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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

Adrenaline Junkie

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Ages (oldest to youngest):

Philza- 32

Technoblade- 17

Wilbur- 17

(Y/N)- 16

Tommy- 14

Pairing: platonic!sbi x winged!sibling!reader

Warnings: near death experiences, mentions of depression, OOC sbi (this is my first time writing about them)

Summary: Philza finds out about your little “habit”

Word count: 1,962

You grinned as you flew through the air with your feathers glinting in the low sunlight. You absolutely loved the feeling of freedom you got whenever you flew. It always gave you a sense of calm when you needed a break from your family. You loved them of course, but you needed a break once and a while; you often felt drained if you didn’t take some time to yourself. The cold air rushed past you as you continued to flap your wings to keep you in the air.

You could not see the ground below you as you soared higher into the clouds, weaving in and out of them. Flying higher, you steadied yourself to look at the sunset. The mixture of pinks, oranges, and yellows blended together perfectly. You always loved the sunset, it was one of the only consistent things in your life. You wished that you could stay hovering hundreds of feet above the ground, but mobs were going to be spawning soon. The last time you stayed out past sunset you had almost gotten killed by a skeleton. Your dad had given you quite the lecture after he made sure that you were alright. You still had the scars on your arms from when it tried to shoot you out of the air.

You angled yourself so you were upside down, put your arms tight to your sides, and extended your wings fully behind you. You dove closer and closer to the earth, quickly picking up speed. The wind whipped around you as you gained velocity, getting closer and closer to the ground by the millisecond. At the last second, you fully extended your wings and drastically slowed your descent to the ground. The extra velocity you had made you soar up once again before you regained control and landed safely on the ground. The adrenaline that the skydive gave you was the most exhilarating feeling you’ve ever felt, and you were always craving it. Your dad didn’t find it as fun or exhilarating as you did.

“(Y/N) (M/N) MINECRAFT.”

Your father’s voice boomed from behind you. You could tell that he was in a lecturing mood without even having to look at him. He grabbed your arm and spun you around. Grabbing your other arm, he looked you up and down with worried blue eyes. After seeing that you were alright, his gaze hardened and he took a deep breath.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

He rattled on and on about how you could’ve killed yourself, but quite frankly you didn’t care if you died or got hurt. In your opinion, the adrenaline you got was worth it. You had three lives you could spend, and if you did die, you wanted to go out with a bang all three times. What could you say? You were an adrenaline junkie through and through.

He started to drag you inside the house mid lecture. Swinging open the door, he pulled you towards the kitchen, where the scent of fresh mushroom stew wafted from the pot on the stove. Your brothers looked at you each with their own different reactions. Techno looked as stoic as ever, Wilbur eyed you with slight disapproval, and Tommy looked at you with awe and excitement. They must’ve seen your little trick through the window.

“(Y/N) THAT WAS POGGERS! YOU WERE SUCH A BADA-”

Tommy’s excited rant was cut short as he saw the stern look on Philza’s face. After a few moments of hesitation, your brothers were making small talk with each other with Philza occasionally chiming in. Poking idly at your food, you contemplated how you should go about apologizing to your dad.

You supposed that the best route you could go was telling him that you wouldn’t do that again, but you knew you would do it again. That was the biggest adrenaline rush you’ve ever gotten and you were already craving it again. You couldn’t lie to your dad, your wings always gave you away by twitching uncomfortably whenever you lied. On the other hand, telling him that you felt empty when you didn’t have adrenaline coursing through your veins was not an option. He already has enough to worry about with working to provide for four teenagers. Deciding that your best bet was to lie to him and hope for the best, you zoned back into the conversation around you. Tommy was ranting about how he had broken his favorite sword dueling Techno.

“-do you have any idea how long it took me to find that enchantment, Techno?”

Techno huffed slightly in amusement. “Actually I do because I helped you find that enchantment. We found it in the village together, remember?”

“Tommy,” Philza said tiredly, “we can get you another enchanted sword. Techno, you need to be more gentle with your little brother. You have to remember he’s three years younger than you, so he has less experience in dueling.”

Tommy grumbled to himself, busying himself with shoveling food in his mouth. Wilbur glanced at him with disgust.

“Do you have to eat like that, Tommy? It’s disgusting.”

“Well, Wilbur, it’s not my fault I’m hungry.”

“You’re eating like we don’t feed you.”

You usually enjoyed it whenever your siblings argue back and forth like this, but lately it didn’t make you feel anything. You didn’t feel much anymore if you weren’t pulling off impulsive stunts. Of course, you hid it from your family and acted like you did before. It was relatively easy since you were naturally a quiet person. You thought you were doing a great job at it, you pride yourself on your acting skills.

Dinner went by fast without anything notable happening. Since it was your night to clean up, you got to work after everyone parted ways for the night. You stacked the dishes left on the dinner table and got to work washing them. Luckily, since you lived with three teenage boys, you never had to deal with leftovers. You subconsciously stretched and twitched your wings, feeling restless without feeling the wind moving through your feathers. After you got done with putting the dishes away, you took a deep breath and set out on your search for Philza.

Walking into the living room, you saw Techno sitting near the fireplace reading one of his mythology books. “Hey, Tech. Do you know where Dad is? I need to talk to him.”

Without looking up from his book, he responded in his usual monotone voice. “Yeah, he’s up in his room. I think he’s going to bed early.” He paused for a second before looking up at you with sincerity. “You know, he was terrified when he saw you earlier. He thought that you weren’t gonna stop yourself in time. Hell, we all thought you were gonna die.”

That made you feel guilty. He already had to deal with providing and raising you four and he didn’t need anything else to worry about. You felt your wings droop slightly as you sighed.

“...Thanks, T. G’night, love you.”

You started to speed walk to Philza’s room without giving him time to respond. You needed to apologize to him and fast. Out of all your siblings, you were always the one to hate conflict and would always apologize first whenever you got into a disagreement with anyone. You were always the pacifist.

Walking past Tommy in the hallway, he tried to stop you to talk to you, but you ignored him with a dismissive wave of your wing. You heard him mumbling to himself as he started to walk down the stairs, probably to challenge Techno to a rematch. You nervously fluttered your wings, feathers occasionally brushing against the walls and causing you to shiver slightly at the small touch. Your hands were shaking slightly as you took a steadying deep breath and knocked on Philza’s door. Hearing his tired “come in”, you slowly opened his door. He situated himself so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed and gestured for you to sit next to him.

“Hey, Dad. I-I just wanted to say sorry for worrying you earlier. If I knew that it would stress you out, I wouldn’t have done it.” You sat next to him.

He sighed as he wrapped an arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “I don’t care if it stressed me out. You could’ve gotten killed from a fall at that height. You could have lost a life. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t open your wings in time.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then why’d you do it if you knew that you could’ve gotten yourself killed? I just want to understand why you would pull a stunt like that, I’d never expect you out of all of your siblings to do something so dangerous.”

You took a deep breath as you contemplated your next words. You really wanted to tell him about how you felt empty without putting yourself in danger. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t feel like yourself anymore. Unconsciously, your wings started to twitch and pull themselves closer to your body.

You jumped when you felt something else wrap around you. You looked back and saw black feathers. Looking back up at your father, he looked at you with a concerned expression.

“Take a deep breath, you’re shaking hun.”

You looked down at your hands and to your surprise, they were shaking. You took a few deep breaths and clasped your hands together tightly while Philza rubbed comforting circles on your back.

“...It’s just that, I haven’t been feeling like myself lately, if that makes any sense. It’s like I can’t feel anything anymore without doing stupid things that could get me killed. It wasn’t the first time I’ve dived like that. One time I lost control and almost flew into lava-filled ravine.”

“...How long have you felt like this?”

“A few months now.”

Philza felt his heart break, how did he not notice that you were different for months? You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or permanently maimed yourself and it would’ve been his fault because he didn’t notice your mood shift.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s not your fault, Dad. I didn’t tell you anything was wrong. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“We can help you find something that’ll help you. Something less dangerous.”

“We?”

“Your brothers and I. They’ve been listening this entire time, weren’t you, boys?”

You heard shuffling and muffled voices arguing with each other before the door opened to reveal your sheepish brothers. Wordlessly, they all filed into the room. Tommy grabbed your shoulders and yanked you into a tight hug. You felt Wilbur hug your other side before he pulled Techno into the group hug also. You felt feathers tickle your cheek as Philza joined, wrapping his giant wings around you all. The family hasn’t had a group hug since you all started to hit your teenage years. For the first time in a while, you felt happy without risking your life.

After that night, you were right in your assumption that you’d be grounded (literally and metaphorically) from flying for a while while your family worked hard to find something safe that gave you a distraction. Soon, Wilbur found a book about the intricacies of redstone working and you were hooked. Sure, your family was rambunctious and a strange group, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

#sbi x reader #winged reader #sibling reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tw: near death #tw: depression #tw: swearing

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passable-talent · 4 years

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Part 7 of the Dai Li series please!!! Excellent work again, as usual- I'm DYING XD

guess how long it took for this request to come in?

eleven minutes!! thats a new record!!

and so we return... ANOTHER whole month later!

“I need you to tell me what happened to Iroh.”

Zuko kept your gaze, his eyes almost wide. You didn’t look away, couldn’t let yourself. A few heartbeats passed, and he looked away, shame clear on his face.

“He was put in jail,” Zuko said, closing his eyes. “I visited him often, but when I went to help him break out during the eclipse, he was already gone.” Slowly, his gaze returned to you. “I wish I could tell you I knew where he was.” It made sense, what he was saying, and you knew he wasn’t lying. You had hoped something else had become of Iroh, that day, that maybe he’d escaped after securing yours, but some part of you knew that he was likely jailed in the Fire Nation, if not dead.

Broken out, though. He had made it out- just like Zuko. Maybe, someday, they’d see each other again.

But for now, you were satisfied. Zuko, though responsible for Iroh’s imprisonment in an odd way, was ashamed of it. And you wouldn’t hold against him actions that he was paying for. Your heart beating, yet stinging like a raw wound, you fell back into his chest, spending any long moment you could in his arms, the sky darkening around you and revealing its stars.

The days before Sozin’s Comet just felt odd.

Four days from the comet, you went to a play, which didn’t mention you at all. That pissed you off- you were instrumental to their escape from Ba Sing Se! Who the hell else would’ve protected Katara from Azula if not you? Not to mention Zuko died in it, which surprised all of you, most of all, Zuko.

His upset from the night before bled into the next morning, when he attacked Aang. The terror in your chest, when you saw the fire struck toward the avatar again, was thick and visceral. You never thought you’d see him attack Aang again, not after Ba Sing Se, and you didn’t understand what had happened that made him so violent, so suddenly.

But when you attempted to come to Aang’s aid, and stood between the avatar and the prince, you caught his gaze. That malice that you’d seen in Ba Sing Se, that you’d hated so much, that you expected to see now, in a prince gone mad- it wasn’t there.

Zuko wasn’t doing this out of hatred for Aang.

It stunned you enough that the prince slipped past you, continuing his attack. You watched as a spectator, until they dove into the attic, your mind swimming. What could Zuko be thinking?

Okay, so he was confused at Aang’s complacency. Real interesting decision making process there, Zuzu, attacking him to resolve such an issue.

Three days from the comet. You run a drill- which didn’t make much sense as an actual plan, you had to say, but not many of these other teenagers had the benefit of actual military training like you. Your job was to draw fire with Sokka and Suki- and, though Sokka didn’t admit it, to be an earthbender who could throw up a shield at any time. It was fun training, which you hadn’t really gotten to be a part of for a while.

Two days from the comet, and Aang is missing.

Which is really, really, really bad.

Like, sure, the kid wasn’t exactly super ready to face Ozai, but he’s still the avatar, right? That’s still got to count for something. And he’s missing, leaving a very gifted and still extremely underqualified gaggle of teenagers to face the Fire Lord.

So you went to the Earth Kingdom. Zuko took you to an old friend named Jun, who seemed to go way back, back to before you’d met Zuko. She seemed like she’d be helpful, but then revealed even more deeply unsettling information- Aang was gone. Which was much, much worse than missing.

So, facing the Fire Lord without the Avatar. How fun.

And yet, there was a glimmer of hope, in the form of an old, smelly sandal, which really made you wonder why the hell Zuko still had it. And, really, now that you thought about it, how Zuko even got it. The Shirshu could definitely catch a scent from that- anyone with a half working nose could.

One day from Sozin’s comet, and most of it was already gone, spent chasing a shirshu across the Earth Kingdom. Appa was the best, letting you sleep on a massive paw, and though he was itchy, it was much better than taking the time to set up your beds. Though, your rest didn’t last long- quickly you were ambushed, a ring of fire surrounding you. Four men looked down upon you, and though you didn’t recognize three of them, you did know King Bumi, and assumed that the others must be friends, if he were in league with them.

“Well, look who’s here!” Bumi said, a snorting laugh following his words. You saw relief and joy on Sokka and Katara’s face, and so you knew that your assumption was true. It seemed like, for the first time in a few days, you were about to catch a break.

“What’s going on? We’re surrounded by old people.” A smile cracking your face, you had to be grateful for Toph, and her outlook on the world.

“Not just any old people. These are great masters, and friends of ours!” She bowed to an old man with long white hair. “Pakku.”

“It is respectful to bow to an old master,” he said, returning her bow, “but how about a hug, for your new grandfather?” You raised an eyebrow as the siblings reacted with surprise, but not too much, like that was a normal thing to say, if exciting. Following their conversation, though, you picked up enough details to figure out a bit of the history that they must’ve had.

“And this was Aang’s first firebending teacher!” Katara explained, and Sokka went on to explain the name of the third.

“Master Piandao,” he said, and you smiled brightly, even if it was to yourself- this was truly a lucky day.

“So, wait, how do you all know each other?” Suki asked.

“All old people know each other, don’t you know that?” Bumi said with another snorting laugh.

“We’re all part of the same ancient secret society,” Piandao explain, causing your gaze to shift to the matching uniforms they each wore. “A group that transcends the divisions of the four nations.

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Zuko interjected, and you looked sideways at him, wondering how he knew that. He had a smile on his face- he looked hopeful.

“That’s the one!” Bumi answered.

“The White Lotus has always been about philosophy, and beauty, and truth,” Jeong-Jeong began, and as you crossed your arms over yourself to protect them from the wind, you were glad that such a society exists in such a war-torn world. “But about a month ago, a call went out that we were needed for something important.”

“It came from our Grand Lotus,” Pakku said, diverting his eyes to Zuko. “Your uncle. Iroh of the Fire Nation.” While Zuko’s expression softened, yours brightened- Iroh was as trustworthy as you had always known him to be. You were glad to know that he kept peace just as much as he preached it.

“Well, that’s who we’re looking for,” Toph said.

“Then we’ll take you to him.” Reaching Jun and her shirshu, it felt sure that you were going to see Iroh again. But when you followed her for a day, the inevitability of it dribbled away. Yet here, again, your hope renewed, that you could see him again, and be reminded that there was at least one adult in the world that you could really, deeply trust.

“Wait,” Bumi shouted, shoving himself to the midst of the conversation, “There’s someone missing from your group. Someone very important... where’s Momo??”

“He’s gone,” Sokka said, clearly deeply troubled by having Bumi’s nose pressed to his face, “and so is Aang.”

“Oh well, so long as they have each other, I’m sure we have nothing to worry about!” Bumi said, prompting you to wonder what the king had seen and experienced to allow news such as a missing avatar to not startle him. “Let’s go!”

It was a surprisingly far walk to the Order’s camp, in which the old masters caught up with their friends, and filled each other in on details. You kept quiet, having not personally known any of them.

The sun came up as you reached the camp, and Zuko entered his uncle’s tent, to wait. You sat outside with Toph, but decide not to practice your seismics- whatever was happening between Zuko and Iroh deserved to stay between them.

A nice stew was your breakfast, the gaang all sitting around its pot, with Iroh sitting at the head of the group. You’d sat between Zuko and Toph, one leg propped up on its foot with the other extended in front of you. Iroh had given you a long hug when he saw you- delighted that you had continued your path alongside the avatar, and secretly even more delighted that Zuko’s path had also lead him back to you.

“Uncle, you’re the only person other than the avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord,” Zuko said, and though you heard his mistake, you only smiled into your stew.

“You mean the Fire Lord.” Because you could count on Toph to do it for you.

“That’s what I just said,” Zuko snapped, but it was merely his temper, not true anger. “We need you to come with us.” Iroh seemed to consider for a moment.

“No, Zuko, it won’t turn out well,” Iroh began, and you lifted your head, ready to hear true, unfiltered Iroh wisdom.

“You can beat him,” Zuko insisted, before looking sideways across the rest of the group. “And we’ll be there to help.” You gave him a smile, but ultimately turned your attention back to Iroh.

“Even if I did defeat Ozai,” he began, “and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History will see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to grab power.” Slowly you brought another bite of your stew to your lips, but once you had, your chopsticks slowly maneuvered around your fingers, finding a way to fidget as you considered. “The only way for this war to end peacefully is for the avatar to defeat the Fire Lord.” You let out a quick breath, recognizing the sense in his words, but feeling worry reveal itself. Wasn’t Aang... gone? Off world?

“And then... would you come and take your rightful place on the throne?” Zuko asked.

“No,” Iroh said, quickly, like he’d been prepared for such a question. “Someone new must take the throne- an idealist with a pure heart and unquestionable honor.” He was speaking directly to Zuko, and you understood before he’d had to say it. “It has to be you, Prince Zuko.”

In all the time you’d known Zuko, you had known him as a lot of different things. Refugee. Waiter. Friend. Crush. Traitor. Enemy. Prince. Fire Nation. And in all that time, you’d realized his lineage, as the eldest child of the Fire Lord, and certainly most sane. Yet, in all that time, you’d never considered what he was poised to become: the Fire Lord himself.

In that moment, you nearly felt the need to bow, or scoot away, as though you were reminded of his royalty, the true meaning of the term ‘prince’. Wasn’t the bloodline of the Fire Nation royals considered to have been made royal by the spirits?

Inferiority didn’t even begin to cover it, but you’d worry about that another day.

“Unquestionable honor?” He asked, looking away from his uncle. “But I’ve made so many mistakes.” At long last, days after you felt like you had finally forgiven the prince, you were put in a position where you could accept or deny the way he had hurt you in the past. But you weren’t just an earth kingdom citizen, not anymore. You were world-travelled, a soldier, a warrior, a friend to the future fire lord and the avatar alike. You knew the mature and good and right thing to do. And in that moment, it wasn’t to hold above him the things he’d done to you, but instead to recognize the way he’d overcome them. You shuffled closer to him.

“Yes, you have,” Iroh admitted, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’ve struggled, you’ve suffered.” Gently, you took one hand from your bowl, and laid it on his, where he’d left it on his knee. He didn’t look at you, but his fingers slid around yours slowly. “But you have always followed your own path. You have restored your own honor. And only you can restore the honor of the Fire Nation.”

“I’ll try, uncle,” he promised, and you knew he would make good on it.

“Well, what if Aang doesn’t come back?” Toph asked, and you once again thanked her for saying the things you couldn’t seem to get past your tongue.

“Sozin’s comet is arriving, and our destinies are upon us,” Iroh declared, using his chopsticks for emphasis. “Aang will face the Fire Lord. When I was a boy, I had a vision that I would one day take Ba Sing Se. Only now do I see that my destiny is to take it back, from the Fire Nation, so the Earth Kingdom can be free again.”

“That’s why you’ve gathered the members of the White Lotus,” Suki said, her words prompting you to look around at the dozen other old masters, who would be more than capable of pulling your mighty home city from the grasp of a few Fire Nation soldiers.

“Yes,” Iroh agreed, turning his gaze back to the prince. “Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Fire Lord falls, you can assume the throne, and restore peace, and honor. But Azula will be there, waiting for you.”

“I can handle Azula,” Zuko said, malice written across his face, but this time for your first real enemy.

“Not alone,” Iroh insisted, “you’ll need help.”

“You’re right,” Zuko admitted. “Katara, Y/N. How would you like to help me put Azula in her place?” A devious smile spread over Katara’s face.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, and you couldn’t help but smile as their gazes turned to you.

“She’s had it coming,” you said, cracking your knuckles of your free hand into your thigh.

“What about us?” Sokka asked, from between Toph and Suki, “What’s our destiny today?”

“What do you think it is?” Iroh asked, halfway to his next mouthful of stew, and for a moment you saw Mushi again, being cheeky back at the Jasmine Dragon when he suggested you do something that would put you in Zuko’s path.

“I think that,” Sokka began, considering, “even though we don’t know where Aang is, we need to do everything we can to stop the airship fleet.”

“And that means, when Aang does face the Fire Lord, we’ll be right there if he needs us.” Toph’s attitude, as though she would take on the comet herself, and win, filled you with a sense of hope. You could win the day.

You rested your back against Appa’s saddle, leaning over the side to say your goodbyes to the Order.

“So if I’m going to be Fire Lord after the war is over,” Zuko said, once again reminding you of such an insane fact, “What are you going to do?”

“After I reconquer Ba Sing Se, I’m going to reconquer my tea shop!” You couldn’t help but laugh, remembering the place you’d fallen in love with Zuko, back before the world had fallen down around you. You could imagine going back there, when it was all over. “And I’m going to play Pai Sho every day!” His happiness, his hope, was infectious.

“Goodbye, General Iroh,” Katara said, and you leaned down on your elbow, as though you could give him one last hug before you left. You already had- but that didn’t curb the impulse.

“Goodbye, everyone. Today, destiny is our friend. I know it.” You could believe him. For that moment, you were filled with strength, and the feeling that though the day would be hard, it would be won. It had to be.

Appa kicked off from the ground, and you crawled to the front of the saddle, closer to Zuko.

“Hey, Zuko?” You asked, taking a deep breath.

“Yes?” he didn’t look away from Appa’s path, but turned his head toward you.

“When this is all over, I...” you swallowed, hard, but kept yourself from putting it off any further. “I’m ready to love you again. I think I already do.”

And then, in that moment, for Zuko, there was a thousand more reasons why he needed to win the day.

-🦌 Roe

stay tuned (aka request) for the series finale...

edit: | part 8 |

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

Text

Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed? A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can’t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #salt & snow #libra fics

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multisfabulis · 2 years

Text

Land’s Trust in Light

Brothers in Land and Sky (Chapter 4/6)

Word Count: 4663

Finally, after who knows how many months, we get to see what Bris has been wanting to talk to Eric about since the second chapter!

There's not too much to say about this chapter. I started work on it during the week I was posting the RLD fic on other platforms and it took me less than a week to have the rewrite finished, which is good since it allowed me to post this earlier than I originally thought!

Other than that, this is the last you'll see of this fic in 2021! Depending on when I'll finish the next two projects in my docket, I'd say to expect the next chapter either towards the tail-end of February or sometime in March!

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Today was the day. Eric stood outside the door, waiting for Bris to answer as he stewed in his anxiety. He came by as soon as he woke up and dressed himself, forgoing breakfast yet again in order to save time. This was too important for him to miss even a second of. What did Bris wish to speak with him about and what did Ferreth have to do with any of it?

There were some theories floating around in his head. Maybe his and Ferreth’s budding friendship is something Bris is concerned about or Bris needs someone to confide in that isn’t Ferreth for some reason. Or maybe he’s completely misread the whole situation and is jumping to conclusions again. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he gave a complex solution to a simple problem because he thought the obvious answer was too much of a red herring. Well, whatever the case may be, he’d face it head-on like he always did.

