#catch me falling down the slope of the mountain because I’m so tired

[boneblushed]

Glitch

synopsis Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

a/n oh Euro Trip Rafe I have missed you so bad 🥹

The velcro of your left glove snags, the worn edge catching on the handle of your ski pole. You sigh. The gauntlet cuff on the right side isn’t looking much better, all scruffy and threadbare so the underlying skin’s exposed.

“Hold on,” you call out, skidding to a reluctant stop.

It’s high time you replaced them with a newer pair, especially considering you’ve been using the same gear your parents bought you post middle-school growth spurt. But you don’t come to Aspen nearly enough to justify doing so at the moment; not that money’s a particular issue, it’s more so the inconvenience an unnecessary shopping trip will bring you.

“Dude. Again?”

You abandon the broken strap to send Topper a helpless frown. He’s a little way ahead, partially obscured by the crowd, but the exasperation on his face is made evident by his tone.

He draws nearer and glances down at the shaggy velcro, shaking his head disapprovingly. “We’ve gotta buy you a new pair.”

Above him, the sky is a gauzy blue, juxtaposing the sugary white hue of fresh snow.

“Not worth it Top,” you argue. The strap hitches again, an objection. “They’ll barely get used.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, turning again. “Come on. I’m going to buy you a new pair.”

He’ll buy you a new one, your heart sings. And then it stops. You know better than to read into this gesture — he isn’t being chivalrous on purpose; when is he ever? This is the fourth time you’ve had to stop to untangle or readjust, and you’re pretty sure he’s just getting sick of you holding him up. Logic prevails, but your traitorous cheeks warm anyway, demure about the offer.

“It’s fine,” you insist. The velcro barely sticks when you refasten it. Fine enough. “Let’s keep going.”

You continue to push through the horde ahead of you, making your slow way toward the chairlifts. As you near, the ant-like skiers and snowboarders on the mountain become clearer, and you pull down your goggles, blinded by the sun’s glare.

That’s when the accident happens.

All of a sudden, but crashing in dusky orange slow-motion. Some guy hits a rocky bit of the slopes, losing control of his snowboard and nosediving into the snow. It’s a gnarly looking collision, made worse by his concerning lack of helmet, and you share a worried look with Topper before making your way toward him.

“Dude, fucking move—hey, sorry, best friend coming through—”

You startle, halting abruptly. You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“—sorry, ‘scuse me gorgeous, I’m just gonna squeeze past you real quick—”

“Noah!”

In the split second that follows, you endure several emotions at once. The first: concern heightened ten-fold. Because if Noah’s referring to himself as the best friend, the some guy in question is actually Rafe Cameron.

The same Rafe Cameron that you love to hate, almost as much as your poor heart avows it.

The second: a concerning ache. Right at the centre of your chest, within your ribcage, as if the tired ligaments that hold it together are as weak as your velcro straps. The feeling swells, and you feel your heart squeeze through the cracks.

And then there’s apprehension, some excitement, a sudden bashfulness that makes your cheeks burn.

All round pathetic. You force a smile that’s more a grimace, hoping that Noah doesn’t notice your disquiet.

He pauses en-route, a surprised expression on his face. “Y/N!” He exclaims, breathless. The surprise melts into a mixture of delight and amusement. “Tell me you witnessed him bailing just then.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he replies soberly, linking his arms in yours and tugging you forward. Your ski poles cross in protest, your centre of balance askew. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” You ask, evidently bewildered. “Noah…”

You twist around and find Topper in the crowd, who shrugs, equally perplexed. Help me, you mouth, though you’re moving ahead too fast for the poor boy to discern it.

“…uh,” you try again, turning back to the face him, “I don’t know if this is —”

“Y/N,” he interrupts matter-of-factly, zig-zagging through the crowd with ease. “If there’s one person that can talk some sense into him, it’s you. I mean, shit, did you see how fast he was going? He’s going to board himself into a fucking coma if he keeps doing stupid shit like that.”

This brings a pause. It’s sort of endearing, really, how fiercely he cares about Rafe.

Your gaze softens a smidge. “You’re a good friend, Noah,” you say. “He’s pretty lucky to have you.”

“Us,” Noah corrects.

Your pulse jolts. “He doesn’t have me,” you reply, frowning a little.

“Everyone else may believe that Y/N, but I don’t.”

And again, a terrifying emotion bounding forth in your chest. “I —”

You’re saved the trouble of sputtering through an excuse by Rafe’s languid groan, a thready-sounding, “Shit.”

The crowd parts at Noah’s command, and the pair of you squeeze through, now face to face with Rafe.

He’s splayed out on the snow with his limbs in disarray, only one of his boots still strapped onto his board. His cheeks are a chilly rouge, dirty-blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. You resist the sudden urge to reach forward and comb your fingers through it.

“Idiot,” Noah mutters, crouching down beside him. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

He unfastens the aforementioned boot and tosses his board to the side, the nose-end looking notably abraded.

“Huh?” Rafe mumbles, a little dazed. He gropes at his purple-hued goggles blindly, pulling them off to squint up at Noah. It takes a worrying number of seconds for recognition to dawn on his features, and when it does, finally, Noah turns around and beckons you forward.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting down to Rafe’s face. “Someone should call Ward.”

“No!” Rafe yells suddenly, attempting to push himself up before collapsing backward languidly. He clutches his left side and groans, his eyebrows pinching in pain.

His discomfort makes you wince. You spring into action without meaning to, that concerning ache in your chest pulling you forth until you’re crouching down beside him like Noah.

“No Ward,” you murmur, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Noted.”

Up close, you can see a cut on his bottom lip, the rough stubble on his jaw all dewy from the melted snow. Your brow furrows. As he tears his gaze away from Noah to face you instead, you brush back his dirty-blonde fringe, searching for any more injuries. He has a graze on his upper forehead and you thumb over it gently, the furrow in your brow deepening with concern.

You glance up at Noah and nod. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

Rafe tries to do the same, but a sharp ache sears through his head when he attempts to turn it again.

“Stop moving it,” you instruct sternly, exerting more pressure on his forehead to hold it in place. “Noah isn’t going anywhere.”

“Have to,” he groans, his voice all gravelly and rough, “make sure he’s still here.”

He’s almost certain that Noah won’t be, that he’ll turn to him and find that the two of you are the only people sitting on the slopes. He imagines it like that scene at the end of Deathly Hallows, everything in blinding white and playing inside of his head.

You know, because he’s almost definitely dreaming if you’re crouching down beside him right now. With a soft hand on his shoulder, another pressed over his forehead. Two points of contact, he marvels, dazed. He squints up at you again, his reverent gaze falling over you in paces, and it feels as though a fog is descending on his surroundings. Everything blurs. He blinks abruptly.

“Dude,” Noah chastises, leaning over Rafe’s torso so that he’s within his line of sight, “where the fuck would I go?”

Rafe’s eyes widen, and he looks between you and Noah, evidently bewildered. “Bro,” he groans after a pause, his head falling back defeatedly. “I’m fucked.”

Your heart lurches worriedly, and you frown, looking over his figure for more injuries. “R’you in any pain?”

“Not physical,” he mumbles, lifting his head tentatively to squint at you. He drops it again and groans, overwhelmed by your closeness. “You’re really fucking beautiful, by the way. It’s messing with my head.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a tell-tale warm creeping up your neck. “Alright, you guys can go,” you say, turning to address the crowd. “He’s totally fine.”

Noah grins down at him, looking equally parts proud and exasperated. “There he is.”

Rafe isn’t sure what that means. All he knows is that he doesn’t feel fine, his head’s all jumbled and there’s a dreadful ache in every one of his limbs. The sound of blood pounding through his ears is unrelenting, and the chill in the air is downright abrasive. Not to mention, there’s this angel reincarnate that’s leaning over him at present, a concerned expression on her face that’s somehow making her look prettier.

Two points of contact, Rafe thinks again, agonised. Your softened features come to him in slow motion, the light reflected in your wide eyes, the shine of gloss on your frowning lips. You look extremely familiar, but he’s having difficulty recalling your name. There’s this overwhelming pull in chest that tells him you’re a big deal to him—his girlfriend, he hopes, aghast and probably deluded. That’s the concussion talking.

Besides, he isn’t even entirely sure that you’re actually real, all things considered.

“We should probably get him checked out, huh?” You ask Noah.

Noah knits his brow thoughtfully, peering down at Rafe. “You good, Cameron?”

“I feel fucking hungover,” Rafe mutters, pushing himself into a sitting position. Your hand falters as he hangs his head forward, and he reaches up, pressing it back into his skin. The rough pressure makes your breath hitch, less languid and more sure than he’s been since he bailed.

“You’re concussed,” you correct meekly, frowning down at him.

Rafe tries to shake his head, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through it in dissent. “No,” he says, quick to fix his features. He grins dazedly. “I’m Rafe Cameron. And you’re… well, I hope you’re my girlfriend or something, because otherwise this heart attack in my chest’d be pretty concerning.”

You breathe out a scoff, mildly exasperated. A little relieved. If he’s well enough to remember to be an incessant flirt, he’s well enough for the concussion to not have caused any permanent damage.

“Alright, nevermind, no medical attention necessary,” you mutter, sending him a glare. It’s hard to hide the fact that your palms are clammy when you pull them away.

Noah loops his bicep under Rafe’s and pulls him to his feet, steadying him in place. The throbbing in his forehead intensifies, and he groans, staggering forward and doubling over.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Noah replies then, frowning. “Maybe I’ll give my mom a call, just to be safe.”

“Your mom?”

“Dr White,” Rafe supplies, forcing himself to straighten. He tries to control his breathing, ignore the way his surroundings seem to be spinning.

Everything except you. His focus acquiesces. He must look pale or something because your gaze is apprehensive, this pretty furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth his thumb over. God, he must look pathetic right now, weak and mildly concussed, the aforementioned bail notwithstanding.

So he lies, adding, “Don’t worry about it White, I’m good,” mostly for your benefit—so you don’t think he’s some fucking chump who can’t handle a bit of a tumble.

He wants to impress you, bad. He plasters on another grin, going for roguish and landing on dense. “Would be better if you let me take you out later.”

“No way you’re asking me out right now,” you reproach, sending him a glare. “You almost just died five minutes ago, and that’s the first thing on your priority list?”

“You are, yeah,” he agrees, still grinning. He tries to walk toward you, staggering a little. “Seriously though, this has gotta be fate — bailing real fucking hard and finding a beautiful stranger along the way.”

You blink. “Beautiful stranger?”

“Heavy on the beautiful,” Rafe agrees, lumbering forward clumsily.

“Stranger?” You repeat, and then you falter, glancing down at his feet. “Rafael —”

He loses balance far too quickly for you to intervene, and he falls against you heavily, causing you to topple into the snow. Biting cold on your back, delightful warmth on your chest. His instincts must be somewhat intact, because he manages to hold his weight up despite being right on top of you.

Like, right on top of you. A terrifying emotion sears through your chest. The smatter of freckles on his nose are almost faded, his cheeks a brilliant rouge, snow-burned lips parted slightly. His overgrown locks brush against your forehead, just.

“Sorry,” he breathes out, and then he pauses, his gaze flitting to your lips. In the beat that passes, he agonises over the soft planes of your face, how pretty your eyes are up close. His heart’s just about pounding through his skin. How kissable your lips look, your cheeks, your neck, how right your figure feels pressed into his. His palms feel clammy; that hasn’t happened in a long while. He thinks, oh shit. And then, I’m absolutely fucking fucked.

You swallow, watching his pupils dilate. “Cameron. I need you to focus for a second.”

“Listen,” he murmurs, ignoring you, “D’you believe in love at first sight?”

“Rafael —”

“Because I know we’ve only just met,” he continues, drawing closer still, his heady gaze deepening, “and that — shit, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure that if I don’t kiss you right now I’m going to go fucking insane. That’s crazy, huh? I think you make me crazy. Have I mentioned that you’re really fucking beautiful yet? It’s messing with my head. Wait — I think I might’ve said that already —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt again, your eyes widening slightly. “If this is some stupid prank —”

“Prank?” He echoes, frowning slightly. He leans forward a little, brushing his nose against yours. Your pulse jolts. “You’re a prank.” He groans then, dropping his head to your shoulder. Your closeness may quell the pounding a smidge, but not completely. “You’re not real are you? I’m dreaming all of this?”

Your lock eyes with Noah over his head, sending him a worried look.

“Rafael,” you try again, pushing him off you and sitting up carefully. “This isn’t funny. I’m so beyond serious.”

Rafe, still splayed out on the snow, angles toward you with a furrow in his brow. “I’m confused.”

“Noah,” you say then, your voice louder, a little panicked. “I think you will need to call your mom after all.”

Noah frowns, crouching down beside the pair of you. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Rafe answers, groaning in pain as he sits up. “Is that I’ve made a fool out of myself in front of this gorgeous stranger.”

“Ask her,” you continue, your heart feeling a little odd, “how long post-concussion memory loss takes to wear off.”

Noah eyes widen, searching Rafe’s face for any signs of mirth. “No way,” he says. “He’s gotta be fucking with us.”

“There’s an us?” Rafe echoes, raising his eyebrows at Noah. “Dude. Did you know your girlfriend’s a fucking smokeshow?”

“If this is some new pick up line you’re trying,” he replies, eyeing him warily. “It sucks ass Cameron.”

“Oooh, territorial,” Rafe answers, grinning dopily. He props himself up further, leaning closer to you and lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re totally out of his league, by the way. Pretty sure you’re like, out of the Earth’s league.” He frowns. “That doesn’t make sense,” then groans, “fuck. Having a concussion is like drinking on an empty stomach.”

The pillow of his bicep presses into yours, full well engulfing it. You turn to face him, chewing on your bottom lip worriedly. If this was his idea of a prank, you want to believe that he wouldn’t let it go on this long. Especially not when you and Noah look so concerned, the latter retrieving his phone to give his mother a call.

“Hey mom,” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear and getting to his feet. You do so too. Rafe staggers to a standing position far more clumsily. “Yeah — no — the snow’s been sick, but I’m calling because something’s happened with Rafe. No, no, nothing too serious, he’s just a little concussed and may have some temporary amnesia. I was wondering if…”

“Maybe we can go on a double date,” Rafe tries again, grinning hopefully. There’s a bit of snow that’s melted on your bottom lip from the fall, and he aches to thumb over it, tuck his fingers under your jaw. “You, Noah, me.”

“No, no, he remembers me,” Noah continues, sending you a significant look. “But he doesn’t remember — yeah, it’s pretty selective — uh, maybe a few meters? Uh… no, what the hell’s a trigger? I’ll…”

“What d’you reckon?” Rafe prompts.

Noah turns away and you move your gaze to Rafe, half amused, half exasperated. “You, me, and Noah? Who’re you going to bring?”

“You,” he replies, like it’s obvious.

“And Noah?”

“Me.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. Rafe thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. His already muddled brain short-circuits for the billionth time.

“…half an hour?” You hear Noah affirm, the frown on his features audible. “Yeah — no — it’s been just over that — a trigger like what, though? What d’you mean you don’t know him as well as I do, he’s been coming to our house since he was like six years old…”

You don’t realise your brow’s furrowing until your feel Rafe’s rough thumb brush over it. You startle, feeling your skin warm as you look up at him.

“I’m lucky,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You swallow. “Why?”

“You’re worried about me.” His hand drops to your jaw, thumb swiping over your cheek. You swallow instinctively. “And you’re way too beautiful to be worrying about someone like me.”

“You’ve lost your memory,” you answer weakly. “Anyone’d be worried.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He draws closer.

“Which part, exactly?”

“That people would worry,” he answers quietly, his voice gruff. Closer still. “That I’d forget about someone like you so easy.”

“But you have,” you prompt.

“Then remind me, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Rafael,” you murmur, trying for a frown.

“Not my — wait.”

The thumb that’s swiping over your cheek freezes suddenly. “Wait,” he repeats, blinking several times. He scrunches his eyes shut, retrieving his hand to clutch it against his forehead. “Wait — fuck.”

You lean forward instinctively, tugging his arm away to look over his features, his concerning graze. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I knew…” he answers, shaking his head and groaning, “…but…shit, it’s so fucking obvious now —”

You furrow your brow in confusion, locking eyes with an equally bewildered Noah.

He holds his phone away from his ear, walking over and surveying Rafe’s features. “You good, brother?”

“Fine, shit,” Rafe curses again, scrubbing his hand over his face before meeting your gaze, chagrined. He grins hopefully. “That might’ve been quicker with true love’s kiss, though.”

You aren’t about to believe that he’s back without concrete evidence. “And my name is…?”

“Mrs Cameron,” he replies seriously.

You let out a scoff, more relief than indignation, catching the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“Maybe,” he answers, raising his eyebrows, “if you let me take you out I’ll be too busy to bail.”

You roll your eyes. “Nice try.”

“But I’m maimed, sweetheart,” he adds, brushing back his dirty-blonde locks to show off the forehead graze. He pouts for good measure. “C’mon. Not even a pity date?”

You shake your head exasperatedly, catching Noah’s eye over his shoulder. “You’ll take it from here?”

“What? You aren’t gonna hang out with us?” Noah asks, pressing the phone against his chest. “I thought you were my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Off limits, bro,” Rafe says matter-of-factly.

You’re about to protest when he draws closer and ducks his head, his warm breath on your earlobe cutting you off. “I won’t ever do that again,” he murmurs, the smile on his face audible, “I promise.”

“Good,” you answer, frowning sternly.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turn toward him, startling at his closeness. “Hm?”

He grins wider, brushing his nose against your fleetingly. “Missed remembering you bad, dream girl.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader

[adventures-in-instant-ramen]

I got my second COVID shot yesterday which was nice, but now it’s the next day and I have field archeology class today and I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck

#we’re digging at a quary today #how am I going to hike into the mountains to lift big rocks when I can barely sit up #catch me falling down the slope of the mountain because I’m so tired

[sardonicallys]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗼 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Hyunjin + Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Fluff (just a touch of angst)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Vague mentions of the news reports pertaining to accusations unproven

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Time heals all wounds, but exactly how much time does it take? For the past few months, you spent almost all your free time with Hyunjin, entertaining one another with the mundane company of everyday passings. Rather than being bad at expressing yourself, you found that your silence could support him in a way that allowed him to figure out what was going on in the gray matter, without any pressure. Besides what good would it do if you told him if he didn't believe it himself? You're never too far, however, always keeping up with his wandering thoughts to catch him whenever he fell out of his mind.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,349

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: Just as everyone else is anticipating with eager hopes, I want to manifest the safe return and exciting journey ahead for Hyunjin. We're ready to welcome you, whenever it's time, whenever you're ready.

The valley of Seoul was scooped out perfectly like a spoon drove in and hollowed the crust of land out, dolloping mountain ranges that hugged the capital. An advantage of the uneven terrain left much of the vegetation intact, tracing along the origins of trees that grew through millenniums that most of us have never seen. Nestled in the tall grass, the shade of a sprouted ginkgo tree’s arm gently drifted along with the summer breeze, brushing its shadow over the paled skin of your a-little-more-than-a friend a-little-less-than-a boyfriend counterpart, as if washing away his thoughts and troubled memories into the fan shaped leaves. Your stolen glance captured the sun just barely brushing along his cheekbones as you watched the imprinted shade of his lashes dance across his skin, the two of you abandoned somewhere in a park that was tucked away, despite being in Seodaemun.

There’s a sense of guilt, allowing your focus to be whisked away by the ethereal beauty of the focused boy before you when his intention of inviting you was to draw together amongst the scenic backdrop of nature, and perhaps to mentally escape for a while from the cruel cacophony of fabricated and exaggerated stories that were shrouding his every waking moment that never quite belonged to him. Visual art, particularly sketching, was a new hobby he picked up — with ease, might you add — not too long ago. You listened to the consistent strikes of graphite against the thick sketch paper, cadencing amongst the whistling of leaves as you unconsciously began to trace the profile you saw before you, sloping from Hyunjin’s forehead and nose before curving the tip of your pencil to create his lips. You never dared mention the sudden increase in invites you received after seeing the slew of news that belittled his character, knowing he could never speak honestly on what actually occurred, on what an average life of most kids his age likely reflected. People and the public knew better, of course — you hoped — but you most of all, did.

“I’m just taking a break,” you recall him mention, unprovoked, one night while you both silently ate ice cream on your rooftop. But he was stiff, his eyes projected into the distance of the night sky but you could tell they were galaxies away, swirling somewhere you had never been. These words seemed more for himself than for anyone else.

“I know, you needed it anyways,” you assure him, hoping your words can envelope him in an embrace you were too afraid to offer, afraid it wouldn’t be enough to carry his worries.

Hyunjin, that night, looked so different than right now before you. Shoulders slouched over his canvas, he let the pencil sit on the surface of his sketch pad as it rolled down and rested against his abdomen, flicking and stretching his fingers before making a quiet fatigued sound. You bit back a grin as you slowly turned Hyunjin’s lips into thatched leaves, drawing in the veins of stems before retracing your way up his profile to create the foundation of thickets. Smoothing out petals that sprouted from the crown of his head, the portraiture disappeared as it grew into a bundle of amaryllis, a symbol of strength, the narrow and pointed tips reaching out in every direction as you sealed a wish into each stroke of your graphite — please give him strength, as an artist and as a person.

So consumed by your mantra and creation, you didn’t notice the sudden uninvited stray pencil mark in the corner of your sketch pad. Since you had taken too long to register the first attack, a flash of flesh sprung past your vision as yet another mark appeared. Furrowing your brows, you looked up at Hyunjin to see him feigning concentrated contemplation while staring at his drawing, twirling his pencil between his fingers. You were tempted to return the favor but decided against it as you took your eraser and buffed it over the mark. Continuing to sketch, Hyunjin carefully sat as high as he could to peek at what you were so immersed in. Flowers? Casually rotating his head back and forth, he wondered where you were capturing them from.

Using your kneaded eraser to adapt to the dimensions along your shaded petals, you gingerly created shadowing onto your page before watching Hyunjin’s pencil run along the spiral of your pad, back and forth, while it clicked out notes and nostalgia. Peering up at him, you tilted your head curiously before nudging his pencil away with your own but not before he playfully jabbed the tip in your direction, emulating a saber. The body of your pencil suddenly in defense as you blocked the flick of his makeshift weapon. Soft taps of the tools countered back and forth as you felt your smile deepen into your lips.

“…So you’ll only give me attention if I challenge you to a duel?” Hyunjin’s voice reeled your eyes up as you focused your awareness on him, belatedly realizing he had not as he flipped his pencil and poked your hand with the backend of the instrument, “Ha, I win.”

Snorting, you rolled your eyes before shooing his hand away, "You know you're the one who said you wanted to draw."

"And I did."

"Did you now?" Combing your fingers through your hair, you returned to your unfinished sketch as you smudged the uneven blends of your pencil residue, giving the image the realism you desired.

"Mhmm, around the time you couldn't stop staring at me."

Abruptly, you stiffened before attempting to play off your awkward body language, "...Who said I was staring at you?"

"No one said that, I just saw you staring at me."

"Well you saw wrong."

The corners of his eyes creased downwards, drawing an imaginary line that pinned the ends of his mouth and dragged them up to meet in a harmonious smile, his expression exuberant and full of delight as he cackled from your response. The warm and pungent fall of his voice warmed you deeper and more fluidly than the sun above you, causing the infectious sound to travel up and down your throat as you returned his laughter with your own. When you both finally subside, he hummed quietly in satisfaction, "...You know, I don't know if you saw it but, we won."

Something clutched at your chest as the tear ducts in your eyes began to swell at the word we instead of they. For months, he had been using the other pronoun, removing himself from association as if he brought a stained shame. They curated this amazing choreography, did you see it? They arranged the song to fit this refreshing theme. They were exhausted but look how hard they pulled through. Even though you distinctly remember several late nights when you pillow talked to sleep and listened to Hyunjin's tired whispers of confessional involvement, and how he supported and encouraged them as an unlisted creative amongst their project. You knew it had always been we, but you waited patiently for him to realize it, all on his own. All these words you were unable to vocalize, afraid the dull stone in your throat would evaporate and melt down your cheeks in the form of tears seemed to reach Hyunjin as he brushed your hair away from your face and tenderly pressed his lips against your own while cradling your cheek in his palm, a quiet form of gratitude that meant more to you than anything he could have ever said otherwise.

