#my poor lumpy baby boy

[naomiknight-17]

I am a person who doesn't get out of bed before 9 AM unless I'm being paid but I was up at 8:30 today to take Tiny Tim to the vet cuz he's my boy

#i am tired now #but i will do anything for my baby boy #my poor lumpy baby boy #mod post

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Two

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Hi guys! Back with chapter two!! Thank you for all the love last chapter! You guys are too sweet! I hope you like this chapter as well, although we get a little angsty in this one oops. Also author note at the end!

Word count: 5k.

Find: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 17, 1970. Still.

Paul Hunham didn’t think his luck could get any worse but then that moron at the Janie Patrick's Girl School had to go make his problems, his. Then at the young lady’s arrival Angus Tully practically had hearts popping out his eyes like those cartoon characters on TV. That would be an issue. An issue he had to deal with at once.

As the boys grumbled and moaned on their way to the infirmary, as if they were the Athenians sent to march to Marathon in 490 BC, he made his way to the kitchen, looking for a certain cook.

“Hello, Mary,” he greets. She sits at her desk with a cigarette between two fingers, writing something down in her notebook.

“Mr. Hunham. I heard you got stuck with babysitting duty this year. How’d you manage that?” Her tone tiptoes on the edge of teasing.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I failed someone who richly deserved it.”

“The Osgood kid? Yeah, he was a real asshole. Rich and dumb. Popular combination around here.”

“It’s a plague. Uh, and you? You’ll be here, too?” God, he hopes she is. He doesn’t think he will be able to survive as the only adult on the school grounds.

To his relief she nods her head, “All by my lonesome. My little sister Peggy and her husband invited me to go visit them in Roxbury, but I feel like it’s too soon. Like Curtis will think that I’m abandoning him, you know. This is the last place my baby and I were together, not including the bus station.”

Paul pursues his lips, unsure of what to say. “Well, maybe you won't be completely alone. How would you feel about letting a female student sleep in the staff common room? We could push some couches together, I'm sure. Make a nice bed that way.”

“Female student? What do you mean?”

“I’m unsure about the exact details, but I have been entrusted by the idiots across the lake with taking care of one of their students.”

“Ahh,” Mary is beginning to understand.

He nods, “Her name is Y/n L/n, I think she and Tully are in cahoots somehow. You should've seen the way he looked at her.”

“Oh no, don't do that though. You can’t have that poor girl sleep on a lumpy couch all break. She needs a bed.”

“I just want this whole ordeal to go smoothly. If I can keep those two as far away as possible, I believe all will be well.”

“Please that Tully boy wouldn't try anything. Sometimes he is the only one to say thank you when we place the food down on the lunch tables.”

Paul mulls it over for a second. “I suppose I could give it a try. Not that I think it is wise.”

Mary smiles slightly, “I know those kids are hard to handle but hold out hope for them. Some trust too. It's not too late yet. Their brains are still moldable or whatever corny crap you teachers say.”

Paul smiles slightly, his attention pulled to the bottle of bourbon on her desk, “You mind if I uh…”

“You want some of that? All right.”

“Thank you.”

“You know this is a necessity,” Mary says as she pours the liquid into a mug for him.

“Oh yes,” for life, love, pain or the next two weeks. Paul understands too well.

…

“Put the bed farther away Angus,” you say, your arms on your hips and you watch him struggle to drag his bed closer to yours.

“Why? Do I smell or something?”

“It's already a stretch to think he might let us sleep in the same room, he's definitely not going to let your bed be that close to mine.”

Huffing he begins to scoot it back to its original place, “Fine.”

Music has started blaring loudly from where Teddy and Jason are bunking in. Park and Ollerman are minding their business in their own space. You are across, what you think will be the place Mr. Hunham will stay in. Your hope is that him having an accessible view will make him more lenient towards you and Angus, despite his earlier warning of having you be on your own.

You situate your lavender near the window and begin to unpack your things. Angus does the same and you can hear his rustling get faster.

“What's wrong?” You ask.

“My…” He trails off. Suddenly he storms off like a man on a mission. You ignore the magazine you were flipping through and let it fall on the floor as you get up to follow him.

You see him head directly towards Kountze. “Where’s my photo?”

“What photo?”

“I think you know what photo, and you stole it.”

“I resent that baseless accusation.”

“Give me my goddamn picture!” Angus shouts.

“Hey man, if you took the photo just give it back,” you plead exasperatedly to Teddy, already tired of his whole innocent act.

“Stay out of it Y/n, it's alright,” Angus assures you and you move back to lean against the doorway. You sort of hope Angus socks him.

Kountze leaps to his feet and stalks towards him, “You need your girlfriend to defend you now? Seriously, what's your problem, Tully? Homesick? Maybe the little boy misses his mommy?”

“Fuck you, Kountze. Leave her out of it. And hey, why are you even here anyway? Where’s your family?”

“We’re renovating our house. It’s all torn up. They’re storing the tools and stuff in my room.” “That’s what they told you? It’s winter, idiot. Nobody renovates their house in the winter. Your parents don’t want you around because you’re a fucking insecure sociopath.”

“Hey, take it easy, guys.”

You can see Angus getting angrier. His shoulders are tense and in a last ditch effort you go up to him and whisper in his ear, “Punch him later. In private. Hunham won’t even hear our reasoning for rooming together. He’ll punish you by punishing me.”

Misery loves company, right? That was the saying at least. In your mind, suffering with Angus was better than the alternative. You didn’t want to spend these two weeks inside a glass case. From what you had seen, Hunham would have no problem in making you sit at your own lunch table or study in a separate classroom. You know that is what Ms. Orchard would have done if she was forced to take in the boys. She would have locked you in your dorm and insisted it was because you would “distract” them.

You can see the gears turning in Angus’s mind. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally nods before turning back to glare at Kountze. “You’re an asshole. I just needed you to know that.”

He turns around to retreat back to the room only to run straight into Mr. Hunhams chest. Angus leaps off and leans his back against the wall. Your own eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the man's footsteps.

He surveys the room and notes all your disheveledness. Teddy's face looks flushed while Angus is still trying to control his heavy breathing. Everyone is completely silent and too scared to even make a move.

“What is going on here?”

“They weren’t fighting,” Alex squeaked. Mr. Hunham only seems to grow more suspicious. He shifted his sights to you and his eyebrow begins to raise, “They weren’t bothering you were they.”

“No. We were just talking,” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What about?”

“Hmm?” You hum, straightening up.

“What were you all discussing mere seconds before I barged in on what, I am sure, was a highly intellectual conversation.”

“Shocking Blue,” you blurt out and Hunham turns his head as if asking for clarification. “The band that was on the radio.”

“Yeah, we love Shocking Blue,” Angus nods. The rest of the boys chime in, faking their agreement.

“They’re so good.”

“I listen to them all the time.”

Mr. Hunham continues to look unconvinced. Without a word he walks out, and you all collectively let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, you all stare at each other with giddiness. Like when you're a kid and get away with stealing a cookie from the cooling tray. You let yourself relax but shrivel back up upon the echo of Mr. Hunham's haunting voice, “Mr. Tully, Ms. L/n, in here. NOW.”

You frown, gazing up at Angus, “I think he found the room.”

…

After a stern talking to, Mr. Hunham begrudgingly agreed to let you and Angus sleep in the same room. He took a string of jingle bells that hung from a nearby Christmas decoration and tied it around Angus’s bedpost so that if he dared to move, he would hear it. You two were just fine with that.

Later you were escorted to the large dining hall. Mr. Hunham sat at the head of the table as the rest of you indulged in mindless chatter. You and Angus were on your third round of rock, paper, scissors, competing for nothing, when a lady came in to set down a platter of chicken, potatoes and asparagus.

“Lovely. Thank you, Mary.” the older man says.

You wait for the initial rush of grubby hands and pushing elbows to pass before you serve yourself, when you find that Angus already did it for you. He sets down the plate in front of you and then gets himself a serving of the green vegetable on his own dish.

“Didn’t we already have this for lunch?” Jason asks.

“And it was crappy then,” Teddy says through his eager chewing. You gag at the scene.

“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”

The woman from earlier, that you now know is Mary, returns with some water. You give her a passing smile which she returns.

“Mary, maybe you’d, um, maybe you would care to join us,” Hunham stumbles through his words.

Kountze looks up from his food then glances at you with alarm. Like he can't fathom the idea of sitting with the cook.

You think Mary can sense his disdain when you notice her demeanor sour after a glimpse in his direction. “No, I’m all right. Thank you.” She escapes through the kitchen doors.

Teddy pipes up, “I mean, I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s getting paid to do a job. And she should do it well, right?”

The chewing and scraping of silverware halts. You and Angus gauge each other's reaction, both of you completely shocked and slightly horrified. That boy for some reason just never knows when to shut up and continues, “But I guess no matter how bad a cook she is, now they can never fire her.”

“Will you shut up!” Mr. Hunham yells loud enough for you to flinch. He slams his fork and knife down. “You have no idea what that woman has… For most people, Mr. Kountze, life is like a henhouse ladder -- shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat!”

…

You're on your bed and catching up on some reading and soaking in the orange hue that the bedside lamp offers you. The boys are still getting ready for bed, and you were graciously offered the first shift in the showers. You’re waiting for your hair to dry when Angus walks in with his pajamas on, and a towel draped over his shoulders.

“You look very dapper,” You smirk.

“Thank you,” he plops down into his mattress. “You think Walleye is still mad?”

“Probably. I don’t blame him.”

“It made for a pretty awkward evening though.”

“Not one of the worst dinners I ever had. I’d rather endure another night like this than any dinner with my parents.”

“Oh yeah,” he sighs, “Your parents... You never did tell me the reason why you’re here holding over.”

You shuffle around in your bed and bring your blanket up to your neck, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, it's just me now. Tell me. I told you!”

“It's no big reason, just small ones. They didn’t specify. I didn’t want to go home. It's complicated.”

“Okay you just gave like four different excuses right there. What happened? Is it super embarrassing? Did they forget about you or something,” he laughs.

You wince at his words and pray that the world opens up and swallows you whole. Realization dawns on his face, “Oh shit. Did they?”

You nod solemnly and begin picking on the thread of the blanket, trying to make the threading come undone.

“How could they do that? The same assholes who always make a huge deal about RSVPs and invitations. Seriously?”

“It’s alright. I’ll live. I mean what would I have done if I was there? I’d be in my room and waiting for them to drag me out so they could introduce me to people. They’d act like doting parents, ditching me a second later to play blackjack with their friends.”

“I’m sorry. I wish you would have told me, we could’ve… I could have done something.”

You smile, “I didn’t tell you cause I know you. You would’ve cursed them out the minute you had hold of them. Anyways, maybe it was faith to get stranded at Barton.”

“Or bad luck,” he quips, “maybe the universe wants us to die of mundanity together.”

“Either or,” you grin. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let's go to bed.”

Angus nods and spreads his long limbs across the bed exaggeratingly before turning to face the wall. “Whatever you want. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight,” you go to turn off the lamp, wondering if you're being paranoid in sensing something off in the way he says your name.

…

December 20, 1970

The last few days had been the same grueling routine. Mr. Hunham would wake you up with the banging of bedpans and you would groan and try to shove yourself deep into your pillows.

“All right, you fetid layabouts,” he would say, “It’s daylight in the swamp. Arise!”

In the quad you were all forced to run laps. You hadn’t anticipated doing exercise, so you were forced to wear some joggers from the lost and found. You had been able to convince him that walking would be better suited for you and your imaginary cramps. His face had completely paled, and he hadn’t even let you finish speaking when he said you walking would be just fine. Men and their immaturity, you think.

When Angus and the rest of the boys would pass by you, he would glare jokingly at you while you would stick your tongue out and wave him goodbye as he flew past you.

During study hall, you would read some more and ignore the ongoing feud between Kountze and Angus. In the span of the last few days, you must have read three entire books. There was a lot of downtime in between recreational time with Mr. Hunham and dinner.

Today you had all decided to walk along the river. You can hear the church bells in the distance signaling the fact that it is the afternoon. Angus is swinging around a branch while Teddy and Jason pass around a football. You steer clear of both. You walk in sync with Alex and Ye-Joon. You’ve taken a liking to them. They remind you of the little sibling you always wanted but never got.

“What about your car?” Angus suggests, “We could take it, go somewhere. Boston maybe.” Jason shakes his head, “Nah, we’d get in so much trouble. Face it. We’re stuck.”

“If we just had some way to get out of here. Just split,” Angus kicks a pile of snow.

“Well, you could put a chopper down right in the Quad.”

“A what?”

“A helicopter, dumb ass,” Teddy snaps, “His old man’s CEO of Pratt & Whitney.”

“Got his own bird,” Jason confirms, “Takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our backyard. Pilot’s name, Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon awes.

“Yeah. Flew up to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me,” he shrugs.

“Flying with presents, like Santa Claus,” Alex comments with glee.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistles and tilts his head for Teddy to “go long.” They play catch, getting farther from the group as they go.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar,” Alex reminisces. You smile sadly at the boy.

“That sounds so nice,” Ye-Joon agrees.

Kountze runs back suddenly and grabs one of Alex’s gloves and throws it into the river.

“What's wrong with you?” You intervene.

“Hey!” Alex says simultaneously.

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, little Mormon,” Teddy laughs, not an ounce of regret at what he just did. You tap Angus’s shoulder as you go trailing after the young boy, “I’m going to go help.”

“It’s gone! My glove’s gone!” Ollerman shouts. You continue searching for it through the clearing.

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose. Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more,” Angus shouts back.

Ollerman looks to be on the verge of tears. He stares down at his hands and starts walking down a snowy ramp. He throws the other glove before you can do anything to stop it. He watches it disappear downstream as you make your own way down.

“Did your mother make you that?”

He nods. “It’s alright. I know where he keeps his wallet. We’ll steal it and buy a new one.”

You manage to bring out a muffled laugh from him. You consider it a win.

…

Angus wakes up in the middle of the night to see you knitting. He gets up from the bed to see your progress.

“Oh hello, grandma,” he scoffs. “When did you learn to do that?”

“Girl scouts before I quit. You guys had a bunch of yarn just rotting behind your auditorium stage. Did you know that?”

“No? Are you making that for the kid?”

“Yeah, I feel bad.”

“That looks like crap,” Angus chuckles as he messes around with the gloves fingers. You swat his hand away.

“I never said I earned the badge. Besides, it's the thought that counts.”

“I’m going to get a glass of water. You want some?”

“No thanks.”

Angus leaves the room, only to return a couple seconds later.

“Ye-Joon is crying,” he whispers. You furrow your eyebrows and get up to follow him. His cries become louder, and you turn the corner to see the poor boy shivering.

“Are you all right?” You ask.

“I had a nightmare,” You crouch down so you can hear him better.

“Don’t worry we get nightmares too. Right Angus?”

“Yeah, I’m always falling. Or drowning.”

“Also, I had an accident,” he weeps.

You motion for Angus to check. He doesn't have to look far.

“Yeah, you did. Shhh. Stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends,” he sobs full-on. You hush him gently.

“You have plenty of time to make friends. You’re like a freshman, right? I would start worrying when you're fifty and living vicariously through your kids.”

“Yeah man. You could have a thousand friends and not like any of them. What would be the point of having them then,” Angus adds.

“We’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right?” You wipe his tears with a tissue from a Kleenex box nearby. “Find a dry spot and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Park smiles consoled. Before going back to bed you ask him one last thing, “Hey do you like gloves?”

Ye-Joon gives you a quizzical look. …

December 22, 1970

Once again, you’re all studying in silence in a fancy room with portraits of dead white guys on the wall.

Mr. Hunham clears his throat loudly and Jason leans in to mutter in disgust, “Are you kidding me? It’s only eleven and he’s already lit. I can smell the whiskey on him.”

“Can you blame him? It’s freezing in here. It’s fucking Greenland in here,” Angus retorts.

From outside you hear the faint whirring of a machine. Not a car but something else. You all approach the window and spot the helicopter flying above the trees. It lands in the quad just like Jason had said it could. An older man steps out and he looks like one of the men you imagine roam Wall Street.

“He finally caved, the big softie!” Smith exclaims. He all but skips to the door and turns to you all, “Hey, any of you guys like to ski?”

You and Hunham stay behind as the rest go racing after him, filled with hope for what must be the first time in days. He goes to subdue the riot they make as they whoop down the hall, but you stop him by grabbing a hold of the end of his sleeve.

“Uh, sir? If Jason is inviting us, would you have to call our parents?”

“That would be proper protocol, yes.”

“Oh. Is there a way I could stay here then? I never cared for skiing and my parents would say no anyway.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I’d have to ask Woodrup about this first. Come on along,” he clears the path for you.

Grumbling, you find your way to the administrative offices. Hunham, Jason and his father shut themselves in a room. The boys along with Angus all try to listen in on the conversation by pressing their face as close as humanly possible against the glass. You watch from the sideline as Jason gives you guys a thumbs up. The hallway erupts in cheers and a minute later Mr. Hunham steps out with an announcement, “Gentlemen, good news. I was able to reach Dr. Woodrup and your parents. Most of them, anyway.”

Paul glances at Angus and you. Angus expression falters.

As the rest pack, you find refuge in your room. You can, however, hear Angus’s pleads.

“Try calling again. Just one more time. Please.”

“There’s no point. The desk clerk said no one’s answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

“Excursion,” he repeats.

Mr. Hunham scoffs, “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so. I could be spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.”

“Maybe they’re back by now. Just call again.”

“Okay,” he gives in and marches down the corridor.

Ye-Joon had wished you goodbye a moment ago and now does the same for Angus, “Happy Holidays.”

“Same to you.”

“Take care, Tully.” Smith follows Park, giving him a pitiful pat on the arm.

You catch Alex as he is about to exit. You’ve wrapped the gloves you worked on endless last night in newspapers. “This is for you. Try not to get them stolen by Teddy again. I don’t think my fingers can handle another round of knitting.”

Ollerman smiles genuinely, giving you a hug you didn’t expect. You’re unable to return it as he has your stiff arms completely glued to your side. You follow him out, and Angus scowls in your direction.

“Why aren’t you more upset about this? That was our only way out and we blew it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Did you really want to go skiing with Kountze that badly?”

“No, I wanted to get out of here badly. Your parents seriously didn’t answer either?”

“Um-.”

“Hey, you know what! Maybe Hunham can call them again and they can take us both in!”

“Angus no-,”

“Yeah, come on! Let's go ask,” he tugs at your hand to get you through the corridor.

“No Angus. I don’t want to.”

“What, why?”

You run your hand through your hair, “I asked Mr. Hunham not to ring them.”

“Wait. So, you didn’t even try to leave!”

“No! I thought I was clear the night we talked about why I didn’t want to go back to that house. If they answer they’ll pull the victim card and be all ‘I can’t believe you guys kept my child from me! Who do I sue?’ before coming to fetch me and berating me all the way back.”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything because I could tell you were upset but you could have at least let them know for both our sakes. Then we could have spent the holidays in a hotel in Boston or something! We didn’t have to stay with them.”

“I knew you were off that night!” You curse the way you’ve managed to read him. “Anyways, with what money? To do what?”

“I don’t-, I don’t know… we could have figured it out.”

“I can’t believe you're getting mad at my decision.”

“It’s a pretty selfish one,” his eyes widened like he couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.

You gasp and hit him harshly at his side. “Ow!” he yelps.

“You’re being an asshole right now. I’ve never been madder at you in my entire life.”

“Really? What about that time I spilled mashed potatoes all over your dress? Your face was beet red,” he mocks.

You go to swat at him again only for him to dodge you. You try once more and fail, almost falling onto the floor but stopping yourself by putting your hand on the nearest wall. If you weren’t so angry this would have reminded you of the times you would wrestle when you were eight. Especially now and the way he holds you back by putting his hand on your forehead to keep you at arm's length. You give up with a huff and you b-line to your room.

“Tell Mr. Hunham I won't be at dinner tonight!”

You hear him groan behind the door you slammed shut and then the sound of his footsteps fading. In your solitude you collapse on the bed, letting out a scream into your pillow. Even though it's muffled, you hope Angus can feel it from where he is. That it reaches him and causes goosebumps to arise all over his stupidly long arms. …

You had skipped out on dinner like you said you would. Although Mr. Hunham had been polite enough to bring a plate down to the infirmary. As he handed it to you, he said lowly, “I’m not sure what that little deviant did, but I’m sure it's related to his foul mood and your absence tonight. Let me know if I can do anything.”

You almost wanted to cry at his politeness. Later he invited you to the kitchen common room and claimed there was a TV there. Considering you had only stared at words on a page for the last few days, you jumped at the offer. You saw Mary there and to your displeasure Angus had been forced to tag along so that Mr. Hunham could supervise him.

Your eyes were glued to the television, not letting Angus’s burning stare get the best of you. They were watching “The Newlywed Game” and drinking from mugs. It was not half-bad. In fact, it was starting to get pretty good to see these couples have their relationship crushed within a thirty-minute runtime with ad breaks in between.

The boy had begun throwing pieces of balled up paper at you and you picked them off your hair and tried your damnedest to not pay him any mind. You could hear him tear a new page from that magazine of his and finally you snapped at him. “Will you stop it? You’re wasting paper.”

“Thank God. You’re talking to me,” he stood straighter in his seat. “Here's the thing, I'm sorry. I should have never said that you were selfish. Cause you’re like, not. You’re honestly the most unselfish person I know.”

“I don’t want your apology right now. I’m watching TV.”

“I just got caught up in the moment is all. The truth is that-.”

“Angus, I said I don’t want to hear it!” You raised your voice loud enough to catch the attention of both Mr. Hunham and Mary.

“Everything alright back there?” Hunham takes the pipe out of his mouth to ask.

You get up, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “Can I be excused. I’m pretty tired.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” You pick up your discarded book from the nearby coffee table before leaning down and whispering in Angus' ear, “Don't follow me.”

As you stomp away you hear Mary say, “We need to get those two onto this program. Win us a trip to Bermuda.”

Mr. Hunham lets out a suppressed chuckle, embracing it soon after along with Mary. You roll your eyes at the pair and their drunkenness. You’re comforted by the fact that they’ll have a big headache tomorrow. …

You’re shaken at a frantic rate. You went to sleep early but were awoken now by a mischievous looking Angus. He dangles a set of keys right in front of your face.

“What are you doing?” You squint under the harsh glare of the flashlight.

“Inviting you on a night of adventure. Walleye is completely blacked out. He won’t even notice us gone.”

“No thank you,” you turn away from him and drape your blanket over your head. He tugs it back down.

“Come on. Please?”

“I’m still not in the mood. Plus, now I’m tired.”

“Y/n,” he whines.

“If you find a cookie in a pantry somewhere you know what to do,” you murmur, already being lulled back to sleep by the warmth you feel under the covers.

“Y/n,” he says more seriously, “I am sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh. Maybe you had been too harsh. You prop yourself up on your elbows, “It’ll be better tomorrow. We will talk then.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He embraces you tightly in a hug. As he parts away, you two are face to face. You’re able to notice his eyes gleam under the light of the moon. You wonder when his eyes got to be that dark of a brown. Those same eyes flicker to your lips. You stare at him wearily as he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. He walks backwards to leave, his back bumping into a nearby lamp. “Shit. Sorry. Uh, goodnight. Bye.”

You were probably disorientated. Sleep deprived most definitely. Or maybe that secondhand smoke finally got to you. Surely you were just seeing things. Because surely, your best friend hadn’t just looked at you the way songs and books always seemed to describe love.

a/n: Thanks again for reading! Just to clarify some things, obviously Y/n knows about Angus’s dad, but just like in the movie, he doesn’t let it show how much it affects him. That’s why Y/n is unaware of why Boston is such a big deal. Anyways bye :)) until next time. Let me know your thoughts.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully #the holdovers

[regiawrites]

Spencer Reid- Packing Heat

Warning(s): male masturbation, caffeine-induced idiocy

Word Count: 783

Notes: This is so fucking stupid

Summary: Garcia walks in on Reid part-taking in some self-care. Embarrassment ensues.

Penelope Garcia had a tendency to unceremoniously burst into rooms. It was truly the habit of an excitable child that grew into an equally excitable adult.