The door swung open, revealing Bris on the other side. He had shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well last night. Was he just as nervous about this as he was? “Good morning. Thanks for stopping by.”

“I got here as soon as I could.” He decided to put a pin in it for now, wait till after they started to ask about it. “So, shall we head inside? I’m curious to know what you have in store for me.”

Bris chuckled. “Straight to the point, huh?” He smiled but it was easy to see how it didn’t reach his eyes. “Come on in.” He stepped aside to let Eric through.

Aissyl regarded them with a small nod as they walked past. Bris’ office was the same as usual, the only exception being that a white cup sat on the desk with a familiar scent emanating from it. They each took their respective seats and Bris sipped from the cup, which seemed to perk him up some. The little Eric knew of him, Bris was very casual, bereft of seriousness. Seeing him like this meant that, whatever their talk was about, it carried weight. That didn’t help his anxiety any.

“So,” Bris began, putting his arms up on the desk with his chin resting on interlocked fingers, “how much do you know about Ferreth?”

That caught him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting Ferreth to be brought up right outta the gate like that. “Well… I know he’s something of a handyman around here. Uh, he likes to help people, I don’t imagine he’s that much older than me, and he’s very popular, if what happened yesterday morning was any indication.” He let out a nervous laugh, his answer clearly showing how unprepared he was.

“What about his background? What’s he told you about that?”

“Uh, well, he said that he came from a town called Thesriden and, due to some familial troubles, he followed you all the way here just before his 18th birthday. He’s stayed here ever since.”

“He’s been here for a little over five years now and I’ve enjoyed having him around.” Bris leaned back in his chair, sighing. “Which makes what I’m about to say hard to understand.”

Dread and a sense of déjà vu crept up as Eric asked, “What do you mean?”

“Long story short--” Bris stood up with both hands face down on his desk, looking him straight in the eyes-- “I want you to take Ferreth with you back to Aurora Zenith tomorrow.”

That was the final nail in the coffin of hope. That was precisely what he didn’t want to happen today. Still, it was out in the open now, so he may as well hear what Bris has to say. If there was one thing he was glad for, it was that Bris was nothing like the pompous jackass in Brinegarde.

He breathed in deep before responding. “Why? What’s your reasoning?”

“How should I put this?” Bris took a step back and crossed his arms. “When Ferreth first came here, I told him he could take as much time as he needed to, to sort his life out and all that. He was barely an adult at the time, I knew it’d be a while before he could start putting things into place.”

“It’s rare for someone to have their whole life figured out at that early an age.” He did the same, along with his legs. “However, this is a problem now?”

“Not a problem, per se, but…” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “A lot of time’s passed since then and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. I know he’s fine with where he’s at now but I’m afraid of him missing out on some great opportunities because he doesn’t try to go after them.”

“Have you tried bringing this up to him? I understand where you’re coming from but I have to ask.”

“Yes but it ends in us arguing about it until I decide to drop the matter entirely because I don’t wanna fight with my best friend over something like this.” He went over to one of the walls and leaned against it. “I know he can do something great with his life, I just don’t want him to regret wasting his youth doing menial labor when he’s got the makings to become somebody.”

Eric stood up from his chair at this point and walked around the desk to face him. “I may not have known Ferreth for very long but I’d be lying if I said I disagreed. He’s got a lot of potential and it’d be a shame to see it squandered before it was even given the chance to grow.”

The corners of Bris’ mouth curled up into a small smile. He meant it when he said he believed Ferreth was capable of becoming something great. He was strong, outgoing, and, most importantly, had people skills. Almost any job he might have wanted would be easy for him to get and succeed at. It was just a matter of what his life goals were and how he would go about accomplishing them.

“Why me, then?” he asked, tilting his head. “What do you think I can do to help?”

“He’s taken quite the shine to you, so much so that--” Bris stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder-- “he’s willing to take the fall for what happened yesterday.”

He tensed up. “You knew?”

“Ferreth’s not a klutz and, truth be told, you weren’t exactly being subtle about it. He doesn’t do that often and it’s because of what he did I realized I could trust you with this.” He took his hand away.

Eric’s brows furrowed in thought. He obviously knew what his answer was but he wondered if it was the right one. This wasn’t like Brinegarde, where Lianthorne all but threatened Ven’s safety if he didn’t take her back with him. Bris seemed to be genuinely worried about Ferreth’s future and he was doing this out of the kindness and care he had for his friend. Even so, it was wrong of him to go behind his back like this, despite what good intentions he had. Eric didn’t feel comfortable making such a huge decision on Ferreth’s behalf.

“Does he know about this?” He felt as if he already knew the answer.

Pushing himself off the wall, Bris replied with, “No, he doesn’t. I haven’t spoken a word of this to him.”

“Then I’m sorry but he deserves to know.” Ferreth wasn’t even aware of what was going on behind the scenes, which was disappointing but not surprising. “This is his life we’re talking about here and I absolutely refuse to choose for him what he should do in regards to it.”

“I understand. Just know that I won’t kick him out if he decides to stay here. It’ll probably lead to a fight later but--” Bris stood up straight and met his gaze-- “he’ll always have a place here in Thornewind.”

Eric was about to cross the threshold when he stopped. This was most likely the last time he’d be seeing Bris before he departed from Thornewind tomorrow. He turned around and saw him sitting at his desk again, eyes fixed on a particular spot that had nothing on it. Maybe it would be better if he left him with some parting words to alleviate the mental and emotional strain he was under.

“Bris, I may disagree with how you went about this--” he watched as Bris lifted his head-- “but I know you were only looking out for him.”

There was a ghost of a smile on his face and he exhaled. “What kind of friend am I if I can’t tell my best friend that I’m worried about him?”

“Someone who wants the best for his brother so much, he’s willing to risk everything for him.” That could’ve been worded a tad differently but it worked all the same. “You screwed up but that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it.”

“...I just hope I can.”

Those were the last words he heard before exiting the windmill. What greeted him outside was a bright sun, the noises of the afternoon crowd milling about the place, and a nice, summery breeze. However, he wasn’t up for partaking in the scenery. There was a lot going through his mind right now.

The main goal would be to talk to Ferreth. He needed to be made aware of what Bris had planned on doing with him. Considering how he’d been curious to know what Bris was keeping secret about as well, Eric could kill two birds with one stone here. The only thing he was unsure on was how to break it to him. Would he have to sell Bris out or was it possible to tell him without making it seem awful? Was there even a way to do it that didn’t mean potentially ruining their friendship?

In any case, he needed to strategize. Even if he managed to think of the perfect solution to his problem, he still had to find Ferreth, which was going to be difficult, to say the least. Due to the nature of his work, he could be anywhere within Thornewind and Eric simply didn’t have the time to search through every nook and cranny the town had to offer for one man. With any luck, Ferreth would stop by the inn to check in on him and they’d proceed from there.

As he walked back to the Dravitae Inn, he studied his surroundings. People were smiling, talking with one another, having fun, just being happy. They all had stories he wasn’t aware of, lives that were nothing more than a tiny blip to him, but they still held meaning and value. How many of them did Ferreth know? How close was he to them and did he make their lives better, even in the smallest of ways? If he did decide to leave Thornewind, would they be sad in knowing he was gone? Ferreth was a popular man, as Eric noted yesterday, so his departure could possibly affect each and every life he’s touched in some way. Would it be right then to ask that of him or would it even be right at all? He didn’t know.

Soon after he arrived at the inn, he went straight to an empty table in the common room. Lunch was a few slices of bread topped with a dark brown, sugary syrup he recognized as treacle and a cup of tea off to the side. He didn’t have much of an appetite but he needed to eat something if he was going to be having a serious discussion with Ferreth about his future.

God, how was he going to do this? It had only been months since he was last in this position yet he was still clueless. He didn’t even see Ven that day, which he really should’ve in hindsight. He certainly didn’t want to throw Bris out to the wolves for making a stupid mistake but he still made a stupid mistake. There really was no way to salvage this wreck, was there? Why did Bris drag him into business he had no right to involve himself in?

Nothing to do about it, then. He was just going to be straightforward with Ferreth, tell him everything while hammering in the fact Bris did it out of the kindness in his heart, even if the way in which he did it was pretty dumb. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, after all. It was worth a try.

It was still early in the afternoon. If he had any chance of finding Ferreth, now would be the best time to go. He stood up from the table and strode towards the entrance, leaving behind his empty plate. He only got past the threshold when he ran into someone, which almost sent him falling back before he caught himself.

What little confidence he had evaporated upon realizing it was Ferreth. He had a hand up in greeting him and a bright smile plastered across his face. Oh, how great being as blissfully ignorant as he was would be, Eric thought.

“Hey, I was just coming to see you!” If only he could share in his merriment…

Fighting to keep his voice steady, Eric answered him with, “Hey, um, so I talked with Bris this morning…”

“What did he say? I’ve been dying to know.” Here comes the anxiety.

“Well--” he clapped his hands together-- “let’s talk about that in private, actually. Maybe out in the tulip fields?”

“Uh, sure, is there something wrong?” Ferreth asked, looking at him confusedly.

“No! No, I just, I think this just deserves to be said without any prying ears listening in, you know what I mean? I swear it’s nothing bad!” This was turning into a shitshow with how shoddy his performance was.

A moment passed between them before Ferreth acquiesced. “Okay, whatever you say.”

So they journeyed to the tulip fields. Anxiety continued to simmer in his stomach as they neared ever closer to their destination. With the moment of reckoning practically here, he found that the already difficult to navigate situation had become damn near impossible to even cross because the man was walking right beside him without a care in the world and he was going to ruin him. How he wasn’t setting off any alarm bells, he had no godforsaken idea.

They finally arrived at the tulip fields. Clouds were lazily rolling across the sky, casting shade over the town with bouts of sunshine between. The warm breeze from before was still there, ruffling the flowers and cooling the sweat off his body. What was the best way to start this awkward conversation?

Ferreth took a seat on a patch of grass in a nearby empty field. “So, what happened with Bris that’s got you so spooked?”

“Well, uh…” He gulped, knowing he needed to choose his next words very carefully. “Yesterday, when Bris told me to come by his office, I kinda noticed something odd.”

“Odd? Like what?”

“Like the timing of it. Bris said that right after you took the fall for me for what happened at the windmill. That was when I realized you were a deciding factor in that.”

“That’s weird. Like, I can’t see how I’m a part of this when I’ve got nothing to do with your lines of work.”

“That’s because it’s not work-related.” Eric breathed in deep, clasping his hands together tightly. “Bris asked me to take you back with me to Aurora Zenith.”

Silence fell around them. He chanced a look at Ferreth, since he kept his gaze averted from him the whole time, and his heart dropped. It was as if he’d been stabbed in the gut, the shock and bewilderment clear as day on his face. Then his expression twisted, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth grounded together. This was anger brought on by a perceived betrayal, which wasn’t pretty.

“What the hell, Bris?” He pounded a fist into the ground next to him, causing it to rumble beneath Eric’s feet. “He’s kicking me out? And he didn’t even have the balls to say it to my face? Seriously, what the hell, Bris?”

Oh, he was pissed. “That’s not what he said. He just wanted to see if maybe putting you in a different environment would help you reach your potential.”

“Oh god, he’s still on that?” Ferreth groaned, standing up to face him. “Look, whatever happens between me and him is our own business, he had no right dragging you into it.”

“I agree!” Thank god he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. “But I’m in this now, whether we like it or not, and I can understand why he did this. He’s just worried about your future.”

“But why does he think it involves him? What I want to do with my life, regardless of it being now or later, is none of his damn business! I’m a grown man, not some child he needs to coddle!”

“I understand but I’m saying to please consider where he’s coming from on this. He doesn’t want you to waste your life away.”

“Again, I ask, why does it matter? It’s my life, my decisions, and how I wish to live it has nothing to do with him!”

This was about what he expected. In truth, he could see both sides of the argument, though he’d never admit it in fear of sounding like he was siding with one man over the other. Bris shouldn’t have tried to go behind Ferreth’s back and taken away his right to choose for himself while Ferreth seemed to be adamantly refusing to look at the situation from Bris’ point of view, painting him out as the unequivocal bad guy. At this time, it may be best to offer an outsider’s perspective.

“...You have every right to be angry with Bris for what he did.” He forced Ferreth to meet his eyes, cutting off whatever else he had to say. “I’ve been in your position before, having someone close to me do something they knew I wouldn’t approve of because they thought they knew what was best for me.” Memories of his father and the night he and Alek decided to run away floated up to the forefront of his mind. “However, unlike what happened with me, Bris only did this out of concern for you. He was willing to risk losing you if it meant you’d have the best possible future.”

Perhaps from the intensity of his speech, Ferreth appeared to have calmed down somewhat. “I just don’t get why he feels that way. It’s not like he’s going to be affected in some way if I don’t ‘reach my potential’ or some other shit he says to make me feel better. I know I don’t have any.”

He was utterly floored by that statement. It wasn’t just shock he felt upon hearing the sincerity in which he said it. There was also sadness at Ferreth’s apparent belief in the idea of him having no potential or even the lack thereof within himself. He wasn’t that much older than he was so someone must’ve instilled that backwards line of thinking into him when he was young enough to need the opposite. Who could be so cruel towards an impressionable child?

“Well, I disagree.” He took a step forward. “While I don’t condone Bris’ actions, he’s not lying when he says he sees potential in you. We both think you can be something, carve out a very promising future for yourself.”

Ferreth scoffed at that. “I highly doubt that. What do I have that others don’t?”

“Not just anyone has the strength, the patience, or the charisma you possess. You like to help people and they seem to really like you in return.” Eric huffed out a laugh. “That’s something I envy you for. I had to learn how to be good with people but you’re a natural at it. You think that’s not a benefit?”

“Let’s just say that--” his eyes narrowed as his lips curled into a tight smile-- “I’ve been told I’m not worth much in my life.”

“Well, whoever said that to you was wrong and, if they were here right now, I’d tell them they could go fuck themselves.”

Ferreth broke out into laughter, effectively lightening the mood. Eric may have been taught proper etiquette when he was a young child but that didn’t mean he had to hold his tongue in every situation. Who was going to reprimand him for slipping into vulgarities every once in a while? He managed to lift Ferreth’s spirits up some at the very least so that was good.

As Ferreth’s laughter died down, he cut in with, “Anyway, I’m not going to force you to make a decision now. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, which means you have until then to tell me if you’re staying or coming with me.”

“Would it really be okay if I came to Aurora Zenith?” Ferreth asked with uncertainty. It reminded him of Ven when he brought up the same proposal to her back at the forest in Brinegarde. “If I left, that is.”

“Yeah, I mean--” he chuckled at the incredulity of the situation-- “this honestly isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s just my terrible luck at getting involved in something like this yet again, especially since it’s only been a few months after the last.”

“Right… Well, I need to go talk to Bris.” Ferreth walked past him in the general direction of town. “You didn’t deserve to be dragged into this.”

He grabbed his arm before he left, forcing him to stay for just a little longer. “When you see him, go easy on him. He just didn’t want to fight the man he considers to be his brother.”

There was a sigh. “Unfortunately, even brothers fight sometimes.” Those were the words he parted with.

He watched Ferreth’s figure shrink the further away he got till he was no longer in his line of sight. He figured he may as well stay in the tulip fields, since it was too early to go back to the inn and he needed someplace quiet. Taking Ferreth’s seat, he laid back and looked up at the azure expanse above. He saw several small, shadowy figures fly across the sky, although it was hard to tell whether they were birds or dragons. His childish past self hoped it was the latter.

God, did he ruin Bris and Ferreth’s friendship? While Ferreth deserved to know what Bris was planning, it didn’t mean he should be crucified over making an egregiously stupid mistake. There really was no way for someone to come out of this unscathed by the end, huh? He still had a lot to learn when it came to people and relationships so this was, in some regards, a learning experience.

It was then he remembered he had his bag on him. He brought it with him to Bris’ office and he hadn’t had a chance to take it off since he left this morning. He pulled out his sketchbook, flipped to a blank page, and began drawing. It was more of a doodle than a full-on sketch but it gave him something to do other than think, even if it was only for the sake of venting.

His idea of dragons came from the illustrations he’d see in the books he’d read as a child, which were large, scaly beasts with hungry eyes and sharp teeth that had the ability to fly and breathe fire. Whether fantastical dragons and Dradnachs were much the same or not remained to be seen. The two creatures he drew circling each other looked better than he thought they would, despite the wonky anatomy.

One of the dragons had bandages on its legs and tiny stones floating in its space while the other had a scarf tied around its neck and a pair of great, big wings on its back flapping to keep it aloft. They were meant to symbolize Ferreth and Bris reigning over their respective domains but he figured the sketch could also work as a gifted child’s doodle of their favorite story. Looking at the finished product gave him a bittersweet feeling in his heart.

He didn’t know what the answer would be. Obviously, he wanted to believe Bris and Ferreth would reconcile and put this whole thing behind them but reality often wasn’t so generous. He could only hope their bond was strong enough to withstand this hurdle, to not let it tear them apart.

It didn’t matter if Ferreth stayed or left Thornewind. What truly mattered was that land and sky would continue on as brothers.

#airi's writing #oc; Eric #oc; Brirsyrun #oc; Ferreth #Corona's Shadow

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julieloveupstead · 3 years

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"You Are My Now and Forever" - Upstead

Description: My version of what could or might happen after the last scene from 8x16. I hope you enjoy it

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Events that had taken place only a few moments ago were blurring into one. I didn't know what was real and what was fake. I don't even remember by what miracle I managed to get home. Everything seemed so strange to me, as if all the movements were made by another person, I was just looking at it.

When I entered the apartment it was dark and which was ironic because that's exactly how I felt - as if the darkness had taken over me and I couldn't get out of it.

- Hey, I thought I'd meet you at the hospital - and as if out of nowhere Jay appeared, who like the light he'd just turned on in the living room made all the bad memories from an hour ago evaporate. In that moment, I realized for the first time how much of an influence Jay has on me. How much he has changed in my life and how much he means. All my life I didn't know what it meant to love, what it meant to be loved. I didn't have an example of a loving, supportive family at home. Affection, intimacy, loyalty, love, respect these adjectives were not used at home.

I saw that Jay was saying something, but what I couldn't focus on what he was saying. I just tried to nod, because all I had in my head was the thought that I couldn't let the only good thing in my life get screwed up. I have to, I want with all my might to hold on to him and what we have because what we have is so special and for the first time in my life I feel happy and safe. When I'm with him all that matters is the here and now. No work, no case to solve, no problems, no memories, and no mavens from tonight with Voight. It's just him and me. And that thought causes me to say:

- I love you. - stopping my boyfriend in half a step with this (6 months together and calling him a boy it still makes me feel amazing in my lower abdomen and disbelieve that this wonderful man is mine and most importantly wants to be mine)

- I love you too," he says surprised by my bravery, which even I am surprised by, because not long ago he had a panic attack at the sound of those 3 words.

This guy looks at me with such tenderness and love that I don't deserve, and certainly not after what I did today. I was beginning to barely see through the tears appearing in my eyes. I'm afraid it's the last time I'll hear those words out of his mouth and surely as soon as he hears about what happened in that warehouse in his eyes I'll see disappointment and that will mean my end. Feeling how much I wanted to keep him I let go of all the barriers, because in the end what else was left for me?

- You are so honest and I... - and I just wanted to feel accepted, loved and seen as valuable. Somehow I couldn't say the words out loud. I swallowed my saliva loudly at the memory of my childhood as my own father instilled in me that I deserved nothing, that I was just a worthless loser. And now that I finally felt that I was finally worth something to someone, worth loving, worth trusting, worth telling the biggest demons he was stewing inside and worth opening his heart once again, now I had to break something.

- Hey, hey, everything's going to work out with us too - the way he calmly and tenderly addressed me hurt me even more because he recognized my anxiety right away. It always surprises me how accurately he can read me as if from an open book, in fact I read him too.

- I don't want to be without you," I said with a fear that I was no longer able to mask. I can't live without him. Without it, all my demons will hit me with double or even triple force. Jay is the rock for me, the anchor of what I cannot survive without, he is my everything.

- You never will," he said with tears in his eyes and a slight smile of delight. This man surprised me all the time with how much love he had for me. I wish I could say or show how much I love him, but I fail every damn time. Maybe my father was right and I don't deserve any love?

- Maybe we should get married? - i was surprised by what I had just said, and so was Jay, and yet I really feltrything's going to work out with us too - the way he calmly and tenderly addressed me hurt me even more because he recognized my anxiety right away. It always surprises me how accurately he can read me as if from an open book, in fact I read him too.

- Maybe we should get married? - i was surprised by what I had just said, and so was Jay, and yet I really felt this is the right time. I don't want to lose him. I'm afraid of losing him. I could feel the panic starting to set in.

- I'm serious, let's get married," I repeated this time more confidently to reassure him that I wasn't joking.

- Honey," he smiled tenderly, and a single tear began to run down her cheek. His gaze showed nothing like love, his one hand went to my cheek and brushed it. The gesture caused me to let my eyes close and snuggle more into his warm and soft hand. - I would be honored to marry you, to call you my wife, to hear you call me husband from your lips. I can't wait for the day I see you in church in a beautiful white dress when we have a bunch of beautiful children. I love you so much that you can't even imagine and I can't imagine on this finger - with his other hand he lifted my right hand, with his finger he played with my heart finger and then he kissed it in the place where the ring and the wedding ring should be. And he looked at me again - I love you and I will never stop. Remember what I told you a few weeks ago? I'm not going anywhere, really anywhere. So tell me what's going on? What happened to make your beautiful head germinate with the thought that I might leave you? - throughout the monologue he spoke in a calm, quiet and monotonous voice that is reserved only for me. Jay always knows when something is bothering me and as of now he knows exactly what, well maybe almost. We are mentally connected and I never wanted it to end. More tears flowed down my cheeks as he gently wiped them away with his thumb. I pulled my nose, wondering how I was going to tell him all this.

- I can't tell you. I'm afraid you'll leave me, that you'll hate me, that... - my voice was breaking.

- Hey, Hailey, baby. It's never gonna happen. - said with tenderness and assurance. I closed my eyes again and thought once again of a goat's death and began to tell the story.

- Voight found Roy. He specifically sent us to the houses we were bouncing off the door, and he chose the right house himself, where he found information on where Roy was. After I dropped Adam off at Kim's house to take care of Makayla I followed Hank's trail and found him in the warehouse. - i paused to swallow my saliva, giving him a moment to calm down. Jay didn't say a word, just listened. I felt my legs no longer me and Jay guided me to the couch. I sat up and he planted me in his lap, cradling me tightly against his torso. To calm myself down a bit, I start playing with the fingers of his hand and continued on. - Walton was handcuffed to the pipe and Voight was beating him - I closed my eyes having the events described before my eyes. Jay must have started to suspect something because he pulled me tighter to him so that I was almost lying on top of him. - When Voight spotted me he pointed the gun in my direction - I could feel my defender's muscles toning I knew he remembered the story of the burglar when I was twelve and how he when not was in bad shape after a bout of PTSD set in and pointed a gun in my direction. He still blames himself for that and for what he said at the very beginning of our relationship about my father and my life. I forgave him a long time ago, and he hasn't forgiven himself. And how could I not love him, but going back - Jay I really tried to do everything right. I tried to reason with the Sergeant, but he was like he was in another world. Eyes full of murder, and zero emotion on his face. It was the first time I really saw Hank's resemblance to my father and it scared me so much. I thought I'd finally convinced him to keep Roy, that it could all still be explained. When Voight tried to unseat him Roy grabbed his gun - my breathing began to quicken, I closed my eyes - I thought Walton was going to shoot Voight. It was a good shot, I... no... i had a way out. It was a good shot.