You wished to keep these selfish moments for you and you alone, quietly showered in his undivided attention because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his company. Now more than ever. But as he grew into his own strength, evolved and molted into a new skin that prepared him for the journey ahead, his long rest well deserved and savored, you wanted only his happiness. From the looks of it, it seemed he was ready to pursue and receive it too.

#stray kids #stray kids scenario #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids one shot #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfics #stray kids fan fic

[cherryjuicegf]

breathless

Five breaths and a sigh. (ao3)

i.

The fire cackles. The night is calm, as calm as a summer night could be, with all the liveliness that seems to rule nature in such a season, when the leaves of the trees wake up and rustle in the light breeze, when the cicadas hold their competitions of who will sing better in a melody that will spill inside the forest, invisible, making it feel as if the stars themselves have come closer to earth to sing.

It’s hot. Not unbearably. It’s the warmth of the wind that shuffles your hair and tickles your nose as if whispering I’m here, feel me, I’m here.

I’m here.

Jaskier fixes his eyes on his notebook, on his fingers clutching the pen. Breathless.

One would say it was the hotness of the air that deprived him of breath. He is the one. He would very much like to say that. Of course, it’s summer, humidity clings on your lungs, sucks thirstily the oxygen supposed for you. So he wouldn’t be wrong to say that. Not wrong. Just lying.

A pair of amber eyes is trailing his face, his shoulders, his hands. He dares not to meet those eyes. He feels them, clutching at his shirt, dragging him closer and closer, only that he’s still there, a fire burning between him and his breath, the same fire burning his cheeks, his throat, his lungs. He feels those eyes devouring the whole of him, greedily and yet, he has them spitting him back out. It’s okay, really. You need to breathe out to take another breath.

But he still holds his.

His pen falters on the sheet. He lifts his head abruptly as if to prove something to himself. Of course he was looking at you. Of course he had no reason to. He’s not you. His eyes rest on the figure across him near the fire, undisturbed, cleaning a blade. No sign of previous staring at his direction. Only some strands of hair, swinging wildly over the blade.

Jaskier stares. And lets out a breath.

Geralt holds his.

 

ii.

Geralt opens his eyes for the tenth time that night, once again to find the ceiling staring back at him in the darkness of the room. He swallows. He should be able to sleep, he found no reason not to. He’d been craving a soft bed for weeks. The hunt had been a success. He’d been met with dozens of grateful eyes, dozens of relieved smiles. Two tankards of good ale that made his feet go numb. He was tired. All was there. So he finds no reason to be awake.

Only that he does.

He does tonight the same as he did so many other nights, the same as he refused to acknowledge even the barest hint of the burning desire that made his heart thump and his mind dizzy. Not the same as he realizes that this time, he is already on his side when the thoughts come in.

He’d never felt that warm before, he thinks. It’s the kind of warmth that makes your hair stand in content and leaves you hazy, as if bewitched by a magic potion. It’s the kind of warmth that has Geralt stare at the bare back turned at him, moving in steady breaths, as if it’s the most precious of silks.   

He finds the reason. He finds it and grips it, cradles it as if he hasn’t found it a thousand times before.

The pillow smells of lavender. Lavender and wildflowers. The sheets too. The silk too. He sucks the scent, as though it’s the only way he’s going to keep breathing. Gulps it, lets it burn his nostrils, his lungs, even if it’s a bit strong, even if it Jaskier indulged himself for once with the soap, even if Geralt had held his breath in displeasure when he first smelled it.

Now he takes a deep breath. He thinks, quickly as if his own thoughts are chasing him, and raises his hand, and as he embraces Jaskier’s waist, oh so gently, he inhales the scent, buries his nose in soft hair, closes his eyes, and Jaskier stirs. And Geralt does not release the breath. He thinks, if lavender and wildflowers are the scent he takes to his grave, if Jaskier is the scent he takes to his grave, then so be it.

But Jaskier returns to quiet. And Geralt thinks for a moment, then gently tightens his embrace. And breathes out.

 

iii.

A bloody cloth is thrown on the floor, beside a bucket of blood red water. The last tears fall on the bed sheets.

 He’d been lucky, Geralt said. He could be dead now. Jaskier thought he heard his voice quivering for a moment. But probably it was his imagination. Don’t move now, he said.

He doesn’t even consider of moving his shoulder at this state and definitely not while Geralt is prickling his skin with a needle, the stitches reaching his left collarbone, leaving him weeping however grateful he didn’t lose a hand or worse. He’d have to avoid playing the lute for two weeks or so now.

The needle prickles once more and he takes a deep breath he doesn’t release. It’s the pain, obviously, stitches are not a lighthearted process. It’s not only that, although he struggles hard to refuse to acknowledge it. But it’s also Geralt’s fingers cradling his neck, holding him steady, tracing his skin, whispering words directed at him, like a lullaby not supposed to be heard.

Almost done. Don’t cry. We’re almost done.

Jaskier sniffs and feels his insides wailing from the lack of oxygen. From the way Geralt’s fingers curl for a moment on his neck, tremble, before cutting the thread and Geralt looks up, nods in affirmation. And slowly, almost unwillingly, stroking as if on silk, his fingers abandon feverish skin.

And Jaskier, his lashes dropping in exhaustion, exhales heavily.

 

iv.

Oh. That’s close. That’s too close.

Geralt swallows as Jaskier spreads over him on the chair like the tide splashing between rocks, his voice echoing in his ears like the fierce wind of the coast. Jaskier laughs, and nudges him, and sings, and drinks, and drinks. And he’s drunk.

Geralt could leave. He really could. He doesn’t even know why he had been sitting there all this time in the first place. If he thought about it, there’d been nothing keeping him on this damn table, surrounded by stinking drunkards and the smell of burnt sausages along with cheap ale. Because the ale is cheap and if someone tries to convince him otherwise, he will swear to the gods he doesn’t even believe.

So he doesn’t know why he’s still sitting.

Except for the warmth Jaskier’s eyes radiate as they fix on him, even now, even hazy and drunk. Except for the soft puffs of breath on his neck as Jaskier hides his face and laughs, and his lips touch exposed skin, and Geralt damns himself for taking off his armor. He dares close his eyes, just for a moment. Thinks of how soft these lips are, how he craves to feel them until the end of his days. He opens his eyes. He’s a fool.

He picks Jaskier up and stands, heading straight to the stairs. Ignores the bard’s wriggling in his arms and the slurred mutters that he supposes are something close to put me down, you absolute brute.  He enters the rooms, closes the door. All but throws Jaskier on the bed, steadying him before he falls forward.

Only that he does, and as he kneels to take of his boots, suddenly his lips are too close. Geralt’s breath hitches. Stops.

Geralt is a man of honour. And also desperate with feelings. Jaskier is not.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips. A taste of tongues. Cheap ale that Geralt now finds he’d willingly tone out the rest of his senses to taste once more. A soft moan, but it can’t be him, he’s not breathing. And then Jaskier’s head bumps limp on his shoulder, and he hears silent snoring.

He closes his eyes. And breathes shakily.

 

v.

We could head to the coast. Get away for a while.

Silence. Not even a hum. Not even a batter of lashes. Not even a look.

Jaskier waits. He waits as if he doesn’t know the only thing he’s going to hear is the voices of the dwarves in the distance and the howling of the wind whipping against the mountain slopes, against his heart. One more chance.

Life is short and silent. He never wanted his life to be silent. Filled it with unending songs, elaborate words, heartfelt verses that sounded as if the pounding of his heart echoed in each rhyme. A great name he loved to hear pouring from others’ lips. Yet the silent void walking beside him at all times was too silent to fill the last part of his heart, the one he dared not let splutter further than a few songs. And that void, oh it was unbearable now.

Composing your next song?

No, I’m just. Just trying to find out what pleases me. 

He stares. Takes a deep, torturous breath, as if the answer is the only thing his lungs depend on. And waits. That was it. The furthest point. And look where it’d gotten him.

Not even a hum. But it’s okay, Jaskier thinks. He needs time. Maybe he’ll think about it. Maybe he can hope. That’s what he thinks, and stands up. Decisions take time, he knows.

He could laugh at himself.

He does. Later, when Geralt enters another’s tent. When he has his answer.

He laughs. And releases the breath.

 

vi.

His grip is tight. He knows it’s tight because even he feels his fingers going numb after a while. Or it could be the lack of oxygen. He didn’t dare to guess.

He swims and kicks and even with one hand he manages to reach light, away from the waterfall, he manages to get his head out, grab a tree branch as if trying to hold the last string of life from breaking. He manages to pull himself out, his hand never releasing, and he pulls Jaskier along from under the water. He drags them out and, still holding on, he slumps on soft grass. Tries to catch his breath.

Only that the hand in his is limp. Has been all this time.

And suddenly, he forgets how to breathe.

“Jaskier.” He drags himself beside the bard lying motionless on the ground and nudges him hard. “Jaskier!”

His hand twitches but doesn’t release. He leans his head on Jaskier’s chest, searches for the sound of his heart. Hears none. Freezes. “Fuck.”

He kneels properly and if he’s feared death before, now it rose like a dark wave above him, ready to swallow him whole. He put his hands on the bard’s chest, pressed hard. Persistent. Then takes his head in his hands, cradles it like it’s fragile, opens his mouth and breathes in. Presses again. Then breathes. Even if he himself is out of breath.

His hands are trembling.

“No, no, no. Jaskier.” Presses and breathes.

Come back. Breathe. Not yet.

Jaskier is beautiful, he thinks, and his vision blurs as he breathes in once more, desperately, and it’s different, so different from that one time, now Jaskier tastes of water and bitterness, now he smells of death. Come back.  Please. Please.

Presses and breathes.

Please don’t get away without me.

 A wet gasp. Water runs down Jaskier’s lips and he opens his eyes wide, coughing and coughing and gasping as his body doubles in effort. And Geralt sobs.

Hands hover blindly on the air. “G-Geralt…” Geralt catches them, holds him and Jaskier raises his head, breathless in all his breathing and looks at him, touches him. Geralt leans into the touch. I’m here, feel me. “I’m here, Jaskier.” I’m here.

Jaskier feels rough, trembling hands cupping his face his neck, moving wet hair away from his eyes. Looks into amber eyes and Geralt could swear he goes a little limp in his arms. His heart is almost thumping out of his chest.

Geralt is a man of honour. Still. His lips brush on Jaskier’s and he hears a soft moan. So he kisses him. Deep and possessive and desperate and sweet, he kisses him until they’re out of breath, stealing the oxygen from each other’s lungs and laughing and clingling on each other is if it’s the last branch of life. And then they separate, inches apart. Sparkling blue eyes. Geralt smiles. “I love you.”

Jaskier shivers, closes his eyes. “Say it again.” Say it to fill the void.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Geralt trails his lips on cold skin, down Jaskier’s neck, smelling him in, thristily, touching, whispering, devouring. I love you, I love you, I love you.

And Jaskier laughs and cries and kisses back and gazes, oh so lovingly. “I love you too, Geralt. Too much.”

Geralt realizes then he doesn’t have to hold his breath anymore. And heaves a deep sigh.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #fic recs #chrysa writes #my fanfics

[alfredosauce50]

She’ll never know [Yandere! Iceland x reader]

Synopsis: Everybody’s pumped for the week-long skiing trip in Switzerland. While Emil and you are back to showcasing your weird relationship— “platonically” holding hands and sharing beds, Mathias never catches the drift like everyone else does and demands the same treatment from you. Emil eventually gives in to jealousy and denounces his friendship with you the first night in. He thought he was satisfied with these developments, all until he overhears a conversation between Mathias and Lukas two days later. Seems like he wasn’t the only one pining for you. His chance at revenge arrives when he finds the Dane unconscious in the snow after a freak accident. Wordcount: 4,288 The reader is referred to as she/her.

It was supposed to be a drama-free ski trip. 

You were tagging along for the first time, sitting with him on the plane and sharing a room at the resort. Getting a seat next to you was a wildcard, for sure. But the latter was a given, considering it was Tino who made the sleeping arrangements. Out of everyone in the group, or anyone for that matter, you had always been the closest to Emil—the Finnish man was well aware of that.

Even then, he planned on sticking to you like a tattoo. For seven straight days, being with him also meant you would be in the company of a loud-mouthed Dane. And sometimes, he could be all up in your business. But he was safe for now, so long as he didn’t try anything on the plane. 

The soft murmuring of passengers and white noise of the cabin filled his ears as he walked down one of the aisles. Once you found your seats, he didn’t waste time to buckle himself in and get comfortable, all so he could pull out his phone. The last time you were with him, you both watched Interstellar. Well, most of it. 

“Em, this flight is a little over an hour. Why not take a nap instead?” You suggested, but he never slowed his movements to open Netflix.

While the downloaded video loaded, he pulled off his sweatshirt to ruffle up his silvery-white hair. Under that was a black graphic T-shirt with a cat on it. “Mm... No. We have to finish it while it’s still fresh in our memory.”

“Okay, fine. I didn’t wanna watch it right now because I’ll cry again.”

“So? Nobody’s gonna see.” 

Nobody except him. But you never minded, as you were already leaning over to finish the movie with him. His taste in sad movies rubbed off on you, and you were quick to tears. That, he was very familiar with. But besides crying, you also had a habit of falling asleep in his bed after staying up to watch things or play games. So it wasn’t weird to know how often you slept with him. 

Eventually, a strange chemistry started to brew between you both. 

A physical and emotional closeness so intimate, it was comparable to that of a relationship. But Emil never thought of things like that. Best friends could do this stuff, couldn’t they? Holding hands and sharing clothes was the norm. 

Drinking from the same cup was just a regular Tuesday.  

“Gimme some of your apple juice.” You whispered, feeling a little dry in the mouth after tearing up. Reaching out for his cup to take a few gulps, he furrowed his brows and grumbled. He was left with nothing but backwash. 

“I was gonna drink that.”

A few mischievous laughs fell from your lips. “There’s still some left.” Picking the cup up, you swished around the remaining contents, which wasn’t much. 

“This should be more than enough for you, you dehydrated gremlin. I’d encourage you to have more, but we both know you’d only have a sip whether I drank from it or not."

A light blush dusted his cheeks and he frowned. “No I wouldn’t.”

“You would. That’s why I left you a sip.”

“... Shut up.”

The plane landed not long after, and your spunk died down near the conclusion of the film. Yes, it was sad. And yes, you cried. Like Emil expected, you were going to be silent for a while. When everyone regrouped to walk around the airport, you stayed by his side and held his hand. At the platforms to wait for the train, you and him were inseparable—head on his shoulder and all. But in your defence, you were tired. And this wasn’t the first time.

If anybody else did this to him, he would be shoving them off. They could hit their head for all he cared. And that was precisely why Tino and Lukas were giving him funny looks in the carriage. 

Laughing quietly to themselves with a hand covering their mouths, they watched on with a devilish expression. “Huhuhu,” was what Emil heard as he sat comfortably in his seat, but he knew what it translated to. Look at you, holding her hand while she’s asleep. He simply turned away with rosy cheeks. He didn’t know what they were on about. This wasn’t weird at all. 

Yes, he wasn’t exactly the most touchy-feely with people, but you weren’t just anybody. And he knew he liked you, a lot at that, but it was perfectly platonic. 

Nobody was convinced, however. All except for the Dane who practically came bounding over from a few rows down. But it was likely he never even got the gist.

The train finally reached a slower, constant speed, so he was prepared to join the group for some small talk. Leaning down on the backrest, he laid his eyes on you and Emil with a grin. “Well, well, well. Don’t you two look cozy.” He commented, his voice making the boy glance up. “Don’t get too comfortable, though. We’re going skiing today!”

“But hey—”Combing a hand through his wild and unruly locks of blonde, he smiled sheepishly. “Do you think I could sit with her on the way back?”

Just when he thought nothing could ruin this vacation, he was proven wrong. That was right. Mathias was the only other person present who actively showed you affection, and it always bothered him. God, the thought of you sitting with him for hours made him sick. 

“... Only if she wants to.” He mumbled, sinking lower into his seat to cause his hoodie to ride up. Since it was already on his head, it came drooping over his face to hide his dark purple eyes. There, he could read the other’s expression.

He could take a few things away from it. Right now, he was rubbing the nape of his neck while watching you snooze. Every time Mathias was expectant, he wouldn’t stop moving his hands. The sight made his frown deepen. When Lukas and Tino witnessed this, they looked away and shared the same thought. 

Just let him be, you idiot.

But Mathias didn’t quite get the memo, let alone read their minds.

So he stood up and responded with this. “Well, of course she’ll want to! Who wouldn’t sit next to me?” A brief silence fell around the group. Lukas coughed. Berwald continued to watch the mountainous landscape outside the window without a word, trailing his icy blue eyes over the snow that glowed purple at dawn. “Seriously, guys? This is why I like (F/N) the best. At least she’s nice to me.” 

Emil squeezed your hand as you slept. The tightness in his chest only seemed to worsen by the second. And it showed in his visible discomfort. Lowering his head, he let his fringe fall over his eyes.

“... She’s nice to everyone.” 

The blonde shrugged while closing his eyes in a look of satisfaction. 

“If you’re gonna be train buddies, then we can be skiing buddies. Right, (F/N)?” Reaching down to your head, he tipped it gently in a nod before saying this. “Of course, Mathias! You’re my favorite.” 

As if. 

“That was a terrible impression.” 

“What impression?” 

He huffed under his breath. They hadn’t even arrived at the resort, and he was already dreading the next seven days. This gut feeling turned out to be right, because it only seemed to get worse. 

***

Shortly after arriving, everyone dropped off their things before leaving to get right into the sport. After napping for nearly two hours, you were replenished with the energy to go skiing. Despite being quite the skilled skier himself, Mathias was kind enough to accompany you on the easier slopes. More accurately put, he was jumping at the opportunity to teach you. 

Hell, he’d been waiting outside your room to take you to the ski lifts. The moment you opened the door, you were greeted by the man all geared up, with goggles on and all. 

“Morning. You ready to roll? Or, slide?” He asked. 

Seeing him so eager was cute, so you were obliged to follow, leaving Emil alone in the room. When said boy left the bathroom after freshening up, he saw the door close behind you. “Sorry, Emil! I’m gonna go ahead! I’ll see you outside!” 

And just like that, you were gone. Dropping his face towel off on a chair, he dug his hands through his hair and breathed in deeply. Since when was the last time he felt this much anguish? Yes, he was rooming with you. But that was only at night. Daytime meant you would be with Mathias. He had no place complaining, considering he wasn’t the best at skiing. Nothing he could do about that. 

He changed out of his T-shirt and into his snow gear with a sigh. 

His excitement to go skiing was gone. 

And if he wasn’t going to ski, he’d be holed up in his room. His logic told him this was selfish, but he wanted you to stay with him more than anything. 

You returned late in the afternoon as the sun was going down, but he’d been staying inside ever since lunch. Perking up at the sound of the door creaking open, he forced his head down and popped his earphones in. After you set your things down and changed to more comfortable clothes, you walked over to the bed and found a bump under the blanket. Lifting it up by the hem, you found him curled up with his phone. 

His earphones fell out. “(F/N)?” 

“Who else would it be, dummy? I was wondering where you went.” You kicked off your slippers and slid right in. He didn’t know how much he’d been longing for this until now—the feeling of you laying next to him in bed. But he couldn’t get carried away yet. It wasn’t even night yet.

A displeased expression contorted at your features, but it melted away as you pulled his phone away. 

“H-Hey!” He tried reaching out for it, but it was already on the bedside table. 

“No more screen time for you.” You tapped him on the nose. “How else am I gonna get your lazy ass out of bed?” He knitted his brows together and rolled into you to hide his face. Then, he curled two arms around you, albeit slowly.

“To do what?”

“To ski, duh.” 

He squeezed you. “But I don’t want to.” Emil’s wintry white locks were soft against your chest, and you felt his body heat waft over to yours. It was a sure fire sign he’d been under the covers for too long. That was when an idea struck him. This would definitely get you to stay with him for the rest of the day, and maybe tomorrow if he was lucky. “I... feel kinda sick.” 

Your smile fell and you immediately reached out to cup his cheeks, then clamp a hand over his forehead. When he felt your touch as you checked his temperature, his heart rate escalated. He was on cloud nine. 

“... Oh no... You’re a bit warm. I think it’s best that you stay in bed. But don’t use too many blankets, or your fever will get worse.”

The sensation of your hands on him was to die for, and the thought that you were worried about him made it better. Nobody would have expected this trait from the usually detached boy, but he was secretly clingy. And he had the most subtle ways of showing it. An example would be lying about feeling unwell, but he didn’t feel bad about it at all. 

A headache was pounding in his skull, and it wasn’t wrong to say he was upset. And plus, if this worked, you could stay with him. He could practically feel a smile creeping to his lips at the thought, but he hid half of his face with the blanket. “... Are you gonna ski tomorrow?” He asked quietly. 

You craned your head to the side in thought. 

“Only if you can. Who’s gonna look after you when I’m gone?”

Blood rushed up to his face and he nodded. “Okay.” 

Reaching out to his cheek again, you groaned. “Oh my god. Why are you so hot? Hold on. I’m gonna find you an ice pack.” You slid off the bed, but not before giving him an affectionate pinch. He made a soft noise in protest. “I think this is a sign for you to fix your sleep schedule and stop eating instant.” 

Before you left, he reached out to grab your wrist. 

“What is it?”

He released you after a few moments. “... Nothing...” 

You smiled weirdly. “Okay, hun. Give me a ring if you need anything.” 

A couple hours later, the group gathered for dinner in a nearby restaurant. Despite the freezing temperatures that dropped significantly at night, Mathias insisted to sit outside at the balcony to enjoy the views. The views in question weren’t even that visible with how dark out it was. There was nothing but faint outlines of mountains stretching on for miles into the horizon. 

Much to Emil’s displeasure, you insisted that he sit opposite you. Understandable, because it was closer to the indoors where the warm air was wafting out of. But that only meant you’d sit next to the Dane, and he was quick to notice you shivering lightly in the cold. 

Like him, you had a sweater on, but he was the human heater, not you. Curling an arm around your shoulders with a softened gaze, he rubbed your arm up and down. Almost like how a boyfriend would to their girlfriend. 

And Emil witnessed it all happen. 

“You’re shaking like a leaf, min elskede. Do you want my sweater as well?” He laughed, to where you shook your head profusely. 

Did he just call you ‘my love’ in Danish? Since when did he start calling you that? And he was offering his clothes to you as well? He thought only he did that. Gripping the hem of his hoodie with clammy hands, he lowered his head as his heart started to sting. Fuck. He hated this feeling. 

But what he saw next made it unfathomable. 

“No, of course not! I can deal with this. You’d be crazy to take it off—" He lifted his sweater up and threw it over his head, the action making his t-shirt ride up. “—and, you’re taking it off.” He fixed his top before sliding the knit over you. Pulling it down so you could fit your arms through the arm holes, you were overwhelmed with his smell, and not to mention, completely encased with warmth. 

He was now left in nothing but a T-shirt.

“That better?” Mathias grinned.

“Yes, you idiot. But if you catch a cold because of me, you won’t be the only sick one in the group.” You grumbled under a blush, a little embarrassed he actually gave you his sweater. “Thank you, though.”

His stomach churned. His breathing deepened. Unbeknownst to you, or anyone for that matter, he started to spiral down a path of self-destructive thoughts. Did he always like you that much? He lifted his gaze to you, and found you carrying on with your usual banter with the Dane. Did you always like him that much? You laughed. Emil bit his lip. It always made him euphoric to hear you laugh, but knowing it wasn’t him that was responsible for it made him feel an unpleasant mix of all kinds of things. Sadness, anger, and a violent kind of jealousy.

So shortly after finishing his food, he stood up and left without a word. That silenced the chatter at the table, and everyone called out to him. But he was too quick on his feet.

You’d never seen him do something like that. Either he was nauseous, or something was really wrong. “He’d got a fever, so maybe he’s going to... You know. I’ll check on him.” With that said, you stood up and took Mathias’s sweater off. “Here. Just in case I don’t come back.”

Jogging up to your room, you were relieved to see that your instincts were right on the mark. Emil had retreated back here, and was currently hiding under the covers. Nearing his side, you lowered yourself to your knees. "Em? Are you okay? Did you puke?”

“... No.” His voice was thick and nasally.