Ordinarily, it wasn’t much of an issue. By and large, people were used to her high energy and, aside from her occasionally barrelling into a person or knocking something over, this habit rarely had any immediate consequences.

Until New York.

The BAU was tackling a high-profile case involving cyber terrorism and had decided that Garcia would be a better asset in person than over the phone. As always, she gushed over the jet on the way there before arriving. Within half an hour of landing, she was corralled in a computer room that she promptly decorated with trinkets she brought with her.

26 long, coffee-fuelled hours later, the case was closed, multiple members of a domestic terrorist cell were in the custody of the NYPD, and The BAU was scattered across a cheap hotel. A cheap hotel with very poor room security and rickety doors.

After what probably amassed to 2 litres of coffee, Garcia couldn’t sleep, even after the stressful more-than-a-day she’d had. In her opinion, the best thing to do about this would be to go to Reid’s room and binge-watch Doctor Who until she fell asleep.

Pyjama-clad and nearly vibrating with excess energy, she hurried from her room to Reid’s, practically flinging herself through his door (that gave out and swung open with very little effort) and received… more than an eyeful.

Reid was sprawled on the lumpy hotel bed, shirt unbuttoned, and slacks gathered at his ankles. His head was thrown back, and his hand was wrapped around his-

“It’s huge!” Garcia shrieked. Reid yelped, head snapping up to look at her before he squealed and covered himself with a pillow.

“Garcia!” he screeched, face burning a bright red. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, clumsily falling back out of the room and slamming the door behind her.

She stumbled towards her room for a few steps before crashing into something.

“Woah there, baby girl,” a smooth voice drawled. “What’s the hurry?” Garcia looked up to see Morgan looking down at her, a concerned angle to his brow.

“It’s huge!” she choked out, eyes wide.

“What is huge?” he asked. “What happened?”

“It’s like a baseball bat!”

“What’s like a baseball bat?”

“What’s going on?” a tired Emily asked, coming out of her hotel room. 

“I have no idea,” Morgan told her as they both watched Garcia try to gather her words.

“IsawReidjerkingoffandohmygod- “

“Woah, woah, woah,” he cut her off, holding his hands up slightly. “I can’t hear that fast, Mama, slow down.”

“I saw Reid jerking off and- “

“What?!” Emily gasped.

“-Oh my God, it’s the size of my forearm!”

Morgan and Emily blinked at her for a few seconds, processing her words.

“’It’ being…?” Emily encouraged with a raised eyebrow.

“Reid’s di-?” Morgan tried to finish but Garcia slapped a hand over his mouth.

“YES!” she yelped. “You don’t have to say it!”

At that unfortunate moment, Reid- now fully dressed- burst out of his room into the hallway, looking remarkably dishevelled. Immediately, three pairs of wide eyes dropped to his crotch, and he hurried to cover himself with his hands.

“Why are you looking there?” he demanded, voice breaking more than once.

Garcia and Emily had the decency to look embarrassed and look away, but Morgan burst into peals of hearty laughter.

“Daaamn, Pretty Boy,” he said, teasingly. “Apparently you’re packing some serious heat!”

“Stop!” Reid wailed, curling in on himself. “Why didn't you knock?!”

“I don’t know!” Garcia cried. “The door kind of just opened!”

“This hotel does have terrible security,” Emily added, still standing in her doorway, leaning against the frame. “It doesn’t take much force to open them, and you know how Garcia gets.”

“Especially with how much coffee she’s had today,” Morgan said.

“That’s why I was going to your room! I wanted to watch Doctor Who!”

With an irritated Reid pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other still shielding his crotch from view.

“You know that hand really isn’t doing much,” Emily pointed out. “We can still see it.”

“Well, stop looking at it!”

“We can’t!” Garcia whined. “It’s like right freaking there.”

“And apparently the size of Garcia’s forearm,” Morgan snorted. Reid made a guttural sound of embarrassment before fleeing into his room, closing the door harshly behind himself.

Morgan, Garcia and Emily shared a brief, awkward look before dissolving into giggles and snorts. 

In his room, Reid groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing the jokes would be endless.

#spencer reid smut #Spencer Reid #Crack Fic #this is stupid #don't take this seriously

[sapphicgarlic]

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ how are u and jiji doing today 😚😚

ong you got me in a bad time!!! JSBDJDJDJ

jiji is well and unbothered, provably sleeping in my bed rn as ALWAYS

but me? i have been better Andbdjdjs i am sick and not feeling the greatest, feeling very lumpy and tired, havent sleeping GREAT and today rained a lot and the girl who gives me rides to school decided not to go (poor thing, our uni is very far and its raining a lot, she just got her drivers lincense and has already had bad exp with rain, cant even be slightly mad bc they do me a BIG FAVOR since then dont ask me for ZERO MONEY and all rudes are 100% free) but i have a important seminar that i need to present and if i dont go i have to do a very difficult test sooooooo. HOWEVER a very kind uber accepted my ride thank FUCK and i am going!!! just a very hetic beginning to my day but its okay!

and you?????? thanks for checking in me 💖💖 i have been needing kindness in my way with the whole with my ex jsjsjdjdjdjt

heres baby boy doing one of his favourite things: watching over me KSNDJDJSJSJSKSJSJ

#jiji #my cat #jiji the cat

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.36 - End

A Chance Meeting

08/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 10,158

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, creepy dudes

A/N: The end. 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are always welcome.

*pictures relay only style of clothing and not physical appearance/race

Silken sheets that are cool to the touch. A roaring fire. The heartbreaking smell of peony blossoms.

A wooden bucket—your wooden bucket—full of ice-cold water.

A chill warmed by a feverish heat wrapped around your back.

All of these thoughts-no. They’re more like memories.

All of them have come to you over the course of a year.

They grow more elusive as they come.

Before you thought you could almost see a garden with an ocean of pink peonies in varying shades of blush to wine.

Now, after months of having these strange visions, they have become condensed into single colors at random. The most frequent is a shade of gold. A circle of blue.

You think these memories might be important but you cannot grasp onto them long enough to make any sense of them.

There’s also the fact that you know they cannot possibly be memories.

You have never seen a garden of peonies.

You’ve had plenty of chill in your life but a warmth like the one you’d recalled at the beginning of the year when the winter cold had been at its worst is as unfamiliar to you as the looming manor on the hill above the village.

With a small groan, you stop and set the bucket down. Your arms are strong enough to carry it but after so harsh a winter, you’d be a fool not to take care.

You’d only just managed to make it out alive after devoting so much time to your little one.

You suppose the golden hue you keep remembering is similar to your baby’s hair. Just a shade or two off. Just as beautiful.

The estate sits looming at the peak of a hill that sits almost a mile away from the village.

The manor itself, you can see, has been expanded. It has the appearance of a small castle now with towers and battlements. The parapet walls that now surround the structure offer crenels to whatever guard the now small castle may need.

It had sat there abandoned for so long, the lord once given task to watch over it and Bright Rise as well as several other small villages in this part of the kingdom having left.t

With the primary building made of wood, the added masonry has really given the old place new life.

What magnificent furnishings must it have? Gilded and ornate probably. Chairs worth more than everything you own.

What type of person has taken residence there? Is it someone you’d know?

Someone beautiful probably. A handsome lord and his gorgeous lady. Both of them probably members of his Majesty King Anthony’s court.

Do they have children? A young little lord or lady running around causing mischief.

You find yourself smiling, made happy by the image you paint in your head.

It makes you only a little sad that you picture yourself there. Your baby in your arms. Your husband…

My husband?

Silly…You don’t have a husband.

But you yearn for something you very nearly miss. Something you know you should have. Something…precious.

“Hello there, little mouse.”

You gasp, startled out of your daydreams and turn on your heel in search of the horrible voice.

With a stuttering heart you spot Phin, standing with his grimy hands in his tattered pockets.

“What do you want?” You ask him, voice cold but wavering as you grow wary.

Already you’re searching with a quick glance for the nearest route of escape.

You hunch over, grabbing your bucket and attempt and fail to stifle your groan of effort.

Phin lunges forward, his hand thrown out towards you. It makes you flinch. You keep your eyes shut as you wait for the blow.

It never comes.

Slowly you peek, searching for Phin's extended hand and find it wrapped around the rope handle of your bucket.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused and fearful. “Let go.”

“I can treat you right, little mouse. I can give you proper protection. I’ll even pretend that bastard brat of yours is mine.

“I’ve been patient. I may not be able to wait much longer.” His voice is like sludge, creeping down your spine raising chills of terror as it goes.

You yank on the handle, urging him to release it. You meet his gaze, matching his threat with your own angry stubbornness.

You will not give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Even with your little one…you can’t.

He keeps holding it, refusing to let go until you feel like you’d rather drop the water and come back for more later.

He drops the rope and you stumble back a step, not having realized how much you were actually pulling on the bucket.

Some water spills but you’re just thankful to be free of Phin and you rush away to be even further. A glance back when you’re close to your small home shows you Phin still standing where you left him.

He’s watching you.

You hate him.

Getting inside, you shut the rickety door tight, resting your forehead against the splintered wood as you wait for your heart to stop pounding.

From behind you a sudden “goo" chases the tension and fear from your body. Your shoulders relax.

With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you turn in search of the cooing source.

Nestled into a bed of hay, covered with a thick blanket of navy fabric, is your little one.

A hair of golden hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean have enraptured you. Stolen your heart and changed your world.

“Are you finally awake?” You gush, moving to place your bucket by the crumbling and unlit fireplace before you make your way to him.

His chubby little legs kick away his tunic. A plain brown piece of linen you’d stitched together to keep him clothed.

At six months, he’s nearly outgrown it.

When you offer your arms, he throws his weight to his left until he can roll onto his stomach and then reaches for pivots towards you.

Sliding your hands underneath his arms, he grabs you and you lift him up then place several kisses to his chubby baby cheeks.

He's gorgeous, your baby boy. His smile is sun bright and the gleam in his eyes is sharp and observant.

The expressions he wears on his little face are familiar. They pull and tug at something too but you can’t focus on it long enough to care.

Your boy is your world and that’s all you need to know.

“Is my sweet boy hungry?” You wonder while moving for the bucket of water you’d lugged into the hut.

You dip your hand in and for a moment relish in the feel of the water on your hand. A sudden desire to be submerged in steaming hot water that smells like a spring garden overcomes you, but it’s gone by the time you gently swipe across your little one's face.

He protests you cleaning his face. Whining a little and twisting in your arms until you’re done and wait with both arms supporting him for his sputtering to stop.

He looks at you and after taking another moment to overcome his displeasure, he smiles again.

You chuckle and move to grab the swaddling blanket you’ve set aside for his use alone and sit with it in your lap as you lean back a little to expose your breast to feed him.

A song you feel you almost dreamt slips from your lips in a soothing hum. With your eyes shut you can almost see a beautiful gown sweep around your feet.

Strong arms hold you close as they lead you around a crowded room.

The image is like a dream too, part of the song you’re humming. You’ve never been in so vast a hall, tables laden with food and the satin gown you wear is softer than any rag you’ve ever worn.

No. You’ve never been bathed in such luxury.

This hovel is your home with its mostly dirt floor, loose cobblestones shoved around in spots you’d set aside to keep dry.

No windows. A door that hangs off its hinges. A straw bed. A patched roof.

As your son feeds and you allow your mind to put away the dream of nice things, you assess the hut you’ve made your home.

You’re almost certain that you’d had it in better condition before. The door had hung straight, the rickety fireplace had been sturdy and homely.

The floor had been more even. Your straw bed had been less lumpy.

You’d had another small shelf with your plates and cups. Your sewing kit safely stored in the cupboard below.

Your home had not been grand but it had been comfortable. It had been yours and you’d cared for it delicately and made it a sanctuary.

When had it changed so much?

As you attempt to remember when this place fell apart your mind is forced to confront several other unanswered questions that you seem to think on often but always forget.

It’s almost as if the thoughts are pushed from your mind until they are brought to the surface once more.

The one question that started it all…the one that had made you pause. You still remember the miller’s wife, staring at you at the small grocer's shop while you waited to pay for your bushel of potatoes.

“Oi, orphan. How much longer ‘til you have the babe?” She'd asked, her eyes narrowed as she considered your swollen belly.

You'd stroked it, smiling fondly at the little life growing within you.

“A fortnight.” You’d answered, happy and content despite your poor living.

“Ah, and who's the father?” She'd asked, then waited as your smile slowly fell.

You’d stood there for a few minutes, waiting your turn but lost in thought at the question that had never once occurred to you in the seven months since your belly began to grow.

“I…I don’t know.” You’d admitted to her and her eyes filled with a solemn worry.

“Looks like they finally cornered you. Didn’t get a look at ‘is face?” She'd wondered and it was then that you realized what she thought.

Your precious baby, your little growing bean, was the product of one of the village men forcing himself on you.

But it wasn’t true!

As you sit with your son in your arms, rocking him back and forth as he eats, you know without a doubt in your mind that your son was made with love.

You can feel it within your very soul. There was passion and love and devotion in his making.

A golden aura, warm and encompassing that gave you your own little ray of sunshine. But even though you know this you cannot see his father.

There is no father. Only your Joseph.

He stirs in your arms. You find him smiling, finished with his meal. And just like that, your thoughts are lost to his special allure.

“All done?” You ask him and he yawns.

You begin to wrap him up in the blanket you’d made for him and bring a basket from the corner of your hut.

It’s a decent size with straps sewn into the wicker so that you may put it on your back.

You place it before you, balanced between your legs and gently lay Joseph within. You make certain he's wrapped up tight and kiss his cheek before you fit a domed lid on top.

The lid covers his head and keeps him safe from the summer heat.

“We'll check the traps and then come right back.” You promise him and lift the basket onto your shoulders, listening as he coos long baby words that say nothing.

It’s like he’s talking to you, the quiver of his voice moving up and down with inflection as if he knows what he’s doing.

He takes a breath and then starts again, “Oooh-awhhhh-wahhhhhh-ooooohhhhhhh…”

You can’t help but smile, your skin greeted by scorching sun as you start your trek into the trees behind your home.

“Let's check the traps by the pond first, then we'll check the bog by the road.” Joseph coos along with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The view is spectacular.

It’s downright scenic from up here so high on the hill. Even if the beautiful valley is slightly tarnished by the village below.

It’s part of the reason he decided to keep the purchase.

Several months ago, Steve had found the deed to the manor on Sunbright Hill.

He'd sat for nearly an hour while he'd considered the paperwork, trying to remember why he’d made the purchase of such a dilapidated plot.

The lord that had once resided here had apparently vacated when he'd married a lady of considerable wealth but she preferred the Capital city to Bright Rise below so, they’d left and never come back.

Slowly the manor began to rot and the village, without its caretaker, had also fallen into poverty and corruption.

The farms were all but dead. Only two were still in use and had the season failed once in the past few years, the village would have surely fallen.

“Steve?” Bucky sighs, moving into the renovated den.

Steve stands by the large arched windows behind his massive oak desk.

The chair is angled towards the glass, distracted as he's been lately, he can’t seem to get any work done.

“Steve?” Bucky says louder.

Steve blinks, pulled from his brooding to notice his friend. He turns and waits, saying nothing.

“She's here.” Bucky smiles.

Steve’s heart gives an eager stutter as his own bearded face breaks into a wide smile.

“Where?” He asks, moving towards his oldest friend.

“She’s with Nat in the dining room. She was hungry.”

Steve is already out the door, stomping with wide steps down the hallway, then another and another, down a staircase then to the east side of the manor towards the dining room.

It’s a long room, a table long enough to sit at least forty people takes up most of the center space.

Each wall has been adorned with tapestries and paintings, an iron chandelier with sixty candles hangs at the center of the room, currently unlit.

Instead, windows on both sides of the room sit open, a cool breeze blowing in to cool the manor from the summer heat.

As Steve thrusts the doors open, he spots a grouping of his closest friends. Sam, Wanda, Pietro, Peter who is actually squatting beside the chair they are all surrounding, and Natasha in the one beside it.

In the chair is a cherub. An angel. A literal princess dressed in pale pink. Her golden hair, a shade darker than Steve’s is pinned back on one side with clasp of small and ornate white peony blossoms.

“Maggie!” Steve calls, the honey in his deep voice soft and flowing as his heart swells in his chest.

The toddler turns her head, searching aimlessly as his voice echoes around the room. Her right hand full of jelly and toast as she’d sat munching, she now opens and holds her fingers wide as she isn’t coordinated enough to recognize when the food has fallen from her tiny grasp.

Everyone is watching her, despite the presence of their King and Steve cannot blame them. Her eyes find him and she releases a high squeal of excitement before she turns in her seat to take hold of the arm.

“Wait, Maggie, your hands are a mess.” Nat says, her voice full of amusement.

But little Maggie has no patience for cleanliness with her papa so close.

“Papa!” She screams, turning to look at him as she stands on the chair.

Her lips wrap around the name with a slur, her talking improving but still just beginning.

Nat continues to wipe her hands as Steve laughs and moves for her, arms extended.

Maggie bounces on her feet excitedly. Her pink dress swishing with every move.

As he reaches her, she allows herself to fall into his arms and he catches her, spinning her once as he presses a long kiss to her cheek.

Maggie laughs, her hands wrapped around Steve’s head so tightly that Steve wonders if her strength is increasing or it’s just his imagination.

“She has been asking about you all week.” Nat says, rising and then turning to Bucky as he approaches her to give her a kiss.

“We'll give you some space.” Wanda offers then moves around the chair towards the exit.

Steve stops his turning to watch her go, Pietro following.

“Will you be going back to Broklin?” He wonders, wondering if the twins only came to escort Maggie.

“No. We'll visit with Tony.” Pietro nods, then both of them stop at the door and bow before heading off at what must be Pietro’s run.

“How was the journey?” Steve worries, turning his eyes on Nat.

“It was fine. She was a little fussy last night but as soon as I explained that we were coming to see her papa, she converted her energy to enthusiastic impatience.” Nat chuckles. “She really has been asking for you. ‘Papa where?’, ‘Where Papa?’, ‘Papa, Papa, Papa…’. It’s almost as if it’s the only word she knows.”

“She’s never been away from him for so long.” Bucky observes, both he and Nat watching as Maggie places her little hands on Steve’s cheeks, her fingers exploring the edges of his beard while Steve admires her little face.

“I’m sorry, my treasure. I just wanted to make sure the manor would be ready when you arrived.” He tells her.

She seems to understand as she tilts her head to one side and throws her hand up, bent at the elbow as she babbles a string of words only she understands.

“Do you forgive me?” Steve begs.

Maggie giggles sleepily then leans forward to lay her head on his shoulder.

Steve strokes her tiny back, caressing her hair a bit as her eyes begin to close.

“How long will you stay, Nat?” Steve asks, his voice dropping a bit in volume to respect his sleeping toddler.

“Long enough for you and Sam to go and come back. Bucky and Peter will help me with Maggie.” She nods, looking for her faithful friend and Knight.

She spots him in another seat, head in hand, elbow on the table as he dozes lightly.

“He's been doting on her.” Nat explains. “Too much, perhaps?”

Sam huffs a laugh as he crosses his arms across his hard chest, tugging on the crimson tunic he’d quickly dressed himself in this morning.

“He’ll be angry we went to visit Morgana without him.” Sam observes and Steve can’t find it in him to deny it.

The romance that had bloomed between them had seemed to come out of nowhere for him.

In the back of his mind when he’s been laying in bed with Maggie beside him, he can almost remember a conversation about their eventual marriage. When he brought it up to Nat—he was fairly certain the topic had been discussed with a woman—she admitted to the thought never even crossing her mind.

She’d praised the match and teased Peter afterwards, but it has left Steve with another unanswered question.

So many…so many strings that he’s tried to pull on only to find the way blocked.

Maggie coos in his arm, another bout of baby babble in her sleep that pulls him from his pondering.

“We’ll head out in a few hours.” He tells Sam who straightens up and nods. “I would like to go now, but I want to spend a bit of time with Maggie before I leave her again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours with Maggie turned into thirty minutes.

The longer Steve sat with her in his arms, the more eager he was for her to wake.

He’s missed her but knows that she’s tired so in an effort to get the visit over with and return to his smiling princess, he tucks her into her crib in his bedroom then hands her care over to Nat who sits by the window while Bucky sees them out.

“How long will you be, your Majesty?” Bucky wonders, keeping pace with Steve’s quick and long stride.

“Not long. I’ve only to invite him to the ball in two weeks and we’ll return. I’m certain we’ll be back before dinner.” Steve assures him. “I hear you and Natasha are considering adopting a child?”

Bucky smiles. “There is another option, one that Natasha is most eager to try but I think I’ve convinced her to reconsider.”

Steve regards his friend skeptically.

“Truly, I think I have. She met with a witch a few weeks ago and apparently there is a way for Natasha to regain her ability to have a child.” Bucky explains, his expression a little darker.

Steve’s confusion is evident in the narrow of his brow. Despite his curiosity, he keeps his eyes fixed ahead as they move along the south hall to the stables.

The fall of their shoes echoes along the empty corridor, still only half decorated as it was only finished a few days ago. Steve can still smell the fresh clay between the stones underneath their feet.

He’ll have carpets put in to quell the sound.

“Isn’t that what you both want?” He wonders.

Bucky shakes his head. “I want her to be happy. She thinks I want a child of my own. Naturally my own. But I don’t care if the child is mine by blood. I just want to love her.”

“Magic like that of which she speaks comes with a hefty price.”

“That’s why I refuse to accept it.” Bucky sighs, the worries of his world evident on his shoulders.

“The price is too high?” Steve wonders, finally looking to his friend.

“We would be granted the ability to have our own child, but the mother would have to relinquish years of her own life. Five is what the witch told her. So, if it were Nat’s fate to die at the age of sixty, five years would be taken from that and she would die that much sooner.” Bucky laments, shaking his head in denial. “I cannot condone it.”

Steve sees his friend thinking things through, biting his lip as he wonders if he should speak what has consumed his mind aloud.

He gives in, “I know that it’s her choice. If she should want to do it, I only have some say in it. If having a child truly born of us both is what would make her happy then I would have no choice but to comply, but I would rather adopt a child who we will both love as our own anyway and have my wife for five years longer.”

Steve’s heart gives a painful ache.

Something in Bucky’s words makes him sad and breaks his heart.

My wife…Steve repeats in his head, the memory of feeling proud at that very thought overtaking his senses.

“Is it Margaret again?” Bucky wonders, stopping as they reach the end of the hall. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Steve reaches up to stroke the spot on his chest where he can feel his heart beating. Every thump it gives sends more agony into the pit of his stomach making his head hurt.

Is it Margaret? Steve doesn’t think so.

The first time someone had asked him if it was Margaret he was mourning he admitted it was because it was easier than to tell his friends that no, it wasn’t his dead wife he was thinking of. In fact, he wasn’t sure who it was he was thinking of.

He shuts his eyes now, overcome with the sweet scent of oils. Lilac and juniper. Peonies. Fields of them. A garden full, just like back home.

A smile flitters past his sense. The image nearly chokes him. A laugh. A pout. A tear stained face made blurry as he can’t recall its beauty.

Maggie in womanly arms, pressed gently to her breast.

These elusive images that skim his mind are not Margaret. Everyone seems to ignore that Maggie is too young to be Margaret’s or perhaps they simply don’t care?

It’s almost a silent agreement that Maggie’s mother is not Margaret but who exactly she is, no one cares. No one will think on the possibility long enough for it to matter.

Even Steve loses focus after a few second of torment.

Even now, as his heart breaks painfully, Bucky puts his hand on his shoulder and gives him a shake.

Just like that, the images that pained him only moments ago are gone.

Steve smiles, breathing in deep before exhaling in a huff.

“I’ll be quick. I want to be back before it’s too dark.” With a nod from Bucky, Steve hastens his way into the stable.

Sam already has his horse saddled and waiting.

He hops on, adjusting his posture as he takes the reigns then turns to give Bucky one final wave.

“Keep my daughter happy until I return.” He orders.

Bucky waves them off and watches until they clear the large gate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands are shaking with rage. Yet another night with nothing caught.

All of your snares are in fact, broken. A deliberate cut made to the wire you’d spent so much money on.

You think you know exactly who it was that came out to ruin your work. There’s only one person who would benefit from sabotaging your efforts to feed yourself and your boy.