- Those, come to me, sweetheart - when I started to cry Jay kissed my forehead and when I thought that you can't hug a man tighter, I was wrong. - Roy was unpredictable, he almost killed Kim and Kent and could have killed you and Voight. It was a good shot. Baby look at me - I did as he asked. He kissed my eye, then my eyes, then my nose and mouth. - It's not your fault, it's Voights you understand? He's got blood on his hands, not you. I love you and I will not let anyone hurt you. Hailey Anne Upton you are mine now and you will be my future and eternity you understand? - I looked into his eyes and became convinced that he really thinks so. I was overwhelmed by the love I get from him, I'm very lucky. I kissed him tenderly as if there was no tomorrow. I was unable to say how much I love him, or how grateful I am for his presence in my life, so I hoped a kiss would give it all away.

"I love you Jay," I put my forehead to his.

- I love you Hailey - this time he kissed me.

- As for my question ... - I started hesitantly, but Jay cut me off

- We will go back to this, you will see the engagement, it will be one of the most beautiful memories of our lives, of course, apart from the our wedding and the arrival of our children - he laughed tenderly and winked at me and I laughed and hugged more in my boyfriend, in my present and the future.

#upstead #upstead fic #jay x hailey #jay halstead #hailey upton

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bluefirewrites · 3 years

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Heeeey, i hope you're feeling better after your presentation🥺 is it still headcanon time? bc i kinda have a sad one lol so in episode 6 when Luke blows the candle and his parents look around kind of sensing his presence what if thats a thing Luke used to do when he was little, he was so exited that he would blow the candles before emily and Mitch could start singing happy birthday, literally every year since he was 2

Oh boi.

We getting into it.

I see it. I can totally see it.

Luke has always been impatient. Since Day 1.

Emily and Mitch know this. Oh, how they know this.

Luke’s the kind of kid who waves around the macaroni artwork to show his mom, not even bothering to wait for the glue to dry. Who drinks freshly made hot chocolate, and he pants and complains about how it burns his tongue. Who jumps into the pool before Emily has the chance to put sunscreen on him.

(‘Face first, full charge’ ammiright?)

So yeah, it was expected that he would be a bit too excited to wait for his parents to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and just blow out the candles.

Even in the presence of other kids, at his birthday parties, he would smile cheekily at his friends who would open their mouths to sing (or try to beat him in blowing out the candles- which never happens) but then get quiet once they notice smoke already trailing from the dead candle.

He thinks it’s so funny.

Those years, Emily and Mitch found it endearing and adorable.

Later years, beginning right around 12 years old, it started getting less endearing.

This was when they would try to snap some pictures for the grandparents and they kept having to scold Luke for already blowing out the candles while Mitch fiddled with the Kodak.

And then Luke, getting into his teen years, didn’t want to put on the birthday hat his parents always had him wear, and cheeky morphed into snarky, and Emily considered buying him the trick candles that won’t blow out because this was getting ridiculous.

It got worse when Luke began his music journey.

Arguments broke out often between him and his mom over guitar and the band and how he wasn’t trying hard enough in school.

It came to the point when they had more bad days than good, and on the good days with no arguments, they were both still stewing over the last one.

His 15th birthday was ugly.

Luke had been trying to weasel out of birthday cake tradition that year, was almost out the door to head to Bobby’s when Mitch caught him and made him go back into the kitchen.

He landed on this chair in an angry thud, arms crossed and frowning at the homemade cake.

Emily eyed him from across the table, lighter in hand, “Are you going to be difficult today? Of all days?”

No response. Then the candle was lit.

Emily didn’t have the chance to take her finger off the lighter when everything got blown out and Luke shoved the cake away from him before storming out of the house.

His 17th birthday was one for the books. Especially when it was the last birthday they ever spent with him.

Or didn’t.

Because he had a gig that same night.

Luke came home late afterwards, attempting to sneak in quietly.

But he knew he was busted once he saw the kitchen light left on and his parents were seated at the dining room table. Cake in the center.

They didn’t light the candles that year.

All Emily and Mitch remembered about that night was yelling and arguing, slamming doors, and crying.

They had no idea that they wouldn’t have the chance to make up for it the following year.

The first birthday since Luke died was the hardest.

Because he only died a few months prior. The pain was still fresh.

They didn’t start having cake until some years down the line.

Emily would always bake Luke’s favorite, chocolate cake, even though it was not a flavor that neither she nor Mitch particularly liked.

But they already broke tradition before, they were not going to do it again.

They would sit down, every year, the house always quiet- they knew better than to plan anything else, to go anywhere else during this time of year. They’d bring out the cake, they’d light the candle, hold each other’s hands, and blow it out together.

They figured it was some sort of catharsis every time they blow it out, as if to make a wish, as if to wish that wherever their son was that he was content and at peace.

But then this year, when he would have been about the same age they were when he died, something strange happened.

It started off like any other year since Luke’s passing, with Emily struggling to bring the cake onto the table, Mitch’s hands reaching over to steady her. They lit the candle, but right before they could make their wish-

It went out.

Emily raised her head, trying to feel for the breeze that may be was carried over by the air conditioning. But no. She was stunned. Mitch shared the same look of cautious surprise.

This never happened before.

But the timing, always too quick to be blown out- it had them hoping-

Could it be?

That day, there was something different in the air.

When Mitch and Emily held hands and blew out the relit candle, they sworn they felt a gentle blowing of air from beside them. They sworn they felt a presence there in the house that hadn’t been there before.

For the first time, Luke was there. It felt like he was there.

But little did they know, that he was there, in his seat at the table, wishing he had the chance to wear the birthday hat one more time, to grin into the camera for Nana, to have been there to blow out the candles on his 17th-

Just wishing he had left things differently...

#imma hit ya'll with the feels #anything with emily gets me emotional #don't leave things unsaid people #luke patterson #emily patterson #mitch patterson #jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp hc #blue answers asks

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oloreaa · 3 years

Text

Vencuyanir Ch. 6 - The Departure

Summary: Elana runs out of time to protect Bean as they depart Arvala-7

Words: 6.2k

Warnings: References to canon-typical violence, hints of unresolved trauma, discussion of grief, worry about the safety/future of own children, anxiety/mental breakdown

Notes: Hello there :) big thanks to both @mndalorians and @teaofpeach for looking over the first and second draft respectively, I love you both so much and thank you for all your help!!

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After a short period where Elana and Bean delved into their bond, simply feeling the other's presence after nothing but silence for so long, Bean started to become fussy. He wanted to move around, to make up for the days of lying still in the pram, and started to become a little bright bundle of energy that Elana sat down on the ground. She watched him like a hawk as he took off, stumbling and heading towards some rocks, picking them up, throwing them, running some. Repeat.

Squeaking as some mudjumpers started to appear, he began to chase after them, giggling happily. He played for several hours, always under the watchful gaze of his caretaker, catching up on movement he had missed the last few days, brimming with energy.

Elana leant against a rock and simply rested, feeling completely at peace for the first time since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives.

Speak of the devil.

"He's all right?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked and she flinched, not having seen him coming. Automatically tensing up, her heart started to race, fear paralysing her limbs, and dug her nails into her palm, the sting sharp. She turned her head, and saw that his gaze was fixed on the child, his shoulders relaxed.

"Seems that way," she chose to reply carefully, barely hiding the tremble in her voice, "He worked up quite an appetite."

"Won't he choke on the mudjumper?"

"He has done it often enough. Also, I fed him a few hours ago, he is probably only playing with them."

The Mandalorian scoffed, shaking his head slightly. There was a silence between them, and in that moment, between the sun setting, casting long shadows that contrasted with the beautiful sky and the rugged mountain line, it was almost comfortable. It was a pity, Elana thought. The Mandalorian seemed like a decent person half the time.

Decent enough for a bounty hunter, at least.

"We're going to Nevarro, right?" Elana asked, almost absentmindedly. He turned his helmet towards her, and gave a sharp nod without saying anything. "You'll get your reward, and they'll get Bean," she continued, not really looking at anything, "Do you know what will happen to me?"

It was a genuine question. Would she go with Bean? Would they even let her stay? Would she be stranded on Nevarro? Would the Mandalorian keep her? Elana felt a shiver run down her back at the last thought, and she barely resisted the urge to scoot away from him.

"I don't know," he said haltingly, "You're not the bounty."

She did not know how to respond to that, so she settled on watching Bean, exhaling slowly. He did the same, and again Elana got the feeling that he could actually be rather nice to be around if he was not a bounty hunter. But what did it matter? Her thoughts were running at hyper speed levels, and every possible scenario played out in her head. He could help them escape. That was unlikely though, since he had gone through all that trouble to secure them. The Mandalorian cleared his throat after a while, and straightened, taking a step away from her.

"The Crest will be finished soon," he said, "We will depart tomorrow."

"All right," she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. The sun was disappearing behind the rough mountain ranges, and dusk started to settle in.

"I'm glad Bean woke up," he then added in a low voice as he started to walk away, "I'm sorry about the Mudhorn."

Elana stared after him as he made his way to Kuiil, something like hope starting to bloom in her chest.

Bean.

He used Bean's name.

Not quarry, not it, not the baby.

Bean.

Maybe, just maybe... the Mandalorian was starting to become attached to them.

Elana picked Bean up, who did a great job at protesting, wanting to chase some more mudjumpers, and tilted him onto her chest. "We'll go to them, all right?" Elana murmured to him, bopping Bean once, a giggle escaping him at the movement, "It's gonna be really dark soon."

The sun was setting on Arvala-7, the scorching heat dissipating, and the unexpectedly cold breeze made goosebumps appear on her skin. Suppressing a shiver and the urge to rub at her arms, Elana straightened her posture even more, pushing her shoulders back as she sat down near Kuiil's heater, where a pot of stew was currently being warmed up on a portable stove.

The Ugnaught gave her and Bean a smile, as he slowly stirred, reaching for a small shaker and adding a few dried herbs to it. Looking up into the night sky, she soaked in the view, knowing that it was probably the last night she would be on Arvala-7. The galaxy above them was becoming more and more visible, so clear that it seemed as if the atmosphere around the desert planet did not even exist. With no clouds on the horizon and no light pollution from the inhabitants there was nothing that inhibited the view of the star-speckled sky.

It was weird, Elana thought. To think that she would leave the planet she had been trapped on for so many months. But each time she had thought it would be different. She always thought that she could maybe save enough of the meagre wage the Niktos gave her. That she would be able to convince someone to help her and Bean get off the planet. Or an elaborate escape plan, something that included taming a wild blurrg and heading to the first settlement she found, like those old Empire-approved holomovies she and her friends used to go to cinemas to watch, celebrating another week of school finished.

But it was nothing like that. Her departure from Arvala-7 would be unceremonious and undignified, and the fact that she could not know how long Bean would still be with her left a bitter taste in her mouth. Elana held the baby a bit closer at that thought, a shiver running down her back.

Should she be counting the days she still had with him?

Should she be hugging him at every chance, feeling the comforting weight of the baby in her arms, relishing in the way he snuggled up to her, the tickling fuzz on his head, his soft ears? Bean's sweet noises when he was happy, the way his eyes would light up, a smile on his chubby face? Elana felt tears starting to rise as she thought about how she might very soon not be able to hear Bean wheezing softly and snoring at night, lying peacefully on his back, tiny hand wrapped around the soft blanket he adored. Blinking fast, and tilting her head upwards, she pretended to be watching the stars as Kuiil hummed and stirred the stew.

If she had to be honest, she was not in the mood for any company that night. She had not been ever since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives but in that moment, especially that night, Elana wanted nothing more than to be able to lock herself into a closed room, Bean safe in his pram and just give herself time to grieve for what was about to come.

Even if she was starting to feel the freezing cold of the night, she did not want to move closer to the heater, did not want to feel obligated to say anything in company. Bean made a small distressed noise, and looked up at her. His dark eyes were wide and he started to point at the heater.

The mental impression of warmth pressed against her, and a fuzzy picture of him and her near the device was clumsily put into her mind. Elana frowned and told him no quietly.

I don't want to talk to them, she sent as an explanation, I'm unhappy with them, I don't want to be here.

Bean's ears drooped, and he frowned right back. An image slammed into her mind, of her from his point of view, hunched into herself, shivering. Elana stared at him, eyes wide. He wants me to be warm, she realised, and could not help the touched smile that flitted across her face.

"All right", she murmured, an arm snaking under the little bottom of the child, holding him securely, and scooted closer.

Settling down near the others, Elana ignored how the helmet of the Mandalorian turned towards her, the beskar reflecting the light. Kuiil was gazing at her kindly, and smiled. "Do you want something to eat?" Kuiil asked.

She accepted quietly with a nod, and smiled back. A small bowl with the stew was given to her, a spoon already sticking in it, and Elana blew on it carefully before tasting it.

It was fine enough, so she blew some more and fed it to Bean. He chomped down on the spoon with a loud click of his teeth, making her chuckle at that. Sharing the meal between them, it did not take long until the stew was finished.

The Mandalorian was fiddling with his vambrace, seemingly fixing some of the wiring in the low light, probably waiting for them to be done so he could eat himself. Maybe her nagging had gone through his thick skull. Elana still does not know why she cared so much, but out here? Other than Kuill? He was their enemy and safest ally at the same time, and the logistics made her head hurt the longer she thought about it. Elana wondered why he did not just go into the almost finished ship, but figured that it was purely his business and it was not as if it was important to her.

Bean babbled happily to himself, his little claws scratching at her arms in a gentle manner, and she pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, soaking up the warmth the little child has to offer, feeling pure love across the bond with a soft sigh. The cold was starting to become uncomfortable at this point, but she felt too self-conscious to try to scoot even closer to the device.

Bean started to squeak at her, almost indignantly, before he stilled. Turning his head towards her, eyes wide, he gave an almost comical shiver. Elana squinted down at him, the corner of her mouth curving up.

He shivered again, holding eye contact, eyes big and watery. "Are you for real?" Elana asked, highly suspicious, a smile creeping on her face.

Bean basically started to vibrate, ears flopping up and down while shivering as dramatically as possible. She could not help the quiet laughter that escaped her. "All right, sweetpea," she told him, giggling while stroking his cheek affectionately, "You're a good actor, I know."

His eyes started to shine, and a low "aaah" escaped him, clearly happy that his plan is working. Elana scooted closer to the fire, still smiling, not missing how the two others have their heads turned towards her, clearly having been watching them both.

"The child is cunning for his young age," the Ugnaught said, voice level, kind eyes twinkling at her.

"I think he is cold," she replied, her smile almost playful, and nudged the little one, who gave a coo.

The Ugnaught nodded, and looked at the green child. "You are a smart one," he told Bean, "Able to recognize what others need." Bean cooed and tilted his head at Kuiil, ears held up high, before snuggling into Elana's chest again.

You're the sweetest, best behaving, most wonderful baby ever, Elana thought at Bean, scratching his back in a circular motion, and it was not long before the combination of having a full belly and being held by her lulled him to sleep. Even though there were not many words exchanged, the atmosphere was almost comfortable, no tension in the air.

"I will return to my home now," Kuiil said after a while, and stood up with a grunt, "I have spoken." Raising a hand in a wave, he gathered what he needed, and mounted the blurrg that had been tied to a rock formation. As he patted the side of the blurrg several times, he called out: "I bid you all goodnight."

The Mandalorian nodded, and she did the same as well. "Do you want to eat the rest?" Elana asked after a while, pointing at the leftover stew.

"Later.”

Elana raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll go into the Crest," he said, almost defensively.

"Do it before the stew turns cold," Elana told him, adjusting Bean on her lap, his limbs akimbo while he cooed in his sleep.

The Mandalorian just sighed, before helping himself to the food. With a full bowl in his hand, he turned, gave her a nod which she chose to interpret as thankfulness, and started to walk towards the Razor Crest.

Gathering one of the blankets and the sleeping roll that Kuiil had left for them, Elana made herself comfortable on the ground, the motion practised after a few nights out there. There was no one out here other than blurrgs and lizards, and they had stayed away the last few nights, so she figured that it would not change. Putting Bean into his pram, maneuvering her roll close to him, she lied down and stared at the lamp in the middle of the camping site.

Elana did not know how much time passed before the Mandalorian's steps sounded again, but she closed her eyes and pretended that she was asleep. She heard him getting closer to them, and he stopped at Bean's pram. After a while, he pressed the button, and the pod slid shut.

Not knowing what to think of it, it took a while until Elana could fall asleep.

The next morning, they readied everything for departure.

With an approving nod, Kuiil declared the Razor Crest safe for deep space and hyperspeed. The Mandalorian gave a relieved sigh at those words, and it was only a reminder of how time was running out, how it would not be long until he would hand them over to his client.

The bounty hunter cuffed Elana to the pram for the first time in days when he and Kuiil went into the ship for a final inspection before takeoff. Fuming on the ramp of the Razor Crest, worry and fear churning in her stomach, she stared hard at the horizon, trying to take in the way Arvala-7 looked like. It was unlikely that she would ever return again, and even if she did not always enjoy life here, she would not have met Bean without landing on this planet. Bean was the most important thing for Elana right now, and she would do everything for him, anything, trying to keep him safe.

He was still snoring, the golden light of the sunrise illuminating his face gently, and she hoped that he would not wake up until they are in space, wanting to avoid him being fussy during takeoff, since it could irritate the Mandalorian. Elana would not take any chances.

"I can't thank you enough," she heard him say to Kuiil, "Please allow me to give you a portion of the reward."

Crinkling her nose at those words, she scoffed lightly, nails digging into her palms.

"I cannot accept," Kuiil said, and it did not surprise her. He had helped them for free the entire time, wanting nothing more than to bring peace to his valley. His next words only worsened the sour taste in her mouth. "You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service."

The Mandalorian was quiet for a while, before speaking up again. "I could use a crew member of your ability. And I can pay handsomely," he offered.

"I am honoured. But I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude."

Blinking away furious tears, she stared hard at the ground. If Kuiil can understand the worth of a life free of it, why was he... simply giving Bean up like that? Surrendering an innocent child, just like that?

"I understand," the Mandalorian said, "Then... all I can offer is my thanks."

"And I offer mine."

The Ugnaught was quiet for a few moments, and she felt his gaze on her back, but she refused to turn around. Elana simply straightened, taking a look at the sleeping Bean in his pram.

"Thank you for bringing peace to my valley." It almost sounded as if he was talking to the Mandalorian and her at the same time, and if she pondered on his tone, she thought that she could find a hint of regret in his words. But what did it matter?

Heavy steps sounded as Kuiil descended the ramp, and she stood up the best she could, facing him. "And good luck with the Child," the Ugnaught called from on top of his blurrg, "May it survive and bring you a handsome reward."

The Mandalorian nodded at him, and Kuiil raided a hand in goodbye, old, wise eyes on her, meeting her gaze.

"I have spoken."

Elana clenched her jaw, frown on her face as the ramp raised, cutting off her view from the planet.

"Get up," the Mandalorian said, took off her binders, and pointed towards the ladder. Elana winced at the air that brushed the sensitive ring around her wrists, the skin feeling raw. She climbed, head tucked in low with the new environment, not wanting to bang her body against something, and when Elana arrived in what looked like the cockpit, she quietly inched to the side, letting the Mandalorian step into it as well.

He walked past her, used his vambrace to gently nudge the pram to the right of him, onto a co-pilot's seat. As Elana looked around, there was a symmetrical seat on the left side as well. Sitting down into it, hands in her lap, she watched the Mandalorian as he started to prepare the Razor Crest for takeoff.

Ignoring the whirr of the engine as the ship raised into the sky, and ascended in the atmosphere, she tried to calm her pounding heart and the sinking feeling in her chest. When the ship arrived into orbit of the planet, the warm glow of it slowly fading into the cold and infinite space, Bean woke up. Pushing himself up, and cooing loudly, both adults turned to look at him.

"Morning, Bean," she whispered, and gave him a shaky smile. His eyes went huge as he took in the viewport speckled with stars.

The Mandalorian shifted in his seat, pulled at a lever, and they entered hyperspace. Elana stared at the tunnel of swirling lights, heart beating fast in her chest. It had been so long since she had last seen this...

Bean made a loud squeak, eyes bright as he took in the new sight. Pointing excitedly at the lights, she felt a Pretty! coming from him.

The Mandalorian turned around, took a look at the babbling baby, and gave something like a huff of amusement. Bean squealed happily, and made grabby hands towards the blue swirling tunnel, little body wriggling as his ears were raised high. Smiling at the sight, Elana subtly took a deep breath, feeling the claw around her heart easing slightly. Only slightly, though.

They stayed in the cockpit for a few hours, not a word passing between them, the only noises coming from Bean.

Elana wondered whether the Mandalorian would play music, or put on a podcast, or watch a holomovie, anything that she herself would have probably done, but he just stared into the hyperspace tunnel, not moving an inch, with no indicator that he would do anything else.

Maybe he's meditating. Elana tried to find an explanation for why someone would choose to pass the time in hyperspace like that. Or he is sleeping, resting his eyes, whatever.

Because there was no way the Mandalorian simply stared into space for hours at an end without doing anything.

... right?

At some point, the Mandalorian started to fiddle with the sleep cycle on the console of the ship.

"You and the baby can go down for rations," he said. Flinching at the first words that were spoken in hours, she had to calm her fast beating heart. He’s just saying something normal. Not threatening, Elana told herself, and offered a quiet "okay" in response.

Looking over to Bean, she saw that he was chewing on his blanket, and she stood up and gently took it out of his mouth. "Come on," she told him, "We're gonna eat."

Scooping him up, ignoring the slight pang her wrists gave, the skin red and raw after many days of constantly wearing the cuffs, Elana turned to the Mandalorian. "Do you want something as well?"

He was quiet, before saying: "I'll be fine."

Elana blinked in confusion, but walked towards the closed door of the cockpit. It suddenly opened with a hiss, making her jump. When she turned her head to shoot a glare at the Mandalorian, his helmet was still in the same position, the blue light of hyperspace reflecting off it.

He did that on purpose, that bastard, she thought viciously, hiding a grimace.

Setting Bean down, before climbing halfway into the hull, Elana propped her upper body against the ladder so she could grab the baby, nestling him against her shoulder.

With a slight struggle, she got both of them down safely, and looked around the hull, her wrists burned fiercely. Spotting a cabinet on the side where there could be rations, she pressed the button next to the ladder.

When it opened to a drawer full of weapons, she could not help but sneer. He seemed to be a tough enough adversary without all those ridiculous guns he had organised so neatly inside the drawer.

What was it again? He's a Mandalorian, weapons are part of his religion. Elana scoffed quietly, and muttered "Nutjob" under her breath. Bean cooed curiously, reaching a hand out to the drawer. She balked at that. "Don't even think about it, honey," she scolded him, and quickly pressed the same button so the door would shut, "You're too young for this violent nonsense, you hear me?"

