit down on the blanket and the fifteen year old took a seat across from Anne. During their early teenage years, they’d started to grow distant as Anne had begun high school and started on the cheer team while Kat was still in middle school and was becoming a shy, guarded character. It was the opposite of what Anne had grown up with, since Kat was the most outgoing toddler that always spoke her mind, even one time telling their grandmother that she hated her pumpkin pie with all her heart. That was one thing that she always loved about Kat too, that she was so honest.

“I missed you more, more than you could ever know.” Kat smiled, her hand swiping across the blades of grass, chuckling to herself as her hand got soaked from the dew. Her little cousin’s reaction caused a laugh to bubble in Anne’s chest, but only a cough was able to escape her body, causing Anne to hack into her arm for a moment as she cleared the cough from her system. Kat watched her as she did so, noting the cough and how Anne caught her breath from it a few moments after. “Asthma.” Anne informed Kat, on the question that Kat was silently asking her in her head. Something that Anne was also good at with her little cousin, was figuring out what she was thinking.

“Does that happen often?” Kat asks, her curiosity getting the best of her as Anne half shrugged, then copying Kat and moving her hand across the dew covered grass, noting how cold the dew was under her fingers even with the Sun rising and causing the air around them to warm up, the dew was still cold from the dusk before. “It comes and goes, especially with the pollen in the air.” Anne explains, pressing a hand to her chest, feeling herself breathe in unevenly. Her asthma was something that she had her entire life but it only became bad after getting walking pneumonia in ninth grade that left always on the verge of hacking up half a lung anytime she got remotely sick. It was her fault for not taking care of her body like she should’ve during high school.

“I grew out of mine, but I still have my inhaler.” Kat says, “Just incase I would ever need it.” Anne nodded in response, as she watched the expression that stayed on her cousin’s face, it was like she never aged, she guessed it was something that Kat’s mother’s genetics provided as she watched her own mother age rather quickly after having her and her two siblings, while Katherine’s mother passed on rather young and Anne wasn’t able to know her aunt as well as she wanted. “How’s Mary and George?” Kat questions, making Anne chuckle, she was taking her special talent of reading minds and speaking what’s on the other’s mind.

“They’re really good, George had a little baby.” Anne smiles, thinking of her older brother than recently became a father in the past few months and how much she loved being an aunt to little Georgie. “George George has a baby?” Kat asks, making eye contact with her cousin as her own smile creeps onto her face and it was the first in a while that Anne had seen Katherine smile and she nodded in response. “George Junior was born in January.” Anne responds.

At the announcement of the name of George’s child, it made Kat chuckle slightly, “Of course George would name his son after himself, he always said he would, but I never believed him.” Kat replies, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

“What’s it been four years?” Anne asks, “Well I haven’t changed all that much.”

“Four… it’ll be five in December.” Kat replies, “Have you started university?”

“I did, I went at eighteen for psychology and then switched over biology my sophomore year. I’m graduating in December…” Anne spoke softly, “I just turned twenty-one.” Kat’s head dropped down as the fifteen year old looked down at her lap as she fiddled with her long sleeves of her sweatshirt, that sweatshirt she’d always worn. Anne hadn’t seen it in years, she had one more similar in her closet back at her parents’ house, it caused her too much pain to wear it, even with it almost being five years. Almost five years since Kat had taken her own life.

Anne remembered the day like it was a bad memory, it haunted her to this day. Every single moment of that day and the night before haunted her, she blamed herself for not being there for Kat when she needed her the most. Kat had started high school the year before and hated every single minute of it, she was bullied for being different, for being quiet. Then she started sophomore year as Anne had began her senior year and they were both very different people. Anne was the cheer captain and was getting ready for prom and to graduate while Kat was getting death threats, all things that she was hiding from Anne as well as the rest of their family. It killed Anne everyday following her death to know that what was happening was right under her nose, that maybe she could’ve done something to help Kat.

But in reality, there was nothing that Anne nor their family could’ve done to help Kat out of that place, she was so far gone in her own mind that she felt she was no longer needed there. And on December 1st, Katherine had taken her own life around two in the morning, no one was really sure until Kat’s father found her in her room the following room as he was trying to get all his children out the door and to school. He did everything he could to save his daughter, but she was already far too gone. Anne remembered getting pulled from first period and being taken the guidance office where her parents were waiting for her, her mother was trying to mask her own tears as they told Anne what had happened.

Anne couldn’t take news and ran from the school, sobbing. She kept running until she collapsed at the park, this park. All the memories came rushing back to her at once as tears welled in her eyes and she glanced at her little cousin who outstretched her hand for Anne to take. “Why did you have to leave?” Anne asks as she choked on a sob, causing herself break into a fit of coughs, now Kat was in tears as well as people continued to pass by them in the park, but no one was paying attention to emotional messes of the cousins.

“The world was too cruel for me; I wouldn’t made it through high school. Someone would’ve probably killed me if I hadn’t.” Katherine replies as she wiped her tears away with her thumb as she gently squeezed Anne’s hand. “I got to see my mom though and I got to hug her and talk with her. I never realized how much I needed her.”

“She’s here?” Anne asks.

“She’s on the other side… you’re not ready for that yet Annie. You can go back…” Kat replies as Anne’s vision of her started to blur. “You can go back Annie.”

The vision of Kat faded out as Anne started to cough heavily again, feeling the covering of a mask over her lips preventing her from coughing out into the air of the room. “Kat?” she spurred out. Once her vision started to come back, she glanced around the room, noticing the hospital room that she’d spent the last eight days in. She hated hospitals with all her heart, especially after the pneumonia she had as a teenager almost killed her and kept her in the hospital for a week. She hated the smell; the food and the feeling of death surrounded these types of buildings.

Though this felt different from when she had been in the hospital last, she never saw someone like that before, then again, she still had Kat when she was in the hospital last. Her little cousin had come to visit her whenever she could after school and made sure that Anne had all her schoolwork during that week even though Anne did none of the world. “Ah good, she’s awake.” A voice spoke and Anne’s eyes darted across the room to someone entering her room in full protective gear, holding a tablet to her chest. She recognized the person as her doctor, Doctor Cleves. Her doctor had been with her since she was first admitted into the hospital with her serve covid symptoms that they believed would’ve gone away in a couple of days but with Anne’s pre-existing conditions, things only began to get worse once she was in the hospital.

“Look who’s here.” Doctor Cleves spoke as she turned the tablet around, to show Anne’s girlfriend, Cathy on the screen. Anne’s eyes studied the screen, she hadn’t seen Cathy in so long since Cathy wasn’t allowed to visit her in the ICU. They’d been together since freshmen year in college, it was the first serious relationship that Anne ever had, and she loved Cathy more than she could ever explain. She was hopelessly in love with her and was planning on proposing to her this year, in October so that they could both be done with school by the time they had a wedding to plan. But it was now June and those plans were halted to just being in Anne’s head as she laid paralyzed in her state of sickness.

She hated every minute of it, since she couldn’t see or touch her girlfriend, she wanted to be with her so badly, but her mind kept going back to Kat. It kept going back to the words Kat said before she woke up, ‘You can go back Anne,’ it left her confused, what did Kat mean by go back? Part of Anne wasn’t sure if that was just a dream, something that her mind had created to make her feel at peace a little bit with what had happened to Kat. “Bebe, it’s me it’s Cathy.” Cathy spoke through the screen, her eyes full of her concern.

“K-Kat. K-Kat. Kat.” Anne attempted to spurt out, making Cathy’s eyebrows scrunch, Anne would never call her Kat or anything remotely similar to her cousin’s name, even though the two shared the name, Anne had always had a cute pet name to call her. “Kat? As in little Kat?” Cathy asks as Anne blinked rapidly trying to give her girlfriend an answer.

“Did you see Kat, bebe?” Cathy asks, swallowing a deep breath as Anne once again repeated her rapid blinking. She wished she could’ve talked with Cathy in that moment as the room fell silent as Doctor Cleves checked Anne’s vitals and Anne felt that there was something she was missing as her heard the words echoing through her head. “She’s on the other side… you’re not ready for that yet Annie. You can go back…” Anne couldn’t understand why she kept hearing those words, as if, Kat was sitting right next to her, talking to her.

“A-Annie. It’s okay, if you’re ready to go. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. It’s okay, I’ll always love you, I’ll always be here for you and I’ll always remember you. You can’t ever forget that. I love you so much Anne Boleyn, go if you need to my love. I will see you where the shadow ends…”

“You’re back…” Anne’s eyes snapped up, she was no longer in the hospital, hell far form it since she was back home in the park again with Kat beside her. Where she’d started, her heart sank as she realized that she wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a dream; Kat was here to help Annie in her final moments. “I get to stay with you?” Anne chokes out as Kat nodded a bit.

“Forever, we’ll be okay together. I promise.” Kat replies as Anne hugged her cousin once again.

“I’ll have someone for you to meet in a few decades. I think you’ll really like her.” Anne says.

“Don’t worry Annie, I already think Cathy is amazing and I would’ve loved to meet in that lifetime. I think her and I would’ve been good friends. We’ll come get her, when she’s ready. I didn’t think you were ready yet, you wanted to stay with her.” Kat explains, “You could’ve stayed with her, why didn’t you?” The fifteen year old’s eyebrows scrunched in her confusion as she looked at her cousin for an answer.

“I was losing, I could tell. I saw you for the fist time in almost five years. I knew I wanted to keep seeing you, I didn’t want to lose you again. I wouldn’t have seen you if I wasn’t ready to go. You were my sign, I was already a lost cause when I went into that hospital room, I knew it, but Cathy wanted them to everything they could, but my body wasn’t strong enough.” Kat listened to the words of her cousin closely, “You didn’t come visit me ever in those four years, I could tell that something was different.”

“I liked to visit from time to time. I saw you graduate. I was so proud of you.” Kat smiles as a smile cracked on Anne’s face as well.

“I wish I could’ve seen you graduate as well. You were always smarter than I was.”

“That life wasn’t for me, I’m better here than I was there.” Kat replies, “My soul is happier without my body. Yours won’t be for a while though, you had a lot more life left in you if you hadn’t gotten sick.”

“You had so much to give the world Kat, I wish you could’ve seen you through my eyes.” Anne states.

“I don’t think it would’ve changed anything, there was so much going on in my mind, that I could never explain.”

“Well now you’ve got entirety to tell me everything. We’ve got all the time in the world.” Anne says, patting Kat on the leg as her little cousin stood and outstretched her hand to Anne. The twenty one year old stood and took her cousin’s hand. Soon Kat was leading Anne away from the park as the older of the pair kept glancing back at the picnic blanket, her heart racing as she thought about how she was leaving Cathy in this lifetime. How she wasn’t sure how long before she was going to see her once again? Was it going be ten years or sixty years, the idea of spending so much time away from the love of her life scared her, but it was too late for her. “Kat?” Anne asked, halting in her tracks as her cousin stopped as well as looked back at Anne.

“Yeah Annie?” Kat questioned as she looked back at the blanket where Anne’s gaze was locked onto. Kat could tell how hesitant Anne was about leaving the life that she had behind, leaving behind family members, Kat had struggled with the same thing as she was introduced to this afterlife by her mother, someone she hadn’t seen since she was a toddler. But it gave her peace seeing her mom once again and she’d welcomed a grandparent into the afterlife as well, her and Anne’s grandfather. Kat knew there’d come a day when Anne would join her, but she never thought it would’ve been so soon.

“How will Cathy know where to find me?” Anne croaks as tears began to flow freely from her eyes again as Kat gently tugged her to look in the direction in front of them. It was like the time of day had completely changed, Anne wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but she’d met Kat at the part in the early morning. Now there was a darkness up ahead. She looked at it confused, but something comfortable washed over her.

“Either you’ll come find her or she’ll find you where the shadow ends.” Kat says as she led Anne through the eternal darkness.

#six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #anne boleyn fanfiction #katherine howard fanfiction #six the musical fanfics

13 notes · View notes

chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Bound To You - Chapter 9: One Last Idea

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,324

Overall Word Count: 70,628

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (9/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Your father shouldn’t have-,” Cas cut himself off with a frustrated grunt, a few octaves away from being a growl. “You were a child. The things he did to you… the responsibilities he forced you to bare… I’m sorry, Dean. I know you have a lot of respect for your father, but that is not a respect I can share.

“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”

“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

That morning, Dean woke up with a smile on his face.