And that pointed to one thing.

The poor boy was crying.

Breathing out a soft sigh, you removed all your layers until you were in your undergarments. Lifting up the corner of the blanket, you joined him before wrapping your arms around his form. “I know you don’t like talking about yourself, but I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong.” You murmured, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You can tell me anything. I won’t be weirded out or judge you. I’m just worried about you, okay?”

He popped his head out from under the blanket to reveal his flushed face stained with tears.

“... Anything?”

You hummed. “Mmhm. Anything.”

Emil paused for a moment. Frankly, he had no idea why he was feeling like this. Perhaps he did, he just didn’t want to say it. That maybe, everyone was right about him. That what he felt about you was anything but innocent. The signs were all there. He’d never been this attached to anyone, ever, and even if he was, he would’ve hid it to some degree. But not with you. He’d been all over you since the start of the trip, and even now, he had his arms looped around your neck. And when other people decided to do the same to you, he was choked with turbulent emotions.

It even got to the point of intrusive thoughts. Back at the dinner table, all he could think about aside from worrying about this relationship was this—something terrible happening to Mathias. He didn’t want him to be there. He just wished he’d disappear, even for a little while.

When he realized these desires, he knew he couldn’t tell you. But there was still something he wanted. “... I’m fine now. But I just wanted to ask you something.”

You frowned. “Doesn’t look like you’re fine. You can’t keep brushing it off and expect me to let it go.”

“You’re right. But I promise I’ll feel better after this.”

“... Alright. But the next time this happens, I’m not letting you off the hook.” You murmured, reaching out to give his cheek a pat. “What did you wanna ask me?”

He flickered his eyes down to your lips. Then, he returned his gaze, but his stare felt a little hot on you for some reason. It never crossed your mind that he was hugging you around your neck, but it did now. “Would you ever...” Emil blushed darkly. “... Kiss me?”

You blinked at the unexpected question, but reacted nevertheless. The red flushing his cheeks spread to yours as you strung together the words to respond. “Well... I’m not disgusted or anything. We’re really close, so I wouldn’t mind kissing you.” You answered honestly, but that didn’t change the fact that you were curious why he even asked such a thing. “... Why?”

“I just wanted to know.” Emil mumbled. “Would you kiss anyone else?”

“No. That would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

His heart started to pound in euphoria. But the longer he lingered on what you said, his heart began to pound with another emotion.

“If you’d kiss me, then would you kiss me now?”

You had a feeling things would pan out this way. But you didn’t mind it in the least, in fact, you kind of wanted to do this. Leaning in to him, you heard his breath hitch from the close proximity. “... Maybe. But only a short one, because you’re sick.” Pressing your lips to his for short and sweet peck, he squeezed his arms around you and pulled you in again. Attaching his mouth to yours for a deeper kiss, he caught you off guard by the sudden build-up in intensity.

His coils around your neck tightened, and for the next few minutes or so, he kept kissing you. He just couldn’t stop moving his mouth with yours, nibbling on your lips ever so often. It felt too good. He never thought he’d ever be able to do this, but he was never going back now.

Everything he’d ever done with you now felt like child’s play. How could he have resisted these feelings for so long? Rolling you onto your back, he loomed over you and continued to make out with you on the bed. The connection between your mouths was starting to feel hot. The taste of yours only grew more prominent, and that was how he knew he was denouncing everything he used to have with you. He couldn’t take it, being friends with you. Emil had always been clingy. Jealous. And he was facing the truth—the reason.

He liked you. In every way you could like someone. But that wasn’t all. He was obsessed with you.

That night, you fell asleep on his chest.

To say he was satisfied with these developments was an understatement. He always thought of himself as your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. But he was relieved he finally accepted he really felt about you. So there was no need to pretend to be sick anymore.

He felt like skiing again, especially when you had another reason to be with him instead of Mathias.

The next day was a blast.

He finally got to try the intermediate slope thanks to your encouragement, and he could officially say he wasn’t terrible at skiing. And he continued to explore the harder slopes the day after as well.

Sometime in the afternoon, he returned back to the resort for a hot drink break. Taking a seat in the dining hall, he overheard two familiar voices. He swallowed down what he had in his mouth before listening in to their conversation. Hm. Was that... Mathias? And Lukas? Those two have always been pretty close, so he could already guess that their conversation would include pretty confidential contents. But it wasn’t his fault they held it in his earshot, right?

“Hey, so I’ve been thinking. I really like... You know. And I wanted to ask her out.”

“You mean (F/N)? Good luck trying to separate her from Emil. If they somehow don’t already like each other, then maybe you’ll have a chance.”

“Nah, it’s worth a shot! He isn’t the type to be in a relationship, anyway.”

Emil froze.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The memories of that conversation replayed in his head like a broken record. Even while he was enjoying the cold night air as he skied later that day, he couldn’t stop lingering on it. Fuelling the anger he felt a few days ago. So that was why he gave you his sweater. Gliding through the soft blankets of snow, he never slowed down. Nobody knew you were dating him yet, but that only reinforced the fact that this relationship was new. Nothing was set in stone yet. And that only meant things could change, wouldn’t it?

His chest tightened and he slowed to a stop. He couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.

As if the world wanted to test that statement, his attention was stolen by a gap in the snow fencing. It looked as if something shot through it, or more accurately put, crashed into it and broke it. Sliding himself closer to take a better look, he was shocked to find a body outside the barriers. A skier. He must’ve swerved too hard and passed out from possible head trauma.

But Emil soon discovered it wasn’t just any random ‘he’. The clothes and gear were all too familiar. Could it be? His blonde hair gave it all away. This skier wasn’t a stranger. It was Mathias.

He was laying on his side with half his head submerged in white.

Upon realizing their identity, the fear-induced urgency to call for help suddenly subsided. Instead, he turned around, and skied away, slowly, back to the resort. What was he doing? Was he seriously going to leave him out in the snow where he could easily die? Emil couldn’t stop himself from moving. Was he seriously that upset? It was clear. He was.

But he knew he didn’t want him to die.

Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone, not until an hour later, at least.

He didn’t know what was going through his head. But he knew what he felt. He wanted him to get sick at least. That would incapacitate him for a while, but not forever.

Sure enough, when the search and rescue found him, he was down with a bad case of hypothermia. He was immediately tended to by medical professionals, and it was revealed that he wouldn’t have made it if Emil never brought up the matter that Mathias had been missing. The color drained from his face when he heard that, and he never felt this guilty in his life. But it was short-lived. After all, he was still alive, wasn’t he?

He secured you in his arms as you cried softly into his chest. Nobody had to know about this. Especially not you, who warbled out how thankful you were that he remembered Mathias’s disappearance.

As he kissed your tears away, the only thought that repeated in his head was this.

She’ll never know.

#hetalia #axis powers hetalia #axis powers ヘタリア #aph #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia x reader #Iceland #iceland x reader #aph iceland #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere Iceland #one shot #request

[just-another-ficwriter]

Holidate - Part One

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Words: 3000ish

Warnings: Overbearing parents, alcohol

Summary: Tired of being alone on holidays, Sweet Pea and Y/N decide to be each other’s plationic plus-ones all year round. What could go wrong?

Notes: I’m super late posting this and I feel awful about it!! I just couldn’t decide how I wanted it to go and ended up rewriting it three times🤦🏻‍♀️

“No Mom.” Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose, irritation seeping into her words. There’s already a dull ache drumming behind her temples and she hasn’t even made it home yet. “I’m not using this as an excuse because I’m running late.”

“Well I simply can’t just drop everything and come get you, I’ve got to stuff the Turkey and cut the vegetables and-“ She lets her Mother’s voice drowned out into background noise with a frustrated sigh on her end.

She hates Christmas, she thinks. Hates the decorations, the songs, the cheer. Every last bit. Nothing’s been the same since the truth came out about Hal and-

“Is Jug there?” She cuts her own thoughts short, desperate not to think of her Dad and all the things he’s done right now.

“Of course Forsyth is here!” Y/N can almost see Jug flinch at the correction and bites back a laugh. “But him and Betty have already opened a bottle of wine.”

“Can you just ask him for the number of his Dad’s garage please?” Another five minutes of Alice rambling on passes before Jughead’s voice appears on the other end with a joyful ‘Merry Christmas’ and a direct contact to someone who might be able to help.

She thanks him quickly, hanging up before she can even finish saying goodbye, so he doesn’t have a chance to hand the phone back. And as she leans against the car behind her, the same car that had given up on her just as she passed the town sign, she dials the number and hopes she’ll make it home in time for dinner.

Otherwise, she might never hear the end of it.

-

“Again, in English?” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him, the string of words he’d just said sounding almost foreign in her head. 

 She doesn’t mean for it to sound as rude as it does, but she can’t help it. She’s tired, exhausted even, not to mention cold. The snow fall had picked up five minutes after she’d called the number Jug had given her and it had taken him, or Sweet Pea as he’d introduced himself, almost 40 minutes to reach her. 

But he just laughs it off, smirks before firing it straight back at her. “You aren’t getting anywhere in this car, anytime soon princess.”

“Great!” It’s official. Her mom’s going to kill her and she’ll be blamed for ruining Christmas. She throws her hands up in defeat, kicking a tyre in the process. “Just great!”

“If it makes you feel better, this isn’t how I planned on spending my Christmas Eve either.” He watches her amused, another laugh passing his lips before the sarcastic remark follows, his arms now crossed over his chest and she almost feels guilty. 

“I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience.” She throws a false apology at him along with  a fake grin that falls into a frown almost immediately. 

“Apology accepted.” She’s scowling at him now, eyes rolling back but he simply ignores it, happy to keep winding her up. “Want me to give you a ride somewhere while I tow this back?”

“Only on one condition.” She points a finger over her shoulder towards his trunk, the radio still on loud. “We find a station that isn’t playing Christmas music.”

“Hey, it’s either Mariah Carey, or you walk Sweetheart.” He shrugs, walking backwards, watching her make the choice. 

He can’t help but laugh again when she sighs and runs to the passenger seat, desperate to seek shelter from the snow. 

-

10 minutes after Sweet Pea kindly drops her off at her childhood home, Y/N finds herself still on the porch out front, mentally preparing herself for what’s about to come.

She sucks in a breath. Two, three. And with a fake smile so sickly sweet it makes her stomach hurt; she lets herself in.

Polly’s the first to spot her, catches her the minute she walks through the door and pulls her into a hug before she can even drop her bags. She can’t help but sink into the embrace, it’s always nice to see her older sister alone like this, but Y/N doesn’t even get the chance to ask her how she is before the twins descend down the stairs and push past them in a blur.

“Juniper put the presents down- Dagwood no!” She feels Polly gently squeeze her hand in a silent way of saying they’ll catch up later before she’s chasing after them, joining an exhausted looking Jason who pauses long enough to wave a quick hello before he resumes pursuit.

She moves further into the house, away from the chaos of the living room and towards the interesting smells wafting from the kitchen. It’s impossible not to hear her Mother barking orders from where she stands over the stove, while Jug and Betty listen to every word, working on the dining table and it’s fixtures like a well-oiled machine.

“Y/N/N you’re here!” Betty looks up with a soft smile but doesn’t dare move from her task and face the wrath of Alice Cooper.

“Finally!” It’s Alice’s turn to look at her now, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arching in distaste as her eyes roam over her middle daughter. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing that to dinner?”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and prepares to fire back when a gentle arm lands around her shoulder with a calming chuckle.

“Oh come on Mom, Y/N looks fine.” Charles plants a quick kiss to her forehead before ruffling her hair and they both laugh. Her brother had always been her saving grace in situations like this, the only one brave enough to stand up for himself and the others, ever the mediator. But not even he was enough to put Alice off her persistent questioning, she was already sick of her Mother’s judgement and they hadn’t even touched on her job or her relationship status yet.

-

“You’ve definitely told them we aren’t officially together, right?” Sweet Pea takes one last, slow drag of his cigarette before stomping it out under his boot. Josie nods at him reassuringly but one look up at the exterior of her parents house has his stomach in knots. “They know we’re just casual?”

“Sweet Pea would you stop?” She playfully pokes at his ribs, but he just sighs and rubs a nervous hand down his face.

He couldn’t help it, that sick feeling rising from the pit of stomach by the second. The idea of spending Christmas with Josie’s family, a girl he’d only been dating for a month, was absolutely terrifying on all levels. But Fangs had ditched him to spend the holidays with his boyfriend in New York, not that he could really blame him, and he had no other family in town so when she originally offered, he’d jumped at the chance of not spending the day alone.

Part of him had regretted it since.

If Sweet Pea thought the outside of house was impressive, with it’s perfectly placed lights and overly decorated windows, it was nothing compared to what was waiting for him on the inside.

Myles and Sierra McCoy welcome them at the front door with bright smiles and open arms that engulf Sweet Pea before he even has the chance to say hello.

Josie joins in, the four of them becoming one big, massive group hug like he’s been part of their family his whole life and not just a stranger potentially only passing through. All three of them squeal in excitement before someone yanks him in doors.

If he had doubts before, he thinks, he’s almost certain he’s in over his head now.

-

Betty gets engaged on Christmas Morning.

Right in front of the Christmas tree, just after the last presents are opened and the twins are happily distracted by a mountain of toys; Jughead drops to one knee and pops the question under twinkling lights. 

The minute Betty gasps the word ‘yes’ the family erupts in cheers, fawning over the couple. Of course Alice is already crying, Polly demands to see the ring, while Charles and Jason pat Jug on the back. 

Y/N however stays put, her eyes falling down into her mug of spiked coffee that her mom had scolded her over, eyebrows raised over the rim as she knocks it back. 

“Aren’t you going to congratulate your sister?” Alice sends her a pointed look, catching her before she can slope off into the peaceful confines of the kitchen. 

“Congrats Betts.” She pulls her into a hug and paints on the biggest smile she can muster as she mumbles into her hair. “I’m so happy for you.”

And she is. Her sisters getting everything she’s dreamed of with Jug, of course she’s happy, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that her younger sister will be married before her. 

Even Charles has betrayed her this year and invited a date to Christmas dinner leaving her the last single Cooper. And her mom wasn’t prepared to let her forget it anytime soon. 

-

Sweet Pea successfully manages to make it through family movie night, forcefully sat between Josie and her mother, hot cocoa in hand and surrounded from all sides. He even grins and bares the series of photo albums that follow, another embarrassing photo of Josie lurking behind every page turn, but he draws the line when the marriage talk starts, declaring he’s suddenly tired and turns to run up the stairs so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t pull something on the way.

Sienna wakes them up on Christmas morning with a soft knock at 8am sharp, wearing a bright red Christmas jumper and holding two more for the both them.

The mere idea of it makes Sweet Pea’s skin itch as much as the material does once he begrudgingly pulls it over his head.

The rest of the morning is spent sipping coffee, watching the three McCoy’s exchanging gifts. He’s too distracted, wondering if it’s still too late to find a way out of the whole thing to even notice Josie standing in front of him until she’s shoved the present right under his nose.

“Merry Christmas my love.” She places it down on his lap and Sweet Pea finds himself wanting the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Jose I… I thought we said we weren’t doing gifts?” All three pairs of eyes are now on him, burning their way into his skin and he’s sure he’s never felt embarrassment like it.

“But that was just a joke, right?” He smiles awkwardly when she laughs, but the sound is humourless, and he can already see the anger bubbling behind her eyes. She doesn’t even give him the chance to reply. “What, so I’m good enough to sleep with but you can’t buy me a gift?”

He chokes, shocked by her transparency around her parents while his cheeks redden by the second.

Ten minutes later he’s out on the drive, bags thrown in the back of his truck, scrambling to get away as fast as he can.

-

Christmas Day ends the way it started.

Miserably sat at the kitchen table, sipping on something alcoholic held in her hand.

Polly and Jason had slipped off not long after dinner, taking two sugar high kids and all their loud noises with them. Betty and Jug now sit on one couch, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head resting on her chest, content in their own bubble of love while Alice sits on the other, quizzing Kevin Keller, Charles’ surprise date. She’d feel bad for him if she wasn’t already feeling relieved that her Mother’s attention had turned to someone else for five minutes. Her brother sits besides her, topping up a glass of red.

“He seems nice.” Charles hums in response, biting back a laugh. Was she missing a joke? “What?”

“If I tell you something, you can’t tell the others.” A quick eager nod and she’s shuffling closer so he can whisper his secret. “Kev’s just my Holidate.”

She blinks back in shock. “Holidate?”

“Just a date for the holiday, someone to keep Mom off my back.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it’s the simplest solution to the problem. He sips his wine while he waits for her to process it. “There’s no strings attached and I don’t have to spend events alone. I’m even heading down to his parents after New Years to return the favour.”

“Thats...” Y/N breathes out, she’s a little envious she hadn’t thought of it herself. “What an idea.”

-

Y/N sinks into a booth at Pop’s Chocklit Shoppe two days later with a sigh of relief, happy to welcome the peace that comes with being away from her family.

She loves them, her siblings, her mother, the twins, of course but it’s exhausting. The intruding questions, the never ending merry go round of pity and interfering. She knows deep down it’s only because they care, but sometimes she wished they’d just leave her alone.

Pops promptly brings her order of curly fries over, with a soft smile and an extra chocolate shake on the side she didn’t order. It’s been two years since she last stepped into the place, yet he still remembers her favourite like it was yesterday.

“It’s good to see you Y/N.” There’s something in his tone that just feels like home and she finds herself welcoming it, it’s been a long time since anything in Riverdale has felt anything close to that, not since the truth about her dad.

Pops doesn’t stick around, a light pat to her shoulder before he’s a retreating form, leaving her to her thoughts. She barely makes it through a fry before someone’s sliding in opposite her.

Sweet Pea pushes the key across the table, grinning cheekily as he helps himself to the basket in front of him. She barely knows him and he’s already stealing her food. “One fully functional car.”

“Finally!” She snatched them up, hiding them

in her bag and he can see the tension practically melting from her shoulders. “Now I can get out of the hell hole.”

“Christmas went that well? He asks, curiosity peaked.

“You could say that.” She presses herself further into her seat, huffing as she rubs the palm of her hands against her jeans. The anxious look in her eyes tells him that what ever she might say next won’t necessarily make sense and she’s a little embarrassed by it. “My sister got engaged.”

“To FPS son right?” He vaguely recalls his boss proudly telling anyone who would listen that morning. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“She’s my younger sister, and now, as I’m about to be the only official unmarried Cooper daughter my mom has even more of an excuse to interfere in my love life.” The words just slip out and she finds part of her gladly confessing her thoughts to a virtual stranger instead of keeping them in. He smiles in a way that tells her he gets it.

“Yeah well, bet you a chocolate shake mine was worse.” He ignores the glare she sends him when he innocently brings her existing milkshake to his lips and continues when she says nothing. “I spent it with someone I’ve been dating for four weeks and her parents.”

She almost chokes on a curly fry. “You got serious that quick?”

“Of course not, and we both knew it.” She stares at him like he has two heads, he knows she can’t quite fit ‘causal relationship’ and ‘family Christmas’ together so he does it for her. “Didn’t want to spend the day alone so I took her up on the offer. Cue overbearing parents, the cringest matching jumpers and the ultimate gift exchange where I got her nothing because we agreed no presents.”

“Aren’t you old enough to know by now that no gifts definitely means get her a gift?” She laughs when he rolls his eyes.

“Ended with her kicking me out before dinner.” She shakes her head, laughs again as she calls him tragic and a tiny part of him agrees. “And now I’m officially dateless for New Year’s Eve.”

“Thanks for reminding me I have to come back in a few days to attend Riverdale’s Annual Blossom New Years Eve Party alone for the second year running.” She wrinkles her nose in disgusted, unprepared to have her friends on her back as well as her family, and ends up missing the way his eyebrows raise in surprise.

“You know Toni and Cheryl?”

“T’s been my best friend longer than I can remember and Cheryl’s brother is married to my sister, guess you could say I know them pretty well.” She tilts her head to the side, eying him slowly, like she suddenly sees him in a different way. “How’d you know them?”

“Guess you could say I spend more time than I should at the Wyrm.” The mention of Toni’s bar lights up her face. “Plus Toni’s been a really good friend to me since I got here, I was actually meant to be taking Josie to their party.”

“I think I know a way to solve our little problem.” A plan suddenly forms in her head, he doesn’t know whether to be worried or not as he watches the smile on her face widen. “Sweet Pea how would you like to be my Holidate this Friday?”

“Your holi-what?”

Forever Taglist: @p-marie-sp

Sweet Pea Taglist: @80sand90simagine @wildberryyyy @hopelesslylosttheway @be-gay-do-crime-cutie

Holidate Taglist: @popcrone818

#riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale sweet pea #riverdale fanficton #riverdale series #riverdale au #riverdale edit #riverdale one shot #sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea au #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea one shot #sweet pea edit #sweet pea series #holidate #Holidate au

[wisewidow]

Cloudy With A Chance Of Assassination

PAIRING: Yelena Belova x Reader

SUMMARY: My new girlfriend takes meeting the relatives to a whole new level.

It's cloudy up ahead, but patches of sunlight leak through certain gaps like chinks in the sky's armour, and a warm silver lines the clouds as the sun sets behind them. There are no pink or orange hues in the sunset this cloudy evening, just tinted blue and cream with grey mountains in the distance and muted coloured trees at their bases. I have one hand on the wheel of the car Yelena and I just bought together, a sleek black Fiesta, and the other on my partner in crime's thigh. She has her window rolled down, the high speed we're going at blowing her golden hair everywhere. I drum my fingertips along the wheel as an upbeat song starts to play.

She's lost in the clouds, I can tell. I ask her if she's imagining pictures out of the white puffs, but either the roaring wind at one ear or the song at her other is blocking her from hearing my words.

I squeeze her thigh. She smacks my hand and glances sideways at me, mossy green eyes playful. I allow myself a single glance before looking back at the road. "I asked what you're seeing in the clouds."

She turns the radio dial down. "What?"

I snort. "Nevermind."

"You wanted attention?"

I flip her the bird, earning a boisterous laugh from her. "You were!"

I mimic her accent in a high-pitched voice. "You were totally like, give me attention! Because I'm Yelena Belova and I'm so special!"

"I don't sound like that," she objects. "You once said, and I quote, 'your voice is deep and sexy, like if a dressage horse could speak.'"

I frown. "I don't remember that. Was I drunk?"

"You were trying to outdrink me."

"Oh. Were you cheating? I don't black out that easily."

"No, I wasn't. And yes, you do."

I grumble and turn the radio up again. She hums along to the song, Snap Out Of It by the Arctic Monkeys. We drive until the sun goes down, or at least until I notice her energetic nature die down like a used battery. I search up the nearest motel on my phone and by the time I've pulled in, she's asleep.

I switch the engine off and relax into my seat. I allow myself a few seconds to admire the girl beside me.

I met her through a friend of mine, who lived in the apartment beside hers. I'd visit frequently, and she noticed and eventually grew tired of me oggling her everytime I passed her on the way out. So she coerced me into drinking too much red wine and then sent me over to her door, drunk and giggling.

I didn't know much about her past. She's from Russia, and she sometimes jokes that she's actually a trained assassin. She grew up in a foster home, got close with a girl named Natalia, who ended up living in the Big Apple as a high school teacher with a husband who renovates houses. She calls her every other week before bed, I think, when I spend the night and she thinks I'm asleep. I never hear what they're saying, but I enjoy falling into slumber listening to the soft hum of her voice through the plaster walls.

I admire her small, round, button nose, the even slope of her jawline, her long lashes that brush against her subtly tanned skin. We've only been dating for two months, but I'm positive I'm im love with her. We haven't exchanged those words yet, though. The car is actually our first and only big step.

I gently shake her shoulders to wake her up, and she grumbles sleepily as she shifts and peeks up at me. "Where are we?"

"Motel. Didn't feel like driving home. Come on, lazy bones, let's get you a pillow."

Once we're settled in a room, stripped of jeans and bras so we're just wearing shirts and underwear, I drift off with my head on her shoulder and my hand wrapped around her stomach.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the dried drool in the corner of my mouth. I don't think much of it other than the teasing I'd endure in the morning when Yelena finds out I drooled on her.

I pull her closer and then frown.

I am holding a pillow.

My girlfriend is not said pillow.

