#[ you mentioned before how the manner of dress where she is from is pretty loose lmao and i just picture him still dressing up to the nines

[estarion]

Circe. "You are actually alright. I can at least have a conversation with you."

it’s funny. he was thinking something along similar lines about her recently. she is a lavish, commanding mistress, with a prodigious hunger and a contempt for fools. he doesn't know a lot about her, but already it seems they share a good amount in common. “thank you. likewise, too. your company has been a delight.” astarion’s hands are elegantly poised at his back as they promenade the courtyard of her palace, right fingers encircling his left wrist. he is only afforded the chance to experience things like this at night, but the way lanterns and candles have been arranged makes certain parts appear almost sunlit. he glimpses his mystical companion from the corner of his eye, touch of a smile on his lips. a rarity indeed to find anyone he could deem a friend these days, particularly a fast one. “also, i must say! the pangs of boredom have not struck once my entire stay. i ought to thank you for that, as well.”

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

62 - Reunions and Realizations

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 17.9k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, animal death, past character deaths, mentions of sexual violence and rape, reference to traumatic childbirth

Notes: If y'all thought I wasn't going to shoehorn in this dumb little moment between Jon and Tormund from the show, you were sorely mistaken. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“What were you doing down there?”

Strange the first question to be asked of you here of all times and places, yet your slight tilt of the head had not indicated that you were returning her question with skepticism. Imagined you did, you were not the easiest person for one to reunite with. But then again, much like her sister, Sansa appeared to be torn between two images as she stood before you. One vastly older and one none changed from the final days you had seen of her. You could even sill picture it.

Her orange red hair down loose in pretty waves to match the gentle shade of violet her dress was, made herself with the collar decorated with flowers all along the edges to match the brightness of the city she then lived in. You wondered how quickly those pretty flowers faded for her once her father was gone. Quickly no doubt. But now she was not that. Her hair was longer, flat and done partially up in the back halfway but not a trace of snowflakes sitting there as was in yours, like her hood had been up until just now to hide where she stood.

She clutched something under her cloak tightly in her hands but from the hidden shadows you could not see it. Choosing instead to answer her question as uncomplicated as possible, “I had someone I needed to see.” Sansa asked no further question, nor did you expect her too. But, she stood awkward and there was her other side. The bright blue eyes so much like Catelyns looking at you in an uncertainty, but also the hint of the child you left behind. Something that wished to reach out, but the woman in her did not know how too. “Sansa, I know things here aren’t what-”

Finding her voice, Sansa spoke up with a question of her own, changing the subject nearly to it’s complete opposite end. “You saw them take Lady back.” You only blinked once in a heavy manner as if attempting to bridge the gap of what she meant, before Sansa continued as she took a step forward. “That night at the inn. You were the last one to see Lady before they brought her back here.” That time you nodded, but only once again, assuming rightfully that there was more on her mind. “Where did they bury her?”

Voice gentle as you spoke, you did not need her to answer the question you knew would follow. “The lichyard. I can show you.”

The lichyard was a small graveyard at the back of the entrance to the crypts near the far castle walls. Used to bury typically servants of the old Kings in the North, but exceptions made many times over to bury others which did not fit. Traditions only meant something it keeping them meant dishonouring those whom passed. Only the Kings and Lords of Winterfell with their immediate family surrounding them, were buried in the crypts and only the highest with statues. Ned Stark had made Lyanna an exception.

Sansa walked close to your side but not quite the degree you could comfortably reach out to her in any way, she was silent and stiff looking around. You didn’t linger in once spot for long, you knew right where to go. The headstone was simple, already coated in snow like a cake doused with a powdery sugar, half covering the lichen growing across the stone all eventually were taken over by.

Her name was etched across it but too was covered by snow. You didn’t rush her with moves or words, simply crouching down to the space and brushing off what was hiding her name plain as day. The wolf carved into the stone under her was not quite as large and fierce as that of the direwolf sigil of the Starks, but then again, much like the smooth and underdeveloped features of Lyannas statue, Lady had died too young to grow into anything which could stand out amongst stone.

Pushing your self back up you moved only feet from Sansa as she looked in silence. A tenseness in her figure and jaw clenched tight as if holding back the urge to let anything come up, as no doubt the woman in her did not wish for you to see the water forming behind her eyes. You would not offer words in her fathers defence, you did not know how she felt of that anymore and would not make assumptions when she stood before the memory of what her remaining siblings all still had. “He made sure she made it here. Lady was born here, she deserved to rest here.”

Sansa only nodded, and seemed to grip whatever she held in her hands tighter. Her voice just as strained as the rest of her gave off the impression of. “You spent time with her after she was gone.”

Only the assurance you could give in such air, “Your father knew the last you saw of her would be a far better memory then that. Even after I-” Forcing your words to be much less blunt and straight forward for once, you sought something a little less harrowing to think of. “After I took care of her when getting her ready to come back here, you still wouldn’t have wanted to see that. If you haven’t been there before to watch an animal die, a companion you love dearly was not a good place to start.”

Sansa nodded, only then finding the courage to come closer. Not rushing her in any way your eyes trailed along as she made her way, kneeling down on the cold ground in front of the headstone. Not reaching out or anything, but her grief was her own, not for yours to judge. Now more then ever before did you understand the Starks connections to their direwolves were something different then an owner to their pet, and you felt that guilt of how she was the only living one whom had long lost hers so permanently.

“I hardly even spoke to him after that. I told Septa Mordane I never wanted to speak to him again, that I would never find it in my heart to forgive him.” Slowly kneeling down beside her, your hands resting gentle on your thighs, eyes bright and wide looking over to hers, the same on her towards Lady but in a far more held back manner. “The last few months he thought I hated him-”

Cutting her right off, your voice was stern. “He knew you didn’t hate him, Sansa. He knew why you were upset, and he never blamed you for it. Your father more then anyone understood how painful it was for you. You begged for mercy in front of the court for him, you pled for his life right before he died.” She nodded but again, you refused to push her for anything further. Where her mind was and what she was thinking or even wanted, you had no idea.

You certainly had no idea what it was which ran through your head, certainly not after the night you had forced yourself into. But, she came to it on her own. The thought, the pain you considered of how long had it been since Sansa faced the reality of what occurred that night, of what it all had spiralled into before it was too late. Pulling it from her cloak, there sat the doll. It looked the way you hoped, as close to what the original looked like as possible. Clutched tight in both hands, your eyes drifted to it as hers did.

“You remembered.”

You nodded knowing she couldn’t see regardless. “I did. I know you weren’t happy with it when your father gave it to you, but it would’ve been one of the last things you truly had from him. Leaving it behind in Kings Landing made sense, how you left there, but it was still something your father gave you. Still a reminder-” Finishing for you, saying it was a reminder that they were family and he had still loved her. “Coming back here hasn’t been easy I imagine, but I thought maybe having just one thing from your father again might remind you that this still is your home no matter how different returning is then you expected. You still belong here with your brothers and sister.”

A hand gentle running through what strands of her hair loose down her back sat, you felt the almost indescribable lean back of her into your touch as her own hand ran much more noticeably over the yellow hair of the doll. “I told him I hadn’t played with dolls since I was eight, and here I am. Eighteen and I’ve carried her around with me for hours.”

The huff of a laugh that left you just barley managed to leave her. “You didn’t have much of a chance to experience the rest of a childhood. None of you did. I think it’s fitting you find part of that, now that you’re home.” The name almost left her lips as you cut it off. “I didn’t give this to you, to bribe you to talk about that. I had it made, to remind you that you’re home, truly home. It’s been a long time I know since you’ve been allowed to think that way, I just want you to remember that.”

Heart breaking at the waver in her voice, the girl you knew came back out. “I still dream about her. That we’re running or she’d curled up with me on my bed. Then I wake up and she’s gone.” Voice cracking as her words faded out, the hand in her hair grew more firm, as you had pulled her the slightest bit closer. The rest of her followed as muscles stopped tensing in her, and something else much needed for her heart begun to fill and shake instead. “Cersei killed her and I blamed everyone but her for it. I wish I never went on that stupid walk with Joffery, we’d have never run into Arya and none of that stupid fight would’ve happened, and Lady would still be here.”

Her body suddenly turning, you felt her fall much more into your side as you wrapped an arm around to gently hold the back of her head keeping her close as you could from where you both sat. The tears fell freely much like you heard through the muffles of her door that same night, but these fell without hangups or hiding. Not right now, with you.

You knew Arya and Jon both would have their own issues to handle with her, but in that moment, Sansa was but that little girl who clutched at your leg growing up always begging her mother to let you stay and be her big sister everyday. That little girl by the time you came to Winterfell with the Kings Company had already felt long gone, but even if only for that very moment in front of Lady’s grave, was Sansa still just that little girl.

A little girl who had never quite come to terms with losing the direwolf she was bonded to in a way no one but the other Starks could ever possibly understand. Just as no one understood what it was like to live without that bond when only having her for months.

For now, you had no doubt Jon wished to handle Petyr Baelish, so you as best you could from just the support love could offer, would try to handle Sansa. Bring her down enough that the rest of her siblings had a chance to reach out as well.

You didn’t know what he had told to her in lies, but you know she would tell you all one way or another in time.

The day she had, one moment you felt a stunning realization fall over you, the next, you felt as if flying through the air falling from one sight to the next. Eyes to eyes to eyes, you felt as if you had never stopped but certain words echoed in your head the longer they flashed by.

“He saw us.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“There’s only one dagger like this in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

“He killed your father, he murdered the Hand of the King.”

“Tyrion Lannister. The imp.”

The room was tied, Sansa and Arya both closest to Bran by his side as he gasped for the air you too awoke in need of. On the other was you, as if fallen to the ground sat up partially by Jon keeping you upright and Theon on the opposite. Your name coming firmly from Jon but your eyes only flew up to meet Brans.

Putting together what he saw as you were, his voice breathless still from where he sat spoke through the noise of his siblings as if to you alone in the room. “That’s what it was trying to show us.” Your nod was slow as your mind caught up to your present, the feeling of touch against your skin only barley starting to come back. Neither of you acknowledged the ask from Sansa of what was going on.

Moving passed it, you suddenly felt the wave rush over you. More then even Bran had put together, you had the information that none of them had. You had the information that only one man left alive other then you had, but you were smart enough to put it together which was why-

Shooting up suddenly, Jon and Theon both nearly yanked you back to them the moment you turned to the door, a mutter breathless on you and deaf to their protests as you threw it open and walked out of it, not even bothering saying you needed a moment. One hall then the next, the a door pushing open as you stepped out into the cold of the evening.

Shining in your eyes, forcing a squint, you felt the shiver of cold seep through your thinner clothes and shiver within your bones. Lungs stung filling with the wold air and yet all your mind did felt as if it burned and burned. Overheating like a furnace too worked through and leaving you exhausted and dizzy but it’s flames were memories and it’s smoke was the words which followed.

You knew of those days, Catelyn had told you all when she had arrived at the army camp at Moat Cailin. You knew what Lysa Arryn had done and the lunacy she nearly prevailed with, but yet those details did not at all match what you knew now. Two murders and one failed attributed to the malice of one man, and yet all of it spun a web you had never considered before. He murdered your father, that was what Lysa told little Robin. Lysa put him on trial for the murder of Jon Arryn, but you knew better. You knew the secret Jon had died for and none of that led back to Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion would not poison the Hand of the King to protect a secret that had nothing to do with him, and now that you knew who did it and why, you certainly realized that Tyrion would have not a single reason to want to murder Bran. One Lannister tried to push him out a window, and when that did not work, he was framed by another with a well calculated plan of another.

But more death had come, more fell to the wayside and it was all but forgotten in contrast to the betrayal he stood for in the throne room. Jon had pointed out as Sansa spoke of the day she escaped in suspect. “If Joffery just died, how would he have known it happened or that you fled the scene of his murder, or that you’d be accused?”

Sansa had been honest, and she felt no better saying it then when she learned of it. “Because he killed Joffery. He and someone else, I don’t know who he never said, but he..had someone gift me a necklace, one of the stones had a vial of poison on it and that was the one...” Her hand had traced up as if to go through the motions of a memory she was realizing was part of it, but had saw fit it seemed to not bring it up, for now at the least as she continued. “He knew he had to get me out that day, because he had used me to carry the poison that killed Joffery and Cersei would find out. He knew she’d accuse me of doing it and-”

Jon too, had put together that final piece. “And if Cersei hated Tyrion then she would’ve accused him of helping you.” Littlefinger had wanted Tyrion to be accused, because then fleeing away with Sansa made him look that much more guilty and put more pressure onto trying him then finding her. It was all clever in a rather horrific manner. Every single person in the room had reason to want Joffery dead, but the manner Sansa described it was obscenely a cruel way to die.

Yet that was what had you lightheaded, palms cold against the snow covered stone trying to force the world to cease it’s floating spin. That was three times Tyrion was accused of a crime, and twice Littlefinger was to blame for pointing the finger. But three times he was accused. You all knew the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn, Lysa had said as such in her letter to Catelyn. But she accused Tyrion, and Tyrion wouldn’t have murdered him for Cersei and Jaime’s secret. Lysa accused him because she was told to accuse him. It was foolish to go against Tywin Lannister in that accusation towards even his most hated son, but still he had set the Riverlands on fire for it. Lysa was not right in her mind, but she was not stupid. She wouldn’t accuse him for the sake of it, she accused whom she was told to accuse.

Now she was dead. Everyone involved in the act or uncovering the mystery of Jon Arryns murder was dead, and everyone involved in the act or uncovering the truth of the attempt on Brans life was dead. All but two.

It was that which had you out there. Muttering a whisper you barley could hear over the beating of your heart in your ears. “It was him this whole time.” From the moment the bells tolled signifying the death of the Hand of the King, to the night you stood before the demonic shadow of Catelyn Starks echo was one person always behind it. You hadn’t even heard your name being called or the figure throwing the door open.

Almost jumping the moment he grabbed your arms, you spun with a gasp as Jon steadied you by your upper arms repeating your name firmly. But you were just as lightheaded as seconds before, eyes wide looking up to this grey ones both concerned and angry together did you say what had led you out here in the first place. “It was never about Sansa.” His brows furrowing asking what, before covering that up and trying to pull you inside saying it was freezing out here, you stayed in place as if the thick bog of a swamp had plastered your feet from being able to move. “Barrowton, the Brotherhood, none of it was about getting rid of me to make putting Sansa’s claim up easier.”

Jon cupped the side of your face, the worry growing in him the longer you stayed in such a high strung state like this. “Darling, what are you- what did you see?”

If one asked what yourself and Jon had learned so far North, both of you knew the answer was, too much. This time felt the same, you saw too much and realized what you truly were in this situation. “Littlefinger. He isn’t trying to use me to side against you for Sansa’s sake..he’s trying to convince her to get me as far away from you as quick as she can.” Jon again tried getting you to tell him what was going on, but knew in this state you struggled to form anything close to thoughts well put together as you rambled in hopes he followed. “He wants to isolate me, just like he did in Barrowton. He needs to get me alone because thats the only way he can even try to kill me.”

Jon leaned down to meet your eyes, repeating your name firmly as your skin felt like it shaking under his warmth against the cold. “I know it’s not easy, but I need you to tell me what’s going on, because even Bran isn’t sure what it is you realized that he didn’t, seeing the same things.”

Inhaling deeply, your eyes closing as long as it took to try and will your heart to slow down just a pace enough to feel Jon more then just his warmth, but perhaps that was the cold too kicking a numbness in. “You and Sansa both have parts of his story, some idea of the crimes he’s committed but he knows you both don’t have the full story. He knows you both together could only come up with just enough to possibly find a rightful accusation towards. But he needs me either gone or dead, because I’m the only person left he’s afraid of.”

For a while, you knew your father was a smart man about how he handled what he knew. Jon Arryn, the man he uncovered the truth of Cersei’s children with mysterious died, and he no doubt could sniff out the lie it was only a fever which took him. He fled to Dragonstone and closed off any ability to get to him because he knew too much. Stannis Baratheon was the one man Petyr Baelish feared because he saw through every bit of his weasely facade and would stick his head on a spike before the night was out if he had his way.

But you were even more dangerous then your father to Littlefinger. Because if you were not alive, no one would be able to know the truth of the sins he’s cast out upon the world and people you’ve known and cared for. You could recall Lord Varys telling you and Ned Stark that Jon Arryn was killed for asking too many questions, but you knew why your life had been the target this time. You were the one with all of the answers for those with those questions. “I’m the one person left who knows exactly how many crimes he’s guilty of. He tried to kill me, because I know things he’s done that no one but me is alive who could put it all together.”

Looking up to the cold, Jon turned slightly to pull you into his side. “Letting you stay out here and freeze any longer won’t help, will it?” The shiver ran down your spine, finding the rest of you as Jon pulled your head closer, leaving a kiss firmly at the hair on the side of your head trying to keep you as close to his warmth as possible.

If anything, it did strike those in the room now, that when you were in the same position as Sansa before, it was so far removed from what so closely looked like an interrogation. The white fur once Jons, wrapped around you properly so you could warm up from how strikingly cold your skin had gotten in the unknown time Jon spent trying to follow in your fleeing footsteps. He now sat beside you, to keep his own body temperature helping yours as well as not willing to move away from where you could stay in his reach.

The commotion having woken little Eddard up, the eyes of his siblings tried not to stare at how of all people Jon was the last they expected to see as a father, let alone sitting with his own son in his arms with such a natural ease it was as if he had prepared for it his whole life. Reading each small noise from the baby and moving accordingly, normally giving him part of his fingers to try to reach out and hold with what little grip his tiny hand had, or shifting him a bit more to rest against his side against his torso and facing a bit up to see you.

You had noticed each one as they did but in a very different reading. Trying to put your life at risk, you knew it would not stop there. Restraint was not best suited for a man like Littlefinger. He had shot and hit the target of killing a King before, and you knew what reason would he have to stop this time? Killing the King of the Seven Kingdoms was a far grander pull off then killing the King in the North. Those thirsty for power would not stop at you, they would not stop at Jon, and they would next go for the small bundle snuggled into Jons arms. The one thing you had done in your new life that mattered, given Jon the one thing he truly never thought he would deserve and you refused to let anything take that from him.

The story was new to most, and some details expanded upon to others. A life long passed you, but so deeply woven like a spiders web but the source was the insistent singing of a mockingbird. More then once you needed something to soothe your throat, you weren’t sure you had done this much talking since the night you stood in Moat Cailin refusing to give up your plight to defend Jons life and honour of all the freedoms he had only just acquired for the first time in his life.

Only much more was at stake as you spoke. Bran knew enough to fill in some details, putting together from what he and you saw together slowly in a calm fashion. Arya more then once was visibly shaking in an anger only held back from what you knew was a lack of manner to lash out on. Some of this, Theon knew, he was there to give specifics that you nor Bran could on your own, from his own perspective through his own eyes. Jon did a better job at hiding his anger then Arya, but there was a growing darkness in his eyes that looked more wolf then man as you spoke.

The only whom did not speak a word, was Sansa. So far removed from a single shred of these events, it was all new, and all in a shock she hadn’t seem coming. The danger, the lack of trustworthy she knew of Petyr Baelish paled in comparison. She too sat in silence though, watching the harmony at work. Arya, Bran and Theon all spoke up, all added to the story and conclusions working off of the others theories, but more then that, she watched you and Jon.

Forcing herself not to do it, not to fall down the hole she had before of what to think of Jon. In her worst interpretation, Jon spoke over you and for you. Taking control of your talking instead of allowing you the freedom to slowly let it come out, but yet you could build off of his finished thoughts with ease and he never spoke against it. She felt unsure if he was letting you speak your mind or not, but he had told her as much. That there were things about his relationship with you that she would not understand, but it was full of conflict.

He could sense it too, the way she tried to still figure out what she was looking at, looking for. Still seeking the worst answer, but he couldn’t worry about that right now. Couldn’t allow you to worry about anywhere close to that right now. The facts were out in the open, if you knew too much against Littlefinger and his plan at creating a divide between you and Jon did not work, he could once again resort to violence. To getting others that is, to do violence for him.

By the evenings close, all had much to think about, and Jon had much to plan. He was going to do this the way his father raised him to. Fairly, with honour and justice and without rushing into things with impulse. But then that wave would wash over him once more, almost in a mocking to ask which father did he mean. Jon knew what father he meant, but it felt as if that unshakable darkness did not.

His mind couldn’t be a mess right now, he needed to find a way to clear it and quickly. You almost did not help in that matter, coming up behind him, your hands running up his back and attaching to his shoulders before Jon simply wrapped them around his front for you. Gentle against him as you both stood beside your slumbering son by the open window. “You’re certain we’re ready for this?” Barley turning to glance at you, did a wave of guilt hit, the worry he thought you meant in doubt. “I only mean, we’ve just started to get Sansa to open up, I’ve only just started to-”

Gripping your hands tighter, the intention was clear as you cut yourself off. Jons low rasp almost flying into the cold air and out the window as opposed to finding its way to your ear. “I have everything else ready, we have him right here. Everything he’s done, I won’t let him run this time.”

Nodding, your head moved to rest against his back, something much more calming falling into your senses at his warmth as if the thought of what was to come in certain days did not also fill you with a rising dread. “What if I’m not up for this?” Affirming without thought that you were, you sighed deeply. “We think I am now, but what if I get up there and I don’t know what I think I do?”

He did not falter in his tender hold on your hands against him. “That’s why Bran is there. If you can’t, he can. But you were there for more of this, the other Lords will understand better if they hear if from you firsthand.” Only a nod once more, the feeling of Jon raising up one of your hands to press a kiss to hit, holding it against him there as if pondering leaving another.

You on the other hand, rose up on your toes to press your lips gently to the back of his neck, exposed through fallen strands of dark curls not still kept up from the day. If that was a very well hidden shiver you felt, then you only added to it by pressing another, then another until Jon mumbled your name both in warning and a chuckle vibrating from within his chest. “How did you do it? Convince them to come forward?”

A certainty was thick in Jons voice however, you could see from even behind his grey eyes wide and bright looking out to the starry sky of night beyond Winterfell without any doubt. “He betrayed my father, he tried to hurt you, my sister, my brothers. He’s used nearly every one in my family against each other, it should’ve stopped the day my Uncle Brandon beat him in a duel.”

“So you’re ending it now.” Jon was the one to nod that time, your head returning to rest against his back in a surprising degree of comfort. “Fighting has never worked against him. Perhaps you’re the only one smart enough to use his way of doing things.” Jon only muttered it was practical, not smart but your lips moved into a small smile. “I promise, you are far smarter then you’re giving yourself credit for, Jon.”

The smile on his face was so much brighter against the starlight shining in. “Coming from you.” Muttering in a jest what that was supposed to mean, Jon finally turned you both. Now sideways from the open window, Jons hands found themselves attached to your hips as yours rested high on his chest. The smile shined as beautiful as it always did in his eyes. “Married a smart girl, is all.”

If you had it in you to tease, it was for another day. Not so late at night and not so crawlingly close to what Jon had prepared for, since even before you both left beyond the Wall. Everything you both saw out there, but your nerves raced for this coming here and now of all things. “I’m not doubting you-”

Jon leaned forward, nudging your nose with his. Hot breath dancing across your face with every word. “I know, darling. You’re allowed to be scared, but it’ll be alright. I promise.” Nodding, Jon left your hip, two knuckles tilting your head up so his lips could gently press against yours. His kiss soft and chaste, but your hands wound around the back of his neck as his arm moved to pull you from your lower back further into him. His other keeping you by your jaw tilted to his kiss alone.

Only interrupted by the small mutterings of the bundle below, Jon let out a breathy but heartwarming laugh as he rested his forehead to yours. “That sounds like hunger to me.” Asking almost with a giggle how would he know that, Jon pressed one more kiss to your lips. “He’s my son, that means he has my appetite.”

You could almost roll your eyes, he loved to hint at how he was right all along. He said he knew it was a boy, and he was correct. But finally, it didn’t bother you. You would give him a daughter, and this time around you found yourself actually looking forward to it. Little Eddard didn’t have much of a plan for so long out there, but you both would go into little Lyanna with many. But, Jon for now, was still right.

The thought coming into your head as Jon sat down beside you undoing the laces keeping your dress closed, as you held the baby. Something Maester Wolkan had said, and how in more ways then just winter was what he said clearly true.

Eventually, the Starks are always right.

The morning next, sun hiding behind the clouds in the sky seemed to be making it’s way closer to the middle of Winterfell signifying it was reaching mid day. The warmest hour which the castle would ever get for a long time was right at the peak of morning as it bled into the afternoon and the hustling noise around the courtyard was at it’s busiest. For quite a while now, Jon had walked through with you by his side.

As friendly as Jon was with his people, you were quiet and not disruptive but never shied away from the respect you always gave by his side. Though, what was proving to be disruptive, was how utterly simple it became for attention to wander from task to task to give their greeting to the still small and shy baby you carried warm in your arms beside Jon. Trying to keep a respectful distance from you, Jon was clearly shoving down the urge to keep you pulled close each time you strayed too far from him. Speaking to one person and you another, you felt Jons eyes on you flicker each instance he couldn’t stop himself.

But you allowed the distance, Jon was busy with men far more important then the growing normal of gushing the older women adored giving. Little Eddard was shy, always making noise in protest when someone got too loud or close to him, shifting him up to rest against you, so he could hide in your neck and shoulder with hands grasping what he could pull close of your hair. He never quite put the strands in his mouth, but would keep them in his little fist, and that would always sit close to his mouth, the way an infant would do so with a toy acting as a soother, but just what he had of you.

Sometimes, he would simply refuse to come out from hiding. Tucking himself further into your neck and the blanket warm around him because he didn’t like so much attention so loud and close and so attempting to be physical. Unable to escape the cooing of a group of girls, eventually it seemed you had found saviour in Jon making eye contact with Selyse and gesturing to you.

Your mother coming up behind, hands guiding you by the upper arms with a polite smile and dismissal not easily argued against in her voice. “She appreciates your good will, but there is always much to be done in the life of a Queen.” A muttering of a thanks in your whisper as she kept a guiding grip on you until a respectable distance away, closer to where Jon had made his way in work outside. A jest on your mothers voice seldom heard, “And you wondered why we kept you inside most of the time as a child.”

Turning to look at her, you raised an eyebrow. “Because cooing and grabbing at my son is a common past time for women?”

The jest from your mothers tone though was not a single thing compared to the unfiltered teasing that came from your right from Maege’s sudden appearance. “No, because you grab everyone's attention all day. Good and bad.” Your head whipped up and over to give her a questioning glare when she shrugged with a smirk on her face. “I assure you, your grace, no one is quite as silent and uptight as you while also managing to always be the bloody centre of attention.” Muttering that you didn’t try to do so or enjoy it, she shared a glance with Selyse. “You left Winterfell for almost seven moons and came back with a newborn son. Tell me, in what version of our world would that not make you the centre of attention?”

Your tone dropped, dry and as flat as one could manage without looking at either woman on your sides. “No one crowds around Jon this way.”

Mage again had the simple answer always right at the tip of her tongue. “He’s King. How many people would risk getting on his bad side by pestering him day in and out. That’s what he has you for.” Her and your mother both laughed when you so dryly thanked her for the compliment, but your eyes looked to Jon in the distance.

You never saw him truly as Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, but there was no doubt how he got there. He could laugh and joke with his people as much as he too could walk up and jump right into business and waste not their time nor his. He ruled a leader as if he were born to it, but was he? That was a mystery not even your gift of sight could answer, what intentions lay behind his birth truly. Thankful to all the gods, that Jons own son held a meaning straight forward. Born because his father and mother were in love, and tried to bring him into this world for love alone.

A far cry from a bastard boy born for a purpose never told to him nor understood. Yet you thought, the blood that preceded his birth was not so different then the blood shed after little Eddards. But the closer you came to seeing that blue eye and smooth voice with changing intentions, the more you would hold your son a little closer, a little tighter, and part of you wishing you could go to Jon to feel the same for you.

Jon had compared what Ramsay had done to you, to what Rhaegar Targaryean did to his mother, but Benjen Stark had compared what Euron planned to do to you with what Rhaegar Targaryean did to his sister. No matter which way you looked, the truth cold or burning in blood was doused with the same things. How many chances remained for you to escape Lyanna Starks fate? Twice now, it couldn’t be many more.

You could only hope you did not leave Jon to fight the winter storms alone when you did so.

You had vaguely noticed your mother seemingly making some form of gesture towards Jon as if to tell him something not long before finding your way up away from the crowed more onto the landings less busy above. Asking Maege to give you both a moment, with none but you both up there glancing down to the sights did she broach the topic.

Her voice low but with a purpose. “We won’t be able to hide him.” Your brows narrowed, hands gently adjusting the baby more comfortably against you as she took as a continuance. “He is biding his time by not bringing it up, and when he does he will use it to try and paint you as a traitor. You know as well as I do that he has either already figured it out, or knew he was here in the first place.” Asking what was she suggesting with a tightness in your throat, your mother took no personal slight of it. “I put him into hiding to protect him. He isn’t happy he’s been in the equivalent of a prison cell, but he’s been safe. But he won’t be safe for long if we let Lord Baelish dictate the narrative. We need to prepare for the inevitable.”

Low and careful, both of you were aware the full truth being talked around in case of any prying ears. “Are you suggesting I make him reveal himself in front of the court?” Your mother only lowly chastised that you know better then that, giving you the space to come up with the same solution. “I never brought him here for anything like that. Not for my own gain, not to undermine father, none of it. I brought him back here because if he’s with me I know he’s alive and safe. Whatever he wishes to paint me as for doing so to my people, that won’t change anything. Bastard born or not, he might be the only chance to keep the family line alive.”

Cutting through just as low, your mother made a point you had already long since considered. “Naming him legitimate will only cause further troubles between him and your father’s claim.”

Nodding, you glanced down to the still open but heavy hooded eyes of your son resting on your shoulder, hand still keeping strands of your hair close before looking back up to the courtyard. “Being related to the heir of the Iron Throne doesn’t always mean it will come down to that. If I went down to him right now and asked if he wanted it, he’d no doubt look at me as if I’m an idiot. If it weren’t for Arya, he wouldn’t want anything to do with highborns at all in the first place.” Glancing to your side, you caught the question ready to come out and put an end to it before it could form words in her mouth. “Don’t ask me, mother. I really do not wish to even consider a thing about that.”

The unexpected flat jest of words coming from your mother always continued to surprise you in your new times with her. “He’s also your blood. Meaning you know too well what men in this family can be like.” Nodding with a grimace, if you did not think about it you never had to imagine it. It was like attempting to consider Shireen ever having a crush on a boy, you wouldn’t care for them no matter how innocent or good willed they were. Shireen was younger then Arya was now when- but still you never could consider her getting older and being interested in boys.

Speaking up with an exasperation on your voice, it almost made your mother smile in amusement. “Seven hells, is this how you felt when I left for Kings Landing?”