The image of Phin standing across the field from your home, staring at you is burned into your mind.

If it weren’t for Joseph, you would happily starve before you accept Phin’s hand in marriage.

As it is, it isn’t only you. In order to feed your son, you must eat. With no one coming to you for mending—which you are also sure is thanks to Phin’s interference as it has only been happening the past few weeks—you have no money to buy anything. No grain. No bread. No meat.

If you do not eat, your son will starve.

You clutch the broken snare in your hand, squeezing so tight you can feel the wire dig into the palms of your hand.

Were they not so rough, you may have cut yourself.

You take a quick peek at the basket carefully nestled between the rough trunk of tree and large berry bush. Your little one still dozing peacefully and safely covered by the basket’s lid.

While he sleeps, you know you must be quick with the snares by the bog. It isn’t too far so you decide to let him sleep in the shade and make your way through the trees to the road’s edge.

It’s a very short walk. Should he cry you’ll hear him perfectly and be able to run back to him in less than ten seconds.

The sun beats down on the road here and the bog is nearly dried over from the heat of the summer sun.

Normally the mud within is a thick sticky paste that one can easily be caked in. You even remember fetching a purse for the old woman who used to care for you when you were little.

As you stop by its edge, you wonder where the old woman has gone. You attempt to recall the last time you’d seen her but the last memory you have is fetching her purse from the mud pit.

Forcing her from your mind, you look to the two snares you’d set up between two trees and right at the edge of the bog.

The one at the edge has also been cut. You kick it angrily before you move to the other and find that it has also been tampered with.

“Fuck!” You mutter, hating Phin with every fiber of your being.

You try to picture him beside you, laying claim over you as his wife. You think on the life you will live, trapped in your home, and expected to fulfill his every whim, wish, and desire. He will rule you with a heavy hand, command you to obey, and take what he wants from you with violence if need be.

Terror roots you to that spot between the trees, hunched over as your hands shake with anger at the lack of options for you and Joseph.

There is the other choice, the one you’ve refused to make because where might you go? Here in Bright Rise you at least have a roof over your head.

Soon fall will come, then winter after that. If you choose to leave, you might be condemning yourself and your son to a death by freeze and you can’t do that. You can’t make such a reckless choice with him so little still.

You gather as much of the wire as you can, carefully wrapping it around an empty spool you’d kept just in case, hoping to keep your anger from shifting into sorrow.

As you work, you can hear the sound of hooves behind you. Two horses at most. Perhaps three? The sound of shifting gravel too close.

There’s the clearing of a throat before a steady voice speaks. “Excuse me, might I trouble you, miss for some directions? My guard and I seem to have become lost in these backroads by the village.”

You sigh, still consumed with rage with Phin, but rise and turn to face the man who addresses you.

He’s godly, this man with golden hair and a beard to match. His eyes are piercing. Storm blue as they stare you down and you fidget with the spool in your hand as your heart does a sudden and unexpected dip into your belly where it explodes into a flurry of butterflies.

Voice choked in your throat, you look away from the beautiful man and tried to clear your head.

“His Majesty, King Steven has asked you a question, miss.” His guard says, shocking your system into an automatic curtsy as you intentionally avoid their gaze now.

“I’m sorry!” You gasp, worried you might have given offense.

“Sam, it’s alright.” King Steven says, his voice soft and coaxing.

You take a quick peek at his guard, another handsome man with deep umber skin and a soft bronze glow. His gaze is a little sterner but kind all the same.

“We did not mean to startle you.” King Steven says, the gentility in his voice luring you into taking another look at him.

When your eyes meet, you find that you can’t look away.

“I-I was checking my traps.” You relay, feeling stupid suddenly for giving him information that he has not asked for.

“I can see that.” King Steven nods, a small smile tugging up half of his full pink lips.

He’s exquisite. His dress is fine, luxurious satin and silk. His tunic is a royal blue, a silver stitching along every seam in what looks to be a small wavy pattern.

It looks familiar and your hand absentmindedly moves with the pattern of the stitch as if it remembers how to make it though you’ve never sewn on anything so fine in your life.

King Steven’s eyes notice the movement and he watches your hand before you remember yourself and speak again.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, you asked me a question.” You gasp, dropping the spool at your feet and moving around the mud pit to stand at the edge of the road, much closer to where he and his guard tarry.

King Steven smiles again, sending your heart into a pitter patter.

“If you head down this road, you will reach a fork with three smaller roads. You’ll want to take the Eastern most road for nearly four miles before you reach a second fork of two roads. Take the left and follow that road and do not stray. You will reach the Capital before noon.” You say, pointing as you give instruction.

As you finish you drop your arm and bring your hand to tug at the worn leather of your belt.

King Steven stares at you, smiling for so long that you look down at your feet and are suddenly aghast by the state of your shoes and skirts.

You’re so dirty that you’re ashamed to be seen by them. With a bite to your lip, you turn and hurry back around the mud pit to pick up your spool.

“Thank you.” King Steve says, his wide shoulders relaxed. “Might I pay you for your assistance? What is the customary amount? Five silver pieces?”

You throw out your hand to stop him, embarrassed to take payment for so small a favor. “No!”

Gasping you watch as the spool flies out of your hand. It hits the front of his horse then topples onto the road where it rolls along further down the rocky path.

King Steven dismounts as you rush forward in chase of the wire.

Both of you reach it at the same time but King Steven is first to bend over and take it.

“Oh, please…” You gasp, worried about the dirt and muck that must be caked on the tool. “You’ll dirty your hands.”

As King Steven stands upright, he dusts it off then offers it to you. “A little dirt never killed anyone.”

Your senses are assaulted by him and for a moment all you can do is stare at his hand as he waits for you to take your wire.

He smells like evergreen woods and oranges. No…limes…You’re not sure! It’s a citrus of some sort and it overwhelms your mind. His voice is deep and smooth. It works its way into your bones and nearly turns them into jelly.

“Will you not take it?” He asks, shaking the spool a little.

You look up to meet his gaze but find that his smile has disappeared. In its place is a look of severe concentration.

Is he angry with you? Have you insulted him by waiting so long to take your property?

The look in his eyes is intense. He looks almost as if he’s trying to recall an elusive memory.

You know the feeling…

Quickly you take the spool, ignoring the moment your hand brushes his. He must notice how rough your hands are. He must mix with ladies whose hands had never once known the strife of physical labor.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” You curtsy quickly, avoiding his gaze and move around him.

A hot, vice-like grip takes hold around your wrist.

You stop, turning to look at his hand then up to meet his gaze.

Gone is the look of confusion, replaced by a furrowed brow and what can only be hopeful searching within his storm blue eyes.

“Steve?” His guard warns, confused by the moment almost as much as you are.

“What are-” You whisper, voice so weak you’re surprised you can manage to speak at all.

You clear your throat and search for the courage to say your piece.

You don’t like this. The way his presence almost consumes you. His touch is burning, and you’re not sure why you feel as if you’ve also been waiting a lifetime for it.

“Unhand me.” You plead, twisting your wrist in his hand but refusing to look away from his slowly shifting expression.

He smiles and your heart stutters, fear of what it might mean making you yank a little harder, but King Steven uses the momentum of your pull to step towards you. He wraps his free arm around your waist, dipping his head down as he presses fevered lips against your own.

You’re frozen in his arms, wide eyes staring at his own now shut. His lips are fierce, his kiss is hard. It hurts a little and it takes you a moment to feel the warmth of their touch.

He drops your wrist and wraps his other arm around you, hand pressed to the back of your head as he tilts his own to one side and coaxes your lips open with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

The taste of him stuns you, your body freezing as your mind is assaulted with images all blurred together into one precious life that you’d most assuredly lost and now found again.

Your eyes grow blurry, tears flooding from the corners as your lips finally respond to Steve’s kiss.

With a gasp you pull away, sobbing once as you gobble up the sight of him.

Steve’s hands caress the sides of your face, stroking your hair and cheeks as he also devours your visage.

“I found you.” He whispers, throat tick with emotion.

You sob once more, arms pulling him towards you as you give in to the shocking relief you feel to be in his arms once more.

Your heart breaks as you clutch him close. Over a year of lost time with not only him but…

“Maggie!” You exclaim, voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s perfect,” Steve assures you, pulling back to meet your gaze once more. “She’s growing bigger every day. She has your sweetness, your love of jams and jellies.”

Steve laughs, so happy that his own tears fall too. “She calls me Papa, and she calls Sam birb.”

You laugh, shaking your head already knowing that Bucky’s to blame for that.

“I don’t think it’s that funny.” Sam suddenly says, pulling both your gazes towards him.

“Sam…” You smile.

“I’ve kept watch over her, just as I promised.” The recognition in his eyes is heavenly.

“How did this happen?” Steve asks, continuing the caress of your cheeks. “How did we lose each other.”

You sigh, licking your lips as you prepare to explain when your heart suddenly drops, and you remember another pair of storm blue waiting in a basket. “Steve…”

Without warning you turn and race into the trees, running as fast as you can to make sure that he wasn’t a dream.

You find the basket where you left it and pull it away from its hiding spot before you remove the lid, happy to find your little boy still fast asleep.

“Y/N!” Steve calls, racing up behind you where he skids to a stop. “What is it, my flower? What’s the matter?”

He sighs heavily when he finds you, moving to place his hands on your shoulders, needing to feel you it seems.

“Don’t run away from me like that…” He pleads, and your heart aches for him but this is much more important.

“Steve,” You begin, and turn to reveal the six-month-old baby in your arms. “You have a son.”

The step back he takes you attribute to shock. The heartbreak and confusion on his face you have only yourself to blame for.

“How-?” He asks, shaking his head as he stares at the tiny prince in your arms.

“Steve…” You begin, suddenly fearful of what he might say when you confess the deal you’d made with grandmother.

“No.” Steve cuts you off, reaching out to trace the shape of your arms through the dingy dress you wear. “Not here. Let’s go home.”

“To Broklin?” You wonder, relieved that he’s eager to resume your lives together.

“No, I-do you remember when I asked you if I should purchase your little hut?” Despite speaking to you, his eyes are still trained on your son.

Slowly, as he speaks, his hand skates across your arms until he can stroke Joseph’s little cheek with one tentative finger.

“Yes.” You frown, disapproving of the purchase as it isn’t your land to begin with.

“Well, when you forbade me from buying it, I bought the manor on the hill instead.” He confesses, finally meeting your gaze.

“Oh.” You’re stunned.

“I thought that it would be nice to have somewhere in Malibia to call our own. Visiting your family is something that I wanted you to feel free to do. I wanted to give you a space you could come to, somewhere near your home.” He explains sweetly sending your heart into a tizzy.

“Steve…” You reach up, pressing your palm to his warm bearded cheek while keeping a firm hold of your little one with the other.

“Come on.” Steve urges you, leaning down quickly to kiss you then pulls away slowly almost as if he doesn’t want to. “Our princess is waiting.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She’s as beautiful as the night you’d held her close, memorizing the little wheeze in her breath as she’d drifted to sleep.

She’s bigger. She’s walking, unsteadily but moving. She’s talking, indeed saying ‘Papa’ but she says other things that you’ve already picked up on.

Her little chubby limbs have stretched a bit and you can’t believe you’ve lost so much time with her.

Tears are still streaming down your cheeks while you sit here, staring at her sleeping face.

Steve’s hands support her little back as he holds her to his chest, his back resting against the ornate wooden headboard of your bed.

“She’ll know you soon enough.” Steve assures you as you nod and quickly wipe the tears from your eyes. “She was so little.”

“I know.” You reach out, caressing her little head before you look down at the even smaller boy between you both. He’s chewing on his fist, little legs up in the air as he quietly plays by himself.

He’s so good at just being alone, you feel terrible about it because you know that it’s your fault. You’ve needed him to be independent as you worked hard to earn money for both of you.

When he meets your eyes, he coos those long wordless streams of vowel. He’s talking to you, probably relishing in the plush mattress all four of you lay on.

“Shh, my sweet boy. Your sister is sleeping.” You stroke his little chest and he takes hold of your hand as he kicks his legs in excitement.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, and you know it’s finally time.

“I’m ready now.” You sniffle, meeting his look of somber confusion. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

It takes you less than five minutes to explain. Grandmother’s vision. Her actions to see it in greater detail. The truth of his imminent death. You tell him that you begged for his life and that night when Grandmother had interrupted your sleep, she’d come to tell you that she’d found a solution.

“She said the magic would ask for payment. Something that only I could give.” You hope that he doesn’t hate you, his expression unreadable as he watches you with his brooding brow all scrunched and focused. “I thought that it would be my ability to see or walk. My hearing perhaps? Or being able to speak…I never thought that it would take you and Maggie from me.

“My life perhaps? But not my memories of you. Not knowing you.” You sigh, waiting for his rage to show.

What you get instead, is a calm conversation and a gentle pout.

“But it wasn’t only your memories. It was everyone’s. The magic wiped your existence as my wife and Queen completely.” He observes.

“Yes.” You agree. “Even the villagers in Bright Rise acted as if I’d never gone anywhere. How can magic be so powerful as to erase me completely from so many minds?”

Steve shakes his head, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Maggie’s back.

“It was such a risk for you to take.” Steve frowns, his gaze piercing, and the guilt you’d felt building since you’d stepped foot in the manor crests. “How could you make such a choice without consulting with me? I’m your husband.”

“I know.” Your lip trembles. “I’m sorry. It all happened so quickly, and I had so little time to consider the consequences of my choice. All I knew was that your future was certain. You would die protecting the world and I could not give you up to it. If I had the power to save you, of course I would use it. So long as I knew that Maggie would have you, I could stand any future I had to live.”

“Even this one? Both of us separated forever?” Steve counters, holding a mirror to the past year of your life.

You shake your head, new tears springing forth as you look down at your boy who has fallen asleep once again.

“I thought I would have to marry Phin.” You admit, voice quiet so as not to disturb your little ones.

“Why?”

“I’m fairly certain he was orchestrating it. No one in the village were taking work from me to mend their clothing and today, you found me checking my snares for small game, but someone has been breaking them. Cutting the wire or simply tearing it down.

“He wanted me to be hungry enough to marry him and the bastard knew that I would do it, for Joseph if not for myself.” Your anger taints your vision red, Phin’s detestable face a memory you wish you could forget.

Mentioning your son brings Steve’s eyes back down to him. He takes one hand and reaches down, placing his finger into Joseph’s tiny open hand. He grasps his papa’s finger, a tiny fist full of surprisingly sturdy strength.

“Now that we’ve remembered, I’m panicked by the idea that you might have found a new Queen in my absence.” You confess, chewing nervously on your lip.

“Bucky and Sam suggested it. They brought Sharon around me often to try and convince to take her on, but something prevented me from doing so.” His words send your heart into your feet, your head is suddenly splitting.

Glad as you are that he doesn’t seem to have found a new wife, the possibility of it make you feel almost sick to your stomach with anxiety.

“I think perhaps I knew in some way, deep down, that I was already married. The very thought of sharing my bed with someone else drove my skin to crawl. I felt guilty, as if I were committing some grave sin.” He admits, unrelenting in his stare.

“I would not have blamed you…” You whisper, almost fearful to speak the words. “…if you had taken a new wife. If you’d had another child with someone else. I would have had no one to blame but myself.”

“No one could ever take your place.” He assures you. “Even though I didn’t remember you, your presence was greatly missed. I may not have known what it was I was yearning for, but I was wishing for you every moment of every day.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the pleasure his words give you to soak deep down into your bones.

Even though he doesn’t ask, you’d also felt the exact same way. Something had always told you that somewhere was a home waiting for you to take your place. Never would you have guessed that it was a castle in the next Kingdom over.

“Were you frightened?” Steve wonders, drawing your gaze once more.

You find him watching Joseph once again, his thumb stroking the little one’s hand.

“Expecting him all on your own?” He clarifies.

“I was afraid of how I’d take care of him.” You smile, reaching to stroke the length of his little nose. “I knew I would be alright birthing him. It was long and taxing. But he was with me so suddenly. It was over before I even knew what was happening. The miller’s wife came to check on me and she helped me for a few days after, but I had no other choice than to push on. I was up and caring for him and myself before the week was out. That’s when my fear came.

“I knew that I had to feed myself in order to keep him fed and healthy and I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it with the village set so resolutely against me. An unwed mother with a bastard child?”

“I’ll have it burned to the ground.” Steve declares suddenly.

You smile wide, your heart melting as you watch the intensity in his gaze as new love blooms for his son.

“I wish you had spoken with me about Agatha’s vision before you made any decisions.” Steve laments, an anger growing in contrast with the new love.

It effectively wipes aware the happiness his love gives you as you regret having kept him in the dark.

“If I’d told you,” You begin, voice breaking and weak as emotion gets the better of you. The sound of it brings his gaze back to you and he seems to soften with it. “You would have kept me from doing what needed to be done. There was no question of saving you, Steve. I had only just found you. Our baby girl only just born. I could not lose you.”

Shutting your eyes, you let your head fall, burying your face into your pillow.

“Imsuhsawree.” You sob, muffled against the fluff of the bed.

The silence feels endless until you’ve just about made up your mind to look at him again when a sudden snort of laughter cuts the tension with ease.

You whip your head to face him, searching for the source of the laugh only to find Steve with his hand over his mouth as his body shakes with silent laughter.

“You’re laughing?” You gasp in disbelief; certain you must be seeing things.

Your husband cannot possibly be amused in this moment while your heart and soul are drowning in guilt and grief.

“I’m sorry.” Steve chortles, a whisper of giggles as he tries his best not to wake Maggie. “Forgive me, I…”

You frown at him, displeased with his humor but he reaches for you with his hand and hooks it behind your head in a soft caress.

“It’s not funny.” You insist.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “It isn’t. I’m sorry, my flower. I’m just…so happy you’ve returned. I’ve missed you so much.”

And just like that, he’s forgiven.

The four of you lay there in bed for hours. Though your stomach is empty, you refuse to bring your hunger to Steve’s attention. Even though you know very well just how much he will be upset with you for it, you can’t bring yourself to tear your little family apart so very soon.

The sun is only just setting when Joseph decides it’s time to eat. He whimpers, a soft murmuring of whiney breaths until the air takes shape and his cries begin to grow louder.

Beside him Maggie also stirs, staring around with wide eyes as the crying rises in volume and she’s brought out of her blissful slumber.

Steve wakes last, while you are already scooping your little boy into your arms and propping yourself up against the headboard to feed him, he rubs his face and glances at the window.

“It’s already so late.” He realizes, turning back to you and Joseph while Maggie twists her body until she can lay on her stomach and then throw herself back to sit on her bottom.

Her eyes are glued to Joseph as he latches to your breast and begins to suckle. Your breasts are sore, and the pain is worse than you remember it being with Maggie, but you have no time to focus on the pain.

You make sure he can eat easily, watching him for any signs of distress.

“Did you get her a wet nurse?” You wonder, letting your eyes drift to Maggie who still sits watching you feed her brother.

“I did.” Steve nods, lifting the girl back up onto his lap. “She was so little.”

You look away, a quiver in your bottom lip as you try to push past the heartbreak that you hadn’t been there for your daughter like you’d wanted to be. “Yeah.”

Steve is familiar with you enough that he knows you don’t want to dwell on it and changes the topic quickly.

“Shall we have dinner in here? I don’t want to share either of you yet.” He confesses, stroking the back of Maggie’s little head.

“Yes.” You nod, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the mention of food because Steve frowns.

“Damn it, Y/N.” He gripes and gently places Maggie back on the bed before he marches towards the doors. “If you were hungry, you should have said something. After your meal, I’ll have Natasha draw you a bath.”

The prospect of a full belly and a luxuriously hot bath which you hadn’t realized you’d grown so fond of is so dreamy that your heart gives a clench and once more you feel so very happy you just might cry again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How’s your bath, my petal?” Steve checks, moving to the edge of the bed once more as the children sleep on.

After their dinner they’d quickly begun to play. They’d explored each other’s boundaries and Maggie had made Joseph cry only once for a few minutes before they were sharing Maggie’s soft cloth dolls.

They each sleep with one in their hands, huddled close together at the center of the bed.

“Is the water too hot?” Steve pulls over a small yellow footstool, sitting upon the soft cushion.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and dips his left hand into the water, testing the temperature as you lay yourself back against the large copper tub.

“Your hand is going to smell like peonies and rose oils.” You tease him, bringing your hand up above the fragrant water.

You take a peony petal and carefully tuck it behind his ear, gentle drops of water skirting down into his beard as the pink stands in pleasant contrast to the gold of his hair.

Biting your lip, you comb it back, tracing the shape of his jaw with damp fingers.

“Even though I didn’t know you, my heart and soul yearned for you.” You whisper, sliding your hand down to rest upon his shoulders.

“And I you.” He smiles, eyes shut as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I wonder,” You begin, pulling back to examine and rememorize every inch of his face. “Now that we are together again, whether this will negate in some way the effect of the spell?”

This thought raises a new worry in you. A fear that by meeting again you have somehow doomed Steve to die.

“Even if it has, I will not part with you again. I won’t die either.” Steve promises, but how can you take him at his word.

Magic is wicked and it will take its price one way or another.

“I have to speak to grandmother.” You counter, your gentle caress of his shoulders turned into a desperate cling.

“She’s gone.” Steve says, sending your heart into a pit within your belly. “No one has seen her since all of this started. However, there is something that I found in my office back home.”

Steve rises, moving towards his cloak left to rest on the back of a chair at the opposite end of the room.

When he returns, he holds in his hand a sealed piece of parchment, folded twice to keep its contents secure. The wax seal is a deep purple, her insignia that of a cat, back arched and head tilted up as if to yowl towards the moon.

You reach for your towel nearby and dry your hands then take the letter as Steve holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere I go, hoping it would yield some explanation as to why I have been feeling so…empty.” He tells you, picking up his stool and moving to place it a bit more near the head of the tub where you sit. “Scoot forward.”

You do as he asks, staring at the letter and consider what its contents might be.

Steve’s hands disappear beneath the surface of your bathwater and emerge with a small porous sponge. It’s rough at first but with water and under Steve’s heavy hand, it becomes malleable and he begins to stroke your back, cleaning the peasant grime from your body.

“Why haven’t you opened it?” You wonder, turning it over almost expecting it to billow with glittering smoke.

“I attempted to many times. I couldn’t. The seal would not break. See there at the bottom of the fold?” He instructs.

You turn it over to look at the side with the seal and spot the small loopy writing at the bottom. The penmanship is so exquisite, you’re almost certain now that grandmother had indeed once been of noble blood.

For the Queen of Broklin.

“For me?” You gasp.

“I think it will only open for you, petal.” Steve explains as he leans closer to get the tops of your arms and then following the flow of muscle over your shoulders and down along your sides slowly.

Eager now, knowing this letter is meant for you, you tear it open and the seal breaks without fuss.

“Can you read it?” Steve wonders, no note of teasing in his voice.

Like you, he must be wondering whether so long a time away from life at the castle has made you forget everything you’d learned.

“I think so.” And with bated breath, you read, glad that you’d tried so hard to learn and only slightly surprised that you understand every single word she’s written.

If you are reading this note, it means that I was right.

First, believe me when I tell you that every word I spoke of King Rogers’s death was true. There is indeed a threat that would take his life and that of your father’s and King Thor’s as well.

I thought that perhaps King Rogers’s death would be enough to convince you that what we needed to do would be necessary and I am glad to say I was right.

What I did not tell you is that I knew the price to be asked would be the life you’d built within the castle in Broklin. I could not bear to tell you that you’d spent all that time suffering and building a family with him only to have it ripped from you.

Somehow, I don’t think you would have changed your mind even if I had.

After you spoke to me of your connection with the Asgardian king, I was wary of what it might mean for your future as Queen in the kingdom. There was only one chance to break the curse dealt by the spell to save your husband’s life and that was if you and he were always meant to be together.

Soulmates, I believe they call it. Two halves of one whole, set at opposite ends of the world to meet each other in just the right way to create what we know as destiny. In this case, the opposite ends you were placed in were poverty and wealth.

Your husband had every advantage in life while you had none. You were given no loves in life and King Rogers was given one big enough to eclipse the pull you would have for him when and if you met.