I rub my eyes and sit up. It's still dark outside, and the clock on my phone reads three in the morning. I scan the room for her figure, but I can't see her silhouette lingering in any of the shadowed corners. I frown and push the duvet off of my body, shivering slightly as I maneuver around the bed and into the bathroom.

No sign of her.

I'm starting to get worried.

Quickly, I grab my jeans — at least I think they're mine — and force my legs through them. I slip my phone in my pocket and head to the door.

It's locked, which doesn't make sense, because my current assumption that Yelena had gone out for a quick smoke would mean that she wouldn't have gone far enough to warrant locking the door.

I swallow down the bad feeling in my gut and step outside.

The upper wrap-a-round level of the motel showed no people in sight. I head to the stairs and down to the front desk, where a young man with purple streaks in his hair sits, droopy-eyed and scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" I ask tentatively, rubbing the goosebumps off my arms. I hadn't brought my jacket.

His eyes flick up to meet mine. "Sir? You're friendlier than your girlfriend."

"I'm assuming you mean the blonde, very pretty, homicidal-looking woman I came in with?"

He sighs, turning his phone down. "Look, this is a motel. Things like this happen a lot. My advice is to run before the wife sees you."

I stare at him blankly.

He stares back.

"Uh, what?"

"A tall redheaded woman came by, stole your girl for a talk. They were squabbling about you. I assumed . . . oh. You didn't know. Well, who knows, could be a relative or something."

My heart hammers against my ribcage wildly. I have to keep reminding myself that Yelena loves me, that she wouldn't cheat on me, or cheat on anyone else with me, or . . . I feel myself becoming pale. Her scars, I'd never thought much of them, but with her mysterious past, and this mysterious paramour? She was running away from the woman who had now found her.

"Where did they go?" I demand, anger rushing through my veins.

He shakes his head, looking sympathetic. "I've seen this play out before, trust me when I say you don't want to confront—"

"Tell me where they went or I will make you swallow your own fist."

He recoils. "Christ, fine, they're in the parking lot. For the record, I hope you get a good slappin'!"

I speed walk out of the motel and around the back, adrenaline rushing. I stop when I spot two figures under a streetlight by my car, one taller and waving her arms around as she speaks and the other, unmistakably my Yelena, glaring up with her arms crossed.

I march over to them. Their heads snap in my direction almost immediately. The redheaded woman pulls out a gun and aims it at me.

I yelp and freeze, hands up in surrender. Yelena yells something in Russian and smacks the weapon out of her hands before rushing towards me. "(Y/N), what are you doing?"

"We're leaving," I say, completely freaked out. "Right now. You run, tell the guy in the office to call 911. I'll fight her off."

"What? No! (Y/N), this is my sister! She's just paranoid."

I gape at her. "I thought she was a science teacher!"

"I told you we should have met somewhere else," the redhead hisses.

Yelena spits back in Russian.

"No, no Russian! Explanation, now!" I turn to the woman. "You're Natalia?"

"Natasha."

"Okay, Natasha the science teacher who owns a gun, what are you doing here?"

Her lips tighten into a fine line. "I'm not a science teacher, I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I wasn't expecting Yelena to have company when I came here to drag her back home."

Yelena starts spurting more angry Russian words that mean nothing to me as I try to process what's happening. The two sisters argue for a solid two minutes while I decide I must be dreaming.

The lies. The scars. The mystery. The jokes about being an assassin.

This is a living nightmare.

I turn and walk away.

Yelena calls out, "(Y/N)! Wait!"

I don't stop until I've reached our room, where I promptly grab my jacket and bra and shove them in my bag.

"(Y/N), don't leave," Yelena begs when she catches up, blocking the doorway with her body. "Let me explain, love, please."

"Get out of my way," I snap.

She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn around as she closes the door and backs up against it as if to provide another barrier between me and the world she's trying to hide.

"Yelena," I warn.

"Let me explain," she pleads.

I stare her down, but she doesn't seem to be budging any time soon. I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the bed with my arms crossed, glaring at her. "Fine. Enlighten me."

She slowly eases away from the door. "I didn't lie to you about everything. I'm one hundred percent Russian, and I consider Natalia to be my sister, and we did grow up together. But we were trained together, too. As assassins."

"Fuck," I mutter.

She kneels down in front of me. "I got away from that life, I swear. And I met you and everything after that was the realist thing I'd ever had. I really love video games, and I really love your pancakes, and I really, really love you."

My glare softens.

"Even if you can't cook," she says.

I give her a semi-playful, semi-annoyed shove.

"You said be honest, don't hit me!"

I stand up and pace the room nervously. This time, she sits down on the bed. I mutter under my breath, gnawing on my thumbnail, until, finally, I sit down beside her.

"Okay, deal breaker. Do you know Captain America?"

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #florence pugh #wlw x reader #marvel wlw #marvel x reader #florence pugh x reader

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 19~

Warning!! The story has strong language, gore, and attempted rape.

Chapter 18

*

*

*

-------Part 1-------

Kurama: “I’ll feel better when you’re out of my sight....because I want to get rid of this feeling in my heart.”

Yoshino: “.......I see.”

Kurama’s voice sounded as if he was condemning my sin, which I falsely attributed to a small smile.

Kurama: “But you and I will meet again on the battlefield. It would be easy to snuff out a dream....It might not be a bad idea to leave you under the cherry blossom tree on this day forever.”

(Eh?)

The wind blew harder than ever, causing petals to fly in the air.

A moment later I squinted at the momentum----Kurama gently turned his head towards me.

Yoshino: "Mm....."

Our lips meet and a sad moan escapes from my mouth.

We didn't know which one of us was melting from the heat.

Yoshino: "Mmm....haa....ahh.."

(....Why?)

His tongue slipped through the thin lips and tickling the sensitive areas.

He stimulated all the right places and my body was supported by his strong arms.

When I opened my eyes, my view was blocked by my messy bangs disturbed by the wind.

Yoshino: "Nnn...."

Our lips separated with a faint wet sound.

My hair was a mess and Kurama gently adjusts it without saying a word.

Kurama: ".............."

Our gazes intertwined and our wistful breaths touched.

Kurama: "I'd rather kill you than have someone else kill you. Until then, stay alive."

Yoshino: "........"

The words were too dangerous to be an expression of possessiveness and smelled too much of blood to be a confession of love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I won't get myself killed...(+4/+4)

2. Kurama is the one who must not be killed.

3. No reaction...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: "I'll do my best not to get killed..."

(For myself and for my friends...)

Kurama: "Good. I like that about you."

At some point, the residue of the withered tears was swept away by the wind along with the petals.

Kurama: "Yoshino. From now on....you're not my toy."

Yoshino: "......Mm."

I felt my heart tear into a thousand pieces, but I pretended not to know the pain.

Yoshino: "Because now....I'm Kurama's enemy."

I did not ask or speak about the meaning of that kiss.

.................

Time moves on, leaving stagnant thoughts behind.

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

-------Part 2--------

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

(Finally, today is the day I leave here.)

The Shogunate and the Rebels each have a system whereby only the messenger and a few soldiers as my escorts precede them to the battlefield.

(The Rebel messenger is going to take me and hand over to the Shogunate messenger on the battlefield....)

(Then, as soon as the two sides' main armies join up, the war begins, right?)

I gently looked at the shiny stone in my hand.

(As a member of the Shogunate I fight against the Rebels.)

Yoshino: "Kurama.....is going to kill me."

(I, too, cannot protect anything unless I am prepared to do so.)

(And yet...)

(I still have such a crush on Kurama.)

I gripped the stone tightly and dammed up the emotions that were about to spill out.

Yoshino: "...................."

And then, I stood up and I went out-----

..............

Yoshino: ".......I'm coming in."

I called out softly and opened the sliding door to enter.

I already had a hunch that the room owner----Kurama would be out.

(.....Forgive me, Kurama. For entering your room without your permission. I'll leave as soon as I've done my business.)

I apologize in my heart and kneel down on the shelf at the end of the room.

The shiny figurines owned by Kurama were carefully arranged and sparkled.

Yoshino: ".................."

I take out the shiny stone I picked up from the Otherworld and placed it between the beautiful ornaments to hide it.

The small white fragments glow dimly like the daytime moon.

(....If we can't let go of our memories, let's at least leave them behind.)

Yoshino: "Thank you for everything. .......goodbye, Kurama."

As I said those words, my vision again caught the shiny stone and it started filling my memories.

(Somewhere along the line, I naturally accepted that I was your toy.)

(I felt like that was a manifestation of your typical possessiveness.)

(By the time I got to the point where I wanted to be more than a toy, it was..... too late.)

I stood back up and left the room quickly...

I started walking without even looking back.

........................

-----On the same day, evening at Kyoto.

The mysterious light of twilight illuminated the beautifully furnished room.

Ibuki: "I've made you wait, Akihito."

Ibuki walks into the room and sees a young man sitting in front of him smiling languidly.

Akihito: "You have a bad habit to call people immediately and make them wait, Ibuki."

Ibuki: "Looks like you were busy playing with that."

Ibuki pointed to Akihito's lap as if to make fun of him.

He was comfortably beating his drum to pass time.

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway..."

------Part 3------

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway...Yoritomo has outwitted us all, hasn't he?"

A soft, unreadable smile crept across Akihito's lips.

Akihito: "I didn't think they'd take back the fox princess."

Ibuki: "Why are you laughing about it?"

Akihito: "Why not? You'll manage it, won't you? I sowed the seeds of evil, Yasuchika nurtured them and....Ibuki, it's your job to reap the harvest."

Ibuki: "Pain in the ass."

Akihito: "I thought you loved playing?"

Ibuki: "Okay okay, anything for you."

After a snide retort, Ibuki laughed and sat down next to Akihito.

----To discuss their future plans.

...............

Rebel soldier 1: "The sun will soon be gone. Let's start preparing the camp."

A rebel soldier riding in front of my horse looks back at me.

Rebel soldier 2: "Ah. Hey, are you feeling any better?"

Yoshino: "Yes, I'm doing fine."

As a prisoner of war to be handed over to the Shogunate, I have been treated with respect by the rebel envoys.

It was Yoshitsune-sama who gave the order to do so.

(Yoichi-san and Benkei also were sweet enough to see me off. It is as if they forgot I'm an enemy.)

------FLASHBACK------

Benkei: "I know you're gonna stubbornly say 'No' if I asked you to run away. But nothing can be done now, isn't it?

Yoichi: "We'll just have to hope that we won't run into you on the battlefield."

------FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(Those two also risked their lives to fight for Yoshitsune-sama and their friends.)

(I'm going to stand on the battlefield, so I should learn to face anything.)

On the back of the horse, I look ahead and think about the battle that lies ahead.

At that time-----

Rebel soldier 3: "Hm? What the....?"

(What happened?)

One of the soldiers suddenly looked at the mountainside on his right.

Yoshino: "......Sand dust?"

I gasp at the sound of many horses' feet galloping towards us.

Rebel soldier 1: "No way, an enemy attack!?"

(No way.)

Dozens of men jumped out of the slope and rushed towards us on horseback.

Enemy 1: "She's here! Get her!"

Enemy: *ROARS*

Rebel soldier 2: "Are they from the Shogunate!?"

Rebel soldier 3: "I don't think so. There's no point in making a surprise attack when we've already negotiated so much."

(That's right. So, who are these people....?)

Rebel soldier 1: "We can't let em hurt our prisoners..."

-------The oldest soldier turns to me.

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

-------Part 4-------

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

Yoshino: "Yes!"

The rebels soldiers lined up their horses around me and ran frantically.

I was followed by the shouts of my escorts and the clatter of horses' hooves.

........................

At the same time---Kurama, who was leaning on his side in his room, was playing with the silver crown in his hand.

Kurama: "I don't like it. The glow should be undiminished, but it's not."

As he put the crown reflecting the orange of setting sun, back on the shelf.

A similar sparkling object falls off.

Kurama: "........."

He picks it and was about to place it back, when-----

Kurama: "What the?"

Kurama frowned at the dimly shine of a stone, placed hidden in between his collection.

Kurama: "This is...no way...."

It's as if he's trying to hold on to a memory of someone who's just popped into his head.

Kurama cradles the small stone in his palm.

At that time-----

Yoichi: "Kurama!"

Suddenly, the sliding door of the room opens and Yoichi rushes in, breathing hard.

Kurama: "What is it?"

Kurama's gaze sharpens slightly at the unusual appearance of Yoichi.

Yoichi: "There's an attack. The Court's hands have extended to the party which was sending over Yoshino."

Kurama: "!!!!"

........................

(It's been a day. ....We've managed to escape, but.)

Rebel soldier 1: "It's not good. The horses are getting tired. I wish the enemy would give up for good."

We jumped into the mountains and tried to move along the ridge, hiding from our pursuers.

(At least if we knew who the enemy was....?)

At that time----

Rebel soldier: "Shit! They're here again!"

Yoshino: ".....!!"

At the same time as we turned around at the sound of the impatient voice, arrows poured down like rain.

Rebel soldier 2: "RUN!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, and when one soldier tried to return the fire with his own bow, he was shot and fell from his horse.

I was about to reach out to him when another soldier tugged at my horse's hitch.

Rebel soldier 3: "Just run!"

Yoshino "..... Okay."

(If the enemy's goal is to catch me, I must never be caught.)

Keeping low, we sprinted along the beastly path, which narrowed the further we went.

............

(How long has it been, since I'm running....?)

Running like mad, falling down the mountainside, still running away, but.....

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

-------Part 5-------

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

The rebels soldiers started protecting me with their backs.

The rebel soldiers drew their weapons in unison and they glittered in the cloudy sky.

(.....I can't believe I can only watch like this.)

Enemy 1: "What can you even do with such a small number?"

The enemy smiled hatefully and stepped forward as if he had plenty of room.

Rebel soldier 1: "LET'S FIGHT!"

Rebel soldiers: *ROARS*

Enemy 1: "COME ON!"

Some shoot arrows, others wield white blades.

(But the number of soldiers on our side is too small compared to the other side. At this rate....)

The rebel soldiers, who are slowly retreating to fight back, are clearly in a bad mood.

Enemy 2: "Eat this!"

Rebel soldier 1: "Nn...."

(Ah.........)

A soldier was cut down in front of me and fell into the mud.

Rebel soldier 1: "Fuck...you should....go first. Go!"

The horse's rump is beaten and he clings to the reins.

Enemy 1: "Don't let her get away! Go, go----"

(....I'm scared.)

I winced as one of the arrows pierces my arm.

But still, I ran with all my might------

Yoshino: "Kyaa!!"

My horse lets out a high-pitched scream and rocks violently.

(They shot him in the leg!)

There was nothing I could do, and my body falls off the horse.

(Damn it!)

Yoshino: "Ouch...!!"

I staggered back to my feet and stared in amazement at the hellish battle.

Rebel soldier 4: "Gwaa..."

One by one, the rebel soldiers fell into the mud.

I was immediately confronted by several enemies, who blocked my escape.

Enemy 1: "He ordered us to be careful. We were just ordered to capture and keep the woman alive."

Yoshino: "Nngh....."

Enemy 2: "Now now, don't make it difficult for us....come here, missy!"

One of the men who had dismounted grabbed me roughly by the arm and I winced in pain.

(Ah.....)

My eyes widen as I look over their heads, only to see the last of the Rebels soldiers fall.

Yoshino: "...Let go of me!!"

Enemy 3: "Hey, shut up!"

Enemy 4: "She looks like some ordinary town girl? What's so valuable about her?"

Enemy 5: "Who cares...? All our employers want, is her. But, well, it wouldn't hurt if we love her a little bit before handing it over, right....?"

I got goosebumps all over my body as he gave me a lecherous smile.

(No....)

I shake off their hands and try to run away from the emerging smirking men------

Enemy 1: "Where are you running off to?"

Yoshino: "Nn...No."

They soon caught up to me and dragged me down to the ground.

My vision darkens with despair as I see multiple arms stretching towards me....

???: "What the fuck are you doing?"

(Eh...)

At that moment---- the air around us was suffocatingly tense.

Enemy 1: "Ngh....."

The men's smiles froze, and they all turned their attention to the owner of the voice.

(No way....)

Kurama: "Did you touch the woman?"

Chapter 20

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

[onfreckledwings]

hoping you’ll see (what your love means to me)

15x20 fix-it songfic. shameless feel-good fluff. because our babies deserved the world.

When Dean dies on a Thursday in November, Cas is there to welcome him at the proverbial pearly gates. Sort of.

He can’t really even call it a gate. It’s blue skies, sloping mountains, pine trees, and open fields. The sun shines more brilliantly and warmer here.

The air breathes cleaner; the breeze is cool and languid.

He doesn’t realize he’d been walking until he comes to a stop, dirt swirling around his legs. Nothing hurt: not his hip, not his knees, his back, or chest.

Nothing.

“Well at least I made it to Heaven,” Dean murmurs to himself. In the next moment, Harvelle’s appears a few yards away.

“No way.”

He walks the short distance before standing in front of the bar, and he’s smiling so wide and he can feel his laugh lines on his cheeks and the crinkles of his eyes.

Harvelle’s Roadhouse

The same neon lights in the windows, the same sign. Everything is exactly the same.

“Hell yeah,” and then he’s walking up the porch and has a palm on the door before he stills.

Dean shuts his eyes briefly before opening them with a silent chuckle. He knows who’s there. Even before he turns his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns around to see Castiel standing a few yards away.

He feels his face cracking from smiling so wide, and he feels his eyes stinging with tears behind them. He faces Cas fully now, hands shoved into his pockets, and begins to walk towards him.

He ducks his head, almost shy, and glances up at him through his eyelashes. “Castiel,” he greets with pressed lips, eyes gleaming.

Heaven is strange, he thinks. He feels no sense of unease here. No nerves, no jitters. He only feels contentment. Peace. Joy.

Cas tilts his head in that fucking adorable way he does, and Dean can feel something behind his ribs melt. He stops when they are a few inches apart.

Cas’s eyes are bluer than Dean has ever seen them. Moss green and ethereal blue.

Sky and Earth.

The wind gusts gently around them. The blades of grass dance.

Cas lifts a hand and places it on Dean’s left shoulder. Cas’s shoulder. Dean smiles a small, watery thing.

“Are you...real? How-” and Dean trails off. He somehow already knows the answer. Cas squeezes his shoulder and smiles.

“Yes. It’s me.”

Dean’s eyes well up and his nose starts to tickle. He looks up to the sky and wets his lips in that way he does to hold tears at bay, before meeting blue again.

Dean reaches between them and grips Cas’s always-crooked tie. Cas looks confused at first, maybe even a little scared. But when Dean’s free hand comes to cradle the side of Cas’s neck and lets his fingers brush the strands of thick hair at its nape, Cas’s face smooths out and he stands a little taller.

One lone tear breaks free from the corner of Dean’s eye, and Cas’s thumb is there to catch it as he sweeps it over his cheekbone before cupping his jaw.

Dean tugs him close before snaking his arms around Cas’s waist under his trench coat and hugs him close, face buried in the angel’s shoulder. He melts when Cas envelopes him, cheek resting against his crown, hands rubbing soothing patterns against Dean’s back.

“You’re early,” Castiel whispers.

Dean gives a small chuckle. “Yeah, well...I’m a dumbass.” And then he’s inhaling slow and deep against Cas’s skin. Cas smells like sweet summer rain, the crisp air of fall.

He smells like Cas.

“And I missed you,” he murmurs against the warm swath of exposed skin on the angel’s neck before pressing a feather-light kiss there.

Cas seems to melt at the contact and grips Dean tighter. Dean feels fingers card through the short strands of his hair and Cas’s other hand comes up to cup the back of Dean’s head.

“I missed you too.”

Something occurs to Dean then, and he lifts his head to meet Cas’s eyes. His hands travel up Cas’s arms until they rest on his shoulders.

“Hang on...how did you get out? How did you get here?”

Cas simply smiles and gives Dean a knowing look. “Jack may have had something to do with it.”

Dean unfurls a bark of laughter from his chest before grasping that tie again.

“That’s our boy.”

Cas smiles again, and Dean thinks he’ll never ever tire of seeing it.

His eyes flit between Cas’s and his lips and back again, and he flattens his free palm on Cas’s chest, just over where his heart would be.

“Cas,” he begins, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “about what you said..before you left-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean,” Cas offers quietly. “I don’t expect-”

“Well that’s good,” he cuts Cas off, “‘cause I wasn’t really plannin’ on talkin’. I’m shit with words.”

Cas blinks quizzically. “Wha-” but he trails off when Dean grazes the stubble of his cheeks with the soft pads of his thumbs.

Dean starts to tremble slightly when he cups either side of Cas’s jaw again.

He dives in.

Their mouths slot together perfectly; Cas’s is warm and soft and pliant, and Dean brushes his tongue against the crease of Cas’s lips, and Cas lets him in.

Dean knows then that he’s in Heaven.

*

Everyone’s here.

Dean’s eyes scan the entire barroom from the table where he and Cas sit: at the bar, there’s Ellen, Jo, Ash, Bobby, and Karen discussing their hunting glory days. Charlie and Kevin are huddled with their laptops at one of the booths (because there’s WiFi in Heaven, apparently), and are probably discussing the latest sci-fi series or some other nerdy thing.

John and Mary are sitting at one of the candle-lit tables, holding hands and murmuring in each other’s ears that is always met with soft laughter.

Rufus is there too with Aretha at one end of the bar, Johnnie Walker Blue in hand. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man smile the way he is right now, so earnest and genuine.

Missouri and Pamela sit at the table nearest to Dean and Cas, talking about when Pamela séance’d Cas after Dean was rescued from Hell.

“I think he was just trying to show off in front of his boyfriend,” Pamela teases with a laugh as Missouri drops her face in one hand.

“Good Lord,” she marvels. “Some first impression there, Castiel. Burning out a woman’s eyes? Oh!”

Cas ducks his head. “It was an accident, I assure you,” and Dean can’t help but feel a little bad for the guy.

Pamela pats Cas on the back. “All in the past, sweetie. No harm done. Well, no permanent damage anyway,” and then tilts her head back in laughter. Dean can’t help but snicker.

Everything is fucking perfect.

Contentedness blooms in his belly, warming his insides until he feels like his body is humming. Everybody he has ever loved and lost in one room.

Sam, Eileen, and the others will be along, Bobby had said. And he feels complete peace knowing that Sam is in good hands, and that they will take care of each other until their times come.

Dean sits back in his chair, glass of wine in hand. They’re a bottle and a half in, celebrating Dean’s arrival, and his head is buzzing in the best possible way.

He glances at Cas from across the table through his eyelashes.

His trench coat, suit jacket, and tie are all draped on the backrest of the chair, because we gotta get you out of this holy tax accountant get up, man, and if he’s honest, Dean wants to feast his eyes a little.

Cas’s white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, and Dean’s mouth goes a little dry at the naked dip of his collar bone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Dean marvels at the ripples of muscle and bone in the angel’s forearms, his fingers itching to touch.

Dean smiles. His cheeks are warm, and something curious blossoms behind his ribs.

“Dean?”

He snaps out of his trance and meets Cas’s eyes. “Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, and Dean realizes that he’s been caught staring.

Dean smirks. “Mhm. Jus’ enjoyin’ the view.”

Dean almost dies (again) when Cas blushes and ducks his chin with a roll of his eyes.

Yeah, he can get used to this.

The jukebox in the corner starts playing a new song, and Dean straightens in his chair with a wild grin.

“Oh hell yes,” he shouts with a slap to the table, wine bottles and glasses clattering. “I love this song. C’mon Cas, you’re dancin’ with me.” He stands and reaches for Cas with an outstretched hand.

Horror flashes across the angel’s face. “Dean, no. I’m a terrible dancer. I couldn’t-”

“Well, that makes two of us then” he says and grabs Cas’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come on. My ‘got-dead’ party, my rules.”

Cas groans and throws his head back with a grimace as he lets Dean guide him to the dance floor. “‘Got-dead’ party? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, shhh,” Dean smirks as he turns to face Cas. “Here, lemme lead.”

Dean clasps Cas’s hand with his own and draws them to his chest, his other hand wrapping around his waist coming to rest on his back. Cas’s free arm mimics Dean’s.

Attached at the...everything.

Their mouths are inches apart, and Dean’s bowed legs go a little weak as he stares into Cas’s eyes. The lighting in the bar changes to ambient, almost candle-like glow.