They were happening quite often, he realized. At least, ever since Cas has taken up residence in his mind, that was. Part of him’s going to miss having Cas up in his head, helping him to turn his nightmares into significantly more pleasant dreams. He supposes that’ll all stop once they get Cas out of his head and back into his body.

Which they will.

Miracle groggily raised her head from the bed at the feeling of Dean shuffling about, yanking himself over to the edge of the bed and into his wheelchair. She huffed that long-suffering ‘how dare you awaken me’ dog sigh at him, but got to her feet with a bone-cracking stretch none the less, obediently following her owner out of the room.

Sam and Eileen were already up (as usual), huddled around the library’s table with a few sheets of paper haphazardly sprawled out between then; a stark contrast from the usual piles upon piles of books it had been the past few days. The two had their heads close together, whispering excitedly to one another as Sam over-enthusiastically gestured to one of the papers in front of him.

“Morning nerds,” Dean greeted them oh so kindly, balancing a scalding cup of coffee a little too close to the family jewels than he’s comfortable with as he pushed himself towards the two. “What’s got you two so jittery at this time of the day?”

Sam and Eileen straightened themselves up, turning their attention towards Dean. “First of all, it’s eleven in the morning. We’ve been up for five hours.” Sam shot back. “Second of all… what’s got you so smiley?”

“Huh?” Dean finds himself raising a hand to his face self-consciously, only to confirm that yep, he still had the smile planted on his face. “What? Something wrong with me being in a good mood?”

“With you? Yeah, since it usually means you’ve put Nair in my shampoo again or something.”

“Yeah, that was a good one…” Dean said wistfully, thinking back fondly to the memory of Sam throwing every bathroom product on hand at him upon seeing the state of his hair.

“Come on, Sam,” Eileen said playfully, wiggling her eyebrows at Dean whilst nudging at Sam’s elbow with her own. “Obviously, Dean had a… nice dream…”

Sam’s questioning frown quickly broke out into an amused grin, the two sporting similar expressions that they wielded against a quickly reddening Dean. “Ooohhhh… Was that it, Dean? Did you and Cas have a nice ‘talk’ about… y’know, recent events?”

“Shuddup,” Dean grumbled, shooting the two warning glares as he slammed his coffee cup atop the table.

‘You’re very adorable when you blush, Dean. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.’

‘You shut up too. You’re only going to make me blush more.’

‘All the more reason to keep complimenting you,’

“See, look!” Eileen exclaimed jovially to Sam, waving to Dean’s blank face. “He’s been awake, what, ten minutes? Can’t go more than ten minutes without Cas!”

“Actually, Cas was giving me tips on the way I can run over both your feet with my chair and make it seem like an accident.”

‘I did no such thing!’

“Damn Cas, and you want me to hide a bag of Miracle’s crap under their mattress? Now that’s just cruel.”

‘Don’t think I won’t take over your body to apologize, Dean. I’ll do it.’

“Yeah, sure Dean,” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shot bitch face number twenty-eight at him. “I’m sure Cas was the one to come up with such childish ideas. I bet Cas has never played a practical joke in his life.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s condescending tone, picking up his cup of coffee to take a sip. ‘Sam’s getting a little too cocky for my tastes…’

‘I find myself in one of those rare occasions where I agree with you. Although, he is correct I’ve never played a practical joke before. That being said, I now have a good idea of who my first victim will be…’

Dean snorted into the cup of coffee he held to his lips, wincing at the hot splash of coffee to his face whilst simultaneously choking on his own laughter. ‘Only if you promise I can help you. And nothing life-threatening or harmful. Well, nothing too harmful, anyway.’

‘I’m not sure if this is typical of most human’s first dates, but I’m more than happy to agree.’

‘Since when do we do anything the ‘typical way’, Cas?’

‘Good point.’

Sam shook his head with the beginnings of a pleased smile, accepting the box of tissues Eileen had gotten up to get and sliding them over to Dean. “Not sure if I wanna know what you guys are talking about…”

“Glad to see you guys are talking,” Eileen noted as she dropped back down into her chair. “Last we heard you talking to Cas, you uh… you didn’t seem on good terms.”

“All jokes aside, you guys did talk, right?”

Dean quickly mopped up the spilled coffee with a handful of tissues, tossing them into the bin underneath the table with a soft sigh. “Yeah, we talked… Turns out Sergei wasn’t lying. Cas’s grace is running out on its own.”

Eileen and Sam’s face dropped at the news, practically deflating at the table. “So… what does this mean?” Sam asked.

“Mean’s we’re running out of time,” Dean answered somberly, leaning forward to rest against the top of the table, pulling his cup of coffee closer to him.

“How long until…?”

“Few weeks. Month – at most.”

“Shit…” Sam mumbled, running a hand through his hair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “That’s… not great.”

“No. It sure as hell ain't.” Dean said, finger tapping anxiously at the side of his cup. “I’m fresh out of ideas, and Cas…”

“What? What about Cas?” Eileen questioned.

“Let’s just say Cas don’t have much hope,” Dean answered. “He… he thinks we’re wasting our time here; doesn’t think there’s any way of doing this.”

“Yeah? Well, tell Cas to stop talking like an idiot, because we’re not giving up on him.” Sam said strongly, twisting one of the papers on the desk around before sliding it across to Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, straightening back up as he plucked up the paper from the table.

“An idea,” Sam replied. “I was just thinking… do you remember back after… after what happened to mom, with… with Jack?”

Dean paled at the reminder, glancing up at Sam over the top of the paper. He nods his head.

“We had asked Rowena if there was something she could do to bring her back, remember?”

“Course I remember,” Dean answered dryly, dropping his gaze back down to the paper full of complicated-looking Latin. “Didn’t work. What came back was just…”

The realization struck Dean just as he was about to say it. “A shell…” That was exactly what they were looking for. A shell. A vessel. “But wait, it-,”

“It couldn’t support any life,” Sam answered grimly. “But then… Rowena had been working on the spell behind the scenes. And she succeeded. What you’re holding is the spell I used to bring Eileen’s body back, then put her soul into her body.”

“But-,” Eileen butted out before Dean’s hopeful expression could grow any bigger. “That’s kind of the problem we have. We had my soul to bring me back, to recreate my body. Cas… doesn’t have that.”

“Right,” Sam said. “If we tried to use this spell with Cas’s grace… Cas’s grace isn’t connected to Jimmy’s body. There’s nothing for it to rebuild on.”

“Okay…” Dean muttered, feeling a little disheartened. “So… what then? We can’t use it?”

“Well, I was thinking,” Sam begun, a little more excited this time. “It almost seems like we need a mix of the two spells. Brings back a body that can sustain life, but not one that requires a soul to be built upon.”

“And… how do we do that?” Dean asked.

“I have no idea. But I think I know who can.” Sam said, already standing up from the table. “We need to talk to the person who made the spells. Think we’re gonna have to summon the new Queen of Hell.”

* * *

Something about summoning always made Dean feel uneasy. Call it past trauma from previous crossroad deals, call it dealing with demons full stop, call it whatever. It didn’t matter if they personally knew the demon in question (which was something he never thought he’d say in his life), there was still something so… wrong about it. Which is good, he supposes. Perhaps something built into the soul that’s repulsed by the twisted one it’s summoning; a glimpse of what will happen to itself if accepting the deal proposed.

Dean eyed Sam as he finished setting up the candles atop the sigils they had hastily drawn onto the library table, the uneasiness he had already been feeling only heightening when Sam picked up his demon blade, holding his hand over the bowl of summoning ingredients, once more ready to bleed for Dean.

“Are you sure this is even going to work?” Dean asked before Sam could make the cut. “This is supposed to summon the king of hell, isn’t it?”

“Doubt summoning spells care much about gender equality, Dean.” Eileen retorted.

Dean sighed, scratching at his furrowed brow. “You know what I mean… Maybe the spell was specifically for Crowley. What if Rowena has a different spell? And what’s to say she’ll even bother showing up anyway?”

“We’re about to find out,” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “If not… we can always take another trip down to Hell.”

“You say that like it’s normal…” Eileen added under her breath.

Sam slides the blade across his palm, barely wincing at the familiar sting it brings. Another scar to add, a long tally both brothers shared. The burn worsens as he squeezes his hand into a fist, forcing out a trickle of blood that darkens the dry herbs within the bowl.

Sam picks up a box of matchsticks next to the bowl, sliding one out of the pack and quickly striking it against the side. A flame bursts into life atop the match, all three pairs of eyes in the room fixated on the little golden flickering tip.

“Et ad congregandum... eos coram… me…” The Latin drops off Sam’s tongue like it was his first language. The match drops along with his last word, the dry ingredients within the bowl setting aflame at the slightest contact with the match, shooting out a tall flame that had Sam stepping back from the bowl at the wave of heat that came with it.

The bunker was unnaturally quiet. Not the creak of the old pipes, or the whirring of old equipment, or the buzzing of electricity running through an ancient wiring system. All three of them were holding their breaths, scanning meticulously around the room for a flash of auburn hair and an unnaturally bright dress that only Rowena could pull off.

“Did… did you do it wrong?” Dean asks, wheeling over to the table and peering inside the burnt contents of the bowl.

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied, not sounding too sure of himself. “I followed the instructions…”

Eileen grabbed Sam’s hand as he peered down at the book on the table, busying herself with cleaning the wound as the two looked over the instructions. “Maybe we didn’t use enough of something?” She offered off-handedly as she began winding a roll of gauze around Sam’s hand, keeping it tight enough to restrict the blood flow, taping it down to his hand and making sure it was secure.

“Maybe…” Dean says, rubbing a hand across his mouth as he thinks. “Or maybe she just didn’t want to show up-,”

“Or maybe I was pondering over what mess you’re bringing me into this time.”

All three wheeled around (quite literally, in Dean’s case) at the unforgettable Scottish accent, greeted by the sight of a – thankfully – smiling Rowena as she stretched out on one of the chairs, a tumbler of whisky already in hand.

You know what they say… Like mother, like son….

“Hello, boys,” She greeted them brightly, eyes sliding over to Eileen who was – understandably – looking rather unsure. “And girls! Who’s this one?”

“A friend,” Eileen answered warily. “And I hope I can say the same of you… considering it’s your spell that brought me back.”

“Oh,” Rowena said brightly, glancing up to Sam. “You found it then? The spell?”

“More like Chuck led me to it…” Sam’s mouth twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. “But… yes.”

“Well-,” Rowena clapped her hands, making them startle somewhat at the harsh sound. “I’m always one for a wee bit of gossip and catch up, but I’m guessing you didn’t invite me here for a chat?”

Rowena’s gaze had dropped down to Dean as she said that, a surprisingly sympathetic look crossing the witches – demons…? Witch-demons-queen of hell’s face. “Firstly, I suppose I should offer my thanks for saving the world again. At least, I assume you have, since we’re all still here.”

“That’s… mostly thanks to you,” Sam said with a genuine smile of appreciation.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Samuel,” Rowena brushed him off. “And secondly… if you’re here to bargain with me for your legs Dean…”

“That’s not it,” Dean quickly corrected her. “It’s… it’s kind of complicated-,”

“Then I guess it’s something to do with the angel sitting pretty in your head?”

Dean’s mouth swung shut, taken aback by Rowena’s spot-on assessment of the situation.

“Oh yes – I can feel the disgustingly pure energy coming from you, Dean. I’d recognize grace anywhere… Question is: which one is it?”

Before Dean could ever answer, a look of dawning realization had passed over Rowena’s face. She peeled one of her manicured hands off her glass, pointing to all three of them as she counted. “One, two, three… We’re missing one, aren’t we?”

“Two,” Sam says. “We got Jack back, but uh… he’s kind of… God now? We haven’t seen him since we dealt with Chuck…”

Rowena stared blankly at Sam for a few moments. Her eyes flickered between the three of them, waiting for one to reveal the joke. At their serious faces, she raised her glass to her lips and drained the drink in one go, handling the fiery burn of the whisky like it was nothing. “Another God… this one a three-year-old child… what could go wrong?”

“World’s not ended yet,” Dean tried to stay optimistic.

“And what of Mr. Blue Eyes?” Rowena asked. “If I’m putting two and two together… he’s currently the one hitching a ride in your noggin?”

“For the time being. Which is kind of where we could use your help.”

Rowena sighs deeply, looking down drearily to the empty tumbler in her hands. “Come on then; tell me the story.”