At the time, I worried that King Thor might be your true mate. The two of you were so well suited and perhaps I’m right? But if you’re reading this, it means that you and King Rogers found each other once again.

By some miracle, he or you have lifted the curse, and you can once more be together to live your lives and King and Queen of Broklin.

A fate you might not have found had I not thrown my purse into that bog by the road. I hope you appreciate my efforts, girl. I have worked very hard to walk you through this life but must now leave you to shape it on your own.

Don’t worry. I might not be with you every day, but should you need me, I will come. You don’t need to send for me. I’ll know. And rest assured, your husband’s life is safe.

There will always be evil in the world and he will always rise to fight it but be content to know that his life you most certainly have saved. Take care.

-Grandmother

You read the letter at least three times before Steve’s chin finds your shoulder, the scruff of his beard pleasantly rough against your skin.

“What does it say?” He wonders, tilting his head to kiss your neck.

You fold the letter and toss it away so that it won’t get wet, then lean back until you’re relaxed and can turn to look and admire your husband’s storm blue eyes.

“It says that no matter what might come to tear us apart, you will always find me.” You smile, reaching up to scratch underneath his chin.

Steve’s lips curl up on one side, a dashing smirk if you ever saw one.

“Always.”

#king!steve x reader #medieval fantasy au #royal au #arranged marriage au #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #steve x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #king!steve x reader fanfiction #king!steve x you #steve rogers x you #pseudo princess #avengers x reader #pseudo princess pt36 #shreddedparchment

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Five

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

sneak us through the rivers

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: sexual tension, heat cycle talk, touching

☽ fic masterlist

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Luca slept through Lorenzo's gentle wake-up of kneeling beside the cave bed and prodding one caring hand against his shoulder. Ever since he was a child the action became normalized, with Luca curling around his father's touch along with a quiet yawn and a sleepy lopsided grin at his level eyes. But now, with the blues of his bedroom brightening as the sun hung above their home, he wouldn't budge. Lorenzo cleared his throat and removed his hand from Luca's shoulder for a moment, seeing how his son looked like a stone at the bottom of a river.

"Hey, Luca," Lorenzo rubbed his back. "You slept through the morning chores. I think the goatfish are missing you."

He stirred in the stifling water making his scales feel congested and stiffened when his eyes opened to his father wading next to him. Now that he was awake, the uncomfortable heat radiating off his skin made Lorenzo pull away with a frown.

"Luca, are you okay?"

"Giuseppe?" Luca slurred, disoriented. He rolled onto his other side to face Lorenzo, who was now floating back to the far wall of his room, gingerly tracing the ripples of warm water that chased his movements.

"Daniela!" Lorenzo cast a fearful look to his son then darted from the room. Though Luca's room was separated there was still the mouth of the cave entrance that had no means of a door and allowed Luca's grandmother (or, alternately, anyone) to peek her head inside at Lorenzo's little shout. Daniela soon followed.

"Y-You said he still had a few months!" Lorenzo returned clutching the hand of Daniela, while grandma Paguro trailed behind wordlessly, smirking to herself.

"All I said was that seventeen was the normal time for this, Lorenzo," Daniela said in a frustrated whisper, her dark tail making rivulets in the water.

Luca blinked at the three of them, now in his private space, then growled. He couldn't really stop himself from doing so, he had been sleeping peacefully enough until they all decided to ruin the dream he was having.

Oh, cod. The dreams he'd been having...

Daniela bent down to look Luca in the eyes, taking hold of his shoulder. Luca winced and placed his hand on top of his mother's. She clicked her tongue in response.

"Yep. Scales are hot...He's sensitive to touch...Been sleeping away most of the day already," She murmured more to herself than to her concerned husband.

"Will be be alright?" Lorenzo piped up, leaning toward Luca.

"Oh please, Lorenzo. You went through your heat too, remember?" Daniela sighed and looked back to him with a scowl. Lorenzo flushed and averted his gaze away.

Luca found his voice. "My...what?"

"Your heat cycle," His grandmother added in, being the third and final family member to join Luca at his bedside. She snorted. "It means you're going to be ready to find a mate soon."

"Mother! I said we should ease him into it! Does that sound like easing to you?"

Mate? A mate? Or...mating? He squirmed at the thought.

Three very different pairs of eyes, all holding separate emotions, glimmered back at him. Luca felt their gazes burning into his scales and crawled away from the ledge of the bed to the point where his dorsal fin brushed the rock wall. The stone cave was smooth and cool to the touch. So silky against his tender scales and spines it made that odd pain burst through his abdomen again until it blossomed into an even more peculiar sort of pleasure. It soothed his feverish scales and reminded him of the practiced hands that had been all over him in his dreams, and as his parents argued only inches from his trembling body he bit down on his tongue to keep quiet.

"Are you in pain, Bubble? Where does it hurt?"

"Oh, poor thing, look at him shaking. Great job, Daniela," Luca's grandmother chided with a light chuckle.

Not for what you may think, Luca thought with an internal groan of discomfort.

"What did I do wrong?" Daniela turned to growl at her mother.

"He's your son."

Daniela's tail flicked angrily. "Well what did you do when it was my time, mother?"

The older woman examined her scales, and, without missing a beat, "Sent you out to the breeding grounds. Don't point the claw at me, missy. You and Lorenzo had a fairly nice time."

"Breeding grounds?" Luca shrieked. His back was fully pressed to the cave wall now, to his parents it only confirmed their assumptions on his fear but really Luca was doing it because it felt better than the boiling water around him.

Even the word sounded primitive. Luca had seen--not by choice--a few of the goatfish going through a particular season of...breeding, and if what he'd been forced to watch while sheperding was anything remotely close to how it was for sea folk, he didn't want in on it. Well, he knew how it was for sea folk, of course. Daniela had been hell-bent on initiating that conversation much earlier than Luca would have preferred.

"Can we talk about this later?" Luca begged, sliding back down onto his kelp bed with his claws raked through the fins on his head. "Please? I just want to go back to sleep."

"Go back to sleep?" Lorenzo chuckled. "Son, you've been sleeping this whole time--"

"Oh, nonsense," Daniela put her hand on Lorenzo's snout, quieting him. "He'll need all the rest he can get if he really is in heat. Besides, it'll keep him away from the neighbor's. I think they have a young girl around Luca's age, and that's the last thing we need."

"Uh, I'm right here?" Luca said angrily. His whole body felt like it was spinning on a wheel of emotions with no axis, just one blending into the other.

Lorenzo gave Luca a sympathetic smile before he was pulled away by grandma Paguro into the cave channel outside his room.

"Don't worry Lu," Daniela took hold of both Luca's hands, squeezing them. "This'll all be over in a few weeks."

"But," Luca looked to her algae dress swaying with the water, feeling his face warm up. "You're saying that...all of these things I'm feeling are just because of the heat?"

"Yes, baby." She tapped the back of his hand reassuringly. "I know it's confusing, but I promise after you get just a little bit more rest, we can explain it later. Okay, Bubble?"

Luca had a million things to say, and he wanted to say them now. He wanted to tell his mother that he thought he was going crazy because he'd had the best and most vivid dreams of his entire life. Well, maybe not say exactly that, but it was definitely up there. Or the fact that every time he moved, a starburst of pain cramped in his stomach, low and threatening, but all that came with it were thoughts dirtier than the time uncle Ugo decided to make whale for dinner. He wasn't supposed to think things that vile!

And, most of all, the beautiful land monster boy he'd met at the cove. With his tanned skin that reminded Luca of the tender underside of the brown conch shells he used to collect. And the sun kisses on his skin! Each one like a splash of color gifted from the fish in the sky! His eyes, bright expectant shards of sea glass Luca wished he could touch. Alberto, marvelous and witty, painting the rocks that lined the pool at the cove. Luca, marveled and wincing with feeling. Just thinking about him made his stomach ache. It made him ache all over. But it wasn't a sorrowful, sore pain.

It was an ache of need. Of want. Once his train of though passed through thinking innocently of Alberto's kind eyes and lopsided grin, it focused more heavily on the way Alberto bit his lip and the lean muscles that made up his body until he had to catch his breath because his mother couldn't catch him like this.

So all Luca did was nod at his Daniela's words, all worked up again, and wave weakly as she swam out of his room.

He fell back onto the bed, chest heaving.

This was impossible. And she had said it was going to last weeks?

"Oh, sharks. I'm so dead," Luca groaned, digging the flat part of his hand to his belly. He traced one of his gills with his eyes closed, savoring the feeling and the memories of the night before. Luckily for him, the entrance to his bedroom was facing out into the hallway, where there was only silence.

A considerable amount of silence.

Then an idea broke through his hazy thoughts of Alberto. Luca flipped himself over and swam to the mouth of the cave, glancing at either side of the hallway. No one was in the rooms beside him, and from the eerie quiet they all must have left the house so he could sleep.

Guilty bile rose in his throat, but Luca didn't care. There was no feasible way he was falling asleep. He checked the hallway one more time before taking an old blanket made of sea moss and throwing it on top of his bed, along with stuffing a few lumpy pieces of coral he'd stashed away underneath that until it formed a lumpy version of himself under the covers.

He didn't believe that what was burning in his chest for Alberto was just because of some stupid sea monster thing.

/ / /

"Alberto! How are you already here?" Luca popped his head out from under the still water to stare at his friend. "I didn't think you'd be wandering around."

When Luca had snuck back to the wide rock opening to the cove underwater, he could already smell Alberto from above. His salty scent, mixed with other delicious things too overpowering for his sensitive nose, but he could find it anywhere. There was a sweetness lingering in Alberto's scent, it was honey and flower petals.

Alberto smiled apologetically with his hands on the straps of his bag. "I wasn't wandering around. I came to see you." He undid the latch on his bag, the very one where all of the fun paint colors came out of if Luca was correct, and produced a towel. Luca's brows were pulled low as he watched from the edge as Alberto crouched down to him and dunked it into the water.

"What're you doing?" Luca pointed at the towel, once light and radiating weird land monster smells but was now dull and soaking in sea water.

Alberto's face went pink, a color Luca loved looking at, and shrugged. "I, uh, thought that this might help with the sun." He knelt down on his bare knees and draped the dripping towel across Luca's shoulders. "You can come out of the water now. Now it shouldn't hurt as much."

Alberto helped Luca up until they were both sitting, cross-legged, staring at each other. The towel was heavy with the weight of the water around him, but was nice against his scales. He pinched the corners of the towel and nestled deeper inside of it.

"Thank you," Luca whispered with dark cheeks. When he looked at Alberto now the words mate and heat and breeding grounds appeared in his head unannounced and his skin crawled with the indecision of everything spinning around him.

"You good, Luca?" Alberto leaned closer toward him, growing concerned. Luca wanted to smack him, with his face inches from his nose the stench, albeit a lovely one, rippling off his tan skin was too much. They were things Luca did not know the names for in the human world, but all the same he smelled intoxicating.

Luca took in a deep breath, his gills still clogged with sea water, and nodded uneasily. "Is it okay if I try something?" He rushed to ask in his preheat, head-pounding state.

"Uh, okay?" Alberto sat back normally. "Are you gonna take me to Atlantis or something? Hate to break it to you, Luca. I might be an expert at swimming but I don't think I can breathe underwater like you."

The arrogance rolled off Alberto in waves, and Luca fought to keep his head steady.

"No! That's not what I meant! It's not even called Atlantis, you know. And if I wanted to take you, the water pressure is too deep for your ears. You'd probably die or something."

"Then what did you mean?"

Luca scooted closer, claws still gripping the towel like a cape. "Sorry, it's just that...you're the only land monster I've seen. Ever. So, like, there's a lot of weird things about you that I need to know about."

Alberto snorted. He placed his arms behind his back and looked to Luca with a glint of a challenge in his eyes. "Like what?"

"Like your stubby claws, for one." Without hesitation Luca grabbed for one of Alberto's hands, crawling to sit beside him and examined his fingers and nails chewed down to tiny stubs. "They're so weird. You can't do anything with these."

Alberto only watched with a smug look to conceal his awe.

"I'm gonna skip the whole no-tail thing," Luca continued, scanning Alberto's body. He drank in his skin and the shiny stuff that looked like water beading along his temple and around his tank top. It seemed cool, and he wanted to touch it but he kept his hand back.

"Alright, have you had your fun already? I know I'm not as amazing as you are," Alberto asked while Luca crawled closer to pat his fluffed up curls. "Not everyone can be a sea monster."

"Okay, now this is weird," Luca commented on Alberto's messy hair. His hands moved slowly to his forehead, checking to see Alberto's flat expression when his claws grazed the sides of his face.

"...What?" Alberto asked, leaning closer. "So, you're touching my face?"

Luca blushed and let his hands rest on each side of his jaw, holding him in place. "You don't, uh, feel anything?" If he could only slip his fingers beneath Alberto's ears...that was the most delicate part. That was where he'd scent him.

His breath hitched, and all he'd done was touch his cheeks. Scent him? He couldn't, he wasn't a sea monster. But...something in him wanted to. It really, really did.

"Am I supposed to feel something else? All I feel are your slimy paws on my face."

Luca hissed playfully. "Slimy? It's a natural coating. I'd dry up out here if I didn't have it...And they aren't paws, Alberto. They're hands just like yours."

"My fingers aren't webbed." Alberto held up one hand to make his point.

"Whatever."

"Why are you asking anyway?"

"Because," Luca let his gaze drift over Alberto's face, shiny with sweat and dotted in freckles. "Because it's supposed to, uh--"

"Does it...feel differently for you?" Alberto stared with new knowledge at Luca's face. "Is that why?"

Luca couldn't breathe. He only nodded. Alberto registered the breath Luca was holding, his yellow eyes wide and pupils blown.

"Ah, okay," Alberto whispered. He sat up straighter and lifted one hand off the grass, placing it directly on Luca's cheeks, his thumbs just grazing the base of his audial fins. His thumb and index fingers gently took hold of them, feeling their slippery texture almost in the way Alberto might relish in the softness of velvet. His touch was soft, tentative and curious but most of all wholly him.

All of the sea water that was dripping down Luca's face had dried up, and in its place was the shock that Alberto was touching him, not just touching his hand or his shoulder, but his hands were--

He couldn't even finish his line of thought. When he was touching him, the pain that had pooled in his stomach lightened. But it didn't stop the tingling that spread all through his legs and up his spine.

Alberto hummed his interest, gauging Luca's pinched face for any sort of reaction, before letting his wonder get the best of him as he slipped his fingers behind his fins, just above his gills.

"Hmm," Eyes shining, dark pools leaving Luca helpless as to what Alberto was doing. "These gills are interesting. They don't feel like the normal ones you see on a fish or a shark. You know, my Papa taught me all about marine biology, but maybe it's a bit different in your case. Though this seems to be the same..."

To refer his point Alberto ran his index finger in a slow, agonizing circle there on his skin.

A pathetic little purr rose in Luca's throat, and he hurried to correct his mistake by slapping his hand over his mouth.

He spoke around his own hand covering his lips. "Mngh! I'm sorry! I just! You're--"

Alberto shushed him and peeled Luca's hand away. "S'okay. Sensitive, huh? I guess I didn't think of that."

Luca bit his lip and nodded, clamping his tongue between his teeth. "Very."

His gaze lightened a bit, flicking over to Luca's cheeks tinged a deep, flushed blue. He let his eyes roam down to his throat, where he could see his frantic pulse beating away, trying to keep himself under control. And, finally, to the dappled line of brighter, more opalescent scales that trailed down Luca's waist until they disappeared into the hem of his mossy shorts.

Luca knew those what those markings on his skin were, such a light blue it teetered on the edge of pink.

They were signs of a sea monster in heat.

Luca swallowed hard, his throat much too dry, while Alberto's green eyes soaked him up. Alberto's next words were chosen carefully, softly spoken, barely a puff of electric air around his warm scales. When did they get so close?

"Is it...a bad sensitive?" Alberto pressed, genuinely interested, and lifted the pressure of his hands off of Luca's gills. "Or a good one?"

Luca snapped his jaws tight, he could feel the blood drumming in his throat at that. Somehow he found himself drifting to Alberto for the curve of his chest, both arms on him created a little curve for Luca to hide in. His heady scent drove him further, enough to rest his temple on Alberto's collarbones, lungs burning to keep his breathing normal. Alberto stiffened around Luca's touch, but only for a moment. He sighed and his fingers resumed their teasing touches along his neck.

"A g-good one," Luca breathed out. That painful burn pooled in his stomach, making those pink scales itch and Luca couldn't help but put his hand there on his belly to suppress the cramping. But that wasn't all that was bothering him. He realized, as the pads of Alberto's fingers pressed on his gills, on his scent glands, a warm pleasure bubbled up like molten honey hidden in his shorts, and he knew he had to scoot away before it was too late.

What would he think of him then?

That he was just some gross, horny little fish seeking comfort from everything that didn't make sense and find the answers in the arms of a boy?

But Alberto wasn't just some boy, Luca chided himself. As much as he wanted to side with the rational portion of his brain the other, more primal parts of him knew that there was someone here, there was a boy here, in his space.

A strong, tall boy who had his arms wrapped around him and could probably smell the heat on him.

But that boy also was so tantalizingly close, the dull ache in Luca's stomach erupted when he buried his face into the crook of Alberto's neck. Alberto's scent changed in an instant. A deeper, muskier smell that had a spike of fear that dissipated in an instant. He growled, and nudged his nose up to the base of Alberto's jaw, tasting his richness in the air.

Luca's tail whipped out from behind him and latched onto Alberto's bare ankle, tugging lightly and flaring up his fins to display. He would make such a good mate, Luca thought deliriously, letting his mouth part. He would leave such lovely marks on his skin to show for it.

"Luca, are you alright?" Alberto tensed, and his grip on Luca loosened.

Luca wriggled uncomfortably with the heat that trembled and throbbed between his legs, opening his mouth poised on Alberto's neck, only thinking of the blood rushing through him and the need to be full. His teeth kissed the sweat on Alberto's neck, and Luca let out a whimper in surprise.

"So pretty...you smell so good, Alberto." Luca mused. The heat wasn't allowing him to think clearly anymore, his head was muddled with Alberto's scent and the overarching desire to claim him. He rose off his knees, while Alberto held his breath in confusion, and Luca pressed his full weight onto Alberto in one sloppy motion. His hips stuttered as they met Alberto's waist, relieved to have some friction, and Luca already knew the other boy could feel what had been dripping there. "P-Please, I need you."

Alberto gasped and shoved him off, harshly. Luca fell back into the hot grass, the towel around his shoulders stank of mildew and heat. He blinked back at Alberto, who was scrambling up on his feet, chest rising in uneven bursts of air. As he stood he blocked the sun and his entire front half was bathed in shadow. But the absence of the sun did not hide the blush that blistered along Alberto's nose, not a delicate rose in bloom but like an aggressive blaze that colored its path. So much that it reached the tips of his ears.

Neither spoke for minutes. Both breathing heavy, one in shock and the other in embarrassment, sweat dripping from their skin. Alberto felt the spot Luca had left on his neck, then shuddered when he saw the unhinged glint in Luca's yellow eyes.

"I'm sorry...I can't control it," Luca whispered. His breath caught on the wind, raw with shame and a tumult of conflicting emotions, and he wouldn't be surprised if Alberto didn't hear him.

Alberto took another step back when Luca crawled out of the towel and went to the edge of the pool. "What do you mean you can't control it? What the hell were you even going on about?"

Luca, eyes streaming, slipped into the water without a sound. The cool waves lapped at his hot scales and they soothed him, but only on the outside. There was something twisting around inside of him that wouldn't go away, even if he wanted it to.

He couldn't control the way he felt.

He glanced over his shoulder before murmuring. "I'm in heat."

#luca #luca fanfiction #luca paguro #luca x alberto #luca and alberto #luberto #luberto fanfic #luberto fanfiction #alberto scorfano #luca disney #pixar luca #luca movie

[soldrawss]

Um, hi! Every time you post a drawing or a short vignette, it inspires me. Thank you for sharing your beautiful work with the world and being so awesome! If you don’t mind me asking (sorry if this has been asked already) in your BBM au, what do birthdays look like in their household? I’d imagine money’s a bit tight, so would they have to rely on charities like Cake4Kids to receive cakes/desserts? Do they usually have themes? Do the younger sibs throw Mikey a surprise party? The people must know.

First of all, before I go off on BBM content, thank you so much! I’m so happy you like the stuff I put out!

Second,,,

Have you all ever heard of water cake? It’s basically cake made with no butter, milk, or eggs, and made right, can actually be pretty good. (I grew up fairly poor, and let me tell you, this cake was a lifesaver to my mom with 3 kids) So I’d never think that Mikey was so poor and strung thin budget-wise that he couldn’t afford the essentials like milk or eggs. But life happens. And sometimes you run out of groceries in the middle of a busy week and can’t get more till Friday when your check comes in, and you have a 6-year-old birthday boy who absolutely needs to have a birthday cake, because then he can have a birthday candle, and then make a birthday wish, and what kind of big brother would you be to deprive your sweet little baby bro of a birthday wish. 

Mikey’s a patisserie in training. It’s part of his civic duty to make all desserts from scratch or die trying. And BOY does he try hard. He usually tries to plan ahead for special events like birthdays, especially with the twins, because Mikey is nothing but not always ready to celebrate something. Dollar store decorations and water cake is where it’s at, and Leo and Donnie and Raph don’t mind a bit, because the cheap decorations are nothing compared to the company, and Mikey can make anything taste good, so really, it’s a good time. (Mikey has a secret money jar stashed away, it’s not a lot, but whenever he gets a few extra tips or had a couple extra coins in his pocket, he puts it in the jar. He has a savings account for emergencies, but this jar is for fun gifts. Gifts he can splurge on for his brothers, and get them at least 1 nice gift. They deserve whole mountains' worth of gifts and items, but Mikey can’t afford more than a small bump in the road. One day, he resolves, he’ll make enough money to get them everything they could ever want. But for right now, at least, this will have to do.)

Mikey loves surprises, and he gets one almost every year, because he’s really bad about remembering his own birthday. (He’s too busy with everything else going on, that he rarely spends any time thinking about himself) But it’s ok, because it works out great for Leo and Donnie and Raph! Leo is the only one who can somewhat cook a decent meal, so he’s on food duty, while Raph gets to decorate with crayon drawings attached to strings he tapes to the walls (as far as he can reach without standing on anything too high at least, because Donnie remembers the time he stacked at least two stools and a few books on top of the coffee table to reach something on the top of the bookshelf and broke his wrist coming down, and since then there has been a strict ‘feet on the ground Raphie’ rule implemented) and Donnie is in charge of the gift. And because Mikey gets a weird sort of nervous if they spend any money on his, most his gifts are usually hand made. Which is no problem, because Donnie thrives in the world of ‘making things himself’. So when Mikey comes home, tired and sluggish and leaning from side to side because he’s been on his feet all day and he just wants to sit, Raph comes in with a flying hug to Mikey’s middle that knocks the air out of him, but because of years of conditioning, doesn’t send him staggering, as Leo and Donnie shout “Happy birthday!” and lead Mikey to the couch, where he’s got some homemade cards, a lumpy gift wrapped in newspaper and some hotdog/mac and cheese casserole waiting for him. And Mikey’s tired, but he’s all smiles and laughter and love that burns through him and warms the entire room. And he kisses Raph on the crown of his head for all the beautiful decorations and colorful birthday cards, and hugs Leo for the absolutely delicious meal, and ruffles Donnie’s hair because “Oh wow, are these self-heating gloves? You made these??? Dee, these are perfect! My fingers are blue every time I go into work and I think my coworker LH is getting tired of me sticking them down his shirt for warmth when I clock in. Thank you so much! This is the best birthday ever!”

#bbm au #big brother mikey au #rottmnt au #rottmnt human

[spooderboyandtincan]

Happy Halloween!

A/N: Here are the actual episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved mentioned in this fic! The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans and The Horrors of Pennhurst Asylum. As a warning, both of these videos describe both very grisly and gory things, so please watch them with caution! 