Lying beside you, here in the dark,

Feeling your heartbeat with mine.

Softly you whisper, you're so sincere;

How could our love be so blind?

They sway somewhat in tune with the rhythm, but Dean’s a little wine drunk and accidentally steps on Cas’s toes. More than once.

“Sorry,” Dean giggles—giggles?— and lets all of his weight lean into Cas, who accepts it willingly. Dean’s lips press against his temple, and Cas hums appreciatively as Dean starts to sing low into Cas’s ear.

We sailed on together,

We drifted apart,

And here you are, by my side.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say.

So here I am, with open arms,

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

“‘s how I feel about you, you know,” Dean murmurs as he nuzzles the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “I’m not good with words, but..,” Dean slurs and sucks a gentle kiss into his neck. “This could totally be our song.”

“Dean…” and Dean pulls back slightly at the crack in Cas’s voice. Tears spill over from those cobalt blues, and Dean’s thumbs are quick to catch them as he frames Cas’s face.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” he says through a smile, licking his lips. “You’ve got me. You always have. And I’ve got you, so…” he smiles and presses the softest of kisses to Castiel’s mouth before resting their foreheads together.

They never stop dancing.

Living without you, living alone,

This empty house seems so cold.

Wanting to hold you,

Wanting you near,

How much I wanted you home.

Now that you've come back,

Turned night into day,

I need you to stay.

“I love you,” Castiel says, and he brings their joint hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and nods knowingly. It may be a little easier to accept love up here, but sometimes old habits die hard. Even in death.

“Me too,” he murmurs, and he wraps his free arm even tighter around the soft, curved line of Cas’s waist for emphasis.

So now I come to you with open arms,

Nothing to hide, believe what I say,

So here I am, with open arms;

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me,

Open arms.

As the song ends, Dean thinks maybe this could be his forever. Surrounded by family, both given and chosen; blissful in his angel’s arms. The love of his life. The one who has saved him more times than Dean can count. At utter peace knowing that Eileen will take good care of Sam, and he looks forward to the day when they can all be together once again.

Until then, he’ll take this. The life he’s always dreamed of but was too scared to hope for. A life of love, warmth, comfort, and peace.

A life after death.

And he’ll think, maybe, just maybe, he deserves it.

fin.

@blacklightguidesnic tortured me this morning and put this incredibly soft scene in my head. here you go ♥️

#destiel #I did a thing #15x20 #SPN fix it #supernatural #deancas #self reblog #fix-it fic #spn finale #spn coda #deancas coda

[tomboyneedshercoffee]

Thin Ice Pt4 || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Peter spend some alone time and secrets get revealed. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s note: This is literally the fastest I’ve ever uploaded but you guys gave me so much support from the last chapter and honestly it made my day. Thank you guys for being so sweet!!! 

Warnings: Mild swearing 

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || to be continued 

For the past day, your friends and the rest of the decathlon team were stuck indoors waiting out the blizzard that was supposedly coming your way. However, by some miracle, the resort wasn’t hit too badly and your itinerary had only been pushed back a day. 

Everyone was excited to go skiing more but you had other thoughts on your mind. You weren’t sure what to do about Brad and better yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about Peter. You only got a couple of glances at him between meals and even then, it was like he was avoiding your gaze. 

You wondered if Brad had told Peter that you had kissed and the thought alone made you mad all over again. 

“ You okay Y/N?” Betty asked as you looked down at your plastic fork that was bent from how hard you were gripping it. 

You nodded and inhaled deeply as you put the fork down and started to eat your waffles with your spoon,” I’m really tired. I just want to go back to bed.”

From your dining booth, you could look directly at Peter, eating away with Ned without a care in the world. You watched as Peter laughed so hard, he held his sides in pain. 

Before Peter could catch your gaze, you turned your attention back to your friends and crossed your arms. 

“ You’ve been sleeping for most of the trip. Ever since that night the boys came over you’ve just been in bed. You even missed the huskies that they brought to the lobby!” Cindy said as she felt your forehead,” are you sick? I have dayquil in my bag.”

You swatted her hand away and looked down at your half-finished breakfast,” I’m fine. You guys should just go on ahead and ski without me. I’m not really up for it.”

MJ eyed you suspiciously as Betty and Cindy continued to interrogate you. 

“ But you love snowboarding! What’s up with you cause something is obviously bothering you,” Cindy sighed as she put her hand on your shoulder,” is this about Brad?”

You put your hoodie over your head and rested your head against the table,”Can we please never say that dude’s name again.” 

MJ shook her head and brought out her phone from under the table. Unlike her friends, MJ quickly put the pieces together and came to the conclusion that you needed something to cheer you up. She went to her messages and sent a text to Peter. 

MJ: Something is up with Y/N & it has something to do with brad - u gotta get her out of the hotel room before she throws herself off the side of the mountain 

MJ sent the message and looked over at Peter’s table, waiting for him to get the message. Peter’s phone buzzed and when he went to check, his face dropped and he looked over in your direction. 

Peter: what did he do to her??? Did her hurt her??? 

Peter: I’ve never seen her like this before 

Peter: what if she doesn’t want to hang out with me :(

MJ rolled her eyes and typed out vigorously. 

MJ: This is ur chance to get alone time with her dumbass! Think of something NOW! 

Peter: okokok but what about ned? I can’t leave him alone

MJ: we’ll hang out with him - I’m sure betty wants some action with ned too

Peter put his phone down and looked over in your table’s direction. He watched as Betty poked the side of your head but you didn’t even flinch. 

After you went into the bathroom with Brad alone, Peter thought his chances of winning you over would be finished. That whole night Peter tossed and turned in his bed as he thought of what you two could’ve been doing in there yet at the same time, he tried to get those thoughts out of his mind completely. 

Even though the thoughts pained him,  Peter wanted to find out what happened that night and why you were so upset about it. It made him feel a tad bit better cause you feeling so bummed meant that maybe nothing happened between you and Brad but at the same time, what if Brad did something to you that made you feel this way? 

The thought only made Peter fume silently as he told Ned everything that was going on. Once Ned hesitantly agreed, Peter shot another text to MJ and told her he had a plan. 

MJ looked down at her phone and got up from the booth,” I think we should head out now. You sure you don’t wanna come Y/N?”

You raised your head from off the table and nodded,” I’ll be fine. I’ll catch you guys for lunch.” 

You didn’t bother saying goodbye as you shuffled out of the booth and made your way to the elevators. As you got into the elevator and pushed your floor number, you leaned against the corner and closed your eyes. 

There was so much on your mind and it kept eating away at you. After a lifetime of being friends, Brad sabotaged it and threw all of those great memories away over a stupid kiss. You felt guilty too because maybe you egged him on in a way and that you should’ve told him not to kiss you at all instead of falling for a “cheek kiss.” 

As the elevator doors closed, Peter slipped through at the last second and you opened your eyes. 

“Oh hey, Peter!” You said as you stood up straighter,” I thought you left with everyone else.”

Peter’s heart was racing as he pushed his brown curls off of his forehead,” Y-yeah about that...I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today?”

Your heart skipped a beat and deep down, you knew you had too much going on in your head right now. At the same time, you didn’t mind spending more time with him and you could use a distraction. 

“ Sure, I would love to,” You finally said as Peter smiled nervously,” what did you have in mind?” 

“ There’s this terrain park at the top of the mountain and I thought it would be cool watching people do tricks and stuff,” Peter said as the elevator stopped at your floor,” we would need to take the ski lift up there if that’s okay.” 

Peter followed you out of the elevator as you nodded happily,” Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll go get ready but I’ll meet you in the lobby in like...thirty minutes?” 

Peter looked down at his phone to check the time and smiled,” Great. I’ll see you soon then.”

As you both parted ways,  Peter walked slowly to his room so he could make sure you got to your hotel room safely. Once you got into your room, Peter raced to his room on the opposite side so he could get dressed. 

After you got ready, you practically rushed to the lobby to find Peter nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. When he saw you, he did a double-take before standing up. 

“ Ready?” Peter asked as you nodded. 

The two of you walked side by side out of the lobby and through the shops as you both talked about the trip. While the two of you were talking, your phone buzzed and you casually pulled it out to check to see who it was. 

Brad: We need to talk

“ Have I ever told you that I really like your phone case?” Peter said as he pointed towards it. 

You turned off your phone and stuffed it into your pocket,” Are you making fun of me for liking Spiderman?” 

Peter shook his head and laughed. It was really strange to see merch of himself out there and he never really knew of the impact he had on people until little kids started dressing up as Spiderman for Halloween. 

He felt like a celebrity but the closest comparison he could think of was Hannah Montana. 

“ No I’m not. I’m just surprised you don’t have a Captain America one or an Iron Man on it instead.” 

You and Peter both made it to the line for the ski-lift and while Peter was excited to get some alone time with you, he was nervous that he would ruin things. 

“ Puh-lease. Spiderman is by far the most superior avenger. I used to have a poster hung up in my room but my brother told me it was creepy so I took it down...I understand though. I guess it just reminds my brother of too much.” 

“ What do you mean?” Peter asked as the line moved up. 

“ I don’t really tell people this,” You sighed but figured why not,” but a couple of months ago, my brother and his girlfriend were walking home from the movies and these guys pulled a gun on them. They tried to rob them and they even beat my brother in front of his girlfriend. He thought they were going to kill him but Spiderman came and saved them. He’s thankful for being saved but I don’t think he ever got over how scary it all was.”

Peter felt his heart sink to his chest. He remembered that night vividly because of how hard the girlfriend was crying. He always thought it would get easier and that maybe he would get desensitized over time but he remembered every encounter like it was his last. 

“ I’m sorry... I didn’t know he was your brother,” Peter said as he quickly caught his mistake,” I mean I-I remember hearing about it somehow...but that sounds terrible. Is he doing okay now?” 

You shrugged and let out a puff of air,” He seems fine. I think he’s so stressed about his first year of college that he doesn’t really think about it anymore. It shook me up too. I was never really afraid of crime and all that but I guess when you live in New York, you’re always paranoid about when the next attack will be.” 

You watched Peter’s solemn expression and you nudged him lightly,” I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. I just wanted to defend myself on why I love Spiderman so much. I just wish I could thank him, you know, for everything.” 

Even though you weren’t looking at Peter, he still smiled towards you. 

“ I think he knows. Trust me.” 

Once it was your turn to go on the lift, you and Peter walked over and waited for the seat to come from behind. You both sat down as you moved the bar down to rest against your laps. 

As it brought you further and further into the air, you noticed Peter gripping the bar. 

“ Are you afraid of heights Pete?” You teased as Peter shook his head.

“ I’ve just never been on a ski lift before. I mean, on the bunny slope sure but it was way smaller. This isn’t even that sturdy,” Peter said as he shook the bar softly, causing the lift to creak,” fuck we are really high up.” 

You looked around and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved seeing the whole mountain in fresh powder as Snowboarders glided down effortlessly below you. You felt like you were in your element and even though your cheeks were already rosy from the cold, you felt like you could stay up here forever. 

“ It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that,” Peter said as he tried his best to ignore the height,” it’s nice.” 

For a moment, you had forgotten about all the problems that were lurking in your head and it was all thanks to Peter. You loved how easy carrying a conversation was with him and you would’ve never told anyone about what happened with your brother but something about Peter just made you instantly warm up to him. 

You exhaled deeply as you leaned back in your seat,” I’ve just been going through a rough patch that’s all.” 

Peter moved his legs up and down before turning back to you nervously,” Did Brad do something? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but I’m here for you if you want to talk.” 

You wanted to tell Peter everything but you couldn’t do that without getting your feelings revealed. Not only that but if Peter did like you and he found out Brad had kissed you, it would change things and you liked the way things were. 

“ Brad and I have just been friends for so long, you know? When you’ve known someone ever since you were in diapers, you start to let things slide.  Maybe that’s why I always make excuses for him and his behavior sometimes,” you sighed as you turned to Peter,” you know, you sometimes remind me of him.”

Peter was quick with a comment as he shifted in his seat carefully,” Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

You playfully rolled your eyes as you tilted your head to the side to get a better look at Peter,” Well maybe what Brad used to be. On mother’s day, he always takes my mom out to brunch because my brother and I can never wake up early. I see that in you, you do things out of the kindness of your heart and you always do what’s right no matter what. You’ve been through a lot these past couple of years and you haven’t let it corrupt you or your heart.” 

Peter shrugged as he tried to cover up his blush,” You got all of that from just a couple of days?” 

“ I know we weren’t close before the trip Pete but I’m not blind. You’re literally the most selfless person I know,” you took a beat and decided to test the waters,” That’s why all the girls like you so much.”

Peter could feel his ears and neck flush as he laughed nervously before sighing quietly,” Girls don’t like guys like me.”

I like you. 

“ That’s not true and you know it. What about Liz and MJ? Plus I heard Vanessa and her friends in gym think you’re hot. You’re funny, super smart, kind, and cute; you’re the whole package. Any girl would be lucky enough to be with you.” 

You didn’t know it, but Peter could sense how fast your heart was beating and even though you tried to hide it, your voice trembled. 

Peter shifted in his seat yet again but this time, his body leaned closer to yours,“ I guess I don’t care about all those girls...There’s only one girl that’s been on my mind.” 

You could feel yourself turn into putty and your heart was racing like never before. You couldn’t believe what was happening and you didn’t even bother to hide the blush that was creeping onto your face. 

You studied his face carefully and for a moment, it was like time had stopped just for the two of you. A rush of adrenaline pumped through your veins as you rested your hand on his thigh before pressing your lips against his. 

Once your lips touched, Peter didn’t hesitate and immediately kissed you back. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that Peter had never felt before. 

Your heart fluttered inside your chest before pulling away. 

“ Just to make sure, I’m the girl that’s been on your mind right?” You teased Peter bit his lip and nodded. 

“ Yes Y/N and I’ll prove it to you,” Peter pulled you closer to him as he kissed you again, smiling against your lips. 

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

“ Thanks again for today, I liked spending time with you,” You smiled sweetly as you and Peter walked hand in hand back to your hotel rooms. 

“ Me too but I’m just glad you had a great time. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind lately. You know I’m here if you need anything,” Peter said as you both stopped in front of your room. 

You looked at Peter one last time before pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. You squeezed his hand before sliding in your room key. 

“ I’ll see you later?” 

Peter hummed a quick mhm and once you closed the door, Peter made a triumphant fist in the air. 

You pressed your back against the hotel door and squealed happily like a schoolgirl. You took off your coat and hung it up as MJ looked up from her book. 

“ I’ve never said this to anyone but wow you’re actually glowing,” MJ grinned as she patted a spot beside her. 

You weren’t planning on telling MJ what went down but you felt like you would burst if you had to keep it in any longer. You told her everything from what happened in the elevator all the way until he walked you to the room. 

MJ listened patiently and after you had finished your story, Cindy stepped out of the bathroom. 

“ Hey Cindy, you’ll never guess what happened!” You beamed as you sat up from the bed. 

Your face dropped when you saw that Cindy’s face was less than excited. 

“ What’s wrong?”

Cindy let in a sharp breath as she held up her phone,” I think you need to see this.” 

You and MJ shared a look before you got up from your seat and came over to Cindy. She hesitated before opening up her most recent message from Brad. 

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach as you reached for the phone slowly in disbelief. 

It was a picture of you and Brad kissing in the bathroom and from the angle, it looked like you were actually kissing Brad back. That’s why he wanted you to close your eyes, he was setting up the camera. 

“ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whispered as you felt tears welt up in your eyes. Your mind immediately thought of Peter and you started to feel dizzy,” please tell me that he only sent it to you.” 

MJ got up from her spot on the bed and shook her head,” That fucking prick...Y/N...he sent it to the decathlon group chat.” 

@spaghetittiesbcimgay​ @holland-in-disguise​ @yeahimcrying​ @greatpizzascissorstaco​  @mysticalbanshee​ @weyheyavengers​ @infinityflamesworld​ @fandom-fangirl22​ @peterparkoure​ @crumpets-are-better-with-jam​ @marvel4geeks​ @sad-sagita​ @juliebean247​ @quitepointless​  @bannanasz​ @spideyyeet​ 

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagines #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagines #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #peter parker smut #avengers smut #marvel smut #spiderman smut #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #brad davis #brad davis x read #brad davis imagine #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh #far from home

[chokemeanakin]

Would you write another fluffy Obi piece?? Cause I absolutely fell in love with your first one and that man needs more love shown to him 😫 What about taking care of a sick, tired Obi after a mission?

Thank you for the request! Hopefully it lives up to the first Obi fic I did, idk all I can say is that as an Anakin writer, I tried my best 😅. Enjoy! ❤️

WC: 2.3k

Masterlist

You Can Rest Now- Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn Reader

You had told him to bring that extra fleece jacket. And those thermal gloves, and the hat that covered his ears, and the scarf that wrapped around his mouth and nose, and the insulated boots, and the chill-resistant underpants--

Obviously he hadn’t listened to you.

You were on the rescue craft sent to pick up Obi-Wan and a few of his men, who had been stranded on Hoth after a group of Wampa ate his transport ship for lunch. A rescue had been deployed immediately-- being out in the cold of Hoth for too long was deadlier than a lightsaber through the chest. 

Maybe not necessarily that deadly… but with the way your heart was hammering against your ribcage as you scanned the snowy slopes for any sign of your Jedi lover, it might as well be.

He had been gone for little over a week now, hopping from planet to planet, trying to track down the plans for a secret Separist weapon. And although there had been times when he was gone for even longer, your pulse still jumped when you spotted the small black dots on the horizon. You could feel him, and your heart reached out for him with each second the ship grew closer. 

You were the first one down the loading ramp when it descended, still zipping up the heavy jacket as the harsh wind blew the fur-lined hood off your head. The cold was paralyzing. Just the first couple seconds of being in it was like a slap in the face, and it took a moment before you could remember how to function again. 

You and the group of medics and rescue workers trudged through the thick snow and began to get to work helping frost-bitten and hypothermic men into the ship. You twisted and turned, squinting your eyes behind people’s masks to try and find the only one you were here for--

“You’re here,” you whipped around, the voice warming you to the tips of your fingers despite the frigid cold.

“Obi-Wan!”

In the circumstance that you two were alone, you would have run to him and crushed him to you in a big hug. Alas, you were not alone, and there were eyes on you two, so you had to instead shift uncomfortably on your feet, scanning your eyes up and down his figure to search for injuries.

He didn’t seem to be sick like a lot of his men, but then again it was hard to see anything despite the layers he was wearing. All that was visible to you was a thin strip of fair skin, interrupted by the azure of his eyes. You took his gloved hand and began tugging him toward the ship.

“You must be freezing,” you stated dumbly, mind still trying to work through the sludge of ice your brain was forming into. “I’ve only been out here for a few minutes, and you’ve been here for.. what... hours? I knew you should have worn those chill-resistant Tauntaun ponchos, but no. They looked “tacky and ridiculous”. Isn’t that what you said over hologram? Only you would choose fashion over safety. I bet you regret it now, huh?”

“Does working your mouth keep you warm?” Obi-Wan quipped. There was no resistance as he let you drag him into the ship, ushering him to your personal quarters. “If so, continue on my behalf. I would hate to see you catch a cold.”

“Oh, I will,” you promised. “Just as soon as I make sure your limbs aren’t going to fall off first. Sit.”

Obi-Wan’s icy eyes glanced wearily to the couch. “I’m all wet. I’ll soil the cushions.”

“Sit.”

He lowered himself onto the couch clumsily, heaving out a breath as he did so. This worried you. Nothing Obi-Wan ever did was anything less than elegant-- even when he was beating the shit out of that four-armed robot with tuberculosis, he did so with the practiced grace of a lithe panther. 

You began with his hands, removing the multiple layers of gloves and throwing them in a wet pile on the floor. When you finally found skin, you were relieved to see that none of his fingers were black, but you still didn’t like the blue and purple tint they had to them. 

You gathered his larger hands in yours, trying to squeeze some warmth back into them, and blew hot breath into your cupped palms. Then you got to work taking his hat off, the scarves, the layers and layers of jackets… it was a process to say the least, and when you were done, you were left with a shivering Obi-Wan in nothing but a skin-tight blacksuit, and a huge pile of sopping wet clothing on the floor.

“I-in a way,” his teeth chattered as chills began to rack his body, “Being n-numb was better than… was better than t-this.”

“It’s a sign that you’re warming up,” you skimmed your fingers across his cheekbone, gaging his temperature. Still ice-cold to the touch, and the white tint to his lips was more than a little alarming. You frowned, then quickly moved away to start a warm shower in the fresher. 

You turned in time to see Obi-Wan struggle to push himself to his feet, failing and falling back against the cushions before succeeding on his second attempt. Now that his face was void of any coverings, you realized just how tired and sickly he looked.

“Did any of the medics check you before I dragged you away?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the pale pallor of his usually golden skin. Even the sandy strawberry of his hair seemed to wilt, as if the color had been swallowed up by the stark, barren landscape outside.

“I’m alright, d-darling. You’ll come to f-find that I am p-pretty resilient.”

“Pretty resilient my ass, Obi-Wan,” you rolled your eyes. “Someday, your loftiness is going to get you into real trouble.”

“M-my loftiness?”

“And if it’s not that, it’s going to be because you never take care of yourself,” you ignore him, checking the water with your fingertips.  “You’re too damn selfless, is what you are. You don’t realize other people can wait, and don’t need your unbridled attention every second of every day. Yes, there’s a war out there, but you deserve to be saved too.”

In all honesty, you didn’t really mean to begin lecturing him. You were panicked, not liking how quiet and subservient Obi-Wan was being. There was definitely something wrong with him, and running your mouth distracted you from the possibility that maybe he was injured and was hiding it from you, or maybe something happened that triggered that glassy look in his eyes, or maybe he was actually very sick and slipping between your fingers and you didn’t even realize it…

Obi-Wan sensed your panic, too. Ice met your cheek, and he turned your face to look at him.

“Hush, darling,” his cool breath washed over your face like a gust of flurry-speckled wind. “You’re w-working yourself up over n-nothing. I’ll be alright, I p-promise.”

You zipped your mouth closed and nodded. The bags under his eyes were dark, and you were kicking yourself for adding to them. The last thing he needed on his plate was more stress, especially coming from the person who was supposed to be his oasis of love and comfort. You leaned up and placed your lips over his, aiming to kiss some color back into them. 

“My apologies,” you spoke against the coolness of his mouth. “The water’s hot. You can get in now.”

You left Obi-Wan to shower, throwing all of his clothes into the hamper to be taken away for washing. A protocol droid dropped off a new pair of loose fitting sleepwear and Jedi apparel for tomorrow, as well as extra blankets and some warm foods which you had specially requested.

Steam billowed out of the fresher when Obi-Wan emerged, wrapping him in a ghostly embrace. His skin was covered head to toe in goosebumps, and although a little color had returned to his skin, it still looked as if every step took a huge effort. He sat on the chair by the desk, a towel tied around his waist and another working through the dripping hair on his head. He shivered when he felt your hand on his back, slipping the sleep clothes into his lap.

He got changed as you made the bed with all the blankets and set out the food on a bed tray. When you turned and saw that he was all dressed, you immediately took a fluffy blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, hugging it into his back.

Obi-Wan laughed breathily, a hand coming up to hold yours over his shoulder, stroking your knuckles with his thumb.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he said, “But this might be a bit overkill.”

There it was. The nasally sound in his voice. The bleary eyes. The slight sniffle, and the rasp of air scraping into his lungs as he breathed. The precursor to a deep, crackling cough. The bastard was sick, you knew it--

Your hand slammed into the protocol message button.

“RA-7, please send up some cold medicine. And a crowbar while you’re at it, there’s someone I need to bludgeon with it--”

“Y/n,” Obi-Wan groaned. He stood and dropped the blanket from around him like he had done with his robes before battle one too many times, turning to face you in exasperation. “I’m okay, it’s just a little cold. I’ll be better by the time we touch down in Coruscant.”

“Not if you don’t keep this blanket on, you won’t,” you retrieved it from the floor and tossed it around his shoulders again. Then you pushed at his shoulders to get him to sit on the bed, piling blankets higher and higher onto him until all that was visible was his annoyed face and the wet strands of his honey toned hair. A strand of his bangs had fallen into his eyes, so you smoothed it back from his forehead and replaced it with your lips. 

Then you reached for the tray of food and set it atop the mountain of blankets that were smothering Obi-Wan.