Pressing another button after carefully inspecting it, it seemed to be the right one, filled with packaged ration bars organised in some compartments. With a raised brow, she took in the contents, and started mentally filing away the different types of bars he seemed to have. Apparently he cared enough to upkeep a variety of selection, and with a smile she saw with a smile that he had those that the encampment had as well, those that Bean loved.

She fished that bar out, and showed it to the baby, who made a happy noise as he recognised the packaging. Bean promptly pointed at in expectantly, waiting for her to open the bar for him.

Elana nuzzled the side of his head with a fond smile. "Yeah, honey, give me a moment," she said, before taking out two random ration bars, and closing the closet.

Seeing an open cubicle, she sat Bean into it, and pointed at him sternly. "You stay here, I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Bean just looked up at her with big dark eyes, and gave her a gummy smile.

Opening the packet for him so he could chew on it, she left the little one in the cubicle, and pulled herself up into the upper level of the Razor Crest. Clenching the ration bar in her hand, she entered the cockpit, and put it onto the console. “Here,” she said quietly.

The Mandalorian's helmet snapped to her. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, "That's... very thoughtful of you."

Elana clenched her jaw and looked down, already regretting this. "You're welcome," she whispered, before turning, preparing to leave.

"Why are you like this?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked.

She did not turn around, her nails digging into her palms, it hurt, but she could not bring herself to unclench her fist.

"Why are you so…" kind? Was that what he wanted to say?

The Mandalorian never finished the sentence, but the question lingered in the air. She felt her ribcage pressing in, her breath escaping her, heart thrumming against her sternum, and did not know how to respond. The words bubbled up and pressed against her throat, almost painful, and even as she swallowed, the pressure did not disappear, continued to hurt as she stared at him with burning eyes.

Because the universe has not been kind to me.

Because even though she had lived a fairly privileged life, she had to see her planet's destruction on a newscast. Because she had lost everyone she ever knew in a blink of an eye, stranded on a foreign planet where no one showed her kindness when she needed it.

She wanted to say everything and some more.

Because no matter what, kindness costs nothing and is worth everything. Because even though you're our captor, you are decent enough for not hurting Bean, for not doing worse to me.

"I don't know," was the only thing she could manage, staring into the blank visor, feeling everything and nothing at the same time, body numb. She took a step back, then another, before fleeing the cockpit, feeling her eyes burn fiercely as his gaze lingered on her, almost intense enough to scorch.

Dropping down into the hull again, choking down her heavy breaths from the confrontation, hands shaking and limbs trembling, she was greeted with the sight of Bean standing in front of the open weapon drawer. A ration bar was in his hand as he chewed slowly.

"Bean!" Elana admonished, hands on her hips as she watched him turn around slowly, ears flattening against his head as he realised that he had been caught.

He gave a coo at her, his dark eyes wide as if trying to appeal at her maternal instincts with acting cute. And damn it, it is working.

"You're in big trouble if I see you doing that again, you understand?" Elana told him sternly, trying to get her emotions under control, "It's dangerous! Those are not toys, those can hurt you if you touch the wrong parts."

His lower lip wobbled, and he looked up at her, eyes heartbroken. She scooped him up, and stepped closer to the drawer. Pointing to the various things mounted in there, she explained. "Those are blasters, they'll shoot a laser bolt out of the parts there, you see? It hurts a lot when you're shot with it, so stay away from them, okay?"

Bean blinked up at her again, and then ate the last bite of the ration bar, gurgling. Elana sighed, before closing the drawer. Taking a look around the hull, she sighed again. "Now, where are we supposed to sleep? You don't suppose on the floor, right?" Elana asked Bean, who did not give an answer. Not that she expected him to.

She started to carefully explore the ship to avoid thinking of the bounty hunter, holding Bean tightly so he would not even get the idea of going off on his own again. Elana took note of the different crates, the nets hanging above holding various tools. The location of the standard issue medicine cabinet that was well stocked, and the carbonite freezers in the back.

Elana stared at them, feeling her heart drop.

She had only heard horror stories about them, how the frozen person would still be completely aware of their surroundings the whole time they were in. How it would hurt to get frozen and that they would be sick for a long time after they were released from the device. Was it that there was a sixty percent probability of survival? Or was it lower? How did the Mandalorian even get his hands on these?

Suddenly she realised how lucky she had been to not be slabbed by the bounty hunter, how he had tolerated every time she had snapped back. Did he only slab dangerous quarries or did he refrain from doing it to her because he would have to look after Bean without help?

Elana did not know the answer to that, but one thing she was certain of. She was running out of time with which she could escape. Bean gurgled at her, and she could do nothing but sigh. What a mess. What an absolute, horrible mess.

Turning away from the carbonite freezer, she settled down onto the floor of the hull, ignoring the biting cold of the metal. >"You're not going anywhere near there, all right?" Elana told Bean in a stern voice, "It's dangerous, okay? In fact, everything on this ship is very, very dangerous."

She pointed a finger at him, and Bean lowered his ears, mouth down turned.

"No."

He whined loudly, and raised his hands up at her. Elana sighed, and pulled him onto her lap, holding him close.

"Oh, honey," she whispered, and pressed a kiss onto his forehead, "What have we gotten ourselves in?"

He seemed to understand the weight of the question, and did nothing but coo and nuzzle her skin, ears hanging low.

How do we get away now?

It was long until she was able to settle down, from pacing along the hull of the ship, trying to work out some of her nervous energy. She was quietly panicking until Bean had fallen asleep on her shoulder and is currently snoring quietly while his warm breath puffed against where his little face was. Then, she had carefully lowered herself onto the ground, back leaning against the hull, giving Bean the opportunity to snooze some without her pacing like a nervous Mid Rim chicken. As his breaths deepened, she started to quietly hum a song, letting the melody soothe both her and the baby.

He snuggled into her chest even more, and she carefully traced a finger over his cheek, looking down at him with the utmost devotion. There is nothing she would not do for Bean. Her scalp hurt, so she reached up, taking care not to disturb the baby, and started to methodically loosen her braids, sighed in relief as the tension lessened, massaging the ache away.

The little lump on her chest gave out a little coo and sighed contentedly, nose twitching slightly. She stroked the soft ear, tracing the shell of it with her fingers, and started the song from the beginning again. She was close to falling asleep herself, she noticed, but was so tired that she actually did not care.

She will deal with it tomorrow.

Elana jerked up, wide awake once more, the panic swelling up again. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow Bean will be delivered to the client. She exhaled shakily, feeling her heart beat fast.

She propped herself up a bit, looking up and saw the Mandalorian watching her. She did not know how long he had been standing there, but she definitely had not heard him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Elana's eyes wide, and his visor trained on her. Who knew what kind of face he had underneath the helmet. Who knew if he was sneering at her or mocking her.

Bean let out a yawn that cracked his face wide open, and then pressed his face into her shirt, little legs scooting up froggy style, straddling her stomach. She automatically moved her arm under his little bum, supporting the child, and looked down at the green baby.

His face was squished into her, head turned slightly upwards, button nose twitching. He started to snore softly, and Elana felt her heart break.

That was what the Empire wanted to destroy, that little, wonderful, precious creature, her child. They would take his innocence away, and she would probably never see him again. For the rest of his life, he would be experimented on, he would never have a childhood, he would never have friends, he would only know the hands of uncaring scientists that would toss him away as soon as they finished their examinations.

Hate welled up in her, white hot anger, pure despair and helplessness swirling inside her as her eyes started to burn.

The Empire would take her child away and give him a horrible life. They would take Bean away and there was nothing she could do. The only thing that could happen is that the Mandalorian changes his mind, but that was unlikely. If he did not want to turn them in, he would have left them on Arvala-7. Elana felt wetness on her cheeks, her vision of Bean blurring more and more. Careful so her tears would not drop on the sleeping child, she tilted her head back and stared hard at the ceiling.

"Could you move the pram to me, please?" Elana could not recognize her voice, hoarse and meek.

The Mandalorian just nodded in her peripheral vision, pushed a button on his vambrace, and the pram floated to her, nearly at ground level. Setting the sleeping Bean into it, she was glad he did not wake up when she shifted him.

As soon as the lid of the pram closed with a slight hiss, she clenched her eyes shut and inhaled deeply, making no noise other than slightly hitched breaths. She did not shift in her seat, did not move or change position. Elana just could not stop crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks without her consent, and she did not bother to wipe them away, her limbs not cooperating anyways.

Elana couldn't fight against the Empire. She was not able to when they destroyed her planet. She would not be able to save her baby as well. She could not fight against a Mandalorian.

I hate you, she thought at him, jaw clenched tight.

She saw how the Mandalorian's helmet tilted in her direction, observing her. Her vision blurred some more, new tears welling up.

I hate you, Elana thought again, heart aching, choking on a sob that caught in her throat. I hate you so much.

The Mandalorian just kept watching her, not moving an inch. She finally looked back, tears obscuring her vision but she gave him the fiercest glare she could manage. Pushing herself up from the ground, away from the pram, she knew that she looked exactly into his eyes.

Elana stepped closer to the Mandalorian, and he straightened. Leaning into the Mandalorian's personal space, getting into his face, she wanted nothing more than just stab him in the neck. Never before had she felt such hatred towards anyone.

He is the one who will give my child to the Empire.

"Go to hell," Elana heard herself say, her voice barely above a whisper, breaking on the last word. Before he could say anything, she pushed past him, and disappeared into the tiny fresher, slamming the door shut. Back leaning against the door, she slid down to the ground, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.

Never before had she felt such loathing. She hated him. And that was apparently all that was needed for her to completely break down. Burying her face into her hands, she sobbed, shoulders shaking under the strain of keeping quiet.

It did not matter to her anymore. The notion that she had to maintain the stoic facade in front of the Mandalorian had gone up in smoke, she did not care at all if he found her pathetic. Let him mock her for all she cared, let him laugh himself stupid at the sight of her tears, reduced to rubble under his silent judgement.

She felt like a complete fraud, everything she did before to protect Bean? It was worth nothing, because he would give them up anyway. She could have tried to kill him before they left Arvala-7, but she did not. Never mind what would have happened, she could have killed him, stabbed him in his sleep while they were repairing the Razor Crest. She and Bean could have stayed at Kuiil's place until they would have to leave again, seeking shelter somewhere else. If she had done that, Bean would not face capture tomorrow. If.

Elana cried until she was trembling, every single one of her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She cried until there were no tears left, and then some more, until exhaustion took over her and she fell asleep on the floor, against the door of the fresher, heart aching too much for her to handle.

If. Oh, only if.

……………

Thank you for reading!!

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x oc #pedro pascal #oloreaa writes #vencuyanir

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

On Your Six, Chapter 5

Day 5: Mission Go- Cooking for @taiqrowweek

Wait what do you mean I switched the prompt days around? Dunno what you’re talking about ;)

(Don’t worry it’ll make more sense in the long run)

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Sleeve

Tai had started feeding him.

At first, it had begun with little things, shortly following that fateful day he gave him the picture. Prepackaged snacks or fresh fruits or vegetables as a healthy addition to the cheap, instant lunch meals he could easily afford. Then it quickly dissolved into tubberware covered leftovers of various pastas or stews, things that kept well and were well adept at making in large servings.

By late May, with the advent of Qrow’s twenty-sixth birthday, Tai arrived at his place loaded with grocery bags, a proper skillet and a determined purpose to make his favorite dish of chicken curry. It was, hands down, one of the best meals he’d had in years.

Yet, even after the occasion passed, the trend continued until it seemed Sunday became the day his stomach most looked forward too. Normally, Qrow would put up a fight about being doted after – Tai wouldn’t be the first omega to develop the habit. The most prominent of whom had been Maria, whose sessions had to be shorter than most both due to her age and the difficulty working with thinner, more wrinkled skin.

But she had also been a grandmother. A feisty one, who smacked him on the head a lot with her cane, but was also kind and worried and constantly remarking on his too-thin frame until he just gave up and let her do whatever she wanted.

But with Tai, he couldn’t even manage to feign annoyance. In part because Tai’s cooking was damn good and he’d be a fool not to gobble it up at every opportunity. But also, because it gave an excuse for their sessions to run long.

He didn’t even think it was a one-sided endeavor. Beyond the innate omega instinct to care for and Tai’s naturally generous personality, there was a loneliness in those blue eyes that told the truth behind all the fumbled attempts to waste time or make breaks run longer. By July, Tai wasn’t leaving his place until at least ten at night.

Neither of them complained about the arrangement.

Then August rolled around, and Qrow had an absolutely foolish idea.

The first Sunday of the month was on the 5th and it passed with little incident or notice. They were back at the first of the designs, arguably the most complex with the amount of color layers needed, so their dinner was nothing fancy. Just simple sandwiches and side salads, so most of their time could be spent under the needle instead.

He’d banked on that happening so that what would happen next wouldn’t have a chance of paling in comparison.

You busy tonight? He messaged early Wednesday.

Tai responded a few hours later, probably when his first break popped up. No. Why?

Come over after work. I have something to give you. He replied after he’d finished with his client for the day, sometime early afternoon.

The final response was cheeky and towards the end of the school day. You’re about as subtle as a brick.

Almost at 6 P.M. on the dot, there was a knock on his door.

“Coming!” Qrow called, dancing between the kitchen and the table to make sure everything was perfectly in place. He gave it all a satisfactory nod, then hurried over, sliding the door open only enough so he could wedge between it and the threshold, blocking Tai’s view.

The omega looked different, fresh out of work. His blond hair had been lightly gelled, just enough to give it a bit of bounce. The casual wear he was normally in was swapped out for a more professional look; pants and a collared shirt ironed of any wrinkles and shoes shined enough they gleamed.

So of course his eyes fell onto the one thing that completely ruined the look with a teasing snort. “Nice tie, Tai.”

“You like it?” He grinned, pulling at the absolutely hideous yellow abomination that was covered in yapping cartoon corgis. “The kids love ‘em. They call me the Funny Tie Guy.”

Oh Gods. “Bet you get a kick out of it every time.”

“I literally can knot get enough of it.” Tai had the nerve to wink as he said it too.

Qrow groaned. “You are so lucky it’s your day. Speaking of-” He swung the door open, revealing the room with a flourish.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Still, it was satisfying to see the way Tai’s face lit up with joy as he spotted the modest little table set for two, dinner already set in their bowls and the most expensive white wine he could reasonably afford already poured. The omega looked from it to him, grin growing, “You did all this?”

“Yeaaah.” Qrow flushed, trying to hide his anxiety. He’d never been great with giving gifts. “Happy birthday ya big lug.”

Tai laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. This is just what I wanted.”

He could have stayed there forever – but he didn’t work himself to death to let dinner go cold. He pat his back, mindful of the healing wounds, and said, “Let’s eat.”

Qrow’s relationship with cooking was disjointed and the spread seemed to reflect that. The fried rice was perfect; it was one of the first things his mother taught him how to make on the stove. The garlic broccoli, more of a staple in the Xiao Long family, had a bit of crunch where some of the pieces hadn’t fully cooked through because he hadn’t had Tai beside him to remind him to stir. Just like the many other easy things he helped him learn how to make when he found out he and Raven had been living off nothing but white rice and peanut butter sandwiches for months.

The moo shu pork was the trickiest and most complicated dish by far and nothing he’d ever even attempted before. His amateur hand left it looking a bit of a mess as they poured it onto the tortillas. Unpretty as it was in presentation and lacking a few of the pricier ingredients like oyster sauce and sesame oil, the marinade had the pork still bursting with flavor.

The wine was there to act as a garnish to make the food seem better than it was. Which was probably why Qrow kept pouring it until he and Tai had split two and a half glasses between each other. Either that, or because Tai was adorably chatty when he was tipsy.

“So, there we are, watching about thirty of these Fayblades spinning around, knocking into each other and some of the cheaper ones are falling apart. Everything is going too fast for any of us to do the math problems on them. And Missy and I just look at each other like we both just realized what a horrible mistake we made. It was only the first week back and I was pretty sure we were about to lose an eye or something.” As he told the story, Tai animatedly gestured around with his glass, liquid sloshing almost past the rim. “We get the kids to back up until they all stop. Then Missy starts gathering a few up, saying how this time we would try less so we can actually keep count – when Velvet speaks up from the back and says ‘Blue wins 124 to 90’.”

Qrow polished off his own glass, setting it on the table. “That’s the quiet one with the rabbit in her bag, right?”

“Mmhmm. She kind of tries to hide when everyone starts looking at her, so I don’t say anything right then. Just take it as fact and move on. But when recess comes around, I pull her aside and ask her how she knew the answer. And she tells me, completely serious mind you, that she’s a camera. So it was easy to do all the math when she basically had the pictures saved in her head. And I’m like, holy shit!” He taps his temple for emphasis. “She has a photographic memory.”

“Ain’t that just a myth?” He asked, starting to gather the empty dishes.

Tai waved him off. “Pfft. Qrow, you gotta stop thinking like the world’s just a big science textbook. It’s more like a-a fairytale! Where magic can happen at any moment.”

“Tai, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!” This time, when he gestured, some of the wine hit the table. He blinked down at it. “Ah, shit!”

He laughed. “Man, you still can’t hold your liquor.”

“You dishonor me.” The omega accused, pointing to his right hand as if it were an exhibit. “I’m holding it just fine.”

That only made him laugh harder, until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

Somehow, they found themselves laying side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together. Tai’s scroll was balanced between the head of the bed and the wall, the display playing the finale of their favorite show growing up, Silver Eyes. It was the height of the final battle. Rosette was locked in battle with Bastinda while the rest of her friends lay, unconscious or ensnared in traps, around them.

“Do you not yet see how pointless this all is? How my power eclipses you all?” Bastinda snarled as she swung her wand down. “You’re all just insignificant riffraff!”

Rosette seemed to find some strength, blocking the attack with her broadsword. “You’re wrong! No one is insignificant! Even the smallest of us has something good to contribute.”

“Foolish child!” A powerful gravity spell threw Rosette to the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand.

“Gods,” Qrow griped. “This is cheesier than I remember.”

Tai shushed him. “Hush, the best part’s coming up!”

He rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth smiled all the same. Alright, so maybe this part was pretty hype. Watching it play out again on the screen, he felt ten again, practically glued to screen as his excitement built.

A large shadow stretched across the valley, delaying the witch from striking the final blow as she turned to the source. Up on the hill, sun behind him, was Zwei. Rosette’s little corgi that had been with her from the start of the show. He came racing down the hill, stubby little legs barely able to pick up speed.

Bastinda sneered, pointed her wand at the dog. “Pathetic.”

“Zwei, no!!” Rosette cried, tears filling her eyes just as the blast fired.

It seemed like the end for the lovable pup as smoke filled the air.

And then, with a blast of light, something came flying out of the dust and landing before the witch. The world rumbled under powerful paws as the giant white wolf stood before her, letting out a powerful growl that brought her to her knees.

“I don’t believe it!” Blanca cried from her mirror prison. “Zwei’s a Guardian!”

The rest of the finale played out just as he remembered, Zwei turning the tide of the fight and giving Rosette a chance to free her friends, all of them coming together for one final attack that rid the world of the cruel witch once and for all. After that, the wolf turned back into the lovable and more marketable corgi pup, and everyone headed home to enjoy true peace for the first time in a millennium.

Tai sat up as the credits began to roll, stretching his arms above his head. “I still think it holds up pretty well.”

“Sure, if you ignore the fact they completely sidelined Silver Eyes. It’s only the title of the show.” He snarked.

“Come on now. It’s not about the power ups. It’s about the journey and the-”

“Friends they made alone the way.” He mimed gagging. It was only the motto shoved down his throat at the end of almost every episode.

Tai merely laughed at his antics, picking up his scroll and slipping off the bed. “It’s late. I better head home.”

Maybe it was the vestiges of the alcohol or maybe it was the other’s scent, sweeter and more inviting than usual, that loosened his tongue enough to offer, “You could crash here, if you want.”

“In your bed? We hardly fit.”

Acquiescently, he rolled onto his side, practically shoving himself against the wall as he pat the wide, empty space. “It’ll be fine. And your drunk.”

“Hardly. And I’ll have to get up early to get back home and get ready.”

“It’s fine.” The noise left him involuntarily. It wasn’t a growl, really; it was barely more than a rumble. Regardless, the regret hit him instantly as he bit down on his tongue and turned his face up apologetically.

The omega just arched a brow, entirely unaffected and unimpressed by his pitiful display. Then he chuckled, any meteor-sized tension there could have been burning up long before impact could be made. “Gods, you’re such a punk, you know that?”

“I…uh…”

“Alright, you win.” Tai set the alarm on his scroll with his right hand, while he crossed the room and got the lights with his left. He used the glow coming off of the device to find his way back, dropping it onto the nightstand. In the bits of moonlight coming from the window, Tai became an erotic beauty as he undid his tie and buttons, shrugging out of his shirt. His belt hit the ground next – though mercifully he kept his pants on.

Qrow watched him, utterly transfixed, as he lowed himself to the bed, mattress dipping anew with the readded weight as the omega stretched out onto his stomach. Beyond all comprehension, he had to fight every muscle in his body from reaching for him. The need to bring him close and curl around him was overwhelming. So, he shoved his hands underneath the crook of his neck and locked his elbows.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

Tai heaved out a long sigh, mumbling, “Goodnight Qrow.”

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as he responded, “G’night.”

Without a clock in the room, there was no telling how long he lay there, coiled up tight like a spring waiting for the pressure to come loose, listening to the sounds of Tai’s breathing slowly evening out. It wasn’t until Qrow was absolutely certain the other wouldn’t wake that he risked it.

Though it felt a bit reprehensible, it was with that same uncontrolled desire in which he found himself scooting his upper half forward, inch by agonizing inch, until the bridge of his nose was pressed up against the curve of Tai’s shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, breathing in deeply. The omega’s scent swirled around him, sunflowers and soil and bright summer days; a smell that was unmistakably, irrevocably Tai.

Here. With him.

Slowly, the rigidity to his muscles relaxed and he finally drifted off, the scent embracing him as securely as its owner could.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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busterkeatonfanfic · 3 years

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Chapter 8

Buster woke the following morning feeling like hell. His nostrils were so stuffy he could barely breathe out of them, his nose was on fire, and his mouth still tasted like blood even though he’d brushed his teeth twice before bed. He stumbled to the bathroom to look at the damage. Two small purple bruises underscored his eyes and the bridge of his nose was swollen to twice its size. His appearance confirmed that canceling filming had been the right decision. He swallowed some aspirin, cleaned his teeth again, and took a shower, letting the steam open his clogged sinuses.

The aspirin barely touched the pain. He toweled off and pulled on a dressing gown, then poured himself a breakfast whiskey to go with the steak and eggs he ordered. Once he’d eaten, he called Nate. To his relief, he was patched over to her line; she hadn’t left for Sunday brunch at Dutch’s yet.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, how are you?” he said.

She told him that she was well.

He said, “I broke my nose in the game last night.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How?”

He explained the eighth-inning fastball to the face. “But we won the game. 9 to 6.”

“Did you?” she said. “That’s too bad about your nose though. I’m sorry, darling.”

She sounded suitably sympathetic, but he craved more. He wanted the soothing, the I’ll-be-right-there, the kissing and canoodling.

“How are the boys?” he said.

“The usual,” she said. “Full of the devil.”