(Also, the author in no way claims to own or use these videos for commercial property. Just wanted to include them!)

~~~~~

Peter was having a great day, even when an apple tried to give him a concussion. 

Normally, he would have caught the traitorous fruit, but there were several families around who might have noticed his outstanding reflexes, so with some split second thinking he let the apple bounce off his head.

“Ow!” Peter massaged the top of his head. Tony and May turned to him, both slightly concerned. “I think this tree is trying to kill me.”

“Oh, spare us!” Tony said to the tree, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s curls. “Not my darling son! Take me instead!” 

Peter rolled his eyes at the dorky genius, actually finding himself feeling a little bad for the poor apple tree. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, patting the rough bark. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

There was something very adorable about watching Peter trying to comfort a tree, both Tony and May observed. Their kid’s heart was so pure and kind it was blinding. 

Peter snatched an apple off a low-hanging branch and, before Tony or May could stop him, bit into it. “Wow,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fruit, “this’s really good! Can we pick some?”

“That’s what we’re here for!” May sang. “Did you check for worms before you bit into that, Petey?”

“Worms?!”

Tony shook his head in fond exasperation. Peter spat his mouthful of apple on the ground in disgust, chucking the half eaten red orb to the side. “Ew ew ew ew ew!”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure there weren’t worms in there,” Tony suggested.

Peter shrugged. “But are you sure? Now we have to pick more apples just in case they’re all wormy.” He stuck out his tongue in a mature display of unhappiness. 

“Thought you liked picking apples,” he questioned, suddenly worried that Peter had only been pretending to enjoy himself.

“No, no I do! It’s really fun! But now I can’t eat any,” he pouted. “I’m so huuuungry.”

He frowned in concern. “Why don’t we get some food and come back, kiddo? We can grab an extra coat from the car while we do.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m already wearing, like three of yours,” Peter laughed. He gestured to the layers of puffy jackets he was bundled up in, along with his favorite Spider-Man hat and thin black gloves.

“Actually, I think you need a scarf,” Tony observed. “We can’t have any spider-baby popsicles on our hands, now can we?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Tony began fussing over him like a mother hen, wrapping his own scarf around his neck and zipping up his third coat. He took the boy’s small hands in his and winced, rubbing them to bring some warmth. 

“You’re gonna lose fingers if we don’t get you some better gloves, bud.”

“I’m fiiiine.”

Peter heaved the bag of crisp, red apples into his arms with ease. Tony and May grabbed their own separate ones and heaved them over their shoulders with a lot less ease. They headed toward the muddy dirt road, lugging their apples and stopping for a moment to admire some chickens. 

“Ooooh!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, spotting a glimpse of orange behind the tall pine trees. “Mr. Stark, May! There’re pumpkins!” He jogged off. 

“Don’t you wanna get food before this, Pete?” Tony called, following the boy.

“I’ll eat the pumpkins!” 

“Look out for worms!” May teased. Tony found himself thinking of the classic nursery rhyme, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.

May found the perfect pumpkin almost at once. It was on the opposite side of the small field under a beautiful towering oak tree with red and golden leaves still on its branches. The pumpkin was a beautiful shade of dark orange and wonderfully round. She held it against the chest like it was a baby. 

Tony didn’t have any particular pumpkin in mind that he wanted so he decided to let Peter choose for him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna get the wrong one,” Peter worried. 

“It won’t be the wrong one, kiddo,” Tony promised.

“Get that lumpy one, it looks like his head!” May advised from across the pumpkin patch. Peter sniggered.

“I’m offended. My head is perfectly oval-shaped,” Tony objected. 

“Smooth as a shark,” Peter muttered to himself, completely missing the perplexed look from his father-figure.

He picked up the lumpy pumpkin and then began to scavenge for a second one, humming. “This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night… ooh.” Peter knelt down and began to inspect this potential nominee. 

It was huge. Wide and tall with a round face and a flat back. The stem was long and twisting. The color was beautiful.

It. Was. Perfect.

“I found it!” he yelled. May and Tony turned to long at him and Peter displayed his pumpkin proudly. 

“Congrats,” said May, her grin wide. Tony applauded. 

“Can we get it?”

“Of course, Roo.” He smiled, kneeling down to take the lumpy pumpkin while Peter stood up with his own. “Do you wanna get another?”   

“Are you sure? I mean, I kinda do…”

“Yes, Petey, I’m sure.” Tony bent to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Actually, I’d be delighted if you got another one. Really.” He loved seeing Peter so happy over a simple fruit. (Vegetable? Gourd?) Tony would gladly buy thousands of pumpkins if Peter could always be this happy. 

Soon Peter had selected two more pumpkins, a wide, squat one, and round, light orange one. They made their way back to the parking lot and the barn, where lots of fresh produce stands were set up. 

There was a beautiful, towering willow tree that Peter admired, watching its long limbs sway in the wind peacefully. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of rain and hay and something just distinctly fall. He trotted back to where his family stood in a line to buy their pumpkins and leaned into Tony, letting him wrap strong arms around him and hug him close. 

They bought their pumpkins and sat down at a picnic bench under the willow tree and basked in the sunlight. Tony left to the car and came back with a picnic basket akin to the ones in cartoons.

Peter’s eyes lit up when he noticed the mac and cheese in a plastic container and immediately he dug in. After inhaling his pasta, he dug through the basket. His eyes sparkled like stars. 

“Rhodey made us brownies!” Colonel Rhodes’s brownies were the best. They were gooey and somehow always warm, with extra chocolate-chips and an oreo in the middle. Rhodey had drowned them in jack-o’-lantern shaped sprinkles. He had even included a bottle of whipped cream, though most of it had probably been used on the current brownie Peter had just bit into.

“Oh, yummy,” May said, helping herself to a large one. Tony took his own and sprayed almost as much whipped cream on it as Peter had. 

Before he took a bite, he laughed. “Pete, how did you get whipped-cream on your forehead?” He balled up his sleeve and wiped it off. Peter squirmed away.

He played a quick rhythm on his pumpkin before glancing toward the various stands by the barn. “We should get apple cider,” he said, having a sudden realization. “I guess they probably wouldn’t go very good with brownies but maybe with pumpkin pie or something…?”

“Good idea, bud. How about some candy apples while we’re at it?”

“Yesss.”

Peter was bouncing in his seat while he waited for May and Tony to finish their sandwiches. He helped himself to a few more delicious brownies, trying to savor every bite. (And failing because they were so good.”

When they finished their food, they took a quick moment to put their pumpkins in the trunk of the car, then Peter led the way to the barn. At the back of the big room there was a large assortment of fresh produce, which May made a beeline to. On the right wall were four tall refrigerators, chock full of apple cider. 

“Why are they in milk cartons?” Peter wondered, opening the door and pulling the juice out. “Here!”

“Just one? You need to hydrate, young man,” he teased, pulling out three more jugs.

“I won’t just drink apple cider, Mr. Stark.”

“Actually, I think your blood is gonna be 75% apples, kiddo.”

“Carrots or asparagus, Pete?” May called. 

“Carrots?” 

“Good choice, honey.”

Tony noticed wonderfully red candy apples displayed on one of those cupcake stands he always saw at fancy parties. He pointed them out to Peter, who grinned and asked if they could have some.

“That’s what we're here for, Petey-Pie.” 

The young man at the stand wrapped the tree apples individually with cellophane and placed them in a bag. 

“That’s smart,” Peter said as they joined May at the checkout line. “Apples probably wouldn’t taste good with a paper bag.”

The cashier recognized Tony when they bought their food. Her hand flew to her open mouth and she shook her head in amazement. “You’re… you’re….” 

He offered a smile. Peter inched behind him and grabbed his hand. Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly and moved in front of him so no one could see his face. 

The cashier began to check out their items robotically, staring at Tony for an uncomfortably long time before she blinked and asked, “Do you want a bag, sir?”

Once they stuffed the groceries into the trunk of Tony’s car, Peter admired the farm one last time. The big willow tree swayed gracefully in the brisk wind as if it were saying farewell. 

Peter crawled into the back seat and slammed the door, curling up and shivering. Tony glanced in the back mirror and quickly moved to turn up the heat. 

He rested his chin on the edge of the window. The position was far from comfortable but at least he could watch the trees fly past as they drove. 

“You okay back there, Petey?” Tony asked, sounding concerned.

“‘M good. Just thinking,” he mumbled. It was hard to talk with his jaw pressed against a hard surface. 

“You sure, bud?” Tony still sounded worried. Peter sighed.

“Stop worrying,” he groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, Petey, I trust you.” If he hadn’t been driving the car he would have held up his hands in mock surrender. “But you know that you can come to me for anything, right? Even if it’s just a stubbed toe, okay?”

“I know, Mr. Stark, really.” 

A snore filled the car, and they both laughed when they looked to May and realized she was already asleep. 

“So kiddie, whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asked. 

“How I’m gonna carve my pumpkin!” 

~~~~~

Peter dramatically threw the three pumpkins he was carrying down onto the kitchen island, pretending to wipe sweat off his forehead. He snickered when May rolled her eyes.

Peter took off his layers of coats and threw them on the couch, hanging his scarf up and then ripping off his hat. His hair frizzed everywhere and Tony laughed, his eyes soft and adoring. He flattened it down with his hand and pulled Peter into a crushing hug, bending to kiss his still slightly puffy curls.

They sat down at the kitchen island and chose their respective pumpkins. Peter looked around. “Where’re the knives?” he asked. 

“Oh, I know.” May stood up and rummaged through the upper cabinets, bringing out an orange carton. “Here!”

Tony watched nervously as Peter grabbed a carving knife from the box and stabbed the top of his pumpkin without any regard for his personal safety. 

“Careful, bubba,” he warned. He was about to take the knife from Peter’s small hands and bend it into pieces for being so dangerous and trying to hurt his kid. “No lost limbs today, okay?”

Peter laughed and continued to cut the top of his pumpkin. He yanked the stem out and sliced off the stringy guts. He took an orange plastic scooper and started scraping the seeds and guts out of the inside. Tony took his own pumpkin and did the same, keeping a watchful eye on his reckless kid all the same.

“What are you carving Pete?” May asked. 

“Secret,” Peter grinned, turning the pumpkin so they couldn’t see it. “You can see later!” 

“Well, fine. What about you, Tony?”

Tony hadn’t given much thought about it yet. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he had an idea that might work. “Secret,” he said.

May sighed in amused exasperation. “Suit yourself, lumpy. I’m going with the classic.” She took a purple sharpie and started drawing.

“Why aren’t there Halloween Carols?” Peter wondered aloud. “I don’t know like, any spooky songs and it’s sad.”

“There’s that one, um…” Tony trailed off. He did know the actual name of the song, but the look on Peter’s face would be priceless. “Spooky Scary Pumpkins? Ghosts? Is that it?”

Peter slowly raised his head, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You know, that one you’re always singing,” May said, joining in. “‘Spooky scary pumpkins’ sounds right.” 

Peter groaned and buried his head in his arms. “No. This isn't happeniiiiiing.”

“I believe the correct title is ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons, Boss,” said FRIDAY’s disembodied voice. 

“Thank you!” Peter threw up his hands in relief. “Spooky scary pumpkins. Ugh. Thanks for the nightmares.”

Tony ruffled his hair. “FRI, play it for us uncultured zombies, will ya?”

The first few notes of the song played and Peter started headbanging exaggeratedly, doing a dance in his seat. “Such a bop,” he said to himself, then went back to carving his pumpkin. 

A bop? Tony decided not to ask. He sketched out his idea on the pumpkin with a light pencil and rummaged through their carving tools.

“Mr. Stark, you didn’t get the guts out!” Peter protested. 

“Don’t worry, bud, you’ll see. Trust me.”

Tony finally found what he was looking for. “A-ha!”

“Is that..?” Peter leaned over. “Is that a dremel drill? Isn’t that for like, trimming dog nails?” 

“One of its many uses!” Tony switched it on. “Carving time.”

“Ooh. That’s cool, I wanna try!”

He handed the drill over to him. Peter turned his pumpkin around to the back and started carving. “Oh, so it only gets like the fleshy parts! The flesh? So then it kinda glows through.”

“That’s right,” he said. “It looks pretty cool when you put a candle in it.” Tony took the drill and got back to work. Their song was still playing in the background, and at some parts Peter would do a dance and sing along. 

After about fifteen minutes of ridiculous chatter and multiple songs played, May jumped up. “Finished!”

“Already?!” Peter exclaimed. “Lemme see!”

“Just a sec.” May ran off and grabbed a candle from one of the drawers in the living room, then hurried back. She put it in the pumpkin and lit it carefully. “Ta-da!”

“Oooh!” 

May had carved a traditional pumpkin with a big, spiky jaw, a triangle nose, and big triangle eyes. She had taken seeds and put them in the corners of the eyes to act as pupils. 

“Oh, he’s cross eyed!” Peter laughed. “That’s really cool.” 

Tony grinned. “Clever. I like it.”

“Thanks, Tony. I think I’ll borrow that drill from you when you’re done. I want to make a flower on the back.”

“Sure.” Tony continued working on theinrticate design, squinting and trying to make it as precise as possible. He caught Peter trying to sneak a peak and shooed him off cheerfully. 

When Tony looked up to check on Peter, he nearly cooed. His kid had the most adorable look of concentration on his face. His tongue poked out between his lips and his brow was furrowed. Peter worked carefully, selecting the tools he knew would work best and using them delicately.

 When Peter looked up again, the sky was considerably darker. He looked at the clock. “How is it already five?!” No way had he been working for one and a half hours straight. 

Tony blinked and snapped out of his stupor. “Huh. Time flies, I guess. I’m about done, how about you, kiddo?”

“Almost… I kinda messed up a few details but I think it looks okay!” He scraped the pumpkin more and looked up. “There! Where are the candles?”

“Here you go.” May smiled and handed him a red candle that smelled like cinnamon. He took the lighter and dipped his hand in the pumpkin while Tony watched anxiously. 

“Don’t burn yourself, baby.” He bit his lip in worry. “Be careful.”

“I am!”

May dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains shut. The candle glowed brightly in the dark room and Peter turned the pumpkin to face them. 

May gasped. “Oh. Oh my goodness! Peter, that’s gorgeous!” 

The boy blushed in the candlelight. “Thanks.” He looked to Tony, who had been strangely silent this whole time. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Petey….” Tony felt his arc reactor and in his mind, compared it to Peter’s intricate, detailed carving that he had spent so much time on. “Petey… you made my reactor?” 

“Uh-huh! I kinda messed up some parts, but I think it looks pretty good. What do you think?”

“I… I… oh my god, baby, I love it. I love it so much.” He pulled his kid into a hug, squeezing him tight. Tony kissed his head and blinked away the tears in his eyes. Peter, surprised at first, hugged him back. “Thank you, Petey.”

“No problem,” he said, voice muffled in Tony’s sweatshirt. “Does it look good?”

“It looks beautiful, baby.”

“I had no idea you could make something like this,” May murmured, tracing the arc reactor with her fingers. “Wow, honey. This is spectacular!”

“Thanks.” Peter’s face heated from the praise and he pushed his head further into Tony’s chest. “What did you make?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Reluctantly, he let go of Peter (but not without another forehead kiss) and grabbed the lighter, He lit the candle, turned it around, and-

It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Is that me?!” He admired the glowing spider emblem with wide eyes. It matched the one on his suit exactly. “Oh my god!”

Tony beamed. “Do you see the resemblance?” 

“I’m pretty sure you just stole my suit and like, made it into a pumpkin. It’s so cool! I love it, thank you!”

“It was my pleasure,” he said graciously, giving a little bow. “Where do you think we should put them?”

“Um, I dunno. Where’s a good spot?”

Tony looked around. Eventually they decided to put them on the mantle above the fireplace. Peter worried they might rot, but the man assured him they wouldn’t and turned off the fireplace just to ease his kid’s fear.

Peter took a look at the room. A few days ago he and Tony had draped bright orange and purple lights around the room and Peter had added some webs that would definitely leave stains. There was a black spiderweb table runner on the coffee table, and in the kitchen there stood a plastic cauldron filled with dry ice. Ghosts made of tissue and paper mache balls hung from strings by the fireplace and above the couch and tv. Peter took a black and orange oreo from a pumpkin shaped plate cheerfully. 

“When’s dinner?” he asked, realizing how hungry he was getting.

“Are you hungry, bud? We can order a pizza, how does that sound?” Tony replied, smoothing down his curls and then ruffling them so they puffed back up again. 

“Great!” Peter patted his curls back down and flopped on the couch, taking out his phone. 

Only fifteen minutes later the pizza arrived. Peter jumped up happily and opened the box.

“It’s pumpkin shaped!” he exclaimed. “That’s so cool!” The pepperoni slices had been arranged in jack o’ lantern face and Peter laughed. He took four big slices for himself and sat down at the table while May joined him. Tony poured three glasses of apple cider and gave the biggest one to his kid, then sat down next to him. 

Peter wolfed down his pizza in the blink of an eye and downed the cider just as quickly. May and Tony started on their second slices while he started on his fifth. 

He was about to ask May if she knew that some spiders had blue blood when her phone rang. She smiled apologetically at them and stood up to take the call.

“Sandra? Oh, hi.” She wandered into the living room. “Uh-huh? Oh, that’s too bad, I’m so sorry.” A pause. “I could. Yeah, no problem. It’s okay. I hope everyone feels better.” May put her phone down. 

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to fill in for a friend for a few hours.” She sighed. “Her twins are sick and she really needs this. I have to go but I’ll be back soon, okay?” May grabbed her coat and gloves. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay, Aunt May,” Peter said, offering a smile. “What time will you be back?”

“Around two.” She titled his head back to kiss his forehead. “Get some sleep, both of you. No scary movies. Larb you!” She headed toward the elevator.

“Larb you too!” he called back as the doors closed behind her. Peter sighed. 

The room was oddly silent without May’s laughter, but soon Peter started chatting and laughing and they relaxed into their normal banter. 

When they finished their pumpkin pizza, they sat down on the couch. Peter snuggled into Tony’s side and yawned, grabbing his Starkpad. He scrolled to a video and poked Tony’s shoulder.

“What’s this, kiddo?” he asked, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Buzzfeed Unsolved,” he mumbled. “That’s Ryan and that’s Shane.” 

“Huh. That’s cool. They solve mysteries?”

“Sometimes. They don’t really solve them, I mean, it’s called Buzzfeed Unsolved, but they do talk about suspects or theories or whatever. Sometimes they do supernatural ones and they’re really funny. And spooky,” Peter rambled. Tony chuckled and turned his attention to the video.

The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills, read the title. As the creepy introduction played, Tony frowned. The two men he assumed were Ryan and Shane were walking around a long, spooky hallway with cameras that made everything look like it was tinged green.

“You sure this isn’t too scary, Pete?” he asked, not wanting his kid to have nightmares. 

“It’s not,” Peter grumbled. “I’m fine. This one is cool!”

“If you’re sure, Roo.” Tony still sounded skeptical. He was prepared to turn off that tablet the second Peter showed any sign of fright, but he never did.

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we explore Waverly Hills Sanatorium as part of our ongoing investigation, ‘are ghosts real?’” said Ryan.

The camera panned to Shane as he shook his head. They went on to explain the history of the sanatorium. Peter giggled at their many jokes, especially when Shane made snarky remarks. Tony deduced that Shane was the sceptic while Ryan strongly believed in paranormal happenings. He was inclined to side with Shane, but Peter looked just as nervous as Ryan was when he walked down an empty hallway all alone. 

“Pete, are you sure this isn’t too scary?” he repeated after a particularly gruesome description of the horrors that took place in that old building.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” Despite his annoyed tone, Peter was smiling. 

“Okay, okay.” Tony turned to press a tender kiss to his temple. “I just don’t want you to have nightmares.”

“I won’t. It’s okay.” Peter flopped against him and pressed the next video. “Promise.” He yawned.

The videos, Tony admitted, were pretty cool. He liked how they listed theories and possibilities instead of just leaving the mysteries unended. The two men were funny and entertaining, and he found himself enjoying the videos. 

By now they had watched at least nine or ten episodes. It was easy to get lost in all the videos, which were only twenty minutes long each, but when you watched a few more, time had passed faster than you expected. When Tony checked the time he was surprised to find it was already nine-thirty. 

“You tired, bubba?” he asked gently as Peter yawned. “You’ve had a pretty big day.”

Peter shrugged. “A little.”

“Do you wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?”

“Sure.” He stretched and yawned again. “Tomorrow’s Halloween, right?”

“That’s right,” he hummed. He helped Peter stand up and they made their way down the hallway. “Good night, baby,” he murmured, pulling him into a hug. 

Peter felt a warm kiss pressed to his curls. “G’night.” He hugged Mr. Stark and stumbled into his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. 

Tony watched with love shining bright in his eyes. He headed to his own bed and climbed under the covers, curling up and turning on the bedside lamp. He grabbed his glasses and perched them on the edge of his nose, planning to get a little reading done before he went to bed. 

He couldn’t help but worry about his kid, who had just binge-watched ten episodes about terrible deaths and tortures. “FRI, tell me if he can’t fall asleep, or if he does and wakes up. Just tell me if he’s scared.”