If one could speak even more flat then before, your mother pulled it off without effort. “I felt that way since the day you returned home saying the two closest friends you made in this place were Lord Eddard’s sons.” Your eyes dragged narrow and almost bemused in question as her eyes trailed to the baby down to Jon. “You married one, and had a son with the other. I’m not so sure you can argue by worries were unfounded anymore.”

Not much of a refute could be found. Inhaling deeply, smothering a small smirk you looked back out to the courtyard changing the subject once more back to the more pressing matter. “He’s our blood, so you and I when the time comes have to protect him. We stop hiding him, Littlefinger will name him anyways when the time comes. But he’s our responsibility to keep safe. Ser Davos was the only one to protect him last time, but this time we need to protect him as a family.”

You didn’t need her verbal agreement to know she and you were on the same page. It was but a rare but growing sense of solidarity between mother and daughter not often found in your life, let alone with the woman who did truly birth you. You never had a true stable dynamic of a mother and father no matter which family you lived with, and you failed to keep safe those you loved in both. Three uncles dead, five Starks dead, your own sisters blood on your hands and those were only such direct family.

You couldn’t even consider the death in Kings Landing, what Joffery had done. How many were killed and how few you had ever known the names of. One still lived, but you knew the other. Little Barra ripped from her mothers arms and murdered in front of her, you dared not imagine her screams and cries being forced to watch. You hoped her screams and little Barra’s final cries haunted the ears of the gold cloaks who did it for the remainder of their lives.

There were less of you then there were Starks now, you had to protect what was left of you all, no matter against who or for what. The image of a tall blonde struck within your mind, but you shoved it away. A man as the Hound had not survived a fight with her, and you were none the warrior he was, but if it came down to it? No, you thought. What is here in front of you, handle that. Nothing more, not yet.

It was hardly any time later when the courtyard had become a scene of it’s own, only in different ways then the last two times the return of a Stark came through. You had remained out there for some time on your own, the air not freezing yet but cool enough that you felt the freshness in your lungs, the blanket around little Eddard snug against your front keeping him warm and sleepy, also adding to your yet unwillingness to move.

Some of the approaching riders had been expected, or more accurately, one had. But the guards familiar with those coming and going the more the gates were kept up and closed, the more they knew who was easily welcome. You hadn’t yet moved from your spot watching, the noise surely to come was not one that was conducive to keeping the little one relaxed against you, but the sight surely was one of interest in various ways.

As you had always seen him, a man of the Nights Watch, did Benjen Stark ride into the courtyard, the figure at the back of his horse one which, even at your great distance, did you hold the baby just the slightest bit tighter to your front. She had ropes around her wrists kept at her front with no fuss, and no fight in her eyes but one of a kind of defeat. But Benjen climbing off his horse, she didn’t make any move to climb off either, staying put knowing her fate well before coming here.

With him though, some additions to the company which you had not seen in some months, but the striking feeling inside that their own reunion was going to be a far less strainious one then that which surrounded most of his others in the past weeks. Men around familiar with both found an ease in greeting, especially for Benjen. This was his home, it still was no matter where his duties had come to lay in his life, and there was a degree of ease which could exist in him this way.

But still for now, you stayed put. Eyes trying not to stare at just one in particular.

Jon knew his uncle was set to arrive sometime soon, but the day hadn’t been set. Seeing him out there, and again at Castle Black, that was one thing. But as Jon stepped out into the cold of the courtyard by the main gate did he feel something odd, not so far from where they had last stood together in Winterfell but the circumstances so vastly different. That did not stop of course, the feeling of relief that he had made it.

A grin felt forming on Jons face, did he move, making way to greet his uncle. Though, not the only one with plans it seemed did another ride with him, with plans of his own. If his Uncle Benjen had seen this coming, the amusement derived from it was not any less substantial. The one thing too Jon knew, was that if being a King did not change one thing, it was how he was treated by his closest friends. Certainly in front of others, causing only more to laugh along side his uncle.

Within mere feet of embracing his uncle did Jon feel as if he had been thrown to the side by a great sized boulder. Though, this boulder moved more then the a normal one and was far more eccentric then nothing. With all his strength, Tormund had nearly tackled Jon as if he man was hiding just to take him off guard out of nowhere. Pulling him steady though, both felt that same relief from months of unknown since the last they saw one another.

Were the Jon from years ago to look forward and see he and Tormund greeting again, grasping the other by the arm with a genuine feeling of missing the other, he’d have not a clue what life was in store for him. But it was, and without any bother of formality did Tormund not hold back. “My little crow. Was starting to think we had lost you.”

Sighing out with a nod, letting the memories to accompany that truth sit free Jon could barley get out, “Almost.”

A proper hug shared between both of them, did Tormund have the decency to let Jon address the bigger issue nearby. Though, what he understood of the situation, Jon did not yet know but no doubt would be telling the man in great detail come nightfall.

Jon and Benjen greeting each other much the same albeit less forceful, did he hold Jon by the arm turning towards where she sat on the horse. “Yara.” She barley gave any indicator of return, but Jon did not blame her. There was no hiding what she was here because of. He could register her own slipping upwards and flickering around as if seeking something but not yet finding it.

Benjen getting more to business out of the way, “What should we do with her?”

Glancing back over, Jon thought for a moment but knew whatever he did was only temporary, there was far more behind the simplicity of others within the cells down below then her. “Put her in one of the isolated cells away from the rest.” Looking to Yara and back. “Until I figure out what to do with her long term.” Many he knew would just say to execute her and be done with it, but Jon was aware again, there was much more going on.

And judging by the approaching voice, firm and projecting without any doubt did whatever guilt sat in Yara visibly begin to eat away at her. “I’ll take her.” Jon nodded, and one returning from Theon there was not the animosity he once feared. He had told Theon the truth, all of the truth of what happened, including Jon being the one to kill his uncle, but Theon had come to a conclusion after much thought. Saying that Jon was the one who told him he was a Greyjoy and a Stark, that one family tried to hurt the other on purpose instead of in defence. That there was no question about what was right there, no matter how genuinely Jon tried to place responsibility on his own shoulders.

Yara’s voice was the hint of mocking it had been for much of what Jon knew of her, and yet something so distant it sounded like it almost was meant to torment herself with it and not others. “Brother.”

Theon’s short answer as he helped her down to her feet, but keeping a not so kind hold on her still tied up person, was a bit cold. But that was between them, not for Jon to judge. “Let’s go. Not keeping you out here to make a scene.” If Theon caught it, Jon didn’t know, but he certainly did. The ever so subtle glance she took upwards finally.

Jon following her eyeline, did he spot you higher on the landings, the baby held high on your person in your arms with narrowed eyes looking down. Unblinking but not with the confidence that Theon or Jon would’ve, but with a hesitation and weariness that flared something up within him to go to you, no matter what else he had to handle here and now. Yara said not a word to you, nor you even doing anything but watching and following her retreating figure until she was out of sight. Only then did Jon see you look down to the baby, and disappear into the warmth of the castle finally.

Whatever he did with Yara, Jon wasn’t about to give her the kind of freedom Theon had the right too all those years ago. This was different, had any one of Yara, Victarion, or even Eurons men succeeded, Jon would’ve been desperately planning a war all of his own choosing to get you back, and there was no room to doubt if she played an integral role in almost allowing that. What she did to help him and you after was one, but nothing could be easily forgiven to a wolf almost having his mate taken from he and his son.

A son, it seemed, Benjen had told Tormund about. An arm wrapping around his shoulders, Tormund tugged Jon into his side as they both watched where you had been seconds before. Rumbling low but with a tease so thick one could grasp it in their hands he started already. “Do you want to tell me how the fuck you went out there with her alone, and came back a daddy?”

Jons eyes only looked, a bit darker to Benjen, clearly hiding a very poorly covered up smirk, his defence as unbelievable as was his false attempt to look casual over it. “I didn’t say anything he wouldn’t find out about eventually. Not my fault you never open up.”

Cracking out from Jon almost without a single thought, was his tone dry. “Coming from you.”

Both had a laugh, but Jons attention drawn back to the large man at his side guiding him towards the door inside. “Come on, you can do all your noble shit later. I’m going to need every detail about how the fuck you two have a newborn.” Jon jesting back he assumed Tormund knew how that process worked only had a grunt leaving Tormund in place of a laugh. “Trust me, little crow, I do. You and your girl had been married what? A few months before you put a baby in her and my daughter’s sack of shit husband can’t even get anywhere near doing the same after two fucking years. What’s the point in calling him Longspear if he can’t even use it for the one reason he’s got it?”

If Jon did miss one thing, it was the easy manner Tormund had about almost anything he could speak his mind on. And in the current days where he was surrounded by having to watch what he says and did for the various spying eyes, it was a breath of fresh air he desperately needed.

The opposite side was the truly that, opposite. An unforgiving contrast as one did not know what to say and the other wanted her to say nothing. Theon guided his sister down into one of the isolated cells of the dungeon, releasing her restraints, but the moment she tried, “Theon-” Did he close the locking bars behind her and turned without a seconds thought. “Theon, please, just listen to me-”

Cutting her off with a yell, he didn’t even turn back or stop walking away. “What did you do?” He knew but he wanted her to say it. But the answer was so much less then what he deserved to be told.

“Almost something very bad.”

The echo of the door closing behind him was painful as she stood alone in the cell, but then the guilt set in. She wouldn’t have come and gone without any fight had she not understood her crimes were no ones to answer for but hers. Theon knew it too, but even worse, Yara had almost done it to the one person who acted like the sister she should’ve been to him.

Yara hadn’t done a thing to earn that loyalty, and had not a clue if she could ever recover at this point.

But sisters in one way or another, with what she had done it was you who had every reason to be checked if you were alright. But you sought out Theon, you cared about how he felt here, not to be coddled when you weren’t the one with a family so tormenting as the Greyjoys.

It was frustrating, the degree to which you were not one who could sneak about this castle. Even up on the cold of the battlements, you still were not the one to speak first unseen or unknown. “I’ll tell you the same thing I said to Jon when he told me the truth.” Pausing mid step, your gloved hand braced against the wooden door frame open to the high winds, Theon leaning against the edge looking out to the wintery sight below as he continued, but not with any anger in his tone. “Two of my uncles hunted you both down all the way north of the Wall, trying to kill him so they both could try and separately kidnap you. And the first thing you both want to do is apologize for? For what?”

You hadn’t expected the swiftness he turned to look at you, the narrowing in his eyes challenging what he knew you had come to say. Mouth opening then closing more then once, you swallowed down the uncertainty in how the air suddenly moved and pushed out into the cold more, the firm coverings of the baby keeping him well protected now both kept covered and tucked away close within the warmth of the fur cloak around you both with many feet still between you and Theon. “For your sister, for what happened to Vi-”

Theon almost scoffed, looking at you almost as if about to call you an idiot and his tone backed up the emerging theory. “Jon killed my uncle, because he and my sister tried to kill him. Because they had their men already kidnap you. All because my other uncle ordered them too. Why should either of you be sorry for that?”

Baffled almost by how much he was willing to dismiss what occurred, you did not understand. “Theon-”

He however, had much he understood and thus subsequently a significant amount to say. “Jon told me. The day after you lot got back, he told me what happened himself. He killed my uncle and so he took responsibility for that and my sister. Didn’t leave anything out, wanted me to know exactly what he did because it was my blood he did it too. Then, this afternoon does Benjen Stark show up with my sister as a prisoner with him. So I asked her what she did, and do you know how much she told me?”

You shook your head no, and the answer Theon gave of what she said in response to being asked what did she do, you perhaps had understood the anger here was not directed where you had come to apologize for. “All she said, was that she almost did something very bad. Nothing else. Just that. As if that tells me anything. Jon told me everything, and you were about to apologize for everything.”

Shaking his head, jaw twitching in frustration he looked back out to the cold sight of the wolfswood. Stepping closer, standing beside him with a safe distance from his uncertain demeanour to your quiet voice. “Neither Jon nor I want you to simply accept what happened-”

The scoff bordered on a mocking laugh but towards himself. “I don’t. I’m angry. Jon killed my uncle, because he tried to kill him. My sisters a prisoner, because she tried to kill him too. And all of it happened, because for some bloody reason, Euron wanted you.” Your eyes blinked heavily as if to shoo away the heavy sting of reminder. You had yet to go back to the connection so blatantly made now, you weren’t at all ready for that. So, you stood allowing Theon to speak. “Yara, Victarion, even Euron. They’re my blood, but if I was going to chose them over you I would have long before now. So don’t do what Jon did. Don’t apologize for it.”

A heavy nod, you did not say much else if only out of a lack of knowing what response was appropriate to the strange state he was in. You too, had a feeling Theon was being far more blunt about it with you, then he would have been to Jon. Theon had little qualm about informing you when he thought you were being daft or stubborn, so you thought to give no more reason to garner another lecture about it.

The snow falling against the ground was gentle for once, and the light still bright in the sky above spoke that if would not last much longer, leaving a fresh untouched coat to shine in the moonlight as dark would soon encroach. In the cold winds bringing it, it stung against your cheeks but otherwise well hidden in layers and fur, you were much more quipped to stand out here in this way then years prior in little on purpose.

When anything came into the air again, it was a question which sunk down your throat to strangle you from within. “Only thing Jon wouldn’t answer me was, what does Euron even want with you in the first place?”

All the answers, but that you still did not know. Your shrug registered to the side of his vision just enough it needn’t not require elaboration. The scoff was not directed towards you, but a terrifyingly blue eye was behind your eyes making you feel, for once, as if he was too close. It was uncomfortable, what you knew from dreams and visions and yet now the differences which made his identity not clear, were also similarities detectable in Theon beside you.

The smallest of mannerisms likely all Greyjoys shared, and a despising feeling festered in your gut at the strangers audacity to share it with Theon of all people. Too you knew, it was still difficult giving him a name, as if speaking it even in the private of your mind would bring him back into your world and take what he wanted, no matter what that extended to possibly being.

Theon asked another question, “How did he even know you two were all the way out there or where to tell the others to find you both?” Within a single flash in front of you, it was as if the eagle flew by your very face as his caw screeched in your ear. You knew, but you didn’t want too. Jon was right, a mind more then just a bird existed within the eagle, but it no longer was the mind of a man Jon killed.

Somewhere, somehow, it was overpowered by someone much more terrifying then a man named Orell could have conceived of being. “You’ve been through this part before.” The glee in his voice and shine in his eye as he realized you would not fight against his strength on top of you. He had recognized what someone like Ramsay had done to you, and it only served to excite him more. As if he had just learned, he wouldn’t even need to take time like Ramsay had to, to break you in.

You dared not tell Jon about that part. Though part of you wondered, if you didn’t need too. A Greyjoy already once broke your personal secrets, and told the truth of horrors done to you, to Jon. Neither said it was Theon or what he told him, but you had a feeling Theon sometime between arriving at the Nightfort and the night you learned you were with child, did he tell Jon some of what you spent months hiding from him.

You had little doubt, should this Euron find his way into your life here, he’d speak of what he almost did as well. But unlike Theon, it would be far more like Ramsay. Taunting you in front of Jon for what he refused to say he had done, but enough to anger the White Wolf into something blindingly red and rageful. Surrounded by men using their usage of you, to torment Jon solely because they felt the better men by doing so.

No, you did not wish for Jon to know about that dream just yet. Considering you could see the upturned gaze of Ghosts eyes from down in the courtyard below, Jon was not joking about not letting you out of his sight. If you told him the truth about this one, you may never leave Jon or Ghosts side ever again.

Theon at the least, did not need solid answers to connect much of that on his own without even a sliver of the extending detail you withheld from everyone else. “My uncle died trying to bring you to Euron. And after everything Ramsay did, if stopping all that from happening to you again at the hands of my uncle meant Victarions life? I’d have killed him myself.” You said nothing, not did he need you too. “Yara’s my sister, but I barley knew her. Even before. Then I came back, and..” Theon took a moment, and still you did not speak of what she told you. That day was not yours to intrude on, it was his no matter how much he had told you of it, the second night of your return. “You’re the sister I chose. So you and Jon need to stop trying to pretend like you two have shit to apologize to me for. You don’t. Neither of you do.”

All you could muster was a simple ask. “You didn’t ask her anything else?”

Theon however, gave once more that laugh as if speaking to you like about to call you an idiot. “If I had something to say to her, I’d have done it when she tried begging me to come back to Pyke last year. But I didn’t then, sure as hell don’t now.” Only for another moment did quiet sit between, when as his usual, did Theon find a way to drag out the easily amused side of you in an instant. “Remember when we first met? And I called you a contentious bitch?”

With a dry quickness, it would’ve taken many off guard at the language coming from your mouth were it not Theon. “I believe the phrase you used was contentious cunt, actually. Bitch was the word you used when trying to talk your way out of Lord Stark getting you into trouble.”

The laugh Theon let out was low and mostly breathy, but you joined too. Both looking out to Winterfell as if strangers to that life before. “Right, and I remember it not working. If I didn’t hate you enough already, the man treated you like his daughter.” His mind almost connecting names one to the other, looked more down at you with a narrowed question in his eyes. “Speaking of, how long have you been back and yours hasn’t come to meet his grandson?”

Nodding down to your alone person, you shrugged a shoulder with an ease in your gaze. “Sons are a touchy subject within my family. I don’t really know how much to blame my father for not knowing what to say, even in writing. Not good at communicating the members of my family are.”

“I’ll say.”

Your mouth fell open in offence in an instant as you looked at him incredulously. His shrug of bemused indifference only caused you to lean over and shove at his side with yours, much like a child. All alone, was the only time Theon ever considered returning the gesture. The baby being his only cited reason why he didn’t retaliate, it once more became easy to forget that somehow, some way, he was so closely related to the growing phantom haunting your dreams.

“You let him take a pregnant woman all the way out there?”

Jons elbow was propped up against the table they all sat around, hand pinching the bridge of his nose as his face twisted in frustration. It has so far, been a constant debate about this. About what he had done and if it was right regardless of what he had to do. He wasn’t happy or proud of himself for it, but it had to be done and explaining that to his own companions over and over was getting to be an exhausting ordeal.

On the other end, Sam and Tormund were actually both on the same sides just with vastly different ways of explaining themselves. Gesturing to Jon, who had been silent for some time now, Sam raised his voice in his own defence. “You try telling him he can’t do something once he’s made his mind up. What was I supposed to do? Stand in front of his horse and tell him no? Because I tried that before and he knocked me to the ground.”

Jon only moved his hand enough to take a long, bitter sip of the ale in front of him before letting it thud to the wooden table. Hand that time pressing more against his forehead before letting it run the length of his face. He didn’t even need to say anything, Tormund piped up right away. “He couldn’t wait a few more moons for the baby to be born before running off to get himself killed?”

Why Sam and Tormund of all people were arguing as if they disagreed on the matter, Jon had no idea but they went back and forth regardless. Glancing over to the living quarters where he knew Sam and Gilly slept, part of him wished he told her and little Sam to stay. Maybe they wouldn’t be going in so hard on him were the two of them still there. Enough time had passed that little Sam had grown big enough that he could sit on someones lap all on his own, and it never failed to make Jon smile that the toddler could look at Jon and feel comfortable enough to do so without even asking.

Though, Jon was fully aware that could fall under the possibility of him using little Sam as a shield during this conversation. But Gilly took the both of them to find you, recognizing the three seemed to have things to talk about that Jon didn’t necessarily think appropriate in front of her. The discussion apparently, had continued around him.

“I still don’t understand why you had to bring her, and not ask Edd to give you rangers used to being out there to come with you.” Tormund piping up to include himself and his own people in that scenario when Jon had his fill of being quiet.

Voice raising to something slightly more stern, both recognized the frustration behind it. “If I could’ve left her behind, I would’ve. I didn’t want her out there, I didn’t want her near anything out there but I had to. There was no choice.” Sam softened a bit, moreso recognizing that gloss over his eyes which always seemed to come about in pain of mentioning you. Tormund though, Jon knew understood possibly more then Sam what the things out there were Jon didn’t want you near. “She was barley two months, if I waited until our son was born then you’re asking me to abandon my wife and newborn child and I wasn’t-”

Cutting himself off, he refused to allow the thought to come forward. That was not an option, allowing you the comfort of having your entire pregnancy and labour here where it belonged to happen, only to leave and possibly never come back right away. That wasn’t even what his father did to his wife. His father had gotten Lady Catelyn pregnant right before leaving for war, he probably didn’t even realize until the end he was to have a son when he came back. This was asking Jon to go through the whole nine months with you, be there when you gave birth with the proper care and comfort midwives and a maester could provide you with, and hold his son his arms before leaving you both behind.

He could leave right now and find you, but still, the thought of doing that made Jon feel ill. The thought that he would miss these first precious weeks. Waking up over and over because his son needed something, gently shushing you into not waking up unless the baby needed feeding. Getting you ready in the morning the way he liked, working with you to dress the baby before getting to be the one to wrap him around your person to keep the baby attached to your front. Miss watching you feed little Eddard from your own breast because you refused to let the wet nurse anywhere near him? Feeding the baby had a routine, even when Jon wasn’t there he knew the routine by heart.

He could still recall one night out there, before reaching the Wall, everyone had settled in camp for the night as you had to feed the baby. Just at the very end of gently burping him did just the slightest bit of spit up come out from such a small thing, and the only reaction you both had was to laugh gently. Jon cleaning you without a second thought as you cleaned little Eddards mouth and soothed him gently in your arms before the sensation of it coming up upset him. Naturally by the time you had just let your head fall on Jons shoulder to sleep, did he decide he needed to be fed again because he spit up half of what he ate an hour prior.

If he thought about it, he could still see the way the others tried to pretend they weren’t watching. The way Bran and Benjen both looked at him almost in an awe of what Jon of all people had now, what his life looked like after being separate from them for years. He could see the way Meera glanced between you both and Bran and Benjen. The hiding of a sadness mixed with envy in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed back into the fire. He knew the feeling of loss in her but too the feeling of being surrounded by family and being all alone.

Yara was too, but Jon knew Meera was almost more hostile towards the Greyjoy then Bran was. Jon has asked her about it, and she explained it almost a bit ashamed. She knew Bran had more of a reason to distrust her, considering that the Greyjoys never actually managed to take anything in Greywater Watch because of how difficult the lands were and as she put it, “Our Keep always moves.” But she also said that she didn’t know much of Euron Greyjoy, but she knew enough that anyone who had tried to help him take you was as bad as him. And separating a father and newborn son from a mother who just gave birth was nothing short of evil.

His voice more of a husk as he pulled himself back by a force into the present discussion. “The plan was to get her home before she gave birth. I never planned to keep her out there and force her to-” The second cut off for himself Jon downed an even more bitter amount which spoke volumes of how he struggled to discuss this the further he had to think of the night.

Tormund gestured to Sam with the mug in hand, “Your girl gave birth out there too, right?” Sam confirmed she did, but did add that in a fairness, she had her sisters all with her and she gave birth at home in her fathers Keep. That Gilly had to raise her son the first months out in the outside North, but she gave birth at home with family. “What about her man, where was he?”

The look Sam and Jon shared, a thought all who knew despised discussing, but Jon took the reigns for Sams sake. Putting it as bluntly as possible, knowing a man like Tormund no doubt wouldn’t need an elaboration on what it meant. “Gilly was one of Crasters wives.”

The laugh the man let out, a single sound almost in a disbelief as something powerful took over like speaking on a long since piece of gossip. “That dirty daughter fucker?” Jon nodded with a look of disgust partially falling over it as it would for many, but Tormund continued. “That crow lover who gave up his own sons to those things?”

Jon and Sam perked up in a moment, the former asking, “You knew about that?”

Tormund nodded. “I knew it, because Mance knew it. Anyone who was anyone knew Craster was giving his sons up to those things, as if fucking your own daughters wasn’t shit enough.” Shaking his head as that more serious wave hit him, Jon knew again that Tormund was well aware that was not just any strange choice the man made one day. “No one knew why, we just knew he did it. You managed to not only woo one of his girls, but took her for yourself? You’ve got more balls then I gave you credit for, Tarly.”

Jon could almost smirk. He wasn’t wrong, Sam was indeed far braver then his father ever saw in him that was certain. For a moment, he almost could hope it wouldn’t come back around, only the talk of Sam and Gilly did not last long. Sam of course, was the prime culprit as he brought you back up. “Jon had to be the one to deliver the baby himself, all on his own.”

Asking if he knew anything about delivering a baby, Jon could only gruff out not much, as Tormund looked at him more seriously, regardless if Jons eyes were glued to a spot of nothing on the table. “Women where I’m from are tough, you know that. But even the best of them have more then enough people around when they give birth. Woman in the clans I grew up in, they go into labour on their own, the men all get their asses up and either move her somewhere with help, or go out and drag help to her. We don’t have your medicine and maesters, but women still all work together when it comes to it. But you two doing it on your own?”

Jon interrupted, that same dark feeling in the put of his stomach of a horrible few hours returning to the surface as it reflected in the way his face twisted. “I delivered the baby, but she was alone.” Neither man said a word. “Something was wrong and she was in so much pain.” Jon finished off whatever was left in the mug as Tormund didn’t hesitate to refill it for him. “I know it hurts but something was wrong that night. I couldn’t comfort her, or even help her. I had to let her suffer through it like torture all alone because I had to focus on the baby.” That darkness that time fell so much closer to a burning self hatred. “We didn’t do it together. I was right there, but I still made her do it all alone. I never would’ve made her go out there if I knew that’s how she was going to give birth. In a cave hundreds of miles from home all alone, screaming in so much pain she genuinely couldn’t even speak. I never wanted that for her.”

Let alone what came after he thought. All the way he dragged you through and back in such harsh, freezing lands, what you both found when you got there...He knew some people would never understand why Jon brought you knowing you were pregnant, but no one hated it more then Jon hated himself for it. Sam finally asked what he hadn’t yet, what he wasn’t sure Jon was ready to say. “So why did you? You said you had no choice, what left you with no choice but to bring her?”

Out of everything they had known of you, of what lurked out there, Jon knew they had not prepared for the answer he gave them. “Because they demanded it.” Tormund asked who, but he knew. “The Others. One of them wanted me to come all the way out there, go to their lands, and they demanded I bring her. They wanted to see her for themselves.” Again the ask of why, but spoken by Sam that time. It took Jon a good long moment of silence to say a word again, but he knew the answer had left out details they’d have no possible way of connecting on their own. “Because she was pregnant with my child.” His own emphasis on the fact that is was his child specifically, not at all the implication of her being pregnant in general.

Tormund asked how they would’ve known that, but Jon had no idea truly. That wasn’t a question of priority by then. Sam however, had the real question with the real answer Jon didn’t know how to go into. “You’ve fought them, you’ve killed them. Maybe they called you out there the same way Lords on opposite sides of a war can sit down and discuss terms, when the solider are all still out there killing each other. But what would be so important about meeting the woman whose carrying your baby to them?”

Jon learned too much, if he couldn’t comprehend it in his own thoughts, how was he supposed to explain it to anyone else? That wouldn’t help them, that wouldn’t prepare them, it was something to haunt few and stay secret. Like it had done so for thousands of years, Jon could only wonder through where did that knowledge stop? Which was the last to know that truth, and why not pass it down? Why leave the rest of them in the dark to it all?

Interjecting into the silence, Tormund asked, “If they wanted her to come with you, why attack her? You said she was attacked by wights twice out there. Why attack her if she was so important?”

Summarizing, Jon was aware they sensed he was talking around something, not to hide, but as if attempting to find the right way to speak it into existence. “It’s like Sam said. The wights are just soldiers, and soldiers don’t know the difference between whose important whose not. They just attack the enemy like their told.”

“The first time sure, but you said they attacked her twice. How many were there the second time around? Six? Seven if you count the baby. Nine adding in those wolves of yours. Why attack only her the second time?”

Opening and closing his mouth, Jon was physically stalling from saying anything further when a stroke of luck granted his struggling mind a mercy. The door opened and there was no better time to interrupt then that very moment. Before that though, the trail followed to get to that opening door was not filled with a path full of nothing of importance.

As you made your silent way down the halls of the crypts, you had the worry festering in the back of your mind that you had no right to invade on his privacy down here.

You did not know him the way his nieces and nephews did, but you could not shake that feeling of a long forgotten care that you had not experienced in years until the night he rescued you from the Ironborn. Your intention was to be as quiet as possible, but little Eddard had a mouth of his own and seeing his mother so tense and quiet for so long had drawn him out to make a small babble as if to grab your attention and cheer you up.

Within an instant, your feet stopped where you stood and a tight, closed lipped smile came over as you breathed a little laugh through your nose at the timing. Turning his head, Benjen Stark looked over to you with his brows raised in an amusement, not hesitating to speak up and break that uncertain silence. “I assume you meant to be more quiet then he let you?” A nod of yes, he reached a gloved hand out, waving you over. “Come closer at least then, I know it echos but there’s no need to shout.”

Coming within a foot or so, he laughed to himself saying wolves don’t always bite, indicating your needless gap as he, almost in a manner like Robb or Jon, just tugged you closer in a comfortable manner, with a more tender grasp not to jostle the little one. “I didn’t want to intrude I know I shouldn’t be down-”

Benjen did not even allow you the chance of finishing. “You’re family. You do belong down here.” Biting your tongue, your eyes cast downwards as you stood next to him for a moment. The firm way he said it without hesitation, still it felt strange of a thing to allow. Calling you family. It was odd when Jon said it to you the day you both stood down here to bury Rickon, and it still felt odd now.

It seemed in his journey, he hadn’t actually gotten very far. Beside where you stood was the statue tall and stern of what you had assumed was Lord Rickard Stark, which meant the large statue before you, even in stone radiating a dashing charm as beside him too was that of his brother, the tomb Benjen had been visiting as you approached was that of Brandon Stark, the one eldest of the previous generation of Stark siblings.

Much like Robb, murdered horrifically far before their time, but unlike Robb, got to rest here memorialized in stone as he deserved. You dared not look at the empty tomb a statue of Robb with the loyal Greywind deserved to stand. A statue would be pointless. There was nothing to bury. An echo of a resting place Robb will never have. At least you thought, Brandon could be visited. No one visited Robb but the carrion crows whom picked apart what the Freys did not desecrate of his body, and the maggots which laid rest the rot left behind until only bones were scattered to the wind.

A low rasp just like Jon though, muttered through with a careful respect through the only flickering sounds of torch flames along the walls. “I was only a boy the last time I saw most of them. Thirteen years old. Brandon was getting ready to marry Cat, so most everyone was down south. I wanted to go, but my father told me what he always told us. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. So I stayed here, and for a long time, I didn’t understand why none of them came back. I didn’t even know Lyanna had been taken until I learned my father and brother were murdered by the Mad King.”

Your eyes looked up to the statue of a man with the reputation of being both hot blooded and dashing, yet again, a feeling deep within you of how much your mind forced you to not look to where the tomb of Robb did not rest.