“I… we lost Cas. He, uh… he kind of sacrificed himself.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow at him, her long red nails playing a plinking tune across the glass of her drink. “For what?”

Dean swallowed harshly. “For me.”

Rowena narrowed her eyes at him, glancing over to Sam and Eileen for a split second before her eyes settled back on Dean. She kept her focus there, leaning forward in her chair as she asked: “Did you fix it?”

“Huh?” Sam blurted out, unsure of the meaning of Rowena’s question. Because, after all, it wasn’t intended for him. Then again, even Dean seemed unsure of the meaning…

“Dean?” Rowena says his name in the scolding kind of tone you’d expect from a mother. “Did you fix it?”

“Oh…” Dean exclaims as the memory floods back; the two of them sat what felt like miles apart in Rowen’s throne room, unable to even look at one another as they received what – if Dean’s being honest with himself – was a much-needed counseling session from the Queen of Hell, of all people… “Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we fixed it.”

Rowena nodded appreciatively at that, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Did you finally figure out what fifth base was with him…?”

“Alright, let’s not go there,” Dean grumbled, annoyed to find he was blushing again. “Point is, I should be dead twice by this point if it weren’t for Cas. And that’s only over the span of these past two months.”

“So other than God… what else was trying to kill you?”

“Death herself,” Dean answered. “Cas stepped in… Summoned the Empty on a deal he didn’t tell us about.”

‘I’m sensing you’re still angry about that.’

“I see… And so Castiel here was taken to the Empty?” Rowena asked.

“Yep.”

“…And the second time?”

“It was… there was a bunch of vamps and…” Dean tried to describe his death in a way that didn’t sound as lame as it did in his head. “I kind of got shoved into a nail…”

Dean knew that look on Rowena’s face. That was the look of someone trying really, really hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry?”

“It was this big friggen’ rusty rebar or something, okay!” Dean threw up his hands as he answered. “One of the vamps got the upper hand on me and shoved me onto the damn thing; pipe went straight through my back and pinned me there.”

“Wow… I suppose that explains the new wheels…”

“Rather have these than the death that was coming,” Dean says. “Cas saved me. Again. When I prayed to him, he… he heard me.”

“You woke him up?” Rowena asks, sounding truly amazed by this revelation. “From the Empty?”

“I did,” Dean answers, a hint of a proud smile on his face. “And Cas dragged himself out of that place to get to me.”

“You could ring a bell and that angel of yours will crawl out of any dark crevice to get to you, Dean Winchester. He’s stubbornly loyal, and a damn fool for it.”

“What can I say? He’s a Winchester; willing to defy death itself to save the ones he loves.”

“One…”

“What was that?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing…” Rowena said dismissively in much too of a high-pitched, cheery voice for Dean to think it’s ‘nothing’. “So, your angel pulls off the impossible once more by escaping the Empty to get to you… and, since he’s in your head, I’m assuming you agreed to possession?”

“Yeah, I did. Like I said, I was dying, and Cas… Cas didn’t have his vessel.”

“The Empty kind of… destroyed it…” Sam added awkwardly to a puzzled looking Rowena. “Cas thinks it’s because he didn’t die like most angels. The Empty literally swallowed him whole; pulled him into the Empty as part of itself.”

“And now Cas’s grace is burning out,” Eileen added on too, feeling a tad bit guilty by how overwhelmed Rowena was looking at the influx of information. “It has been for a while, actually…”

“And that’s why we need your help,” Dean took over. “We can’t just throw Cas into a new body; he’s not strong enough to survive the transfer, and… he kind of has a connection to the old one. Can’t keep him with me either, coz once his grace runs out… well, it’s bad news all round.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what it is you’re asking of me…” Rowena sounded moments away from asking them where their nearest liquor cabinet was.

“We want to know if there’s a way to rebuild Cas’s old body.” Dean wheels himself closer to Rowena, well aware of the pleading tone his voice has taken up. “We’re running out of time, Rowena. Time, and options.”

“We thought maybe something could be done with the resurrection spell,” Sam nervously added on, scrambling for the papers of the spell sat atop the table and waving them in the air. “We were looking over them earlier, and it just… it seems likes a starting point maybe?”

Sam hurried over to Rowena with papers in hand, handing them back over to the witch look a schoolboy apprehensively handing in his work. Rowena accepted the papers being shoved into her free hand, tearing her eyes away from Dean’s desperate face to Sam’s frantic movements.

“Sort of like a mix between the two, actually,” Sam added on hurriedly. “You know, what with the first one not being able to support life without a soul, and the second one needing a soul, so if we-,”

“Sam…” Rowena said his name softly, stopping him from rambling on more. Dean hated that tone. He hated the unusual level of kindness coming from Rowena. Because he knows that’s the kind of tone you use in the hopes of softening the blow of what you’re about to say next.

“You can’t do this, can you?” Rowena’s eyes flicker over to Dean at his crushed words. Considering Rowena had attempted to kill both him and Cas in the past, on top of becoming Queen of Hell… the shine of sympathy in her eyes was surprisingly genuine.

“No, I can’t.”

“But-,” Sam tried, but was promptly stopped by Rowena’s raised hand.

“Angels are different. With Eileen here… her spirit was attached to her physical form. You had something to work with there, you see? The resurrection spell, it’s… it’s more like turning the spirit into flesh. With Castiel…”

“We’ve only got his grace,” Dean says, sinking down into his chair as the realization they’ve met another dead end begins to sink in.

“Which isn’t connected to his vessel,” Rowena continues off Dean’s words. “If we tried messing around with his grace… who knows what could happen? It has nothing to rebuild upon. We could easily end up simply stripping Castiel of the remainder of his grace, and with how volatile an angel's grace can be… we may accidentally turn it into a weapon.”

Rowena stands from her chair, meekly offering the papers of the resurrection spell back to Sam. Sam looks to the papers, shoulders drooped and head hung low as he takes them back.

“I really am sorry, boys,” Rowena tells them, patting Sam’s arm as she glances down to Dean. “If I hear something different… if you find anything in the Book of the Damned, then… you know how to call me. But the truth of the matter is I simply don’t have much experience with angels. And even if I did… I don’t even know how that could help with this matter.”

Dean’s thankful smile comes out more strained than he intended, the effort of forcing his face into one dampened by his crushed spirit. “Well… thanks for showing up, anyway. At least now we know, y’know… you can’t help; so that’s crossed off the list…”

“When you said you didn’t have much time… how much did you-,”

“Not enough,” Dean says with a slight shake of his head.

Rowena dropped her hand down so her fingers were just lightly brushing against the top of Dean’s shoulder. The touch was oddly mother-like, and it had Dean scrunching his eyes shut as he tries to push down the despair that was threatening to rear its ugly head.

“I’m sorry,” Rowena says quietly, as if only to him. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin. Like.. this was it; Cas was right… They couldn’t bring his body back. His grace was going to burn out. He’ll have to force Cas out. He’ll have to say goodbye, again, but now it’s different – now he knows he loves him, now Cas know he loves him, and…

He can’t do this.

“Good luck, boys,” Rowena drawls out, the comforting touch on Dean’s shoulder slipping away. Her eyes drift over to meet Eileen’s, the smallest of a smile twitching at her lips. “And girls… I think you’re going to need it.”

And then, she was gone.

And the last of their hope seemed to go with her.

“That’s that, I guess,” Dean says, staring vacantly at the spot where Rowena was moments ago.

The pitter-patter of paws signals Miracle’s arrival, emerging from her hiding spot now the stranger had left. She makes a bee-line for Dean, slinking over to his wheelchair and resting her head in his lap. It’s able to pull the smallest of smiles from Dean, rubbing underneath her ears and brushing his hands through her thick fur. “Cas was right… you are able to sense a lot of stuff, huh?”

“Dean…” Sam steps away from Eileen’s side. “I’m sorry…”

Dean’s face twists into an amused frown, glancing up to his brother’s guilt-ridden face. “What’s there to be sorry for?”

“Getting your hopes up, I suppose. You… you seemed really invested in this idea too, you know? And I… I don’t know, I guess I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, well… couldn’t be that easy, could it? Would have been too good to be true…”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Dean freezes at Sam’s confession, getting an unhappy whine from Miracle that the scritches had stopped.

“Something I remembered, right before we summoned Rowena. Even if she could help with the spell… I don’t think it would have worked either way.”

“What are you talking about?” Eileen asks, tugging at Sam’s arm to get his attention. “The spell worked with me, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but that’s… kind of the point,” Sam replied with somewhat of a wince. “Those witches? Back when I was working on the spell? That woman warned me, said that Billie would catch onto what we had done and close the loophole. And yeah, I know Billie’s dead now, but… the new Death - whoever they are - isn’t exactly going to let it slide, either. She made it sound like a one-time thing. And… we used it.”

“Hey, no, it’s a good thing you brought the idea up,” Dean insisted. “If it turned out it could have worked, and we didn’t even bother to try it because you didn’t want to bring it up? That would have been so much worse.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Sam mutters, throwing the papers down onto the table. He brushes his hand across his mouth, letting his eyes slide closed with a deep sigh. “There’s gotta be something else. Something hidden in all these files, otherwise I… I don’t know what to do…”

“We’ll find something,” Eileen said, sensing the need for some sense of optimism. Of hope. “We’ve got to look for an answer to find one, right?”

Dean smiled appreciatively up at Eileen. It didn’t feel real. He’s fairly certain Eileen knew it wasn’t real, either.

“Yeah…” He mumbles. He had never craved a drink more in his life. “Sure… let’s find a way…”

He wasn’t sure if Cas’s silence in his head was one of joint hopelessness; or if, perhaps, he didn’t truly believe there was no answer until he heard Dean himself begin to give up.

* * *

Castiel found himself stepping into Dean’s bar once more.

This time… there was something different about it. There was no soft music playing from the jukebox – which was switched off, it’s colorful flashing lights left blank and empty. The soft amber glow of the overhead lights were also switched off - bar from one - leaving the bar in a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. Only one light was lit, aimed at a sullen-looking Dean Winchester sat upon a bar stool in the corner of the room. There was no beaming smile like there was last time, replaced with an empty expression as he leaned back against the corner wall with… a guitar?

In Dean’s hands was a beautiful spruce acoustic, his fingers expertly switching between the six strings. He plucked them quietly, invoking a gentle and solemn sounding sound from the wooden instrument atop his lap. Though, his gaze was not fixated on his fingers as they danced across the fretboard as was expected. His eyes were pointed down towards the laminated wooden panels of the floor, staring without seeing as he played a song that Castiel faintly recognized, though the name wasn’t coming to him.

“I didn’t know you could play?” Castiel finds it almost criminal to interrupt the beautiful melody Dean was creating.

“I don’t. Not really,” Dean replies, not even a hesitation in his playing. “At least, I haven’t actually played in a long time. Comes easy in my dreams, though.”

Castiel pulls out one of the stools from the bar, dropping it a few steps away from Dean. He takes a seat on the comfortable cushion, content to watch Dean as he plays. “When did you learn?”

“You, uh… you remember when I told you about Sonny’s? That time when Dad was out on a hunt, and I got caught stealing food?”

“You mean when your father abandoned you at a young age, leaving you to fend for both yourself and your brother to the point you were forced to steal to feed yourselves?”

Dean’s fingers did stumble this time, slamming his hands against the strings to mute the obnoxiously loud and screeching note. Usually, he would be up in arms at this point; would tell whoever that it was all his fault, he should have been better prepared for looking after Sammy, that he should have known what to do if Dad was out on a hunt longer than usual… but looking at Castiel’s furious face, knowing such anger wasn’t aimed at him, rather on his behalf… He decided he was tired of making excuses for John.

“Yeah… yeah, when that happened,” Dean gritted out, letting himself feel the anger he should have felt all those years ago. “Kept telling myself that it was only temporary, y’know? That dad would get back, get Sammy and come get me. But then… God, Cas – I was shit scared of what he’d do when he found out. If he knew that I had messed up, got myself caught and left Sammy all alone…”

“Guess we both got too much respect for our dads, huh?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat. “You gotta admit that God was more of a disappointment than my dad though, right?”

“The fact that your father is slightly better than an absentee and destructive God isn’t an achievement, Dean.”

Dean stared at Castiel for a few seconds before nodding. “Alright, you got me there.”

Dean resumed his playing, the gentle tune of the guitar helping to soothe the tension brought on by the mention of John. “There was this girl there… her name was Robin. She came round every now and then to give guitar lessons. I, uh… I was kind of infatuated with her…”

Castiel smiled fondly at that, cocking his head to the side as he waited for Dean to elaborate.