“Good,” he said. “I won’t be filming for a few days because of my nose. You should really consider bringing them up. They’d love the steamboats and I’d like you to see the set. They say the shopping is good in Yolo, too.”

“Oh Buster,” she said, her tone telling him the answer was already a big fat no. “You know I’d love to, but six hours on a train is too much for them, don’t you think? I know you’re disappointed, but we must think of what’s best for them. And wouldn’t they be in your way? I’d have to bring Connie to mind them, and I think four is getting to be a crowd. I don’t suppose your suite would hold another four, would it?”

“Nate, you don’t have to bring the governess. I think you’re perfectly capable of managing them for a few days, don’t you? We can get a second suite or even a third, if that’s what has you concerned.”

“I’m flattered by your faith in me,” she said with a little laugh, “but you’ve never traveled with three- and five-year-old boys! I know I’m letting you down, but it’s only another month, isn’t it? Five weeks tops? That’s really not so bad when you think of it.”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” he said, echoing her hollowly.

“I miss you dreadfully,” she assured him, before launching into a story about the picture Dutch was filming and the party she intended to throw with her sisters at the Villa next weekend. He listened with only half an ear. He wasn’t surprised about her answer to his proposal, but he still felt lousy.

Since Bobby had been born and Nate had booted him out of the bed, he’d accepted that his needs would have to be satisfied by other women. He knew that Nate hated him for it, even though he’d stuck to his original promise and been the soul of discretion. In spite of her rejection, he still desired her and wanted to win her back, but the most she would ever permit was necking and light petting. If he so much as thought about taking things further, she’d squirm out of his grasp. He just didn’t understand, even three years since he’d last made love to her, why he couldn’t have both a wife and the rights that other husbands were entitled to. He’d gone over it in his head a thousand times. Was he a bad lover? Was it her upbringing? Peg’s sermonizing? Her religion? Could she be a lesbian? He didn’t know and God forbid he even try to broach the topic. She’d give him such a withering look before she stalked out of the room that he felt like he ought to be thrown in jail on charges of sex depravity for even mentioning the idea.

Divorce was out of the question, naturally. There were relationships to preserve: the one with Joe for starters and those with his famous sisters-in-law. He didn’t trust that Nate wouldn’t try to keep the boys from him, either, if he tried to end it. He could just hear her saying to some attorney, ‘Well, he doesn’t see them much anyway.’ In the meantime, all the saphead could do was to keep trying vainly to find that opening in his wife’s affections. Casting her as his leading lady hadn’t worked. Building her a little love-nest, then a great big love-nest, hadn’t worked. He’d recently decided that maybe a real honeymoon instead of the post-nuptial cross-country train trip that had masqueraded as one might work on her. He figured deep down it wouldn’t change her mind, but still he had his foolish hopes.

When Natalie was done prating, he told her he had to get ready for lunch with Joe and said his goodbyes. There wasn’t any such lunch, but he no longer wanted to talk.

He ended up spending the afternoon at the new zoo, disguised by a fake moustache, a tweed cap, and jumper vest that constricted him in heat on what was already a sweltering day. It worked, though. No one looked twice at him. The zoo was a disappointment. To begin with, it was extraordinarily tiny, but more importantly most of the animals featured—deer, wild turkey, raccoons—could be seen if you just sat in a Muskegon tree long enough. The most exotic offering consisted of some listless-looking monkeys in cages. A pack of adolescent boys thumped on their wire enclosures and screeched at them to perform. “Pick on someone your own size!” he yelled at them, and they scattered. The monkeys blinked back at him, not seeming to care one way or the other.

He did have dinner with Joe that night at the Italian Restaurant in the Julius Hotel. As Buster tucked into his truffle tagliatelle, Joe dropped the bomb.

“We can’t have the flood sequence.”

Buster laughed. “It sounded like you just said ‘We can’t have the flood sequence,’ Joe, but I don’t think I heard you right,” he said, and took a bite of tagliatelle. “Good one, though.”

“I’m not kidding. Think about how it’ll look. You’ve got a river that’s supposed to be the Mississippi—”

“Sacrasippi,” Buster said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Cut it out,” said Joe, frowning. “I’m trying to be serious. You’ve got a river that’s supposed to be the Mississippi and it’s supposed to flood. Well, you know as well as I do that hundreds of people just lost their lives in the Mississippi floods.”

“Since when do you care?” said Buster. If there was one thing he’d always liked about Joe, it was that he let him alone and let him make the pictures his own way. Something about this smelled fishy.

“It’s in poor taste. It’s not going to get laughs, it’s just going to bring bad publicity. I don’t want it to flop. There’s too much money in it.”

Buster set down his fork. Two words had stuck out: publicity and money. “This is Harry, isn’t it?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

Joe gave a slight wave of his hand, dismissing the comment. “Now don’t go blaming Harry. I happen to agree with him. It would be a risky thing, and God knows what it would cost to pull it off anyway.”

“Well that god damn bean-counter,” said Buster, anger flaring. “We’ve already got everything set up for a flood! The entire god damn picture is about a flood. That’s the entire point!” Joe looked at him with a firm expression. “I’ve made up my mind. We can’t do a flood.”

“Well, we may as well can the whole picture then,” Buster said. “All my best gags are built around the flood. I can’t just start from scratch.”

“Look,” said Joe, continuing to eat his own meal. “We’re talking about lost lives here. You can see that, can’t you?”

“Horseshit,” said Buster. “Remember Chaplin’s picture Shoulder Arms? The ink wasn’t even dry on the Armistice when he released that. I remember ‘cause it was the first thing I saw after I got back from France. Everyone loved it. No one was thinking about how many soldiers had just gotten their heads and legs blown off in the war, they just knew a funny picture when they saw one.” He clenched his left fist in his lap.

“Why not try another disaster?” Joe said.

“Like what?” he said. He stabbed at the pasta with his fork and took a bite without pleasure.

“I’m not the brains here.”

“What, like a cyclone? Joe, I bet you tornadoes and hurricanes kill more people each year than floods. Sure we wouldn’t get bad reviews and angry letters from folks whose families have been killed by tornadoes?”

Joe waved his hand again. “A cyclone sounds just fine. Anything that’s not a flood, you can do.”

It stunk to high heaven as far as Buster was concerned, but he knew Joe well enough to see when he’d made up his mind. He finished his tagliatelle in silence and didn’t even pretend he was willing to pick up the tab when Joe went to pay. He took a taxi back to the Senator and went to bed early, tossing between the sheets and stewing about his lost flood. There were butter cookies in the brown paper sack making dark greasy spots on its sides. Nelly stood outside Buster’s dressing room, her heart racing with the memory of what had happened last time she’d stepped inside it. Before she lost her nerve, she tapped on the door.

“Come in!” called Buster.

She slipped through and closed the door. He was sitting at his table again, not in costume today but wearing dark slacks and a long-sleeved blue jacquard shirt with faint stripes.

“Hi, it’s Nelly,” she said, by way of greeting.

“I haven’t forgotten your name,” said Buster, one corner of his mouth quirking. “What do you have there?”

She stepped a few feet forward and extended the bag. “I made you cookies.”

He looked from the bag to her as he took it, surprised. “What did I do to deserve such an honor?”

“I heard you broke your nose,” she said. Indeed, she could see up close that his nose was swollen near the top and there were small faded bruises beneath his eyes, not noticeable unless you were next to him.

“So you baked me cookies.” He peeked inside.

“Yes. I wanted to thank you, too,” she said, feeling the full ridiculousness of her gesture. “For taking care of me last Friday night.”

“No one’s ever made me get-well cookies before, not even my own mother. I’d just get cod-liver oil, even for sprains.” He sounded pleased.

“How’s your nose?” she said, as he bit into a cookie.

“Hurts like the dickens,” he said, chewing. “I’m hoping the swelling will go down by Friday so I can start filming again.” He didn’t remark upon the cookie as he finished it, but she noticed he pulled another out of the bag. “We’re doing the night scenes soon.”

She was still a little fuzzy on Steamboat Bill’s plot, but this week’s filming had involved hundreds of local extras, and the grander of the two steamboats was piloted up and down the river, belching out huge plumes of black smoke. She’d taken a break to watch the spectacle. The crowd’s enthusiasm for the steamboat seemed real. The whole set certainly looked real thanks to all the props down by the riverside, the small boats, the large pennants reading KING, and the patriotic bunting draped on storefronts. Buster had been on hand near the cameras helping direct, but hadn’t noticed her in the throngs.

Buster went on. “I’ve got this publicity man who says I can’t have a flood because of the lives that were lost when the Mississippi flooded, so we’re changing everything up for a cyclone.” She marveled a little that he was telling her anything about the production, but tried not to show it. “I wondered what those airplane propellers and big motors Bert had me order were for,” she said.

“These are good,” said Buster, pulling a third cookie from the bag. “Remind me to get hurt more often.”

“Or rescue foolish girls from themselves more often,” she said.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“It was something to me.”

He considered her as he started on the third cookie.

“Anyway, I already took lunch. I’ve got to get back to the shop,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

She had her hand on the door when he spoke up again.

“Why that Shrew play, anyway? Why not Juliet?”

She turned back and looked at him, thoroughly confused. She had no idea how he knew about one of her dearest and closest ambitions.

He noticed her puzzlement and clarified. “You said your dream was to star in that Shrew play. Why? Why not Romeo and Juliet?”

“I don’t remember telling you that,” she said, feeling abashed

“Well, don’t get bent out of shape about it, I was just asking,” he said, a little defensively.

“No, I’m not bent out of shape, I’m surprised,” she said, as she faced him. “I don’t remember saying that. I’m afraid of what else I, uh, might have said that night.” She cringed to think of what else might have come out of her mouth. “I hope I didn’t beg you for a break or anything.”

He regarded her with a calm expression. “You didn’t. I’d still like to know, though.”

“Well, Kate has a mind of her own. She wants to control her own fate. Marriage isn’t for her,” she said, conscious of how clumsy her words were. “She’s fun to play. Romeo and Juliet is a little boring.”

In truth, it was Katherine’s spirit which she loved, the rebellion against her father and Petruchio, and hang the end of the play. In her experience, the audience never remembered the end of the play, only the beginning and middle where Katherine was at her most defiant and fiery.

Buster nodded, elbow on the table and finger sliding absently under his lip. The silence stretched on for long enough that Nelly said, “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks for the cookies,” Buster said.

Note: It’s easy when writing a fiction about Buster Keaton to cast Natalie Talmadge as a villain. I prefer to listen to Buster’s granddaughter Melissa Talmadge Cox who points out that the divorce is ancient history and that fans should get over it! Even though I’m writing a story that is obviously canon divergent, I always remember that Buster lived happily ever after with Eleanor Norris Keaton and considered himself to have had a lucky life with very few dark spots. Why did Natalie put a end to her sex life with the gorgeous, winsome Buster Keaton? I think the likeliest explanation is that she just wasn’t attracted to him or simply didn’t like sex. I do think Buster really loved her too and wanted things to work out, which is why their marriage lasted as long as it did. I’ve tried to convey that with this story. Also, I’m with Natalie. Trying to travel hours on a train with two young rambunctious boys sounds like a nightmare, even with a governess. And yes, the Keaton governess was also named Connie, not to be confused with Constance “Connie” Talmadge, who was also frequently called Dutch. Finally, with a lot of digging through newspapers I learned that the date Buster broke his nose was July 30th, 1927! So the first scene takes place on the 31st. The second occurs on Wednesday, August 3rd.

#Buster Keaton #fan fiction #fan fic #RPF fiction #Actor RPF #Golden Age Hollywood #Silent film

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years

Text

Taken By The Wind

Taken By The Wind: A Sam Winchester x Rowena McLeod Love Story

Tags: 18+, sex, explicit sex, consent, size kink. Excessive descriptions of Rowena being gorgeous.

Author’s Note Chapter 1: You Naughty Boy After Chapter 1: Wildfire Chapter 2: Why Thank You Chapter 3: Yes Please After Chapter 3: Hours Chapter 4: Green Velvet Chapter 5: Locked On You Chapter 6: For You, Always After Chapter 6: Whipped Chapter 7: Purple Roses Chapter 8: Heather Interlude: True Chapter 9: Filthy Sweet Chapter 10: Taken By The Wind, 3000 words *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Heavy cold rain fell in wind-driven sheets as the thunderstorm raged. Inside the bunker, the Winchesters were safe and dry. Sam and Dean had strayed from discussing a case to debating a very serious matter: whether baking powder biscuits or multigrain muffins went better with slow-cooker beef stew.

The door to the bunker crashed open, letting in a gust of damp air. The Winchesters jumped to their feet in sync, guns drawn, unsure what to expect.

“Hello, boys.” They heard the lilting voice before her face came into view over the iron railing. “Ooh, not quite the welcome I was expecting after so long away.”

Rowena brushed a damp curl off her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“Are you two going to stand there and point weapons at me all day? Or can I come down?"

Sam was still too stunned to respond. He heard Dean behind him lay his gun on the table and then walk out of the room, murmuring about the stew, leaving them alone together.

"Samuel?" Her voice was soft, pleading as she said his name.

His heart leapt into his throat, silencing any response. She had been missing for weeks, months, vanished without a trace. He had assumed she was gone forever.

It was her- finally, improbably her. He sighed and let his shoulders relax, setting his gun down before he bounded towards the stairs. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rowena rushed down, heels clicking, and they met at the landing. Two steps up, she was still shorter than him, and she had to reach her arms up to encircle his neck. He grabbed for her eagerly, pulling her into a close embrace. He needed to touch her, to feel her, to know she was real. Their mouths sought and found one another desperately.

"Rowena." He murmured, breathlessly, between kisses. "I thought I'd lost you."

“It’s me, Sam, I'm home,” she choked out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Minutes stretched before they finally pulled apart just a little.

Sam cupped her cheek in one hand and looked deep into her eyes. “So, where have you been?"

Rowena stepped back, straightening her skirts and smoothing her windblown hair. She pulled her usual poise around her like armor.

“Well, that’s quite a story, and I don’t fancy telling it more than once. I think I smell beef stew, so let’s all talk over dinner, shall we?” Sam let her go, watched her turn and walk towards the kitchen. She paused to look back over her shoulder, her face inscrutable.

“Be a gentleman, would you, and take my luggage to my room before we eat?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam lifted her suitcases - so much luggage for one little woman! - and carried them down the hall to her room. Pushing open the door and turning on the light, he inhaled the familiar scent of incense, spices, and wax.

He had left her room alone all the time she had been gone. It was just good manners, at first, because people did come and go in the bunker, and no one wanted their room disturbed.

As the weeks stretched on, politeness succumbed to grief. Just walking by her door made his heart ache. The memories of the hours they had shared were painful to recall. He had gone in a few times, but it brought him no comfort. Her things - all her beautiful, magical things - only reminded him of how much he had lost.

He had searched for clues to her disappearance, for a way to bring her back. He never found answers, only more questions. Every hope he tried to grasp turned to ash under his touch.

Without her, the bunker had seemed too harsh, too cold and empty. Even having his brother around had not been enough to make it feel like home. He knew he loved her, had even told her. He still didn’t realize how much he loved her, how much he needed her, until she was gone.

The worst part was that he had no idea what had happened. Where was shehad she gone? Had she intended to leave? For a hunter who prided himself on research, on knowledge, the endless doubt was unbearable.

He had missed her so much. Now she was here again, returned just as suddenly as she had gone.

Sam realized he was sitting on the foot of her bed, his head in his hands. Too many emotions were roiling in his chest. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, then pulled himself together and left the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam found Rowena holding court in the kitchen, drinking wine and laughing as she talked with Cas and Jack. Dean was setting out bowls of stew and a big basket of biscuits. So he had won that argument.

Dean looked up and gave his brother a familiar look, one that Sam knew without words. Are you okay?

He returned the look with a little shrug and smile, one that was understood just as well. Not really, but here we are.

Sam settled into the seat next to Rowena. He was grateful that his family kept the dinner conversation light, filling the time with bits of stories and interesting things. But Jack’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Auntie Ro,” he asked, his face guileless as ever. “Where have you been? We missed you. Well, Sam missed you the most, but we all did, really."

Rowena shot him a glance that looked almost guilty before drawing a bright smile across her face. “Well now, wee Jackie boy, I'm glad you asked!”

She was a natural storyteller, and this story was an astounding one. The emotional turmoil in Sam’s mind quieted as he settled in to the flow of her words. A spell had gone wrong, somehow, a word misspoken or a herb picked at the incorrect phase of the moon. It wasn’t entirely clear, somehow she had ended up in another world parallel to this one, but where she had everything she had ever wanted.

“Imagine it, boys!” Her face lit up, just remembering. “You thought I was powerful here? I had all the power in the world there. And money, so much money, although I hardly needed it. I was the head of a worldwide coven. I was no longer outcast; I had sisters again.”

Her expression grew soft for just a moment before she shook her head and continued.

“I had followers, people who believed I was the goddess Rhiannon, reincarnated. They sent me offerings.” She lapsed into silence, remembering what she had lost.

Sam smiled wryly. "Sounds like your heaven."

Rowena shot him a look he couldn't read. "Or hell. You know, it's not all it's made out to be, being a goddess, having everything. It got old, that’s all.” She set her lips in a tight smile and tossed her hair, making it clear she was done talking.

Sam looked at Dean. His eyes were narrowed. He turned to meet his brother’s gaze and raised one eyebrow. Are you buying this story?

Sam nodded; that’s what he had thought. She's not lying, but this isn't the whole truth.

Dean spoke up, changing to another topic. Sam took the moment to reach for Rowena’s hand under the table, and she laced her fingers into his. They were silent under the flow of conversation. She shifted gradually until their chairs were close together, her thigh pressed up against the length of his.

He wasn’t sure, exactly, when her head came to rest on his shoulder, when his arm slipped around her waist. He was distracted by the smell of her perfume, the feeling of her nails gently stroking his skin. He could hardly think of anything but the warmth and closeness of her, and his desire to get her alone.

He started to attention when Dean pushed his chair back and stood up. “You know, I think I could head to the library for a whiskey. Cas, Jack, you in?”

Sam made a show of yawning. “I’d join you, but I’m really tired.”

Rowena raised a dainty hand to her mouth. “It has been a long day.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like we don’t all know. The way you two've been looking at each other could turn this old bunker back into a power station.”

“What do you mean, Dean? What do we all know?” As the others left the room, Sam could hear Jack’s questions trailing down the hall.

The moment they were out of sight, Sam turned to Rowena. He held out his hands, reaching for her. She threw her arms around his shoulders, running her fingers up into his hair as they kissed.

"Wait." It took all of Sam's iron self control to pull away. He took her hands in his, holding them. Looking her full in the face, he asked, "What really happened?"

"I told you my story. I would never lie to you!” Her eyes were wide, her voice earnest.

“Okay.” Sam huffed out a sigh. “I believe it was true, but was it the truth?”

She bit her lip and cast her gaze downwards. “My spell was meant to bring me the things I wanted here, in this world, not to take me away."

"I did get everything I wanted - power, money, devotion. But it was never enough. No matter how much I had, how happy I should’ve been, something was missing. I was in control, but miserable. I saw faces in the shadows but could never bring them to light." Her voice was trembling as she spoke.

“One night I looked into a candle's flame and saw a face I knew.” Tears flooded her green eyes as she looked up at him again. “Your face. “You did a spell, didn’t you, a spell to bring me back?”

“Rowena, you know I hate using magic to control people.” Sam felt his heart sink in regret. She had everything, and he had called her away. “I only wanted to find you.”

“Oooh no, I was lost. I’m so glad you found me.” She slipped one hand up, around the back of his neck again, and pulled him down for a kiss.

"So you intended to come back?" He murmured the questions against her jawline, under her ear and down her neck.

He felt as much as heard her laugh, "Yes."

"Of your own free will?"

She cupped his face between her delicate hands, drawing his gaze to meet hers again. "Of my own free will, Sam, I came back to you."

There were other questions, other stories to be told, but for the moment that's all he needed to know. He lifted her as if she was weightless, scooping her into a bridal carry, striding out of the kitchen and back down the hall towards her room. She undid his shirt as he walked, nails raking his skin, pressing kisses to every newly exposed inch of flesh.

Inside Rowena’s room, he paused. The room was dark until she snapped her fingers and candles around the room flared into flame. Without letting her go, he settled down on the bed. Their hands roamed one another's bodies until both were bare.

For a moment Sam stilled, looking at her. In the candlelight, her skin was flushed and tinged with gold, shadows edging her curves. He could see, like never before, the aura of magic surrounding her, tiny purple bolts arcing off her skin. She looked every inch a goddess, worthy of worship.

She held out her hands, and he wrapped her in his arms. Lifting her in his grasp, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, twining his hands in her hair. He wanted to smell her, taste her, grab her - flood his senses with her presence.

He inhaled, taking in her scent as deep as he could. After all those weeks apart, he needed to be sure she was real, not some wish or fleeting dream here to haunt him. He could almost taste the sweet spice of her skin, and underneath it, faintly, the aroma of heather.

He trailed his lips across the delicate angles of her collarbone, down her chest, pressing kisses and praise against her velvety skin. His hands skimmed down the ladder of her ribs to cup her breasts. The base of his thumb pressed into her heartbeat.

“I love you,” he murmured against her pulse point. “Love to- love you-”

Her grip tightened around him, sharp nails digging into his shoulders as she rose up against him. She would mark him, as she always had, all the way to his soul. She was breathing hard, shaking with desire and anticipation.

Sam rolled onto his side and pulled Rowena to face him. Their lips met again and again, as his hands skimmed her body, caressing and claiming. His hand settled on the curve of her hip and his grip tightened. She fit into his grasp just as perfectly as he remembered.

“Rowena,” he murmured, “My Queen.”

“Samuel.” Their eyes met as she whispered his name. Her face was luminous with desire and pleasure, her body almost vibrating with need. The magic sparking off her skin crackled around them, enveloping them in light.

She ground into him, pressing her body closer along the length of his. His fingers sought and found the dimples at the top of her ass. Spanning her waist in his hand, he pressed her hips close. The two of them shifted until she had him right where he wanted to be. A sigh punched from his lips as he slid into her. She was hot and close and-

“Perfect.” He whispered as he sank into her body. It was his last coherent thought as she began to move, against and around him. His eyes fluttered closed, his lips fell open, as something in his soul came unlocked.

His whole world shrank to the moment, to the two of them together. All he knew, all he wanted, was her. He needed to get closer, to be together, to get lost, oh, he could get so lost in her.

Rowena’s lilting voice reached Sam's ears. She was cursing, panting, pleading. He knew that sound, the filthiest prayer, and would do anything just to hear it over and over. Her words faded into a low cry as she clenched around him.

Her name tore from his throat, and the whole world went black as he came.

When he opened his eyes again, her gaze was locked on his. She sighed and fell back against her pillow, red curls spilling everywhere. Her chest heaved with every breath, freckled breasts flushed. Her green eyes were wide, her lashes wet.

This was how he had dreamed of her every night she was gone- soft, satisfied, incandescent. He could hardly believe she was real and once again in his bed.

He propped himself up one one arm and kissed her deeply, tenderly, fingers brushing her face and hair. She was bare before him, open and trusting. She had given him her body, over and over. But more important, she had given her soul.

Finally Rowena nuzzled into his shoulder and spoke without looking at him. "Tell me the spell that you did, the one that found me."