“Certainly, boss,” the AI said smoothly. Tony nodded and began reading, though he barely took in a word, much more focused on the boy in the room next to him. 

~~~~~

Peter thought he had been tired. He had nearly unhinged his jaw from yawning so much. But now, he lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He shifted around, trying to get comfortable. Heavy blankets tangled around his legs as he thrashed. Peter sighed and mashed his pillow over his face.

After what felt like an hour (but in reality was only fifteen minutes) Peter rolled over and sat up, yawning and scratching the back of his neck.

He grabbed his Starkpad and earbuds. Peter only used one, because two was too overwhelming. He went to youtube and clicked on the first unsolved episode he found, just wanting to sleep. 

The intro played loudly in his ear and Peter relaxed. 

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’ll cover the Axeman Killer of New Orleans,” said Ryan Bergara. “One of the strangest serial killer cases I’ve ever read.”

“And you’ve read a lot,” Shane replied.

Ryan explained the timeline, which began in 1918 in, of course, New Orleans and ended around eighteen months later. He detailed the mysterious and morbid attempted killings, saying, “In chilling fashion, he only seemed to strike people while they slept in their beds.”

Just to make sure, Peter peeked out the curtain. He shivered and hid further under his blankets. He snickered quietly when Shane made a joke right off the bat.

When the video ended, he turned it off and lay back down. He scrubbed his eyes, feeling refreshed but sleepy at the same time.

Except now, he was having a lot harder of a time falling asleep.

Peter stared at his bedroom door nervously, expecting someone to burst in brandishing an axe. 

It never came.

He watched apprehensively, knowing this was stupid, and rolled over so he faced the wall.

Now his back felt even more exposed. Peter shivered and faced the door in a panic, swearing he heard something. 

Nothing.

He sighed shakily and curled up under the blankets, his heart racing and his eyes wide. The shadows seemed to dance and his eyes flitted from corner to corner as he expected some creature with razor sharp teeth to come leaping out of them. 

A chair, which he had thrown some dirty clothes on the other day, now looked like some skeletal creature with a huge head that could swallow him in one bite.

Peter, in a sudden burst of adrenaline, threw off his covers and sprinted the few feet down the hall to Tony’s room, the door slamming open. Peter leapt onto Tony’s bed, shaking, and wrapped his arms around the man.

Tony went rigid with surprise. “Peter?” He straightened up, squeezing his kid tight protectively and looking murderously around the room for the source of Peter’s fear. “What is it, baby? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

Peter shook his head and crawled shakily into his lap, pressing his face into his chest. “Petey? What happened?” His voice was soft and gentle but somehow worried and protective at the same time. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Peter sniffed and blinked a few tears out of his eyes. His cheeks heated in embarrassment. He wilted in Tony’s arms both out of shame and overwhelming relief that he was safe now. 

“Oh, baby,” he cooed. “You’re okay, I got you, you’re okay. I’m here, shh.” He kissed his delicate brown curls. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Peter sighed in relief and squashed his nose against Tony’s reactor. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why are you sorry, bubba? You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Tony murmured. 

Peter nodded. “I- I just got scared.” His voice cracked and he tried not to cry. 

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ‘kay?” He brushed his fingers through his curls. “Pete?”

A soft snore filled the peaceful quiet of the room. Peter’s breathing was slow and even, his face lax. Tony’s face softened. He carefully maneuvered Peter’s limp body under the war covers and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose into his curls. “I won’t ever let anything hurt you, kay?” He sighed in contentment, holding his kid tightly. “I love you so much baby.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. “G’night, sweetheart.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 

If you want to be added/removed let me know!

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

#FINALLY finished this #Happy Halloween!!! #peter parker #tony stark #may parker #aunt may is the best #pumpkin picking #pumpkin patch #pumpkin carving #tw knives #knives tw #irondad and spiderson #aunt may and tony are best friends #protective tony stark #worried tony stark #scared peter parker #buzzfeed unsolved #halloween tw #st*rkers dni

[ablednt]

Whenever you see my icon (xenogender lumpy) u must think "he is the specialist boy!" Because he is he is our little pogchamp and our poor little toot toot. He's just a baby boy your honor.

#watched the heffalump movie again and im so full of feelings/pos #media cw #ask 2 tag

[quillvine]

Caffeinated

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Here have this monster of a fic. It’s been kicking around in my drafts for so long I had no idea what to do with or how to end it. I hope you guys like it! My requests are still open so don’t be afraid to drop a line :)

Masterlist

You’re awoken by the sound of Aaron’s phone ringing, it's his work tone. It’s too damn early for work especially considering it’s a Saturday. Next to you Hotch presses a quick kiss on your lips before reaching to grab his cell from the nightstand. He answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. Before he even hangs up you know there's a case.

Aaron turns to you with his usual grim bossman look on his face. It’s a far cry from the cute  sleepy look that you’re used to seeing in the mornings.

“Why don’t you start the coffee? I’ll go call Jessica and check on Jack.” He tells you.

He leans over again to give you another kiss. This time it’s long and slow, his lips molding against yours. Your hands find their way to his messy hair and he shifts to pull you closer to him on the bed. 

All too soon he pulls away and you whine in disappointment, you’re not ready to start the day. Aaron just smiles pulling you up from the bed and pushing you towards the door. He pats your ass gently giving you another kiss before heading down the hall to Jack’s room.

He had food poisoning so you and Aaron had already been up later than usual making sure he was okay. The poor boy was hugging the toilet bowl way past his bedtime. You guys had hoped that you wouldn't get called away during the weekend, but alas the UnSubs of the world had their own agenda.

Flicking the lights on in the kitchen you get the coffee pot going. You also search the pantry for the individually packaged instant oatmeal that you guys keep for the mornings where Jack is running late for school. Neither of you are particularly hungry in the mornings but you figured that instant oatmeal is easy enough to make on the jet. 

Pulling your go bags from under the buffet table in the hallway, you throw the oatmeal cups into your bag and then head back to the kitchen. You pour the hot coffee into travel mugs and then set them next to your go bags.

Heading back up the stairs to the bedroom where you see Aaron buttoning up his work shirt. He gives you a quick smile before grabbing the pair of slacks on the bed.

You walk over to the closest to grab clothes and get changed. After a quick glance at Hotch who is tying the tie you got him for his birthday you settle on a red shirt to match his power tie.

“Jessica is on her way,” He tells you, walking over to where you're standing to give you a kiss on the cheek, “Jack’s okay, he’s still sleeping.”

When Jessica arrives, you thank her for coming on such a late notice and then hurry out the door into the car.

Once you guys hit the highway it seems like whatever early morning energy you had left you. Your body feels limp and your eyes are drooping which really isn’t good considering the fact that you the coffee was supposed to kick in already.

By the time you reach the office you’re feeling a little worse for wear but you have a job to do so you reach into the backseat to grab your go bag. Before you can exit the car Aaron grabs your wrist and pulls you into a slow languid kiss.

“One for the road.” He tells you.

You smile as you exit the car, maybe this morning will get better.

&

It turns out the morning did not get better. The flight was bumpy and filled with turbulence adding a headache on top of your tiredness. By the time you guys get off the jet and to the station you’re really not in a good mood. For some reason the caffeine still has not kicked in and you’re still exhausted. 

It’s six in the morning right now which means it’s still too early for you guys to check into a hotel so you have to leave your bags at the station. As soon as you’ve set your bags down, you’re beelining it to the break room, praying to whatever god is out there for a fresh pot of coffee.

Morgan is there already and smirks when he sees your disgruntled face. You groan internally, the whole team has been eyeing you since you got on the plane, they know how you get when you’re low on sleep. Morgan is the only one brave enough to toe the line with you.

“Oh ho ho, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What happened, Hotch keep you up too late last night?” Morgan as you push past him to the coffee pot.

“He’ll have your head for that.” You grumble.

Morgan just laughs, giving you a teasing smile as he follows you. He actually has the audacity to beat you to the coffee pot and starts pouring himself a cup. You come up next to him and grab a cup of your own, as Morgan pours you a cup you fumble with the cream and sugar passing them to him. He thanks you, adding some to his cup. 

You stir your own coffee as you reach over to pour a cup for Aaron. He probably doesn’t need another cup, if anything he seems to be functioning fine but it’ll save you another trip to the break room if he doesn't drink it. Who cares if it’s cold.

Taking a sip from your cup you find that it is potentially the worst cup of coffee you’ve ever had in your life.

“Ugh, dishwater.” You grouse as you guys walk to the conference room the team has hijacked.

Morgan takes a sip of his own coffee and chuckles.

“Come on now you know that they never have the good stuff in these places.” He tells you as you guys walk into the conference room. “If you want anything other than dishwater you have to be like Pretty Boy and bring a whole pour over set.”

“Reid, I didn’t know you brought your Chemex on cases.” You say as you slide into the seat next to Aaron, giving him his cup of coffee.

He’s helping Spencer get the geographical profile going. There are no actual bodies at the moment, the girls are just missing. So you guys really only have the abduction sites and victimology to go on.

“You know,” Reid says as he looks up from the map. “The Chemex Coffeemaker was invented in 1941. It’s intention was to-”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. All I know is that the last time we roomed together you woke me up with all that fumbling around.” Rossi complains.

Spencer at least has the decency to look sheepish. He squirms under Dave’s semi-annoyed gaze and turns back to the map. You chuckle at the thought. Only he would have enough coherence in the mornings to meticulously weigh out the ratio of coffee grounds to water.

As you reach out for the victim files you’re startled by Aaron pushing his coffee cup over to you. He takes your hand and squeezes it gently.

“You need it more than I do.” He tells you.

You sigh happily, dishwater or not caffeine is still caffeine. Buzz from the earlier cup starts to thrum pleasantly through your body. Although, you think it’s partly because of the fact that Aaron is being so sweet to you today.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks.

You simply nod and squeeze his hand again. He’s so endearing when he’s worried about you. His big brown puppy dog eyes and the slight wrinkle between his brows makes you want to coo and plant a nice solid kiss on his lips. But the last thing you need is more teasing from Morgan so instead you bring Hotch’s hand to your lips giving his fingers a gentle peck.

He doesn’t look convinced though, still looking at you with a slight frown on his face. As cute as Aaron is when he’s pouty, he has you a little worried. Normally even a quick grab of his hand would warrant a gentle reminder about professionalism. The last thing any of you need are the local police thinking you're a two-bit agent sleeping with your boss for your position. You must be in really bad shape for him to act like this.

“Hotch I’m fine, really. I think it’s just a bad combination of lack of sleep and the turbulence from the plane ride here.” You tell him gently. “I’ll get some sleep when we get to the hotel, promise.”

You give him a small smile and Aaron seems to relax at your words. You scoot closer to him, grabbing the case files that sit on the table. Reid shifts the map a little so you can get a better view. 

As you pour over the files to help with the geographical profile your feet find Aaron’s under the table. You nudge them gently to let him know that really you’re okay and not to worry about you. He nudges your back, as a reminder that he’s here if you need him. You smile setting in for a long day of profiling.

&

You know you promised Aaron that you would try to get some rest in the hotel but the hotel bed is so lumpy and you can’t seem to get comfortable. It’s not like Aaron’s sleeping either, his workaholic ass is still pouring over the case files.

You can tell he’s stressed, this case is weighing on him, you can see it in his eyes. But some of his stress is probably from the fact that he’s worried about you too. You feel so bad, he doesn’t need to worry about you, today was just an off day. He has enough to think about already with Jack and the case and everything else this job is pushing on him.

You yawn stretching languidly under the sheets. Hugging the blankets you turn to look at Hotch. He’s sitting at the desk in the corner of your guys hotel room still dressed in his normal work attire albeit a little disheveled. The crease between his brow is deeper than ever and you can tell that if he stares at those case files any longer he’s going to give himself a killer headache.

Luckily for him you know just how to stave off the impending headache. He could never resist your charms, especially this late at night.

“Aaron…” You croon, “Come to bed, baby. I’m so lonely, why dontcha come and keep me company?”

From his seat at the corner of the hotel room Aaron chuckles.

“Come on now, none of that.” He tells you. “You promised me that you would try and get some sleep.”

“I know, I know, but the bed is so lumpy and uncomfortable and I’m so cold. Why don’t you warm me up?” You purr.

You feel like a sultry young socialite waiting for her lover to come back to bed. The only thing that is missing are the silken sheets and the feather soft mattress.

Aaron sighs and rises from the desk chair. His suit jacket is already flung across the back of the desk chair and his tie is undone. He heads over to the bed with a large grin on his face. You smile back and make grabbing motions with your hands.

The bed dips as he climbs onto to lie next to you. Pulling you into a hug Aaron presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What am I going to do with you?” He murmurs into your hair.

“Love me.” You say cheekily.

He laughs again and you laugh along with him. Oh god, his laugh is warm and honeyed and it feels like home. You could listen to it for days on end.

Patting his chest gently you say, “Come on baby get changed, you need to get some sleep too.”

Aaron gives you a quick squeeze before climbing out of the bed to change into his pajamas. As he slips out of his shit you purr in appreciation and grin wolfishly at him. He returns your grin as he wiggles out of his work slacks. Once he is fully changed Hotch pounces on top of you wrapping you into his arms. He flips you so you are resting on top of him, your head lying on his chest.

You bite your lip and bat your eyelashes at him. “Oh, so you want me on top tonight huh?”

“Stop it,” Aaron says with a low rumble. “You promised me that you would get some sleep.”

“Technically we would be sleeping together.” You tell him running your hand over his arms.

“Oh, you’re bad.” Aaron tells you as he leans up to nip at your lower lip. “But, you promised me that you’d get some rest, we need you at your best for this case.”

You sigh and roll off of him snuggling back into the blankets. He leans down to tilt your chin up so he can kiss you on your lips. He then reaches over to turn the lights off. With a soft smile you curl into Hotch and he gathers you up into his arms pulling you closer, the both of you settling in for a long night in a lumpy bed.

&

Normally, the sound of the engine is too loud for you to consider sleeping on the jet, but you’ve been running on fumes for the last couple days so you probably could sleep on anything that wasn’t a lumpy hotel bed.

You’re leaning against Aaron, your face planted firmly onto his side. Everyone else is asleep or trying to sleep, your boyfriend is the only one still awake. Honestly that silly stupid man would work himself to death if you and Jack weren’t around.

“Come on Aaron the paperwork can wait,” you tell him, “Why don’t we get some sleep?”

“You can get some sleep, I need to finish my report first.” He says not looking up from his papers.

You sigh and curl into Hotch’s side. It’s a little uncomfortable since he’s still upright and you can feel the movement of his arm as he writes. You focus on his even breathing and strong scent. Slowly, they lull you to sleep and you drift off dreaming of good coffee and nice hotel beds.

When you wake it’s to the sound of laughter. Rubbing your eyes bleary you see Derek and Emily with their go-bags slung around their shoulders. As you look around you see the rest of the team making their way off of the jet.

You look up when you hear a soft thud. Hotch has dropped your go bag next to his on the table. When he sees that you’re awake he leans down to kiss you on the lips.

“Welcome to the land of the waking,” he says with a teasing smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask rubbing your eyes groggily.

“Well, you just looked so cute in my arms I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you up.” He tells you to reach out his hand so he can tug you up.

You sigh a little as you stretch, your back cracking nicely. Reaching out to grab your go-bag you find that Aaron is already holding it with his own bag hanging on his shoulders. You grab his free hand and as you walk off the plane together.

When you get home you thank Jessica for looking after Jack and go upstairs to give the sleeping boy a kiss on his forehead. Collapsing in your nice not-lumpy bed, and drift off into a peaceful sleep. Just before you fall asleep fully you feel Aaron slide into bed next to you cradling you gently.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Tags (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @winterscaptain @yes-sir-hotchner @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @crying-river @genevievedarcygranger @ange-must-die @ogmilkis @saintd0lce

@agenthotchner and @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal I tagged you guys too, thought you might like it :)

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #reader #x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #david rossi #spencer reid #emily prentiss

[goloyieng]

Yugi Riong'o, the Debate Smith of Muriethi: A Memoir

I was born on July 1st, 1952 in an Agikuyun village of Muriethi. I am of the Yonye clan; a cluster group that make up 25 major clans of Kikuyu people( also called Agikuyu). The Agikuyu people are close to numbering to 7 million living souls; it won’t take a mathematical guru to figure out how we became the largest tribe in Kenya. The Agikuyu must have done something extraordinary to have generated such a large number of people when some tribes number only 800,000 mere souls. My father was a ladies man through and through; he had 16 wives; my mother was the seventh wife. My childhood coincided with the arrival of the British 88 years earlier. They came because we Africans believe in the ubuntu philosophy: meaning, you are a person through other people. The world had to be connected somehow, and they did their ultimate best to bring Africa on par with the rest of the advanced world. There were some instants were they look down on black Africans, but that is because they were trying to know us. Even now, in the 21st century, those Africans who earlier ventured into farming look down on the red ochre, pastoral communities, because they are stereotypically thought to be still more attached to their animals who they largely depend upon for survival necessities. Even within the same racial groups, cultural differences still abound. Contemporary African nation states are no exception either; Zambian leaders have sold their nation to China in the name of having gone stale on the western economic developmental ideals who took pains to leave their motherland in droves to make sure economic infrastructure of the likes of Zambia become the launching pad for the rest of continental Africa; however, the leaders had their own agenda at hand, and soon after, they became mired in debt; the end result was that, Chinese started arriving in Lusaka in the name of saying you owe us and it is time to show you how wrong you were from the very beginning. I went to Yube High School; in those days, both the elementary and secondary schools were not separate institutions, as we know them today; one had to start from the first grade and stayed until the 12th grade. At Yube, I was more interested in getting good grades with the ultimate mission to earning a full scholarship to Makerere College (as Makerere University was known by then). I wanted a sustained reputation of a classy and great scholarly student; the one meant to presevere even when the conditions change during the course of my further studies, I won't fall out with my sponsors; so I studied and read all kinds of subjects, from mathematics to social sciences to natural sciences; not to discredit the mighty field of literature, which is perhaps the first field I fell in love with. Now, people have come to love my novels such as Weep Not, Child; the River Between, A grain of Wheat, Matigari, Wizard of the Crow and the memoir series ranging from the Birth of a Dream Weaver to, In the House of Interpreter; however, my political writings in the fold of Moving the Centre and Decolonizing the Mind, are equally scholarly master pieces on their own right. Just as Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart and Elechi Amadi's the Concubine are regular required readings for African literature in high schools and colleges around the world; Moving the Centre and Decolonizing the Mind, are also read widely across the globe. In these political writings, I argued that the arrival of Europeans was ubuntu at its core, connecting humanity through trade, technology and being able to compete through cultural customs and that was how Moving the centre came to assert itself; the development of home grown languages so that the past teachings of our people become our launching pad for economic development; it was in essence, allowing our cultures to join hands with the rest of the world. I was one of the first clansmen from the whole tribe to have gone to school because rigorous academic pursuits were considered foreign imperial influences and were less considered prospective lifetime careers. The British didn't require

our families to pay our fees; for one, it wasn't that our families were too poor to pay, but on the other hand, it was considered a trial and error period. By 1965, I was enrolled at Makerere College. Makerere was a meeting plethora of academic minds from all over Africa and some even came from Afghanistan. Makerere College was one of the best institutions of learning in those days; it was one of the top 7 elite colleges on the continent; unlike the washed up Makerere University of Yoweri Museveni of today, that had become copy and paste come and go as like you like slut. Milton Obote knew that our female counterparts were not naturally reliable in the career world; so it was better to equip the boy child with the best education that life could afford, besides, it wasn't his business to change the God way of life, where women are required to be natural incubators of life.

At Makerere, I immersed myself in deep and intense literature studies, but as I always had an insatiable appetite for learning; I took extra courses on mathematics, natural sciences and physical sciences; the so-called STEM of today. Milton Obote may have been weak on the development front, but he made sure 25% of the national budget went to the educational sector. Education was free from the elementary level all the way to the tertiary institutions of higher learning; so by the time, the students attend the universities, it was something unlike any other in the world, students were great at debate, laboratory sciences and had a knack of imagining greater future world for the fatherland. For this, Makerere College had lots of money going into the hands of their star students of which I was a proud member of. Our quarterly vacations were spent on, you know, 'my baby got back moments.' These Ugandan mama booty became something else when they find out you have a weakness for romance. They came in all sizes; from the Northern Uganda lean looka to the lumpy Buganda type; size didn't matter, because they knew how to play their role well. My rigorous academic pursuits with a multidisciplinary approach served me well after I became the professor of African literature at Yanykath University in Yeng; I have been teaching African literature for 34 years and counting at Yanykath, after I had a fall out with both Jomo Kenyatta and Daniel Arap Moi's administrations. I have been invited to lecture about African literature and the political future of the African continent in colleges across the globe; and I have to say, had I not studied all kinds of subjects at Makerere, I would have been a scholarly beggar; DP William Ruto is a prime example; those who depend on thieving the hard won scholarly research of others is the exact opposite of the mind field of the meeting of the debate smiths.

Yanykathing Golo Yieng to Rooy Gapayer

We have been particularly hard on the kid from Gapayer; I mean, the homeless lad we tragically sent to America in the early 2000s; we did this without thinking everything through, because we thought we would be better off with him suffering on the streets of Yauketui, New Mexico, when he should be eating good meals in Gualyek, Yekker, every single day. Hey look, how he turned now, he cries every single day because he has no inborn stamina to withstand the nonsecured life on the harsher streets of Yauketui. Why didn't we send Jacob Mabior Dau, who I truly think has the hunger to serve his people well with all his heart. We still don't know how this lad, who called himself Golo Yieng came to live among us; I mean, are we sure that he is of the same blood as everyone of us. He claims, the ancestor of his adopted father, Maliduon artificially maneuvered his way onto the love canal(wall) of his adopted grandmother, and for that he was never ryithfully born among the Maliduonei. Southern Sudanese leaders of Rer Reclamation Army/Movement robbed him of the right to return to his rayierooy, Gapayer when they started a meaningless war against the Yemenis of Sudan, when in fact, hundreds of thousands of South Sudanese, if not millions still live in refugee camps up to this very day. Why didn't we give him enough money meant to last his lifetime before we sent him to America? Was our greed that too great that we refuse to help out the great guest from another yunerse. How do we speedily sent him to his homeland now that he seemed stuck in the quagmire wretched life of our blue earth? It is a give and take world; therefore, we must give him the just kind of treatment he truly deserves, if we want to continue to keep our heads held high. Are we truly sure that it is growth that we were all after with Golo Yieng; what if he just suddenly disappear after greasing himself with corn the same way as the yonce scene he saw with Jimmy Dyke and Mama G with a Nollywood flick?

[idiot-extraordinaire]

Pancakes and Mr Snuggles

Just a morning at the Lopez-Pierce home (c.2027)

.

.

.

Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtains. Santana crinkles her forehead, unamused that her slumber has been interrupted. Her eyes flutter open and everything is quiet.

Too quiet.

She turns to the left and is surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. She then turns her head to the right and sees a pair of brown eyes staring back at her.

Those eyes belong to a three year old boy, peeking over the edge of the bed.

"Good morning," she reaches over, ruffling his hair affectionately, voice still a little rough from sleep.

"Hola," the little boy says.

She chuckles. "Hola. Where's your Mommy?"

The little boy just shrugs his shoulders. The smile on his face tells Santana that he's keeping a secret.

"Really? You don't know?"

Another smiling shrug.

"You're not hiding from Mommy by any chance, are you?"

He then nods his head vigorously. His smile turns into a grin.

"Shh," he whispers, with a finger to his lips.

Santana lets out a laugh. "Come here." She pats the spot on the bed next to her and helps up the little boy as he scrambles up onto the bed in his blue and yellow ducky pyjamas. He dives under the covers and pulls them over his head. "Mommy won't find you in here."

She hears him giggle. "Gracias, Mama."

"Hey babe, have you seen-"

Brittany walks back into their bedroom, but stops short once she spots the lump in bed, next to her wife. A coy smile of her own grows on the blonde's face.

"You didn't happen to see a little boy pass here, did you?" she asks, from the doorway. "'About this tall, ducky PJs, supposed to be helping me with breakfast?"

Santana shakes her head. "Sorry, Britt."

The lump next to her continues to giggle.

“Hmmm weird, that's fine. I guess I'll just have to wait here and see if he stops by," Brittany says, walking back to her side of the bed and promptly flopping down on it.