“Shut up…” Dean grumbled, hiding his own smile at the knowing one planted across Cas’s face. “Didn’t care for it much originally, coz it was just a way to hang out with her, you know? But after a while… I dunno, something just clicked. I started to enjoy it.”

“Why didn’t you keep playing?” Castiel asked.

Dean laughed humorlessly, resting his chin on the top of the guitar. “How would I, Cas? You think Dad would have splurged out on a guitar for me? Bring it with us everywhere we go? He’d probably have just scolded me for wasting my time on a ‘useless skill’ when I could be learning something important.”

Castiel had many more words on the subject of John Winchester and his treatment of his kids, but wisely kept them quiet for now. “What about once you settled down in the bunker? You could have then?”

“Eh, I guess so. We’ve always been busy with everything, so… Guess I never really bothered. Plus I’m pretty damn sure my dream guitar playing skills won’t translate well to real-life…”

“Might be a good hobby to pick back up,” Castiel tells him, reaching out to run a hand down the smooth wooden surface of the guitar with the backs of his fingers. “It would be nice to hear you play for me when…”

Dean’s eyes shoot up to Cas as his voice trailed off, the small content smile playing on his face slipping away. He didn’t need to finish the rest of the sentence. It was the issue they had been skirting around ever since they had stepped into his dream.

For when we get me back.

Dean sighed, lifting his head from the guitar and sliding it off his lap, leaning it carefully against the side of the bar next to him. Castiel’s eyes followed him as he stood from the barstool, brushing off non-existent dust from his jeans in what was more of a gesture of habit than anything. Dean’s arms found themselves tugging at Castiel’s arm to get him to stand, answering Castiel’s inquisitive frown with an easy smile.

Castiel followed Dean’s tugs, letting a smile creep onto his face as Dean’s hand slips down to his own, fingers intertwining with his in a perfect fit. “What are you-,” Is all Castiel could ask before Dean had grabbed hold of his other hand and placed it on his hip, separating their joined hands to place his on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel followed suit, placing his free hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, his other firmly holding Dean’s waist. Dean took his hands off Cas briefly to snap his fingers, smile widening as an absolute classic (at least, in Dean’s opinion) drifted out from the speakers of the jukebox, the old machine blinking to life with Dean’s influence.

It was downright crazy to Dean how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Not too long ago, he was right here with Cas, doing this exact same thing. It was just as heart-skippingly nerve-wracking as it was the last time, but now… now they were a hair-width away from being chest to chest, swaying together on the spot to the calming music as opposed to the more spacious, somewhat awkward half-step dance as before.

And this time… Dean took in the loving smile that was being directed at him, and he could say that now. That look Castiel had reserved just for him was one of love, and the fact that it’s for him? It’s mindboggling, it’s more than he could ever deserve – and the best part? He can love him back. He can lean down, remove that few inches of space between them, and press his lips to Cas. He can do that now, and if that can’t get a smile out of him, then what will?

“Wherever you go…” Dean’s voice is raspy, and yet gentle as he sings to Castiel, sung in a hushed tone in the peaceful space between then. “Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you…”

Dean would be blind to say the soft smile on Cas’s face didn’t have a twinge of sadness to it at his words, his grip on Dean’s hip and shoulder tightening as he sang. He had been planning to be… well, to be Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester that would be all jokey with Castiel in a moment like this, singing a mopey love song in a ‘stereotypical trashed forty-year-old guy at karaoke’ voice to try and get a laugh out of him. Now, as they held each other in the dim lights of the bar… that version of himself had been sedated.

“I really thought we’d found the answer,” Dean says, one of his hands slipping up Cas’s neck, his thumb gently brushing over his pulse point. “That Rowena would be able to do something. But now it all feels like… like it was the last chance… Now I’ve got no more ideas, and I don’t know what to do, Cas. I don’t know how to save you, I-,”

Dean closes his eyes at the burning he felt building, causing a tear to slip out from under his closed eyelid. He shakes his head at the choking sensation in his throat, pulling Cas forward by his neck until their foreheads met. There they both stood, eyes closed as they swayed to their own music, comforted by the warmth of each other held so close.

“I know…” Castiel’s words were meant to be one of assurance, but they were more like sympathy. Building upon the fact that he had long since accepted his fate. Which is perhaps why a few more tears escape Dean’s closed lids, trailing down his cheek, clung to his skin as a painful reminder of why they were there.

“I don’t want to lose you…” Dean’s whisper is broken and harsh, the voice of a man fighting hard to keep the tears out of his voice.

The sound is enough for the dam in Castiel to break, the last of the angel's defenses crumbling down at the raw pain he could hear from the one he loves. “And I don’t want to leave you,” Castiel whispers against his lips, tasting the salt of Dean’s tears as he places a delicate kiss there. “But there’s not much else we can do now than what we’re already doing, and… to hope.”

And so, in the silence of Dean’s bar, Dean holds Castiel tight. He lets his angel hold him just as close, sharing their mutual grief over what could have been, of the time they could have spent together.

They dance.

And they hope. They hope that this dance won't be their last.

Next Chapter - - ->

#destiel fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fix it #fix it #fix it fic #castiel/dean winchester #Dean Winchester/Castiel #casdean #cas/dean #dean/cas #supernatural spoilers #season 15 spoilers #fluff #angst

10 notes · View notes

finnyboywolfhard · 4 years

Text

Song That The Music Brings (Chapter One)

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader

Summary: Nearly 3 months after the divide in Y/N’s friendship, she is faced with new hardships with her little brother and her surroundings in life.

warnings: cursing, angst, follows the plot of S1, little plot tinkering

catch up here

word count: 1.9k

Y/N Henderson’s junior year had already been a doozy. Trying to balance her schoolwork and her job at the station had found to be a little bit more troubling than she had first thought. But now that the circumstances of the summer had past, she now had a lot more time to spend with her Mom and Brother. Dustin was really special to her now that he was at an age where they were developing similarities, and in just a short time he was now her best friend. She had been working on a paper for her English class when he finally got back from his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign with his friends.

“Hey Dusty! How was it?”

“It was fun, Mike did a good job with this one, but the Demogorgon got Will at the end.” Although she had no idea what any of those words had meant, she just went along with it.

“How are the Wheelers doing?”

“The same as usual, except Nancy.”

“What happened to Nancy?”

“She’s been a real bitch since she started dating that douche bag Steve Harrington.” At the mention of his name, Y/N’s heart dropped to her stomach. Although she hears about him all day at school, she never expected his name to fall from Dustin’s mouth in that context. The story of what when down was never brought up to him after Claudia told Y/N it might be too much to tell him about.

“Steve isn’t a douche bag Dusty. He’s just a stupid teenage boy who is trying too hard to impress people.”

“Why don’t you act like Steve or Nancy then? Do you not want to impress people?” He asked that sarcastically, knowing it would push her buttons.

“Dusty. I am just far more mature than the dumbasses in my grade. Now go get ready for bed, we have school tomorrow, remember?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going. Goodnight mini mom.”

“Goodnight Dusty.” She smiled watching her brother go off to bed. He could annoy her to no end, but she had no idea what she would do without his sarcasm, his compassion or his brotherly love in her life. The time became overly apparent to her, realizing that maybe she should listen to what she had just told Dustin.

The next morning, just as she was serving Dustin his breakfast, the phone started ringing, causing her to jump a little. Immediately, she assumed it was her mom calling from work to make sure Dustin was up since he had a campaign last night. However her assumption soon fell when she heard Joyce Byer’s voice from the other end of the phone.

“Hi Y/N, I was just wondering if Will had stayed at your house with Dustin last night?”

“No, sorry Joyce he didn’t. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Will just went to school early or something. Thank you Y/N.”

“No problem Joyce, have a good one.” The phone was placed back on the receiver. Y/N’s gut started to twist thinking about how nervous Joyce had sounded, and the severity of Will not going home last night.

“Hey Dusty?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you and Will bike home together last night?”

“Yeah, we always do. Why?”

“That was Joyce, she asked if he stayed here last night. I don’t think he went home.”

The boy brushed it off the same way Joyce tried to, by saying he probably just left early for school. Something still didn’t sit quite right to her, but she let it go. Dustin told her he was going to bike to school today, so she didn’t have to worry about taking him. The girl got ready on her own time and found her way into school a little late. She had two free periods at the beginning of the day where she usually went to the station, but crime in Hawkins was the same as usual: slow. So, she found herself going in for her classes whenever she wanted. When she got to school, she immediately went to the bathroom to check her appearance, knowing she had a presentation in her first class.

“Oh, sorry Y/N.” said Nancy Wheeler as she was walking out of the bathroom.

She looked a little flustered, but Y/N thought nothing of it at first. That swiftly changed when she saw him. There he was in all his glory, tall hair and all. She stalled for a second, not really knowing what to do. She hadn’t talked to him in almost 3 months. The tension in the room was so thick; it felt like she was walking through molasses to get to the mirror.

“Hey Y/N.”

“Hi Steve.” The first words she had spoken to the boy who had previously known everything about her.

“How have you been recently?”

“I’ve been alright, been spending a lot of time with my brother or at the station. Same thing every day.” She smiled towards him.

“So you’ve been spending a lot of time with your crush then huh?” He joked towards her, it was a little relieving that he wasn’t being weird.

“Ha-Ha very funny Steve. And trust me; he’s now more like my dad than anything else. That man would kill anyone who hurts me. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Nothing really, letting life take its course. I’ve been seeing Nancy Wheeler. I think it might work out.”

At this point, the girl felt her breath fall short, and she knew she needed to get out of this bathroom soon. So she did what she always did, found an excuse to leave.

“That’s really good to hear Steve, but I really got to head out, I have a presentation next period. Nice talking to you.” She left before she could hear what he had to say.

After school, she went to the station, just to check in before going home and the entire station was bustled up over the news of Will Byers going missing. She was called onto the search committee for him by Hopper.

She liked spending time helping her community, and she knew Hopper did too, but that didn’t mean he liked opening up to the people in the community. Mr. Clarke was a sweet man, who Y/N had met multiple times because of Dustin being in AV club with him. Which is why she felt comfortable in informing him that Hopper had lied to him about Sara.

“She died a few years back. “ Mr. Clarke jumped a bit by the sudden presence beside him.

“Who did?”

“Hopper’s kid. He doesn’t like talking about it.” She gave him a faint smile and ran ahead to catch up with Hopper.

“Hey Chief.”

“Hey kid, how are you doing with all this?”

“I’m doing alright. Will was kinda quiet, so I don’t know him that well. But I know that he was really close with my brother. They always ride home together. Dustin is holding in there. But I gotta be honest Hop, I’m really worried about Joyce.”

“You have nothing to worry about Y/N. Joyce is an incredibly strong woman, I know that she’ll make it through this no matter what. Save your worries for your brother and yourself, alright?”

“Alright.” She gave him a side hug, relishing in the moment of being wrapped in his stronger arms. It was moments spent with Hopper that she remembered what it was like to have a fatherly figure in your life. As the night progressed, Hopper had sent her home to make sure Dustin was alright.

When she got home, the only company she had was Mews. Her mom had picked up another shift at work for the night. She sat at the kitchen table, doing her homework and eating soup that she had warmed up. Worries were filling her head wondering where Dustin could be.

“Y/N! Dusty! I’m home!”

“Hi mom! In the kitchen!” Claudia walked in and gave her daughter a huge smile before leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Y/N honey, where’s Dustin?”

“Oh, he had a rough day after the news broke, so he’s over at Mike’s.” She felt horrible lying to her mother, she always did.

“Oh, alright. I was hoping I’d get to see him before I headed to bed, but I guess not. Tell him I love him, alright?” Y/N shook her head yes. “Goodnight my dearest, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.” Ever since Y/N was a little girl, Claudia always said those 10 words before she would go to bed. ‘Trees, Leaves and Needles’ was her way of saying she loved her more than the amount of trees, the amount of leaves and the amount of tree needles in the world.

“Goodnight Mom, I love you. Trees, Leaves and Needles.”

The equations on the paper looked like a foreign language to her. The paper wasn’t going to do itself, but then again the stress of where Dustin actually was had begun to weigh inside her gut. The sound of the door opening snapped her attention from the homework idly sitting on the table.

“Dustin! Where the hell have you been?”