Sam had a cord around his neck, a tiny wrapped packet at the end. He slipped it off and handed it to her. Without unfolding the paper inside, he repeated the words of the spell.

“But that spell requires silver heather. We have grey, but true silver has been extinct since before my lifetime. What did you use instead?”

“I thought, since I had it, purple heather might work. Especially given what it means to us."

Rowena was silent for a moment, considering the spell in her hands. Finally she reached up and caressed his cheek gently, pulling his eyes to meet her gaze.

“Do you know what you did, my dear?” He shook his head and she continued. “When you used purple heather, you changed the spell. Instead of simply finding love, which can be a bit vague, you set an intention to find your lost love. Your magic was powerful enough to find me and guide me back home."

A soft smile spread across her beautiful face.

“Home?” Sam gestured to the bunker walls around them. For him and Dean, it had become a home, but as often as Rowena had been there, it had never been hers. By choice or by fate, she had walked a more lonely path.

“No, my love, home. Not these four walls.” She laughed, a throaty, musical sound.

Sam was overwhelmed. He had never dreamed that his magic could be so powerful, could do more than his will and intention. He was still trying to reconcile the story she had told -of her every wish fulfilled- with her willingness to return here, return to him.

Rowena rested one hand over his heart, pulling his attention back to her in the moment. “Home to you. I had everything I have ever worked for, all that I thought I desired, but it wasn’t enough without you. Your magic brought me back. You called my heart home.”

“Rowena,” he said, and then his voice broke. The only words he could summon were deeply inadequate, but he whispered them anyway. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Wherever you are, I belong.” Her eyes were bright, her tone warm. “That’s why I came back to you, and I promise to stay.”

He lowered his mouth and kissed her again. Something between a sigh and a sob escaped her lips. All through the night, the candles flickered and burned down, but the two lovers stayed wrapped in one another’s arms.

When they were together, that was enough. They were home. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thanks to @boondoctorwho for the read and letting me borrow the words. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords for the read as well. Thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, cheered and generally loved on this little story. Hard to believe it’s been a year since I started with these two. This series has always surprised me, and taken on a life of it’s own. I’ve written these two other ways, other series, other universes. I will be continuing with this canon-adjacent story in a new series, When the Rain Washes You Clean. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn @the-chocolate-moose @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach @lilsylvia @marril96 @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose Gay Screaming: @boondoctorwho , @cherry3point14, @cracksinthewalls, @dawnie1988 @fookinghelljensensthighs , @icemankazansky, @itmighthavebeenintentional , @justcallmeasmodeus , @lastactiontricia , @mskathywriteswords , @rockhoochie , @there-must-be-a-lock , @thoughtslikeaminefield

#taken by the wind #Sam x Rowena #samwena #samwitch

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reyesstrand · 4 years

Note

I’m in an angsty mood so why not some angsty Tarlos with 21 and 22

thank you for the prompt! 💗

all prompts are taken from this list.

They take pride in their relationship.

It’s obvious to most who know them, and even those who just view them from a distance; TK and Carlos are effortlessly comfortable around one another, able to give each other exactly what they need. They’ve been going strong for the past five months, ever since TK refused to let his fear of vulnerability and heartbreak tamper down the fact that all he wanted was to let Carlos in. They rarely fight, they tease one another, they’re compatible in every possible way — and so it comes as a shock to almost everyone when TK storms into the firehouse one morning in a less than pleasant mood.

Owen’s leaning against the kitchen counter when he spots him coming in. “Hey, kid—”

“Not now, dad, please,” TK snaps, voice wavering as he heads for the locker room. Paul’s eyebrows immediately shoot upward as he glances at TK’s retreating back before moving his gaze to focus on Owen. Over the rim of his coffee mug, Owen shares his confused look.

“Didn’t he stay with Carlos last night?” Paul asks, and Owen nods. Not only is this mood strange enough for TK, but for him to be coming from his boyfriend’s house and being anything less than almost annoyingly moon-eyed and completely smitten was something out of a parallel universe. “I gotta say, those two experiencing some rocky waters was not something I was ever expecting to see.”

Owen nods in agreement. “I’m sure we’ll see some sort of reconciliation by noon.”

Only, much to the surprise of the whole team, it never comes. Even though they see Carlos and his partner during multiple calls throughout the shift, TK mostly avoids any and all officers, opting to hang out by the rig when they were all waiting around for scenes to be cleared. Carlos appears to be looking just as exhausted as TK does, both of them with bruising bags under their eyes and a sort of stiffness that they all notice, but refuse to comment on. Eventually, Owen has to speak with the man he was starting to see as another son, as APD arrives first on the scene of a pile-up near the off-ramp of the highway.

They finish up the rescue easily enough, and TK keeps himself busy with Judd, but Owen catches him glancing over at his boyfriend more than once. When Owen speaks with Carlos before rallying his team and heading out, Carlos surprises him by frowning a bit, and shaking the man’s hand.

“I’m afraid this will be our last time working together for a little while, sir,” Carlos says, and Owen cocks his head in confusion. Carlos quickly clarifies, lowering his voice even though there’s only other team members around them. “I’m being sent on an undercover operation. Six months minimum.”

“Oh,” Owen finds himself speechless, because his son’s sour mood suddenly makes a lot of sense, as does Carlos’ kicked-puppy look.

Carlos starts staring at the ground, clearing his throat. “I should, uh, I should really get going.”

“Stay safe, son,” Owen makes sure Carlos is looking right at him as he says it, and when the other man nods, and slowly retreats to his cruiser, Owen meets his son’s eyes and a current of understanding passes between them. TK’s jaw clenches as he turns away and pulls himself into the rig.

Back at the station, after several more calls that take up most of the afternoon, TK tries to avoid him; Owen doesn’t let it happen.

“TK, my office,” Owen says, as the others are beelining for the kitchen. When TK opens his mouth to probably talk his way out of it, Owen starts heading up the stairs, calling out, “Now.”

“So I’m guessing he told you?” TK asks, once he’s closed the door to his father’s office. He crosses his arms over his chest as he sits in the chair across from Owen’s desk, sinking in on himself and otherwise completely defensive. Owen sighs.

“He did. Is this why you’ve been acting out all day?” Owen asks, cocking a brow at his son.

TK sinks lower into the seat. “Sorry about that. I’m just…”

Owen leans against the desk, waiting his kid out. He’s familiar with it, knowing TK’s coping mechanisms and his resistance when it comes to opening up about what’s really bugging him, especially something like this.

“He only told me about it last night,” TK says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He didn’t want to stress me out, I guess? But now I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, and I got pissed at him for avoiding this since he found out last week.”

“I think you oughta go and talk to him, kid,” Owen’s voice is soft and steady, and when TK shifts uncomfortably in the chair but also meets his gaze, he continues on. “And you don’t have to tell them everything, but maybe talk to the team, too. They’ve been worried about you all day.”

“Yeah,” TK says quietly, voice breaking. He clears his throat and says it again, before adding: “He’s leaving tomorrow morning.”

"You better get going, then,” Owen says, glancing at the clock high on the wall, as the time shifts to 6:17.

TK heaves out a sigh before nodding, coming around to hug his dad quickly before starting toward the door. He pops his head back in, fingers curled around the doorframe, as he smiles a little at Owen. “Thanks, dad. I’ll text you later.”

Before turning back to paperwork, Owen smiles at his son, and says, "You better."

* * *

TK ends up sitting on Carlos’ front step, and waiting.

Carlos had told him he’d be home soon, and that TK could let himself into the house, but TK is too antsy for that; at least by sitting and stewing in his own thoughts outside, staring up at the purple sky as orange bleeds into it along the horizon, it offers him something to focus on. His hands tremble a bit, and he nervously squeezes them into fists, blunt nails digging crescents into his palms as he taps his foot against the cement. He pulls up soon enough, and TK takes a deep breath. Even with this tension radiating between them, he’s still comforted by his boyfriend being back in his presence. The thought of losing this sends a flare of panic through his chest as Carlos slowly walks up to him, his bag slung over his shoulder and civilian clothes on.

“Hey,” TK says, standing to meet his boyfriend. Carlos offers him a small smile, but his eyes still look so sad, and knowing that he’s part of the reason for that makes his heart ache.

“Hey, Ty,” Carlos responds, a little hollow, and TK closes his eyes when he passes by him, their shoulders brushing for half a second. He opens up his door and tosses his bag into the foyer, but before TK can follow him inside he’s closing and locking the door up again. “Want to go for a drive?”

It’s code for: let’s go somewhere and talk and get through this. TK swallows and nods, and after a mostly silent trip out of Carlos’ neighbourhood and out of the most bustling part of the city, TK figures out where they’re headed once they slip onto one of the quieter country roads. He stares out of the window as the scenery turns more rustic, trees lining them on either side of the road until they’re close to the field next to the escarpment, where they spent several hours after the solar storm when they finally admitted that they’d wanted to try out a relationship, for real. They’ve come here a couple times since then, and it’s only fitting that this is where Carlos would want to bring him to talk about the shitty situation they’re in. He's thrown back to his plentiful past breakups, where less stressful events have lead to heartbreak, and another layer of panic settles in.

They don’t sit on the hood, this time; a cold front has moved in over the past couple days, and because of it they stay put in their seats, just watching the last rays of sunset as they wait for the other to start talking. TK figures it’s on him, and so he starts with, “I’m sorry for being a dick last night.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it,” Carlos whispers, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel. TK tracks the motion so he doesn’t have to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have waited to tell you.”

TK bites the inside of his cheek. “I’m just — fuck, Carlos, I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither, Ty,” Carlos says, and TK finally meets his eyes when he feels a hand against his forearm. “But I know that we’ll figure this out. We always do, don’t we?”

“What if we can’t, this time?” TK asks, shaking his head at the burning behind his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” TK looks at him desperately. “I mean, an undercover operation? There's so many uncertainties, and you aren't even a detective yet, and what if—"

Carlos makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “I volunteered, Ty, because I can’t sit back when I know I can help. And I hate that doing this hurts you, I really fucking do. I just want you to know that I’m coming back. To you, I hope, because you mean too much to me to just let this go.”

“And here I was thinking you’d want to break up with me,” TK says with a humourless laugh, shrugging a shoulder. “It’d be the easiest thing.”

“It would be the hardest thing, TK,” Carlos looks pained as he speaks, and TK finally, finally, takes his hand. “And I hate that people have done that to you in the past. But I don’t plan on being like that. You have to know that.”

“I do,” TK says, finding that deep inside himself he knows it’s the truth. “And I don’t want to do that to you, either.”

Without saying the words, it’s obvious in a second that the fight — if it could be called that — has been resolved. TK shifts as close as he can, pressing a kiss to the underside of Carlos’ jaw.

“We’re going to get through this,” TK says, surely, sniffing a little when Carlos roughly wipes at his own eyes. “This isn’t goodbye.”

And when Carlos squeezes his hand, he’s quick to reciprocate. It quickly evolves into a hug, and TK buries his face in Carlos’ neck, and despite the dread still swirling in his stomach, he’s determined to hold him tight for as long as he can.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #my fic #dadamnerio #one shot collection

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cagestark · 4 years

Note

can you write something soft with SIM!tony and his boy Peter that he has to hide, because he's his only weakness? smut please also ilyyyyyyyyyyyyy

I guess I use SIM to just be a synonym of Dark!Tony, because this ended up being mafia!au...if that doesn’t work for you please let me know and I’ll work something out.

Warnings: graphic violence and torture. Dark!tony but for Peter he is murderous mush. Smut. A mention of vomit.

Read here on AO3.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” Tony admits. He closes the door behind him so that he and Toomes are alone. Having built this addition to his Malibu house, Tony knows it and it’s benefits well. The walls are thick and concrete, soundproofed to screams and gunshots and all manner of things. The lights are receded into the ceiling, no risk of tampering, and they give the room a cold, exhaustive feeling. The drain on the floor is helpful. Tony hates when blood pools on the floor.

Today it has a single table with two chairs in it. Bucky placed them there that morning. Toomes has been strapped to one for the better part of sixteen hours while Tony’s temper recedes. If he made his moves when he was high on anger, he’d never have made it this far in this particularly delicate industry. Peter had been more than accommodating, letting himself be used as a soundboard for Tony’s fury. When Tony had pressed his chest into the mattress, the force with which he’d snapped his hips into the young man had left the kid’s ass red like he’d been spanked. Tony had rubbed cream into every mark—

But Peter isn’t what he wants to be thinking about in this moment. His baby makes him soft (and admittedly hard, but in only the best way). For Toomes, he needs to be as cold as the ten by ten concrete room they’re in.

Tony takes off his suit jacket and puts on the back of his chair. Toomes watches, one eye swollen half shut. When Bucky and Steve had brought him in, Tony had given them permission to rough the older man up, and they had made good on that blessing. For being and then left to stew for the better part of an entire day, Toomes is remarkably composed. His composure is one thing Tony liked about him. Past tense.

He does flinch when Tony pulls out the chair and the legs squeal against the concrete though. Fuck, that’s satisfying. Sitting down with a heavy sigh, Tony starts to roll up his sleeves. He hopes he doesn’t have to torture the man—not when he’s got plans with his baby boy this evening—but by failing to prepare, one prepares to fail. Torture is all in the buildup. The laying out of tools, the demeaner of the torturer. The nerve of a man is what Tony aims to break. Bones are a close second.

“I thought we had something, you know,” Tony says. “A real connection. When we had dinner last month, I looked you in the eye and asked, Can I trust you? And you remember what you said to me?”

Toomes licks his lips. When he speaks, his voice is rough from disuse and dehydration. Maybe screaming—who would know. Yes, the soundproofing is that good. “It wasn’t personal.”

“Wrong,” Tony says firmly, pulling out his phone. “You didn’t say, It wasn’t personal. You said, Yes Tony. You can trust me. That makes all of this so, so personal, Adrian. My feelings were downright hurt when I heard that my boys had picked you up trying to break into my warehouse with Beck’s shoddy tech.”

“I’m sure,” Toomes says with flat amusement. “So what’s next, Tony? I’ve broken your trust. Obviously. Where do we go from here?”

Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. “I’m glad that you asked. I’ll tell you my ideas and then you’ll get to pick. Isn’t that swell of me? I’m a very generous guy; you’d do well to remember that. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to show you a video on my phone here. It’s of what happened to the last lackey of Beck’s who double-crossed me. Then, you’ll get to decide if we recreate this video together—or if we go upstairs like two fucking gentlemen. Upstairs, I’ll cook us dinner, I’ll serve us wine, and then you’ll tell me every last goddamn thing you know about Beck and his next move. Do you understand, Adrian?”

“There’s no need,” Adrian says. “I’ve been around the block, Tony. Do you think a little torture is going to have me betraying Quentin?”

Tony places his phone flat on the table and slides it towards Toomes. Against the man’s will (and maybe it’s curiosity—that killed the cat, Tony knows), his eyes flick down to look at the screen. Tony begins the video. It is fourteen minutes long.

Toomes makes it to minute eight. Tony has been sitting back, one leg propped up on his knee, watching the man’s face. The graphic compound fracture at minute three had made him flinch. The fun with the surgical implements at five and a half had turned him white, then green. The screams (and other sounds, wet, horrible sounds) brought back fond memories. Tony had been the one filming that day.

“Promise me immunity,” Toomes says, sweating. His lips quiver. “I know you’re a man of your word—I—I know that I can trust you if you say it.”

“I will give you immunity for all previous actions,” Tony says agreeably. “When we go out that door? You’ll start fresh. But one more wrong move, Toomes, and it will be the last move you ever make. I can guarantee it. I won’t even take the time to torture you. I’ll kill you quick, and I’ll dissolve you in chemicals until there aren’t even any teeth left for them to compare dental records to. Understand?”

“Yes, yes,” Toomes agrees. “I swear it Tony. On my wife, on my daughter. I swear to God.”

“Don’t swear to God,” Tony says, standing to untie the shaking man. “Swear to me. Let’s go. What are you thinking, Adrian? Chinese? Or should I go with something more delicate, something that won’t remind you of what happened at minute 6 of that video—oh, yikes. A little warning before you throw up might have been nice. Get it up, buddy. You’ll feel better.”

After Toomes yacks up his every last gut (who knew that drain in the floor would be good for more than just getting rid of blood?), Tony unlocks the door. Steve and Bucky are outside, and they nod in greeting when Tony passes.

And Toomes—his new start lasts as long as it takes to get upstairs.

Because upstairs, Peter is waiting. The kid is lounging on the loveseat, his tiny body spread sensually where he waits, looking toward the front door. He’s wearing the black semi-opaque stockings that Tony loves to drag down with his teeth, the red silken kimono style bathroom that Tony had bought him.

It’s clear that Peter didn’t know Tony was home—and why would he? After Tony had fucked him blind and sent him to university with his cum still plugged up in the younger man’s ass, Tony had told him that’d he’d be leaving soon himself. Staying in the house with Toomes in the basement would have been too much of a temptation. Tony had returned well before the kid’s classes let out, but he hadn’t let his boy know that. Tony had worked hard to make the entire basement separate from the upstairs house so that he never bothered his angel with his comings and goings.

Peter has obviously been waiting for Tony to come home, and what a sight he would have made when Tony walked through the front door…

But instead, Tony walks through the door that leads up from the basement. Peter’s head jerks around, his eyes growing wide when he sees Toomes. Tony feels his own face pale, going green around the gills the way Toomes did when he saw what Bucky had done with the other lackey’s organs.

No one knew about Peter. Tony runs a dangerous, dangerous business. The threat of death is constantly hanging over his shoulders—and the shoulders of his associates. If anyone had ever known (Beck, God, fuck) that Tony had a lover, a sweet baby boy with skin like snow and eyes like the whiskey Tony favors, a mind like a whip and a heart of gold? Peter would be taken alive. He’d be taken apart.

No one can know.

“Who—?” Toomes mutters under his breath.

Tony reaches into his concealed holster, pulls his gun, and removes the safety. “Sorry, Adrian,” he says. He really does regret it, too. “Wrong place, wrong time, buddy.”

Tony blows Adrian’s brains out. The body slumps to the floor and Tony immediately wipes the arm of his suit jacket across his face feel the slick spray of blood and the flecks of bone. Peter looks like a Victorian woman prone to getting the vapors, one well-manicured hand clutching at his breast—oh. Clutching the robe closed. Beneath, he is most likely naked.

“Hi, honey,” Tony sighs, holstering his gun. “Did you get out of school early?”

“Lab was cancelled,” Peter gasps, his breaths coming fast. “I should have messaged you—I’m sorry. I—I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m very surprised,” Tony says wryly.

Bucky and Steve burst through the open doorway behind him. Peter blushes fiercely, grabbing a nearby pillow to hold in front of his crotch. The two men pointedly search for anywhere else to look—the dead body on the floor is a nice scapegoat.

“Damn it, Tony,” Steve says. “On the carpet? Why not down in the basement?”

“He saw Peter,” Tony says. “I told him, he’d get one more chance after we left that room—I guess he didn’t think his chance would come up so, uh, soon. Alright you dogs, clean this up and quit looking at my gem. Call the usual cleaners; they’re organic.”

“Couldn’t you have wrung him for info first?” Bucky mutters.

“And give him even the slightest chance of escape? Think again, Barnes—wait. No. Don’t. I’m not paying you to think.”

Tony heads upstairs with Peter on his heels. Tony starts the shower in the en suite bathroom and begins to strip himself right there. Using his wiry strength, Peter hauls himself up onto the marble top of the sink to watch while Tony methodically undresses. The robe relaxes lose around him revealing a thin but well-muscled chest, abs to die for, and silken red underwear that cup his cock nicely. His face is serious, gaze stuck on the blood that has splattered Tony’s shirt collar.

“Did I mess up?” Peter asks at last. His voice is quiet, barely heard under the roar of the shower. “I know how important it is to you to keep me separate from—your work. I try so hard to stay out of it. Did—did I make you fuck up?”

“No,” Tony coos, naked. The shower behind Peter fogs up until the reflection is gone. He brackets the smaller man with his arms so that he can nuzzle their foreheads together. Peter’s breath catches, and it isn’t until Tony pulls away that he sees it’s because Adrian’s blood is still fresh on Tony’s face—now smeared onto Peter. A glance down though shows that the kid is more than half hard, cock tenting the silk. He reaches up and nudges the robe away from where it clings to Peter’s shoulders until it pools around his waist. Despite the heat, Peter shivers. “Adrian was an ant baby. Do you feel like you’ve fucked up when you step on an ant?”

“As a matter of fact,” Peter breathes. He sways forward toward Tony the way some people sway when they stand too close to the edge of buildings. “I like ants.”

“Do you like Adrian Toomes?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Was.”

They kiss. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and slips down off of the counter so that they can press against each other from top to bottom. The kid is a few inches shorter, so Tony’s interested cock nudges just below his belly button, smearing precum on the cut abs.

“You killed him because he saw me?” Peter pants when they part, not even giving Tony time to answer before he is opening his needy mouth against to suck on Tony’s full bottom lip.

“Of course, I did,” Tony growls, broad hands wrapping themselves around the narrow hips. “I’m no fool, baby. I know you’re my weak spot. You’re my Achilles Heel. This world burned me every day, did it not? I drowned in the river Styx, sweet boy. The Gods must have thought me too powerful, because of course they gave me you…and I’ll be damned if I lose myself by losing you. Do you understand?”

“God,” Peter gasps. He stands up on his toes to grind his cock into Tony’s. “Please, Tony. I need your cock.”

“Be patient, Peter,” Tony says firmly. He reaches one hand down to wrap it around the young man’s cock and give it several long strokes, twisting his hand to rub his palm over the sensitive head on the upstroke until Peter is whining breathily, still on his toes, thighs trembling. “I’m not fucking you with some cunt’s blood on me. Get in the shower with me; let’s get clean so we can get dirty.”

It’s no surprise to him that he ends up with one palm braced against the shower wall and the other hand tangled in Peter’s wet curls while he fucks the young man’s mouth. Peter sucks cock like a champ, so Tony can’t let him at it for long lest he cum early. He needs to be inside him lover, feels the tight anxiety in his chest that always comes with the idea of someone finding out about Peter. Someone taking Peter. Someone hurting Peter.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, blinking up through the water at Tony. When the man glances down, he sees that he’s gone soft. He pets Peter’s head lovingly.

“Nothing, sweet boy. I think we’re clean enough.”

“Your cock sure is,” Peter says, kissing Tony’s navel softly.

He helps the young man up and they stumble from the shower into the bedroom, only bothering to towel off a little before Peter is dragging Tony onto the bed over his slim body and wrapping his legs around his lover’s hips. The kid is still hard—such is youth. Tony coaxes him onto his hands and knees, a hand between his shoulder blades pressing his chest into the bed. The pale skin is still damp and flush from the shower when he spreads Peter open. The plug Tony had put in him earlier is gone (likely already sterilized and tucked back into the drawer by the bedside). The only sign of their fucking earlier in that day is the soft give of Peter’s hole when Tony presses his tongue against it.

The kid yelps, thighs shivering as he flinches away. Tony spanks him, hard on the flank and he hears the laughter Peter muffles into the bedspread as he stills and relaxes himself. Once he’s sure Peter isn’t going to move again, Tony leans back down and licks a long stripe from balls to tailbone. The taste is clean with a hint of soap—but it’s expensive soap, imported from Europe, so Tony will gladly lick it off.