Benjen continued, the understanding that your silence was not of an awkwardness, but that of a respect to allow him to get out what he needed in his time. It was the same you knew with Jon, let him say it at his own pace or he may never go back to the topic. “It’s not easy to handle. Spending a year not knowing what was happening. The war started with my father and brother dead, and ended with my sister dead. Ned came home suddenly the head of the entire family, with a wife and two sons of his own. I probably had just had my fifteenth nameday when I left. Robb had just turned one, Jon hadn’t even reached that yet. But I left. Ned had a whole new life to figure out and I just couldn’t see where I belonged in that yet.”

Only one question in prompt, your voice was as much of a whisper as could be. “Why the Nights Watch?”

You had heard his answer many times, it felt as it if was the one ingrained in the heads of each member his family. “The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years.” With a pause he found the real answer. “A year before the war, the tourney of Harrenhal, I met a brother of the Nights Watch, told me he travelled the Seven Kingdoms looking for recruits, and it was the first time I had someone able to tell me about what they did, what it was all for. He told me the vow, the one we all swear the night of our initiation. Out of everything he said, I never forget one part. The shield that guards the realm of men. After the realm took away almost everything I had, it felt more important then ever, finding a purpose to guard what was left.” His eyes glanced to you, flickering down to the brighter wide eyes of the baby, now looking up at his back.

Catching the exchange, the curious bright eyed look was so striking as little Eddard looked up at him. “Do you want to hold him?” The very second you even slightly shifted him, did the baby make a protesting noise, turning to hide into you again, causing both you and Benjen to laugh. Running a hand over his head, your voice was a soothing lull towards him. “Come on now, you’ve met him before.”

Slowly turning to face him a little better, Benjen moved just as slow to not startle him. The chuckle still present on his tongue though. “He’s more shy then I last saw him.”

Prompting the baby to look more at Benjen again, those bright eyes shined a smaller flash of familiarity, a small coo of question leaving as the baby looked back up to you who nodded with a smile, resting your head at the side of his with a playful whisper just for him. “See, you’ve met Benjen before, you’re safe with him.” A little hand reached out just barley, causing Benjen in return to pull his gloves off, giving him a small grasp of his own hand as if letting an animal sniff them before accepting anything. Your voice speaking back that time to the man himself, “He’s had a busy week. Presenting him to the Lords and Ladies only meant suddenly everybody wishes to come close or try and hold him, it’s been a bit overwhelming.”

Finally little Eddard allowed Benjen to take him, keeping him held carefully in his arms with a smile, patient to receive one from the baby right back as you both stood there. “You got bigger.” Little Eddard hadn’t made any noise, but not shying away from him was a better sign that he was beginning to remember who this was. Changing the subject swiftly, you suspected he had taken advantage of the easier state you had fallen into for honesty. “Tell me something, what’s all the fighting I’ve heard about between my nephew and niece?”

He did not need to elaborate, it was painfully obvious what he meant, but the truth was of no use hiding. Arms crossing over your front, you glanced towards the statue in front of you once more as if using a distraction. “Petyr Baelish brought her here under the assumption that because Robb was gone without..and not knowing Bran was even alive, it would mean Robb’s crown would pass to her.” Benjen specifying the obvious that it wasn’t as it to prompt you further. “No.”

It was almost easier to explain to Benjen then it had been when more then one Stark so directly involved in the issue was looking at you intently the first time, and never once did he find himself disagreeing. “Good. Never liked the Lannisters, never trusted them. Robb taking away any chance of them getting the North was the right thing to do.” Muttering quietly that Sansa did not make it easy to remember that, Benjen was straightforward about it in a way it seemed he could sense you needed to hear. “She didn’t choose to marry him, but she still did. By law, she’s a Lannister if she likes it or not. You give those yellow haired pricks even an inch to try and take this place, they’ll run with it. My nephew didn’t disinherit her from the family, just his line of succession. There’s worse things to come home to then just no crown. I thought she’d understand that.”

“She should. Or does. But Sansa isn’t the problem, and she’s not the one who will kill to get what he wants.” Meeting your glance, there was only one question on Benjen’s mind and you were grateful to be down in the crypts as you spoke it. “Actually, I came down here to ask you something.”

Asking what, you could see where Ned Stark rested from here, and maybe you thought, it was time he heard the full story too. That is, before everyone else will. One thing at a time, and right now, that one thing was drawing closer and closer to the forefront of what to deal with.

Jon, Bran, Benjen, all of you had different pieces of a story with intentions to come together and put it all together to find a conclusion before it was too late. Petyr Baelish however, needed everyone with their separate sides to stay apart to keep everyone else but him in the dark. But that was why he tried to have you killed after all. Not for Sansa’s claim, not for anything for anyone but himself. You needed to act now, because you and Littlefinger both knew you were the only one aside from him who could pin more on him then he ever had previously thought possible. Or at least, that’s what Jon was now banking on him thinking. Afterall, everyone else was either loyal to him, or was too scared of him to betray that loyalty.

“Don’t admit anything, don’t say anything. He might do whatever he can do divert attention from himself, and you are the best way he could try.”

Asking in a frustration as he walked beside you, the most he complained he had stretched his legs in a week or something close to that. “So why bring me out there, huh? Why go all this trouble to hide me when none of it matters?”

Your eyes tore to the side at Gendry in a firmness and not any hint you were not being extremely serious about this. “The less we could keep you in his attention the better, but he still knows of you and no doubt heard you were here because of me. If you corner an animal enough, they will find the one way they can to bite back and knowing I know who you are and have not said anything about it means he could try and use that as his only way out.” Asking what that has to do with showing his face, you almost snapped interrupting him. “I kept you hidden here for your safety, my mother hid you for your own safety, I will not have him using me hiding you from my own people as proof I am keeping you secret for my own gain.”

You were likely, the most nervous of all of them. Jon had told you he was handling this, and you knew and trusted him, but it did not change how much you were to be at the centre of both. Of what accusation the crime towards him was to be, and what Littlefinger could point to you for in desperation when he finally realized how cornered he had made himself. Perhaps you had felt too similar to last time.

Secrets behind you that were legitimate and fair, and how easily they could be spun into painting you as a traitor, how quickly situations could turn on you. No matter how much you told yourself to trust Jon, you still could feel it. You worried you were all rushing into this, but Jon had reminded you. How often did you think you had more time then you did, only to realize the enemy still cut that time even shorter out of nowhere?

Jon had put it plainly, as long as he thinks he has Sansa on his side he will stay, but as soon as he realizes he doesn’t have the hold on her he thought he did, he has no reason to stay and everything he’s done he will get away with the moment he leaves the North. Something Jon would not let happen.

You could see Arya’s eyes dart over wide and in question the moment you appeared in the main hall with Gendry, but both of you only made your way to where Selyse was standing off to the side, when coming up behind you, was a warm and low voice in your ear all of the sudden. Jons hand on your lower back with a quick ask, “Where’s the baby?” Telling him with Gilly, you could see a little less tensity in Jons eyes when you looked up to him. Keeping him with only those you knew to trust right here and now until it was dealt with. Looking to Gendry then yourself, he was less gentle in a single switch of breath when not directed towards you alone. “Whatever happens, don’t do or say anything if he brings it up. He’ll take any chance to get himself out of this, and he’ll use you two to do it.”

Your mother was the only one with a voice it seemed out of the three of you. “Are you sure we aren’t rushing into this?”

Grey eyes flickering to where Sansa and Arya up behind the main table pretending to look as casual as possible, then to where Bran sat at the tables end. Both he and Meera standing behind him giving him a nod with more confidence then you still felt.

Looking up to him, it was clear Jon held no waver in his eyes. A look something flying before your eyes, was just as sure as Ned Stark stood in the throne room declaring Joffery had to claim. If Jon could read your hesitation, he did not encourage it with any words. “He’s had years to try and plan this, to try and manipulate my sister against me. I’m not waiting to see which member of my family he tries to have killed next to act.”

Guiding you with him up to where you both sat in the meeting hall, Jon was no less serious but something soothing waved up your spine like a shiver as he murmured into your ear again. “I need you to trust me.” Quickly whispering at you always will, Jon pressed a kiss to the side of your head. Hand slipping up to the back of your neck almost in a massaging manner. “We can’t wait any longer, he’ll run the moment he realizes he doesn’t have Sansa on his side anymore and I’m not letting another person who hurt the people I love get away with it.”

Where she would sit beside him, Jon much more even toned asked Sansa if she had it, only to be directed with a brighter look in her eye to Arya beside her. “Arya has it. I knew where it was, but I’m no thief-” Arya glaring up at her arguing she wasn’t either, but the mocking tone of her older sister was far less aggressive then it would’ve been years ago. “Okay I’m less of a thief then you are, happy? It’s supposed to be a compliment.”

“Well you’re still bad at them.”

Jon ignored both of them, moving passed and kneeling more down to his brother, a hand cupping the side of his head. “Are you sure you want to be here for this? All of this? No one will blame you for not wanting to hear about what happened.”

Just as confident as Jon was walking into this though, both brothers held the same certainty, as did the confidence of Meera behind him. “I’m staying. No one’s ever told me the whole truth about that night anyways, good time as any to learn it.” Jon only pulled his brother closer, a small kiss left to his forehead before looking up to Meera, firmly telling her not to hesitate to get him out if it’s too much. “Jon, I’ll be fine.”

Nails tapping at the top of your own chair, you hadn’t even noticed when Jon made his way back to you. “I’d ask if you’re sure you’re ready to do this, but I know the answer is no.” A huff of a laugh left you, not quite reaching your eyes when he turned you to look up at him, the hand on your cheek just barley letting his thumb run over the skin he could reach. A whisper asking once more, if he was sure he wasn’t rushing into this, but Jon nodded. “We might be, but we have to do this, and it has to be now.”

He knew you did not doubt him, but the plan was made so swiftly that you struggled to come to terms with it all, almost a complete opposite of whom you were the last making such grand claims at the side of a Stark. Nothing of that confident highborn girl you were now that you stood as a Queen. “I don’t mean to question you-”

Tilting you up to meet his eyes closer, Jon kept you looking at the brightness of his eyes. Wide and grey as if entrancing you to calm by their very nature. “I’ve been planning this long before he got here, and I’m not letting him leave here until we handle this. I’m not letting him leave period. Not after everything he’s done, what he’s been trying to do. I’m not asking you to stop being worried, I’m only asking you trust me.”

One hand of yours reached up, sitting higher on his chest as Jon almost uncharacteristically grasped it gentle holding it against his chest uncaring of the public nature the affection looked for once. “I trust you.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Nodding, Jon pulled you by the back of your hair close, that time the press of his lips to your forehead was followed by gently tilting your head just enough to leave another on the bridge of your nose. “I told you, I’m protecting you from now on. This is part of that.” Hardly a voice existed as you spoke only for his ears, a worry of what if he still had some of his own, but again, the confidence and calm in Jon was the one thing keeping you from seeing the betrayal so swiftly forced upon you so many years ago. “Darling.”

Dropping your head with a sigh, Jon let a grin sneak out as he cupped both your cheeks to turn you to look back up at him. Your only defence against the handsomeness gracing your eyes was a simple, “I love you.”

Just the slightest hint of teasing, Jon ran his thumb over your cheek again. “I know you do.” If that was meant to make you both roll your eyes and smother a grin, it worked, and there was no hiding it from his watchful, adoring gaze.

But as the other Lords begun to filter into the meeting Hall, Jon turned so you both faced the front, a hand pressing against your lower back as if to ensure you always felt his presence. By the time the final so called guest walked into the room, unlike many meetings always free for the smallfolk to watch did the doors behind him close, as did the ones to rest of the castle halls at the end of the room, and the side doors beside the high table where this particular time, the only ones stood up there, were not the main council. Just wolves all taking a seat, followed by the others with one main in the middle of them finding himself standing out all of the sudden. A question on his lips as he looked around, “Your grace-

Interrupted only by Jons voice, far less soft and much more cold and projecting without leaving any room to question him on the order. “Lord Petyr Baelish, step forward.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Good Girl: Fuck up, Make Up 🔞

In which Jungkook has to face the mess he'd created all on his own.

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Good Girl Couple fighting, mentions of bad childhood, mentions of past alcoholism (GG!Kooks father), anxiety, smut I mean it's Good Girl what else, non-penetrative sex, handjob (f! Rec.), Oral (M and F rec.) Dom!Kook, Sub!Reader, that's it actually, nothing too wild here

Wordcount: 3.6k.

His hair is a little greasy, he notices as he looks at himself in the front mirror of his car.

He's worried he won't fit into your family. He's worried he might make every single visit weird simply because he's never really had much of a nice childhood. He doesn't want to be that person at the dinner table to joke about his drunk father just to have everyone pity him inside their heads. He wants to be a normal happy boyfriend who can say openly that he wants to marry you, maybe one day have kids, and a house of your own.

But that's not him.

Your mom turns down the volume of the TV show you're watching, when someone knocks at the door. You don't think about it much, simply staring at the moving images on the screen in front of you with the blanket around your shoulders- surrounded by the familiar scent of your old childhood home. "Honey?" Your mom calls from the entrance. "There's a young man-" She starts, but you instantly rush to get up, slamming the living room door shut before you can even look.

"Don't let him in!" You shout through the door, and your mom looks at Jungkook in a surprised manner. She's never met him, and from what you've told her, he looks nothing like the sweet guy you described. His hair is a bit shaggy and black, falling into his eyes, while he's dressed in all black techwear style clothes and combat boots. She can even spot tattoos on his hand.

"I'm sorry we have to uhm.. meet under circumstances like this." He explains, and his voice is steady but unsure. "I'm Jungkook- her.. uhm, your daughter's-"

"Boyfriend. I assumed." She says, closing the door behind him before she leads him into the kitchen next door, noticing how he instantly takes off his shoes and looses a few centimeters of height- still towering over her for a good chunk however. You've definitional got your shortness from your mother, he thinks. "Sit. Do you want something to drink?" She asks, before the living room door opens, and shuts immediately after.

"I said don't let him in!" You shout from the living room, while your mother rolls her eyes.

"And I say this is still my house, and I let in who I want to let in young lady!" She barks back, and Jungkook can't help but sit a bit straighter in his seat. "Anyways, you said?" She questions much quieter and softer to him, and he swallows, fiddling with his hands.

"I- don't know uhm.. water, maybe?" He asks, and your mother simply smiles, before getting a glass for him.

"So, I heard her side of the story already." She informs him, as he sighs. "I'm curious to know yours now." She wonders, sitting across from him before setting the glass of water down in front of him- where he puts his hands around it- until he notices her eyes looking at his tattooes, inked hand immediately hiding itself underneath the table.

He feels fucking awkward.

"We had an argument." He explains. "And uhm.. It was about meeting you actually. I'm a little.. I don't know, I've never had a serious relationship to the point of getting involved with family before." He tries to justify. "So I've been pretty terrified of meeting you, and then I misspoke and just.. I think she completely misunderstood my words Miss, I really didn't mean to say what she thinks I was going to say." He mumbles, and your mother nods, leaning back a little.

"She's never brought a guy home, you know." She tells him. "Also stop calling me Miss, I might be old but you don't have to rub it in so much." She chuckles, and he nervously copies the laugh as well, unsure still. "She'd always wanted to wait before she believed things to be stable enough to introduce him." She says.

Jungkook officially feels even worse now.

"She doesn't visit much anymore. And we all understand that." Your mother continues. "But we also want to know that she's safe and happy wherever, and with whomever she is."

"I understand that." He says, nodding. "I'm probably not really feeding into that idea right now though, I guess." He says almost to himself, playing around with his hand underneath the table.

"You're both living in Seoul, right?" She questions- he nods. "I've seen pictures of your apartment, and your dog. Really cute by the way, I have a cat myself which you'll meet later." She smiles, making him look up. The more she musters him from her spot, the more she can see the soft hearted guy you told her about underneath all that dark exterior. "How long is the drive? Four hours something?" She questions, and he nods.

"Roughly 5 hours, my car isn't in top condition at the moment so I rather drive a little slower." He explains, and she nods, understanding.

"You're a good guy, from what I can tell right now." She says. "But I can also understand why she's upset." He nods his head at that, watching your mom get up from her seat. "I'm curious to see how you'll make it up to her." She says, watching him follow her out the kitchen and into the hallway of the home. "Oh and-" She turns. "Her father should be home any minute- just a heads up. You're in his parking spot." She says.

And Jungkook swallows hard, as your mother opens the living room door, a cat emerging from the room, looking at Jungkook, and only walking towards him when he squats down and makes himself smaller for the animal. "Hey you." He mumbles out, and you can hear your mother say something- unable to make out what exactly, however. "Should I move the car then?" He asks your mom, only standing in the door, a small glance towards you all he needs before he casts his eyes away from you in shame. You've got your arms crossed in front of you, blanket pulled tightly as you look into the opposite direction.

You're mad.

"He'll live. Those few more steps from his car inside the house won't kill the guy." Your mother casually says, as he nods- a car finally pulling up to the house. "There he is. Sit down, I need to close the door or the cat runs off." She says, a hand on his shoulder gently leading him inside the room, where he sits on one of the seats a bit further away from you.

He doesn't remember ever being so awkward around you.

He can't help but imagine your younger self probably growing up surrounded by those walls, pictures framed on the wall showing you growing up, school photos and other images lining the walls here and there. The door opens and your mother walks in with several white takeout bags, putting them on the table as you lean forward to unpack almost on instinct. "This one's yours, since you don't eat it that spicy. Jacob-" Your mom starts, until you cut her off.

"It's Jungkook, mom." You correct her, and she chuckles, turning to Jungkook.

"Oh, sorry- you mumble a lot Jungkook, I really thought your name was something else!" She laughs to herself, before she sets out cutlery. "Anyways Jungkook-" A playful glance to you, before she adresses him again. "You can have parts of mine and hers as well, she never eats up anyways." She says, while you whine, watching her put food on a plate set out for Jungkook.

"Ah- its really not necessary-" He starts, but your mother shakes her head.

"no buts, also loose the jacket dear, its not that cold in here!" She says, and now, Jungkook really starts to sweat, when he thinks about the simple white T-Shirt he's wearing underneath.

"I'm fine-"

"He's fine-" You say as well, not looking at kook, while your mother laughs and looks towards your father walking in.

Jungkook almost chomically so jumps up from his seat, bowing before your dad can even properly muster him. "Thought you were joking when you said he's here. Would've bought some extra food in that case." He says, taking his hand before he squeezes it a bit. "Geez have some strength in that will you? Not gonna kill you." He tells Jungkook, who's honestly never been more terrified in his life. Maybe its an unhealthy mix of his own memories of his father boiling up, and the fact that he had been absolutely unprepared to meet the guy in the first place- but then you pull on your dad's shirt, getting him to sit down and let Jungkook breathe again.

You all start to eat, Jungkook hesitantly so, unsure how to really act in the new dynamic- especially with your dad next to him. "So." Your dad starts. "You sell drugs?" He asks, and Jungkook chokes on his food, barely managing to swallow down before he starts coughing.

"Dad stop!" You say, almost on instinct reaching under the table to get a small bottle of water you give to a coughing Jungkook. "You're scaring him." You say, and your dad seems playfully offended.

"I'm not, I'm even letting the guy sit in my ususal spot!" He complains, and Jungkooks eyes widen as he looks over to him. "Don't look so shocked, you can stay seated. I was just joking." He says. "But for real- what do you work as? And also loose the jacket, are you trying to die in here from a heatstroke?" He asks, and Jungkook doesn't know how to get out of it now.

And neither can you help him now.

He slowly slips out the jacket with one arm, before he finally frees his other one- ink on full display, even a hint of it visible through the white fabric of his T-shirt. He licks his lips nervously and waits for the blow- but neither your mother nor your father react to it as they continue eating. "I uhm.." He starts to speak. "I'm an airbrush artist basically. I work at a tuning shop for cars." He says, and your dad nods.

"A hard field to find footing in." He says, and Jungkook nods. "Does it pay well?" He questions, and Jungkook shrugs, unsure.

"I'm getting a regular payment every month, and a bonus that depends on whatever I'm tipped." He says, and you chime in.

"He can pay the bills just fine dad, if that's what you're asking." You say. "He provides just fine." You mumble, stealing a fry from Jungkook's plate of food.

"Hey I gotta ask- who knows when the next time I see him comes around." He says, before he looks over. "So- nothing illegal yeah? Tuners tend to do streetraces, no?" He wonders, and you roll your eyes, as Jungkook swallows down his food.

"No sir, everything's legal." He reassures, and a hand comes down onto the back of Jungkook's, making him gasp a bit from the force.

After you all finished up eating, putting together the empty food containers, your dad speaks up again. "You got a hotel room or something?" He wonders towards Jungkook, who nods.

"I'll be renting out one a bit further into the city." He says.

"Good. I'll drive my car to the side so you can get out, I've parked right behind you." He explains. "You got everything?" Your dad asks you, and you look at him confused.

"I thought she was staying here-" Your mother says, as your dad laughs chomically. "As if! He's here to make up a fight." He says, walking to the hallway. "Also, I may have let him sit on my spot, but I'm not letting him screw my daughter in my house!" He jokes, making Jungkooks eyes widen.

"Dad!" You whine, getting up with red ears before you walk past Jungkook, who's putting on his jacket, taking out his car key from his pocket before he goes to put on his shoes- noticing a familiar pastel pink bag that you set down, your stuff, he assumes, as he takes it for you, carrying it.

"Jesus you bury kids in those boots?" Your dad jokes, and you smack his arm playfully, before you slip into your own, saying goodbye to your mother who's got her cat in her arms, before doing the same to your dad, who goes to park his car out the way. Jungkook's car is a little cold, and its quiet- but its weird how much more familiar it smells than your own childhood home. You wave out the window after your parents, Jungkook honking shortly, before he drives off, while you look out the window.

It's quiet for a good while, Jungkook unsure what to say, until he eventually finds his voice. "I don't want to talk about it." He says, and you're ready to go off again, as he sighs. "That's what I wanted to say that day. Not 'I don't want to marry you'." He explains, and you look down to your knees. "I know I should've cleared shit up right away, but you were so mad- I didn't want to make it worse." He explains. "And also, I didn't know if.. I shouldn't just let you go anyways." He says.

"Why would you think that Jungkook?" You say. "Am I not worth the fight?" You say defeatedly so, as he shakes his head.

"No, that's not it." He explains. "But I felt so much like shit that I thought I don't deserve you." He says. "My dad was a fucking alcoholic, and my mother didn't care about it much either- having to stay with him because he earned the money and paid the bills." He finally says. "It was never about me not wanting to be tied to you- I guess.." He says, searching for the entrance of the parking garage of the hotel. "I guess I was scared I'll ruin your family."

"Jungkook.." You say. "Did any of today feel like you were ruining things?" You say, and he shakes his head.

"No- but I was still unprepared. I could've done way better than this." He says.

"Maybe." You agree. "But everyone likes you- except maybe the cat but that demon hates everyone." You say, joking to get him to smile again, before you get out the car with him, walking right after him as he walks to the elevator that takes you both to the lobby and reservation desk.

"Are you okay with sleeping in one bed with me?" He wonders, as he walks up to the reservation with you. You don't answer- simply take his hand in yours, a silent answer all he needs as he smiles to himself, huge weight lifting off of his shoulder while he books the room.

It's cozy, a little small, but totally fine for a simple night. He cages you into his arms from behind, walking you straight to the bed where he falls down with you- on your sides, still holding you tightly. "I was really fucking scared, you know that?" He says, and you chuckle, your legs entangling with his in a playful manner.

"You say that every time we fight." You giggle, and he sighs into your hair.

"Cause its true every time." He says. "I honestly don't know how we're still together." He mumbles into your neck.

"What makes you think we're still together?" You say, and its funny how he stills completely for a second, before he shoots up, leaning over you to check your smiling face. "I'm joking kook!" You say, as he furrows his brows, breathing out in relief.

"Don't joke about that baby, you gave me a fucking heart attack just now you brat!" He says, falling onto his back next to you. You take the chance to climb onto him, hands on his stomach as you know exactly where you sit on. "baby.." He warns, but you just cock your head to the side, innocently hiding your intentions as simply getting comfortable. "We really solve everything with sex, don't we?" He laughs to himself, letting his head fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes while you lean down, nuzzling against his jawline.

"I told you; thats our love-language." You say, and he hums a reply, hands finally freeing themselves of the sleeves of his jacket, before they're on your body, touching, holding. gripping as you continue to move your center over his, sucessfully riling him up to the point of swelling in the confines of his pants underneath you.

"Baby you gotta let me get myself out of my pants." He says, grip on your hips tightly as he holds you in place. "I only got one pair and as much as I'd like to go filthy with you-" He explains, moving so he can sit up with you on his lap, placing a short kiss on your lips. "I gotta walk through the hotel tomorrow again and I'm not doing that with cum stains on my black pants." He says, hitting your butt playfully as you lay down beside him.

"I got a change of clothes for me though." You pout, and he slips out of his shirt and rest of his clothes with ease, as he leans over you, knees digging into the mattress next to your thighs.

"Means I can ruin your underwear?" He wonders with a chuckle, and you want to argue, as he suddenly puts his knee between your legs pushing your core up against his thigh as he looks down on you. "What was that? Couldn't hear you clearly." He remarks, as you start to move over his bare skin, wetness slowly seeping through, making it glisten under the light above. "Look at you, there's no need for lube this time is there." He observes, moving around to pull your underwear off your legs- dress hiked up your hips so he can see your soft stomach and underside of your bra. It feels so filthy to take you like this, as he pushes you higher onto the bed, before dipping down to lay his tongue flat onto your aching core. Your back lifts up the mattress, hips moving as well, before his steady hands push them down again, successfully keeping them in place for him.

Replacing his mouth with his hand, he leans back over you, uncaring of anything as he dives right in by kissing you, demanding entrance with his tongue immediately. "I've been neglecting you." He says into your mouth as you whine, his thumb pressing onto your clit as you gasp. "How long has it been? Hm?" He wonders, watching with dark eyes how you try and hold yourself together underneath him. "A week? Almost, right?" He asks, and you nod, unable to answer him. "I see." He hums out, a wicked smile on his lips. "And of course my baby didn't have fun by herself, right?" He questions, and you nod furiously, breathing heavier. "Such a good girl." He praises, before his hand speeds up, fingers thrusting into your core almost furiously. "Means you earned this, no? Come on baby, cum for me." He urges, and you let go as your legs kick out, before your back arches off the mattress, his hand helping you ride out your high for a moment.

"So pretty." He purrs against your neck, smiling as he leaves you be for a moment, before he pulls your dress over your head, bra easily discarded as well, before he lays on his side with you.

Your hand easily wanders, post-orgasmic confidence fueling your actions as you run your fingers over his hard length. You know you don't have protection- so he can't be inside you like he'd like to. Moving to sleepily get up and climb over his legs, you sit down, his hands instantly cradling your face, before one falls to the side, the other gently holding the back of your neck. "Don't choke on it baby." He chuckles at your eager nature, as you throw your hair back, taking him in as if given a challenge. "Hah~" He breathes out with a smile on his lips, eyes closed as his head falls back onto the mattress below, hand on your neck finding its way into your hair where he holds you, leads your pace.

Your lips, your tongue, the simple weight of your body on his thighs fuels his pleasure as you continue to play the part of pure sin above him, uncaring of any obscene noises from your side. You know you're leaking onto his skin, he can feel it too- but as your hands join in to caress what you can't fit inside the warmth of your mouth he's a goner, muscles tightening at the prospect of his upcoming release. "Oh god yes.." He praises, grip tightening a little on your head as you let your tongue run over his very tip, before you only take the head in, your hands eagerly bringing him to his orgasm as he spurts down your throat.

"Ah fuck.." He presses out as he watches you wipe your mouth before laying on his stomach, his arms holding you tightly against him as he kisses the side of your face. "I swear I won't let you off so easily once we're back home." He promises, making you chuckle as you rest for a moment, before you eventually find the strength to use the bathtub, splashing water everywhere as he can't keep serious with you.

But at least all is well again, as he holds you throughout the night, promising himself to not let you get so far out of his reach ever again.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter three rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peter’s greatest love and Spiderman’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Peter arrived at the Avengers tower with a little pep in his step. His new neighbor was on his mind and he couldn’t get her off. He knew it was a long shot, after all you’d only had one conversation, but he felt like there was a connection between you. You were awkward, he was awkward. What more does a relationship need?

Tony was quick to notice the change in Peters mood. A dreamy smile crept across his face every now and then while Tony was trying to explain something about his nanotechnology.

“Alright Underoos, whats on your mind? A girl? Boy? That gorgeous Aunt of yours? Oh wait no, that’s what’s on my mind.” Tony smirked, making a blush paint Peters cheeks.

“Nothing sir. Sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Peter answered quickly. Tony scanned Peter up and down skeptically.

“So its a girl. Alright. Who is she?” Tony asked, motioning for Peter to sit down with him.

“This girl moved in across the hall from me about a week ago. I’d see her on the stairs sometimes, or in the lobby. She’s beautiful, Mr. Stark. I mean, really beautiful. And I know girls are a lot more than their appearance, trust me, but I can never look away. It’s like God made a perfect batch of cookie dough, and then made a perfect cookie cutter, and then hand made her just for me. There’s just, there’s something about her. I feel like I’ve always known her, and I don’t even know her yet. She knocked on my door this morning and I nearly had a heart attack when I saw her through the peephole. I played dumb and acted like I didn’t know she lived across the hall.” Peter started to explain. A twinge of embarrassment struck him at the memory of what he said to you.

“Oh God. You said something stupid, didn’t you?” Tony inquired, noticing the look of embarrassment on Peters face as he recalled their conversation. Tony leaned on his hands like a child, this stuff exciting him more than anything.

“I insulted her dead father and called him smelly.” Peter admitted, and Tony laughed.

“But she found it funny and agreed with me.” Peter quickly followed up.

“Wow. Normally I’d say there’s no coming back from that, but she seems like a keeper. So, are you gonna throw on your Spidey suit and take her for a ride around the city? Works with all the ladies.” Tony wiggled eyebrows, but Peter shook his head.

“No. Spider-Man isn’t a party trick or some tactic to pick up girls. Plus, I want her to like me for me. That’s why I invited her over for dinner tonight.” Peter answered. Tony looked down at his hands, not wanting Peter to see how proud he was. He couldn’t let Peter get too cocky.

“That was a test and you passed.” To y quipped. “Alright, spider child, you have my blessing. But no funny business tonight. If I find out I’m gonna have to design nanotech baby clothes, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Peter blushed at the mere thought of what Tony was implying and spent the rest of his time at the tower going over missions to get you off his mind.

You arrived at Peters at 6:07. You were done getting ready at 5:45, and sat in the living room on your phone until you were slightly late. You didn’t want to be early, like some loser. Or even worse, on time. You had to be fashionably, but not rudely, late.