“Y/N, please calm down.” His voice was hushed and relaxed.

“No! I’m not gonna calm down! You’re best friend just went missing while being out at night! I was literally on a search party for him tonight! Hopper told me he told you guys to stay out of things. You’re lucky I was able to lie to mom and tell her you had a bad day, but you’re not getting off that easy from me. Where were you?”

“You’re gonna get mad.”

“I’m already mad.” Dustin sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“We went out tonight to look for Will-“

“Dustin!”

“-But, we didn’t find him. We did find something else though.” At this point, she thinks that her stomach will now permanently be in the shape of a knot, this whole situation isn’t going to get any easier.

“What did you find?”

“You have to promise not to tell.” She glared at him, and he took the message.

“We found a girl out in the woods…”

“A girl?! What do you mean a girl? Did you take her to the cops? Someone is probably looking for her.”

“There was a girl standing in the woods. We didn’t take her yet, because we don’t want to get in trouble for being out. We’re gonna get help from Mrs. Wheeler tomorrow, she’s staying in their basement tonight. Y/N, you can’t tell anyone, please.”

The party had found a random girl in the woods and decided to keep her in Mike’s basement. This didn’t make Y/N’s life any easier.

“Fine, but I am going with you the next time you go out searching or go to Mike’s about anything that has to do with Will, alright?”

“Alright mini mom, I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight, love you.”

“Night Dusty, I love you too. “

The phone rang just as Y/N cleaned up her work from the table and organized herself for the time being.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/N, I was wondering if you would mind helping me hang up posters for Will tomorrow?” Jonathan Byers voice carried over through the phone. The two weren’t super close, but they had certainly gotten closer over the past few months. With the boys hanging out all the time, and the two being able to drive led to a lot of communication. He was a sweet guy, and it hurt her to see him constantly sitting on the sidelines. He might be the strongest person she knows.

“Absolutely, do you want to meet somewhere in the morning?”

“I was thinking for starting at Melvalds.”

“Okie dokie, I’ll meet you there at like 7:30?”

“Sounds good. Thanks Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Night Jonathan.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things x y/n #stranger things

104 notes · View notes

lovelybunny08 · 4 years

Text

The Backroom

♡ Pairing- Yoongi X Reader

♡ Genre- Smut, doctor, fingering

♡Description- What happens when one of your fantasy comes true

♡ Again thank you @artofediting for editing all my story. Seriously love you I dont know what I will do without you.😭😭

♡ Word Count- 3,058

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

Your job at the hospital is ER patient registration. It is rather straightforward occupation: register the patient when they come into the emergency room. Nothing more, nothing less. In most circumstances, it would be an easy job…but you’re not in most circumstances considering that the hospital you’re employed at is located downtown, only a few blocks away from a long strip of somewhat questionable bars and nightclubs. The daytime shifts were normally easygoing; the only complications being the odd day here and there where the ER would overflow with patients from minor ailments. Now, that was the daytime shift, but working the overnight shift (especially on weekends) was a different story. You can account for several times in which patients were so incredible intoxicated that you had to repeatedly remind them of their location followed by why they were there. Furthermore, attempting to register drunk patients into the ER was like talking to a toddler: a lot of babbling and no clear answers. Due to this, finishing your charts was next to impossible and the minutes dragged into eternity. You would do anything for a distraction…

…and wow, did your hospital always deliver.

The one piece of excitement to break up the registering monotony was the attending physician on call: Dr. Min. You never spoke a word to him, preferring to ogle him like every other female employee (and more often than not, the patients too). He was strikingly beautiful with slightly mussed blond hair and penetrating eyes softened by his gummy smile. He was physically astonishing, yes, but you also recognized that he was one of the only attendings that treated all the hospital employees equally. Although, there was one particular feature that plagued your mind most nights: his hands. The way his wide palms flooded into his long and firm fingers made arguing with the drunks worthwhile. Only God above knows how often you imagined those hands grasping your neck. As if to entertain your prayers, you have been blessed in that Dr. Min always works the overnight shifts for some unholy reason. At this point you’ve convinced yourself that that ethereal being is the only reason you continue working the overnight sift; otherwise you would have saved yourself countless hours of sleep and frustration.

Snapping out of your recollection, you shake your head a little and look at the clock in the ER as it strikes 10 a.m. Your back was already aching in the creaky chair with you share a love/hate relationship. You had begun your day shift at 6 a.m., only to take on the night shift as well when one of your co-workers begged you to change with them. Being the ever-so kind and honestly broke soul that you are, you take it without a lot of convincing. Your eyes wondered about the relatively empty waiting room as you calculated how you would spend the five hours between your dayshift and overnight shift. You settle upon going home to take a shower and hopefully a short nap. Before you started drooling over the thought of your bed, the irritating squeak of a soccer mom with her cleated-up son snatched your attention. You huff as you fall into your chair and pull up a new registration form. You plaster the most convincing smile you can as you address her, “Yes ma’am, can I have the patient’s name please?”

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

You awake to the blaring of your alarm and nearly throw your phone against the wall. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you attempt to come out of the coma of a nap you fell into. You dress yourself in black work pants and a nice white shirt, at work you were required to wear business attire. You stumble to the bathroom to make yourself look somewhat presentable. Drunk people were brutally honest, and you had gotten enough rude comments about your tired appearance in the past. You make yourself some coffee and grab an apple as you head off for your overnight shift.

You clock in at the hospital at 22: 30 sharp and begin to settle in at the desk to get your “day” started. After a few hours, you were surprised with how calm the shift had gone thus far. Granted, it was a weekday and people didn’t tend to drink and go as hard as they would on the weekends. You were currently taking a short break in the back room behind the desk when you hear a knock at the door. Your eyes flip to a computer on the counter expecting to see an alert for a patient needing to be registered. When no such notification appeared, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Another knock on the door drags your feet underneath you as you go to open the door. With widened eyes and a sucked in breath (can’t believe your body betrayed you), you greet the captivating gaze of Dr. Min. Realizing that you were just standing their gawking (good job being subtle), you address him.

“Oh-uh, hi, Dr. Min. Is there a patient I need to register?” You don’t fail to notice his deft fingers gripping a coffee cup in one hand. You mentally wipe your drool when he smiles at you and peers down at you.

“No, I just came here to bring you some coffee.” He responded, waiting for you to take the steaming black liquid.

You take the coffee with a grateful smile. You continue to stare at each other awkwardly until you realize that he’s waiting for you to let him into the room. In your haste, your slosh the scalding liquid on your hand as you pull the door open wider. You muffle a small yelp and watch curiously as he looks around the small space. The backroom was better described as a spacious closet with a couple chairs in the corner next to a counter in the back corner and a small bed lining a wall for the employees to rest when they have a break. The only other piece of furniture was a small cabinet next to the door where employees often kept little snacks and such. A computer which monitors patients waiting to be registered sits atop the small counter. There were no windows, only another door at the other end of the room which led to a small supply closet. You both make your way across the room and settle into the two chairs.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” His voice startled you when he interrupted the silence.

“Oh, well I’ve been working more of the morning shifts recently. I’m in charge of training new hires to do outpatient registration and insurance verification.” Gah, you sound lame.

“Then congratulations.” Dr. Min responded, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“Thank you, Dr. Mi—"

“—Please call me Yoongi” he interrupted. Fuck, if you could only manage to stop staring at his hands long enough to come up with something decent to add to the conversation. You were pathetic honestly. Too distracted by a simple appendage that you had yourself…oh, but not like his. You felt yourself growing wet just from wandering how good and different his fingers would feel deep inside your p—

“—So I won’t be able to see that pretty face as often?” Interrupted again damn it.

You blush fiercely “Huh? Oh, uh, well-no. No, not really, only if they need me to work overtime, or I cover someone’s shift…” This time your eyes lock onto the way he runs his thumb across his lower lip, and you lick your own lips from pure instinct.

“So, let me ask you this…’ Yoongi starts, with a deeper drawl to his voice. “Why do you keep looking at my hands?” You choke slightly from two things. The first, being that he caught you. The second, to keep yourself from shouting that you are indeed staring because you’d like to try on his hand as a new necklace. You cover up best you can.

“I-uh, have always wondered if you play the piano because you have long fingers?” FUCK, you suck at this. I mean yes, that has been a passing thought, but there was no way he would buy that. He smirks at your flustered state.

“Hmmm, is that truly what you were wondering?” He says with knowing eyes. “The answer is easy then. I’ve played piano since I was young and have kept it up because it—relaxes—me.” He whispers the last words, giving you a pointed stare as he drags your chair closer to his. “Now, I’m no detective, but most people don’t blush and rub their thighs when they think of piano playing. Try again. Tell me what you’re actually thinking.” You can feel his thighs pressing against yours, but you can’t break his stare when your faces are mere inches apart. However, when you feel his hand (HIS HAND) make its journey across his thighs and onto your own, your eyes fly down to the point of contact. At your action, Yoongi moves both his palms onto your knees and slowly begins dragging them upwards. Licking his lips, he leans across until his breath on your ear sends chills down your spine.

“You can tell me, dear,” he drawls in a low, sexy voice.

At this, you stilled completely. What was even going on? Where was this coming from? Wait, what were you thinking?? The most eligible bachelor in the entire hospital was hitting on you and you’re questioning it? Within seconds, you come to the conclusion that while you may still wake up from this dream at any moment, you didn’t want to waste the opportunity. With a newfound courage, you lock eyes with Yoongi.

“I want you to choke me with your hands,” his grip on your thighs tighten, “and I want your fingers deep inside me.” You’re blushing fiercely, but your stare doesn’t waver. His lips turn up in a smirk at your juxtaposed reaction. The next few seconds turn into complete chaos.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Yoongi growls.

Next thing you know, one of his hands are tangling into your hair as he pulls you in by your neck to crush your lips against his. You only take a second for shock before you’re kissing him back just as eagerly. The kiss was aggressive but controlled, passionate but dominant as well. You chucked internally because of c o u r s e that’s how he kisses. You soon feel his tongue skimming against your lips, demanding entrance. Without objection, a groan escapes you as his tongue overcomes you, eager to conquer its newfound territory. However, just as you placed one of your hands on his chest, he abruptly pulls away. He steps his way across the room reaching for the door. For a split second you panic, thinking that you had done something wrong that made him want to leave. Just when you’re about to call out to him, his fingers find the doorknob and turn the lock. He turns back around to be faced with your shiny swollen lips and confused expression. He leans back against the door and answers the silent question in your eyes.

“It’s safer to make sure that no one will be able to walk in on us. You wouldn’t want any eyes peering, now would you kitten?” His gives you a small smirk which is quickly replaced by his darkening gaze. “Now get on the bed.”

You’re pretty sure your heart stopped completely at the pet name, but the increasing need for his touch reminded you to follow his demand. You quickly make your way over to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Seemingly pleased with your eager obedience, he strolls to come stand over you. Grabbing your jaw with his hand, he forced you to look up at him. “Are you sure this is what you want, kitten?”

It was obvious he knew the effect that name had on you as he lets out a small chuckle when you start rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any relief. He immediately stops your feeble attempts by slotting his leg in between your thighs.

“I’ll help you, but I need a definite answer,” Yoongi glowered.

“Yes! Yes, gah please Yoongi,” you whine. You no longer care how desperate you sounded. You needed his hands on you. In response, he leans down to capture your lips with his, tongues intertwining immediately. He then begins to lean you backwards, crawling over you until your back is flat against the bed. With his thigh still between your legs and his mouth moving to suck on your neck, he takes the hand he’s not using for support and slowly begins to trail it until he’s gripping the bottom of your scrub top. He sucks harder at your neck as his hand moves its way back up your body, this time dragging your shirt along with it. Once he finally pulls the shirt off and over your head, he pulls farther away to take in the sight of you in your bra.

“Just beautiful,” Yoongi whispers.

While the small break did wonders for your ego, he returns to nibbling on your lips, your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he could bite onto. As soon as he unclasps and does away with your bra, He moves downward to pull a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back and let out a breathy moan as your hands fly to pull at the roots of his hair.

“Oh my god, please Yoongi. I-I need—” you gasp. He releases your nipple with a pop.

“Oh, does my kitten want more?” he responds with a sly grin.

He then descends again to work on your other breast as one of his heavenly hands travels down to undo the buttons of your pants. Without warning or help, he yanks down your pants and continues to drag them off until they are discarded somewhere on the floor. He sucks in a breath at the sight of your white lace panties.