She stretches her arms exaggeratedly so one of them falls directly on the giggling lump.

"Gee, Santana. Our bed sure is lumpy," she pats the lump with her hand. "Do you think we should get a new one?"

"Mommy!" the boy throws the covers off his head, revealing himself.

"Ollie!" Brittany replies in the same tone and starts tickling him, till he's in a laughing fit. When she relents, he manages to escape and snuggles up to Santana.

"Did you wake your Mama, Ollie?"

"No, he didn't wake me up," Santana says. She leans over and is met with a kiss from her wife. "Good morning," she greets with a contented smile on her face.

"Good morning. How are my girls?" Brittany lets her hand drift down to Santana's pregnant belly, under the covers.

"We're good," she answers softly, gazing into Brittany's eyes. "We're good. What's this I heard about breakfast, though?"

"Oh, well I was working on making you some super special, awesome pancakes, but then my assistant ran away," Brittany pointedly turns to their son, who just smiles.

"Super special awesome pancakes, huh? You must really love me," Santana teases.

"I do really love you" Brittany says, planting another kiss on her wife’s lips. 

"Well, I really love you too."

The three of them eat breakfast together - pancakes with blueberries in a smiley face, assembled by one Oliver Lopez-Pierce. Unfortunately, Ollie messes up the syrup mouth, and syrup ends up on the table. He tries to wipe it, but all it does is get his hands sticky.

Santana wipes his hands with a baby wipe, as Brittany flips the last pancake. Ollie reaches for Lord Tubbington who has waddled his way into the dining room expecting to be fed. He looks disappointed when he approaches his bowl and sees cat food, rather than Seabass and donuts (his favorite breakfast combination).

"Tubbs!" Ollie exclaims, clearly wanting to play.

"Ollie, baby, you can play with Tubbs after breakfast, ok?"

The young boy seems content with this answer, though his attention is still focussed on the fat cat.

Santana knows for a fact that while Lord Tubbington certainly likes Ollie, he certainly does not love to play. It is only because the old cat likes the Lopez-Pierce boy enough that he even entertains the idea of "play", given his hatred for activity. Lord Tubbington would much prefer a relationship with Oliver, where the young boy only fed and pet him. None of this running around nonsense.

The syrup instance aside, the Lopez-Pierces share a calm breakfast. Ollie scarfs down his pancake quickly.

"Can I play now, Mama?"

"Did you finish your milk?"

"Yep!" he beams, showing her his empty cup.

Santana watches Tubbs hover around the breakfast table and smiles. "Sure, go ahead."

"Thank you! Play time, Tubbs!" Ollie grins, hopping off his chair and chasing after the fat feline - who has now wandered off into the living room, clearly disappointed with his own breakfast - with the energy and enthusiasm that only young children have. "Let's do a new trick!"

Santana is also positive that Lord Tubbington hasn't picked up any new tricks in...well ever (unless you count his stint in cigarette smuggling), but laughs as her son grabs a cat toy and pats for Tubbs to join him where he sits. The cat drags himself over and reluctantly swats at it, clearly not up for this level of exercise so early in the morning.

Whatever, serves the fat bastard right for ruining so many of her shoes.

"Your mom called," Brittany informs her. "Her and your dad are taking an earlier flight, so they'll get here in the morning instead of the evening. She said something about a surprise."

"My dad better not be bringing another life-sized bear."

"Awww, but you love Mr Snuggles."

"I don't love keeping Tubbs from having to use it as a scratching post. Don't you remember the last time he tore Mr Snuggles' leg and stuffing started coming out? Ollie thought he was bleeding!"

"We sewed him back up."

"Yeah, but how much more damage is he going to cause to those poor, innocent bears, Britt? Can you imagine our darling boy having to watch the cat practically assault another bear?"

"So you admit it," Brittany smiled, slyly in between bites on pancake.

"What?"

"You love Mr Snuggles."

"That's not what I was saying. Besides, we don't have the space for another one." Santana retorted indignantly.

The truth was Santana totally adored Mr Snuggles. Carlos Lopez had spent most of Santana's upbringing working at the hospital and while things had started to improve after high school, the tension had yet to fully evaporate. After they got married, he made a greater effort. Visits to New York happened a little more frequently, so did phone calls.

But it all finally came to a close when two days after they informed Santana's parents that Brittany was pregnant, Carlos showed up on their doorstep with a stroller and a six-foot teddy bear, congratulating them and saying he didn't want to miss his grandchild's life, in the way he'd missed so much of Santana's.

There had been hugging and crying.

Both Santana and Carlos deny they were the ones crying.

In truth, they both were.

"He was like our baby's guardian, Britt," Santana finally admitted, now seemingly on the verge of tears. "You know? He was so little. When he was by himself in the nursery, it's like Mr Snuggles was looking after him," she sniffed.

"I know, baby," the blonde smiled reassuringly, reaching across the table and patting her wife's hand.

Santana sniffed again and her wife handed her a tissue. "Damn hormones."

"If your dad brings another bear, we can give it to Mike," Brittany suggested. "Quinn is due not long after you anyway. Besides, I think Mr Snuggles has enough left in him to be guardian to our baby girl too."

Santana thinks about it. "We need to stop Tubbs from getting into the nursery and wrecking the bear."

"We can do that. Besides, he was too lazy to finish his underground tunnelling system across the house."

She pauses again. "Ok. You're right," Santana admitted. "As usual."

Brittany laughed and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I like the sound of that."

Both now done with breakfast, the blonde moved to clear their plates from the table to the sink. Santana smiled and watched Ollie try to make Tubbs chase a ball of yarn across the living room. It was probably meant to be some game, but Tubbs preferred taking his sweet time, which didn't seem to bother the young boy. She was also pretty sure the couch was going to be covered in yarn by the end of it.

This was her life.

And damn, did she love every facet of it.

Who would've thought? Certainly not the terrified cheerleader, secretly in love with her best friend all those years ago.

"Hey."

Brittany, who has started to wash the dishes, feels a pair of arms wrap around her waist and pull her close.

"Did I ever tell you that I love you?" Santana asked, keeping her voice low.

Brittany turns around, with that sly smile Santana fell in love with for the first time, all those years ago.

"Tell me again."

.

.

.

Author Notes:

And she told her every day, forever and ever, until they were 150 years old.

Also, yes LT is still alive by some miracle and yes, Mike and Quinn got together at some point (I've always liked the idea of them together).

There might be more of this verse and I have some other ideas if people are interested. I'm still processing everything, but writing this actually made me feel a little better.

We'll get through this together, guys.

No mater what, Brittany and Santana are off in New York, living their best life, in the early years of their long an happy life together.

#brittana #brittana fanfic #brittana fanfiction #santana lopez #brittany pierce #glee #pancake!verse

[hermannsthumb]

Can you do winter prompt 13 obvious setups?

13. my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry

from winter writing prompts here

GOD i was so FUCKIN obsessed with this prompt when u sent it in, thank u so much. consider this the remix fic of 45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now

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

“I swear,” Newt says, “I didn’t know.”

Hermann--suitcase at his side in an iron grip, snow still melting off the shoulders of his parka, splotchy red spreading across his cheeks--scowls at Newt like Newt’s just dug up his mother’s grave or something equally unforgivable. Newt shrinks away instinctively. “You cannot be serious,” Hermann says. “You must have known.”

The situation in question is this: intimately aware of Hermann’s famously bad relationship with a good chunk of his family, and how it’s likely to have only gotten worse after the whole Breach collapse Hermann-was-right-and-your-wall-was-stupid-and-wrong thing, Newt decided to take one for the proverbial team and just invite Hermann ‘round to his place for low key holiday celebrations this year. The alternative was ditching Hermann in the mostly deserted Hong Kong Shatterdome and listen to his dad guilt him about it for two weeks. Not that Newt would need any help feeling guilty; he knew for a fact that if he did ditch Hermann, Hermann would just be up all hours of the night in LOCCENT monitoring the late location of the Breach and missing Newt.

Newt wasn’t being sentimental, either. Hermann really would miss him like Newt was a limb that’d been lobbed off. Lingering side effects of their drift (even all these months later) has made it difficult for them to be even a few miles away from each other, let alone a fucking ocean. Luckily reluctant co-dependency isn’t new for them.

So Hermann agreed. Newt’s dad was just thrilled. He seemed to take it as confirmation of his decade-long suspicions that Newt and Hermann desperately want to be more than lab partners but are too chicken to make a move (as he explained eloquently over the phone to Newt, while Newt spluttered and protested) and ran with it, to Newt’s horror. Especially to his horror now.

His dad’s only done up one bed--one full-sized, dinosaur-patterned bed--for Newt and Hermann to share.

“Look,” Newt says, even though he knows what he’s about to say is a blatant lie, “it’s gotta be a mistake. We’ve got a sorta-guest room down the hall, I bet my dad meant for you to go there.”

“I certainly hope so,” Hermann sniffs.

Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase from him and books it down the hallway, and Hermann clacks angrily behind him. The sorta-guest room is classified as such because of the lumpy cot they kept in there for when Newt’s uncle would visit, though the bulk of it contained mostly junk, overstuffed bookshelves, and a desk Newt used to grow weird plants on in a fish tank. The tank (Newt discovers when he pushes the door open) is still there. The cot is not.

God damn it. “Dad,” he calls, while Hermann continues to seethe. “Hey, Dad?”

Nothing. Then, finally: “Yes?”

“Where’s the cot?”

Footsteps up the stairs. Dad pokes his head around the doorframe. “Cot?”

Newt sighs. “The cot we used to keep in here,” he says. “Hermann needs a place to sleep. Or I do, at least,” he adds, turning to Hermann, “you can take my bed--the cot’s not super comfortable.” The room never had very good ventilation, either. Hermann will just wake up shivering from the lack of heat with a stiff knee every morning, which means, thanks to drift hangover, Newt will too, and then they’ll both be miserable. At least Newt’s got a bit more meat on his bones.

“Oh, I tossed it out years ago,” Dad says. “Too old. It was falling apart.” Newt spies the beginnings of a smile beneath his beard, even as he feigns confusion. (God, he is so not getting a Father’s Day card next year). “Is there something wrong with your bedroom, Newt?”

“Uh, yeah,” Newt says. He shoves Hermann’s suitcase back at him just to fold his arms angrily. “Whatever, I’ll just sleep on the couch.” It’s a pullout. He thinks. It’ll be better than curling up on the carpet in his room or contending with Dr. Icicle Feet Blanket Hogger of the Year--stuff he only knows also thanks to the drift, okay, he and Hermann don’t make a habit of sleeping together. In both senses.

“But where will your poor uncle sleep?” Dad says. His smile grows.

Right. Illia’s already claimed the couch. Newt takes Hermann’s suitcase back. “Fine. I’ll dig out my stupid Boy Scouts sleeping bag and take the carpet. Hermann--”

“Newton,” Hermann interrupts. He looks slightly embarrassed. “Ah. That really isn’t necessary. I suppose we can manage to make your bed work.”

“Great,” Newt says.

“Great!” Dad says. He slaps Hermann so hard on the back that Hermann squeaks and sways on his feet.

Newt clears away some space in his old dresser--which is easy, since his fashion tastes haven’t evolved from when he was seventeen, and he took most of his clothing with him to the Shatterdome in the first place--and he and Hermann unpack their suitcases with relative ease. Or at least Newt unpacks their suitcases with relative ease. Claiming fatigue from their terribly long journey, Hermann lounges on Newt’s bed with his collar undone, like the picture of Victorian debauchery, and watches him. Frankly, though, Newt prefers the bossy little orders to his previous whining about their sleeping situation, so he’s happy to do it. Mostly. “You haven’t folded that sweater correctly,” Hermann says.

“It literally doesn’t matter,” Newt says. “It fits, and that’s all I care about.” He shuts the drawer to prove his point.

“It matters to me,” Hermann says. “I’ll know it’s not folded, and it’ll bother me.”

Newt grits his teeth. He opens the drawer. He folds Hermann’s sweater.

“There, was that so terribly difficult?” Hermann says.

He stretches his arms above his head, and nestles back against Newt’s stack of pillows with a soft groan that makes Newt’s witty, sarcastic retort shrivel and die on his tongue. Hermann can be awfully, uh...sensual for a guy with a bowlcut. “You really have got quite a comfortable bed,” Hermann murmurs. “I could fall asleep right now. Mm.”

Newt kicks the drawer shut again and flops down next to him. They do both fit, at least, though they’ll be bumping elbows and legs for sure. “It’s the most average bed of all time,” he says. He grins. “It just feels like it isn’t because it’s not one of those fucking cement slabs we have back at the base.”

Hermann makes a face. “I won’t be happy to get back to those.”

“Yeah,” Newt agrees. 

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. The little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he pasted up there when he was twelve are still going strong, though the Lego spaceship he strung up with fishing twine is long-gone. Probably fell and broke into a million little pieces over a decade ago. “I’m sorry about this, by the way,” he says. “The, uh, sleeping situation. My dad...”

He trails off. Hermann crooks an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“He thinks that we,” Newt says, and swallows, “I mean, like--he wants us to...” To admit they dig each other? To get hitched and have, like, a half-dozen genius physicist-biologist babies? Be happy together? It’s not as if Newt doesn’t want those things with Hermann. (Well, maybe not the genius baby thing. He can wait a while for that.) “It’s just, I’m an only child, you know, and my mom’s out of the picture, and I think he thinks that I need--”

Newt’s saved by a knock at the bedroom door. “Dinner!” Dad says.

It turns out it was only temporary salvation. The moment he and Hermann take their seats at the tiny dining table--seats which are, for some reason, crammed together at one side, when there’s a whole fourth perfectly fine one just sitting there empty--and heaping mounds of everything are piled onto Hermann’s plate (too skinny, Dad says with a sigh, and Hermann only looks mildly offended), Dad and Illia start giving them the third degree. Yes, Hermann was born in Germany; no, he hasn’t spent any significant time there since university, though he supposes he wouldn’t mind going back at some point; yes, a lot of the original jaeger coding was of his own design; yes, he and Newt have shared a lab for the entirety of their time in Hong Kong, and before that in the various Shatterdomes they were shuttled between, and-- “Er, no,” Hermann says, “no, Newton is an--ah--exemplary lab partner, what makes you say...?”

“I raised him, Hermann,” Dad says.

Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “He’s the messiest man I have met in my entire life,” he says. “You ought to see the sort of rubbish he used to leave around--kaiju intestines, blood--oh, and there was one time he left a piece of dead skin louse on the coffee maker--”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” Newt says around a mouthful of potatoes. “Last week you didn’t even have to ask me to clean up all that venom I spilled on your desk.” He was proud of himself for doing it as fast as he did. A minute more, and it probably would’ve eaten through to the top drawer. Hermann was less enthused.

“And it only took you half a decade,” Hermann says. “Well done, Newton. If the kaijus ever return, perhaps you’ll have learned to operate a broom by then.”

He takes a smug little sip of his wine that he quickly coughs up into a cloth napkin when Illia--apropos of nothing--says “Are you married, Hermann?”

“Ah.” Hermann coughs a few more times, and wipes at his eyes. Newt suddenly becomes very interested in his plate. “No. I am not.”

“Seeing anyone?” Dad says.

“Dad,” Newt groans, shrinking down in his chair. If he’s lucky, and thinks very hard about it, maybe the Breach will reopen right beneath him and he’ll be tossed into an alternate dimension where Otachi ate him after all and he never had to sit through this conversation.

“No,” Hermann repeats. “I--no.”

Dad and Illia share a satisfied glance. “Our little Newt was always quite a handful,” Dad says, “but--”

No helpful Breach comes to swallow him whole, so Newt resorts to his back-up plan, which is smacking Hermann’s glass of wine off the table and into his lap as Hermann shouts in surprise. “Shit,” Newt says, too-loud, “looks like we gotta get that cleaned up, Hermann--c’mon, here we go--”

He shoves Hermann’s cane into his arms, and then proceeds to shove Hermann down the hallway until they reach the bathroom. Hermann’s glower has returned with a vengeance. “You utter buffoon,” he keeps saying, while Newt (crouched on the floor) dabs at his newly-burgundy pants with a wet handtowel, “you moron, you wretched little--”

“I’m sorry, okay,” Newt half-shrieks. He throws the handtowel to the ground as he stands. His ears are still burning red-hot from the table, and his sudden close proximity to Hermann--noses barely an inch from each other, so close Newt can smell wine on his breath and count every last dark eyelash that frames his soft eyes--isn’t helping matters at all. “What else was I supposed to do? I panicked!”

“These were my best slacks,” Hermann says, “and now--”

“You have a dozen just like them,” Newt says, “two dozen. Three dozen. I just fucking folded them all!”

“Stop shouting,” Hermann says.

“Make me!” Newt shouts.

“I bloody will!” Hermann shouts back, and then he grabs Newt by his tie and kisses him. 

When they emerge from the bathroom and take their seats fifteen minutes later, Hermann with his collar suspiciously askew, Newt with his own buttoned suspiciously higher than it was going in, Dad and Illia pointedly say nothing.

Hermann pours himself a new glass of wine and clears his throat. “What, ah, what were we discussing?”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

[willow-salix]

Here's this week's #FABFIVEFEB from the prompts by the awesome @gumnut-logic. This is all about the Scott, and I loved writing this. This bad boy topped out at 5,110 words, I don't know where they all came from apart from the fact that it was pancake day yesterday and that was all I need for the vision in my head. I used all the prompts somewhere (even if they are a little vague) except glow.

"Scott?" Alan whined from his position slumped over the kitchen table, his arm up to speak into his comm. "Can you make me some pancakes?" 

"No I can't, sorry, I'm just too busy, " Scott's distracted voice floated from Alan's wrist. 

"Oh come on, you make them the best."

"I don't have time."

"But Selene said it's pancake day in the UK, it's tradition."

"No, Alan, I'm waiting for Brains to finish that modification to Thunderbird One so I can test her out and make sure she's still operational for rescues as well as the Zero-XL."

"But he won't be done for ages…"

Scott declined to answer, cutting the call. 

Alan huffed, sat up and crossed his arms angrily. All he wanted was to spend some time with his brother like they used to. Scott made the best pancakes in the world, he could flip and land them perfectly, any shape, any size and they always came out golden brown and fluffy.

He'd been dreaming about those pancakes, remembering how their dad had patiently tried to teach them all how to mix up the perfect batter, how to test the heat of the pan and how to flip them just right. 

Virgil and Scott had mastered the batter instantly, seeming to have a knack for measuring by eye and mixing it with a hand whisk. John had taken his time, insisting on noting down the exact weight and measurements of each ingredient as Jeff had added them and then using the blender to make it as smooth as humanly possible. Gordon and Alan had shared a bowl, which has descended into chaos as they had both tried to add ingredients, ending up with a lumpy, eggy, sloppy mess. 

Virgil's pancakes had been nice enough, a little messy around the edges, a little abstract but edible and easily flipped with a spatula. John's had been perfectly formed equal little rounds of fluffy goodness, small enough to flip with a spatula and stack easily. Alan and Gordon had dropped many, burnt a few and had a couple still raw. But Scott's had been perfect. He had flipped them as if he had been doing it his whole life, an easy wiggle and flick of his wrist and up they had sailed, executed a perfect 180 and landed back in the pan with a gentle splat. He had experimented with different flavours, adding chocolate chips and different sauces to various degrees of success but always perfectly cooked. 

Over the years the duty of making pancakes for breakfast on a weekend had fallen to Scott and their dad, the two tag teaming, perfectly synchronised, Jeff mixing and plating them up, Scott pouring and flipping. If Scott was in a particularly good mood or had time to spare he would try to make the pancakes in simple shapes, a fish for Gordon, a rocket for Alan, a star for John. It didn't matter what the shape was, he always managed to flip and land it without trouble. 

After Jeff had disappeared Scott had continued to make them for any family that was home, it had been a tradition for so long that they had clung to it, it was familiar, it was comforting and they had needed that more than ever. 

Over the years as International Rescue had gotten busier, their days more unpredictable and their weekends almost non existent their breakfasts had trailed off and then stopped all together. 

Alan hadn't realised how much he missed them until he'd woken up with a craving for Scott's special toffee apple pancakes, made with applesauce and chunks of fresh apple mixed right into the batter and toffee sauce drizzled on top. He could practically taste them. 

They had all been so wrapped up in the Zero-XL building and the possibility of finding their dad that they had barely spent any time together, it felt like they were growing further apart rather than closer together as they should have been. They were about to reunite their family, to be complete for the first time in eight years but Alan couldn't help that he was a little worried. What if things changed? What if their dad wasn't the man they all remembered? It had been hard to lose him but they had all come to terms with it, had each learnt to accept it in their own way and now he didn't really know what to think. Their world was about to change all over again and, much as he hated to admit to himself, he was nervous. He craved something normal, something solid and dependable. He wanted his big brother. 

"What's up puddin'? Why the long face?" Selene wandered into the kitchen from who knew where, her face full of concern. "You OK, boo?" 

Alan nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. 

As always, Selene knew exactly when he needed a hug, even though he would never ask for one, and pulled him into her arms. 

"Talk to me, precious." 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head against her shoulder, allowing her warm, comforting presence to surround him. She held him tight, not making any move to let go, something he loved about her. There was never any time limit to a Selene hug, none of that brief embrace then let go as soon as you could rubbish, she'd happily stand there for an hour if that was what you needed. More times than he cared to remember he'd found himself leaning against her on the couch, allowing her to wrap an arm around his shoulder and draw him into a cuddle that could last the entirety of a film. Selene he felt safe talking to, she never judged, he didn't feel like he had to be manly with her, to act mature or hide anything from fear of upsetting or angering her. 

"Scott won't make me any pancakes." Just saying it out loud sounded stupid, like all that was wrong was the fact that he was hungry and wasn't getting his own way. He didn't want to sound like a spoiled brat. "I mean, I wanted him to make them with me, like he used to, but he's too busy. He's right, I shouldn't have asked."

Selene sighed, hugging him tighter. "No he's not, darling. He's not too busy, he's hiding away. And you were right to ask." 

Alan lifted his head to look at her, confusion written all over his face. "Scott's hiding? What for? Scott doesn't hide, he faces everything." 

She shook her head. "No, he doesn't, that's just what he wants you all to think, especially you."

"Why me?" 

"Because you're his baby brother, he wants you to have someone you can look up to, someone dependable and in control, even if he doesn't always feel that way on the inside." 

Alan snorted. "I doubt Scott feels that way, he's so sure about everything. He has a one track mind, get the Zero-XL finished, find Dad and everything will be fine." He pulled out of her embrace and sat down on one of the kitchen stools.

"And are you not sure about his plans?" 

Alan scowled as she zeroed in on the problem with that uncanny ability of hers, not needing him to even voice it. She stared right back at him, face neutral, waiting for him to elaborate. He picked up a spoon that had been abandoned on the counter and fiddled with it, needing something to do with his hands. 

"I don't know." 

She waited some more, leaning patiently against the sink, giving him the time he needed to collect his thoughts and choose his words. 

"What if everything is different after? Not in a good way I mean. Everyone is so desperate to have Dad back and so sure that it'll be brilliant, and I think that too, but…" 

"But there's a little part of you that is scared and worried that he won't be how you all want him to be?" 

He nodded, relieved that she understood exactly what he meant. 

"No one else thinks that way. Just me. Because I'm the youngest and because I don't really remember him that well. It's like…"  he paused, unsure if he could say the words. But this was Selene he was talking to, she would get it. "It's like he's a character from a favourite film, one that's so familiar it's like they are part of your life, but they also seem so abstract, like you know that they aren't actually real. Does that make sense?" 

"Perfect sense. And believe me, you aren't the only one feeling this way. Scott's been in charge of this family for a long time, in charge of International Rescue and everything that comes with it, this is his baby as much as it was your dad's. And John, he is happy and content with his work in Five. You know he loves coordinating and bossing you all around, he loves to organise and prioritise each call that comes in. He told me that before your dad disappeared all he did was field the calls and relay them to base so your dad could make all the decisions. That's going to take some getting used to and some toes are going to get stepped on, there will probably be arguments and compromises will be needed. But it'll all come in time. I haven't spoken to Gordon or Virgil about it but I'm willing to bet they feel the same. You will all need to get to know one another again, you're all different people to how you were then, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing, sweetie."

Alan looked down at the spoon in his hands, now bent out of shape, the bowl twisted back to meet the handle."What if he doesn't like me? " His voice was small, so quiet she barely heard him. 

Oh gods, her heart was just breaking for him at that moment. Her poor little sweetheart. She crossed over and hugged him from behind, kissing the top of his head. 

"Baby, there isn't a single person in this world that wouldn't love you. You are perfect." 

"You have to say that, you're marrying my brother." 

She sighed, flicking his ear gently. "No I don't. And do you honestly think that I'm not shitting myself too?" 

Her rude words made him choke out a surprised laugh as he rubbed his abused ear. "Why would you be scared?" 

"I'm meeting your dad for the first time and I'm not exactly anyone's dream of a daughter in law. I'm a crazy witch that swears too much and moved into his house. He could hate me." 

It was Alan's turn to make her feel better. "He'll love you, because we all do, and there's no way he couldn't. You have made my brother the happiest he's ever been, you've made him better, and Dad will see that. You haven't just helped John, you don't just love John, you love us all." 

She smiled gratefully, hugging him tightly from behind, squishing him against her chest so he couldn't see the way her eyes were damp with unshed tears. "I got stuck with all of you, bloody package deal brothers."

He laughed, knowing she didn't mean it. 

"Give me your comm." 

"What? Why?" he lifted his arm up for her. 

She tapped the screen and waited for Scott to answer. 

"Yes, Alan?" 

"Scott," she wheedled. "You know you love me…will you come and make me some pancakes? " 

Alan muffled a laugh with his hand. His brother was silent for a few moments, then his long suffering sigh floated out. 

"Fine, I'm coming up." 

"How did you do that? How come he never says no to you?" 

"Witch magic." 

"That can't be your answer to everything, you know." 

"Say's who?" 