You knocked on Peters door at 6:07 and waited. The door swung open instantly, as if he’d be waiting right behind.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He stated. “I’ll let you decide if I was waiting at the door for you or if I’m just really fast. “

He had successfully broken the ice, and you gave kudos to him for trying.

You, on the other hand, were drawing a blank. You had no idea what to say and you were a reporter for crying out loud. You didn’t get tripped up on my words, but something about Peter Parker and that damn collared shirt rendered you unable to formulate a thought. All you could do was stand there and smile at him. You felt like you were standing weirdly and all the sudden had no idea where to put your hands. Do you leave them at your sides? That felt too stiff and soldier-like. But where else would they go? You were pretty sure every brain cell had left your body at that point, leaving you defenseless.

“You look nice.” Peter blurted, interrupting the awkward silence that had settled between you. Even he seemed surprised by his statement. You looked down and shrugged. You looked as nice as a lazy person who didn’t fully unpack their clothes could look. You had on a casual grey dress that was made of some sort of t-shirt material, and your hair was in a loose bun with a few curls framing your face. Peter took in your appearance with what looked like approval. Then you noticed Peters gaze falling to your feet.

“Converse with a dress.” He noted. “Bold move.”

You felt your personality re-enter your body, finally, and nodded.

“Oh yeah. You know me. Quirky and cool and not like other girls.” You joked as you clicked your heels together. “You look nice too. Very…Freddie Benson.”

Freddie Benson? Who the hell makes an ICarly reference to compliment someone? This night was going downhill fast and you regretted ever knocking on his door.

“Dude. You’re tanking.” Venom said in your ear, you had to agree. This couldn’t be going worse.

But lo and behold, Peters beautiful laugh filled your ears once again.

“That’s what I was going for!” He cheered. “My friend Ned always teases me for wearing sweaters and button downs but he just doesn’t have the vision.”

“Come in.” He suddenly stepped aside and gestured inward. “Dinners almost ready.”

Peters apartment looked just like yours, but much more homey. You saw his baby pictures on the wall, coupled with pictures of him and his parents through the years. You noticed a framed picture of a different couple on the coffee table. They resembled Peter but you didn’t see them in any photos with him past the age of around 7. There was a candle next to the frame, as well as a ceramic cross. You quickly looked away, not wanting to overstep.

“You must be Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you.” You heard a woman’s voice from behind you. You turned around and saw a woman in high pants and a yellow tank top, recognized her from the pictures with Peter.

“I am. It’s very nice to meet you too, Mrs. Parker.” You said politely and shook her hand.

“Please.” She shook your hand. “Call me May.”

“May.” You repeated with a smile.

You turned around and saw Peter pulling out a chair for you, so you sat down while May finished preparing dinner. You offered to help, being the polite ass bitch that you were, but May insisted that you were the guest. A plate of “meatloaf” was soon placed in front of you and Peter. The term “meatloaf” is used very loosely. It looked more like an old shriveled brain. Peter made eye contact with you and winked.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He whispered. He glanced at May, who was busy pouring the drinks, before leaning in closer and whispering, “it’s way worse.”

You playfully kicked Peter under the table and he giggled, quickly masking the sound with a drink of water.

“So, Y/N, where do you go to school?” May started the conversation. You took a bite of meatloaf, nearly died, and swallowed before answering.

“I’m actually taking a gap year before I start my junior year at Berkeley.” You told her. “And I work part time as a reporter.”

“That’s a very good school.” She complimented. “And I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen your show on YouTube.”

“I haven’t.” Peter realized. “What’s it called?”

“The L/n Report.” You answered. “I started it my freshman year and it just kinda took off.”

“Oh. I’ve read some of yoru articles, but I haven’t seen the show.” Peter realized. “I can’t believe you do that. That’s really cool. You’re really cool.”

“Thank you.” You winked at him, not used to being praised for your work.

“Peter told me about your father.” May changed the subject. “I’m so sorry to hear that he passed. He left the apartment to you?”

“He did.” You nodded. “And it’s all right. We were estranged anyway.”

“It must be so different living alone in a city.” May sighed. “Did you dorm while at Berkeley?”

“No, I lived with my boyfriend.” You shook your head. Peter began choking on his water at the mention of a boyfriend and May shot him a look.

“Peter. Manners.” She said sternly.

“Boyfriend?” Was all he managed to say between coughs and sputters.

Oh great. Time for this conversation.

“Ex-boyfriend.” You corrected. “I got him demoted to traffic duty for two weeks and he wasn’t too happy about it.”

“He broke up with you over that?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s gotta be the dumbest reason for a breakup I’ve ever heard.”

“May I ask how you got him demoted?” May wondered.

“Well, I’m an investigative reporter, and my ex, Andy, is a cop.” You began. “I looked at some classified files on his computer and used them against someone.”

“Carlton Drake, right?” She realized the story sounded familiar. “I read about that. Your exposé about him was everywhere.”

“Didn’t he die in his own rocket?” Peter asked you, fully invested in the story.

“Yea. I was there. Me and…my friend.” You caught yourself before almost mentioning Venom.

“Gosh I read that story forever ago.” May recalled. “It was all over the news here. I remember Peter ranting to me that this girl was straight out of high school and already taking down shady guys in San Francisco. You were obsessed with the article, remember Peter? I’m pretty sure you hung it up.”

Peter, you guessed it, turned bright red.

“I just thought you were cool. You know, taking down bad guys and all at such a young age. It really inspired me.” Peter explained. He suddenly looked panicked, like he said too much, and you wondered what it inspired him to do.

“Thank you Peter.” You smiled fondly. “How old are you anyway?”

“19. I’ll be 20 on August 10th.” He said proudly. “What about you?”

“He’s legal.” Venom whispered in your ear. You couldn’t even be mad at her, you were thinking the same thing.

“I’m 20.” You told him, and smile crept across his face.

“And this boyfriend, where is he now?” May asked. May wasn’t blind to what was happening between her nephew and this new neighbor and knew that’s what Peter was dying to ask.

“I would very much also like to know that.” Peter said, almost robotically. He leaned in closer and stared at you while he awaited the answer.

“He’s engaged, actually.” You said between sips of water, making Peter sigh in relief. “To a friend of mine. They’re getting married this summer.”

It was the first time you said those words out loud. You didn’t feel sad, like you thought you would. You didn’t really know how you felt. The smile that broke out on Peters face gave a clear indication on how he felt, though.

“That’s great. I mean, not great great. Great for him, I mean. It’s always good to move on. Wether it be with an old friend or a brand new one. Maybe it’s with someone you just met. You never know. Things just happen between the most random of people. Could be a stranger. Or, or, hear me out, it could be less of a stranger. Like a barista, or a mailman or a…a neighbor.” Peter stumbled over his words, the last part coming out very quietly. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out though. Between you and him, I mean. ”

“Thanks.” You shrugged. “It was tough at first but, I’m okay now. He wasn’t the one.”

“When you do find the one, you’ll know. I knew almost immediately that Ben was the one. I saw him and my heart said “that’s the one you’ve been looking for” and I believed it.” May sighed wistfully. You could see her eyes glistening behind her glasses and did something rather bold. You put your hand on top of hers and squeezed. She gave off this loving motherly vibe that you had only seen in movies but never felt for yourself. May gave you the warmest smile and squeezed your hand back.

“That’s lovely May. Although, I always thought when you met the one, your heart wouldn’t say that it’s been looking for that person. I always thought it would say ‘welcome home’, or something like that. You know? Like, you’ve always known them. I don’t know though. Maybe I’ve just seen The Princess Bride one too many times.” You shrugged.

“Ah. That’s a classic in this household.” May recalled. “Peter would refuse to go to bed without watching it.”

“Because it’s a cinematic masterpiece.” Peter sassed. “You’re trying to embarrass me by pointing out that even as a child I had impeccable taste? Oh please.”

You laughed at his remark, making May noticed the smile that broke out on Peters face when he succeeded in making their new neighbor laugh.

May looked at you for a while with a content smile on her face before saying, “Yeah. I suppose you do have good taste.”

[confused-as-all-hell]

"i know we broke up, i know we don't talk anymore, but I still miss you"

@wesper-week i'm sincerely sorry for this chaos

Jesper Fahey's trade was humor.

His clothes were the colour of too much attention, his laugh limned in shimmering gold. He drew gazes and wistful stares like a lighthouse beacon called for drifting ships. The lines of his body were sharp, elegant, sprawling. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin, stars gleamed in his eyes.

He was so achingly beautiful, all tousled dark hair and broad shoulders and warm hands.

Girls and boys fell over themselves for one kiss, one little smile, one whispered word in their ear. How could they not?

Jesper was young and handsome and heady as a cup of evening wine, clever with his graceful fingers, wicked with his soft lips. His GPA was polished, his manners immaculate.

They hung on to his words, the cadence of them, the amused lilt that drenched every sentence.

Jesper had fallen in love with so many, men with rough laughs and kind smiles, women with curling hair and bright eyes. He had taken them over the world, to parks and monuments and cafes, kissed them in the shadow of history.

For every one of his lovers, he bought a ring.

Amethyst for the young lady who carried the scent of lavender.

Gold for the pretty girl whose lips tasted of joy.

Sapphire for the boy who kissed like a fucking god.

Ruby for the trickster woman who loved to laugh.

Copper for the handsome man who had a smile like late summer.

Jesper had cared for each of them in turn. He gifted flowers and jewelry and handwritten letters in his untidy scrawl. He had told them stupid jokes and held their hands and read to them in his unmade bed.

But one by one, they left him, and soon all that was left of their love were those glinting rings.

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered once, face shining with tears, head thrown back against the wall.

Nina rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him awkwardly. "Of course not, darling."

He patted her cheek clumsily. "Then why does everyone keep leaving, Nina? Why does nobody stay?"

"Wylan—" she began, but shut her mouth instantly.

"Wylan is different."

And he was.

Beautiful, quiet, sweet Wylan Van Eck with his slender hands and paint-splattered face. He was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, sketching the stars as they lay intertwined in bed, smiling over his cup of morning tea, dressed in his oversized shirts and plaid trousers.

His kisses were soft and tentative and tasted of tea leaves. His grins were slow and mischievous and bright as the damned sun. When he sprinted along the rim of a fountain, laughing and arms aloft, Jesper thought love might kill him.

He still dreamt about that day, Wylan leaping across the broad rim, his face upturned, sunlight brightening his hair to flame and gold. Wylan, paint smudged across his lower lip, hands stained with red acrylic. Wylan, pretty blue eyes bright with mirth, his panicked yelp as he nearly toppled sideways.

Wylan, Wylan, Wylan.

Sometimes, when Jesper was laying on the floor of someone else's bathroom, watching the ceiling spin and spin, he could still hear Wylan whispering, "And if I said I am yours, and there is no greater honor, what then Jesper?"

They had been so fucking happy, happier than Jesper deserved, all sticky orange juice kisses and skinny dipping in the ocean and opulent restaurants of ivory and gold.

And then Wylan had mentioned the gambling.

They had argued for days and weeks and then months, furious and bitter. Jesper used to live for the clink of coins and soft rush of the wheel and the elation that flooded into his eyes, ears, mouth, fingers. He loved the hum and chaos of the nightclubs, the frenzy of congratulations and drunken kisses and the retreat into those shadowed alcoves.

The scent of alcohol, the sounds of triumph, the press of hands on his body, the pleasure and ecstasy and joy.

But on their hundredth argument, tears were running down Wylan's face, distorting his freckles and widening those fucking blue eyes. He'd whispered he wouldn't stand for it, and Jesper had woken alone the next morning.

His bed was too empty, his kitchen was too quiet, the room where Wylan painted was too fucking much. All that remained was the hole in Jesper's heart and a sketch of the water fountain Wylan had drawn so lovingly, each detail of the scene preserved forever within charcoal. The ice cream parlor. The sunlight. Wylan, laughing and trying to keep his balance, eyes bright bright bright. Jesper, staring at Wylan as if he had never seen another quite so magical.

The memory of those eyes haunted him, every damn day.

He found himself writing essays on Wylan's long, copper lashes. His eyes, the blue of tranquil oceans, of the clear winter sky, of salvation. The glints of silver shining within, a quiet intelligence that so few had glimpsed. The way he would shyly glance away whenever Jesper grinned at him.

How many times had he stared into those eyes, while the two of them lay bare and exhausted among his own silk sheets?

How many times had he looked up after a kiss to find Wylan smiling back at him?

How many times had he nearly drowned within Wylan's gaze, steady and thoughtful and really fucking hot?

But slowly, agonizingly, bitterly, he grew used to the silence.

He stopped texting Wylan in the middle of the day, face damp with tears, hands shaking with misery.

He stopped accidently brewing a second cup of coffee at breakfast.

He stopped glancing to his left, searching for a glint of red hair in crowded spaces.

He stopped seeing Wylan when another was beneath him.

But sometimes Jesper wondered if anything could make him stop loving the boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

And if sometimes he glimpsed Wylan in the halls, or at a nightclub, or sketching with those fucking charcoal pencils, he could wave. Smile. Pretend he wasn't going to take another home just to ease the day's pain.

'Why won't you go back to him?" Kaz asked once, barely glancing up from his phone.

"He doesn't want me," Jesper said quietly.

He raised his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Jes, I have it on good authority that Wylan Van Eck hasn't dated a single soul after your breakup."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody," Kaz said airily.

"Nina?"

"Nina."

Jesper attempted a loose smile, but it drifted aside easily as a gauzy veil twitching in the wind.

Wylan Van Eck, kind and brave and good.

Wylan, with his inquisitive eyes and thoughtful conversation.

Wylan, lonely and miserable because one stupid fucking boy had broken his heart.

He could barely stand it.

In some hidden chamber of his mind, he had locked away Wylan’s laughter, the tide of his amusement, inexplicably bright and wondrous. It felt like gazing at one of his softest paintings, a lush blend of ivory and blue and gold, like glimpsing something raw and beautiful and secret.

A burning star.

A miracle, spinning through the galaxy, leaving nothing but light in its wake.

A memory, and no more.

Wylan had once laughed so freely, snickering over an amusing quip, or stifling his smile when Jesper read to him late at night.

That sound of joy and delight. . . it was the brightest damn thing in the world.

And Jesper wanted to know that somewhere, in some other softly lit room with a man looking up at Wy like he was the sun, that laugh was sounding again.

He wanted to know that even if Wylan didn’t shine for him, he shone nevertheless.

The next morning dawned piercing and cold, a bright jewel in the crown of winter. Jesper chose his clothes with unusual care, knotting the laces of his boots twice, cleaning his dozens of rings before slipping them on.

Once he had hoped Wylan would give him the last of the collection—the wedding ring.

Now, as he finished with the last of them, he left his fourth finger bare, a final shrine to the ghosts of their past.

The cafe where he had asked, begged, pleaded for Wylan to meet him was nearly empty, but for a handful of people. His gaze lingered on a young woman with curling brown hair who might have been Nina in a hat, and a man with his leg propped up that was almost certainly Kaz.

Even though he made a mental note to strangle them later, the gesture eased the pressure within his chest ever so slightly.

And there was Wylan, a cup of tea clutched between his slender hands, huddled in a soft brown sweater. He was staring out of the window, those damned blue eyes vague and empty.

Jesper slid soundlessly into the booth, holding his breath as if he could force the longing from his lungs. “Hello, Wylan,” he said softly.

When he glanced up, something in his gaze shifted.

A blossoming flower.

An easing rainfall.

Something wonderful and exquisite and otherworldly.

Hope, hope, hope.

“Jes,” he returned with a little smile.

And Jesper leaned forwards. He couldn’t help it, not when Wylan was there before him and his lips were curved so slightly and his fingers were wrapped around his mug like—

“Wy,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to talk.”

He straightened slightly, that quiet peace dissolving. “Had I not wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have answered your text.”

They stared at each other silently, waiting; it felt like sitting in the living room together, huddled over a game of chess, Jesper grinning as he slid the first pawn two squares up.

But he was not nearly so confident about his play now.

“I’ve been talking to Kaz,” he began awkwardly, the words clumsy in his mouth. “He told me you haven’t been seeing anyone.”

“And I’ve been speaking with Inej,” returned Wylan, utterly refined and elegant in his simplicity. “She tells me you’ve been seeing everyone.”

Jesper felt like a child again, clutching a rifle in his inexperienced hands, brows drawn together in concentration as he replayed his mother’s instruction in his mind. His father was playing target again, brown eyes gentle with encouragement. He didn’t know what to do, he was going to shoot his father, he was going to harm harm harm.

The words in his hands, his throat, were constricted and awful and stumbling. He didn’t know how to shoot without hurting anyone he loved.

Wylan was still gazing at him, blue eyes dark, for the first time in memory. “Jes,” he said, “was I so easy to forget?”

“Forget?” Jesper croaked. “Like a stupid song or piece of information on the study guide? Like you didn’t shine brighter than the damned sun? Like there were days when I didn’t wish to capture the stars and give them to you?”

There was a strange, crackling rush in Jesper’s ears, as if the ocean had swelled too high and now he was drowning, drowning, drowned.

If Wylan wanted him back, if Wylan loved him still—

He could wake up every morning with soft limbs tangled in his own. He could kiss Wylan again, taste tea and sugar cookies and mint. He could marry him, live out a life with him, die on the bed beside his own, fingers interlocked tight.

The future was there, tangled and messy and uncertain, but there all the same.

But Wylan was shifting in his seat, almost anxiously. “Jes,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His eyes, his lovely blue eyes, were beginning to shine. “I know that look,” he said, almost bitterly. “I know that look damn well.”

Jesper’s giddy excitement was beginning to wither, and he clung to it desperately, a final shield against the darkness. “What look?”

Wylan reached out, fingertips stained blue with paint, hands still slim and delicate, a work of art. “If you think I want to… to get back together, I don’t. You and I, it was so much fun, and sometimes I wonder if everything was more than a college romance.”

He retracted his shaking hands, and ran them through his copper hair. “I wonder if another Jesper, who loved himself as much as his friends love him, and another Wylan, who was just a little bit of a better boyfriend, might have had their future together.”

Jesper could only stare

Wylan whispered, “Don’t you see it, Jes? We were stupid fucking collage kids who fell in love, but it was never supposed to carry on. I told you, that night in the club, I just wanted sex.”

He remembered.

Just sex, do you understand? No more, Jes.

But then, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you just once.

And it kept going, spiraling, until one morning they were laying in bed and Wylan was wearing Jesper’s shirt, and Jesper was stroking Wylan’s hair, and it was much more than just sex.

One date, Wy. Give me a chance.

I love you, I love you, I love you, dumbass.

I want you to move in with me. I want you in my bed, my kitchen, my clothes. I want to see you tired and angry and miserable and I want to tell you you’re still the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesper had imagined their wedding, every so often, a blazing pillar of hope lighting the path to the future. He had dreamt tailored suits and blue eyes and the final ring. He had planned every detail of his speech, his vows, his oath to live and die with Wylan Van Eck.

“Just sex,” he said at last. “We fucked it up, didn’t we, Wy?”

Wylan extended his hand once more. “I loved you, Jes, I won’t pretend. But I’m with someone else now, and I care for him, and I promised I would sort out the ghosts of my past.”

Jesper slid his palm over his, reveling in the soft skin, the gentle touch he would never feel again. “You’re happy?” he said softly. “He makes you laugh?”

He smiled, a secret, lovely smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me laugh.”

And the sudden truth of it, the fact Wylan was someone else’s now, and he was laughing in another’s arms, hit Jesper. It sent ice through his veins, his mind, the final shattered shard of his heart, tearing through memories.

Wylan, brave and wonderful, laying on his bed. His hands were aloft, describing a particularly clear night sky, the shapes he traced in the stars. He had named one for Jesper, and he said it was shaped like love.

Jesper, doubled up in laughter as he flipped a pancake, listening to yet another one of Wylan’s rambling stories. He never tired of them. Those recollections, the happy lilt to his voice, the giddy, “There’s more, though!” were treasured beyond gold.

Wylan, working on some assignment or another, sprawled on the grass of a dewy meadow. His head was pillowed on Jesper’s hoodie as he wrote, filling the page with his elegant script. Every so often, he would glance over and point out a butterfly or shaped cloud with a smile.

Jesper, watching as Wylan leapt across the fountain. His copper head was upturned, sunlight streaming down onto the angles of his face, joy etched in his brilliant grin. He looked like a god for that one moment, frozen forever in a snapshot of peace.

“I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me not to,” Jesper had whispered once. “I will love you if the entire fucking world tells me to. I will love you, because I am yours, and there has never been such an honor.”

When the years whiled past, when the bone-deep sorrow lightened at last, did Jesper still love him?

That was the question he asked himself every morning over a cup of bitter coffee.

Twenty-four years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Thirty-one years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Forty-five years old, and Jesper still loved him.

Fifty-seven years old, and Jesper still loved him.

An old man, dying in his bed, and the laugh ringing through his head belonged to a boy with pretty blue eyes and a heart of gold.

A dead man, and Jesper loved him from the grave.

Love bowed to no one, and least of all death.

A collage romance was theirs, but their love was not that of two foolish young men, out for a kiss and in for a good fuck. It was carefree, happy, bright as the sun. It was etched in the stars, and it was doomed from the start.

Love bowed to no one, but perhaps it inclined its head towards Jesper Fahey and Wylan Van Eck.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff/Reader - Land of Thieves - #ChapterFour

Read on AO3 (EN) ///// Ler no AO3 (PT)

Summary: When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit violence

Words so far: +19,998k (did not include this chapter)

Marks: @mionemymind​

When you return to the campfire, you laugh at the image of Bucky trying to learn to play guitar with Maria. He sounds like a disaster, squeezing the strings hard, or following the instructions in a way that is completely contrary to what she tells him. Maria however seems to be a very patient teacher, and when you sit around the campfire, you both exchange a knowledgeable look, where you were thanking her for the time with Carol

Nat hands you a beer, and remembering the three glasses of whiskey you had earlier, you grimace at her, saying that any more and you would be tripping. She laughs and says that your drunk version could entertain the party.

You spend several minutes talking and laughing, Pietro joins you shortly afterwards, bringing dominoes. He tries to hint that you should borrow your new set of cards, but you just signal that he was forbidden to mention poker to you indefinitely. Nat wins two games in a row, laughing when you and Pietro let out a grumble of dissatisfaction, and then Pietro hints that she was cheating, which makes her angry enough to try to hit him with the board. You get up to get more beer, laughing lightly as you leave your bickering friends behind.

You should be used to the habit of your gaze always searching for Wanda when she's not in your line of sight, but you always mentally reprimand yourself for doing so. You imagine that you used to disguise it better, seeing the look of malice that Thor casts when he sees you clearly looking for something. You think about disguising it, pretending that you had dropped something, but honestly, what's the point of pretending. He raises his glass in one direction, signaling the corner near Steve's tent, and you finally find it. Wanda and Monica are working together to set up Bucky's old radio, you realize as you watch them carry a small table with the piece of equipment on top.

Taking a long sip of your beer, you allow yourself to admire Wanda for the seconds it takes you to reach her. You remember how beautiful she looked in her dress, but you can't help thinking how irresistible she looks in her usual clothes, work pants and standard shirt, the suspenders hanging loosely against her waist, while the spurs attached to her boot scuff lightly on the grass as she walks. You don't think much about it, but you notice the open buttons of her shirt, her collarbone exposed. You imagine that she might have felt hot after searching for the radio in the warehouse wagon, and you know that if she needs it, you will offer her your coat.

Wanda smiles at you when she sees you coming close, you shyly reciprocate.

- We thought we might dance a bit. - She says as soon as you reach her. Monica approaches with batteries in her hands.

- I'll be happy to look. - You joke, and Wanda looks at you with a mixture of seriousness and amusement.

- No way, the birthday girl dances with everyone. - She warns, raising a finger at you. You laugh, and feeling very confident after all that drinking, you don't think much and start letting the words flow out of your mouth.

- I just wanted to dance with you. - You confess amidst a smile, Wanda looks surprised, but smiles with a slightly flushed face. The sound of the radio catches both of your attention, breaking the moment.

The sound attracts other members of the gang, and before long they are almost all - with the exception of Maria and Thor, who seem engaged in a very heated debate about the best breeds of horse - together in the area of Steve's stall.

- Does anyone have a choice of music? - Monica asks as she fiddles with the buttons on the radio, turning up the volume, the sound is pleasantly loud in the room

- Anything that you can dance to. - Pietro suggested, and when the first sounds of the chosen melody began, he excitedly took Nat by the hand. She laughed, pushing him lightly by the shoulders.

- It's not polite to pull a lady along, boy! - You heard her say. - Ask if I want to dance first.

- Would you like to dance with me, Natasha? - Pietro asked, bowing dramatically, as if he were making a reference. Nat laughed.

- Of course not, go bother the other ladies. - She denied this humorously, and Pietro pretended to be offended. He walked towards Monica and held out his hand, repeating the invitation in a gentler manner. The woman smiled before accepting, and as their dance began, others soon joined in. You watched fondly as Bucky pushed his shoulder against Steve's slightly, an amused expression on his face. Steve put the beer on the counter and extended his hand to his friend, who accepted, and they began to dance. Peggy invited Potts, and they joined the group. Nat walked over to you and Wanda, a mischievous smile on her face. You were about to offer to dance with her, but she was quick to say.

- I'll take this. - She said as she grabbed the beer you were carrying.

- Are you sure you don't want to...

- You know very well that I don't dance. - She interrupts you. - Besides, you're both dying to dance together.

Nat winked at you before walking away, and you felt your face heat up. Turning to Wanda, you found her already looking at you. You smiled and she offered her hand to you, inviting you to dance. You shifted your weight between your feet before accepting.

- I can't dance, Wands. - You whisper as you come closer. Wanda just smiles at you tenderly.

-Follow my lead then. - She answers in the same tone, interlacing your hands. With her other hand, she grabs your free forearm, bringing it up to her own shoulder, showing you where to place it. You begin to look down at your own feet in anticipation, and Wanda places a finger on your chin, slowly lifting your face to make you look into her eyes. - You must look into your partner's eyes.

- But what if I step on your feet? - you ask half breathless at the intensity of her gaze.

- Don't worry, darling. Just breathe. - She assures you, and you feel her hand around your waist. 

And then her body moves, and you focus on following. You count your steps mentally, and try to focus on not stepping on Wanda's feet. It is very hard to concentrate on anything with emerald eyes staring at you with intensity, and the smell of Wanda that seems to overpower all your senses. You are nervous, and your body is tense. You feel guilty as you notice Wanda's frown due to your posture.

- Relax, Y/N. - She whispers tenderly. - It's just me.

You smile, but find it difficult to obey as you look at her. So you lean your face against your hand on Wanda's shoulder. You miss seeing her face, but the position is also very good. She brings your bodies a little closer together, and you get used to the warmth of having her so close with ease. You stay like this, rocking together in an almost hug, your hands intertwined as the hand on your back goes down a little, and you let your gaze wander around.

If you thought you were dancing too close together, those thoughts vanish the moment you see Steve and Bucky, so tightly glued together that there is no space between their bodies. Monica and Pietro seem to be the only ones who are dancing further apart, yet they are very close. As the melody comes to an end, you hear the other members laughing, and Pietro goes towards the radio to change the music while you slowly separate from Wanda. She doesn't let go of your hand, however, and nods for you to follow her. You let yourself be pulled in the opposite direction from the hut area, to a more secluded corner among the trees. As you exit, Nat gives you a mischievous look that makes you blush.

When you were completely hidden from the rest of the camp, Wanda stopped, she looked nervous, shifting her weight between her feet as she let go of your hand. You looked at her curiously.

- I wanted to give you your present. - Wanda said, looking around as if searching for something. She bent down quickly to grab something behind a broken log.

She walked over to you with a mischievous expression. She handed over the package, and maybe it was the alcohol, but you found her fingers lingering on yours as she did so.

A dark wooden box was placed in your hands, and you frowned curiously, wondering what was inside. In fact, the box was so beautiful that you would be very pleased if it were empty.

You opened the clasp, holding your breath in surprise as you noticed the contents. A revolver gleamed against your eyes. You knew very well what kind. It was the Lemat revolver you had wanted to buy on your one and only trip to Saint Denis with Wanda and Pietro. You joked that one day you would have enough money for weapons like that, without having to steal, as your gaze lingered on the item. You never imagined that Wanda would remember this. 

With the tips of your finger, you touched the details that were drawn into the metal of the gun, smiling as you noticed the figure of a wolf carved into the tip. The lone wolf was your nickname as a child, Steve used to call you that whenever you were angry and you needed to travel, you always walked several meters ahead of him, like "a lone wolf".

Feeling your emotions too close to overpowering you, you swallowed the urge to cry as you felt overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, how much attention Wanda had on you to think about the present. The redhead seemed anxious to know if you had enjoyed it, but you kept your face impassive as you looked at her. 

You stowed the gun back in its case, and held it in one hand while reaching down with the other for your old revolver hanging from your waistband. Removing the gun from its holster, you checked that it was properly locked before throwing it on the grass. Wanda watched you intently, frowning slightly in confusion, but you didn't speak. 

In no hurry, you removed your new gun from the box, taking one last look at it before putting it in its holster. Getting used to the weight as you closed your eyes for a moment.

Then you bent down quietly, and put the box down, finally looking at Wanda. She blinked at you in anticipation, and you bit your lip as you ran your gaze across her face. Your mind racing on so many possibilities of how you could return the gift. The thoughts were innocent at first, but you would blame the alcohol for the direction they took next.

- Did you like it? - She asked without holding back, and you sighed without answering, which seemed to make her insecure.

- I'm thinking about how to repay something like that. - You answered mysteriously, and Wanda let out a nervous laugh, clearly affected by the intensity of your eyes.

- You don't have to. - She says, but you only disagree with a nod, and then she holds her breath as you approach. 

- I want to. - You speak in a low tone, and when your faces are inches apart, you can only stare at her mouth. - Good girls should be rewarded.

You almost stumble with shock when Pietro's voice interrupts the moment. He mumbles apologies as you turn away from Wanda, but then you really begin to understand what he said:

- He's here. Stephen is back! - He cheerfully affirms by waving for you two to go back to the camp. He runs towards the tents, and you turn to Wanda, but she just looks at you intensely, coming up to you and giving you a quick kiss on the corner of your cheek, very close to your mouth, before running after her brother.

You rush to grab the box and the pistol at your feet before running after them.

With Stephen's sudden return to the gang, everyone's mood seemed to improve considerably. And you felt much better knowing that he would treat Bruce, since he had always been the camp doctor.

It has been three days since you almost kissed Wanda in the forest in thanks for the gun you got as a gift. Every time you remember it you feel a wave of shame fill your body, and maybe a little guilt, for having been careless enough to drink to the point of ignoring the minimum of common sense. With this feeling, you had spent the last few days accepting all sorts of camp tasks, to keep yourself busy and unavailable as much as possible to talk about what had occurred. At every moment when your gaze met Wanda's, whether it was between carrying hay to the horse area, or during meals, you made sure to look away while you found a way to escape somewhere else.