“Fuck” he nearly moans.

He rises above you onto his knees to strip himself of his white coat and scrub top. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull as you take in the sheer expanse of his flawless skin. Not allowing you much time to appraise him, he slides off your panties as those too join the abyss of discarded clothing. He groans when he sees the glistening on the inside of your thighs and can no longer hold control himself.

As he crawls back on top of you, he captures both of your wrists with one hand in a tight hold above your head. Sucking on your body, leaving small purple bruises as he whispers sweet words of praise. He once more sucks your tongue into his mouth and kisses you deeply before he descends once more, pushing himself backward down the bed as he pulls your legs apart. His hands massage the inside of your thighs for a few moments before you suddenly feel his lips wrap around your clit. You scream out as one of your hands fly from above your head to pull at his hair. He groans at the response and the vibrations only spur you on further. Moans and encouraging pleas fall from your lips as he continues to ravage you as if he will never have another chance. Before long, he slides two of his long fingers deep inside you, beginning a scissoring motion as he slides them in and out ruthlessly. Unsurprisingly, it only takes seconds before he finds that special spot and has your body arching off the bed and you begging for release.

“Yoongi, I’m sooo close" you moaned as your hand moves to dig your nails into his shoulder. He releases your clit and crawls upward, tongues clashing as he gives you a sloppy kiss; all while maintaining the merciless pace he had set with his fingers.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, falling apart on my fingers” Yoongi moaned, impossibly increasing the speed at which he pumped his fingers inside of you. He leans in close to your ear to whisper,

“C’mon kitten, cum for me. Cum all over these hands you love so much.”

His words send you over the edge and your vision goes white as you cum harder than you have in months. He coaxes you through your orgasm, softly kissing you and purring more words of encouragement. Once you began to twitch from oversensitivity, he pulls his fingers out of you only to bring them up to his lips and suck them clean. Both of you come crashing back to reality; however, when his beeper begins to go off. He lets out a huff as he pulls off of you and goes to retrieve the device from his coat. After checking the message, he begins to pick his scrubs off the floor and dress himself.

“One of my patients is suffering from tachycardia and the nurse wants me to make sure it’s nothing serious” he explains.

“Oh, I understand that. You’re a doctor, there’s always going to be someone who needs your help,” you flash him a cheesy grin in response to his eyeroll. After he finishes dressing, he gathers your clothes off the floor and hands them to you and he grips you and kisses you one more time. He pulls away after nibbling on your bottom lip and walks over to the door. He shoots you once last glance as he unlocks the door.

“Since you say that, you know I’d be more than willing to offer my services to—help—you anytime,” he winks, and before you could respond, he disappears back into the hallway, leaving you dumbfounded but satisfied. You felt like a proud scientist after their hypothesis is proved correct. His hands really were talented for more than just medical purposes. With that lasting thought, you throw your clothes on and return to the desk outside, acting as if you had merely taken a short nap. A short nap that left you with a stupid grin on your face and swollen lips. Yeah, you would definitely be requiring the services of the overnight attending from now on.

194 notes · View notes

jjmaybanksbaby · 4 years

Text

monsters | kiara carrera

gif by @jjmaybnk

summary: Kiara opens up to the Pogues about her struggles with anxiety and depression.

tw: discussion of depression & anxiety, panic attack

requested? yes

a/n: taking care of your mental health is so so important. i do wanna preference this by saying that a lot of what kie goes through is based off my own struggles with bad anxiety. to anyone struggling with your mental health please remember: you are never alone. it does get better, hang in there just a little longer.

——————————————————————————

Kiara hated everything about the idea of being a Kook. She made it her life mission to be the furthest thing from a one. She couldn’t stand the way they threw their money around like it would never run around. The way they didn’t seem to care if they hurt other people as long as they were advancing their own interest. What she hated the most was the insurmountable pressure to be perfect that came with being a Kook. Kiara had seen first hand how that pressure could ruin people because it almost ruined her.

Midway through her Kook year, Kiara had began to slip into a mild depression. She started missing school because she couldn’t will herself to get out of bed. Kiara’s mom had suffered with depression from a young age so when she noticed Kie start to do some of the same things she did when the dark clouds moved in, she took Kie to see a therapist who helped her figure out the right medication. With a combination of the two, Kie started to perk back up.

Kie really started to feel like herself again when she transferred to Kildare County High School and reconnected with JJ, Pope and John B. Being around the Pogues was so easy, they didn’t demand perfection from her.

But Kiara kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. She kept waiting for something to come and drag her back to that dark place she’d been freshman year. No matter how wild and fun the adventures with the Pogues were, she couldn’t seem to make that achy feeling in her stomach go away.

It didn’t help that college application season was starting and her parents keep trying to pull Kie back into the Kook life. She got it: her parent’s only wanted what was best for her. They wanted her to have the same opportunities they had. But what Kie really wanted was for things not to change. She didn’t wanted to think about high school ending and the Pogues splitting up. She didn’t want to move to a school far away and start over. She was terrified of change but how could she possible tell her parents that. So she stayed quiet, letting that horrible feeling eat away at her a little more each day.

Kie had woken up early that morning and went down to the beach to surf as the sun came up, desperately trying to clear her mims. Currently, she was throwing some essential in a bag before she headed to the chateau to spend the day with the boys.

She just about to walk out the front door when her mother called her name from the kitchen.

“Kiara, come in here please. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Kie closed her eyes for a second, trying to muster the courage to walk into the kitchen. Recently, her mother had been parading admission counselor after admission counselor in front of her in some desperate attempt to get Kie excited about college. Earlier this week it had been Mr. Devon from Northwestern and the week before that, Mrs. Rockster from UNC. Kie could only imagine who was waiting for her today.

Kiara pasted a smile on her face and headed into the kitchen, mentally calculating how long it would be before she could make her escape.

“Honey, this is Ms. Cabot from William & Mary. My alma mater, you remember?”

Ms. Cabot stuck out her hand and Kiara shook it half hearted. “Your mother tells me you want to study business. That’s a sensible major.”

Kiara snuck a glance at her mother.

Business, really? She thought. They had never talked about what Kie wanted to major in, mostly because every time her parents tried Kie found an excuse to escape the conversation. The idea of college made Kie so anxious she wanted to throw up.

“William & Mary has an outstanding business program. Your mother knows, she experienced it first hand.”

Kie’s mother threw her head back in an exaggerated laugh. “Those where the days.”

“Mom, I’m supposed to be meeting my friends right now. I...” Kie trailed off.

“Honey, why don’t you sit down and let Ms. Cabot tell you about William & Mary.” Kie saw her mother’s smile get a little tighter and she knew she wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text to the Pogues to let them know she wouldn’t be coming today before sliding onto a stool at the island.

...

A few days later after her mom’s latest college ambush, Kie and other Pogue were arriving back at the chateau after spending all day out on the water. There was a party at the Boneyard later that night but Kie wanted to stop at home to shower and change before they went. She grabbed her backpack and went to step onto the dock. Suddenly, her vision went blurry and she had grab the railing on the dock to stop herself from falling. Everyone but Pope had been to busy doing their own thing to notice what had just happened.

“You good, Kie?” Pope asked.

Kie nodded in her head without turning around to face him. “See you later.” She replied as she started to walk to her car. Kie placed a hand on her stomach which had suddenly started to hurt very badly. As Kie replayed the day in her head, she realized she had barely eaten anything all day. She’d had a banana for breakfast and nothing for lunch.

Kie’s pulse started to race. One of the signs that her mental health was starting go downhill was when she stopped eating without realize it. Kie felt a few tears collecting in her eyes but she willed them to disappear. She wasn’t ready to accept that maybe her mental health was getting a lot worse than she wanted.

...

The Boneyard party was already in full swing when Kie arrived. She’d taken a nice, long shower when she’d gotten home and eaten a full meal to make sure she didn’t have a repeat of this afternoon. The boys cheered when they saw Kie approaching the keg.

JJ let out a high pitch whistle. “Damn Kie. You aren’t leaving anything up to the imagination tonight.”

Kie rolled her eyes at JJ’s comment. She’d spent quite a while picking out the perfect outfit before finally settling on a pair of high wasted white-washed jean shorts and a flowy bikini top that she felt uber confident in.

The night had been going alright for the most party. Kie had danced a little bit, had a few drinks and doged a couple of Touron’s offers to hookups. Kie was sitting around the bonefire with JJ and some other locals who she half knew when the conversations turned to college. Kie felt that familiar gut wrenching feeing at the sheer mention of college. She took a deep breath in, trying to make sure no one could see how anxious the conversation was making her feel.

“Right, Kiara?” Kie perked up at the sound of her name. It was coming from brunette girl who Kie had had history class with last semester.

Isn’t her name Megan? Or maybe Molly? Kie thought. “Yeah?” She said out loud.

“Well we were just saying how college applications aren’t even stressful for you cause you’re basically a Kook and you can just pay for a library or something if you don’t get in.” The brunette said.

Kie felt her heart start to beat so fast it blocked out all other noises.

This girl doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t know you. It’s okay. Just laugh it off. Kie thought. But her palms were extra sweaty and her throat felt dry even despite the drinks she’d had. Kie knew she needed to get away from this party.

She turned to JJ. “I...um...I’m gonna go back to...I’m gonna...I’ll be at the chateau.” Kie said tripping on her own words.

She handed JJ what was left in her cup and then began to leave the party. Kie tried to even out her breath but it was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Tears flooded her eyes and her shoulders began to shake from her sobs. She made it to the edge of the Boneyard before she had sit down. Her thoughts were running faster than she could comprehend them. She felt overwhelmed and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

Unexpectedly, Kie felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked over to see JJ sitting in the sand next to her.

“You left so fast- are you okay?” JJ could see the panic on Kie’s face. “Wait here,” he said. “I’m getting the others.”

Kie hung her head between her legs and closed her eyes to focus on slowing down her breath while JJ searched for John B and Pope. Her thought had begun to slow when the three boys showed up.

Pope plopped down next to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. John B sat down close to Kie on her other side. JJ stood above them awkwardly before sitting down too.

“What’s up?” Pope asked her. “JJ said you were upset about something some chick said?”

Kie wiped the tears off her face with her palms before looking up at the boys. “It’s actually more than that,” she began. “I never told you guys this but during my Kook year I had a few really dark months. I had been doing a lot better but lately with all this college talk and stuff, it’s been getting bad again. When that girl made a comment about me being a Kook it just- just pushed me over the edge. I’ve spent so much time running from all the pressures of Figure Eight but I can’t really escape them. And my mom, she keeps parading admission officers in front of me like it’s gonna make me fall in love with the idea of college or something.” By the time Kie stopped talking, a whole new set of tears were streaming down her face and her voice cracked on the last words. But she felt such relif to finally tell someone how she was feeling.

Pope pulled her a little closer to him and Kie rested her head on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, JJ probably doesn’t even know how to spell admission officer.” Pope said.

“He’s right. I don’t.” JJ replied which caused Kie to laugh a little.

If there was one thing the Pogues knew how to do was make her laugh, no matter the situation.

“Have you told your mom how you feel?” John B asked her.

“No.” Kie said. “She has these dreams of me getting into some Ivy League college and I- I just don’t want to upset her.”

“Maybe you should talk to her?” JJ offered.

Kie took a long, deep breathe. Her mom had been her saving grace during her depression. But Kie could already picture the hurt on her mom’s face after she’d told she wasn’t interested in any of the schools her mom wanted her to attend.

“Whatever you decide to do, we’re always gonna be here for you Kie.” JJ said, placing his hand on top of her’s.

“Yeah.” John B agreed. “Pogues for life. You’re never gettin’ rid of us.”

“Once a pogue, always a pogue.” Pope added.

“C’mon.” JJ said as he stood up. He offered his hand to Kie and pulled her up onto her feet. “Let’s go back to the chateau and watch some shitty movie. This party is dead anyway.” He slung his arm across Kie’s shoulder and she leaned on him as they walked out of the Boneyard.

“I love you guys.” Kie said glancing at her three best friends.

“We love you too.” John B replied with a smile.

JJ looked over at Kie before he took off sprinting. “Last one day back to the chateau sleeps on the floor.” He hollered over his shoulder.

The Pogues glanced at each other before running after him. Opening up to the Pogues certainly hadn’t fixed everything but knowing she had them to talk to if she needed made her feel better, even thought they really were knuckleheads half the time.

24 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here!

Inspiration tag for the story!