“I do hope you’re not planning on spoon-feeding me,” he said.

You were, but then the door buzzed,and you knew the cold medicine was here. You left the tray of food to retrieve the package from the protocol droid, and came back to find Obi-Wan sitting up, still almost being swallowed by blankets, but now carefully spooning soup into his mouth. He was taking care of himself, and the sight dissolved your panic and warmed your heart.

You dropped another roll of bread onto his tray before opening the cold medicine, shaking a couple pills into your palm and handing them off to Obi-Wan, who for once had no witty remarks. 

You sat on the bed next to him then, making sure he had the good pillows before turning to find Obi-Wan holding a piece of bread out for you. You shook your head, pushing it back towards him.

“You eat, I’m fine.”

“Y/n, my love, it’ll make me feel better if you eat as well.”

There was Obi-Wan. Even sick and tired and on the edge of hypothermia, he was still looking out for others. So selfless, so giving, so good. You took the bread and bit into it to make him happy.

Once you had finished the bread, he began passing you various other tidbits of food even though you insisted you had already eaten. Meanwhile, he could only manage half the soup before he became too tired to continue. You took the tray away and set it on the bedside table, then turned the lights down and got into bed beside him again.

“Are you warm now?” you smoothed your hands through his damp hair as he lay back on the pillows, sighing deeply at the soft touch.

“Very.”

He was still sniffling a bit, and the raspiness of his breath was increasing with each minute. But he was on the verge of sleep, and rest was exactly what he needed to feel better. 

You set your head down on the pillow next to him, ghosting your fingers over the delicate skin of his closed eyelids, down the slope of his cheekbone, caressing the downy hairs of his beard. He nuzzled his face into the warmth of your palm, inching closer to you.

“You can rest now,” you told him, and he hummed sluggishly in response.

Despite the sheer amount of blankets on him, Obi-Wan began to shiver once more. You’re not sure if the bone-deep cold was setting in again or if it had something to do with his illness, but he kept shifting toward you, yearning for more of your touch.

You took the hint, slipping under the blankets yourself and wrapping your arms around his quivering body the best you could. To see this man-- this renowned Jedi Master, General of the 212th legion of the Republic army, and prominent hero of the Clone Wars-- so weak and fragile and wilting under your touch… it broke fissures into your heart. You tightened your hold on him, crushing him against your body like you could absorb all of his pains and woes and replace them with warmth and comfort instead.

You felt down the length of his arm, up and down, up and down, and with each pass you tried to memorize every dip and curve of his body beneath you. You were hoping to rub some warmth back into him this way, or at least soothe him to sleep if all else proved fruitless, and it seemed to be working. After a while, his shivers subsided and the fingers clinging to the shirt on your back relaxed, as did his face.

He was peaceful now, breathing deep and even as he got the rest he rightfully deserved. You held him close to you, wishing for time to slow so that he could stay with you like this forever.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan fic #obi wan fluff #star wars fic #obi deserves to rest #he also deserves hugs #btw sorry i had reader sorta bitch him out it annoyed me too #but i cant help the way i personify them for some reason... #i dunno if you want reader to be fluffier then lmk and i can try again

[f1nl3yw0rld]

Poem

I’ll never forget

Feathers of ice playfully tumble

Resting onto her hot cheeks

Melting and sliding down her face like tears

Resting on the innocent snow beside her.

 Her hands are soft and pink

She turns them upward revealing a snowball

I heard it hit my face, I felt it burn

I taste her ammunition as I smile

 She looks so stupid with her innocent grin.

Her red hair sticks to the sleet as she rises

Rising from her stupid tumble down the slope.

Head to toe she’s covered in freckles of snow

 I place my photograph back in my wallet

I laugh, I smile then I cry because I’m back

Looking up into the sky I know I’ll see her in a while.

Major Creative Piece

Foraker’s Love

Filthy fingernails bed into my legs like rusty nails and I’m pulled back into the cave. I claw at the boulder, but my gloves slip over the stone. Standing over me is five rotten teeth, two glowing eyes, a stinking, bloody grin. The man picks up a stone and raises it high above my head.

December 5th, 8:05AM

Fluffy spots of snow stick to Duke’s back as he slobbers water from his plastic bowl. I grumble “Good boy Duke”, his brown eyes flick over towards me, and he continues to drink. Duke is a Siberian Husky with a shiny coat of black and white fur, he is big, but not too big for a husky, he’s quick. There is a wooden sign in front of us, nailed into a log fence that states Alaskan Wilderness, Closed to Public, No Hunting. I pack Duke’s bowl into my pack and give him a scratch under his chin, he seems a little tired. Not to worry, today’s hike is the shortest of the month. I walk from my truck and climb over the fence after hucking my pack over the top and Duke follows me out into the snowy valley. Stark mountains of white, grey and blue skirt my peripherals, my jaw hurts from grinning.

In my pack with me I have a tent; me and Duke will share for warmth and lighter packing, snares; I will be hunting small game, dried food and rations mainly consisting of mixed granola, tuna and beans. Waterproof lighters, cooking pot, Duke’s favourite toy, a gas stove with two spare canisters, a digital camera, spare clothes, safety equipment, my logbook and a few other bits and bobs. But the most important of the items in my current possession are my maps. The pack is light, and I’ll be strong enough to climb up cliffs with my pack attached in relative ease. As I walk through the field at the foot of Mount Foraker the snow beneath my feet crunches and slides like fine, white gravel while the wind sweeps sheets of snow across the ground, swallowing Duke and I in a cool mist of ice. Today’s target is to reach the first site four miles up the mountain and set up a small camp, if I want to reach Foraker’s summit before week’s end I need to move.

December 5th, 5:26PM

It’s already dark, but thankfully today’s clouds have moseyed off to bother somebody else. Duke has eaten and I can hear his noise whistling an innocent tune from the tent as he dreams of chasing squirrels and rabbits. Tonight’s meal: mixed beans. The taste of the maroon sauce pairs greatly with its equally unnerving mushy texture, but it’s warm. The hot tin can breathes heat into my brittle, wrinkled fingers, nurturing them back to life.

I peer back up at the sky and can’t help but grin. It’s so damn beautiful, and as corny as that sounds, I don’t care. The stars shine and glint like bright pearls sewn into a dark silk blanket of black and blue as the mountains beneath stretch to the heavens, begging to touch that blanket. My hands grow cold as I hold the tin, savouring its fleeting warmth and I climb into the tent, zipping my sleeping bag right up to my chin. I hug Duke and a tear slides down my cheek, she would’ve loved this.

December 6th, 6:02AM

I slowly peel off my sleeping bag like a snake shedding its skin. Every inch of skin that touches the air yields to the unforgiving cold and it takes my full willpower not to shut my eyes and wrap myself back up. It’s still quite dim outside but I fumble around and manage to find the zip with my fuzzy gloves and pull it down. As I peer outside, I notice a lack of slobbering and fur that usually greets me when I wake up, my brief moment of panic fades as I turn to find Duke sound asleep. I guess he really was tired. I exit the tent after adorning my cumbersome snow boots, coat and pants. The weather today is amazing. I allow myself a minute to enjoy the clear sky, walking over to some nearby brush to let nature run its course. After melting some snow to have a drink I poke my head into the tent to wake Duke and he’s gone. Fuck. He won’t be far; he must be taking a piss himself too. I whistle and call his name, disassembling and packing up the tent. I notice a paw print trail leading up the mountain towards a small plateau about one hundred metres away. This isn’t like Duke, he wouldn’t leave without me. Knowing that there is a trail towards him does give me some relief, but I find myself breathless as my legs groan under the weight of my pack, I pick up speed as the steepness of the slope lessens.

December 6th, 6:38 AM

As I arrive on the plateau steam rises from my body in a cloud of stress, burrowed into the mountain I spot a small cave blocked mostly by a large boulder. Duke’s tracks have disappeared and dart my eyes around concluding that this is the only logical explanation, Duke has chased a rabbit or a fox into the cave.

No.

Something is wrong, Duke hasn’t pulled a stunt like this since he was a puppy. My boots battle for grip on the icy slated ground as I stagger toward the boulder. Nearing the entrance, I notice a gap over the top of the boulder where Duke must’ve entered. I drop my pack, grabbing my rope and hook.

I toss it over the top of it, it catches. I hoist myself up shaking from the cold, or is it my anxiety? I can’t tell, and I need to slow down my breath. This is fucked.

I squeeze through the gap between the boulder, dropping the rope down to the inside of the cave. My thoughts scatter as I slip and fall forward onto the floor of the cave, slightly breaking my fall with my arms. I don’t feel any pain, now isn’t the time for pain. I need to find my dog. I whistle loud, the whistle echoes back to me growing hauntingly lower in pitch while reverberating off the cave walls. This cave goes far deeper than I thought it would.

After stopping and catch my breath; I feel goosebumps flow over my body as a snake-like shiver slides down my back from neck to hips. I fumble around with my wooly glove and find the clip on my pants for one of my tool pockets. Taking off my glove my fingertips sting, even more so as I unclip the frosted metal button on the pocket. I reach in and grab my torch out while holding my fluffy glove between my chattering teeth and I awe in relief as I slide my glove back on and flick on the torchlight.

As I shine the light around the cave walls, I see paintings and carvings into the sides of them. Something is wrong here. There were never any people who lived this high on the mountain, was this done by someone recently? Taking a closer look at the paintings I see a resemblance of the mountain, the frozen lake in the valley and the road? It looks like a map. Continuing along the wall, a symbol of a circle with a line painted diagonally through it continues to reappear.

I hear a smashing noise echo from the down cave, it must be at least a hundred metres away. Duke! Shit, I will come back to this, I wish I brought my camera in to take a photo. Descending down the cave it’s surprisingly dry with a mellow decline, normally it would be somewhat slippery. No matter, I call out to Duke and seconds later his paws scratch along the rock floor and he walks into the light.

His face is covered in blood and he stinks.

“Fuck, Duke, what have you been doing!?” I yell at him, “Come!”. He sprints back off into the darkness. “Wait!”

What has gotten into him?  He never does anything like this. I whistle out again with no response. Walking deeper into the tunnel it feels slightly warmer, I guess it makes sense without the snow and the wind. Cave paintings pop up every few metres, with most of them adorning the circle symbol but these paintings seem different. They’re all painted with a red paint and there are clear handprints using the same red paint there too.

A loud yelp reverberates off the walls of the cave and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It’s Duke. I drop my torch in shock and scramble to pick it up. I run deeper down the cave toward Duke’s cry, it didn’t sound too bad, maybe he just tripped. My foot catches on a stone and I fly forwards, hurdling down the cave. How ironic. My fall is stopped as I crash into a wall and my torch rolls down past me, clattering against the rocks like a child smashing their toys together. My body sobs in pain, disputing my need to get up and find my torch, I touch my temple and feel a warm sticky substance. I’m bleeding.

I need my pack, I need to regroup, I can camp at the mouth of the cave. I can find Duke later. As I stand up slowly, my knees threaten to resign back to the floor, and I look around. The dim light from my torch is further down the cave, it flicks off. Did it break? If it broke it would’ve gone off when hitting something. Duke yelps, and again. I yell back. He stops abruptly. What the fuck is happening?

A loud thudding from deep in the cave grows into a rumble and into a thunderous stampede, the sound growing closer, louder. I’m not sure if my instincts force me to or I decide to, but I wedge myself between the cave wall and a nearby boulder successfully concealing myself. I hear people, footsteps, voices! I bite my tongue a millisecond before yelling to them for help, these aren’t ordinary people. A crash sounds as they smash the torch against the wall and walk along the cave towards me, slowly. My nose turns up in disgust as they reach close the boulder, they smell like shit, and blood. It sounds like there is at least five of them and one of them is dragging something.

December 6th, 7:10AM

By a wicked stroke of misfortune, they decide to sit hang around near the boulder, slightly further in than me. They get a fire blazing intimidatingly fast and talk amongst each other in an unfamiliar langue with a strangely civil manner, laughing and reacting to each other’s squabble. My tongue feels like sandpaper scraping around the inside of my dry mouth, how the hell am I getting out of here? I could run for it, but they would catch me, they need to be distracted. Wincing as I grip my leg, a familiar squeak sounds from the pocket of my pants; Duke’s favourite toy. Perfect.

I toss the toy down the cave, and I assume they didn’t see where it came from as they immediately investigate the foreign sound of Mr. Squeaky bouncing along. It is time to move, I half-run half-hobble toward the cave entry and can see a heavenly beam of sunshine poking above the boulder at the cave door. I’ve made it, the adrenaline in my body wills me up the rope. My face grows warm in the light.

Filthy fingernails bed into my legs like rusty nails and I’m pulled back into the cave. I claw at the boulder, but my gloves slip over the stone. Standing over me is five rotten teeth, two glowing eyes, a stinking, bloody grin. The man picks up a stone and raises it high above my head.

He delivers the blow, my final sonnet; a crashing of stone on bone.

End.

#yolo swag

[raylessneedssleep]

Are you still doing asks on anything? Can u do something with Sukka? Or maybe something that has a Sokka/toph sibling relationship/ friendship? Please?

Of course! I will try to incorporate both Sukka and a Sokka and Toph friend/sibling relationship. This will be set during a traveling mission with Team Avatar (Zuko and Suki included).

———

“Are we there yet?” Sokka said in a childish tone. His aching feet were screaming for a much needed break after hiking up the mountain side. It was almost sundown and they were approaching a small village settled on one of the mountain slopes. 

Katara rolled her eyes and shot a glare back at her brother who was trudging behind the rest of the group. “Quit complaining and just continue walking,” she snapped, her fists balled at her sides. Sokka had been complaining ever since they had slid off of Appa and began their hike.

“It’s okay, Sokka! We are almost there anyway.” Aang slowed to allow Sokka to catch up with him, resting a reassuring hand on the elder boy’s shoulder with a bright smile. Sokka resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Aang’s chipper attitude. The boy never seemed to get tired and Sokka blamed it on being the avatar. 

Toph huffed, stomping her foot forward before rising back up into a straighter stance. “I believe it is just up ahead,” Toph said as she pointed to the direction in front of her. 

Letting out a dramatic sigh of relief, Sokka sprinted off ahead of the others with an inhuman speed. Zuko opened his mouth to shout for him to slow down, but the soft gab to his side along with the shake of Katara’s head stopped him. He looked between the two Southern Water Tribe siblings and sighed softly to himself.

Behind them, Suki couldn’t help but watch Sokka’s retreating figure with a soft smile. Toph didn’t fail to notice her heartbeat changing ever so slightly.

After Team Avatar finally caught up to Sokka, he had already entered an Inn placed at the edge of the village. A short, thin woman with braided hair welcomed them with a small smile. Zuko reached into his bag, pulling out a small pouch of money to pay for their rooms. 

The rooms were divided into boys and girls, much to Sokka’s displeasure, and were situated across from one another. Each room had two beds side-by-side, two dressers, a closet across from the beds, a small table settled under a shoji window, and a plush rug. The bathrooms were public baths that were connected to the Inn by a small pathway and a large outhouse. 

Bathing in a public bath was a new experience for Suki, but she didn’t hate it entirely. It was nice having her hair washed by Katara while washing Toph’s hair which was surprisingly long and soft. She learned that Toph had a small scar on her hip from being pushed into a rose bush by kids who lived around her. Toph explained that it was one of the reasons her parents refused to let her leave the house; they feared she was too fragile and something worse could happen to her besides getting hurt by a rose bush.

Suki had been shocked to learn what Toph’s family was like, but it only made them closer. It made Suki feel like they were finally trusting each other by exchanging childhood memories with one another. Even Katara shared her own stories—many involved Sokka making a complete fool of himself—and stories of her adventures with Aang before the others had joined the group.

Their fun soon came to an end when they exited the bathhouse to find Zuko scowling at Aang airbending Sokka’s hair to dry it. Dark strands stood up in different directions and a lazy grin covered Sokka’s face. He seemed to be enjoying himself too much.

“Suki, look!” Sokka shouted, pointing to his disheveled hair. Though Suki didn’t understand the amusement in his messy hair, she still giggled at his behavior. He may have been one of the older ones in the group, but that didn’t mean he was the most mature. Joking around was something he did quite often, leaving the maturity to Zuko and Katara who were the parents of Team Avatar.

“I don’t get it,” Toph grumbled as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Of course you don’t ‘cause you’re blind,” Sokka rolled his eyes before smoothing out his hair with his hands until it framed his face. Toph scoffed, stomping the ground until a large rock lifted from the earth and flew into Sokka. It smacked the back of his head which sent him flying forward into the small pond next to the walkway.

Laughter erupted from the group—Zuko even let out a small chuckle—as Sokka struggled to free himself from the slippery stones surrounding the pond. Turtle ducks pecked at his behind making him wince and reach his hand out for help. Zuko pitied the poor boy and reached down to grab the collar of his robe, pulling him up from the pond.

Suki, smiling at Sokka, turned around and slowly began heading towards the small sitting area on the other side of the walkway. It had a large tree—it stood taller than the Inn which was three levels—in the middle with benches on either side of it.

“Suki,” Katara called out to gain the other girl’s attention, “where are you going?”

“Oh! Just going over to sit down. I’m not ready to go to bed yet, but I wish to rest my feet a little.”

Katara gave her a questioning look after something flashed behind Suki’s eyes, her smile wavering ever so slightly, but she decided to drop it and let Suki do as she pleased.

Making her way over to one of the benches, Suki smoothed out the light green robe she had been wearing before she sat down. Her eyes trained on the moon that hung high in the sky; the rays of light casted a glow over the world underneath it. A feeling of dread grew in her stomach the more she stared blankly at the large, gray orb.

Toph nudged Sokka—he had been telling her about the village as he thumbed through a small history book he had apparently brought outside with him—and called for his attention.

“Yeah?” Sokka questioned, his eyes never leaving the worn pages as he skimmed every line.

“I think something is wrong with Suki,” Toph said lowly to not draw attention to their conversation. Zuko and Katara had been paying attention to Aang as he rambled about the Air Nomads, but Toph wanted to be sure no one else heard her conversation with Sokka.

“What do you mean?” Sokka paused in his reading to look up at Toph, though she didn’t see it, and raised a brow at her statement.

“I don’t know...I just feel like something is wrong,” Toph could feel Sokka’s worried gaze trained on her face. Whenever she got a feeling about something, it was usually right.

Had there been something wrong with Suki? If there was, then why didn’t Sokka notice it?

Sokka looked over to where Suki was sitting, her head leaned back and a sad gaze resting on the sky above her. He followed her gaze to see she was looking at the moon.

He cursed under his breath before standing to full height. “Can we continue our talk later?” Sokka asked Toph to which she responded with a nod of her head, standing to go over to the rest of the group. Sokka made a mental note to make it up to Toph considering she had been very interested in the history of the village and he had promised he would tell her about it.

Suki was drawn from her thoughts when someone suddenly sat down beside her. Shocked to see Sokka, she fumbled over her own words as she tried to form a greeting.

“Suki, if this is about what I told you the other day, then I’m sorry.”

Her body froze instantly at his words; she could only stare at him as he looked up at the moon with a sad look and a tight lipped smile. She knew that look and it only made her heart hurt more knowing she was partly causing it.

It had been about what he told her the other day. As soon as he told her everything, her mind began to overflow with so many “what if” questions that her stomach began to twist into knots. She knew it was stupid to get so worked up over the past, but she couldn’t help it no matter how hard she tried to forget about it.

“When I told you about Yue, I wanted to be honest with you, not hurt you.” Sokka leaned forward while resting his elbows against his knees, his hands running through his parted hair.

Suki looked away, her folded hands falling into her lap and tightening against one another until her knuckles were paling; her heart beat wildly in her chest.

The other day, before they had left for their trip, Sokka had sat Suki down and told her everything about Princess Yue and their “relationship.” He left nothing out because he wanted her to know everything about him. Even his past. He told her how they met, what they talked about, how he felt when he had met her, what happened with the Fire Nation, what she had to do to save them, and how he felt when it happened.

“I shouldn’t be upset, I know, but I-“

“Suki, don’t ever assume that your feelings are invalid. You are allowed to feel however you want and you can feel upset about this.” Sokka was firm, but he was also gentle when he spoke to Suki. Looking into her watery eyes, he gave her a loving smile and leaned up to kiss her temple.

“Princess Yue is someone special to me and will always hold a special place in my heart, but she is in my past and will stay there. You are my present and my everything. Please, don’t ever doubt that.”

As they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Suki felt a rush of relief blanket her body.

Why had she been so upset in the first place?

She had no reason to feel jealous over a girl that turned into the moon. Sokka loved Yue in the past, sure, but Sokka loved her in the present. He devoted his everything to her and she had absolutely no reason to doubt that. His past was his past, just as much as her past was her past.

“Sokka,” Suki brushed her nose against his; the action barely felt by either of them. It was rare for them to display this kind of affection for one another considering Suki enjoyed basking in each other’s presence in private, but she couldn’t help herself from showcasing her feelings.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” Suki said, pressing their foreheads together and reaching forward to take his hands into her own. She stared at their interlocked hands, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as a rush of pure love and comfort filled her. Sokka would always be there for her and she would do the same for him.

Giving her hands a squeeze, Sokka smiled and closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her warm hands in his colder ones. He promised himself that, no matter what, he would never take her for granted and would always be someone she could count on and be proud of.

“I love you, Suki,”

———

I hope you enjoyed the short story and I’m sorry the ending was kind of bad, but I didn’t want to make it too long or too short so I tried to mix it up a bit. There wasn’t many Toph/Sokka moments, however, I tried to make their time together seem important. Toph really wanted to know about the village they were in, so Sokka did some research and brought along some history books to read to her and educate her. It is a sign that shows a more brotherly role he plays with Toph.

I also wanted to explain the story some more besides the Toph/Sokka scenes.

I wanted the story to be about Suki’s reaction to Yue, the girl Sokka used to like, and to show that she felt slightly jealous of Yue because it was his first love. It didn’t say this, but Suki was almost afraid that Sokka didn’t love her as much as he loved Yue and that he wasn’t over her.

Sokka explains that Yue is part of his past and will always be important to him, but he lives in the present with Suki who he loves now.

They cannot tell what the future holds for them, but they are willing to leave in the present with one another, showering each other with their love and affection.

Sorry if there are any typos! I wrote this when it was quite late. I hope you enjoyed it! :)

#sukka #sokka x suki #suki x sokka #sokka and suki #suki and sokka #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla aang #atla toph #atla katara #atla ships #atla zuko #atla sokka #atla suki #atla #zutara #taang #sokka and toph as friends #zutara are the parents of team avatar #princess yue #past yue and sokka mentioned #sokka and suki are already dating #team avatar

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Allegiances || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 || Chapter 19 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 18

Cold air bit into Feathertail’s fur as she was thrust out into the dark. Her paws were tired, and it took a lot of concentration not to stumble on the damp rock of the Path of Rushing Water. The waterfall crashed into the pool below as Feathertail pressed herself against the dry cliffs, following Mistyfoot’s shape as she padded silently ahead.

Dawn had not yet broken. As Stoneteller had ordered the night before, the Clan cats had been roused while it was still dark and the stars still shone, forced to eat a hasty breakfast, and then guided out of the cave with the cave-guards all but biting their heels to get them moving. Feathertail had no desire to even look the watching Tribe cats in the eye anymore, their betrayal still stinging in her pelt like an enemy’s claws.

We weren’t even allowed to say good-bye, she thought, her heart aching as she followed Mistyfoot around the pool in the center of the clearing. Stormfur had been nowhere to be seen, kept in the Cavern of Reflection with Stoneteller and Snow – and, of course, a few cave-guards to keep out anyone who might think to mount a rescue. Feathertail swallowed around a lump in her throat. If she was resigned to leave her brother, she had wanted to at least see him before was forced to leave.

“Back off!” snapped Crowpaw. “Leave her alone!”

Feathertail turned her head. Crowpaw and Shadepaw were just making their way off of the Path of Rushing Water. Shadepaw must have stumbled, because her scruff was firmly in Cloud’s jaws. Crowpaw was bristling, claws unsheathed.

Cloud helped Shadepaw find her paws again without a word, as if challenging Crowpaw to attack and risk Shadepaw falling into the ice-cold pool below. Stoneheart, thankfully, stepped between them, his tail raised neutrally. “It’s not worth it,” he insisted to Crowpaw. “Get with the others.”