As the date approached for the bank heist to take place, you could almost touch in the air the anxiety of those who would participate. Fortunately Thor was back in business and insisted that he would participate in the ambush. Bucky had already secured all the necessary weaponry, and Peggy confirmed that she was working with the final tweaks of the plan. Pietro and Nat went to Valentine the day before and discovered that the workers from the oil plant were all already in town, which seemed to be the last missing piece of the plan. Things seemed to be conspiring in your favor when it came to avoiding Wanda, since she had been as busy as you are, and had not even returned from the buffalo hunt she went on together with Thor and Stephen. 

In the late afternoon, you returned to your tent feeling exhausted from having spent all day organizing the ammunition wagon, as one of your punishments for the Limpany shooting. Bucky was kind enough to sit next to you while he cleaned some weapons, and when he was done, he practiced a bit of guitar playing.

You threw yourself on the bed, groaning against the pillow. Fortunately, your shoulder was practically healed by now, and you didn't need any more bandages. You heard someone huffing in the doorway, so you opened one of your eyes lazily, and caught sight of Nat standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and a suggestive look on her face.

- You know, I'm surprised at how well you're holding up. - She says, and you close your eyes, too tired to puzzle. Seeing your lack of interest, she gives you a wry smile, thinking how stubborn you are when you want to be. - I thought you would only last a day.

- I don't know what you're talking about. - Your voice was muffled against the pillow, but you kept your eyes closed and your face against the fabric. It was so soft.

- In fact, Pietro and I bet that you wouldn't go two days without talking to each other. I'm only bringing this up because I'm losing the bet. - You felt your stomach turn when you finally understood what she said. But not wanting to give her the taste of being right, you just let out an impatient grunt against the pillow, which made Nat laugh instead of pushing her away. - Pietro bet that you would be stubborn enough to hold out until Wanda pushed you off your horse, but I thought you wouldn't go two days without talking to the redhead. You know I don't like to lose.

- Nobody likes to lose. - You retorted. - That's the whole point of betting. 

She stood with her arms crossed as you lifted your face from the bed, and then you adjusted yourself to sit up on the mattress. Seeing your tired expression, Nat assumed a worried look.

- What is happening to you?

You thought you were going to cry. But you only smoothed your hair and gave her a sad smile. She closed your tent and sat down beside you on the bed.

- I almost kissed her on my birthday. - You confess with a lost look in your eyes.

- Isn't that a good thing?

- I was drunk. - You retorted. - I can't believe I was going to grab her in the middle of the forest. That's so scary.

Nat watched you sink your face in your hands, and she began to play with your hair, trying to calm you down.

- You talk as if you were some unknown drunk who chased Wanda into the woods. - She says in an almost amused tone. - I really don't understand how your head comes to such conclusions.

- I just didn't want it to be like that. - You say, moving your fingers nervously. - I don't know what I really wanted. Maybe I wanted it to be special.

- My God, you are so corny. - Nat sneered, but there was no malice in her tone. She braided your hair loosely, and then held out your hand. - I really think that you two are made for each other. And that no matter where it happens or how, Wanda will enjoy your first kiss. 

- And you say that I'm the one who's corny. - You joke, and Nat nudges your shoulder lightly, laughing softly. 

- Oh, but you are indeed. - She replies. - I always thought that you've been secretly dating for years.

You groaned uncomfortably, Nat laughed at your expression.

- I brought something for you. - She says after a moment of silence. Only then you notice that she was carrying something in her pants pocket, and she moves on the bed to pick it up. She hands you a holster. - I hear you have two revolvers now. You can have my extra case.

You smiled, thanking her. Nat whispered a " Don't mention it" before kissing you on the forehead and leaving. Without getting out of bed, you reached for your belt hanging from the chair on your desk and slipped the holster you had earned onto the front of the bed. You were happy to know that you could carry two weapons now. 

Putting your belt back on the chair, you yawned, deciding to get some sleep.

It seemed like a weekend, you thought as you took a sip of coffee, which you almost spit out when you tasted the bitterness. Saloons weren't exactly the best place to get drinks like this, and since you were avoiding alcohol, it was either bitter coffee or water. You began to think that water was the better option.

Steve had sent you to Valentine to get uniforms from the factory, or more accurately, steal uniforms. Peggy had made one last adjustment to the plan, and you found out that you would need to infiltrate the factory if you wanted information about the safe where the money was going to be. Pietro would be the one to infiltrate the place, and since he was the fastest rider, he would have to get out of there as fast as he could to let Peggy know which was the correct safe. You weren't going to start any unnecessary gunfire, so anything that could be done in silence, would be.

You had been waiting for the two clearly inebriated men to finish playing to follow them, and that had been for about two hours. You sighed without patience, and then walked over to the table, trying to sound as friendly as possible when you joined the game. 

If you bankrupted them in the game, they would have no choice but to leave the table, you thought as you received your cards from the dealer. 

You played carefully but objectively, remembering all the tactics that Fury taught you. In less than an hour of play, you had already defeated one of them. But because you were too focused on the game, you didn't notice the threatening posture the loser assumed. 

When you finally defeated the second one, the men were not the slightest bit pleased. You stumbled backwards when one of them pushed you against the counter. 

- I don't like being robbed, girl. - Said the brown-haired man, he had a threatening expression on his face, and you felt quite intimate as he had a knife pressed to your throat.

-A bad loser I see. - You sneer, and he blinks angrily. But then there is a gun pointed at the man's forehead and the grip of the knife on your throat loosens. The bartender doesn't seem willing to witness a murder in his bar. You know his name is Tom, and you thank him softly when he asks the men to leave the bar. But your relief is short-lived, for as you walk out, they are waiting for you outside.

- I want my money back, whore! - One of them shouts and you take a few steps back, your boots clattering in the mud of the road.

- Come on fellas, I won fair and square. - You try to argue, and then you see the man draw his knife at you again. Impatient, you lower your hand to the holster, and the other man imitates the movement. You had no intention of ending up in a duel when you woke up this morning, but here you were.

The man with the knife stepped aside, clearing the shooting area for his friend. You let out a sigh, your hand gripping the revolver. Your gaze focused on the man in front of you, a few steps away. It was a risky duel, and you hoped he was as bad at aiming as he was at poker. 

A moment passed, and then you grabbed your gun and fired. Fortunately, faster than your opponent, who fell to the ground with a thud. The other man was in a state of shock as you stood there, smoke billowing from the tip of your revolver. You barely had time to normalize your breathing when the other man lunged at you with knife in hand. You fired twice, and watched the expression of pure shock as he staggered back, and then fell over dead. You felt a slight burning sensation on your cheek, indicating that he had cut you, but you barely had time to process the two murders when you felt yourself being pulled away. 

Valentine's sheriff seemed more interested in showing service than actually helping anyone, and he didn't believe or care that it might have been self-defense when he threw you into one of the jail cells, which was only a few yards from the saloon.

There was only one other man in the jail, locked up in the cell across from yours. An arrogant-looking lady called the sheriff through the back doors, and he left you two alone. You tried to see where your guns were kept, but could not.

- He keeps them inside that cabinet, on the top shelf. - The man said, and you turned your face toward him. - And the key to the cells is near the door.

- Steve is going to kill me. - You grumble before sitting down on the floor, your legs stretched out on the ground.

You both remain silent for several moments, until the sheriff returns. He has a lipstick stain on his shirt, and you roll your eyes.

- Wilson, great news for you. - says the sheriff walking to the cell opposite yours. The prisoner has a serious look on his face. - I finally got a carriage for Sisika, they will pick you up tomorrow morning.

Wilson ducked his head and clenched his fists, while the sheriff let out a wicked chuckle. 

- If I'm lucky, they'll take you too, cutie. - Said the sheriff looking at you, but you didn't bother to answer.

You tried not to panic at the thought of a federal penitentiary. You hated having to depend on anyone, but you really hoped that your friends would notice your absence and come to your aid.

Looking at your fellow prisoner, you avoided feeling sorry for the downcast expression he acquired, after all you didn't know what he had done to be here. Still, you sympathized with him; it wasn't easy to receive news like that.

Trying to get some idea of what to do, you closed your eyes, burying your head in your knees. But in the end, you just fell asleep.

You dreamed of long red hair, and woke in a jolt, banging your head against the small shelf that held the cell bed. Massaging the spot, you looked forward, surprised to see Wilson signaling you to be quiet.

You ran your gaze around and widened your eyes as you noticed the figure of Monica, silently stealing the key to the cell. The sheriff was too distracted by her cleavage to notice, and you really hated this man with each passing second. Monica pretended to laugh, holding the sheriff's arm, and finally grabbing the key. She asked the officer to go somewhere more private, that she would like to show him something, and when he took her to the backdoors, she handed the cell key to you through the bars.

Quickly freeing yourself, you ran to the weapons locker, looking for your holster. Duly armed, you turned toward Wilson's cell.

- I hope I don't regret this. - You grumble as you release him. He nods in thanks, shaking your hand. And then he runs to the gun cabinet and grabs what you believe to be his.

You hear a noise and both of you turn toward the back door. Through the window you can see Monica struggling with the sheriff, who seems to want to force a kiss. You feel your chest bubbling with anger and rush outside. Before you can do anything, someone shoots the sheriff, who falls to the ground.

You walk over to Monica, who assures you that she is fine, just a little out of shape from being out of a fight for so long. You hug her in thanks before you run away from the scene, she points out where the horses are, and you are surprised to notice that Wilson is still with you.

- My name is Sam. - The man says. - I have nowhere to go.

You and Monica exchange a look, and then she offers her hand to help him get on her own horse. 

- Steve will take care of this. - She says before you ride out of town. 

When you arrive, you let out an exclamation that makes Monica and Sam look at you curiously.

- I didn't get the fucking uniform. - You say, and Monica looks at you with a mischievous smile. She reaches into her own horse's saddlebag and pulls out the folded uniform set. 

- It's easier to steal when they're dead. - She comments, and you look at her with a mixture of pride and surprise. You think that she and Pietro really are made for each other, blessed sticky fingers.

As they enter, you assure the others that you were fine, and you discover that Monica just told them that you had had complications and needed some help. She tells you that she overheard two merchants leaving Valentine commenting on the shooting while she was hunting rabbits, and when she told the rest of the camp, she didn't mention that you might have been shot. 

When the others see Sam, they seem apprehensive about having a stranger in camp, but Steve asks to talk to him privately in his tent. You knew that he would invite Sam to join you as soon as he knew that he helped Monica.

You walk back to your tent, immediately wanting to take a shower. Then your exit is blocked by Wanda looking quite annoyed. You take a step back, shocked by the sudden presence.

- You are avoiding me. - she accuses, looking hurt. Honestly, you don't feel much like having this conversation right now, and considering that you almost died a few hours ago, you just want to take a shower.

- I've just been busy. - You retort, holding her gaze.

- Why are you lying?

You bite your tongue hard to avoid smiling. Wanda is ridiculously beautiful, it's so unfair that you can't get annoyed with her. Completely oblivious to your internal conflict, she has an accusing expression, but the glint in her eyes shows that she is upset, hurt that you are lying to her so blatantly.

- Look, I almost died twice today and was arrested, I would like to take a shower before embarking on another conflict.

Her expression changed to concern.

- What do you mean you almost died? - She questioned and her gaze ran over your face, and when she noticed the dried wound upon your cheek, she raised her hand quickly, her touch electrifying your whole body at the same speed that made you relax more than any hot bath. - What happened?

- I won at poker. - You joked, fighting the urge to close your eyes at her touch. Wanda frowned and lowered her hands. - It was a misunderstanding. Monica saved my ass and now I'm here. 

- You don't seem to be telling me anything anymore. - She said with a serious look on her face, and you swallowed hard, guilt clutching your stomach. And you spent too long thinking about what to say, that you miss your chance. Wanda gave you one last hurt look, before saying, "Have a nice bath," and left your tent. You kept staring for minutes at where you saw her last.

You were very angry when you returned to your room, mumbling disconnected words as you threw yourself on your bed, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. You had the choice of getting up and apologizing, explaining to Wanda that you just felt insecure, or staying in your bed and whining, so of course you didn't get up.

Refusing to cry, you tried to look for something to do that would get the image of Wanda's hurt look out of your head. You thought about cleaning your weapons, but then you remembered that one of them was the revolver you had received as a gift, so you gave up the idea.

Running your eyes around the room, you tried to find something else, your eyes lingered on your bedside table, a picture of you, Wanda, Pietro, Monica and Nat, when you were younger, and Steve insisted that he would like to have a picture of the camp kids. You must have been about ten years old, and you were dressed in your best clothes, a bandage on your forehead covering up a fight wound.Pietro had one arm on your shoulders and one on Wanda's, he had a toothless smile on his face, his front baby teeth had fallen out shortly before that photo.  Nat and Monica were the tallest, and stood one at each end. Even though it was black and white, you remembered the blue jacket that you yourself had stolen as a present for Nat. 

You looked away from the photo quickly, letting out an impatient sigh. Even trying, you couldn't stop thinking about Wanda, the marks of her presence all over your life. You decided it was best to look for something to do outside your tent.

You noticed Doctor Stephen coming out of Bruce's tent when you left yours. He looked happy, and you felt your chest fill with hope that Bruce was better.

Walking over to Stephen, you greeted him. 

- Ah, look at you, Y/N. - He replied as he put away his medical equipment inside his own tent. - You're growing up fast.

You looked down at the ground blankly.

- I guess so. 

Stephen finished arranging his own things, and when he turned to you, he signaled for you to accompany him to the campfire area.

- You seem to want to ask me something. - He says as he sits down, pouring himself a coffee pen, which was always available at the campfire.

- I just wanted to see how Bruce was doing. 

- Much better. - he says. - Soon he will return to his duties and I will go back to Saint Denis.

You nodded, slightly disappointed that Stephen was leaving, but glad that Bruce was better. They shared the role of camp doctor, but Stephen hardly ever stayed with you, saying he had business of his own to attend to in Saint Denis. You, Wanda and Pietro were the only ones who knew that he had a family waiting for him there.

- But I feel that's not what you want to talk about. - He says after a moment, and you frown. At your expression, he lets out a giggle, and puts his mug down, turning to you with a gentle expression. - You can ask me about Wanda.

You blink, looking away. Stephen was like a mentor to Wanda, and you imagined it would be awkward, to say the least, to talk to him about it. But knowing that he had just returned from a hunt with her and Thor, he had probably noticed something in her behavior, being the observer that he is.

- I think I might have hurt her. - You say, and he nods slightly.

- I thought she looked more angry than hurt. - He says almost in a mocking tone, and you run your hands through your hair.

- Hurt or angry, I fucked up. 

- That is true.

Stephen's tone is playful, and you smile while rolling your eyes. He had always been more relaxed about this kind of subject than you are. 

- Wanda has mentioned that you are avoiding her. - he says after a moment. - She was... distracted during the hunt.

- Yeah, I was running away. - You grumble, looking down at the ground feeling embarrassed. He lets out a sigh, and reaches his hand out to your knee.

- I know how much you care about her, child. - he says. - Ever since you were little, you've been inseparable. So I don't understand your hesitation.

You let out a sad sigh, trying to smile at Stephen.

- I don't think I am what she deserves. - You confess and he frowns. You keep talking, believing that if you don't say things now, you won't say them anymore. - I just... She's so incredible. She' s so strong and so smart, and so so good. She deserves someone who can give her more than a tent on the ground or a campfire. 

Stephen raises his hand to lift your face, making you look at him.

- Do you really believe that? - He asks seriously, but his eyes are tender. He doesn't wait for you to answer. - Listen to me for a moment, will you? I won't speak for Wanda, I never could. What I can assure you is that you are an extraordinary young woman. You are brave and admirably loyal. And most important, is the way you love Wanda with vehemence and devotion. There is no one who deserves her more than you.

You nodded, feeling the tears streaming down your face. Stephen smiled, and wiped them away, moving closer to place a kiss on your forehead. 

- I don't want to hear you say things like that about yourself, okay? - He asks in a serious tone, and waits for you to agree. 

- I promise I won't. - You say, and he nudges you lightly on the nose, making you laugh before turning away, going back to drinking his coffee. He takes a sip, and you are silent for a moment, before he holds up his finger as if he has an idea, and turns to you, with an expression somewhere between humorous and serious.

- Now try to apologize to Wanda. She gets very annoyed when she is mad at you.

You laugh lightly, but then realize that he is telling you to do this now. He continues to stare at you, and you sigh before standing up. Stephen lifts his pen lightly wishing you good luck and you turn toward Wanda's tent.

But your steps are interrupted by Nat, who has a concerned expression on her face. You frown, but she just signals for you to follow her towards Steve's tent.

- We have a problem. - Steve announces as soon as you arrive, he is leaning both hands against the center table, a map stretched out in front of him. 

- What's wrong? - you ask, and then feel nervous as you notice Wanda standing at the other end of the tent next to Pietro. You look away quickly.

- The O'Driscolls are drunk idiots, that's the problem. - Steve replied, looking stressed. He apologized a second later for his harsh manner, and then he straightened his posture. - Peggy just got back from town, she found out that some O'Driscolls were killed at the oil plant, trying to steal masonry titles. One of them was drunk enough to tell them that they were planning to steal the money from the land purchase.

- Oh, shit. - You grumbled. - Any chance this won't get to Stark?

- Unfortunately it already has. - Steve replied with his arms crossed. - The mess happened two days ago. And the local guards sent a carriage to Saint Denis the same day. Peggy spoke to our contact at the bank, and Stark cancelled the deposit.

- Will he no longer buy the land? - you asked.

- Oh, he is. Only the money will be transferred by train. - Steve clarified, and then he took a pen and started to draw a route on the map on the table. - Which means that we are going to change the route completely.

- At least now we are not going to break into a bank. - Nat remarked softly to you, and you smiled at her. 

- We will have two chances to access the money. - Steve explained as he finished scratching out the map. You notice that he also circles two points. - Stark will bring the money in a carriage that will leave his estate somewhere in the Cumberland Forest, but no one knows from where exactly. Besides, he has his own personal guard, and even if we could find out where his house is, it would still be a pain in the ass to get in there. 

- I imagine that this carriage will be extremely well protected too. - Pietro commented, and Steve just nodded in agreement.

- Our first option is a bit risky, but it might work if we were fast enough. - Steve said. - When Stark negotiates the purchase, he will need to show the money to the real estate agents, and the safe will either be inside one of the carriages for the seller to confirm the amount, or the safe will be carried to one of the factory rooms for counting. 

- If we try to steal the safe from inside the factory, we will face twice as many guns. - Said Nat with crossed arms, Steve nodded in agreement.

- Exactly, Natasha. Our only advantage would be for Pietro to infiltrate as an employee and get us inside quietly.

- Not a chance! - You say, and Steve frowns. - You won't send Pietro alone. One mistake and he would have more than a hundred guns pointed at him. It's too dangerous.

Pietro stared at you in slight surprise, looking embarrassed that you had stood up to Steve for him. Wanda had a look in her eyes that you couldn't decipher.

- Yes, you're right. - Steve said after a moment. - We only have one other option left then. We'll steal the money when it's transferred to the train.

- Train? - asks Maria from the other corner of the tent. - But there are no stations in the area.

- Ah, yes. But everything works for those who have money. - Bucky said with irony. Steve smiled before explaining: 

- Stark has asked that the checkpoint in the Heartlands area be reactivated. It's near the factories, and they're going to take the safe by carriage there. - He marked on the map the location. - The train will only stop here and then go straight to Saint Denis.

- We always end up stealing a train. - You whispered to Nat, who smiled with amusement.

- We don't know how many guards will board the train, however, the number will be smaller than if we take on all the guards at the factory plus Stark's guards.

- Let's go over the final arrangement of the plan then. - Peggy announced. - We're going to need more people to stay on board, especially now that we're going to jump on a moving train. - Peggy explained with a light irony that drew laughter from everyone. She took a small notebook from her jacket, where you guessed she had organized the names and functions, before speaking again. - Steve and I ride together to the meeting point in the negotiation area, where we will be able to see Stark's carriage on its way. Thor and Bucky stand further away, each in a different direction, to signal if there is another guard formation. Meanwhile, Nat and Monica stand guard at the location where we will board the train. Y/N, Pietro and Wanda wait a little ahead, to signal when the train is coming and you find the ideal spot to jump off without being seen by the guards. We will ride to you as soon as the train leaves.

- Does anyone have any questions? - said Steve looking at everyone. You were going over the plan mentally so you didn't say anything.

- When we get on the train, who will take care of our horses? - asked Nat, leaning slightly against you.

- Actually, I suggest you split up the mounts. It will be faster to call the horses back if you have fewer. We can have them follow the train as well.  - Peggy said, and then she pointed her fingers around the gang members, as if she were counting. - Let's see, me, Bucky, Steve and Thor will be on our own horses. Nat and Monica can ride together, and so can the twins. 

- I guess that's all. - Steve announced. - Rest, and avoid alcohol tonight. We'll ride tomorrow.

You began to feel slightly anxious as soon as you left the tent. Changing plans on the eve of a strike was a very dangerous thing. Nat put an arm around your shoulders, while you walked outside.

- Ready to rob a train, old friend? - she said in a playful and ironic tone, you laughed.

- Always. - You replied in the same tone. Nat waved you goodnight before leaving towards her tent, and you were walking towards yours, but then you bit your lip and turned on your heel, heading towards Pietro and Wanda's tent.

Pietro had just come in when you arrived, and Wanda was already sitting on her bed. He smiled at you.

- Honey, have you come to wish me good luck? - He teased, throwing his arms around you. You pushed him away, making him laugh.

- I wanted to...

- Oh, I know just what you wanted. - He interrupted, pretending to be hurt as he raised a hand to his chest, dramatizing. - I am so dedicated to this friendship and you don't even come to see me or say good night!

You frown with mock amusement, watching Pietro pretend to have a crying face. He pushes you slightly to get out of the tent.

- I want a divorce, Y/N. - He announces dramatically. - You may have Wanda, but the house is mine!

You hold back a laugh as you nudge him in the chest. He just laughs and turns around, walking toward the fire.

A smile plays on Wanda's lips as you turn around, you take a deep breath before entering the tent, and then you sit down on Pietro's bed, facing the redhead. She looks down at the floor, and you let your gaze wander over her face.

It takes a moment, but Wanda finally looks into your eyes, and you hold her gaze. As you look at each other, you feel your heart race, but you don't mind.

- Hi. - You sigh breathlessly after a moment. Wanda's gaze wavers.

- Hi. - She says without smiling, her gaze falls back to the ground.

You bite the inside of your cheek, but before you can think of what to say next, Wanda speaks again, her expression serious.

- Thank you for standing up for Pietro. - You blink in confusion, but Wanda continues. - About the situation at the factory.

- No problem. - Your voice comes out a little hoarse, and you cough before you speak again. - I don't think they'd make him go by himself anyway.

- Still, thank you. - she says, and you nod. Wanda moves her hands nervously. - Do you want anything, I'm going to sleep already…

- I want to apologize. - You interrupt her, and she looks at you quickly. You look away for a second, feeling embarrassed. But knowing that apologies should be made with an eye to the eye, you take a deep breath and face her. - Wanda, I'm sorry I avoided you these days.

- You really admitted it. - She grumbled, looking surprised and hurt. You swallowed hard.

- I was afraid. - You confessed, and she looked at you with confusion. - I thought I had crossed a line with you. But I'm not afraid anymore. Well, I'm still scared, because this is new, but okay, it's a good feeling…

You started to ramble and Wanda let out a giggle, and then she lunged at you, hugging you, and shutting you up. In your shock, you fell off the bed on your knees, but you kept hugging each other.

- Please don't keep things from me. - She asked in a low tone, mumbling against your hair. You nodded in agreement, squeezing her in your arms before you pulled away. - Will you tell me why you were avoiding me? - She asked looking at you curiously, and even a little defiantly, as if checking to see if you would keep hiding things from her. You bit your lower lip, blushing, and bowed your head in agreement.

- I thought I was crossing a line with you that day in the forest. - You mumbled without looking at her. Wanda frowned, blushing slightly.

- You were going to kiss me, right? - she asked in a whisper. Your heart raced, but you nodded in agreement. Wanda looked down at the floor, a shy smile on her lips. - I would have liked that.

You felt your face heat up at the confession, but smiled, looking at Wanda. It took a moment for her to meet your gaze, her face flushed, but when she did, you felt your stomach turn with nervousness.

- Look, I hate to interrupt the couple's reconciliation, but I have a train to rob tomorrow. - Pietro's voice broke the moment completely, and you almost fell back in astonishment when you noticed Pietro standing at the entrance of the tent, with a mischievous smile. 

- Perfect timing as always. - You grumbled as you got up from the floor, reaching out to help Wanda. Pietro came into the room next, pushing you lightly as he threw himself on his own bed. You let out a grumble of dissatisfaction.

- I told you I'd keep the house. - He teased last, and you tugged on his pillow, causing him to let out an indignant exclamation, but you were quick to throw the object against his face with mock amusement.

- Good night, sweetheart. - You retorted, quickly pulling away to keep him from hitting you with the pillow. You laughed as you left the room. Wanda hurried after you and you were surprised to see her following you out. 

Outside, at the entrance to her cabin, Wanda waited until you turned toward her, and then she stepped closer to you, putting her hands on your neck, and pulling your face toward her. She met your lips in a firm but soft kiss. 

You staggered back in surprise, closing your eyes. Your whole body throbbed, but before you could respond, she pulled away. 

- Goodnight. - she whispered in a husky tone, before turning back to her own cabin.

You stood there for a few seconds, unable to process exactly what had happened, the sensation of Wanda's lips against yours tingling in your mouth. A good few minutes passed before you returned to your own tent, a foolish smile on your lips.

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

Dinner that night is stew.

 You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

 “Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

 You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

 “I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

 “His face?”

 You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

 “He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

 “Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

 She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

 “I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

 She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

 For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

 “How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

 You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

 He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

 Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

 That was the last time you went to camp.

 Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

 Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

 Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

 You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

 You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

 You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

 “Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

 Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

 “Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

 Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

 “Oh God, help me . . .”

 “God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

 Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

 She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

 “Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

 “Oh God,” she gasps.

 “Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

 “NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

 The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

 You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

 He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

 The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

 “Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

 He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

 Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

 “Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

 “You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

 “That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

 Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

 You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

 You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

 You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

 He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

 You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

 “Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

 He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

 You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

 He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

 “I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

 He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

 “What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

 In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

 Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

 “Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

 Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

 “Come on, then.”

 Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

 “Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”    

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.               

[frankiekatt]

1-800-Miss-Ur-Guts

Characters: Dabi / Touya Todoroki

Notes: Loosely based off the song ‘1-800-miss-ur-guts’ by the Tramp Stamps! This is the first fic I’ve ever shared and I’m so excited to share it with you guys! Dabi is one of the loves of my life so I hope you all enjoy <3

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and emotional manipulation. Umm I think that’s it but if I missed anything please let me know!

Words: 10k

Synopsis: She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted. After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.

The air was stale and warm when Dabi first opened his eyes. It was dark, the room unfamiliar and the bed was uncomfortably hot and cramped due to the naked body that was sprawled out beside him.

Never like how mornings were with you.

With a deep groan, Dabi sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. 1:36pm.

He had slept way too fucking late.

Rising slowly from the bed so as not to wake the sleeping blonde beside him, Dabi began to slip his jeans and tattered t-shirt back onto his body despite the pain in his head flashing hard and hot. Once dressed, he quickly walked to the bathroom and softly closed the door behind him. Cobalt eyes stared back at him in the mirror, tired and spent. His black hair was messy, sticking out in all directions, and the skin underneath his eyes were stained purple and black from stress and from the alcohol he consumed the night before. There was a large, dark bruise on the side of his neck from where – Misa? Mila? – had sucked on the night before. Dabi Todoroki looked like a fucking disaster.

Looking away from his disheveled appearance, Dabi turned on the cold tap water and splashed his face in an attempt to soothe his gnarly headache. It works in just the slightest, as the cool water felt revivifying on his inked skin. Grabbing a small hand towel from underneath the hotel’s sink, Dabi wiped his face gingerly until all the water droplets were gone.

He needed to leave soon. To get ready. To see you.

“Hey, you alright in there?” a high-pitched voice asked from the other side of the bathroom door.

Shit. Dabi really did not feel like conversing with last night’s drunken hook-up. He could barely remember what she said to catch his attention in the small, dingy bar he frequented almost each night, or how they ended up in the equally small and dingy hotel where they had sloppy, unsatisfying sex. Dabi couldn’t even remember her name, and he didn’t exactly care.

Clearing his throat, Dabi grunted out a loud, “Yeah. M’fine.” Smoothing his hair back and glancing at himself in the mirror one last time, he reached for the door knob and pulled open the door.

He was greeted by the blonde women who wore a lopsided smile. She had thrown on her black cotton panties that seemed to be a size too small and the light pink tank top he vaguely remembered her wearing last night, minus a bra. Her short, blonde hair was stuck to the sides of her neck with sweat, reminding him just how utterly different she was from you. Your hair was longer, always brushed and either elegantly falling down your back or neatly put up.

“Mornin’, handsome,” she purred.

“Morning.”

“I was thinkin’ maybe you and I could go down the street, grab a coffee together, maybe beat this hangover,” she crooned, reaching out to run her fingers down Dabi’s chest.

Stepping to the side to avoid her touch, Dabi grabbed his black hoodie jacket off the floor and slipped it on.

“Nah, can’t. I have a thing today.”

The blonde’s face fell slightly before she covered it up with a sneer. “Thing? What kind of thing?”

With his back still turned to her as he slipped on his black sneakers, Dabi rolled his eyes. He had neither the time nor patience for this. “Uh,” he started, “a concert thing.”

The blonde girl hummed in excitement. “That’s cool! Maybe I could go with you and we could-”

“No,” Dabi snapped, “it’s not that kind of concert. Listen, I really need to get home, so, uh, see you around,” and with that, Dabi walked out of the room, leaving the nameless blonde women alone.

 *                                                                      *                                                                               *

 It was just after 2 o’clock by the time Dabi arrived at his apartment. He hurriedly walked up the steps to the second floor, dug his keys out of his pocket, and walked into his small living room. Everything was the same as he had left it the night before; empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, a couple articles of clothing strewn across the room, and all of the thick curtains closed over the large glass windows that looked out over the city. It was dark. And lonely.

Just like it had been since you left this apartment. Left him.

You and Dabi had officially met in your last year of high school. It was by accident really, but Dabi has always thanked the God that he didn’t believe in for putting you both in the same place at the same time.

  There was a spot behind the stage in the school’s auditorium where Dabi liked to go during lunch period to smoke. ‘The Spot’ was a small corner in the postscenium behind stage, which was usually hidden behind old props and costume racks. It was cozy and secluded, and was Dabi’s favorite place to be at school. His secret spot.