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out!

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth.

February 1st.

It’s Harry’s birthday today.

He’s 29. Shit.

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly.

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive?

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right.

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly.

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send.

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is.

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene.

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone.

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me.

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads.

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite.

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap.

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply.

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part.

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast.

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner.

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up.

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to.

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork.

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?”

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here.

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving.

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up.

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation.

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways.

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say.

A name.

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time.

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody.

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for.

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching.

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes.

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips.

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots.

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long.

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams.

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest.

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile.

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does.

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second.

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin.

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer.

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?”

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room.

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander.

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails?

Wait, you’re an uncle?

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things.

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me.

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice.

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue.

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut.

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile.

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you.

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him.

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away.

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-.

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that.

For the rest of day.

Week.

Maybe even, month.

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread.

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes.

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head.

My break is over at 1:30.

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back.

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall.

So she won’t mind.

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now.

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public.

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery.

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks.

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that.

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here.

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made.

I just fell a little bit harder. Again.

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me.

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter.

Options, options, options.

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door.

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door.

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing.

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again.

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.

It rings and it rings.

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg.

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears.

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting.

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

The worries.

The uncertainty.

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it.

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem.

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words.

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now.

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins.

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away.

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid.

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans.

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen.

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you.

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words.

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in.

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?”

No answer.

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body.

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face.

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet.

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands.

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us.

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with.

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together.

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room.

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles.

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him.

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one.

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him.

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat.

Goodnight

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath.

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier.

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words.

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice.

20 notes · View notes

animeniacss · 4 years

Text

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 24 - Finding Normality

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4.8k words

Chapter 24: Finding Normality

“Alright, we’re here to discuss the charges for Mr. Cho Weong-Bin.” said a judge, sitting up in his seat as he looked at the people in front of him. Weong-Bin, who was exhausted after a day of interrogation as well as being detained overnight, was standing beside the lawyer he had hired, a tall, skinny, older man with glasses and his hair slicked back. He was dressed in a suit that screamed ‘I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive’. Weong-Bin had connections in his work, people who he befriended who kept trying to preach that he would never hurt his wife, that this was all a misunderstanding. However, despite their encouraging words, he was still stuck in court, waiting to see if he would be detained or not until his trial really began. As he stood there, listening to his charges as they were read out, his eyes wandered around the room, falling on you. You stood in the back of the room; your purse clutched tightly in your hands. He had seen you outside as he was being brought in, sitting with your family, who were keeping the girls entertained. They had no desire to be in there, but you made it absolutely clear that you wanted to see every single moment of this, from beginning to end. “I am understanding he’s brought to trial for assault of his ex-wife?”

“Correct.” Said the prosecutor, the stoic and sturdy woman who was helping you win. She and the police had been working diligently to make sure everything was and will be submitted on time to ensure that Weong-Bin would be unable for release from detention until the end of the trial, but they assured that wouldn’t happen, with the evidence that they had. “We want to make sure that not only is he detained until proven guilty, but that he has no contact at all with his ex-wife, their two young daughters, or any member of her family as well.”

“Oh, that’s ridiculous.” Weong-Bin’s lawyer said with a scoff. “This is all a misunderstanding and we plan to prove that.” The judge let out a deep sigh as he looked down at the records.

“Well the safety of Miss. Cho and his girls are my top priority. So, Mr. Cho will remain in detention throughout the trial unless he can make a 6 million won (500K USD) bail. If he does, he is unable to go within 500 feet of his ex-wife, their children, or any of her family members, nor have any technological contact with them. If he goes against these rules, he will remain in prison until his trial.”

“But-.” Weong-Bin said.

“Enough, be thankful I’m being that polite about it.” The judge said. With a smack of his gavel, the man stood up and excused himself. Weong-Bin turned around to see you still standing there, as the prosecutor approached you. While she was speaking to you, your eyes wandered towards Weong-Bin, who looked annoyed as he said goodbye to his lawyer and was escorted out of the room by one of the police officers. As he walked out, he made sure his eyes remained on you for as long as they could, as if he was attempting to burn his gaze into your soul forever. He knew it was working, as he saw you shrink back and turn towards the door with the prosecutor following close behind.

It had been a few days between being in court and when you had to take the girls to talk to the cops, and really set this entire event into motion. With Weong-Bin being in prison, you were unsure if he would be able to make his bail. He had a good job and his family was pretty well off, so you wouldn’t’ be surprised. Even with the rule of no contact, you were still uneasy at there even being a possibility he could be released. All you could think about was the interview Min Ja had with the female cop and a child psychologist a few days ago. It kept playing back in your mind, over and over.

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

“Alright, Min Ja-.” The kindly cop said, smiling as she sat across from the girl. She had already revealed her name was Seo-Yeon to the little girl and introduced the doctor as Mrs. Geum. She looked at them after just seeing you and Hoseok take Hyo Bin out of the room. “We need to have a little talk, okay?”

“…Am I in trouble?” she asked curiously.

“No, of course not.” Mrs. Geum said gently. “We just want to talk to you about your Mom and Dad.” Min Ja set down the doll in her hands. “Can you do that?”

“Do you mean the fighting?” She asked curiously.

“What about the fighting?” Mrs. Geum asked.

“They yell at each other all the time, even when Daddy lived in our house. I don’t really know what they yell about, but it’s really loud…”

“Does it scares you?” Mrs. Geum asked. Min Ja nodded. “I’m sure it does. What do you do when they start to fight?”

“Uhm…well I make sure Hyo Bin can’t hear it because she cries at loud noises. Sometimes I hide under my covers or in my closet…”

“…Have you ever seen your Mommy or Daddy use their hands to hurt each other?” Min Ja looked down at the doll, holding it tightly in her hands. “…Min Ja?”

“A few times…Daddy is the one that hits Mommy…”

“…And what does Mommy do?”

“She yells and tries to stay away from him, but he keeps trying to hurt her…” Mrs. Geum nodded. “Why does he do that?”

“Well, that’s something only your Dad can tell us…” Mrs. Geum said. “Has he ever hit you, or Hyo Bin?”

“No.” Min Ja’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t hit us.”

“…Does he do anything else that makes you sad?” She asked curiously. Min Ja pursed her lips together. There was a soft moment of silence, but Mrs. Geum and Seo-Yeon waited patiently. Finally, Min Ja began to explain everything to the police as best as she could. She mentioned everything she was told about Hoseok, how he couldn’t stay in the house because her father was trying to come back into their lives, how he got upset when she said Hoseok was nice, and how all of that made her head hurt.

“Even when Daddy said he fixed all his mistakes, he still made Mommy cry…” she said softly.

“I see…” Mrs. Geum smiled happily as she set down her notepad. “Min Ja, you were very helpful today. You’re a very smart little lady.” Min Ja looked up.

“Do you have to talk to my sister too?” She asked. Mrs. Geum nodded. “Well, I make sure she doesn’t hear the bad scary stuff because it makes her sad.”

“Well then you’re a really good big sister, Min Ja.” She smiled. Min Ja’s eyes sparkled a bit, and she nodded happily. “Okay, you’re all done, sweetie, you can go outside to your Mom.” Min Ja got up, politely nodding her head just like her mother taught her as she headed out of the room.

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

Upon returning home from the courthouse, your family piled into your little apartment, the once quiet air immediately filling up with bustling commotion.

“Why don’t we help you unpack some more, Hoseok?” Your mother asked, turning happily to him as he set Hyo Bin down on the floor. Not only was this entire trial going on, but Hoseok had officially begun bringing stuff from his own apartment into yours, boxes, and bags of clothes, objects, even some furniture. It left the house looking cluttered, while was only adding to the anxieties piling up on you.

“What? Oh no, you don’t have you, that’s all you’ve been doing since you arrived.” He said quickly, waving his arms.

“But I’m sure this clutter is doing nothing to calm your nerves.” She huffed, walking towards a stack of a few boxes. “It’ll make me happy~.” Hoseok sighed softly, chuckling.

“Let’s at least figure out what we’re doing for dinner first.” Taehyung said. He watched as you made your way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a drink. He could see that you were not focused on the conversations going on inside your apartment whatsoever. He called your name as you closed the fridge door, but didn’t get a response. So, he called it again. And again. And again. Finally, your mother shouted your name out, loud enough to finally make you turn your head.

“Your brother is calling you.” She said.

“O-oh uh... Sorry, did you guys want something to drink? Hobi, Sprite?” you glanced over to Hoseok, who glanced up at you at the call of his name. He, like Taehyung could see that offering your guests drinks was not the first thing on your mind. He walked over to you, reopening the fridge and pulling out a Sprite.

“I’ve got it.” He smiled. “Why don’t you go rest? You’ve had a long day.” You chuckled.

“I’m not going to go nap when I have guests.”

“Well I live here now, too. So technically they’re my guests.” He corrected, reaching back into the fridge. He pulled out a few more drinks, turning around and tossing one in Taehyung’s direction. “Go on, rest up. We’ll do some unpacking then get dinner. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Hobi…”

“Go on, you’re wasting precious time that you could be sleeping, all cute in bed.” He teased, taking your hand. He led you into the bedroom. “Go, go, go. We’ll all be here when you wake up.” He smiled.

“Yeah, go rest, honey! We’ll watch the girls for you.” Your mother said happily.

“…Alright…” you said softly, finally walking into your room and closing the door behind you. Everyone in the living room took this time to share glanced with each other unsure of what they should say now that you were finally out of the room.

“Poor thing.” Your mother sighed softly. “I don’t know what to do to help her.”

“There’s nothing we can do.” Taehyung said simply, watching as Hyo Bin hurried towards him, reaching her arms up in his direction. He quickly scooped her up and held her tightly in his lap. “We just have to help her through until it’s all over.”

“…When did you become so smart?” Your mother sighed softly, putting her head in her hands. Taehyung chuckled. “But you’re right, we can only do so much. Oooh, I knew that piece of garbage was trouble. I can’t believe this.”

“Well standing around isn’t going to change anything. Let’s figure out what to do for dinner.” Your step-father said, rubbing his wife’s back. She nodded, turning back to Hoseok. “Now, time to unpack.” Hoseok couldn’t help but laugh.

“You really don’t have to do that; I assure you I can handle it later.” He tried to stop them, but they were adamant about lending a helping hand in getting some of the boxes opened and some of the stuff organized. Hoseok watched your mother walk to one of his luggage, asking to open it and start a load of laundry. After finally realizing he couldn’t stop them, he let out a deep sigh and finally allowed her to do so, much to her delight. He turned towards the bedroom, trying to picture you curled up under the covers and sleeping comfortably. When he heard nothing coming from the room, it put him slightly at ease. You needed a good nap.

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

That evening, you all found a really nice meal at a local Italian restaurant, which was a bit expensive, but Taehyung took the bill with his recent magazine shoot doing really well. He wanted to try and take your mind off everything that was going on, and based on the faces you made as you swallowed up the chicken parmesan, he could tell that it was working. The dinner was a nice change of pace, something that got everyone out and enjoying themselves instead of worrying about the prick who was sitting in detention a few miles away.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Taehyung said, turning to you as you exited the restaurant. Hobi and your parents were ahead of you with the girls, both of whom were chattering on and on. “Did that nap help?”

“I guess so…” you said softly. You watched as Hoseok lifted Min Ja up in his arms, as she pointed up to the lights that lit up the street all around the restaurant. “I just can’t wait for this to be over.”

“I know.” Taehyung sighed, pulling you into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay, he won’t be able to hurt you anymore. And if he makes bail and tries, I’ll just kill him.” You chuckled a bit.

“Yeah, then you’ll be taking his place behind bars. I don’t want that.” Taehyung chuckled. He watched as Min Ja continued to take all of Hoseok’s attention, motioning to different things that she saw in the bustling Seoul streets.

“I guess I don’t really have to spend so much energy worrying about you anymore.” He said, making you glance up.

“What, you’re finally going to stop worrying yourself into a coma?”

“Well, no.” Taehyung sighed. “But well…” he motioned to Hoseok. “You have Hoseok-Hyung worrying about you now. I did my part, I guess.” You chuckled, feeling the hug Taehyung had you in tighten. “It’ll be weird not having to rush over to you all the time when there’s a problem.” He pouted. “I won’t like it, tell me I can still worry about you, Noona.”