He takes his time, lapping with the textured flat of his tongue and then using the hardened tip of it to press inside until Peter is soft and shivering, a whining mess with his cock dripping precum onto the bedspread. And Tony knows that he could do this for hours if it weren’t for the stiffness in his jaw, the ache in his tongue. Peter would let him. He’d lay there lax and content for Tony to do as he pleased, and he wouldn’t complain once.

“I love you,” Tony says. He opens his mouth and bites at the back of one of Peter’s thighs.

Peter groans, turning his head so his mouth is free of expensive cotton to say, “Love you more.”

“How do you want me, baby?”

Peter perks up, looking over his shoulder. “Lemme ride you.”

Tony sits with his back against the headboard, chest heaving as Peter slowly lowers himself onto the thick, aching cock. Those whiskey eyes are closed in concentration, blocking out stimulus so that he can focus on the sensation, both his hands planted on Tony’s shoulders. Tony reaches up with one hand and uses his thumb to nudge at one of Peter’s flat, pink nipples. The ass around him flexes and makes him hiss.

The next few minutes after Peter finally rests, ass against the tops of Tony’s thighs, are spent kissing. Slow, wet kisses. Thank God you’re mine kisses. I’d burn the world down without you kisses. Every now and then, Tony’s cock jerks where it’s buried inside his young lover and the kid groans in his throat, his own neglected cock twitching where it is pressed between them.

When their lips are raw and puffy, Tony pulls away. “Go on then,” he says roughly. “Ride me, sweet boy.”

Peter’s fingers tighten where they’re gripping his shoulders, his thighs flex where they’re braced on Tony, and then he lifts himself up up up and let’s himself down all at once, gasping when he bottoms out. But his lover can do more—Peter works out an hour a day five days a week, and their lovemaking is all the better for it. He grits his teeth and sets a punishing, rewarding pace that has them both struggling to catch their breath.

When Tony reaches down to loosely take Peter’s cock into his hand, the young man bats it away.

“Talk to me,” Peter gasps. “Please—want to cum just like this, from your cock and your voice.”

“It’s hardly my voice you want,” Tony growls. “You want my words, don’t you? What do you want me to say, Pete? You want me to say how I’d kill a million men for you? How I’d burn countries to the ground for you? I’d raze whole planets for you, sweet boy, and then I’d fuck you in the ashes and the rubble. And I think you’d like it.

“When Bucky and Steve came up the stairs and saw you, I noticed you playing shy, putting that pillow in your lap. But you weren’t naked, so what were you hiding, baby? Don’t whine, it’s alright. I know. You were hard, weren’t you? Did it get you hard, watching me work? Watching me kill for you? I didn’t even give him a chance, Pete, once he’d laid his eyes on you, he never had a chance—”

Peter cums with a strained shout, nails digging into Tony’s shoulders. His cock spurts between them, ass tightening around Tony’s cock. When the kid goes lax and unable to continue the pace, Tony reaches out to palm the narrow hips and bounce the young man on his cock, fucking himself until his balls draw up and he sees white, just white, white and Peter.

Just how it should be.

#starker #violence #mafia!au #nff #tw: violence #tw: torture #tw: vomit #it's softer than it sounds lol

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iam-kenough · 4 years

Text

Will you ever notice me? Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary: During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from van der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her to camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with them. Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees her just as a kid...and she won't take that! It's an original character story that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were supposed to first meet with Sadie. Instead she's already with them.

Authors notes: It’s another chapter and you can find the rest of chapter on my blog if you want to read more of my fanfiction. I decided to post all parts I have at once so the fic could catch more attention. Word count: 2503 Chapter 6 Another few days passed and he felt better. Physically. Arthur's head on the other hand was mess. He couldn't start a conversation, he was just following Iris with his eyes, whenever he could. She seemed well now, eating a lot and enjoying her pretty dresses she bought herself being away. She looked different now or it was only his perspective that allowed Arthur to see Iris in very different light. And he secretly loved it. Her hair was bouncy and smelled nice, her eyes were like two emeralds, covered by dark eyelashes and her lips seemed so sweet and welcoming. He loved to look at her when she was chewing them while she was deeply in her thoughts. He just noticed that her pale, slim face was covered with freckles in very pretty way and that she had them on arms too. Arthur tried not to think too much of other freckles whereabouts. But he couldn't now. Now it was different. She was back, safe and it was such fresh and uplifting feeling. Her small breasts were always covered by her dresses, but he could see thru them. He was sure that her boobs would fit his hands perfectly. And this petite frame she has, waist so thin he could pick her up by wraping his arm around it and then those hips, perfectly proportioned. Long, long legs that could wrap around him while they would fuck. Easy now, cowboy. He was lying under big tree and sketching when he heard footsteps. He looked up and saw Iris's face, sun covering her pretty head and making halo around it. - Mrs Grimshaw told me that I will wash clothes or I will hunt something to eat with you, Mister Morgan. - And you don't want to wash my dirty shirts, don't'ya? - I ain't no wife to do such things. Maybe Tilly accepts it but I won't. Wonder why this old rag doesn't do anything but screaming at me - Iris's eyes were throwing daggers towards lady she just mentioned - Anyway, I am ready whenever you are. She was wearing different clothes today and he liked them, even though it was jeans and shirt. He kind of wanted to say it but he wasn't brave enough. With bow on her back and braided hair she was riding her horse, humming some melody only she knew. Iris was following Arthur, who knew better where to hunt in those location. Day was amazing. - What we gonna catch, Mr Morgan? Few rabbits? Maybe a buck? Or... - she giggled - A bear. We would have food for weeks from beast like this. - Pearson would make it uneatable anyway - he smiled under his breath. - That's why I'm back. Tell me the truth, you rescued me because Pearsons stew is poisonous, eh? Arthur couldn't answer. He couldn't not think what would happen to her if he wasn't lucky or damned enough to sit in the same prison as she. It wasn't funny either. - Sorry, Mr Morgan. Already forgot ya hate to talk with everyone around the camp. - I don't hate talking to you - was all he said. They hid in bushes and were waiting for anything big to come and drink from the river in front of their eyes. Minutes passed by and they haven't exchange any word, so Arthur started to sketch in his journal. Suddenly the piece of paper Iris left for him more than two months now fell from the last page of book. He wanted to catch it but she was quicker. - Ha! - she looked surprised, unfolding piece of paper but when she read it she looked rather dissapointed - Why would you keep it? Sure it belongs to trash now. And teared this paper apart into tiny pieces. Arthur got up suddenly. - Why you destroyed something that belongs to me? - He snarled, leaning in her direction. - It wasn't big deal, Mr Morgan, come on. Just some stupid things I wrote to ya. - So...It wasn't true after all? You don't think those things about me? Silence again. She started to sweat when Mother Nature decided to rescue her. Enormous deer with massive antlers was drinking from the stream. She didn't want to startle it by saying anything to Arthur so she grabbed her bow, inhaled and sent an arrow. It pierced deers eye as it whined and fallen down. Arthur looked at her amazed, forgeting that they were falling out half hour ago. -Nice shot, Iris. Iris. That's my name. He never used my name before. - T-thanks I guess? Now we can head back so I won't bother you anymore, eh? - You don't bother me - he whispered but she didn't hear. She couldn't, she was already next to hunted deer. - You don't bother me - he said out of the blue when she entered the room they shared. It wasn't technicaly a room, more than a floor divided by old bookstand with their beds placed on opposite sides of it. But he could see her thru gaps in shelves as she sat down and begin to unbraid her hair. Suddenly he wanted to touch them. - Thank you, Mr Morgan, that's very nice of ya. - I mean...you really don't bother me. Ya said ya bother me ealier but ya don't. - Thank you again, I guess? - she shaked her head like she didn't understand why he was saying that again. - Ya really...don't bother me. I missed ya. - That's very nice of you, Mr Morgan. Mary- Beth told me she missed me too. I gues friends miss each other. Silence. - So you'd still consider me as yer friend? - You talk weird things, Mr Morgan. Why do you even care? We all are friends here, more or less. You saved my life, too. - S-say you like me like you did before - he bursted out, becoming all red. He hoped she won't use his way to look at him now, between dusty shelves. - I like you, Mr Morgan. - No, not like that - he got up suddenly, walking circles near his bed. - What d'you mean? - You said all those t-things to me, back then. I-I want to hear them again. Now Iris became silent. Why was he doing that? She cried enough and she spent really long time telling herself they gonna be friends and only friends. Her eyes became glossy so she closed them. - Tell me you like me, Iris - now his voice were much more clear and she heard him closer. She opened her eyes to see him sitting on the floor. - I just told you that. I like you. - Not like that. She got up slowly and sat in front of him. - Like what? - Like...back then. You know - his face was even more red than his union suit was - like you did when you kissed me. She blushed too as she put strand or her jet-black hair behind her ear. - I don't think I want to say them again, Mr Morgan. They was pointless back then and they will be now. I know I shouldn't fall in love with you, I know that and I'm sorry. - Don't be sorry...- he whispered and touched her cheek. It was nice and soft and also a little bit wet. For his surprise she carresed back of his hand as he touched her. - I'm not sorry for loving you. I'm sorry because I shouldn't say it out loud back then. We would still be friends, robbing trains and killing men - she chuckled - Now it's awkward. - You...You think you still love me? - W-why you doin' that? Just stop, please. Yes, I still love you. - Say it again - he murmured as he inclined to her face. - I love you - she whispered, her body trembling. Arthur kissed her gently and slowly, but his touch was demanding. He wrapped one of his arms around her waist, the other one playing with her soft hair. She smelled so nice and she was warm and her lips were welcoming and she kissed him in that shy way like she never kissed anyone. Iris was kissing him like no one before. It was mainly fact that she didn't kiss anyone beside him in her life. She was trembling under his touch. He smelled still the same way she remembered -cigarettes, whiskey and sweat. It felt like a dream, unreal but sweet and innocent. She parted their lips and looked him into the eyes. - You're warm...and you feel like home - her voice was shy. He barely could hear what she's saying. Arthur cuddled her tightly, rocking her a little bit in his arms. Iris could hear his heart, it's sound bold and loud. - I wanted to talk to you, Iris. 'Bout everything - he scratched his chin again - I ain't good man and you should know it. - You are...we just have diferent criteria. He couldn't help but smile. - I don't want to hurt you, you know? I had girl like you, just as young but much more naive. She had a kid with me. Maybe I don't look like family man but I was looking after them, I brought my son toys but I guess...I wasn't around enough - his voice darkened and he sat away from her. He was looking at his feet while saying all of it. - One day I wanted to visit them and I saw the house empty, completly wrecked. Behind it there was two graves. Neighbours told me that some gang murdered Eliza and Isaac for 10 dolars she had. She let those words sunk in. Now it was easier to understand why Arthur was pushing her away. She furrowed her brows and placed slender hand on Arthur's arm. - I wished you would tell me ealier, Arthur. I would understand you better. He blinked looking at her like she was a ghost. It made her brows furrow again. - I expected you to at least yell - he mumbled out. - Why would I yell, explain. - 'Cause I ain't good man. I'm just not. I have too much blood on my ugly hands. And you? You are smart and clever although you are much younger. I feel even worse when I think about the fact that I won't probably give anything good to you but stress and more death and- - Could you stop there for a second - Iris asked rather harshly but she quickly reflected to explain. She put his big, calloused hand in her delicate small hands and smiled shyly. - What's done is done, Arthur. I can tell you loved Eliza and your son and that's what really matters. At least to me. It tells a lot about you as y o u, not the image of bad old Arthur you think you are. And those things about me? It hurts me to think you feel like that. But to make you sure you will bring good things to my life I can tell that already. For example, I will stop being cold at night. Then Iris pecked a kiss on Arthur's cheek. He opened his mouth and then closed them. His eyes blinked few times and he opened his mouth again. - I-I just don't get it, why would you choose me? You could have anybody, I mean look at yourself, girl! - It's not about anybody. It's about having someone who makes your heart jump, I can't believe you don't get it! I was after you for months, Arthur Morgan. He started looking at the floor again and he was sulking, oh like hell he was. - You know we can leave it just like that...if you are not sure about all of this. You could...you could tell me when you will feel ready? - Iris said finally. You gonna break my heart, aren't you? He nodded looking at his feet. He nodded. And once again her heart dropped and melted on the floor. This time she didn't picked it up. -He did what?! - Mary-Beth looked like she nearly lost it. - He said he wants to wait because he thinks his words didn't sink in. That I am blindfolded and that I'm gonna grow out of it. - No way he used this one. No. No. - Wow, I have never saw you in this state before. Ya sure it was me that he broke up with? - How could you tell something like that anyway? How could you propose this? You are worth much more than this and we were talking about it. - Jesus. I guess I'm sorry, mother? - You are not gonna wait for shit is what I'm telling you. Screw it! Screw good uncle Arthur, you are I are women and if he's like that he will taste my anger. - I think you got carried away, Mary-Beth. It's not that bad, really. He just gave me little hopes at first and now I don't have any, you don't have to worry. - I will be loyal to you, my new sister. I can't believe how dirty he did you! You know what? Let me rearrange there and you will be living with us since now. - Gee, I really don't know what to say - she blushed - You are really great, I thought I was gonna sleep today under the trees. He snores like a pig - she said with sweet but ugly smile. -Come on, Mrs Grimshaw will understand why we stopped working. Let's gonna move you here! - she sang it like it was an opera song. She hadn't had that much stuff, just few books and clothes so moving her wasn't difficult. Arthur was in town now so Iris hoped she won't meet him. And she didn't. Evening came and Arthur still wasn't there. What else wasn't there war journal. She started having this small habit since she noticed Arthur doing that. - I think I left it upstairs. I'm gonna search for it and I'm gonna be back soon with you, my new roommate! Iris walked up the stairs and there it was. She left it under her bed. Slender fingers caressed journal's cover and she smiled a bit. Then she turned around and saw Arthur, standing in room entrace. - Ya leaving me? - he asked with pure sadness in eyes. - Just moving to girls tent. Nothing big, Mr Morgan. - Don't call me like that, I ain't liking it. Use my name, you was using it already - he looked at her like she was something slipping from his hands. - But this is who you are now, just Mr Morgan - she smiled brightly at him and it was the saddest smile he saw - Goodnight - Iris whispered and climbed to her toes as she pecked little kiss on his cheek. She disappeared in darkness walking thru the corridor and he looked after her hoping it was just a joke.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x female character #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #fluff #drama #angst

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fairyshuuu · 5 years

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wild valley pt7 | chanyeol

.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long? .word count. 7k .mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au. .pairing. chanyeol x reader .genre. smut, fluff, romance

.warnings. mature language, sexual content, thigh riding, public fingering .author’s note. i’m posting the next chapter soon after this one, too (hopefully tomorrow). though the next chapter is the real deal, this one has it’s fair share of smut, so if you’re uncomfortable with that, i’m sorry. these two chapters won’t be for you ♫ let me set the mood ♫

teaser. part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6. part 7. (m) part 8. (m)

Red lights beam on the side of the jukebox, flashing in time with the beat of the music that plays through the speakers. Tiled floors, blue, faux leather seats and the smell of cooled coffee drinks. The place seems pulled right from 40s, and yet, it’s still his favorite place in the entire city. Besides the garage, maybe. The diner is never full, leaning more towards bankruptcy on most days with the lack of customers and yet, he comes here like it’s an unchangeable routine.

The lady behind the counter, Samantha, is a graying woman in her fifties, and she hates him smoking indoors. Normally he doesn’t care, since no one else does. But for once, it seems, he decides to be civil. The tall woman plops down the tray with a smile, though her eyebrows are stewed together. His diet seems to consist only of hamburgers and alcohol, but that’s just what’s easiest. He doesn’t have time to order in food, let alone do something healthy for his body like cook actual food.

“What is up with you today? Did you receive some bad news, or something? I’ve never once had to not tell you to put out your cigarette in my fine establishment.” She purses her red, painted lips out as her arms cross over her chest.

“What fine establishment, Sam? This place is just about as dead as your romantic life,” he sighs, grabbing his coke to take a large gulp. The older woman dramatically smacks him with the menu, before rolling her eyes.

“That’s rich coming from you, young man. At least I’ve had a romantic life before, my prince charming just slipped through my fingers. I don’t know what your excuse is. If you don’t soon start seeing someone, you’ll end up just like me, and worse.” She fans herself with the menu, blowing her artificial vanilla perfume his way. Without hesitation, he takes a big bite out of the hamburger, eyes flicking up at her as she talks. “Men can’t handle a life alone, you know. They get emotionally constipated.”

He snorts at that, and hums while chewing. She’s actually right, if he’s being honest. Sam is doing just fine alone, he can’t really say the same for himself though. “Well,” she sighs, cleaning off the wet side of the table for him, before straightening, “just get on it. You’ll be forty and alone sooner than you think, you’re already nearing your thirties.” With that she tosses her rag over her shoulder, and walks away. “Enjoy your meal now, young man.”

He’d find her advice bothersome, if he didn’t know what a genuine person the older woman was. It’s not easy to put up with him sometimes, he knows this too. As he eats, he looks out the darkened windows to the street, watching the light as it slips through the clouds and plays on the house fronts with a twinkling joy. Summer’s coming to an end soon, already indicated by the cooler winds that blow through. It’s strange. Even though he’s evidently slowed down compared to months before, so much more seems to have happened.

This time last year, he was pumping every bit of energy he had into the garage. Every fiber of his being belonged to that place, without second thought, without stopping. He needed something to tune his problems into, needed to distract himself from the real world by sinking into his work and while it worked back then, it’s noticeably different from how he deals with things now. He doesn’t know how much of that started when you jumped into his life head first.

As he eats in silence, sharing the diner only with one other patron, who seems too invested in the newspaper to notice anything around it, the familiar ring of the bell sounds. Soft steps make their way through the hall and into sight, making Chanyeol pause mid-bite. The woman who walks in is quite a bit taller than you, but shares a striking resemblance with you. As she walks towards the bar and closer to him though, he can make out some differences between you two. This girl is a bit older, eyes lined with black wings and hair dyed a soft honey color.

She waves at the woman behind the counter, and clears her throat. “Hello, neighbor.”

“Hiya, young lady,” Sam responds, wide smile on her face. “Don’t you look lovely today? You going somewhere, Yuna?” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to listen in on the conversation, but the diner is so abandoned that he can’t help but tune in.

The woman, who he can only guess is your sister, shakes her head as she leans on the bar with both elbows. “Not really, but thank you. I just wanted to hop in to ask if you’ve seen Y/N, by any chance? She was supposed to come into work today, but the shop is closed and I can’t reach her.” Yuna brushes her bangs out of her face with a frustrated sigh, hands continuing to play with the edge of her shirt. “Has she been here at all, today?”

At that Sam lifts her brows, and reaches over to offer her a glass of water. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, dear. I haven’t seen her today, but I’ve been cooped up in here since the morning, too.” Yuna gratefully takes the glass of water in both hands, nodding. “You don’t think something happened to her, do you?” Sam asks.

“No, she’s probably just out with her friends,” Yuna sighs, “it wouldn’t be the first time that she doesn’t let me know where she’s going. But you know, she’s a really responsible girl, normally. After our parents divorced, she basically took all of the household chores on her shoulders, got good grades in school, even though she had to carry the weight of three people on her shoulders. It’s why I had no doubts, handing her the reigns of the store, but—” with that she pauses, and leans forward a little more, “I’m worried about the friend’s she’s made.”

“How come?”

“Dew’s a nice girl. She’s not much of a party goer, and when she does, she lets everyone know so that we don’t worry. At least, that’s how she was growing up. Now she’s spending every day and night with those boys, I just… I don’t know. There’s things that go on in this city that I don’t want her to come into contact with.” Though Samantha nods in agreement, she places a hand on the other’s shoulder, and sighs.

“You’re not going to be able to protect her from everything. It’s good that you’re concerned about her. But I think, in cases like these, where friends are involved, she’s going to have to make that decision for her own.” Chanyeol sighs as he stands from his booth, brows furrowed. It makes both women look over at him, as if only now remembering that there’s other people in the diner, but they don’t say anything. Chanyeol gives a small nod as he passes by them two, waving casually.

“You can put it on my tab, Sam.” The older woman hums in reply, and goes back to her business. As he rounds the corner, he can see her pulling your sister into a warm hug, patting her back comfortingly. As he opens the door, the sound of the bell rings again. When the door falls shut behind him, all the music disappears. The street is void, for lack of a better word. It might just be because of the conversation, but it’s startling. When he looks to his right, a cold feeling comes over his skin.

The ice cream shop is closed, indeed. He hadn’t really paid attention to it when he came. The normally bright colors of the interior are tucked away behind the ugly, metal shutters, and the soft instrumental music that plays from the boxes is disconnected, leaving behind the occasional sound of static. The place looks and feels cold. And he’s seen those same shutters about a million times before, but this was never a thought that crossed his mind before you came. It only serves to remind him again, that something needs to be done.

And that something might just have to be him, if no one else does anything about it. For once, Chanyeol’s determination seems like the right choice. As he crosses the street, he jams his hand in his pocket to pull out the ever familiar red and white box, and places a smoke between his lips. If he gets the chance, he tells himself, he’s going to get over his brooding and talk to you. Help you out. It’s all that he can do, but for the first time in months— he’s hopeful that he stands a chance. A chance at doing the right thing.

It’s funny. If nothing else, Chanyeol just wants Sehun to shut up right now. Baekhyun too, and if possible the entire room, for a while. As always, he’s left wondering why the hell he came out tonight, and drowning his unpleasant thoughts in scotch that definitely shouldn’t have been opened. Too bad. It’s stupidly hot in this house, leaving his clothes glued to his shape, and his thoughts brewing in the background. A girl he’s forgotten the name of sits on his lap, thighs warming his own and her soft whispers thumping on his eardrums.

His chest is tight and hands are heavy, and so when the girl takes his hands he doesn’t pull back, though he feels like doing so. Kyungsoo, despite all odds, seems to be enjoying his time for once, settled politely in the couch next to Yuta’s ex. His friend is normally too in his head about everything, to join in on the fun, too calculated to let loose like the others. But even though Kyungsoo says he doesn’t like the woman, Chanyeol would bet money on an eventual hook-up. If two attractive people spend a load of time together, it’s inevitable. When the shorter man sends his a questioning look, Chanyeol looks away, leaning back in the couch.

The room is a burnt amber because of the obnoxious lights draping down the walls like a curtain, and the floor sticks to the soles of his shoes when he moves them. And though a band plays in the other room, it’s not a good one. But despite all of the reasons that could possibly irk him, they aren’t the cause of the thoughts prodding at his brain. Sehun seems blatantly unaware as ever, though Chanyeol’s not sure if he’s doing it on purpose right now or if his friend is really that stupidly lacking in tact.

“I’m just saying— if you go for it, y’ should go for it,” Sehun slurs, tongue thick with some strong liquor that is starting to sound insanely appealing right now. “I— no, if you wanna go for it, you should— ‘s what I mean. Before that cherry wannabe or his bleached bimbo friend hop on the choo choo pussy train and leave you moping for the rest of your sad, sad life.” Jongdae, who looks none the wiser on the conversation he’s suddenly tuned into, just giggles brightly and shrugs at the older.