That was until you found it.

 It was a Thursday when you had stumbled upon Dabi hiding behind some of the props that were going to be used in this year’s production of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ When you caught him, he had the hood of his jacket pulled over the top of his head and a joint between his lips.

The sight of him had startled you a bit, because you thought you were alone. The auditorium was usually vacant during lunch period, which you thought would be the perfect time to practice the several short ballads you would be performing on your violin with the rest of the school’s orchestra on the opening night of the play.

“Oh my god,” you shrieked and stumbled backwards. Dabi’s head snapped up to survey your face, cobalt eyes wide, pupils expanded. “You scared the shit out of me,” you breathed softly, pressing two dainty hands over your racing heart.

Dabi blinked up at you with a blank expression before lowering the joint to his side and clearing his throat. “Sorry. No one usually comes back here this time of day.”

You recognized this boy. You both had English 6th period, but have never spoken to each other. He always sat at the very back and never raised his hand. Never participated in group projects. Never did anything, really.

“Yeah, um, I just came to practice a few pieces for the play. I needed to get a music rack,” you nodded toward the black iron stand perched to Dabi’s left, right behind a small, emerald green swan fainting sofa used for the production of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ two years ago.

“Ah. You in the orchestra?”

“Um, yeah, actually! First violin.”

Dabi didn’t know what “first violin” meant, but he kind of liked the way your face lit up when you said it. He hurriedly pushed himself off the floor and grabbed the music stand which was surprisingly light. “Here,” he offered.

 You went to grab it, careful to avoid touching his hand, and let out a soft ‘thank you’ before walking out from backstage to the orchestra pit. Dabi watched your retreating form and silently hoped you wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing in there. He was already in enough trouble for skipping class so often, and didn’t need any more drawn-out lectures from his parents or more days added to his weekend detentions. Settling back down on the floor, he set the joint back in between his lips and dug his phone and earbuds out of his pocket. He had about 12 minutes left before he would be forced to go back to class. The moment he decided on a song to listen to, however, he was interrupted by the sound of a violin.  

He wasn’t sure if he liked the sound at first. It was shrill and loud and unexpected. Then, the sound began to melt into a beautiful melody and the shrillness soon became a rich and elegant sound that danced in Dabi’s ears.

Now intrigued, Dabi screwed the end of his joint into the floor and tossed it into a nearby trash bin before he pushed himself off the floor and walked out from behind the stage, where he was was met by the sight of you, softly moving your bow up and down the strings of your violin. You were standing despite the fact that there was a chair planted behind you, and your head was moving slightly from side to side in tune to the soft melody. Dabi thought the sight of you was beautiful and alluring. He had seen you in class before and walked past you in the hallways, but he had never actually known you, never actually saw you quite this way.

Sweet. Elegant. Pretty. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember your name though.

The song you were playing was coming to an end, as was lunch period and Dabi wished he had just a little more time to listen to you play. To watch you play. But then the bell rang, and it was time for you both to head to class.

You lowered your violin from your neck to begin putting the instrument and sheet music away, when the boy with the ripped jeans and messy black hair caught your eye from up on the stage. He met your eyes, but said nothing, and neither did you. You weren’t sure what you should say or if you should even say anything. You had never spoken to this boy before, and now he had just listened to you play music and was currently staring at you.

“I liked that,” Dabi blurted, shattering the silence.

“Um thanks. It’s for the play tomorrow night.” You shifted from one foot to the other under Dabi’s fierce gaze and hoped that the darkness of the theater was hiding the faint blush that was scattered across your cheeks. Dabi Todoroki had just complimented you. And it felt nice.

You stared at each other for a bit longer before you finally broke your gaze and picked up your violin case. “I should probably head to class. Ms. Hatsu hates tardiness,” you said shyly.

Dabi cracked a small smile, which you found quite lovely. “Sure. I’ll see you in 6th period then.”

 And he did see you in 6th period. Dabi had never paid much attention to his classmates before, but today was different. Today he wanted to see you sitting in the third seat in the second row. Four desks away from him. ‘Four desks too many,’ he thought. But as if the gods were listening to Dabi’s thoughts, Dabi’s literature teacher announced that today the class would be doing partner work. And without a second thought to consider his actions, Dabi rose from his seat and made his way over to you.

 You were never fond of partner work. You preferred to keep to yourself, work alone, and avoid conversing with most people. You were shy in nature, so every announcement of partner work in any class was slightly stressful to you. Finding a partner was usually more work than it was worth. Today, however, there was no need to go search for a partner to work with. Someone had already chosen you, and was pulling up a chair to your desk.

“So,” Dabi drawled smoothly as he plopped down in his seat. “Where do you wanna start.”

“S-start?” This boy who you had only met 20 minutes ago, only exchanged a few words with, wanted to be your partner?

“Yeah. You wanna start with The Iliad or The Odyssey?” He pulled out a few slightly crumpled pages of notes from his school bag before meeting your eyes and raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

“Oh, um...let’s start with The Iliad.”

The rest of the hour was spent conversing with Dabi on how each ‘hero’ of the Trojan War was really just a villain, and through this conversation, you realized several things about Dabi. Firstly, he was funny. He cracked a few jokes here and there, which made you genuinely laugh with ease. It was a nice feeling for the both of you, how easily he could make you laugh. Secondly, he was smart. He was articulate and insightful, though you sensed he was just a lazy person when it came to school work. And lastly, you were pretty sure you were now crushing hard on Dabi Todoroki. His aloof personality you and the rest of the school had always been privy to seemed to be totally foreign as he dazzled with humor and charm in front of you.

And Dabi had finally learned your name. Y/N. He thought it was pretty.

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and Dabi slid away from your desk. “One more class of the day,” he sighed as he grabbed his bag off the floor. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled at him. You really hoped you would.

  Dabi stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. It was 3:47pm. He had just over an hour until your recital began.

He swiped a hand over the foggy mirror and peered at himself once more. The skin beneath his eyes were still dark, but he looked a little more alive now that he had showered. He was nervous. There was a sharp pain in his lower stomach and Dabi didn’t know if it was from the anxiety, he felt knowing he would see your face tonight, or if it was from his hangover. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was just because he was scared. Scared to see you. Scared to talk to you. Scared that as soon as you spotted him in the crowd, you would dedicate the night to avoiding him and he wouldn't get to speak to you at all.

He really hoped he would get to talk to you. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long. It had been just over half a year since you two had gotten in that tense argument that had ultimately ended your relationship. In reality, your relationship had been over weeks before the fight, but neither of you were brave enough to admit it. Dabi, because he loved you and couldn't imagine living a life without you. You, because life with Dabi had become so natural that the thought of leaving terrified you. What if you regretted it? What if your life becomes directionless without him? You had spent nearly a year and a half of your life with him. He was your first love. First kiss. First everything since the opening night of your senior year high school play.

 A Midsummer Night’s Dream was your favorite play. Shakespeare, in your opinion, was quite wordy, but you greatly admired the several love stories and humor weaved throughout the play, and tonight you would be a part of the orchestra playing for this production. You were beyond ecstatic to perform.

The first half of the play went smoothly, and you were filled with adrenaline. Something about playing your violin for a crowd of people filled you with your body with a euphoric feeling. Your chest was full, blood was rushing through your veins and your heart was pounding with pure excitement. This feeling was only magnified once you spotted a certain raven-haired boy sitting in the audience in the front row. The 30-minute intermission had just begun and Dabi Todoroki was making his way over to you as you gingerly tucked your instrument back into its case.

“Hey. You sound pretty awesome out there,” he praised.

“T-thanks,” you blushed. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight”

Dabi scratched the back of his head and looked away from you. “Yeah, well, I heard there was bestiality in this thing and I wanted to check it out.” That forced a small giggle out of you. Dabi liked that sound a lot. “Anyway, I, uh, wanted to ask you if you were thirsty. There’s a concession stand out in the hallway. Figured you and I could get a drink, maybe sit outside until the next part of the play starts?”

Your heartbeat began to quicken. Was he flirting with you? Surely not. Surely, he was just being friendly to you. Right?

“Yeah, sure! I’d love that actually.”

Dabi grinned at you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

The air was frigid and you had, unfortunately, worn a short sleeved black dress to opening night in an attempt to blend in with the darkness of the auditorium. When the chattering of your teeth became audible and your shivering was too severe to ignore, Dabi quickly slipped his jacket onto your shoulders. It smelled like nicotine and pine wood. Just like him.

“Thank you,” you lilted, and Dabi just hummed in response. “So, why did you really come tonight?” Dabi eyed you from his spot beside you as you both sat on the large brick steps in front of the school building. “You didn’t seem too interested in Homer the other day in class, so why would you want to see a Shakespearian play?”

Dabi clicked his tongue and averted his gaze. Why did he come tonight? “I dunno,” he started. “I guess I just wanted to see you again. Outside of school. And... I like the way you play your violin. It's… relaxing.”

Your face was burning at 100 degrees. You were sure of it. “Y-you wanted to see me? Why”

“Look, I just think you’re pretty, alright. And I like talking to you and shit.”

He thought you were what? He liked doing what? “I like talking to you too,” you breathed softly. You hadn’t meant to say it. You were embarrassed enough as it was, and the slip of your tongue only made the already high temperature of your cheeks rise.

Dabi turned to look at you then. He thought you looked ethereal in that moment. Wide eyes staring back at him, expectantly. Legs dressed in tight black pantyhose crossed and angled toward him. A bright pink blush dusting your cheeks. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.

So, he did.

He jerked forward and caught your lips by surprise, which forced you to emit a small noise from your throat. His lips were cold and smooth and unfamiliar and he tasted like smoke and mint flavored gum. His lips moved fervently, as if they were on a mission to prove something, until you moved your finger into his inky hair and pressed his face closer to yours. His lips slowed at that moment, and his movements became gentler. He wanted to tell you he liked you. He wanted to ask you out on a date. He wanted to take you to the movies or to dinner or to just drive you around in his car and talk to you. He wanted to touch you everywhere. Your face. Your chest. Your legs, your ass, your cunt. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body with his fingertips.

It was you who broke the kiss. The combination of Dabi’s lips against yours and the freezing air was making it difficult for you to breathe. You rested your forehead against Dabi’s and chuckled.

“Something funny?” he grunted and pulled away from you.

“No, no, not at all. I just never imagined that Dabi Todoroki would be kissing while we freeze our asses off.”

Dabi scoffed at that. “Yeah, well, it happened.” He leaned forward until his face was inches from yours. “And we should do it again. Tomorrow sound good?”

“Y-yeah! Tomorrow is perfect.”

Dabi’s cobalt blue eyes looked like they were glowing. You wanted to look at them longer. You wanted to watch as his eyes got closer and closer until they closed and exchanged themselves for his lips against yours. But your thirty minutes were almost up. The orchestra pit was waiting for you.

“I should get back inside. The second act is starting in a couple minutes.” You stood up then, wrapping Dabi’s jacket tightly around yourself

Dabi got to his feet alongside you and held out his hand, which you took. He led you back inside, back into the warmth, and into the auditorium where the crowd was ushering back to their seats. Dabi whispered a little ‘good luck,’ in your ear before taking his seat in the front row.

Although the orchestra pit was extremely warm due to the building’s heater, stage lights, and the amount of people that were crammed into the little space side by side, you couldn’t bring yourself to shed Dabi’s jacket until late that night when you were getting ready for bed. And even then, you used the soft red fabric as a pillow so you could keep his smell close to your heart.

 Dabi was wearing a black suit. He hadn’t dressed up in months, so the stiff material felt completely alien on his skin. His jet-black vest was slightly wrinkled due to being stuffed in the back of his closet for months on end and his ‘dress shoes’ were really just his cleanest pair of black boots. Dabi had no doubt that he would look ratty and out of place among the well-dressed attendees at your orchestra’s recital this evening, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He was used to looking like a second-rate citizen next to you anyway. You had always cared about your appearance to the next level; every article of clothing you owned was always ironed, every shoe polished, every piece of jewelry was sparkling - a complete contrast to Dabi. That was one of the things Dabi loved most about you - you had your shit together and it was always physically obvious. You were organized, driven, ambitious, clean. Everything that Dabi was not.

It was 4:23pm. Dabi had 37 minutes until the recital started, and he still needed a tie to wear. Dabi had only ever owned one tie in his entire life, and it was a tie made of deep red silk. You had told Dabi a couple days after he asked you to go with him to your senior prom that red was your favorite color on him, so he had decided to buy a red tie for your special night out.

The tie was placed in the very back of his sock drawer and was the only piece of cloth that was folded neatly. Dabi was hesitant to pull it out of the drawer. He had only ever worn it that one night. That one night where the only thing in his eyes, his nose, his head, was you. That one night where he dressed in a black fitting suit, dawning the red, silky tie you had picked out for him the week before. That one night where he felt like someone had punched him in the fucking stomach because breathing became an immense effort after you shyly walked out of your front door, dressed in a long, red satin dress, your mom following close behind with a big, flashy camera. That one night when you told him you loved him after your first dance in the decked-out school gymnasium. That one night where he convinced you to leave the school after half an hour so he could fuck you in his car. That one night where he convinced you to swallow those little blue pills he was always shoving down his throat. That one night where he whispered a barely audible ‘I love you’ into your hair as you dozed off in the passenger seat of his car, high out of your mind. Looking back, Dabi could see that, for you, prom night was the beginning of the end. Drugs and rough sex were things you just weren’t quite ready for. Prom night for him, however, was just the beginning of your relationship. He couldn't understand that the things he would do often, oxy, car sex, ditching school events, weren’t for you. In his own mind, Dabi was convinced he was showing you how to have fun. The 20 minutes he spent fucking you into the back seat of his black Camaro were heaven. You were warm and wet and your arms clinged to him as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat and he loved it. And for the next few months following that night, you thought you did too.

It was a 20-minute walk from Dabi’s downtown small apartment to The Bleu Theater. It would’ve been a measly 5-minute drive, if Dabi still had his Camaro. Dabi thinks maybe you would still be by his side if he had his Camaro.

  Dabi was royally fucked. He had promised you right when he dropped you off at Micaretta College for your first orchestra rehearsal that he would only be out for a few hours with his brother, Natsuo. He promised he wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t smoke, wouldn’t do any type of narcotic today while he was driving himself around. He was lying, of course, but he thought he would be able to handle himself. He thought he was ‘perfectly fine, Natsuo, let it the hell go,’ after downing a shot of tequila or five. He thought his high was nothing serious, despite the fact that he swallowed 3 oxys when he and Natsuo parted ways outside of the bar.

But he was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

The silence on the other end of the phone as he made his one phone call to you, mumbling that he was in a holding cell for crashing his Camaro into a government postal box because he was drunk and high and he needed to pick you up, made him nervous. He knew you would be upset - maybe sad, worried, angry - but your silence was conveying another emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.

“Okay,” you said blankly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You showed up to the Tokyo police station ten minutes after your phone call just like you said you would - dressed in the same black and grey mini dress you were wearing this morning when he dropped you off. He had watched you dress yourself in the bedroom you two shared in your small but cozy apartment this morning from the queen-sized bed. Watching you with tired, lazy eyes, Dabi thought you looked so fucking cute. Your hair was still pulled up in a half-hearted pony-tail from when you washed your face minutes before, and your small, dainty hands were fiddling with the metal zipper on the back of your dress. He had cheekily told you ‘you're wasting your time zipping that up, princess. I’m just gonna rip it open when you get home tonight.’

Your cheeks had been coated with a light blush at that, and you let out a small giggle, glancing at him from the mirror with a shy smile on your face.

You had looked so happy this morning. Your smile was dazzling, eyes bright and lively.

You looked like the complete opposite now. A mere twelve hours later Dabi had managed to wipe that smile from your face, replacing it with a straight, thin line. The sparkle had been washed from your doe eyes, where only a blank, empty look now held its place.

He had really fucked up.

Signatures, paperwork, and a large down payment for the fine Dabi now had to pay took almost half an hour to complete before Dabi was allowed to walk free and was given a form that he was told to keep for his court date in 14 days. And then it was time to go home.

The 20-minute walk it took to get from the police department to your home was quiet and tense. You hadn’t spoken a word and Dabi hadn’t either. He was afraid of what you would say if he tried to speak to you. Would you yell at him? Would you cry? Tell him he was a failure, a fuck-up, that he wasn’t just ruining his own life, but yours too?

He already knew all of these things. His father reminded him every chance he got. He had barely managed to graduate high school, he never enrolled in college like you had, he was unemployed, paying his half of the rent with a monthly allowance he received along with the rest of his siblings from his grandmother. Each day was spent drinking, downing pills, inhaling blow, infiltrating his skin with needles, waiting for you to get home from school so he could kiss you, touch you, love you, and pretend he had a normal life - a normal, healthy relationship.

Just like you were.

“Guess we’re gonna have to use Uber from now on,” Dabi grunted, trying to slice through the tension that was strongly swimming in the air around the two of you.

“Guess so,” you said faintly.

Dabi’s eyes flash at your flat tone. “Look,” he said, teeth clenched. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I screwed up. You don’t need to make it worse.”

In an instant, your face morphed from blank and expressionless to white hot anger. “Me? You think I’m making things worse? I’m not the one who got shit faced in the middle of the day! I’m not the one who wrecked the fucking car into government property because you couldn’t see five feet in front of you!”

“I know that for Christ’s sake! Jesus fuck, I just spent two hours in jail for it! I. Fucked. Up! Get the fuck over it!”

You held his gaze for a few more moments before looking away. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you knew he needed to hear. But you were exhausted. You were so damn tired of fighting, of yelling, of constantly wondering if your life would always consist of picking up the pieces after Dabi shatters everything in his wake. You were tired of him.

“Okay,” you sighed dejectedly. “Let’s just go home. I have orchestra again tomorrow. We both need some sleep.”

Dabi didn’t say anything in response. What could he say? He could see the drained look in your eyes clear as day. He had pulled you out of your evening class to come bail him out of jail after totaling his car. He had promised you he wouldn’t drink while he was out. That he wouldn’t pop any pills while he was out. But he did.

  The line to get into the theater wasn’t too long once he arrived at the front entrance of the large stone building. There were only about fifteen people waiting to hand in their tickets to get inside, and the process seemed like it was going fairly quickly. Dabi pulled the crumpled, grey admission ticket from his coat pocket and handed it to the usher. Watching the man dressed in a baby blue suit scan the barcode on his ticket felt like watching paint dry. He needed to get inside and sit down. His head was pounding from his hangover and his heart was racing from anxiety. He hadn't seen you in six months. Not in person, anyway. He spent plenty of time stalking your social media accounts, looking to see if you had started dating again, if school was going okay for you, if you were happy without him in your life. He didn’t find much over the past few months, much to Dabi’s dismay. The only relevant thing he was able to find out about you was that your college orchestra group was conducting a recital tonight at The Bleu Theater, and that you would have a violin solo. Dabi bought his $250 dollar ticket three months in advance the second he read the flyer you had posted on your Instagram account.

The inside of the theater was as Dabi had expected it to be. Lined with red carpet and donning two grand marble staircases The halls of the theater were littered with high society aristocrats dressed in suits and evening gowns. Although he had dressed in an evening suit, Dabi knew he looked like lower class beside these people. In that moment though, Dabi couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. The only thing lingering on his mind was you. What you might be wearing. What he might do if he snagged a chance to speak to you. What he would say if you decided to hear him out.

He didn’t have time to think about it though. The recital was starting, and Dabi needed to find his seat, which he knew was in the second row from the stage. All the seats in the very front had already been bought out by the time Dabi had purchased his ticket, so seat J in row B was the second-best option.

Hurrying down the aisle, Dabi found his seat in between two women dressed in both green and silver evening gowns. They were older women with hot pink lipstick coating their wrinkled lips who raised their brows at Dabi as he sat in between them. The MC began his little speech, thanking everyone for attending tonight and asking them to please silence their cellphones. He announced the first player of the night, a cellist who was dressed in a long, black, lacy dress. He hadn’t remembered to grab a program from the man handing them out beside the entrance of the auditorium, but the women in green to his right had one and was currently reading through it. He glanced to her side, hoping to catch a glimpse of your name so he could prepare himself to see you for the first time since your break-up.

And there it was. Act number two. Y/N L/N, violin solo.

You were next and Dabi felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He was sure everyone in the room could hear the thump thump thump of the organ in his chest despite the rich boom the cello filled the room with. The cellist was reaching the climax of the Cadenza piece. You would be walking out of stage soon. In just seconds, Dabi would have the chance to lock eyes with you. He hoped he would be able to convey the love he felt for you, his anguish at the fact that you left him all alone in a world he felt had never accepted him, his guilt at making your life a living hell because he was too selfish to let you go the second things began to deteriorate. Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed.

Deep down, Dabi had known your relationship was doomed. That anxious, petrifying feeling of knowing the only heaven he was convinced he would ever know would one day leave him shortly after you had started your first year of college. You had gotten into your dream college, while Dabi hadn’t bothered to apply anywhere. You were working three days a week at a music store, teaching children how to play the violin. Dabi was living off an allowance, popping pills all day. You had aspirations. You were working toward a future you desperately wanted - you wanted to become a violinist for The Halle, you wanted to move to the city - you wanted to be with Dabi. But Dabi didn’t have dreams like you did. His father had instilled in him since he could form coherent sentences that he was a failure. He was a disgrace. He wasn’t even his real son. He was a product of his mother’s extramarital indiscretion - a stain on the Todoroki name. A mistake.

Dabi believed all his life that all he would ever be was a let-down. The only good thing in his life was you. Dabi Todoroki had managed to fall in love with a quiet girl who was ambitious and smart and beautiful - and just like everything else he did in his life - he screwed it up.

 “I need you to come home”

He shouldn’t be asking you that. Tonight was an important night for you - scouts for the Chordis Orchestra were in the audience tonight. Your school was putting on a production of Phantom of the Opera - your favorite musical - and you were lucky enough to be the first sophomore to play in the orchestra pit on opening night.

“What? Dabi - what’s going on?”

He felt like he was going crazy. Why were you asking so many questions? Why couldn’t you just come home? He needed you!

“Look,” he gulped as his knuckles turned white from gripping the phone. “I-my dad was here earlier and-”

“Your dad?” Dabi’s father, Enji, had never visited your home before. Dabi would never invite him and Enji would never lay out an offer. Dabi had told you a little about the issues he had with his father during late night talks where you and Dabi would lay naked in the back seat of his car, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“We got into a fight and I don’t even know what happened, I just opened my eyes and our window was busted and my knuckles were bleeding and dad was gone. I was so fucking pissed and I don’t even remember uncapping the fucking needle...but I think I took too much.”

Your blood ran cold. You hated when Dabi would use heroin. You had tried it once when the two of you first moved into your apartment together, and you never wanted that substance in your body again. You knew how Dabi could get when he took too much of one thing. He would get angry, paranoid, anxious and clingy. You were terrified one of these days you would come home and find him dead on the bathroom floor with a needle sticking out of his arm or pills lodged in his throat.

“Dabi what do you mean you took too much? D-do I need to call an ambulance!?”

“No! No, don’t call the fucking police. I’ll get charged with substance abuse. Fuck! Just come home!”

“Okay, okay, Dabi. I’m coming home, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You quickly packed up your instrument, sheet music, and informed the director you would not be able to perform tonight. It was a tense conversation, as Ms. Hatsuki had given you a big opportunity to play tonight. But Dabi wanted you home. And he was more important, right?

The bursting open of the wooden door startled Dabi. He had been staring blankly at the wall, scratching at the needle scars that were riddled along his left forearm. It felt like he had been waiting hours for you to get home to him, when only a mere 20 minutes had passed before you burst into the living room.

“Dabi,” you breathed, “are you okay? You look so pale.” You rushed over to the brown sofa where he was seated and took his hand in yours. His hand was coated in brown, dry blood and there was a small gash across his knuckles. It wasn’t too bad, but he would probably need a couple stitches.

“M’fine. I think...I’m just coming down really hard. My hand hurts, too.”

Coming down too hard? How many times have you been through this? There had been several occasions where Dabi had called you while you were in the middle of class, or in rehearsal, or out with friends or family, frantically begging you to come home. Each time he made one of those calls, he worried you sick. He never sounded like the Dabi you knew like the back of your hand. He was sacred and sounded like he was close to death every time. And every time you came running, he would lay his head in your lap, tell you he’s sorry, that he wants to do better for you, and then do it all over again the next week.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take. At first, it was small, tolerable things. Things you could look past because you loved him so much. In the beginning, when Dabi went past his limit, he would grow overly irritable, snapping at you out of nowhere. Then, that gradually turned into full blown meltdowns with Dabi shedding a few tears as he paced around the apartment, not sure if he was angry or scared, not knowing what he could possibly be angry at or scared of.

Then, that morphed into complete paranoia. Dabi always thought he would die when he would go past his limit, but he would never do anything to help his fears. He was always afraid you would leave him all by himself in this tiny apartment that only felt like home when you were there. He was afraid his father would finally cut him out of the family because he’s a bad influence on his little brother - because he’s a good-for-nothing junkie with no direction in life.

He was afraid of problems that only he was able to cause. Problems he couldn’t stop causing.

Your mouth set into a thin line, a sight Dabi wished he wasn’t so familiar with. “Dabi,” you started evenly. “I thought you were fucking dying. You made me leave the most important performance of my life - for what?”

Dabi’s puppy eyes quickly morphed into piercing cobalt as he scowled. “For what? Princess, I need you here. I felt like I was fucking dying, I need a little support here!”

“WHAT ABOUT ME!?” you screamed. It startled the both of you. The scream seemed to rip itself from your throat without permission. The shocked look on your boyfriend’s face almost made you back down. But you wouldn’t – couldn’t back down this time.

“What about supporting me, huh, Dabi? Week after week, I drop everything, my whole life, to come running back to you. To make sure you’re okay. You make promise after promise to stop this shit, to get clean, to get your life together so I CAN GET MINE TOGETHER! Fuck, it’s like I’m your mother instead of your girlfriend.”

Dabi watched you silently from his spot on the couch. He had never seen you so angry before, especially at him. The smack running through his veins urged him to yell back at you. To scream that you were selfish. That you can’t talk to him like that.

But he doesn’t. Because he knows you’re right.

Deep down, he knows he’s ruining your life. He knows he’s continually taking opportunity after opportunity from you - because he doesn’t want to be alone. He knows his drug induced moods are wearing on you. He knows he’s tearing your heart apart by worrying you, yelling at you, destroying you. He knows he does not deserve you. But even so, he hopes to God you won’t leave. He’s too selfish to let you go on his own - he would rather watch you crumble because of him than watch you flourish without him.

“Tonight was so important, Dabi. You know that.” Your eyes were filling with tears. Your heart felt like it was shattering within your chest. You didn’t want to. Or did you? You weren’t so sure what you wanted anymore. But you did know what you needed. “I-I can’t Dabi. I cannot do this with you anymore.”

“W-what? The fuck are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t stay in this relationship with you, Dabi! It's tearing me completely apart. It's tearing me apart because you’re tearing yourself apart. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t do it. I hit my limit months ago. This - us - it needs to end now.”

Neither of you said anything after that. It was strange, in a way. You expected your boyfriend - your ex-boyfriend, would beg you not to leave. Like he always did when he was paranoid and high.

Dabi, on the other hand, had always imagined, in his hazy, drunken paranoia, that he would rage if you ever tried to leave him like this. What was he supposed to do without you? He had nothing in life but you. Every day was about you; waiting for you to get home from school, cooking for you, fucking you, talking to you, living life through you. But he wasn’t angry. All he felt in those next few minutes as the two of you sat side by side on the couch for the very last time, was sorrow.

His father was right, as he always was. He destroyed everything he touched. One tiny brush of his fingertips set anything in his wake ablaze.

When you stood from the couch to go pack a bag, Dabi couldn't bring himself to look at you. He couldn’t force out a single syllable. All he could do was sit. Sit and listen as the girl he loved gathered every piece of herself and walked out of his life.

The next few weeks following the break up were the worst. You were ignoring Dabi’s texts and calls, and he didn’t even know where you were. He assumed you were staying with a friend or had moved back in with your mother - but he wished you would answer one of his texts so he could know for sure.

Dabi didn’t leave his apartment until a month after the two of you broke up. He honestly didn’t see a reason to. After he graduated high school and moved in with you, he only left the house to go grocery shopping, or buy you little gifts, or go on dates with you. Now that you were gone, what reason did he have to venture outside of his safe space?

Alcohol. Sex.

Two enticing reasons.

The first time Dabi had sex with another person after your break up, he felt like throwing up. Her voice was higher than yours, her nose was bigger than yours, the way she looked when she came on his cock was nowhere near as beautiful as yours was.

She was not you.

She was not you, and here he was, in her apartment, in her bed, kissing her, pleasing her, fucking her. He felt like he was betraying you the first few times he did it. He had to keep reminding himself that you were gone, you weren’t his girlfriend anymore. He could have sex with whoever he wanted.

After the first couple girls, the guilt and disgust melted away and morphed into delirium. If he was in bed with some girl he met at a bar, he could forget your face. If he kissed her lips in a sloppy, rushed manner, he could forget the way he felt to be touched by you. If he listened to her maddening moans as he fucked into her, he could forget the way your voice sounded, just for a moment. And that was enough for him to survive each day without you.

 It was scary seeing you for the first time in so long. You looked the same as you always had; beautiful, elegant, and perfect.

You were wearing a white, spaghetti sleeved dress that reached to the middle of your leg and your hair was curled delicately and was falling freely past your shoulders. Dabi had spent half a year without seeing you or hearing from you at all, and still, the first sight of you made him feel like he couldn’t fucking breath. Every little detail was special to him.

He could see the nervousness written all over your face. You were used to playing in an orchestra pit, away from everyone’s line of sight. You felt most comfortable hidden in the darkness, playing music that was meant to add character to a play, not right in the spotlight, playing raw music for everyone to judge you with. But Dabi also knew that this is what you always truly wanted. You wanted people to see you and hear you, no matter how terrifying it was.

You started off slow, moving your bow gently and fluidly across the strings of your violin. It was soft and melodic, and only Dabi knew that this was your signature build up - it was how you always liked to play music. Just as you were doing now, you had always preferred to start everything off slow and delicate - gradually and powerfully zipping your bow across the metal strings to create an earth-shattering sound that was somehow richer than the cello. Dabi had noticed this the very first time he ever heard you play in that empty auditorium in high school, and still now you were able to knock him out with your beautiful talent.

You were avoiding looking out into the crowd to evade stage fright. You knew that if you looked out into the human sea, you would face the possibility of choking. This was an incredibly important night. Your mom had joked before you left her house this morning that tonight would mark the beginning of your musical career. You could not afford to mess anything up.