“No.” you scoffed, looking up at him. He whined, his pout remaining on his face. “Take all that worry you have for your Noona and go find another girl to worry about.”

“But-.”

“Nope. You’re not allowed to argue with me. It’s like you said, I have someone else worrying about me now, you’ve done your part.” Taehyung sighed, and you offered him a tight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.” You said, patting his shoulder.

“Mommy!” You heard Min Ja shout, making you both glanced over. “Mommy, Mr. Hobi said we can get ice cream!”

“Hobi.” You pouted. “What-.”

“I want ice cream.” Hoseok shrugged.

“My treat.” Your step-father said.

“Alright, fine…” you said softly. You pulled back from your hug and headed back over to them, Min Ja grabbing your hand as soon as she was placed back onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Tae.” You said to him. He nodded, putting his hands in his pockets as he followed you.

At the ice cream shop, you knelt down at your children’s level, pointing out some of the different flavors that they saw. Your mother and step-father were at the counter, already placing their orders with the sweet teenager at the counter. Taehyung watched as Hoseok stood beside you, hands in his pockets as he watched you help your kids pick out a flavor that they wanted. He walked up to Hoseok, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hm?” Hoseok looked over.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked curiously. Hoseok glanced over to you, seeing you meet their gaze. Hoseok glanced back over and smiled.

“Sure.” He said happily. He looked at you really quick. “I’ll be right back; just order my-.” Just as he was about to ask for some Rocky Road, he saw you standing up and putting in that exact order with the worker. “Awww, you already knew.” He said, and you looked at him.

“…This is for me.” You said. Hoseok blinked, eyes falling to the now empty container of rocky road, that the woman pulled out of the display case.

“…Aaaaah, so mean.” He pouted, but only receive a giggle as some form of sympathy. “I’ll be right back. Order me something else, you pick.” You nodded, watching the two of them walk out of the parlor together. As the boys stepped into the cool air, people shuffling past along the sidewalk, having their own side conversations, giggling and chatting as they walked past the duo in every direction. “Man, I can’t believe that she did that right in front of me….” He mumbled sadly. When he didn’t hear a response from Taehyung, he glanced up and saw the boy was looking directly at him. “Is everything alright, Taehyung?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.” He said, putting his hands behind his head. He looked at the scenery around him, humming. “I just…you need to promise me something.”

“…Okay.” Hoseok chuckled.

“I maybe a year younger than my sister, but I’ve looked out for her since our parents got married. I didn’t want my father to remarry someone after my mom passed away. I was a little brat for the longest time, even afterward. But she still went out of her way to treat me well and make sure that our family was happy together.” He said. “She’s stubborn, and that makes her kind of stupid sometimes. So, I’ve always tried to look out for her, even when she dated you in college. I just didn’t want to ever see her hurt, because she made sure I never was.” He chuckled. “When all of this happened with Weong-Bin trying to get back into their lives, I couldn’t help but be infuriated, but I knew it wasn’t helping her.” Hoseok nodded.

“I’m sure she knows you mean well.” He said simply.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “But it’s been over a decade that I’ve been the guy looking out for her.” Feeling a bit anxious, he ran a hand through his hair. “I know that, well, that’s not my role anymore.” He looked at him. “When Weong-Bin and her started dating, I made it clear I wasn’t going to let just anybody take my sister.”

“I know, you said the same thing to me.” Hoseok chuckled.

“Yeah.” Taehyung nodded. “The day before they got married, Weong-Bin asked me again if I was ready to let her go, and let him protect her.” Taehyung’s eyes darted to the side a bit as he pursed his lips. That day continued to play in his head all of the time.

“Come on, Little Bro-.” Weong-Bin hummed, resting against the wall of the living room. You were inside making the three of you some tea, and Taehyung had stopped by to bring you some of the final boxes from the house to complete your move into Weong-Bin’s house. He had kind of wished he had waited.

“Don’t call me that.” Taehyung sneered. Weong-Bin rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Taehyung.” He walked over to him. “I know how much you care about your sister. We’re on the same page, I care about her too. But she’s going to be my wife tomorrow.” Taehyung could remember the smirk that formed on Weong-Bin’s face at that moment. “Don’t you think it’s time that you stop playing the protective little brother and let someone else take care of her for a change?”

“What?” Taehyung asked, standing up.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been taking care of her for the past few years, and that’s great. But, as her husband, it’ll be my job to protect her. There’s no longer any room for you in that role.” He stepped closer to Taehyung, who crossed his arms. “So, what do you say? Do you finally feel ready to let your Noona go to someone more…hm…capable?” Taehyung tried hard to restrain himself from knocking Weong-Bin’s lights out at that moment. He was still making a name for himself at that moment, and Weong-Bin knew that stopped him from doing anything drastic in fear of penalty. But that was just physical violence.

“What happened?” Hoseok finally asked, drawing Taehyung back from the memory.

“Hm? Oh, well I told Weong-Bin to go fuck himself and he punched me in the face.” Taehyung said simply, placing his hand on his cheek as if the punch had just been inflicted. “Hurt like a son of a bitch, but I didn’t care. I wanted to make it very clear I had no intention of letting him of all people protect her. I knew he would do a crummy job of it, and I was right.” Hoseok nodded. “I keep thinking about if it was you instead of him that married her. Things would be so much different.”

“Well I wouldn’t have punched you.” Hoseok said. Taehyung chuckled a bit.

“Yeah I know. But…I wouldn’t have said what I said to you, either.” Taehyung glanced at Hoseok. “If you’re the one that promises to protect her, then I have no reason to worry….” Hoseok chuckled.

“Are you passing the torch to me?” he asked curiously.

“…Mhm…” Taehyung said. “Reluctantly, I admit.” Both of them shared a smile. “But…you need to promise me, no matter what, that you’ll protect her, but it has to be a promise that you can’t ever break. No matter what.” Hoseok looked at him, seeing in Taehyung’s eyes the same seriousness and intensity that he saw 7 years ago when he met an 18-year-old Taehyung, one who had told him almost the same thing back then, back when Hoseok thought he would be the one who walked you down the aisle first. Hoseok couldn’t help but nod.

“Of course. I never planned to do anything different.” Taehyung let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know, I know that.” He said. “I just had to make sure. With everything going on, I told her I would back off because she has you now. But…I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page.”

“We are.” Hoseok said. “I promise, I have no other intention in life but to love her for as long as she’ll let me.” Taehyung nodded, smiling.

“Thank you, Hyung.” He said, nodding his head a bit. Hoseok patted the younger boy’s shoulder, nodded.

“Let’s go inside before they eat all our ice cream. She’s done it before.” Taehyung laughed as he followed Hoseok inside.

“She used to do it to me all the time, then leave the empty carton in the freezer for me to find.” He pouted, and Hoseok began to laugh.

You watched the boys enter the parlor again. Min Ja and Hyo Bin were now sharing a cup of ice cream, their faces messy as they dug their spoons into the cold a delicious treat. Your mother was trying to clean them up, but they were not having it, they were too busy eating!

“Welcome back.” You motioned to their ice cream, set on the table waiting patiently to be eaten. As the boys took a seat, you smiled. “Are you guys done talking about me?”

“Who said we were talking about you?” Taehyung asked, sitting down and beginning to eat. “We have other things in common than you.” He grinned as he put a scoop of ice cream in his mouth. “Don’t inflate your own ego.” You laughed a bit.

“Okay, fair.” You said, looking to Min Ja. She looked up to you, then to her Uncle and Hobi.

“We got chocolate chip.” She beamed.

“Me too~.” Hobi smiled happily. “I was going to get Rock Road, but they’re out.” He pouted, and Min Ja giggled as his little childish tantrum. You chuckled. “Well, not out, but I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me-.” His eyes fell to your ice cream cup, consisting of Rocky Road and rainbow sprinkles.

“Oh yeah, it’s my fault you stocked my freezer with Rocky Road and got me hooked, isn’t it?” You huffed, putting your spoon to his mouth. “There. Take some.” Hoseok chuckled as he leaned forward and took the bite. You smiled a bit. “There. Satisfied?” You asked. Hobi hummed and smiled, tilting his head in excitement as he ate the bite of ice cream. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched him. Taehyung watched you both, seeing the wide smile forming on your face as Hoseok leaned forward, begging for another bite. “What? No, no.”

“Please?” He begged.

“You have your own ice cream!” You laughed a bit. Taehyung chuckled, leaning back in his seat.

“Mommy, me too!” Min Ja begged, still trying to pull away from your mother’s attempts to clean her face. “I want some too!”

“Min Ja, let me finish cleaning you.” Your mother gasped.

“Mom, quit while you’re ahead.” You begged. Min Ja smiled as you held the spoon out to her, allowing her to reach out and take a bite. As she allowed the cold treat to tickle her taste buds, her eyes lit up. “I like that, it’s yummy.”

“Isn’t it?” Mr. Hobi beamed. “You’re such a smart little girl, Min Ja.” he cooed, making Min Ja giggle. Quickly, she took your cup and spoon, making your eyes widen.

“What- Min Ja! Give that back!” You gasped. She took another spoonful, a smaller one, and held it out to Hyo Bin.

“Try some, Hyo Bin.” She said. The little one reached out from her seat, opening her mouth just enough to take some of it into her mouth. She blinked, swallowing it. Almost immediately, her nose scrunched up, a confused look etched on her face. “You don’t like it?”

“…No,” she said softly. You chuckled, reaching over and taking your ice cream back.

“You girls eat the ice cream grandma and grandpa bought you instead of stealing mine.” You said, and Min Ja pouted a bit. “Go on. Before it melts.” Min Ja nodded and continued to eat with her sister. Finally, you were able to start eating your own ice cream.

“That was yummy!” Min Ja grinned, taking hold of her grandmother’s hand as the group of you exited the parlor. “Bye-Bye, Ice Cream Lady! Thank you!” She shouted, waving behind her. The workers smiled as they waved back.

“Alright, time to go home and take a bath.” You said to the girls, and once again were filled with their whines and begs not to. “You mean to tell me you two sticky rug rats don’t need to be cleaned? I doubt that.” You scooped them both up in your arms. “Oh, jeez-.” You groaned, finding the task a lot harder than usual. “When did both of you get so big?”

“I’m a big girl now, I don’t need to be picked up all the time anymore. Hyo Bin does, though.” Min Ja pointed out, pointing to the toddler who was curling up in your arm already, all the food finally beginning to make her sleepy. “See? She still gets sleepy from food. I-.” Min Ja stopped, covering her mouth to yawn. “I don’t.”

“Right.” You sighed, turning back to your parents and Taehyung. “Do you need to come back to the house for anything?”

“No, we can just catch the train from here to Taehyung’s house~.” Your step-father grinned, hitting his son on the back. Taehyung blinked.

“…Who said you were staying with me?”

“Well we can’t stay with your sister, can we? Her house is already filled to the brim. Besides, all our stuff is at your house. Your house has a spare room, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but-.”

“What? Is there a girl you’re hiding from us or something?”

“NO!” You saw your brother’s ears turn red.

“Then it’s settled!” Your mother turned to you again. Taehyung did too.

“Noonaaaaaa-.” He begged, walking up to you. “Don’t do this to me, they snore.” You sighed, nodding.

“I’m doing this to you because they snore.” You said, and Hoseok began to laugh. Taehyung groaned, giving in as his father came and gave him yet another supportive pat on the back. Finally, the group of you said your goodbyes, with the promise to see each other tomorrow. The girls yawned as they hugged their grandparents and uncle, Hoseok offered to take Min Ja into his own arms as she began to fall asleep. The group of you parted, Taehyung leading your parents to the train while you and Hoseok headed down the block to your apartment. “Well, that was fun.”

“I’m glad. I hope you made you feel a little better.”

“It did.” You said. Hoseok chuckled. He looked over to you as you fixed Hyo Bin as she continued to drift into slumber. He took this chance to take hold of your free hand, interlocking them together. You glanced over at him and smiled, making sure to give it an extra squeeze. “…Hobi, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” He said.

“I want to tell my parents and Tae, about the baby from college… I haven’t yet. With everything going on right now, it’s just another thing that’s been weighing on my shoulders.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Will you…help me?” Hoseok looked at you.

“Of course, I will.” He said gently, lifting your hand up to his lips and giving it a kiss. You smiled, a force pulling you slightly closer to him. “Taehyung just entrusted me to protect you. What kind of man would I be if I let him down already?”

Return to Masterlist

Next / Previous

16 notes · View notes