"Say's me," Scott answered as he entered the kitchen, ruffling Alan's hair affectionately as he passed. 

"Rude, you weren't included in this conversation."

Scott ignored her, knowing exactly what was going on. He felt bad that he'd said no to Alan's request, had wanted to drop everything the second his baby brother had asked, but a sense of duty had prevented it. How could it be right for him to stand around making pancakes when there was work to be done and what seemed like a million things to prepare for his dad's homecoming? Honestly, he was grateful that Selene had intervened, giving him an excuse to spend some time with his smallest brother. 

"What pancakes do you want, squirt?" 

"Toffee Apple," Alan answered immediately. 

"How did I know you'd say that?" Scott reached for a large mixing bowl and gestured to the store cupboard. 

"Because they are my favourites," Alan started taking out packages of flour and jars of applesauce without being asked, both of them falling back into their familiar routine. 

Selene took herself off to the side and sat down at the table, content to watch them work together. Alan helped Scott to measure out the ingredients and they both took turns whisking it into a smooth batter then added a sprinkling of chopped apple into the mix. 

Scott lined up three skillets and set the heat beneath them, letting them get nice and hot. Once they were to his liking he took a ladle and spooned out a big dollop into the middle of each pan. 

So impressive were his skills that he didn't even need to use a spatula to loosen the bottom as she would have done, no he just wiggled the pan and the pancake slid up the side like a well trained puppy, ready to be tossed. 

Scott wiggled the pan a bit more, playing up to the enthusiastic encouragement of Alan, then with a flick of his wrist the pancake soared upwards, turning in midair and coming down to land perfectly in the center of the pan, much to the appreciative cheering of Selene and Alan. 

He repeated the process in quick succession until a large stack of pancakes rested on the warming plate. 

"Can you call the others to come eat?" Scott requested and Alan scrambled to do his bidding. 

"Let's see if I've still got this," Scott muttered under his breath as he took a smaller spoon and dipped it in the remaining mixture, dribbling it into the pan, returning time and again for another dip, concentration etched on his face. 

Selene wandered over to watch over his shoulder, seeing the vague but recognisable shape of Thunderbird Three forming in the pan. Scott let it cook through until little air bubbles had formed all over the surface and then wiggled it up to the side. 

"Ready?" 

Both Selene and Alan nodded and with a deep breath, Scott launched the rocket skyward. It sailed up on its perfectly plotted path, dipped at the tip and turned end over end, hurtling back to the pan. Scott flailed comically for a second before he caught the little rocket, the only damage being a slight crease where the nose cone had hit the rim of the pan. 

Selene clapped, very impressed and Scott bowed theatrically, his face split in a wide smile as he returned it to the heat for another minute then carefully slid the lovingly made treat onto the plate Alan held out. 

"Pancakes!" Gordon cheered as he dashed in, heading straight to the stack. "We haven't had these in years!" He glanced over at the rocket that Alan was drenching in toffee sauce. "Hey! Where's my fishy? You always make me a fishy." 

"I'm working on it," Scott started his dip and dribble routine all over again, drawing an outline first and then filling in the center, all under Gordon's watchful eye. 

Virgil wandered in and retrieved a plate, helping himself to a few from the stack. Brains was next, and then Kayo, followed, slowly and somewhat hesitantly, by The Mechanic, who was still refusing to give anyone his real name. Selene was secretly convinced that it was either something mundane, like Dave, or very out there like Heathcliff and that he had been cursing his parents ever since. Either way, she called him Nic, shortened from Mechanic and he had learnt to do what everyone else in the family did and ignore her. 

A pair of warm arms slid around her middle, making her jump, John's evil chuckle muffled against her skin as he kissed her neck in greeting. 

"How did this happen?" 

Selene looked over at Scott as he caught the fish perfectly, pleased to see the way he had visibly loosened over the last half hour of so of fun with his youngest brother. 

"We wanted pancakes, it's traditional on Shrove Tuesday in Britain."

"Was that all, huh?"

She nodded, leaning back against his space suit clad chest, her fingers lacing through his. "Yep, that's it."

"A fish is easy to flip," Kayo taunted from her place at the table, a fork full of pancake halfway to her mouth.

"I'd like to see you do better," Scott challenged, already working on another, this time star shaped.

"Anyone could do it," Kayo shrugged.

"Yeah," John joined in, obviously in the mood to push some buttons. "It's simply a case of angle, height and force, physics, couldn't be simpler."

Selene grinned evilly. "You know what else is traditional in my country?"

"What?" Alan asked, his voice muffled, cheeks bulging like a hamster's.

"Pancake races."

***

Half an hour later saw them all outside on the beach. Selene and Grandma acting as judges and general rule keepers, while the brothers, Kayo and, after much persuasion, The Mechanic and Brains were all lined up ready to race.

"OK, remember, you can only run if you are flipping and catching and while the pancake is in the air, you can use both hands on the handle if you want to, but if you drop your pancake you have to stop and pick it up, place it back in your pan to flip again, you cannot throw it into the air and catch it. You have to complete one stationary toss and catch before you can pass the pan over. First team to cross the finish line wins. Got it?" They all nodded seriously.

"Ready team A?"

Gordon, Scott, Kayo and Brains cheered in response.

"Ready team B?"

John, Virgil, Alan and The Mechanic whooped in answer.

"Alright! On your marks! Get set…" Brains and The Mechanic readied themselves. "GO!"

Brains gripped the pan handle with both hands and hefted it upwards. The pancake barely lifted and did a very ungraceful belly flop back down but that counted and he managed to take a few steps forward.

The Mechanic had a little more strength and was a tad more coordinated and after a practice flip and catch, he got the hang of it and managed to make pretty good time.

Brains on the other hand, missed the pancake twice and had to retrieve it from the sand and toss it again before he could move. When he managed two flips and catches in succession his team mates cheered like crazy.

He passed the pan over to Kayo who flipped and took off, getting in three steps before she had to catch and flip again.

John took over from The Mechanic, taking his time to do an experimental flip, landing it well enough. He then tried again, leaning forward a bit and tossing at an angle rather than straight up, stretching to catch the flat disc.

"Come on, John, MOVE!" Alan yelled.

John ignored him, ignored the way Kayo was making steady progress down the beach, flipping, catching and running a few quick steps.

One more practice and he got his rhythm. With a wrist flick at the right angle, just the right spin, the right speed… He took off running, managing to toss the pancake ahead of him and catch it every time without slowing his pace once. Alan and Virgil burst into loud cheers, Alan bouncing on the spot eager to receive the pan for his lap.

"What the fu-" Kayo missed her pancake completely as John sailed past her effortlessly. She grabbed the pancake and put it back in the pan, tossed it hurriedly into the air, but over compensated and ended up running right past it and having to backtrack and pick it up again.

"Damn you, Tracy!"

John waved a casual hand behind him in acknowledgement, came to a gentle stop beside Alan, tossed and caught it one more time then handed over the pan much to Selene's supportive cheers.

"Hey! Favouritism from the Judge!" Gordon yelled as he waited impatiently for Kayo to reach him.

"Dude, he's running in a skin tight suit and didn't mess up once, I'm allowed to cheer!"

"Divided loyalties!"

John spread his hands in a what-can-I-say-the-truth-is-the-truth gesture, a smug smile on his face, not even out of breath.

The edge of Kayo's pan hit Gordon in the kidney as she nudged him to get his attention.

"Shit!" he grabbed the pan and tossed the sandy and now decidedly ragged pancake into the air, taking a couple of steps.

Alan was faring better and stopped mid step to stick his tongue out at Gordon. Splat! The pancake landed on his head as he turned back.

"That doesn't count as catching it!" Scott yelled at Grandma.

"He's right, Alan, toss it again, it has to be caught in the pan."

Alan slapped the pancake down into the pan and tossed it again as Gordon started to catch up.

Alan got in a few running steps before he caught the pancake.

Gordon threw the pancake into the air but didn't manage to land it right, one side flopping off the edge of the pan where it ripped, one half falling to the ground.

"Grab it!" Scott yelled.

Gordon fumbled but grabbed the lost half and deposited it into the pan. Tossing both halves was tricky but he managed it, catching both with a little extra effort.

Alan had stopped dead to laugh at Gordon's pancake disaster, allowing Gordon to pass him, but tossed and caught quickly, rushing to catch up.

"Ooof!" Alan landed on the sand as Gordon innocently pulled his foot back. "You tripped me!"

"Judges!" Virgil yelled.

"Two toss penalties for Gordon!" Grandma ruled, much to Gordon's disgust.

Alan made the most of his time advantage to get to his feet and hurry forward. He stopped, tossed and caught then passed the pan on to Virgil.

Gordon caught up and gave Scott the pan.

The two eldest and probably most competitive of the boys started their lap.

"You killed this pancake, Gordy!" Virgil complained as he tried to get the hang of flipping both halves.

"Blame Kayo, she started it! OWW! There was no need to hit me!"

Kayo rubbed her knuckles and grinned evilly.

Scott was, as predicted, making excellent time, tossing and catching with effortless ease while Virgil cursed, struggling to master the art of a double flip and catch. In the end he settled for smaller tosses of a higher frequency, the ragged halves barely lifting up but still clearing the pan and therefore counting, while he trotted along in a quick shuffling run.

The two teams cheered, bellowing encouragement and insults, having left their previous spots and converged on the finishing line.

"Come on, Scott!"

"Run, Virg!"

"Flip it!"

"Call that a toss? Pathetic!"

Scott glanced over his shoulder at his brother.

"Might as well give up now, you can't beat me!"

"In your dreams!" Virgil yelled back.

The finishing line was in sight and with a last burst of speed the racers edged closer.

Virgil, in a last ditch attempt to win, tossed the pancake halves towards the finish line -a beach towel laid out on the sand- and threw himself forward.

Scott, spotting what he was up to, did the same…

Virgil stretched out with the pan, ready to catch the falling food…

Scott dived, reaching out…

They landed in a tangle of arms and legs, Scott splayed out on top of Virgil, Virgil face down in the sand…

They all watched in horrified fascination as the pancakes seemed to hover suspended in mid air for a second before falling down to earth.

Scott flapped with his pan, Virgil flailed trying to push Scott off him, managing to get an arm free to stick out his pan.

PLOP! plop plop!

The two judges, along with the rest of the teams, rushed towards the two fallen racers.

"Seriously?"

"What are the odds?"

"What?" Scott pulled himself up off a complaining Virgil and looked into his pan.

Virgil sat up, doing the same.

In his pan sat Scott's still vaguely round pancake. And in Scott's, crumpled and creased, ripped and sandy, were the lumps of pancake that had belonged to Virgil.

"So who won?" Gordon asked.

***

"I saved you the last pancake," Scott came up behind Alan and offered him the plate.

"Thanks, Scott," Alan shifted over on the bench to make space for his brother and took the plate. "And thanks for today."

Scott sat down beside his brother, draping his arm around his shoulders. "You're welcome, and I'm sorry I didn't come straight away. I guess I've been a little preoccupied recently. I know that's not an excuse, but it did feel like a valid reason at the time."

"I shouldn't have asked, not really, you had more important things to do."

"No, you were right to ask, it's been a great afternoon and I think we all needed it. Thanks for forcing me to take a break."

Alan nodded, leaning closer to rest his head against his brother's shoulder.

"I just…I guess I feel like so much has changed so quickly and it's only going to change more. When Selene said it was pancake day I remembered how great it used to be to have fun and just spend time together. With everything that's been happening I didn't want that to be something that changed too."

Scott sighed, giving Alan's shoulder a squeeze.

"I'm sorry, I should have realised that. I should have noticed that you needed a bit more time than I've been giving you lately."

Alan scowled. "It's not your job to give me time, I'm not a baby, I'm big enough to look after myself now."

Scott chuckled. "Are any of us big enough to look after ourselves? Or is that why we all want Dad back so much?"

"Selene said that you weren't busy, you were hiding," Alan had zero issues with throwing her under the bus, knowing that Scott would never make her feel bad about it.

Scott was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. "She's not wrong, I guess, in a way, I have been hiding. I know I've been driving Brains and The Mechanic nuts with my constant attention. I'm just worried I think, worried that we'll be too late and we won't find Dad, worried that even if we do find him he won't be the man we remember."

"That's part of my problem, I don't remember him, not really. I just know that he was nice, and that everyone was less stressed when he was around."

"Yeah, dads always make things better and easier. Can I let you in on a secret?"

Alan nodded.

"I've been avoiding you guys a bit, especially you, because I don't want to let any of you down."

"Let us down? That's crazy! There's no way you could ever do that."

Scott closed his eyes, feeling so tired all of a sudden, the fun and relaxation of the last few hours fading away to be replaced with the bone deep exhaustion that was his constant companion.

"I'm having all these doubts, Allie. Doubts that I've been too stubborn to voice out loud."

Alans eyes opened wide. Selene had said that Scott was having the same fears he was, but he hadn't really believed her up until that point.

"What do you mean? What kind of doubts?"

Scott turned away to look out over the island to the sea below them, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

"I worry that he won't be alive when we get there, or that we won't even find him, but I also worry about what will happen if we do manage to bring him home. I want him home, of course I do, but things are going to change, and I'm just hoping that it won't be too hard on us all, especially Dad. We've been on our own, doing things our way with International Rescue for longer than we were doing them with him, and I worry that we're going to clash. Or even that Dad won't want to be here any longer, that he won't want to continue the way we are or even go out on rescues again. Can you imagine a world without International Rescue in it? One where we sit at home and don't help people? It was trying to save people that got Dad lost in the first place, and we've spent eight years saving others but left him alone. We didn't help him. What if he resents us for that? What if he blames us?" Scotts voice dropped lower, almost a whisper." What if he blames me? I'm the one that's in charge."

"I've thought all that too, apart from the bits about you, he would never blame you, none of us would."

Scott hugged his littlest brother tighter than ever, until Alan squeaked and squirmed to get away. He didn't know how he'd missed the fact that Alan himself had also been worried.

He was lucky to have his brothers and the friends that he counted as family. He felt his tight shoulders loosen a little. None of them knew what they would find when they got up there, or what would happen after, but no matter what, he'd have the support of everyone he held dear. That would be enough to get him through anything. 

"It'll be alright, Allie. We'll make sure of it. We'll do as we always do, we'll get through it together. Things have a way of working themselves out. We'll get up there, we'll find Dad and we'll bring him home. That's all that matters, that's all we need. Everything else is fixable in time."

Scott looked up towards the lounge windows where the sound of Virgil's piano filtered down to them, along with the indistinct rumble of conversation. 

"We're a family, Dad's part of us, and we'll make sure that he knows that."

#scott tracy #alan tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #kayo kyrano #brains #the mechanic #Thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds tag #FabFiveFeb

[hotheadhero]

Innocent Ploy || Caspar & Linhardt

linhcrdt​ (submission):

“You’re an unreliable taste tester.” His words are quipped in stale jest, bow lips pulled in a moue as he rests his head upon comfortable thighs. Mellow rays of sun kiss against youthful skin; an afternoon breeze tousles olive locks as bleary eyes flutter shut. A picnic as promised, the fourteenth day of the Pegasus Moon successfully reserved for an adamant mage wishing to indulge himself in the presence of his secret crush. All is well, sans for a mild conundrum as to whether assorted confections from the Alliance (a gift from a girl whose face he can’t remember, poor Deer) is deemed worth sampling. Caspar’s insight is worth less than pennies; their difference in their tastes far too severe; but at least his expressions make the experience golden. Curiosity at last manages to spur Linhardt to rise; his arms halo loosely around the older boy’s waist as he presses the side of his cheek against the top of his companion’s head, aegean hues catching onto robin. “Feed me?” An innocent suggestion paired with a meager blink, yet his words hint a concealed command.

“Well, then why do you keep coming back to me?” The words are muffled, spoken around a mouthful of taffy, the one consuming it quirking an eyebrow at the one who had received it. Every year he was able to on this exact day, Linhardt approached him with a bundle of candies, given him from Goddess knows where, and the same demand: Find out which of these are suitable for my tastes. A daunting task, to be sure, and one more doomed to fail than succeed thanks to the mage’s fickle palate–but less for Linhardt meant more for him, and Caspar could never turn down a fresh sugar fix. It was the thing he looked forward to most mid-Pegasus Moon, seeing as he had no special someone right now to whom he could see himself loudly proclaiming his love. Where everyone else seemed to be hugging or kissing someone (and he’d heard rumors of even crazier displays going on behind the scenes), he usually spent this day just as he did all the rest–training, in the training grounds, until whatever appointment Linhardt had set arrived and he departed to receive what was nearly entirely his candy stash.

The mage didn’t answer his question, choosing instead to stare languidly at him from above bent knees. Caspar ill enjoys the feeling of being ogled; so in an effort to shake off that gaze, he advances towards the candy stash, swallowing the last of the taffy as he moves, pausing a moment to decide what next to take. Just as he’s selected another confection–a small foil-plastic bag containing several rough and uneven pellets–the mage rises to stand beside him. He feels the other’s arms wrap around him before he sees them, senses the irritatingly familiar press of his cheek against his hair before he feels it. Why does he keep doing this, he groans inwardly (the thought is mirrored by an outward groan) as his free hand drops to his waist to pry the mage’s hands apart–but it is the next thing Linhardt does that catches him off-guard.

“Feed me?”

“Excuse me?” Caspar freezes in place, the hand with the confections halfway to pushing the mage’s face off of him, his other hand still resting atop the other’s interlaced thumbs. Vexed, he cranes his head up to look at him (never mind that all this does is give him a great view of the mage’s nostrils). “Why are you asking me to do something like that?” he asks incredulously. “You know how to feed yourself. You’re so weird, Linhardt…”

A huff of air straight onto his face is the only response he gets, but clearly the younger is annoyed to even be asked to repeat himself. The arms about his waist tighten; Linhardt is all but saying out loud, Feed me now or I am never letting go of you.

“Fine, fine; I guess I’ll do it already. Just get off’a me, will ya?” He pushes out at Linhardt’s hands again, baps his face with the side of the lumpy confection bag, and finally (reluctantly?) the mage lets go. Promptly he resumes his seated position, knees drawn up to his chest again; but this time he is watching Caspar–expectantly.

Goddess, what is with you today? He tries to shove his misgivings aside as he squats down next to the mage. A soft grunt of effort, and the bag he’s holding is open–the emblem on front is one he recognizes from somewhere in Hevring; perhaps this is why the mage accosted him at all. “Alright, here I go…” Caspar unwraps the foil and pinches the newly liberated almond truffle between two fingers, holding it out towards Linhardt’s face.

He’s acting like such a baby, he thinks. And for what? He doubts Linhardt will ever tell him, so it would be best to get this over with quick. There’s still lots of candy to be eaten, after all.

#thread: innocent ploy #linhcrdt #submission #valentine #// i looked up almond truffles and got things that look like ferrero rocher

[solastia]

Faith | Epilogue

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count: 1,421

Warnings: Childbirth (not really that graphic), epic amounts of fluff

Note: Here it is, the end. I hope everyone enjoyed this story. I know I did. This is one of my favorite Namjoon’s that I’ve ever worked on because it basically just felt like him being himself. I may do drabbles for certain scenes in the future if people wanted them. Happy reading! 

You groaned as another contraction rippled through you, banging your head against the lumpy hospital pillow in frustration. You were trying your best to hold on since Namjoon would be here any moment, but it was getting harder to do. Small hands wrapped themselves around one of yours, squeezing them comfortingly. 

“This is why you should have married my daughter instead. She would never have made you wait this long.” Namjoon’s mother says playfully, though her eyes are filled with concern. 

“He’ll be here, Mom. You know how New York traffic is. How’s Faith?” 

“She’s fine. Keeps asking about you, but Kyungmin is keeping her well occupied in the waiting room. She’s watching cartoons on her tablet and one of the nurses gave her some “paperwork” to fill out for you because she wanted to help.” 

“That’s my girl.”

The doctor at your feet snaps her gloves off and writes a few things down on her chart before turning to you with a smile. 

“Alright, we are at a nine. Just about showtime. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’m going to beat my giant husband to death for putting his giant child inside of me.” 

“Is now a good time to mention Namjoon was ten pounds when he was born?” Mom chuckles dryly, patting your hand in comfort. 

Oh, Jesus Christ. Of course he was. 

“The epidural still working for you?” The doctor asked as a nurse took your vitals. 

“For the most part. It’s not as painful as it was, but it’s still no walk in the park.” 

“That sounds okay then. I don’t want you so out of it pushing is difficult. I’ll give you about five more minutes until I check again. Once we’re at ten, it’s time to push.” 

You nod, deciding not to tell her that you felt like you could probably push at any moment. You needed to wait for your husband. 

You stroke your massive stomach comfortingly as you wait, feeling little ripples as your body prepared itself. You were so much bigger with this one than you were with Faith. Frankly, you were terrified to see what your stomach was going to look like after this one was out. Still, it was worth it. It was all worth it. 

You and Namjoon had married in the courthouse as soon as the paperwork was finished, with his family and your brother Alan as witnesses. The both of you had decided that although he could afford it, you didn’t want some huge event and have to wait to get married, so a quick thing like that was perfect. So naturally, when he had to go back to New York, you and Faith had gone with him. He sold the fancy apartment he’d been using and got you guys an actual house. You were a little frightened by what was going on in that head of his that made him think you guys needed eight bedrooms, however. 

His parents followed soon after, deciding that New York was too far away when they had Faith to spoil and soon another one on the way. Namjoon’s sister was still in California, but she was talking about moving here too. 

You had enjoyed your time working in daycare enough that you were now taking online classes to get an education degree. You were thinking that maybe you’d teach elementary school or something. Whatever you ended up doing, it was still more than you’d ever hoped to be able to do before. 

Namjoon’s career continued to skyrocket, leading him to have an office full of awards and several number one hits. While you would, and have, loved Namjoon regardless of how much money he has, you had to admit it was nice. You no longer had to worry about rent or food, and you loved that your children were never going to have to want for anything. 

Speaking of children, the moment that Namjoon had discovered you were pregnant he’d gone insane. You now had the most opulent nursery that you’d ever seen, with new items being purchased constantly. You didn’t even know what the baby was yet as you both had wanted it to be a surprise, but he still bought everything, saying you could save it for the next one if it didn’t get used. If he had his way, you would have been on bedrest from the moment he found out, but you’d gotten him to settle for carrying you around a little bit more than usual. Every day he was reading a new book, and you swore if you heard the phrase, “Hey, baby, did you know that...” one more time, you were going to strangle him in his sleep. 

Suddenly, the door to your room banged open so hard you were afraid it might have broken, and your husband came barreling into the room looking freakily similar to an angry gorilla you once saw on tv. He rushed to your bed and inspected you from head to toe with wild eyes, leaning over to kiss you. 

“Hey, baby. You okay? Are you hurting? What do you need?” 

And just like that, your body relaxed (as much as it was able) and you directed him to sit on the bed near you, leaving the chair for Mom. You smiled gently, secretly amused over his panic. His Mom looked like she was fighting off laughter herself. 

“I’m fine, now that you’re here. And you’re just in time because they’re coming out now.” 

You hadn’t thought it possible, but his already wide and panicked eyes grew even more. “Right now?”

“Yup. Doctor, it’s time.” 

She raised an eyebrow at you and sat at the foot of the bed. 

“Alright, let’s see how it looks. Oh yeah, it’s go time. Nurse, if you please.” 

After that, it was a flurry of movement at the bottom of your bed as they worked. Namjoon was still cradled against you on the bed, letting you squeeze the everloving hell out of his hand. 

“You’re doing great, baby. So good. I love you so fucking much,” he murmured into your ear as he wiped your hair away from your gross sweaty head. His mom reached over to pat your shoulder a few times as a reminder that she was here to support you. 

The labor was going so much faster than it had with Faith, just a few orders to push was all it took for you to feel that baby nearly out. 

“And we have a head out, one more push guys!” 

You clamped down on Namjoon’s hand as you pushed as hard as you could, breathing with relief as you felt it being pulled the rest of the way. Seconds later, the room was filled with angry crying as your child entered the world. 

“It’s a boy! Congratulations,” the nurse smiled and handed him to you, letting you cradle him to your chest as you and Namjoon looked him over. 

Your son was ugly as hell. Huge, wrinkled, covered in goop, but you still thought he was perfect. You could already see some of Namjoon’s features, but who he looked like more would clear up in a few days. You glance up at Namjoon and absolutely melt at the way he’s staring at his son with pure adoration and wonder. 

“Hold him, daddy. The deal was you got to name him if it was a boy.” 

You gently hand Namjoon your son, and the poor man cradles him with frightened eyes like he’s terrified of dropping him. After a few moments of observing the baby, like he didn’t have a list of names he’d been working on for months, he finally nods. 

“Taeyoung.” 

“That sounds good,” you grin, leaning over to boop your son’s nose. “Hi, Taeyoung. Mommy is going to call you Tae a lot because I’m not screaming ‘Taeyoung’ whenever I need you to clean your room.” 

The nurse collects the baby to clean and take his vitals as the doctor completes her work on your downstairs. 

“I love you. And I love our children. Thank you for my family,” Namjoon nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide the fact that he was crying. You and his mother share a look over his shoulder, smiling at how cute he was. 

“I love you too, Joonie.” 

You notice a nurse finally finishing up weighing your son and you just have to know. 

“So, how much did he weigh?” 

Namjoon’s head shoots up and he stares at the nurse, knowing his doom his upon him. 

“Baby boy weighed eleven pounds, two ounces. Big boy.” 

“Goddammit, Namjoon!” 

“I’m sorry, I love you!” 

- The End -

#bts #bts fanfic #bts scenario #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts fluff #bts fic #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #Faith #solasita