Without fail, Baekhyun turns to his friend, and leans forward to pat Chanyeol’s shoulder with a grin, moving the girl to the side to get a clear view of his face. “Yeah, Park. Go for it.” He smiles knowingly across to Sehun as he takes the last gulp of his bottle, before tossing it into the cooling bucket with the unopened beers. “I’m dying for another Beauty and the Beast remake,” he adds, laughing at his own joke with full force. His eyes turn into thin moons with the satisfaction he gets out of it, and for once Chanyeol’s not sure weather to punch his friend or join him.

It seems appropriate, doesn’t it? He’s the one who told you to stay away from him, yet here he is, glancing to the side every few minutes to make sure you haven’t left yet. He’s jittery like a young school girl, any time he catches your eyes. Staring, only to look away when you glance back with a smile that seems permanently glued to your lips. You’re particularly beaming today, radiating a pink, velvet aura that reminds him of cotton candy. Your hair pulled in a high ponytail that reveals the tattoo that you got on your neck not too long ago. Jongdae warned him, but clearly not enough, because the effect it has on him is weighted.

“She’s looking over this way,” Baekhyun grins again when he faces the other, his lips jutting out. “You know, for a grown man the size of a tree, you really can be a big bitch sometimes.” Without hesitating, he jams a cold beer in his friend’s hand, ignoring lap-girl when she sends him a glare at being interrupted for a second time. Such a small sized human, but such a blabbering mouth. The brunet leans back himself then, running his fingers through his hair. “And don’t even start to me about Dara. Yes, she fucked you up, and yes, she was a horrible, soul-eating piece of shit, but that’s not what’s holding you back here. Man up, Chanyeol.”

Though it’s obvious taunting, Chanyeol clenches his jaw, his shoulders tensing in the process. Several beats pass, before he’s turning over his shoulder for the nth time tonight. This time, you’re already looking at him. Your lips are curled at the ends, lashes dark but eyes playing with a daring glint, and for the first time in maybe— ever— does he allow himself to admit that you look undeniably attractive. He’d blame it on the alcohol, but you both seem to know better. Your lips move and though he can’t make out the sound of your voice above the music, the sentiment doesn’t pass him completely. His frown must be visible even from afar though, because you giggle. ‘What are you drinking?’ you mouth again, cocking your head at his hand this time to drive the point home.

It’s a subtle thing, but he swears your lips go from a grin to a genuine smile when he opens his mouth in understanding. It’s adorable, for one. But it’s also very you, and maybe that’s what warms his insides more. “Guinness,” he responds, making sure to face you as well as he can from across the room. You smile yet again, and hold out an ‘okay’ sign with your hand, before moving to stand up, presumably to get said drink. None of your friends follow, only his gaze following behind as your black skirt wraps around the curve of your ass.

And fuck it, if it isn’t the chance he’s been waiting for. He moves lap-girl into the side of the guy next to him, and stands from the warm sofa to make his way out of the little nook his friends have claimed as their own for the night, under the loud holler of Jongdae. Who, despite being the most sober, still can’t keep quiet at the best of times. Though lap-girl seems slightly upset, the guy who’s lap she is thrust into seems more than happy to make up the difference, and so Chanyeol quickly pushes past the couple blocking him.

The room sways just slightly as he moves through the sticky lump of people, long legs doing more damage than good in this tight a space. Of course, for all the teasing they can do, and all the jabs they might give, his friends are right. Even now, when he has a reason to talk to you and now he has a question to ask, do his nerves go flying at the single first chance they get. But with all of Baekhyun’s nagging, he can’t possibly let the night go on unresolved. He can just see you move through the crowd a bit ahead, swaying more than a bit yourself. Maybe tonight isn’t a good night, and maybe he’ll regret it in the morning, but for the first time in a long while does he feel like he has a goal outside of his own bubble. He’s not about to let it slip past.

You unknowingly lead him through the hall and into the next room of the house, before the people finally clear out enough to allow him a quicker pace. For how much shorter your legs are than his, you’re surprisingly fast. Your hair bounces with every one of your steps, swaying softly to alter between hiding your tattoo and not. He bites his bottom lip, and takes another two steps, before reaching down to grab you by your shirt. You veer back like a spring because of his grip on you, as his other hand comes to keep you from falling, hoping to avoid the typical clumsiness that that usually causes. In your attempt to turn, you stumble backwards, resulting in an equally suggestive pose.

You stare up at him for several seconds from your place squeezed against the wall, his body surrounding you on all other sides. With a little frown, Chanyeol lets go of your shirt, though the hand on your other side doesn’t have any intention of leaving. Before he can say anything, you let out a slight giggle, and press your hands against your chest. “You scared my goddamn brain out of me, Chanyeol, geez.” There’s a slight fog in your eyes indeed, the result of some kind of alcohol no doubt, and your lips are unnaturally red, which is probably a sign of Baron. But he doesn’t care, because you look intoxicating in the best way.

“Finally, here you are,” he just sighs, doing his best to keep the stubborn frown from crawling back to his brows. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for the entire evening.” For a second, he wonders if this is out of line. Just a split second, where it seems like it’s not his place to intervene, and another where he has to wonder if you’re bothered by his unending indecisiveness. But as if on clue, you laugh. Full, and genuine, with every fiber of your being you laugh, leaning your head to his chest in the process and with that he couldn’t give any less of a shit, even if it was his place to say jack shit. Because he wants to, anyway.

When you take a deep breath in, you look at him from under your lashes and smile. “Oh, ‘s that so?” Your mouth curves prettily in the shine of the purple spotlights. “Good. I was staring to think you’d gone completely mental, with the amount of times I caught you staring at me from across the room.” A mortified warmth spreads on his cheeks at that, though it doesn’t seem to bother you. “I’m glad you’ve finally caught me, then.” Your hand wraps around his larger, fingers cold against his warm skin.

With a deep breath through his nose, Chanyeol looks away from you to survey the room, at a sudden loss for words. The room is much more quiet than the main one, lacking in people too. It’s significantly colder here, which seems to make the warmth of your body more noticeable. Your eyes are on him as he moves back to face you, softly regarding him. “Listen,” he starts, “I wanted to— have a word with you without your friends, without everyone staring at me like I’m crazy. I might be, but I don’t need everyone pointing it out.”

Though you don’t change your expression, he can tell your brain is turning it’s gears, lips softly opening. “If you’re gonna listen, that is. Because I won’t spend my time trying to explain something if you don’t wanna hear it.” The last part slips out before he can stop it, an explanation ready to flow from his mouth at all times. You nod though, wide eyed, as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips again. You must be thirsty still.

“Is it true?” you suddenly ask, leaning a little more towards him. Your finger softly taps the side of his hand, though he doesn’t know if it’s a comforting move or a concerned one. Though your fingers are noticeably colder than his, your touch is soft, like velveteen. Your words slowly filter in above the music.

His dark eyes bore into yours for an extended second, before the tenseness of his shoulders drops. “Is what true?” His eyes glide to your lips when you lick them, clearly holding something you want to say back. But gentle as ever, you just move back to press your weight into the wall, tilting your head to the side as you shake it.

“Nothing,” you mumble, barely audible over the cascading sound of the band across the house, “continue, please. You were explaining that you don’t like having pointed out that you’re crazy, I think. Not sure though, you weren’t making any sense.” Chanyeol’s laugh is one of surprise, slipping out like it’s been aching to do so for a long time and you also look surprised, if your raised eyebrows are anything to go by. It doesn’t last nearly as long as it should, but you seem to bloom at the sound, even joining with it after a bit. His laugh makes you flutter, and that almost sends him spiraling. Because it’s his laugh that is making you smile like that.

“I’m not crazy,” he brings out, forcing down the corners of his lips. Your own follow suit, your best attempt at being serious. “Look, Y/N. I know that I’m probably the last person you want to take advice from,” Chanyeol’s hand moves from your side to glide through his white strands, soothing his nerves, “but— I uh… I worry about you. Definitely lately.” His dark eyes find yours with more fevor this time, flicking over your face as you listen. Though you’ve done your very best to conceal them, there’s grooves under your eyes that weren’t there when you first talked to him, and even with your ever-lasting smile, your face has a tiredness that refuses to stand down.

“I’m not gonna tell you who to be friends with. Hell, I couldn't give less of a shit even if they were the shittiest people on earth, because you’re old enough to take care of that yourself. But I will tell you that this— whatever it is you’re doing— isn’t gonna last. And one day you’re gonna wake up and wonder how the fuck everything went so wrong.” His voice is deep when he talks, though this can’t be the only reason that you lean into his touch more, eyes moving from him to the floor multiple times. He sighs, and squeezes your fingers a little more in his own. “Believe me.”

It stays silent for a long minute, one where Chanyeol can see every breath you take. Eventually you bite your bottom lip. “That’s easy for you to say.” Though you smile, you look over to the bar with distant eyes. “Park Chanyeol,” you grin, mouthing it eagerly as if his name is something grand. Something to be proud of. “Chanyeol, with his white hair and tattoos.” Your lips look like pink candy floss as you speak. It’s distracting. “Stupidly hot. Like, it’s-insane-that-someone-looks-like-that hot. Infuriatingly fucking hot. You’ve had every pretty girl in this city, and if you haven’t, you could easily.”

When you really catch his eyes again, you pout. You’re a grown, cotton candy baby, pouting his heart into the next gear and he feels like leaning closer to you just so he can hold himself up on the wall. He almost feels like making fun at himself for how badly it renders him. Instead he chooses to take a step back, looking anywhere but your face. That’s why he notices your hands are fisted into your shirt, exposing a sliver of skin of your waist unintentionally. God, you look like you taste so sweet. This tiny piece of exposed skin makes his tongue heavy and belly drop. He looks away. “You- you think I’m hot?” he settles on saying, jaw clenching.

You huff out a small laugh, and place your hands on his chest, the pressure of your nails poking through his shirt. “I think you’re ridiculous,” you smile, eyes glinting with a playfulness as you glance at him from under your lashes, “that you even have to ask. I’ve had to keep myself in check since the first time I saw you.” The smile on your face drops when you realize what you just said, embarrassment coloring your cheeks for the first time tonight. Chanyeol revels in the shade that dusts your cheeks though.

Before you can bring out an attempt to cover up your confession, he leans closer, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. He would think it too forward, even for him, if you weren’t looking at him with the most blown out expression. Before he can think about it, his hand finds your chin, tilting it up towards him so that you can look at him, and oh— are you looking. He can almost see the pitter patter of your heart on your face, longing marking every inch of skin. With a firm hold on your jaw, he leans down to hover in your space, faces so close that he can feel your breath meeting his own. “You’re been wanting me for months, huh?” His words are confident, overly so. It would be presumptuous, if your breathing didn’t stutter as it did.

When you give the tiniest motion of agreement, he takes a step closer, the length of his body finally finding yours for what must have been an eternity of want. Your lips open to let out a small noise, so soft that it immediately gets swallowed by the room. But Chanyeol smiles at it, moving his thumb over the soft expanse of your cheek. “I could ruin you without trying, sugar.” Again, you nod at the words that he forms, warm and dark in the thick tension of the room. Within only two minutes, he’s got you in between his arms, and though he didn’t start the night with this in mind, maybe he’s wanted this for longer than he dares admit. Maybe he’s wanted you from the first time he saw you, as well. Marking your baby-blue clad body with blood-red hickeys. The tightness of his pants seems to prove so.

“You could,” you bring out feebly, fingers tangling in his black shirt to keep a hold on reality, “and I’d probably let you.” His free hand moves to grab your thigh, pulling you flush against him now, as the other goes to rest on the small of your back. Your eyes are dark like smoke now, and though he can’t check to see, he knows his are much the same. And then you move one of your hands to grab at the hair at the back of his head, willingly tilting your face upwards so that your lips almost brush his, and every string in his body is ready to snap. Every piece of clothing on his body seems to much, too warm. The friction is irritating. “Do you want to kiss me, Chanyeol?” you breathe.

Yes. Before the world can even continue spinning, are his lips on yours. Instinctive, like he’d snap if he didn’t. Mouth on yours. Hands on your skin and in your shirt and traveling up your back. It happens in an instant, so sudden that he might topple over, if he wasn’t already pressing you into the wall. Your lips are scalding, red hot like smoldering coals and maybe you could send him up in flames if you tried. Your hands grab him harder, closer, as if the non-space is still too much and he’d be inclined to agree. And his lips move harshly on yours, tongue meeting your own.

The kiss is hard and messy, fire surging from your body to his. He bends down more to tuck you entirely in his hold, while his hand grabs a handful of ass. When he squeezes hard, you squeak into his mouth, dissolving in a twirl of smiles and something more desperate. But you don’t ever stop kissing him, and in that moment he’s sure you two could keep going forever. Where your fingers were cold before, now they seem to trail sparks over his skin. You pull away for a second to take a breath, before kissing him again, his bottom lip, his jaw, under his ear. Your one hand moves to hold his cheek, while the other grabs desperately at his shoulder.

But he’s only just gotten a taste of you, so Chanyeol catches your lips with his again, sucking sharply on your bottom lip. It makes you melt into his hold, trying desperately to stay upright. The hand that is glued to the soft expanse of your back moves to grab another handful of ass, your hips pulled to his. Your tongue tastes like some candy flavored drink, melting with the barren taste of his scotch from earlier. He leans you into the wall completely, feeling your chest brushing against his own with every breath. Every part of you is piping hot, sweet and sour and holy fuck— his dick is so hard. Never once has a make out turned him on this much. As in retaliation for the interruption of your kisses, you pull his lip between your teeth, and bite it, hard. The sting only serves as a temporary line down to earth.

Mouths and tongues a blur as they melt together. Again, his hands are moving, as if automatic. His fingers tangle in the bottom of your hair, most definitely messing up your ponytail. You pull back to rest your head on the wall, allowing him a breath, before you blatantly moan at the feeling of his hands on you. When he opens his eyes, yours stay closed. Your breath is heavy, lips bright red and blurred at the edges. You look fucking heavenly, and the thought that it’s all for him to take makes every fiber in him shake. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you mouth, blindly grabbing at his neck to pull his face back to yours, “please.”

Your bottom lip seems to shake with how badly you mean it. “Have me, your way.” Your whisper is faint, bringing a small smile to his lips. You don’t see it, but it’s okay. He too, is overwhelmed with the undying urge to fade from the world. He kisses you as a response, softly this time, with a small hum to join. When his lips break from yours, you do open your eyes, looking just as smitten as he feels. “Ruin me, Chanyeol,” you beg, clenching your jaw. He stares at you for just a moment longer, before leaning even closer, and nodding mindlessly. Dragging his mouth over your jaw. Down your neck, hard, open mouth kisses pressed everywhere. And as soon as he adds teeth, you curl into his body, clinging desperately to his back. You moan, your noises sweet like honey.

The thought of fucking you over the bar crosses his mind briefly, but as fast as it comes, he knows that won’t sate him. He needs you on a bed, spread out for him once, or twice. As he works, the heat between your bodies seems to come to a boil, sweat dripping down his neck and chest and joining the ruined floor of the party. Your nails in his back, hands shaking. The tightness of his pants is almost painful, but the idea of taking his time with you is much too appealing. Every time he brands his mark on your skin, you whimper, tilting your hips to rub over him. It pulls a small laugh out of him, brushing over your shoulder. “Eager, baby?” he asks, though he’s not expecting an answer. Instead, he just digs his fingers into the soft skin of your ass again, and continues the trail of hickies, to which you mumble some incoherent words.

Finally, when the heat becomes too much to bare, and your whines turn into noises of clear impatience, he pulls back to check his work. Your shirt is pulled all the way forward, almost slipping off your one shoulder, and your mouth is open, one lip pulled harshly between your teeth. The hickies blooming on your skin only make you look more wrecked. He thought he was done, but fuck. Yet again, he has to lean down to grab your face in both of his large hands, and to pull your lips to his. You just whimper, and let him claim your mouth as his, looking too fucked out to make any understandable thoughts. And he hasn’t even used his hands on you yet.

Your glowing body presses to his again, in an attempt to move things forward maybe, fuck if he knows. At this point, he’d do anything if you just asked. But you’re letting him lead, so he’ll do his very best to ruin you like you need to be ruined. When he lets you drop back, his knee lifts to sit tightly in between your thighs, and you full-on moan at the small act. “You’re such a sweet, little thing,” he breathes, mouth at the nape of your neck to bite down there sharply, as your hips stutter to drag over his thick thigh. It sends an unbearable amount of pressure to his center, enough to make him pause. You don’t let him though, squeezing and grabbing at any skin you can get your hands on, as you successfully roll your hips on his thigh. A high pitched noise trembles from your tongue. “Aren’t you a desperate, little girl? Look at you rubbing yourself all over my thigh.”

You just nod harshly, opening your eyes to look at the white haired man with a black-dripping need. “Ch- Chanyeol,” you whisper, digging your nails into his bicep as he pushes his leg harder into your center, “fuck, holy fuck, please.” It’s the first coherent words you’ve spoken since earlier, and part of him longs to give in just at the effort. But your gorgeous expression right now is priceless.

“You’re soaking through your panties, aren’t you?” His one hand moves to slip under your shirt, under your bra, to grab your breast without shame. Your eyes shut with a sharp breath in. “Aren’t you, sugar?” he repeats, dark tone pressed to the softness of your cheek. You breathe a faint ‘yes’, probably, but Chanyeol’s not sure. He manoeuvres your chin sideways to access the untouched side of your neck, and sucks down there with a feverous breath of his own. He didn’t start the night with this in mind, but fucking shit, he wishes he’d done this three times over already. You leave him starstruck. As your hips move over his thigh in a punishing rhythm, Chanyeol squeezes hard at your soft skin, and rolls your sensitive bud between his thumb and index finger. It all seems too much for you, because you suddenly pull his head away from your neck, and quiver in his hold.

“I— I’m,” his free hand moves to wrap your one thigh around him, not bothered by the interruption in the slightest, “I need to…” You don’t finish your sentence when he ruts his hips to your core, making the both of you moan. God, he wants nothing more than to have you right here, have everyone see who you belong to. But you both seem to know he’s too selfish to do so. You try again, looking at him from under hooded eyes to jut out your bottom lip. “Chanyeol, please, fuck— I’m close.” The words alone make his dick even harder, if that’s possible. It might not be long or he bursts, with how tight his pants are wrapped around him.

The smile he gives you is a genuine one. “You wanna come? You wanna cum all over me, have everyone see how good I can make you feel?” You nod your head desperately, and wrap your hand around his forearm for support. The desperate roll of your hips to his clothed dick would be answer enough for him though. With a devilish smirk that fights it’s way to his face, he trails his fingers down the valley of your breasts and even lower, not letting your hips still on his thigh. His free hand dips smoothly under your skirt, and past your ruined panties. “God, you are soaked, baby.” Your wetness is sure to stain a dark patch on his jeans.

“Ah,” you whimper, “please,” at this point, you don’t even seem to know what you’re begging for. The leg that is pressed in between your legs parts them wider, giving him the space needed to slip his fingers under you to trail them between your lips, first one, then two. As he does so, you tilt your head back, allowing him the perfect opportunity to latch his mouth back on your neck. If anyone were to see him here, they might easily know where his hand is going, but most people are luckily too entranced by the alcohol to notice. And if they are not, he’s too entranced by you to give a shit. You’re effectively dripping, allowing his thick finger to slide in without any resistance. He doesn’t hesitate to add a second, enjoying your soft noises of pleasure above him as his lips suck a hickey at the top of your breast.

“Do my fingers feel good, sugar?” He thrusts them inside hard to accompany his words, sending you forward into a blubbering mess. The only thing he can make out is the word ‘yes’, that you chant a million times. You’re so responsive, it’s adorably attractive. His fingers move smoothly in and out of you with a come hither motion every time inside, allowing you the first feeling of stretch. But he doesn’t stay this kind for long, needy in his touches as much as you are. He pulls back to watch you squirm on his hand and lock your thigh around his body, fingers thrusting in and out with obscene noises and deliver a slap to your clit every time skin connects to skin.

You’re pinned to the wall under his sharp movements, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close and breathing hot and heavy against his skin. And every time he jams them into your tight hole, thumb rolling over the sensitive bud with ease, you seem to clench harder around his hand. He adds a third finger, smiling at the adorable sound you make, and curls his fingers as much as possible, until the rhythm becomes too much to bear. Your body bends entirely under his will, as you whimper. “God— fucking shit, I’m gonna come.” A soft whine, before your face tilts towards him with two shaky breaths. “Kiss me, Chanyeol, please— oh, please, don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t stop even if someone paid him to do so. He gives in, moving his free hand to your jaw to grab it tight, and pushes his lips back on yours harshly. His thick fingers spreading you thin as you clench around him, and his thumb setting an unrelenting pace. It doesn’t take long until you’re coming all over his hand and thigh, moaning into his mouth with an iron grip on his shoulders. You dissolve in his arms as he doesn’t let up on your clit until you’re effectively shaking, body jerking with aftershocks. His hand stills in you for a moment as you come down from your high, mouth hung open.

And then you open your eyes at him, and send him the world’s sweetest smile, and he’s totally lost for you. For tonight, he’ll be yours, and just yours. He’ll make it worth the wait. “Good?” he whispers into your ear, covering your body with his as much as possible when he pulls his fingers out of you, and unwraps your thigh from his body. Your cum and arousal drips down your both thighs as you nod your head, still holding onto him for support. He nods in agreement once, before pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling away from you. He slides his fingers into his own mouth to clean them off one by one, enjoying the shell-shocked look on your face as he does so.

“I can’t believe I did that in public,” you suddenly seem to realize, which makes him chuckle. Not so much in public, as in a place that could become public, really. You are backed into the corner of the room for his viewing pleasure for a reason.

“I can,” he says, “and you did perfectly.” He reaches down in between your thighs once more to swipe up the trails of your cum, and reaches up to hover them over your lips, to which you respond by eagerly taking his fingers in yours, and cleaning those off with your soft tongue too. The visual only reminds him of how hard his cock is, and how badly he needs you. You finish off with a soft pop, before looking down at the floor with coloring cheeks. “Good girl.”

He looks around for a moment to catch his bearings, before looking back over at you where you’re flusteredly fixing your skirt back over your body. “I have a room here upstairs, if you want.” Your big eyes find his with a dark burning desire, still. “Not to be overly direct, but you looked gorgeous coming around my fingers, and I can only imagine how you’d look around my cock. That, and there’s a private bathroom so if you want to clean up afterwards, you can do that too.”

This makes a smile play at your lips, as you nod at him. “That sounds good.” Your smaller hand links in his, as you cock your head towards the hall. Smile wide. “Lead the way, Park Chanyeol.”

next part is going to secure me a spot in hell, but let’s be honest. I’d be in my element there anyway. I really hope you liked this chapter, and that it sates some of the frustration you must all be feeling about our two idiots. Thank you so much for reading! I read all replies, comments and asks, and I have to bow down to you all for the continues support you’ve all shown me with this series.

tag list: not taking anymore tags for right now ^^ thank you for all the love! Please remember to read everyone else’s stories as well, they’ve spent so much time and hard work crafting the rest of this universe!! All my lovelies: @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop—scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell–tart @skjdln @strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @snowflakesandkisses @you-know-bts @puppykangie @kkpoptrashhh @im-a-special-bebe @joolsreads @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @yoongnysus @itsjustyvie

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