Crowpaw stepped back, lashing his tail. Shadepaw darted away from Cloud, eyes wide as she huddled up with Nightpaw. The she-cat had been silent since the Cavern of Reflection, and Feathertail wondered if she had slept at all last night. Crowpaw whipped around to join them, laying his tail over Shadepaw’s shoulders. Stoneheart sighed and took his place behind them, placing himself firmly between the apprentices and Cloud.

“Keep moving,” Crag meowed ahead. The big tom had been chosen to escort them back onto the Sun Trail and point them towards the forest. Feathertail had absolutely no desire to return, prophecy or no prophecy – how could she face RiverClan without Stormfur?

Mistyfoot’s eyes were cold and level. “It’s best to follow along for now,” she meowed to the others as they grouped up with her. “Come on.”

Crag led the way in silence, taking them along the Tribe’s hunting trails. Feathertail recognized these paths, her pawsteps far surer than her friends as they walked. They were heading towards the Claw Tree, and Feathertail realized that she had never seen the Tribe cats wander beyond that landmark. We’re heading for the edge of their territory.

A bitter feeling rose in her throat. That was where she and Brook had looked out over the land below, their pelts brushing, just the two of them. The world seemed so big and warm then – now it was cold, closed-in like being trapped in a rockslide. Such whiplash made Feathertail feel wretched.

How could she do this to me? To all of us?

Dawn was breaking as they reached the end of the cliff. Crag stopped them with a flick of his tail, pushing the Clan cats out before him. Feathertail looked out at the horizon, towards the forest in the distance, and felt her stomach churn.

“See the path?” Crag asked, nodding down. Feathertail and the others followed his gaze to a trail that headed down, weaving between boulders and cliffs towards the foot of the mountains. “Follow it, and keep to the sunrise. You will find your forest at the end of the Trail.”

Mistyfoot blinked at Crag. “Thank you,” she meowed, the words clearly forced.

Crag blinked back, and for a moment Feathertail wondered if he was hurt. I hope you are, she thought, narrowing her eyes at Crag and Cloud. We all thought we’d earned your respect, your friendship… and then you betrayed us.

I hope it hurts.

Mistyfoot led the way down the path, her eyes focused on what lay ahead. Feathertail hesitated as the others followed suit, looking back at the cave-guards she had once hunted beside. Their faces, which had been warm and friendly, were now cold and impassive. She wanted to lash out, to claw their muzzles and screech at them until they gave back Stormfur… but she knew that wouldn’t work.

“Tell Brook good-bye,” Feathertail said instead.

Crag blinked. “She would like that,” he decided.

Feathertail frowned. Why do you think it matters to me what she would like? The urge to snap, to be rude and mean, rose… but she pushed it down. It would mean nothing… and they had all been hurt so much already. Feathertail turned and followed the others, catching up to Stoneheart with a few easy bounds down the slope.

The Clan cats walked in silence, following the zig-zag path as it wound its way down. It was steep for a while, Feathertail surmised, but looking at the terrain she knew it would level out. She kept herself to the back of the group, watching out for any of her friends who might not have such sure paws on the dew-wet stone.

Glancing back, she saw that Crag and Cloud were gone.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. As soon as the cave-guards were out of sight, Crowpaw snapped, “We should have fought them!”

“Why?” Nightpaw hissed back. His eyes were pools of misery. Feathertail knew Stormfur had been close with all the young apprentices on this journey – there was no way his loss wouldn’t hurt them. “We were so outnumbered, what could we do?”

“Nightpaw is right,” Mistyfoot meowed, glancing back. “We need our strength if we’re to rescue Stormfur.”

“So, we are going back?” Stoneheart guessed, his ear twitching. “Do you have a plan?”

Mistyfoot shook her head. “Not yet,” she meowed. “But we’ll come up with something. Right now, we need to keep them thinking that we’re heading away… and that means we need to keep moving. Feathertail!”

Feathertail blinked, surprised as Mistyfoot’s sharp blue eyes rested on her. “Y-Yes?”

“Lead us,” Mistyfoot ordered. “You know the mountains better than we do.”

Feathertail nodded. “Of course,” she replied.

“‘Of course,’” mocked Crowpaw, bristling as Feathertail slid past him. She felt his breath hot on her side. “You spent so much time with them and didn’t see any of this coming!”

Feathertail winced, feeling Crowpaw’s words like a blow. Stoneheart spoke up, “That’s enough, Crowpaw. We’re all hurt right now. Feathertail was chosen by StarClan – her loyalty isn’t for questioning.”

“I thought they were my friends, too,” Feathertail meowed quietly, looking back at the others. Brook’s face swam into her mind, and she felt sick. “Stormfur is my brother… I’ll do anything to get him back.” I hope we can come up with something…

She turned away, walking beside Mistyfoot. They turned a sharp corner, and Feathertail left her scent for the others; for the Tribe, too, if they came looking. Soon enough they were walking in silence again, heading for the gentler slopes below. Feathertail’s paws took her a few paces ahead of the others, but she kept Mistyfoot within sight, looking back at her to gauge her friend’s progress.

“Don’t go too far ahead,” Mistyfoot warned.

Feathertail slowed her gait to let Mistyfoot walk beside her again, conscious of all the eyes on her now. She cursed the fact that she was so used to moving between the stones now, cursed how right Crowpaw was. The way he had called her out felt too much like how some cats in RiverClan treated she and Stormfur for being half-Clan, and it made the pit in her stomach grow. Am I destined never to be happy? She wondered.

The blue-gray she-cat’s eyes were focused forward, Feathertail knew Mistyfoot had to be doing everything she could to keep her anxiety from overtaking her like it had many times before.  

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

“Oh?” Mistyfoot mewed. “For what?”

Feathertail swallowed. “Crowpaw is right – I spent so much time with the Tribe, but I had no idea this would happen. I should have seen it, and I feel so mouse-brained for it…” She looked Mistyfoot in the eye and willed her to understand. “I’m sorry for being upset about you and Stormfur, too. You make him very happy, and that’s all that really matters to me.”

Mistyfoot’s eyes softened, and she meowed, “Nothing was ever decided between us… but we have more pressing problems right now. And don’t blame yourself, Feathertail – none of us knew what was really going on.”

“I suppose.” It was a small comfort.

“And I’m sorry, too,” Mistyfoot meowed. “About Brook.”

Feathertail’s mouth went dry, and her pelt prickled uncomfortably. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she meowed quietly. “I’m used to having my heart broken.”

Heart aching, Feathertail picked up the pace again. She trotted ahead of Mistyfoot before the other she-cat could respond, wanting to see nothing before her but the stone and the path… and wanting to stop thinking about Brook, and all they had shared, even if it had been so brief.

#tb au #tb moonrise

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part thirteen) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6350 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part thirteen: The six mile ride to find water is a long one, exhausting the wranglers. When they finally reach the river, Dean and Y/N find a lot more than just that. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘I Will Carry You’ - Carter Burwell (opening scene), ‘All The Wild Horses’ - Ray LaMontagne (Dean & Y/N final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience! 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “Here.”      A water flask moves into her peripheral vision, pulling Y/N back from a hazy daydream. It’s past five PM, but it’s at least 90 degrees, the high temperatures lingering. The heat is dry, not the kind that is oppressive and makes it hard to breathe, but more torrid. Crippling nonetheless, especially for someone who is used to chilly autumns and cold winters. Her fatigued body was aching when they were standing at the junction hours ago, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to call it quits. She still feels the pressure to prove herself, to her dad, to Dean and Bobby, to herself. So she kept her mouth shut. Now it seems stupid, because she isn’t feeling well. 

     Heavy eyes glide up the arm extended to her, meeting Dean’s handsome face, shaded by his Western hat. It’s clear that he’s concerned for her.      “That’s yours,” she objects. “I’ve got some left.”      “No, you don’t. You emptied it over an hour ago,” he knows, motioning her to take the bottle.      Y/N huffs; looks like someone has been keeping an eye on her. Dean isn’t going to take no for an answer.      “You gotta to stay hydrated, or this heat will take you down,” the wrangler pressures. “You’re not used to these circumstances.”      “I’ve been here for over a month, Dean. I think I’m used to the climate by now,” she counters stubborn, even though she knows better.      The cowboy eyes her sternly, but can’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a smile. Hardheaded? Y/N? Where did he ever get that idea?      “Are you gonna drink it, or what?” he half asks, half tells her.      Reluctant the cowgirl takes the water, but hesitates before she lifts it to her mouth.      “What about you?”      “I’m alright,” he assures.      Before she has a sip, Y/N takes in the cowboy. Dust has covered his arms and his neck with a thin layer, the tiny particles sticking to his sweaty skin. His bandaged hand rests on the horn of the saddle, but other than the minor injury, nothing indicates that the long journey in extreme conditions is getting to him. He must be thirsty too, but he looks alert and healthy, which she surely does not.

     Y/N quickly counts the number of hours she has been in the saddle; close to eleven. The long trail under the merciless sun is taking its toll. Dean knows it, even Joplin does, because the mare has reduced her pace significantly, getting her cargo safely across the land, while before she was hard to keep up with. Her rider is glad she slowed down and took the wheel, because she is not in the mood to repeatedly ask the dark little horse to ease. Every now and then, Y/N feels like she could faint, a wave of dizziness almost washing the female wrangler off her horse. Gosh, she wishes it was actual waves. She would do anything for a drop of rain right now. For a second she fantasizes about a nice bubble bath, or a shower even. She would do anything for a cool shower.

     She swallows down the water, leaving some for the wrangler next to her. With worry puckered on his forehead, he observes her intently. It doesn’t go unnoticed, because a scoff erupts from her sore throat.      “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I’m just tired and a little sore, that’s all.”      But Dean isn’t convinced. Pondering he glances ahead, watching Benny and the other three riders. His Southern friend is making easy conversation and it seems like Macy and Brad are handling themselves, but Jon looks like he’s going on fumes.       “We should’ve gone back,” he mumbles, second guessing his decision.      “What? And return to the ranch without the horses?” she queries, resting her free hand on her thigh. “We had to make the jump, Dean. Rather on the second day than later. Plus, you said it yourself: find the water, find the herd.”      Ted’s rider looks aside, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he averts his eyes again. He did tell her that, but he has trouble trusting his own words. Running low on water could have disastrous consequences in the desert. Having enough of it while on a trail is one of the first essentials. What if they get stranded? What if one of the horses suffers a more severe injury than Cash already did?      

     “How much longer?”      Y/N didn’t mean the words to come out pleading, but when Dean returns her gaze sympathetically, she realizes how desperate she sounded. He then glances at the volcanic landscape around him, determining their position. With Battleship Mountain on his left and the entrance of Boulder Canyon straight up ahead, it can’t be more than a mile.      “We’re almost there,” he reassures her. “I promise.”      She nods, but her smile isn’t sincere. Everything other than ‘we’ll be there in five minutes’ is too long. Dean seems to be able to read her mind, however.      “We can go for a swim once we get there,” he adds.      Now Y/N does look up, her interest peaked.      “A swim?”      “Hm-hm. Where we’re headin’ isn’t just a little stream. There is water there the whole year round. So if you want, we can go for a swim.” He smiles at her.      God, that sounds heavenly. She looks forward to it already, although a question rises almost instantly. She can’t go swimming in her jeans, so that means the cowboy is going to see her, all of her. Insecure she smiles back at him, trying not to let her self-consciousness stand in the way.      “Don’t wait up for me; if you want to lead the group, go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She changes the subject, nodding at the six horses about forty yards up front.      He shrugs, shaking his head lightly and dismissing her suggestion.       “Benny will manage. I’d rather be riding next to you.” 

     And so he stays by her side as they descend into the narrow canyon, the trail getting steep. She lets Joplin choose the path, trusting the agile horse with bringing her down the slope. They drop several hundred feet in a short amount of time, Dean on her tail the entire time, making sure she will arrive at the river safely. Then the path evens out, a plateau hanging over a cliff seems to be the end of the line. The other wranglers halt at the edge, the moral lifting at the sight. Curious Y/N rides up to join them, when she spots it. In the middle of the dramatic landscape with intimidating rock formations, which cast long shadows over the land as the sun hangs low in the west, an oasis of green frames the riverbed. Crystal clear water runs through the La Barge Creek into Canyon Lake. Salt River snakes through the landscape to their east. They made it. They finally made it. After a long and stressful day in the saddle, they can finally recharge.      “Boys and girls, welcome to Eagle’s Nest,” Benny announces, a wide grin on his face.

     Y/N lets a deep sigh slip from her lips, just the image before her having her feel a little bit lighter already. She smiles at Dean, who mimics her expression, clearly relieved that it all worked out. The head wrangler is the first one to ride down the hill, the rest of the company in his wake. About a hundred yards from the water he stops Ted.      “Set up camp here?” Benny assumes.      Dean nods. “Let’s make it quick, before we run out of light.”      He dismounts his horse, slightly stiffer than he did yesterday; even the experienced trail rider is feeling this one deep in his muscles. Y/N does the same and she lands on the rocky surface with a thud, her feet tingling. Walking seems almost foreign, the first few steps a little unsteady, a sensation similar to having sea legs. Her supervisor hands her Ted.      “You can take the horses to drink first,” he lets his eyes glide from Y/N to Macy and Jon, who looks like he is in no shape to help set up camp. The women nod and get to it, taking over the other horses as well, figuring the sooner the evening chores are done, the sooner they can put their feet up. 

     All eight horses eagerly walk further down the slope and step into the creek while putting their lips to the surface. Joplin almost drains the lake, her ears ticking forward with each gulp. Y/N chuckles at her eagerness, as she takes her flask from her saddlebag and fills it up. Jon throws water into his face, a delighted sigh escaping him as he freshens up, Macy following his example.       “I’ve never appreciated water so much,” he claims. “I will never take it for granted again.”      “You and the water need a room?” Macy nags, splashing water at her friend, who returns the favor.       Y/N watches them banter, taking a long swig from her bottle, emptying almost three quarters in one go. The cold water runs down her throat and for a moment she feels a little uneasy, but then the fluid settles in her stomach. God, she was thirsty. Maybe even dehydrated, in combination with the relentless heat. But after a few more sips, she feels a lot better. Refilling her flask again, she straightens her back, looking up at the plateau where Dean, Benny and Brad are setting up the tents in record time. She walks around Joplin to the head wrangler’s horse, taking his bottle and filling it up as well. Having done the same for the other two wranglers, she takes Joplin and Ted to the camp, giving out water.

     “You’re a frickin’ lifesaver. Thanks, darlin’,” Benny compliments, taking his bottle gladly. After handing Brad’s flask back, she walks up to Dean, who is setting up a paddock for the horses. He doesn’t notice her until she’s right behind him; without thinking about it, she lays her hand on his strong biceps to get his attention. The wrangler turns around surprised, meeting her soft smile. She holds the water bottle up, his eyes bouncing from her to the refreshment, looking at it with the same want. Gratefully he takes the flask, his fingers brushing over hers in the exchange, before he twists the cap off and takes three, four, five swigs. He lets a contented ‘ahh’ slip from his lips, breathing out relieved. Y/N tries not to stare, but it’s like she’s under hypnosis. Those same lips were on hers last night, and she has to admit she wants that again. She needs to retain herself, though, because Brad and Benny are setting up the third tent next to them.

     Dean lowers the bottle, catching her slightly lowered jaw and hungry eyes. He smirks, his emerald greens twinkling as he wets his dry lips. Then he tucks his chin down, looking deep into her eyes while his darken a little. It seems like it’s only then that she realizes she is gaping and the blood rushes to her face. She breaks eye contact, smiling at her feet sheepishly. Oh, he knows exactly what he is doing.       After gathering her confidence, she looks up to meet his gaze, the playful smirk back on his lips. Something in the air has changed. The nerves have dissolved, together with the doubt. There is no question if they both feel attracted to each other, but rather when the pull between them grows too strong to resist. The silent moment of sexual tension lasts a couple of solid seconds, before Dean is called over by Brad to help him out. As he walks past Y/N, he holds her gaze and lets his fingertips brush her forearm. It leaves her skin sensitive, goosebumps running up, despite the fact that the temperature is nowhere near chilly.     

     Within ten minutes the camp is ready for occupation. The horses calmly chew on their hay and scavenge for grass and twigs in the makeshift paddock. Despite the long day, none of them are visibly tired. Not even Cash, who seems to have forgotten about the whole snake bite incident.       “Who wants to go swimmin’?”      Y/N puts down the last stone and closes the circle of the firepit, only looking up when she dusts off her hands. Benny has already shed his shirt, unzipping his pants now with no shame whatsoever. Stunned she stares at him, then quickly averts her eyes.       “Hell yes! I’ve been looking forward to diving into that creek ever since I laid eyes on it,” Jon muses, his appreciation for water still not faltering.

     The intern’s gaze lingers on Brad and Jon now; one kicking off his boots, the other unbuckling his belt. Even Macy follows without a second thought. The female guest notices Y/N’s hesitation, because she shrugs as she slips her denim jeans from her hips.      “No different than a bikini, right?” she comments carefree.       Macy has a point, it doesn’t ease Y/N’s nerves, though. Of course it’s not skinny dipping, but she still feels uncomfortable exposing so much skin. She glances at Dean, who leaves his hat on the corner pole of one of the tents. For a second she freezes as he unbuckles his belt, realizing there’s something else she hasn’t considered. Seeing Dean in nothing but his underwear might just be a bit too much for her to handle.            “Last one down takes the night’s watch!”      The broad shouldered farrier descends down the hill - only wearing his form fitting boxer briefs - with the guests in tow. Brad chases his sister, who squeals as she tries to stay out of reach, running into the water in her red bra and striped boy shorts. She doesn’t seem to care about how she looks. Y/N gulps as she watches her, wishing she had that kind of confidence.      “You comin’ or do you need my help undressin’?”      She jumps when she feels Dean’s hand on her hip and turns around. He stripped from his clothes, only wearing a pair of grey boxers. Dear Lord, he looks amazing. Last time she saw him shirtless, it was the morning of her first day on the job. He was freshly showered then, his hair fluffy. Now it is fixed with traces of gel, pushed up again when he ran his hand through it earlier, after his hat flattened the light brown strands. Dirt and dust have mixed with the sweat that the heat surfaced, adding to the tan lines on his arms and neck. She swallows with difficulty and tears her eyes from his toned chest up to his evergreen eyes.       The wrangler senses her discomfort, because he narrows his eyes at her slightly, the trademark smirk dying down. She knows that he was joking about the undressing part, right?     “You okay?” he checks.      “Yeah, yeah. I’m - I’m fine,” she assures, faking a smile. “I’ll be down in a minute.”      Dean holds her gaze for a second, trying to read her. Not sure if he made her feel uncomfortable, he lets his hand slip from her waist and decides against the quick kiss he was going to leave on her lips; he doesn’t want to push her. His expression is soft now, letting her know that it’s okay if she needs time.       “Alright,” he returns, leaving it at that.      He walks past her towards the water, the sounds of splashing and laughter welcoming him. Taking a deep breath, Y/N closes her eyes. She has to go down and join them and doing that clothed is both more conspicuous and impractical, since she’ll be wearing the same pair of jeans in the morning. Not taking a swim isn’t an option either, because this might be the only chance she gets to clean herself thoroughly, until they get back to the ranch. She has no choice, so why is she blowing this up in her mind? Why is she so self-conscious about her appearance? Because Jo told her once how Dean only goes for the pretty girls? Because she saw his former fling Casey, the beautiful brunette who could as well have been a model? Or is it because no one has ever looked at her like the head wrangler, and she doesn’t want him to see her differently after he witnesses all of her?

     Frustrated, she takes off her hat and pulls the hairband from her braid, strapping it around her wrist. Internally she scolds herself for letting the insecurity get to her, all the while she unbuttons her plaid blouse and shrugs it off hastily. Before she changes her mind, she takes off one boot, then the other, leaving them by her tent, neatly placed next to each other with her socks inside. Finally she pushes her jeans down, folding them up and placing them on top of her Western boots.       Again she inhales, because there she stands, in nothing but her black hipsters, a navy blue bra and a white tank top. Even though she had to pack light, she at least could have brought matching underwear. Not brave enough to take her undershirt off, she steps onto the path towards the water barefoot, running her fingers through her hair. The sight in front of her takes away some of her anxiety, because the wranglers, who were running low on moral an hour ago, are now enjoying their refreshing swim. Macy’s significant giggle echoes between the rocks at the river bed as Jon and Brad continue to tease her. Benny swims a slow lap, floating in the middle of the creek, while Dean washes his face in shallower waters. Thankfully, none of them are paying much attention as the intern approaches the waterline. 

     As she dips a toe in the water to test the temperature, Dean turns to look at her. His eyes shift from playful to mesmerized in a split second, because he has never seen her like this. For the first time since he met her, she’s wearing her hair down. The braid she left in for two days, leaves small waves in her locks, coming down like a waterfall. Her exposed legs haven’t seen much sun, due to her Northern origins, and probably her shyness as well. They seem strong, though, hours of horse riding and training leading to the muscles barely visibly moving under her soft skin, as she steps into the water.       He smiles at the sight of the young woman, who sweeps him off his feet every time he lays eyes on her. “There you are.”            She returns his expression, insecurity oozing through when she covers herself as much as she can. She has pulled her tank top down far enough to stretch over the little shorts she’s wearing. He is careful not to look at her differently, not wanting the self-conscious young woman to think that seeing her in less clothing changes his perspective, but deep down it hurts him. It hurts him that she apparently doesn’t feel like she’s beautiful, because God damn, she is.       “Just take the plunge, Yankee,” he encourages, letting himself fall back smoothly, the water up to his shoulders now.      “You know, for a place that is as hot as it is here, the water is pretty damn cold,” Y/N scoffs, collecting some of the water in her cupped hands and spreading it on her arms.      Dean chuckles at that. She said ‘damn’, it’s about as close to a curse that he’s heard from her.       “Once you’re in, it’s not so bad,” he promises. 

     Not having the heart to jump into the cool water, she puts one step into his direction, the surface at her knees now. This afternoon she would have committed a crime for a refreshing swim, but now that she is standing here, the cold licking at her ankles, she shivers. She still has her arms crossed, hugging herself in an attempt to feel warm and comforted. Movement of the water draws her attention and Y/N looks up at the head wrangler, who is moving towards her. Normally that wouldn’t strike her as alarming, but when she notices the mischievous grin adorning his handsome face, she holds her ground.      “W-what are you doing?” she stammers.      Dean doesn’t answer, but raises his eyebrows at her, fighting the fading resistance of the water with every stride. Oh boy, he is clearly up to no good. It causes her to step back and put out her hands in defense.      “No - no - no! Dean, don’t you dare!” she warns, once she understands where this is going.

     Y/N steps out of the creek now, trying to get away from him. But the cowboy is quick, and even when she sprints away, he manages to catch up. She lets out a scream when he grabs her by the waist, locking her to his chest with his strong arms. He then lifts her up without a strain and walks back to the creek. Not impressed with the fight she puts up as she tries to escape his grip, he steps into the cool water.      “Dean, put me down! Put me --”      Honoring her request, he jumps in, turning so that he is the first to dunk in the water and only then lets her go. They both go under, the cowboy coming up before her, shaking the water from his face. When Y/N breaks through the surface, he throws his head back while laughing out loud. The sheer horror on her face says it all; her mouth hanging open, her hair soaked and covering her eyes, her shoulders pulled up to her ears. She looks more like a cat who got dropped into the bath than a human being.

     She wants to be mad at him, but the sound of his laughter melts her stone cold limbs. With a scoff she pushes the tangled strands from her face, glaring at the cowboy as she bites down on her lip in order to not break character. But then she chuckles, shaking her head.      “You are such a jerk,” she utters.      “You were taking forever,” he returns sniggering.       Amused he watches her, moving a little closer. He’s about to apologize, when Y/N kicks her foot up, sending a big splash his way. He turns his head to avoid getting even wetter and counters with a good pitch, a handful of water sloshing at her as she protects her face. They continue to spatter like a bunch of kids, cackling as they do so, until Benny intervenes.