But then you looked up. You tore your gaze from the floor and glanced out into the abyss and fount cobalt blue eyes staring intently back at you. His gaze was enough to almost make your left hand fingers falter over the notes, but you regained your composure almost as fast as you had lost it. Looking away from him seemed impossible right then. Here he was, Dabi, your ex-boyfriend, your first love, sitting in the audience, listening to you play your heart out. Why was he here? How did he even know you would be playing tonight?

A million and one questions swam through your mind. You were playing on autopilot now. You couldn’t focus on anything but him. His inky black hair was combed neatly, just as it was on prom night. He was wearing a suit and he looked completely dressed for the occasion. Your song was coming to an end and you needed to snap out of it. The ending deserved your attention. You owed it to yourself to forget Dabi, just for this second, to focus on what you had in front of you.

The floor wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as Dabi was, but it was where you had to force yourself to look for the remainder of the song. It came to a finish 20 seconds later, and the applause was almost too loud for your ears. A proud grin spread across your face as you grabbed the neck of your instrument and bowed before walking back into the wings.

You weren’t sure why Dabi would come tonight. He had stopped trying to contact you three months ago after you ignored each and every one of his attempts. It was painful to even think about him after your break up. There were many times you felt as if you had made a mistake in leaving. Every memory of Dabi holding you to his chest when you would cry to try and comfort you, every memory of Dabi whispering out that he loved you late at night, every memory of Dabi kissing you goodbye as you left for class each morning, was almost enough to break you. But the fact was that you didn’t just leave for yourself. Dabi was too dependent on you. If you had continued to enable his drug habit, allowing him to think that he could be as destructive as he wanted and nothing would happen to him, he would end up killing himself. So, you stood your ground, and distanced yourself as far away from him as you could.

But he was here now. Dressed nicely, watching you on the most important night of your life. Did he want to talk? Or was he here for something else? There was only one way to find out.

Dabi had gotten up from his seat as soon as you exited the stage. He wasn’t too eager to listen to some guy play the piano for 2 minutes straight. He had only come here to see you. The air was warm and inviting outside as Dabi sat on the building’s steps and pulled out his e-cigarette. He wanted to go back in and find you, just as he planned when he first got here. Seeing you on stage tonight, however, made him think twice. You looked beautiful and vibrant. Despite the look of nervousness you wore tonight, he knew you were confident in what you could do. You smiled tonight. It didn’t look fake or forced, like it had months ago. It looked completely genuine and Dabi didn’t want to take that away from you.

You were happy without him. You were thriving without him. He needed to stay away from you.

“You’re missing the rest of the recital, you know.”

Your voice brought Dabi out of his head. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, it almost sounded alien to him.

You stood two steps above him, still wearing your white dress. Still just as beautiful as you were on stage.

Dabi was searching for the right words to say, but he was coming up perpetually blank. He wanted to say the right thing, but he never knew what the right thing to say was.

“I, uh, only came to see one act.” You smiled softly at that, and Dabi felt like someone had shot him. He missed you. He missed you so much and your smile only reminded him of what he inevitably pushed away 6 months ago.

“Well, mister Beethoven,” you joked, “how did I do?”

You were walking closer to him and Dabi wasn’t sure if he should move away or not. He was afraid that if you got too close, he might burn you. “God, it was awful. It sounded like a tortured cat.”

A laugh tore itself from your throat as you sat beside him on the steps. “Yeah, well. That was your fault. I didn’t expect to see you out there. Caught me off guard.”

“You were great.” Dabi wanted to smile back at you, but he couldn’t. “Felt like I was watching an actual angel perform.”

It was quiet for a moment after that. Neither of you knew what to say. Why were you out here with him? Why did he come to see you tonight?

“Why’d you come tonight, Dabi?”

“I dunno, really. I just - I knew you were playing tonight. I felt like I needed to see you. I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

The e-cigarette in your ex-boyfriend’s hand caught your attention. “Since when do you smoke water vapor? What happened to weed?”

Dabi looked down at his hands before replying. “I quit that shit a couple months ago,” he mumbled. “I didn’t like the way it made me feel anymore.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You stopped smoking pot? That’s great Dabi!”

“Thanks. I stopped with the pills and smack too.”

He what? “Wait, are you saying you got clean?”

He shrugged, not returning your gaze. “I guess. I stopped using four months ago. Fuyumi and my mom have gotten me into counseling. My therapist is helping me come up with ways to cope without drugs. The booze has been more difficult to quit though. I still drink pretty often. I’m...I’m working on being different. Like I always promised you I would. Except this time, I’m serious.”

The world halted for a moment for you. Dabi...was getting clean. He had promised you countless times in your relationship that he would try to stop. That he would be a better man for you. That he would stop using, get a job, go back to school. Each of those promises were empty, unfulfilled wishes.

But not anymore.

You threw your arms around Dabi, almost knocking him off the step. He stilled, not sure what to do. Should he hug you back? Push you off of him? He didn’t know, so he allowed you to continue to take the lead.

“I’m so happy for you Dabi. That is so amazing. I can’t believe it, I’m so proud.” There was a familiar warmth growing in your chest. The entire two years of your relationship, all you had wanted was for Dabi to get clean. The drugs, the directionlessness, it weighed on him. And, in turn, it began to weigh on you as well. “Have you thought about enrolling anywhere?”

You had pulled away from Dabi by now, but you were still sitting quite close to him, which made Dabi feel uneasy. He had wanted to be close to you like this for months, but now that it was happening, he felt anxious. What if after tonight, the two of you would go back to being strangers?

“I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve worked on a few applications already, but I haven’t sent anything in just yet.”

Hearing that Dabi was finally getting his shit together filled your heart with joy and hope. Dabi was trying to get sober. Dabi had come to see you tonight. And you still loved him after all this time. After everything, Dabi still owned your heart.

“I need to tell you I’m sorry.” He turned to look at you. He had been looking at everything but you this entire conversation, but he needed to look you in the eye as he said this. “I need to tell you I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I fucked up so many things for you because I was a piece of shit. I’m sorry for making you leave.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Dabi looked so different now. He looked the same as he always did, yet completely unfamiliar all at once. You had spent so many months seeing Dabi kill himself every day. His eyes were sunken in, dark circles painted onto his sickly pale skin. His lips were always chapped and split open, scratching your own lips whenever he grabbed your face to kiss you. Now, underneath the bright June moonlight, Dabi looked alive. His lips were no longer dehydrated and split. His eyes were still tired, but more alert, and his skin looked healthy.

“I left for a reason, Dabi. Not just because it was too much for me, but because I thought you needed to figure everything out on your own.”

He nodded slowly while keeping your gaze. “Is it possible to try again?”

Yes, you wanted to say, absolutely. You wanted to tell him you could pick up right where the two of you left off, but you couldn’t. Not after everything he put you through. Taking a deep breath and taking his hand in yours, you said, “how about you and I go for coffee tomorrow? We can talk things out more then.”

Dabi grinned and squeezed your hand. I have a shot. Being this close to you, knowing he would see you again tomorrow, really made him want to kiss you. Six months ago, he could grab your face whenever he wanted and capture your lips with his. But he couldn’t now. He needed to take his time with you, let you decide if he was what you wanted. He had put you through hell for so long, so he needed to let you take the lead this time.

“I’d really like that.”

To his surprise. you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his cheek, and then stood. “I need to get back inside, but...I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

Dabi nodded furiously. “Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow morning.”

You smiled softly once more, and then turned to head back into the building. Watching you leave the night the two of you broke up made him feel like everything around him was bleak and broken. This time, as he watched you slip through the doors of the theater, he felt light things were finally a little bit brighter.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

*

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

[queenk00k]

red wine lips part 1 // rafe cameron

Warnings: alcohol, drug use, sexual content 

Word count: 2000

PART 2 NOW UPLOADED 

PART 3 NOW UPLOADED

FINAL PART NOW UPLOADED

fic idea from my ship with rafe from @socialwriter

moodboard idea from @harrysbbby

You were going to be late.

Correction: You and Rafe Cameron were going to be late, and it’s all his fault for hosting a party the night before, in what you assumed was an effort to impress you (which, by the way, didn’t work) and you were pissed.

You had overslept and Rafe, having been preoccupied with multiple bags, hadn’t slept at all.

“Rafe!” You yell. “We’re going to be late, and I will not have you turning up to this thing in anything less than a suit. Get dressed and hurry the fuck up!” You hop across the first-floor landing, pulling your heels on as you made a beeline for Rafe’s bedroom.

Not bothering to knock (when had you two had any manners towards each other anyway?), you push open the heavy wooden door to see Rafe bent over his dresser, half dressed in navy suit pants and an open white shirt. He’s surreptitiously cutting the last of the night’s supply into neat lines with his black AMEX card, tapping his foot absentmindedly.

“Keeping the party going, are we?” You ask, folding your arms across your satin clad chest.

Rafe doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he finishes what he was doing before you interrupted, snorting his line and wiping his nose as he turns around.

He smirks. “Looking good, Y/N. That dress would look better off you though.”

You roll your eyes. “Firstly, keep it in your pants, and secondly, you better not be thinking about bringing coke to the tour. We’re being classy today, Cameron,” you say, using the nickname only reserved for when you were annoyed at your long-time friend.

Rafe chuckles and starts buttoning his shirt, stepping towards you as his brows furrow in concentration. “I’ll behave.”

You look up at him incredulously.

“Promise,” he says. “I’ll just get drunk today. That’s what wine tastings are for, right?”

You figured him being drunk was the best-case scenario. At least you could guarantee the absence of Pogues – no fighting today.

“I’ll take it. Come on, we need to go. Our driver’s outside.”

You turn to leave, but Rafe grabs your wrist suddenly, holding you back. “Wait, wait.” Rafe’s blue eyes stare down at you intensely and, you’re ashamed to admit, you think they’re actually quite pretty. “I do really think you look nice today. Red’s your colour.”

There’s a brief pause as you wait for the usual sexual remark, but a beat passes without one and you’re pleasantly surprised.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you reply with a smile as you head out the door, but before you fully leave you pop your head back through the frame.

“Oh, and Rafe?”

“Mm?”

“Wear a red tie.” You wink before turning on your heel, swooping the dress behind you as you make your way downstairs.

There’s excited chatter amongst your group as your driver pulls up to the iron gates of the most prestigious winery in the Outer Banks and you gaze out the window at the vines spread out across the field.

The car comes to a stop and Rafe jumps out before you, impressing you by taking your hand and helping you step out of the vehicle onto the gravelled road. You look up at him and think to yourself how handsome he looks and, not to mention, how good you both look together in red.

You and Rafe first met as kids, when you were both left at the country club’s “kidZone” whilst your mums sipped champagne and got uncomfortably close to men who weren’t their husbands. Since then, your families were always close and you and Rafe became good friends, bonded by your love of two things: money and having a good time.

There was underlying sexual tension between the two of you since you were old enough to wear a bra and Rafe was old enough to notice, but neither of you had ever acted on it.

Sometimes the fun was left in the unknown, the untouched possibilities, the lingering gazes and suggestive comments.

“Like what you see?” Rafe teases, snapping you out of your reflective state.

You chuckle. “What if I do?” You walk away without giving Rafe a chance to reply, feeling his wandering eyes burn a hole in your back as you make sure to swing your hips in a way you know will have him distracted for the rest of the day.

Like you said – sometimes all the fun was in the chase.

Maybe this time he could catch you.

_______________________________________________________________

“So this one here is our flagship viognier – it’s a full bodied white wine, and because it’s been aged in oak like our chardonnay, it’s a very rich taste and you’ll be able to taste notes of vanilla,” the sommelier explains as he pours an annoyingly small amount of wine into your glass before moving onto Rafe’s next to you.

You notice he’s gone light on the wine as he’s serving to your group, clearly uncomfortable with the raucous group of barely legal 21-year-olds.

Rafe swirls the wine around his glass and says “how much for a bottle?”

You scoff. “You haven’t even tasted it yet. See if you like it first.”

“Don’t be so bossy, Y/N,” he replies before downing the wine in one gulp, much to the horror of your sommelier.

You quickly follow suit, taking a bit longer to savour the taste of the wine before you swallow completely. You actually enjoy this wine stuff, taking the time to learn about different types of grapes before you organised this trip for you, Rafe, Topper, Kelce and your group of girlfriends from college. You notice Rafe watching you as you tip your head back, his blue eyes following the curve of your neck, his jaw clenching as you swallow.

No prizes for guessing what he’s thinking about you swallowing instead.

After a few more glasses as you make your way down to the final bottle of wine, you feel yourself getting dizzier and your friends are speaking louder and louder until Rafe finds it necessary to bring his lips to your ear every time he wants to speak to you.

“You know, you and I….we could have some fun together,” Rafe says as he trails a finger up your thigh.

You slap his hand and move it off you, bringing your gaze to his face which is tantalizing close to yours, willing yourself not to bring your gaze to his lips which are stained ever so slightly with red.

“You said you were going to behave, Cameron,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“What, I can’t treat my princess to something I know she’s been waiting for all these years?” Rafe looks at you expectantly. 

“Your princess?”

“You been cosying up to anyone else today?” Rafe points out, fingering the collar of his suit jacket that’s been draped over your bare shoulders at some point in the afternoon.

Fuck, he’s right.

“…I was cold,” you say, witty replies be damned.

“Mmhm.”

You stare at each other for a beat, before Rafe spins in his seat (almost toppling off) and faces the bar.

“How much is a bottle of the merlot?” He asks the sommelier.

You see the guy purse his lips.

“It’s our most expensive bottle.”

Rafe scoffs. “Weird price. How much is it?”

The sommelier furrows his brows and looks around the room, his gaze falling upon Topper and Kelce who were talking animatedly, their ties hanging loose around their necks.

“Where are your parents? Maybe you should wait for them to get here and they could pick something out for you?”

Oh boy, you think. Not difficult for you to predict how Rafe was going to react to that comment.

True to form, Rafe pushes back from the table and stands up, his jaw clenched and his large frame towering over the server, who at least has the common sense to look intimidated.

“Do you know who I am, bro?”

“Don’t answer that,” you warn him with a wave of your hand. “Better to just let him tell you.”

You had seen Rafe on power trips like this in the past when his influence has been questioned. It proves troublesome when whoever he’s talking to just isn’t having it, but usually you find it pretty hot.

Rafe places his hands on the counter and leans over to look the server in the eyes.

You do him a favour by holding his tie back, so it doesn’t take a dip in the cabernet sauvignon.

“I’m Rafe Cameron. Do you know who my father is? Yeah,” Rafe says as the sommelier gulps, “Ward Cameron. We basically own this island. Do you own an island?”

The server shakes his head in defeat.

“I didn’t think so,” Rafe says, standing up straight again and shooting you a brief smirk as you take your hand off his tie.

You figure he’s grateful.

“Now, my group and I here would like 10 bottles.”

The sommelier clears his throat before replying. “Of course, sir, which 10 bottles would you like?”

Rafe chuckles as he flashes his AMEX. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I want 10 bottles of every single wine you have.”

Your painted lips curl into a smile.

It was going to be a good afternoon.

_______________________________________________________________

Before you know it, you’re sitting next to Rafe at a table in the courtyard, your leg moving dangerously closer to his, his eyes grazing over your chest intermittently.

Topper is telling a story about his ex-girlfriend Sarah, who he insists he’s “completely over” (yeah right) and you’re barely listening, your eyes glazed over as you bring the crystal glass to your lips absentmindedly.

Hard to concentrate on anything when Rafe Cameron’s hand is inching closer up your thigh, pulling the satin fabric up with it until your leg is almost completely exposed to the cool afternoon air.

You’re thankful for two things.

One, the fact that you had the foresight to shave that morning.

And two, the biological blessing that was your ability to hide how completely and utterly turned on you are in that moment.

You start squirming in your seat, clearing your throat as you become increasingly aware of how flushed your cheeks feel, warmth pooling in your belly as you swallow thickly and turn to Rafe.

He looks at you expectantly and in a daring move, presses his lips to your neck softly.

Completely out of character for Rafe, it’s almost sweet and doesn’t do your state any favours as you squeeze your thighs together, wetness already starting to spread to your underwear.

Goddamnit, you think. You look up at Rafe through your long eyelashes, and bring your lips to his ear to whisper “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Rafe looks at you excitedly, and you figure it wouldn’t hurt (too much) to drag out the inevitable just that bit longer.

“Do not even think about following me,” you say as you stand up, praying your arousal hasn’t started to show on your dress. You picked a good day to wear satin, for goodness sake.

Rafe looks hurt as you walk into the ladies’ bathroom, not doubting that he will follow your wishes. He may be a sexual deviant but he’s not one to cross boundaries, especially yours.

You brace yourself on the porcelain sink, breathing heavily as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look frazzled and flushed, all because of Rafe.

You have an idea, and smirk to yourself as you prepare to leave.

You make your way out of the bathroom, walking slowly back to the group, stopping where only Rafe can see you.

You don’t have to wait long for Rafe to look up and catch your eye. It gives you some sort of satisfaction to see his face change from confusion to shock, and you know you’ve got him hooked.

You’re holding your red lace thong in your hand, winking as you stuff it discreetly into your clutch. You’ve never seen Rafe look so impressed.

Game on.

_______________________________________________________________ 

tag list my beautiful bbys: @letsgofullkook​ @stargazingstarkey​ @hoeforpankow​ @harrysbbby​ @ptersparkers​ @socialwriter​ @thatjohnd​ @ssjiara​ @jjsmentalpolaroids​ @bailspogue​ @jjmaybankx​ @jjtheangel​ @jjmeybank​ @drewstarkey​ @obx-direction-sos​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @pixelated-pogues​ @jjmbanks​ @ims0golden​ @obbx-tings​ @honeyycheek​ @softstarkey​ 

please let me know your thoughts and if you’d like a part 2!! (planning on it)

[moshymosh]

Remember me- A Night To Remember

When the love of your life suffers from a disease that affects their memory of their life with you, what do you do? Will you spend your last days with them, trying to get them to remember you? The life you had, or would you give up and let them forget you?

Summary- Dr. Spencer Reid felt his whole life change when Agent Y/n L/n joined the BAU. She came in like a cool summer breeze changing everything Spencer knew about love and his capacity to care for someone so much. Y/n came to the BAU with a tragic past, her only goal was to save lives and make the world a safer place for everyone. She meets a skinny shaggy haired doctor, which causes her whole life to change, much like Spencer, will she fall in love or will her tragic past or even her job prevent her?

Pairings- Dr. Spencer Reid x f!reader.

A/N- This is a notebook inspired story, this story will be told and wrote like a chapter book. So some of the endings will not always make sense. Also I don't claim go own Criminal Minds or the Notebook, this is solely for entertainment purposes and for enjoyment. Some of the lines are from the notebook movie, again I don't claim to own either fandom/tv show/ movie. I try to make Y/n as vague as possible so shes more inclusive so if there is any descriptive things that don’t apply to you feel free to ignore them. Also just putting this out there as the story progresses Maeve is still alive and well, she is a good friend of Spencer and Y/n’s. There will be graphic content and sexual scenes in later chapters, warnings will be added as they go. Also if you want to be tagged send me an as or comment here, also send requests I'm down for making little fics. I know this part is a little weird, but there will be a -A Night To Remember part 2

PS- Please don't post my fics anywhere without my documented consent, thanks -Karma (MoshyMosh)

Warnings- some mentions of guns, violence and some minor crime talk, the usual for criminal minds. (I’m bad at writing case talk, please don't hate me.)

Here's the dress I was using for inspiration. Also here are the roses. If the links don’t work, here’s a link to the inspo board on Pinterest.

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Y/n walked into the bullpen a package clasped in her hands. Y/n saw JJ talking to Derek and glanced around, making sure Spencer wasn't around before she walked over to the pair. "JJ I need a favor, " Y/n said softly, holding out the newspaper-wrapped package. "Give it to Spencer when I'm- uh not around?"

JJ and Derek shared a small smile after JJ took the package from Y/n and watched her go over to her desk and begin to set her stuff down. Y/n tilted her head at the small bouquet of yellow red-tipped roses sitting on her desk. Y/n smiled softly and pulled the notecard from its holder. Her eyes were drawn from the notecard to the three bags of gummy bears behind the roses.

Y/n let out a giggle and shook her head with a small smile on her face. She then looked up to JJ with a look of confusion but brushed it aside and sat down as she began to pull the card from its envelope.

'Will you go to the FBI ball with me?-SR xx'

Y/n giggled and slid the notecard into her blazer pocket and grabbed one of the bags of gummy bears, opening it as she left the bullpen to go to Garcia's bat cave.

Spencer smiled as he saw Y/n's reaction to his gifts, turning back to Rossi and Hotch, as they all stood in Hotch's office. "I think she liked them." He said excitedly. "Thank you." Spencer said before he left Hotch's office.

JJ saw Spencer walking back to his desk. "Spence!" she called for him as she began to walk over to him, Derek trailing behind her.

Spencer turned and looked at JJ, confused, seeing the package in her hand. "Looks like pretty boys got a crush." Derek said with a chuckle, nudging Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer took the package from JJ, pulling the notecard from under the emerald green ribbon that was decorating the package. Spencer looked up at JJ and Derek, confused before he opened the envelope and pulled out the card to read its contents.

'I love Walt Whitman, you saw and remember how I like my coffee, here's my favorite book of poems. Remember them- F/I L/I x'

Spencer put the notecard down and went to untie the ribbon when he looked at his desk to set the ribbon down and saw a note on the back of the card.

'PS- you once told me a statistic on recycling and I took it to heart, hence the newspaper. It's recycled.'

Spencer chuckled and carefully unwrapped the newspaper so it can be reused before he pulled the book from the wrapper. Spencer opened the hardcover and saw the copyright page.

"A first edition?" Spencer asked in disbelief.

Y/n and Garcia walked back in the bullpen, Y/n looked over to Spencer and smiled at him before she popped a gummy bear into her mouth.

"Okay guys, the FBI ball is next Wednesday. We just got a case, let's meet and discuss." Hotch said from the second floor.

Y/n followed Penelope to the meeting room and found a seat as the others filed in after.

"Ok, guys this case is in our very own home." Garcia started talking, throughout the meeting Y/n and Spencer took turns glancing at each other.

"Ok L/n you're with me, we'll set up here. Reid and Morgan go check out the first crime scene. Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss go to the recent scene." Hotch said as he closed his file.

"Y/n." Hotch said once everyone left and they began to set up the evidence boards that they had wheeled into the room.

"Yes sir?" Y/n asked, looking over to Hotch as she finished putting up the final picture on one of the boards.

"Did you like Spencer's gifts?" he asked, handing her some more things to put on the board.

Y/n smiled to herself as she hung the things he handed to her, "Yes, I did. Though, I can't wrap my brain around what those yellow roses are supposed to symbolize. They have multiple meanings such as friendship and/or falling in love." she said as she turned around and placed her hands on the back of a nearby chair. "Does that mean his note is 'go to the ball with me as friends.' or 'go to the ball with me because I'm falling in love with you.'?"

Hotch chuckled and shook his head with a smile. "Don't overthink it like Reid did." he said

Y/n shook her head with a laugh before she smiled up at him. "I think just because you said that I'm going to do just that."

Their friendly banter was interrupted by Hotch's phone ringing. "Reid, what did you find out?" Hotch asked as he answered and put his phone on speaker, Y/n listened alongside Hotch to what Reid was telling them. Y/n looked over to the map on the board, mentally putting points on it.

"I think I know where the unsub's comfort zone is." she said, moving away from the chair she was leaning against and began putting the points she envisioned onto the map for the team.

"Reid, Morgan tell everyone to get back here." Hotch said before he turned and looked at what Y/n was doing as he hung up the phone.

After a few days if run around by the unsub they managed to track him down. Y/n went into the warehouse with her gun drawn as she led a few SWAT members in.

"Thomas McDonald!" Y/n shouted, her gun drawn on the man who was holding a knife to the throat of a girl he recently kidnapped. "Put the knife down, and let the girl go."

Soon the team came in and the unsub backed down. They quickly arrested the man and the victim was given medical treatment. Y/n took a deep breath when she stepped out of the warehouse, Y/n shook her head to shake loose her thoughts before she looked at the woman sitting on the back of the ambulance.

"Agent L/n?" a medic called over to her, she looked over to the source of the voice. "She wants to speak to you."

Y/n walked over to the woman and sat next to her. "You saved my life." the woman said, grasping Y/n's hands.

"It wasn't just me." Y/n said as she rubbed her thumbs over the back of the woman's hands, turning her head to nod towards the team. "They all helped." Y/n whispered to her. The woman hugged her tightly causing Y/n to gasp in shock. Y/n hugged the woman back and began rubbing her back in a comforting manner.

"Thank you so much." The woman said. Y/n continued to rub the woman's back, not knowing Spencer was watching her comfort the woman.

"L/n." Hotch called out to her, causing Spencer to look away, as Y/n looked back to Hotch. She excused herself from the woman's embrace and came to join the team, standing beside Spencer. "You did a really good job of defusing the situation, " Hotch said earnestly, causing Y/n to let out a small sigh of relief. "Let's head back to Quantico and debrief."

Y/n and the team headed back to Quantico and began to work on writing their reports. Y/n sighed and rubbed her eyes for what she felt was the thousandth time, everyone had finished and went home. Spencer looked over at Y/n who yawned and rolled her head, stretching out her neck.

Spencer stood and began to grab his things. "Y/n go home, it'll be there tomorrow." he said to her as he walked past her desk.

"Oh! Spencer, yes I'll go to the ball with you on Wednesday." Y/n said as she smiled at him. Spence smiled back at her and nodded his head before he turned and continued walking to the elevators, leaving Y/n behind in the empty office.

The sun rose on the Monday before the ball. Y/n groaned as she lifted her head from her desk as she heard her coworkers enter the bullpen, she rubbed her eyes sleepily as she turned her head in their direction.

"Y/n did you sleep here last night?" Penelope asked as she walked in beside Derek.

Y/n stretched and yawned as she looked around. "I uh- must've fallen asleep after I finished my report." Y/n said as she rubbed her eyes again. "I remember putting my report on Hotch's desk and sitting back down to gather my things and I fell asleep."

Spencer walked in behind JJ, carrying two to-go coffee cups, smiling at the sleepy Y/n at her desk. "You slept here." Spencer stated, walking over to her, holding out one of the cups to her.

"No, I just decided to wear yesterday's clothes and not brush my hair." Y/n said sarcastically before she took a sip of coffee.

"Ouch, Y/n's got bite in the morning." Derek said with a chuckled to which Y/n gave him a death glare. "Oof meow." he said, gesturing a clawing motion with his hand.

Hotch walked in with a chuckle overhearing their conversation. "L/n, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia why don't you girls take the day, go do girl things." he said with a smile. "Just keep your phone on you."

JJ and Emily looked at each other in disbelief as Penelope squealed and did a happy dance. Y/n saluted with a sleepy look as she sipped her coffee again.

"Rossi, Reid, and Morgan, we all have tuxs to get for Wednesday." Hotch said. Spencer watched as Y/n gathered her things into her white messenger bag before she stood, slinging it onto her shoulder.

"Spencie, thank you so much for the lifeline this morning." Y/n said as she raised her cup in his direction.

"Y/n! Let's go, we've got dress shopping to do!" Penelope shouted from the door to the bullpen, causing Y/n to cringe at the loudness of her voice.

Y/n turned around and motioned her hand in a lowering gesture. "Penny sweetie, too loud." Y/n whispered as she walked over to her, and slung her arm around Penelope's shoulders after she switched her coffee cup to the other hand. "Let's go bitches." Y/n said with a laugh as they walked to the elevators, to go shopping.

Y/n sat in the dress shop, watching JJ, Emily and Penelope come in and out of the fitting rooms, trying on different dresses. Y/n turned her head as her eyes glanced go the burgundy she had her eyes on.

"Girl, go get it." JJ said as she watched Y/n, the dress she decided on, hanging over her arm.

Y/n looked back to JJ, biting her lip. "Should I?" she asked as she began playing with her fingers.

"Oh hell yes." Emily said adjusting the dress she was trying on in the mirror.

Y/n nodded her head in determination, before she stood and walked over to the display her dress was hanging on, flagging down an employee for help. Y/n waited by the dressing room as she watch the employee take the dress off the display for her to try on. Y/n walked behind the curtain after the employee handed it to her.

Y/n stood in front of the mirror inside the fitting room, as she ran her hands down the tulle bodice. She took a deep breath and turned to exit the small room.

"Oh my God!" All of the girls said when they saw Y/n in the dress. The burgundy tulle of the skirt flowed around her perfectly.

"Does it look ok?" Y/n asked softly as she adjusted the sleeves, turning around to look in the mirror behind her.

"Yes, you do." JJ said as she came up behind her, rubbing her shoulders affectionately. "Look if you do your hair up..." She said as she demonstrated showing Y/n what she meant.

Y/n bit her lip as she looked at her reflection as JJ held her hair up. Emily came up behind the pair and smiled, leaning over Y/n's opposite shoulder.

"You know I wasn't sure about you at first but I've changed my mind about you now." Emily said as she draped a necklace she saw on a display on Y/n's neck. "I saw this necklace and I thought it was perfect." she said as she looked up from the necklace on Y/n's chest to her reflection.

JJ stepped away from Y/n and Emily, and went to look for a necktie that matched the color of Y/n's dress for Spencer to wear. JJ dragged Penelope into the search after they both paid for their dresses and accessories. Y/n smiled at Emily when she stepped away. Y/n went back into the dressing room to change back into she came into the store in. Emily took the necklace she found for herself and the one she found for Y/n, along with her dress, and went to the register to pay for her items.

Emily waited for the girls by the door of the shop. Y/n stepped out of the dressing room, the dress she was getting, draped over her arm as she gathered her bag from the couch she was previously occupying. She went to the register to pay for her desk, smiling as the woman put her dress in a dress bag before she stood next to Emily by the door, waiting for Penelope and JJ.

Once all the girls were ready they walked out of the shop and out to their cars. "Hey girls, why don't you guys take your things home and then come back to my apartment for some drinks and take out?" Y/n asked when they all reached their cars that were parked near each other.

"You got a deal sister. I'll bring the wine." Penelope said giddily.

Emily chuckled and shook her head as she hung her dress in the back of her car. "I'll bring face masks." she said with a wink to Y/n.

"JJ, what are you bringing?" Y/n asked, watching the woman in question put her dress in her car.

"I'm bringing my love and support." JJ said as she opened her driver's side door, putting her purse inside of the vehicle. She turned to the girls, leaning back against the back door. "I will bring the steamy emotion-filled, romantic movies."

"Bring magic mike, please." Penelope said, giving JJ a pouty face.

Y/n laughed with a shake of her head as she watched the girls get into their cars and begin to leave. Y/n loaded her things into the back of her car, careful not to wrinkle her dress in its bag. As Y/n sat in her car about to leave the parking lot her thoughts turned to the roses she had Penelope take to her home while they were on the case.

She began to drive home, her thoughts now turning to think of what Spencer was doing.