     “Children!” he calls out, finally getting his friend’s attention.      Both stop mid-action, glancing aside at the farrier who is watching the banter with his arms crossed and the water at his waist.      “Permission to get the diving boards, Chief?” he requests.      Dean nods, confirming, liking his Southern brother’s idea. Y/N studies him puzzled, however.      “We didn’t bring diving boards, did we?” she double checks, not sure what Benny is up to.      “Not the typical ones, no,” Dean returns mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

     Benny returns from the camp not even a minute later, a horse by the halter in each hand. Stunned Y/N watches how he leads Ted Nugent and his own horse Ozzy Osbourne towards the riverbed, the large animals stepping in trustingly. He hands Dean Ted as he passes by, guiding the other chestnut to the center of the creek. When the water reaches to Ozzy’s shoulder, Benny pulls himself on top of the calm horse. Clearly it isn’t the first time that the wranglers have done this, because even when the farrier stands up on the gelding’s back, Ozzy waits patiently.       “Bombs away!”

     With a loud cheer Benny jumps from the ‘platform’, pulling his knees to his chest and breaking the surface with an impressive cannonball dive. He sends a tidal wave over the tourists, who rally him on. They swim towards Ozzy, who seems to love the cool down plus the attention. One by one they climb on his back, diving from his strong hindquarters.      Dean watches the bunch with a contentment over him that Y/N hasn’t seen before. He leans against Ted, his arm resting over the arc of the horse’s spine. Of course this isn’t the first time she notices how relaxed he is, how at home he feels, and yet something is different about him. Like he reached a new level of happiness, of fulfillment. That couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her, now could it? But when he lets his eyes wander from the frolicking guests to Y/N, his smile grows wider, edging crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.       “Wanna go for a ride?” he asks.      Without wasting words, she nods, holding his gaze until he takes Ted’s leadrope. Skillfully he swings his leg over the horse’s back, using the momentum to jump from the creek’s bottom and landing behind Ted’s withers. Once he’s seated, he extends his hand towards the woman beside him, grabbing her arm and interlocking it with his. With one swift pull he hoists her from the water, Y/N using the same technique to sway onto the horse, settling behind the head wrangler. As he steers Ted a little deeper into the water, his free hand comes to rest on Y/N’s thigh, not caring about the guests seeing them together. 

     The cowgirl’s balance on a horse is that of a gymnast on the beam, so holding on to Dean wouldn’t be necessary, but she puts her arms around his waist anyway. Comfortable and allowing herself to let this be, like he has encouraged her to, she rests her cheek against the hollow between his shoulder blades for a moment, closing her eyes. Her bare feet sweep through the water, her toes drawing ripples on the surface, the break catching the last light of the day. Despite that she is not holding the reins, bareback on a horse that she doesn’t know, she feels safe. She hasn’t felt this carefree since the early days of her horse riding career. Her grandfather would walk with her during those very first pony rides, teaching her about horses along the way. She trusted him fully, never once doubting his life lessons and knowledge. With Dean it’s a different kind of faith. It’s knowing he will be right there whenever she needs him, but also to give her the courage to take that leap.       “You alright back there, Yankee?” he wonders, feeling her smile against his skin.      “Yeah,” she acknowledges. “I am.”      The corner of Dean’s mouth pulls upward, his hand holding the leadrope shifting from Ted’s mane to cover her hands on his stomach, fingers entwining, trapping the braided cord in between. The rope made of horsehair scratches his palm, a contrast to her soft skin. Grateful he breathes in, the smell of desert dust underlaid with a subtle, herbal, organic scent of the river fills his nose.       Before, he never felt like he needed something more in life. He has never gone steady with a woman, not more than a couple of weeks at least. He was never looking for a relationship and appreciated the freedom that came with that. But now, having her pressed against his back, warm and comforting, he realizes what he’s been missing. 

     They approach the other wranglers, the rider exchanging a knowing look with Benny, who takes in the perfect picture delighted. Before the guests notice the intimacy, Y/N slips her arms from Dean’s strong torso, pulling up her feet.      “What are you doin’?” the cowboy wonders, looking over his shoulder.       She stands up on Ted’s back and stretches her legs, steadying herself by holding on to him until she finds her footing. Then she straightens up.      “Taking the plunge,” she chuckles.      The intern jumps then, squeezing her nose closed as she folds herself into a ball before she crashes through the surface. Macy is still cackling when Y/N comes up, unsuccessful at dodging the spatter that came her way. Meanwhile the others cheer her on, now that she has finally joined them. She has completely forgotten about her insecurities, or the cold water that washed all that away. All she can think of is how blessed she is to be here, to gain so much more than just work experience. 

     The crew takes several more dives from the horses, who allow the gambol calmly. Dean drops an impressive dive bomb right between the group, not outdoing his slightly heavier friend Benny, but creating quite a splash nonetheless. Time flies by way too quickly, and before they know it, the sun has disappeared behind the mountains, leaving only dark shades of red and purple to decorate the sky. The air cools quickly and everyone knows they should get ready for the night. Eventually it’s Benny who rattles up the company.      “Alright, y’all. Time for Benny’s famous Southern soul soup. Get your butts to camp and start that fire. I’ve got some cookin’ to do.”      He shoos the tourists out of the creek, following them with the two horses in tow. He looks over his shoulder at his best friend and the intern, who linger. A mischievous grin comes Dean’s way before the farrier straightens himself, walking away whistling. Y/N sniggers at the funny character; looks like he has been acting as the head wrangler’s wingman.      “Smooth,” she comments, a knowing yet amused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.      “Yeah, he’s real subtle,” Dean chuckles, busted. “Got you alone again, though.”      He comes closer, water moving between them, and suddenly nature goes quiet. His hands end up on her hips, pulling in the girl who is so willingly looking at him. His fingers trace the hem of her white tank top as he dips his head, his nose brushing against hers. 

     Before Y/N knows it, he’s kissing her again. She melts into him, her muscles going slack under his touch. Like the night before, the kiss is gentle and unhurried, giving her a moment to compare the two. His lips are a little more chapped, probably due to the long day in the sun while running low on water. A three day old stubble tickles her skin, the tough hairs slightly longer than yesterday. He’s clean now, fresh water having washed away the sweat and dirt. The first-time nerves aren’t there this evening, but she does feel that same fire rise up from her coil. That same desire to stay here forever, because no kiss has ever felt this good.

     He parts from her, with his hands still splayed on her lower back, looking down on the cowgirl he has hopelessly fallen for. A few clouds reflect the little light that is coming from the horizon, but it’s enough for Dean to notice something. He grins widely, even though he tries to tone it down, as his hands leave her waist to run the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, sweeping across the area under her eyes. For a second she wonders what he’s trying to brush away, but then it hits her.      “Oh, Lord. I look like a Goth, don’t I?” she realizes, remembering how fond she was to still have a significant amount of mascara on her lashes this morning, helping her feel a little less naked. Now she regrets not washing it off completely.      “More like a sad panda,” Dean chuckles, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a laugh.

     Awkwardly she looks down at the water, but the wrangler stops her, hooking his finger under her chin.      “Don’t hide,” he says, his expression soft.      Cupping her face, he wipes away the last black shades from her flushed cheeks, then drinks her in, his eyes flicking over her features. Embarrassment remains prominent in her stance, though. Dean feels his chest tighten a little, because if anything, he did not want to make her feel uneasy.       “You know you don’t have to wear it, right?” he starts, his thumb caressing her soft skin. “The makeup?”      She looks up at him again now, still insecure, but carefully hopeful. Where is he going with this?      “I mean, if you want to and if it makes you feel better, don’t let me stop ya...” he adds, stammering a little bit. “I’m just saying that you don’t need it. You’re beautiful... With or without.”

     A small smile forms on her lips. Again she’s blushing, not from shame, but from flattery this time.       “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks, traces of slight disbelief in her voice.      “Hell, yeah,” Dean assures smirking, half rolling his eyes at her doubt. “And as my lovely cousin told you in such detail, I have snooped around plenty, so I’d know. Those girls ain’t got nothing on you.”      She laughs at the joke, casting her eyes down.       “Hey…”      Y/N glances up, the intensity of his eyes catching her off guard.       “I mean it,” he whispers.       Showing her exactly how amazing she is, he kisses her hard this time, leaving her breathless. Overwhelmed by the intensity she stiffens, but then opens up to him, allowing his tongue to slip past her lips. With her eyes closed she waits, letting him take the lead in their dance.       Careful not to break the moment, Dean leans back, letting himself fall gently into the water, taking her with him. Floating away on waves of elation, he envelopes her in his arms, offering her the warmth of his body in the icy creek. He rises up then, searching for footing again on the floor of pebbles, the water at chest height now. For a second they part, breathing in each other’s air. The wrangler opens his eyes, looking down at the gorgeous woman who is slowly becoming his. Waiting for even the slightest hint of hesitation, he moves his fingers to trace down the hem of her top again, slipping underneath. She gazes back, her eyes piercing with nothing but want, nodding barely noticeable. Dean spots it, though. It’s like the lights on the track jumped to green, meeting her halfway in a kiss much more heated than the previous ones. 

     His hands hike up under her shirt, gliding over her delicate skin as his mouth never leaves hers. A hitching breath passes her lips when the pad of his thumb caresses the underside of her breast, featherlight, yet electrifying. Dean pushes her bra up slightly, almost tracing her nipple, which has hardened both from the cold and arousal. Completely in awe, she rolls her head back a little, exposing her neck. Gladly Dean ghosts over the junction to her shoulder, running his teeth towards her collarbone torturously slow, biting down a groan on the curve. Good Lord. His touch, his tongue, his mouth. Everything about this feels amazing. The freezing water is just the right temperature to cool her heated skin, the swell of the small waves identical to the one she feels in her lower abdomen. The cowboy can have her anyway he wants, she’s not going to fight him on it. In fact, she urges him to keep going, carding her nails through his damp hair and applying pressure once she closes her fingers around the brown locks, darkened by millions of droplets.

     Dean’s right hand descends down her body again while his left remains to attend her soft breast. He follows the arch of her back, then lower, kneading and exploring her behind, firm from years in the saddle. Holy shit, this cannot possibly feel this good. The resolution to take things slow goes right out the window, as his fingers find space above the back of her thigh, following the edge of her underwear. Then he grips her tight there, his other hand sliding to cover the clasp of her bra, not freeing her from it just yet. He lifts her a little, pushing her flush against him. Hungry for the woman in his arms, he covers the top of her breasts with his mouth, the soaked fabric of her top between him and her hot skin. Dean knew it before, but this, this unbelievable display of chemistry only confirms it; she’s it. 

     His lips find hers again, even though she has to keep breaking away in order to get enough air. Her respiration has picked up, every breath coming out labored. She can feel the gentle vibration of a low moan coming from deep within his chest, only adding fuel to the wildfire that is spreading through her body fast. At first she is unaware of the noise of water rustling in the distance, but then Dean freezes. Not understanding why he has stopped, she nuzzles her nose against his cheek, drunk and thirsty for his affection, seeking his mouth, but the wrangler is focussed on something else. Confused Y/N opens her eyes, looking up at the handsome man, whose eyes are fixed on the estuary of La Barge Creek to Canyon Lake.      “Dean?”      “You hear that?” he whispers.

     The sound of water moving and the fragile surface breaking dawns on her now and she follows his gaze into the dark. Then she hears a neigh and her heart skips a beat. That wasn’t one of theirs.      “Find the water…”      “Find the herd,” Dean finishes her sentence.      Still in his embrace, she watches the mystical sight, able to make out the shapes now under a faint moon, once the clouds move away from blocking the light. The group of horses crosses the creek, some stopping to drink. Dean lets out a relieved laugh, turning to face Y/N again.      “We found them,” she smiles.      “We did,” he whispers.      He kisses her briefly, knowing that he has to warn Benny, before the herd moves away. He drowns in her eyes a little longer, though, the ignited ecstasy still sparkling visibly in her pupils. His heart swells, his mind calms. He knows. He has found so much more than just the horses on this trail. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part fourteen here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean reader insert #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Dean Winchester series #Dean series #Cowboy!Dean series #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural AU #Dean AU #SPN AU #Kate Huntington

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Peaks & Valleys

A/N: Woah. So like a whole week just slipped through the hour glass and I wrote nothing at all. I am SORRY you guys, like really, I am. I don’t like not writing. It feels weird. Like not stretching or drinking water or whatever. Anyway, I’m back at it in a big way with Ryan Brenner for the Play the Hand You’re Dealt Event. This one takes place about a week after your trip to Luckenback with Ryan, Georgie and Layla, at a pit stop in Little Rock on your way back to the East Coast, so still about 3.5 years from the current timeline of Passing Through. 

Warning: smut. Brenner smut. 

Word Count: 2,749

Request from:  @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ for Ryan, Smut, Memories or Photographs, and Illness or injury

His fingers found the oval shaped divot near the top of your thigh, rough palm sliding slowly up toward your hip. A low growl rumbled in his throat and he grinned into the kiss. You smiled back against his lips with a hum. Ryan knew that you couldn’t feel it as he dragged the pad of his cracked thumb over the smooth skin in the dip of your scar, and you knew that he liked the contrast as much as he liked knowing every landmark on your body. Every single one.  

You slid your hand up his jaw, fingers lingering in the patchy bristles of his beard before they followed the curve of his neck, tangling in his hair. Your other hand was gripping his tricep, pulling him down on top of you as he climbed fully onto the bed. As if I wanna be anywhere else. It had been hard enough to wait while you both showered the road off of you after checking into your room- the trip up from Texas had been long and hot, sweat caking the dust and coating your faces. Now that he had his hands on you, following the paths he’d committed to memory and blazing new trails with each touch, the rest of the world melted away. You were in Little Rock, Arkansas. But you could have been in Vegas or Nashville, Sitka, Toledo or Philadelphia. The only map that mattered to Ryan was the one that his fingers were following; the one made up of freckles, birthmarks and scars, the one that took him to secret gardens and hidden treasures meant only for him.  

You parted your lips to deepen the kiss as he followed, his right arm coming beneath you to settle in the ravine of your spine, fingers splayed between your shoulder blades. Laying you back into the pillows, Ryan moved his left hand further up your body. When they reached the crease of your hip, he turned his fingers over to sweep his knuckles inward until the back of his hand fell between your legs.You sighed, your breath warm as it hit his tongue. Twisting his hand back around, he trailed it slowly up your ribs, climbing them like a ladder while he lowered his chest over yours, hips dropping down as well. You breathed his name as he pulled back just enough to capture your swollen bottom lip between his teeth, gently biting down before tugging to scrape the tiny chip in his front tooth over your sensitive skin. 

Another satisfied, warm hum left your lungs. “That feels so good, Ry,” you murmured. I know it does. Your eyes closed as your grip moved from his arm to his back. That little chip had been with him since he was 24, when a night of drinking had impared his depth perception resulting in the lip of a brown glass bottle meeting the bottom of his tooth with misplaced force. He could feel it if he ran his tongue along the now ridged edge, but luckily it hadn’t caused major damage nor could anyone tell that it was broken by looking at him, even when he sang or smiled. Georgie, Cowboy and Ginny all knew about it, but that’s because they’d been there when it happened. Since then you were the first person to notice it, and Ryan had noticed how you’d react anytime he’d nip or bite, raking his teeth over your lip or throat or your… He groaned suddenly, both hands squeezing more tightly where they gripped your body, the need for you overwhelming him. But instead of taking a shortcut, Ryan took the scenic route, the winding mountain roads and switchbacks that would make everything last longer. Worth it. 

Relaxing his fingers, he inhaled deeply and tore his lips from your mouth to follow the angle of your jaw. Every second with her is worth it. He used his chin to turn your face, teeth grazing lightly over your pulse point as he let his breath back out. You gasped and clutched him even more tightly as his thumb swept over the branch of inked blossoms along your side. Tickles, huh? Raising his eyes he saw the way your lips had stretched into a dizzy smile. Yeah, he let his fingertips trace the light pink petals and drew another gasp from you in the form of a laugh. I know it does.  

“Ryan!” You tipped your head back, pressing it into the pillow as your hair spread out over the crisp white sheets.   

He smiled to himself as you swallowed, the muscles in your throat working beneath his lips. “Hmm?” He pressed them to the birthmark just below your ear, pulling his arm from beneath you. Ryan brought his right hand up to your face, long fingers landing near your eye to trace the ridge of your orbital bone. He blinked, narrowing his eyes to focus on you as he tilted his head, hair falling in front of his face. “Should I stop?” He quirked one eyebrow high as he smirked at you.

Your eyes flew open as your back fell flush to the mattress again. “Don’t you dare stop, Ryan Brenner.” Not plannin’ on it. 

“Don’t worry,” he dropped his lips behind your ear once more before dragging the tip of his nose there. “‘M not stoppin.” 

The hand you had in his hair wound more tightly as you flexed your grip and gave a small tug. Oh, shit that’s... “Good,” you let it relax and slide around to thread through the loose pieces hanging in his eyes so that he could see the fire burning in yours. “‘Cause I’m not either.”

Ryan groaned your name before falling into another kiss, hands hungry again as they set out to travel back down the landscape of your body. The soft skin of your abdomen, the bend in your knee, the swell of your calf, the bony boulder of your ankle bone- his lips and fingers swept over your lower half until he was settled between your legs. In near record time, Ryan leaned over to grab the small foil square you’d unpacked and left on the bedside table, fingers deftly working to open the package and slide the condom onto himself. Reaching for your waistband and the last remaining article of clothing separating you from him. “Why’d you even bother to put these on?” Ryan felt his breaths grow heavy as he looked down at you lying there, your chest rising and falling, your eyes locked on his in a way that he knew they couldn’t be with another pair. 

He could tell that you were having a hard time keeping your voice even as you answered, and he only made it more difficult as he teased your hip bone before starting to pull the blue lace down your legs. “Had to give you something to take off,” you teased right back, mischief gleaming in your eye as he dropped your discarded underwear to the ground. You knew how much he loved revealing every part of your body with his own hands, and he knew that no one knew all the things he liked the way that you did. 

God, there’s no one else. His hands slid up your thighs again, arms winding around you to hold you close as he lined his hips up with yours. No one else for me. Your name left his lips as he slowly pushed into you, and you answered him with a gasp. “Love you,” he whispered as his fingers swam through your hair and the two of you found a slow, deep rhythm together. Never gonna stop lovin’ you.      

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

Later that night he cradled you to his chest as you drifted in and out of sleep, one strong arm wrapped solidly around you. His other hand traipsed lightly up and down your arm and over your legs where they were draped across his lap, fingertips barely touching you so he wouldn’t wake you. Looking down, he watched the rise and fall of his own quiet breathing and how your cheek looked pressed over his heart. She fits… she always has. A tired smile tugged at his lips as he thought of all the times he’d held you just like this, even if they hadn’t all been good. 

There was the time down in Florida, when you’d gotten caught in that pop-up thunderstorm that the sunshine state was known for. Droplets of water rolled down your face from your soaked hair. He’d watched as one slid down the side of your nose, dripping down to your mouth where your tongue came out to catch it. Fingertips rising as slowly as his smile spread, he traced another wayward raindrop as it trickled down over your temple. It was late August and the rain was warm, but goosebumps formed on your suntanned skin as his touch trailed down the slope of your neck. His palm curled around the back of it as he pulled you against him. You turned your cheek, ear resting above his thundering heart, and pressed yourself closer, wet shirts clinging to your bodies as you fit together waiting for the storm to pass. Ryan’s lips found the curve of your forehead, leaving a kiss there and tasting the clean summer rain on you. 

Another memory, one from almost two years ago now, popped into his mind as he tightened his hold on you and dropped a kiss to your temple. Arms wrapped solidly around you and chin tucked over your shoulder, he held you firmly as you shook and sobbed. The phone call from your brother had pulled the ground from underneath your feet, your sobs racking your body down to your bones. Ryan’s hands ran the length of your back, slowly caressing the delicate valley of your spine between the summits of your shoulder blades. Your ache seeped into him and he felt it in his chest, deep and hollow as he let it saturate him. It hurt, to accept that pain, that loss. But it was your pain, your loss, and he’d shoulder as much of it as he could. He wouldn’t tell you that it would be okay, because he knew that there were no words that could reverse that finality. It wasn’t okay, it was life. And I’m here for you, for… for life. His palms conformed to your left scapula and the dip where your spine met your hips. For life, for all of it. 

There was the time you’d leapt into his arms after the few weeks he’d taken on the road the first summer you’d been back with your family, his pockets full of the pressed flowers he’d collected along the way; forget me nots and daffodils and dogwood blooms dried and saved between the pages of his notebook so he could show you how often he was reminded of you. Not two seconds after he’d dropped his bag on the front walkway had you sprang from the last step, landing with your legs wrapped around his waist, his large hands gripping your thigh and back firmly until he could adjust his hold. You’d kissed him harder than you ever had, finding new angles, new ways to connect yourself to him, arms circling his neck and shoulders to cling as tightly as you could to him. 

A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered your first real winter on the rails, the one that had prompted the decision to cut out travel by train during the cold months. You’d been on your way to a friend’s house in Minnesota- you and Ryan had agreed to house sit for them for a few weeks- when the train had been delayed due to ice buildup on the tracks. You’d had to unexpectedly jump when the steel wheels ground to a halt beneath your feet, and you’d had to wait a whole day in the yard before you could get moving again. It had meant hours longer in the biting cold, and you’d already not been feeling your best for a day or two. By the time you’d gotten safely into the house in St. James, your fever had spiked, you’d coughed your throat raw, and you’d been shaking so badly you could hardly walk on your own without Ryan’s support. He’d turned the heat up, searched the kitchen cabinet for Tylenol, and gotten you into a hot shower before pulling you against his chest in bed, letting you lean into him as your raspy breathing rattled in your lungs. He’d held you all night, hardly getting any sleep as you moaned and coughed and whimpered, silently promising to you and to himself that he’d never put travel before your safety ever again, that the two of you would need to make some changes. 

He remembered the way it felt to hold you as the Atlantic ocean licked at your bodies and his cousins called out to the two of you from the shoreline. How it felt to have you in his arms with his family gathered around at Christmas, or the time you’d fought with your brother and you’d worried it was the last hit your relationship with Eli could take. It wasn’t, and Ryan knew that it wouldn’t have been, but he would have been there for you no matter what. All the ups, all the downs. 

That’s what love was, what it really was, and he’d learned that the summer after things with Chloe had come crashing down around him. He’d been sitting on the front porch with Aunt Holly, staring out into the deep blue night, yellow stars and a big, bright moon glowing down on the broad leaves of the tall oak tree. Ryan didn’t get into many details about Chloe with most of his cousins. Taylor and Patrick, but that was it, and he hadn’t talked about her with any of his other aunts or uncles. But Holly was different. She’d been close with Ryan’s father, the way he was with Taylor, and she could read Ryan the same way she’d been able to read her brother. He couldn’t keep anything from her if he wanted to, but the truth was that there wasn’t anything he’d want to keep from her, because if anyone could make him feel better when he was at his lowest, it was Aunt Holly.   

“See, Ryan, you can be on a peak with just about anyone.” She crossed her arms over her chest, tugging her thin orange sweater more tightly closed as a breeze swept through the yard. “The good times? When the sun’s shinin’ and your cheeks could split from grinin’ and you feel invincible?” He was looking straight ahead, staring at the gnarled old oak tree that stood between the house and the road, but he could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. Ryan turned to face his aunt and saw that he was right, dimples forming in her suntanned cheeks as a youthful gleam shone in her eyes. “Those days’ll feel good no matter who you’re with. And they should.” She sighed. “And I wish those were the only kind of days you’ll ever have.” Aunt Holly’s smile softly relaxed and she tilted her head. “But that’s not how the world works, Ryan, you know that.” 

He did. He was still young, with so much more to learn and see and feel and know. But already, he knew that much. He nodded, looking down at his thumbs as they crossed over one another. 

“You need to find someone you can be in a valley with.” She dropped her arms from her sides and reached over to tilt his chin back up. “Someone who you want in your corner when you’re up against the ropes, when you’re wrong or you’re hurt or scared…find that person, Ryan, because with them?” She placed her palm on his cheek, thumb swiping over the birthmark beneath his eye. “With them, it won’t matter if the sun is shinin’.” 

The small motel room was dark, only the headlights from the highway coming through the thin curtains cutting through the night as he let his fingertips ghost over your skin. But with you the sun’s always shinin’, Junebug. He glanced over at the clock as the numbered paddles flipped to read 12:18. Even in the middle of the night.

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