[babyboyblasty]

CHAPTER 10:

"You look nice, Deku" Uraraka smiled, her hands held behind her back as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet in a childish manner, looking at her green haired friend. "Is there anyone in particular you're trying to impress?" she gave him a knowing look that Izuku stuttered and blushed to.

"No! O-of course not" he immediately denied and averted his eyes when that only seemed to make Uraraka's smirk widen. Izuku knew he was a terrible liar and Uraraka could be very scary sometimes. "But um, hypothetically speaking.. if I /were/ trying to impress someone- which I'm not- but hypothetically speaking do you think they'll.. you know. Be impressed? Hypothetically."

Uraraka looked her friend up and down. Izuku's fashion sense has definitely improved since the beginning of their first year. Both Tsuyu and herself had made sure to teach Deku and Todoroki a thing or two about dressing themselves since they were completely clueless sometimes. Midoriya was wearing brown, cuffed corduroy pants with a forest green oversized short sleeve button up, a lighter green long sleeve underneath that to create layers. The red shoes were never going away though and Uraraka gave up in trying to get him to wear another pair of shoes. He looked good and Uraraka noticed how his hair was a bit neater too so he obviously put a bit of extra effort into trying to style his curls. In fact, looking around the common room it seemed that Deku wasn't the only one who put a little extra effort into their appearance today. Half the boys there looked like they were going off to a party instead of a casual class outing. Even Iida looked like he was trying out a new hairstyle. No glasses either.

"Umm, Uraraka-san?" Izuku waved his hand in front of the girl's face to get her attention. She zoned out for a bit there and she blinked, turning to face him again.

"Oh, right! Well, /hypothetically speaking/ right?" she smiled and he nodded, "I think they'll be very impressed." Deku beamed and her eyes shifted to Todoroki who was just arriving downstairs. "Oh, look! There's Todoroki-kun. Let's go talk" she grabbed Deku's hand in hers and took him with her. He looked very good! Todoroki's aesthetic was more of a simplistic/classy style with neutral colors. This time he decided to switch it up and was wearing a white t-shirt with an unbuttoned, loose fitting pale blue and white striped dress shirt over that. He had black jeans and white sneakers too. He looked very good. "Oooo~ is there anyone /you're/ trying to impress, Todoroki-kun?" Ochako teased.

"Yes."

Ochako didn't expect such a direct answer but giggled anyway at her blunt friend. Deku on the other hand didn't find it as funny.

"Is Bakugou here yet?" Shoto changed the subject and looked around the common room but didn't spot the explosion quirk user anywhere. He felt a little disappointed.

"No, Kacchan isn't here. Neither is Kirishima-kun" Izuku really tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone. He knew that they were best friends but did they really have to be glued at the hip 24/7? Deku doesn't like the way he starts to feel when he thinks of those two together but he can't help it.

"Oh" Shoto mumbled. There was an awkward silence where no one said anything for a few seconds until Uraraka couldn't stand it and broke it.

"So how are you feeling, Todoroki-kun? Are you still tired or are you feeling a bit better from earlier?" Ochako questioned. That got Izuku's attention and he turned to Todoroki with a curious expression. Was he sick? Todoroki didn't mention anything to him today. He wondered why he didn't tell him.

"I feel better, thank you. I'm excited to be going out with my friends" he smiled briefly and Izuku returned it. After that things started to go back to normal as they talked about what stores they wanted to go to and if they had anything in particular they wanted to buy. The common room was filled with brief conversation before the 'ding' of the elevator was heard and everyone turned to look at a nervous Kirishima standing on the far opposite side of a bored looking Bakugou. Izuku felt a knot form in his throat and Todoroki felt his heart skip a beat, their faces heating up a little at what girl Kacchan was wearing. He looked good. Hell, even if he was in his normal body and wore that he'd look good.

"You're here!" Mina rushed forward to hug her two friends in a crushing hug which Kirishima gladly returned. The girls may or may not be feeling smug at how everyone reacted to seeing Bakugou. Yeah, they did that.

"I said I would go with you extras, didn't I? Now let go, pinky" Bakugou groaned. She smiled wide before stepping back.

"This'll be so much fun!" Mina jumped up and down.

"Everyone please form a single file line for attendance! As class president I must make sure everyone is accounted for before we vacate school grounds" Iida made sure to grab everyone's attention by speaking loud and clear as well as waving his arms about. Where he pulled the clipboard from no one knows but Iida started to check off names in the class roster to submit to Aizawa sensei once they come back in a few hours. "Alright. Everyone is here. We can go now" he nodded in confirmation.

The class had to take the bus to go to the mall so Iida stayed by the door until everyone was inside before going in himself. Bakugou was planning to sit with Kirishima but the redhead as soon as he was in the bus went and sat beside Sero instead. Katsuki was confused since they always sit together and even Sero was looking between the pair in confusion. "You don't mind, right Bakubro?" Kirishima awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Bakugou just shrugged and moved on to find an empty seat to which Kirishima let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"What was that?" Sero questioned once Bakugou was out of earshot.

"What was what?" Kirishima turned to him.

"That. You always sit with Bakugou so why all of a sudden did you decide to sit next to me? I don't mind but I was a little caught off guard, man. You know, you've been acting weird ever since the night we played games in my room. Is everything cool?" Sero had an idea of what was happening but he wanted to hear it from Kiri himself.

"Yeah, everything's good. I just need to sort some things out for myself first" he explained and Sero nodded, leaving it at that. Kirishima appreciated that about Sero. He knew if it was Mina or Kaminari they wouldn't stop pestering him about it. Kirishima just wanted some time to hopefully figure out why he was all of a sudden feeling so weird around Katsuki.

On the other end of the bus, towards the back, Bakugou found an empty seat. Everyone else seemed to be already sitting with someone else but he didn't really mind it. Once seated, Bakugou put his elbow up on the edge of the window and looked outside. He felt someone slightly tap his shoulder though and looked up to a shy Koda. 'May I sit here?' he signed and Bakugou raised an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes and signed back 'go for it' and Koda smiled a little, quickly sitting down beside Bakugou. Aizawa did mention that because of his quirk, he may experience hearing loss in the future if he didn't take the proper precautions so Bakugou has been taking JSL classes from Koda since the beginning of their second year and developed a somewhat mutual understanding with the guy. He really wasn't all that bad, just a little quiet. And while they weren't friends friends, Bakugou knew that if he ever needed a quiet place to study or just hang out for a bit without talking, he could go to Koda's room. The same went for Bakugou. If Koda ever wanted to spar or wanted pointers to help in improving his fighting skills, Bakugou is available.

Now that everyone had a seat, the bus began to move. The ride was going to take approximately fifteen to twenty minutes so he just wanted to use the break to relax. Bakugou could tell Koda wanted to say something based on the way he would look at him every few minutes but then look away though. "What is it?" he finally asked a little less than halfway into the trip and Koda shook his head. "I know you want to say something, now what is it?"

Koda looked hesitant at first but then signed 'how are you feeling?' with a sincere look. Maybe if it was someone else Bakugou would have told them off for getting into his business but Koda was someone who earned his respect and admiration throughout their time together in UA and who he saw as an equal.

"Why do you ask?" he asked instead, a bit defensive, and Koda responded by signing 'this is a big change and I was just wondering how you were doing.' Bakugou shrugged. "It isn't something I can't handle. Besides, today is the last day of the quirk so I should be back to normal by tomorrow morning" Bakugou mumbled, adding in a "thanks" as an afterthought. Honestly speaking, Koda has been the only one who's asked him how he felt about this whole quirk situation. The rest of his classmates all just seemed to be having fun with it and while he didn't mind, it was nice to be asked.

'You're always welcome to come hang out with me and my bunny if you ever need quiet time,' Koda offered. 'He told me he misses the angry blonde boy with the warm hands" he joked. Bakugou smirked a little with a "tch, sure whatever. Tell 'im I miss the furball too" leaving his lips. After that Bakugou and Koda fell into a comfortable silence where Bakugou closed his eyes to rest for the few minutes they had left on the bus ride.

Everyone else in class 3-A never thought they'd see the day where they all wished they were in Koda's place. The anivoice boy was sitting perfectly still so as to not wake the pretty blonde that had leaned his head on the other's shoulder sometime along the trip and was now sleeping peacefully on him.

[word count: 1775]

( this fan art isn't in correlation with the story chapter but oH MY GOD LOOK HOW PRETTY GIRL BAKUGOU IS- 😩)

[sunsetcurve]

learn to love without consuming (1/4)

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc / ciara, minor or one-sided arc / oc and ciara / oc word count: 4,603

a/n: eek. it's finally here. if you follow me here you know that i've been working on this for a few weeks (months?), but the idea has been sitting in my drafts for basically forever. almost since i watched the show to begin with. the recent resurgence of the ks fandom prompted me to dig this back up and gave me the motivation to actually try and finish, because fuck it! i love my babes and i want more of them.

so quick note is that this picks up pretty soon after the season 1 finale but disregards basically,,, everything that happens in s2. s1 and the finale proceed the same way except prudy never finds out ciara's secret, so she and warwick don't know at the moment. this chapter was initially gonna have more scenes that drove the plot/romance arc but once i got upwards of 6k with a few major scenes left i decided it would be best if i split the chapter up, so for now it’s just a lot of me trying to work around the convoluted knight squad lore to establish my own. i know that's not exactly what everyone is here for, but i promise things on the romance/action front will pick up soon. i'll place warnings as detailed as i can get without spoiling in the tags and notes as i go, but just anticipate fairly significant violence by chapter 3.

anyway! i have talked enough. the title is from thus always to tyrants by the oh hellos, the rating is t for swearing/violence, there are three more chapters that are in the process of being written, and reviews are like crack as far as i'm concerned. i really hope you like this! thanks for reading <3

dedications: this fic is first and foremost for @ciara-knightly, who is not only my amazing beta but also the whole reason this fic exists. she helped me so so much with the development of the plot and worked through it with me even way before i decided to really start writing it, and i wouldn’t have been able to do this without her. all of the notes she left after beta-reading were so so helpful and really made this whole fic make sense so basically i owe her my entire life. she inspires me to be a better writer all the time and i love her. everyone say thank you shona!!! also tagging my lovely friends and some people who have expressed interest, who are in no way obligated to read this; @juliesdahlias @mistyskiesrambles @dr-rigatoni @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @julies-molinas @soni-dragon @yagorlemmalyn @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @onetwothreefarkle @bitchmilsky

summary: “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”

read it on ao3

The morning before training that day, Arc is testing his skills against a heavy bronze padlock when Ciara enters the squad room and drops a brown paper bag on the table in front of him. 

“These,” she announces as he raises an eyebrow at her, “are for you.”

He pulls open the package and is instantly greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of vanilla. “Dragon puffs?” he says, half in awe. It’s a clear bribe, but he can’t help but shove a sugar-coated sweet in his mouth anyway. They’re an Astorian original and possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted; he’d tried them once at a bakery near the castle and hasn’t stopped thinking about them since. 

“Okay, what do you want?” he says then, words muffled around the cream and pastry.

Ciara pulls a face at his manners, but still manages to blink innocently at him. “Can’t I just do something nice for a friend?” she tries, but it’s half-hearted.

He swallows and grins at her. “Nice try, Princess. Your dessert deliveries always come with an ulterior motive.”

Huffing a sigh, she sits down next to him. There’s this subtle air of anticipation lingering around her, one he can only sense based on how in tune they are after so long of being teammates. The two of them have this easy way of reading each other now; they’ve been spending more and more time together, something having shifted in their dynamic after the battle against Ryker. He can’t quite place what it is, but he knows it’s only brought them closer. “Do you know what the Council of the Five Kingdoms is?” she asks finally.

He shrugs. “Sure. Nobles from each kingdom used to have a big ball every year to talk trading and politics and other boring stuff…”

“Except there hasn’t been a council since Ryker’s invasion, because the kingdoms have been isolated and preoccupied with their own safety,” she finishes for him. Her fingers tug at the lacing of her leather gauntlets; she’s nervous, but he still isn’t sure why. “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”

Arc chokes on his second dragon puff. “You want me to be your escort,” he says flatly, once he’s finished coughing, “to the Council of the Five Kingdoms?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend a night dressing up and eating castle food. But the council is a decidedly different scene; there’s a set of formalities, politics underlying everything, and too many chances for him to expose his lack of knowledge when it comes to Astorian customs. Not to mention that Catalias’ royals will be there. He doesn’t know if he can stomach looking them in the face, knowing what they did to Seagate.  

Ciara grimaces. “Look, I know it’s not exactly your thing, but my dad won’t let me go alone. And this really means a lot to me.” Her eyes are pleading, and Arc feels his resolve chipping away.

“Can’t one of your actual guards go with you?” he tries. “Or, Prudy or Warwick or someone?”

“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” she explains. “You’re the only Knight School student he’d let protect me, because you already proved you could when Ryker invaded. Besides, if something were to happen…you’re the one person who knows I can handle myself as Ciara.”

There’s this brief stretch of silence where Arc works his bottom lip, and Ciara looks as though she’s debating something. “Also,” she adds finally, with the soft flicker of a hesitant smile, “I thought it might be fun to go with you.”

Arc blinks at her, caught off guard by the admission. There’s this sudden buzz in his chest that he can’t push away; in truth, he doesn’t like the idea of her spending the night with someone else either. Maybe, by some miracle, this will actually be a good thing. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll be your escort.”

Ciara’s face breaks into a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he’s shock-stilled, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he hugs her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining with excitement. “Okay, I’ve gotta go tell my dad you said yes, and there’s a million things to do, but I’ll see you at training later. You are the best.”

“I expect dragon puffs for life!” Arc calls after her as she disappears through her passageway. He leans back into the couch, lightheaded, and in that moment, he realizes abruptly that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for her. 

And he is so completely screwed.

*

Two weeks later, Arc is standing outside Ciara’s bedroom, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

It feels odd to be out here in the open. Generally his visits to her chamber are accompanied by an air of secrecy, but tonight, he’s a guest in the castle. He’s dressed like it, too, decked out in the guards’ typical formal wear: pressed brown pants, a white shirt laced up the front, and a navy leather jacket trimmed in gold, with Astoria’s crest on one shoulder. He looks kind of dashing, honestly.

Despite the confidence boost his new look offers him, his hand keeps drifting to the hilt of his sword. It’s sheer force of habit; he only associates this brewing sense of apprehension with battle, and his muscles are responding in kind. He’s glad, at least, that he turned down the other guards’ offer to lend him one of their ceremonial blades and instead has the familiarity of his own. Hopefully he won’t need it, but it’s a steadying presence all the same.

“Almost ready!” Ciara calls from inside, and Arc carefully unclenches his fingers from around the leather grip of his sword. He has to keep it together tonight; she’s made it clear how much this means to her. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass her in front of nobles from all five kingdoms.

Well, four, he reminds himself. Seagate won’t be attending. There isn’t anyone left to represent them. 

The thought makes his stomach twist. 

He’s saved from having to dwell on it by the sound of Ciara’s door unlatching. “Better prepare yourself, Princess,” he teases, leaning against the wall, “I look pretty good, and the last thing we want is for you to get too smitten—”

He breaks off as she emerges from the doorway, all the air in his lungs leaving in a sudden rush. He’s trying hard not to be the cliche of a guy scraping his jaw off the floor at the sight of a pretty girl in a dress, especially not like this, with Ciara—but he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously unfair of her to come out looking like that. Her dress is a pale blue, falling gently off her shoulders and cinching at her waist, and her tight curls are weaved with strands of gold and tied into a low knot, some of them falling loose to frame her face. There’s a crown of gold leaves and rosebuds settled in her hair. 

“You...um…” Arc searches for his voice, “you look amazing.” His mouth feels dry.

Ciara smirks and reaches up to adjust the collar of his uniform. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m definitely smitten,” she jokes, like it’s nothing for them to be flirting openly. It should be nothing. Except his skin burns where her fingers brush against his neck, and he suddenly wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.

He clears his throat. “We should probably get to the ballroom.” 

She nods. “Give me your arm,” she says, looking at him expectantly. When he raises an eyebrow, she continues, “You’re my escort, remember?” 

“Oh, right.” He lifts his arm obligingly, his cheeks warm.

“I really wish we’d had more time to go over Astorian customs,” she breathes as she takes it, more to herself than anything. “Between training and helping with preparations, I’ve been so busy…” His nerves must show on his face, then, because she squeezes his arm gently and amends, “Sorry. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just stay close to me, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he grins without missing a beat, and Ciara scoffs and shoves him, the smile tugging at her mouth taking all the bite away from it. 

They can do this, he thinks. The two of them have kept up appearances for each other for months now, have fought and trained and battled Ryker together. They’re Arc and Ciara, unstoppable duo. One little party should be nothing.

As they make their way down the hall towards the ballroom, flanked by guards, Ciara lowers her voice. “When we get there, most of the nobles should be inside already. The herald will announce my father first, then us, and then each of the other three kingdoms. We’ll be beside the thrones as they come in—you’ll stand by me, left side—and once they’ve all been announced, we can leave the thrones and mingle. Bow to each of the rulers as they come by.” 

They had, at least, practiced his bow. Arc swallows back the dread in his throat; all he has to do is stand beside her and greet the other royals, it’s easy enough. For a moment, they linger outside the entrance to the ballroom, until an official-sounding voice announces the King. “We’re next,” Ciara whispers to him, eyes glinting with excitement. “You ready?”

He nods back at her, and the voice calls, “Accompanied by Sir Arc...Princess Angelica of Astoria!” They step into the ballroom, greeted with applause. Arc doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place this lavish; the walls are white, accented in deep gold, and the floors are polished to a gleam. The ceiling looks hand-painted, ornately decorated in constellations and swirling designs, and crystal chandeliers dangle over their heads, casting a golden glow over the whole room. He tries not to look too awe-struck. 

They make their way to the platform on which the thrones rest, Ciara nodding and smiling and waving at the other nobles as they pass. She stands next to her father, and Arc takes his place on her other side, placing his hands behind his back and trying, for all the world, to look like he belongs there. He wonders suddenly if he’s stood too close to her, and if it would make things worse for him to shift over now, and if his indecision is showing on his face—

And then, almost imperceptibly and hidden from the ballroom’s view by the folds of her dress, Ciara reaches over and links her pinky with his. It’s a tiny gesture, a friendly reassurance, but Arc feels a tide of warmth swell in his chest all the same. He lets his gaze flit to her for just a moment, and her lips are graced with a small smile as she tugs his finger gently. 

His breath hitches, and he fights to keep his face a passive neutral as the herald announces the next kingdom and he turns his attention back to the doorway.

“Presenting King Hugo, Queen Luciana, and their son Prince Isaac of Catalias!” 

Arc’s stomach turns as the couple enters, trailed by their son, all three of them swathed in lavish red and gold. Their reputation precedes them; he knows little about the prince, but the king and queen are infamous for their hoarding of wealth, their favorance of the rich nobles and landowners of their kingdom over the common people. Arc knows them best for what they had done to Seagate. 

His hand twitches for his sword, but he fights against the instinct.

True to form, the two have a haughty look about them, all starched clothes and stiff smiles as they bow to Ciara and the King. The two of them return the greeting with Arc following their lead—grudgingly.

“I am so pleased you could join us tonight,” the King smiles, a little tight-lipped. “It is high time that Astoria and Catalias united again.”

King Hugo nods back. “I couldn’t agree more. The honor is ours.” 

Arc detects a veiled sort of tension between the two of them, hidden well underneath the cordial formalities. He glances at Isaac, whose eyes are trained intently on Ciara even as he and his parents move to greet the other guests. Something about it is unsettling.

He’s so focused on Isaac that he almost misses the herald’s announcement of the next kingdom. “Queen Damyanti, and her children Princess Aadhya and Prince Kavan of Khurjan!”

Queen Damyanti is the picture of elegance, draped in silver silk that almost seems to glow against her dark skin. Aadhya looks around fifteen, with the same deep eyes and regal expression, and Kavan must be ten or so. He grins toothily as the three of them approach the thrones and bow.

The King’s expression is much warmer now. “Queen Damyanti. It has been too long. I trust Khurjan is doing well?”

“Not quite as well as Astoria, perhaps,” she replies, and it’s teasing, no sharpness to it. “This ball is absolutely lovely. Princess Angelica, you look so beautiful. Just like your mother. I was so sorry to hear of her passing.”

Ciara’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, Queen Damyanti,” she nods back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You as well. It’s a shame your sister couldn’t make it, but hopefully we’ll all gather again soon.” She gives a small, departing nod and joins the rest of the nobles, Aadhya giving them a bright-eyed smile and Kavan waving enthusiastically as they follow her. Ciara laughs. 

“And finally...King Jesper of Vysalt!”

Arc is confused for a moment; he wonders if he had remembered the name of Vysalt’s king wrong. Then a young man with a head of dark curls and a smattering of freckles against tawny brown skin enters, his crown just slightly crooked. His eyes are wide and dark, and a jagged, white scar cuts across his cheekbone. He can’t be much older than they are.

“He’s the king?” Arc whispers to Ciara under his breath as Jesper makes his way over to them. “How old is he?”

Her expression twists a little in sympathy. “Seventeen. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne so soon. His parents were killed when Ryker’s army took over his kingdom.”

Arc isn’t sure what to say to that. He knows what it’s like to lose everything to Ryker—he can picture the flames every time he shuts his eyes. But he hadn’t known about Vysalt or the fate of its royals. They had been close allies with Seagate at one point, one of the only other kingdoms without much wealth, and their king and queen had been known for their generosity. 

Somehow Arc had thought the damage had been done to Seagate alone, but now he wonders how the other kingdoms fared, if they suffered just as much. If any of them came out as unscathed as Astoria did.

“Your Majesties,” Jesper says as he bows, and there’s a note of pity in the King’s expression as he returns the gesture. Arc can only imagine how he feels about someone so close to his daughter’s age having to run a kingdom on his own. 

“King Jesper. How are you doing?” 

It’s a more personal question than he had asked the other royals, Arc notes. Jesper smiles easily; it’s soft, highlights his deep dimples and makes his dark eyes glimmer. “Well, thank you. Vysalt is recovering with time. As am I,” he adds, voice quieting for a moment.

The King nods back. “That’s good to hear. Let us know if there’s anything Astoria can do to help.”

Something flickers in Jesper’s expression, hard to read and gone so quickly that Arc wonders if he imagined it. The young king bows again before moving to join the others, but not before he catches Arc’s eye and smiles warmly. It surprises him—the other royals had hardly given him a second glance—but he returns it with one of his own. Beside him, Ciara lifts an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t place. 

“What?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head, glancing away. 

“Nothing.”

He wants to pry, but the King is clearing his throat, getting ready to address the room. The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to him.

“My fellow Astorians,” he says in his deep, booming voice, sounding more formal than Arc has ever heard him, “and my guests from our neighboring kingdoms...I am honored to welcome you to our castle, and so pleased that we could all be in attendance tonight.”

Not all of us, Arc thinks, but no word of Seagate comes up. 

The King continues, “For decades, our kingdoms have been isolated and divided by Ryker’s armies. We have long suffered under his forces, but his threat is gone for good. Thus, tonight is more than a council; it is a symbol of our victory, a symbol of our unity as we move forward and rebuild. So enjoy yourselves! After all, we have so much to celebrate!”

To Arc, the sentiment feels hollow. He got his revenge, and of course he’s glad that Ryker can’t hurt anyone else, but it doesn’t change the fact that Seagate is in ruins. It feels suddenly difficult to celebrate with the weight of his village’s absence lingering in the air around him. The rest of the partygoers don’t seem to share his hesitance, though; the room breaks into applause and cheers, several of the guests raising their goblets jovially. 

Ciara gives him a subtle nudge, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Now we get to mingle,” she grins, leading him off the throne platform and towards the crowd. 

He follows dutifully as she heads toward the table where the other kingdoms’ royals have gathered, Astoria’s king staying behind to greet the other royals. Queen Damyanti is in conversation with King Hugo and Queen Luciana, but she doesn’t seem entirely pleased about it, and Jesper and Kavan are laughing at something Aadhya has said. Isaac hovers next to them, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He has his father’s golden hair and clear blue eyes, but the frown on his face is entirely his mother’s.

It disappears, though, the moment he sees Ciara approaching them. “Princess Angelica,” he greets her, with a little too much enthusiasm for Arc’s liking, “I’m so honored to finally meet you. You’re even more radiant in person.” Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and kisses it swiftly. Arc narrows his eyes.

Ciara gives a forced-sounding chuckle and curtseys, pulling her hand back. “Thank you, Prince Isaac. I’m glad you could make it. Allow me to introduce Sir Arc, my guard and escort for the night.”

Arc bows—and if he never has to bow to another pompous royal again, he thinks, it’ll be too soon—and Isaac offers him a dismissive sort of half-smile. Any further interaction they would’ve had then is thankfully avoided by the other royals noticing Ciara’s arrival.

“Hi, Princess Angelica!” Aadhya says brightly, with a neat little dip of a curtsey, “I’m Aadhya.” When Ciara and Arc begin to return the gesture, she waves her hand with a tiny scoff. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Formalities. Just come sit.” She returns to her chair and pats the seat next to her, and Arc decides right there that he likes her.

Ciara takes the offered chair, and Arc takes the only other open spot, in between her and King Jesper. As Ciara launches into conversation with Aadhya, Jesper turns to him. 

“Hi,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Jesper.”

Arc bites back a laugh at the unnecessary introduction. “I know who you are, Your Highness,” he replies lightly.

“I know. I was just trying to give you an opening to tell me who you are.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. There’s no prerogative behind his words, no assertion; Jesper’s grin is almost bashful, his voice easy and bright. He doesn’t sound like a king, just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to flirt. Arc can’t help but return his smile.

“I’m Arc,” he says. “Normally I’m a student at Knight School, but I’m the princess’s guard and escort for the night.” 

“Wait,” Aadhya pauses her conversation with Ciara to lean over and look at him, “You’re the Arc who defeated Ryker?” 

“I helped,” Arc says with a shrug, and the princess’s eyes go wide. She turns to Ciara.

“Were you there too?”

“I was—” Ciara pauses for a moment, “hiding. I was hiding. Arc got me to safety.” 

He grins a little at her, tongue between his teeth, knowing it must be killing her to hide what she was actually doing. She narrows her eyes and kicks his leg under the table in response, a silent shut up. He lifts his eyebrows, like, I didn’t say anything, and she rolls her eyes in an entirely non-subtle manner. 

Across the table, Queen Damyanti is watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow, Arc notices belatedly. She has a mildly amused look on her face, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she states, “Battling Ryker face-to-face must have been quite the experience.” 

“What was it like?” Prince Kavan asks eagerly from beside his sister.

Aadhya elbows him. “Kavan,” she hisses, but Arc just grins.

“No worries. It was…” he trails, trying to think of what to say and suddenly aware that all the royals’ eyes are on him. He shifts in his seat. “It was scary, obviously. He had the Armor of Astoria, and a whole army with him, and most of the Astorian knights under his spell. But, y’know. We Knight School students are pretty formidable. We all took him on together. Wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise. I wasn’t half as scared as I would’ve been without my squadmates watching my back.”

He glances at Ciara, who smiles softly and nudges his foot, gentler this time. Jesper has that same unreadable look on his face and Aadhya has her chin propped in her hand, her expression amazed, but Queen Luciana gives a snide sort of scoff. 

“It’s a wonder it took so long to defeat him, then, if a group of students cut him down so easily,” she says. “Perhaps Ryker was never as great a threat as we all made him out to be.”

There’s a cut of silence across the table in which Jesper visibly stiffens. “With all due respect, Queen Luciana, Ryker’s attacks were devastating. Or have you forgotten what happened to my parents?” he demands, without any respect at all. His eyes are blazing. 

“I’m merely pointing out that the only real damage done was to the less...fortified kingdoms,” she sniffs. “Ryker only breached Catalias’s walls once, and he was driven out rather quickly.”

“Well, not every kingdom has Catalias’s resources.” Ciara sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, frustration masked well behind them.

King Hugo gives a huff of a laugh; his blue eyes are cold. “My dear princess, you have no cause for indignation. Astoria lost the least to Ryker, what with your,” he waves a hand, “magic bubble.”

Ciara opens her mouth but falters, brow furrowed, and across the table, Queen Damyanti speaks up. “Nevertheless, Ryker was still a formidable enemy to all of us. We were only prepared for his attacks because he targeted Seagate and Vysalt first. And Seagate’s destruction is a clear example of his power.”

“Oh, even you can’t argue that Seagate was rotting long before Ryker got to it, Damyanti,” Hugo replies swiftly, and Arc’s breath catches in his throat. Queen Damyanti shrugs in agreement, her expression passive; Arc almost stands up, but Ciara’s hand on his leg underneath the table stops him. 

“Don’t,” she hisses, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Let me handle this.”

Though as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Before she has a chance to speak, Jesper is already bristling, his voice sharp: “As if Seagate’s corruption justifies the destruction of its people?”

“It’s thieves and criminals, you mean?” Isaac scoffs. “Seagate was a wasteland. The kingdoms are better off.”

The words ring in Arc’s ears, alongside the pounding of his blood. They sound painfully similar to what Ryker had said to him on the mountain—rats and thieves, I did the five kingdoms a favor—and he thinks fleetingly that he’s going to be sick. He’s always known that Seagate was looked down on by the other kingdoms, but hearing them say so casually that what happened, the flames and the destruction and all of the death, was deserved—

“The people were only thieves and criminals because Catalias took advantage of them,” Jesper argues. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that it was your government that poured money into the gangs of Seagate for their own profit and allowed them to stage a coup in the first place.”

The words are deadly and cold, but Arc feels a flash of admiration for Jesper; the king has no obligations towards Seagate, and yet defends it like his own. King Hugo’s gaze hardens. “You’re blaming Catalias for Seagate’s problems?” he says with a derisive laugh. “If anything, Ryker’s attacks only revealed that Seagate was a kingdom full of people that weren’t worth saving.”

“That’s enough,” Ciara says abruptly. Her hand tightens on Arc’s leg, and he can no longer tell if he’s the one trembling or if she is. There’s this burning fire behind her eyes; she looks, Arc thinks briefly, the same way she does in battle. “What happened to Seagate was a devastating tragedy, and I won’t let you treat it as otherwise. Those who disagree aren’t welcome here.”

It’s a weighted statement, one she doesn’t entirely have the formal authority to make, but no one dares to contest it. A heavy silence settles over all of them. Arc doesn’t know how long he can sit there with all the heat under his skin; he doesn’t remember when his hand found the hilt of his sword, only that he’s gripping it tight enough that the leather bites into his palm. He wants to stand up and tell them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for him, a thief from Seagate. In truth, the only thing holding him back is Ciara. In a battle between her steady hand and the storm in his chest, she wins without even trying.

He doesn’t say anything or look at her, but her gaze flits to him for a moment and she just knows, standing up. Before she even opens her mouth, Isaac is on his feet too. “Going so soon?” he asks. “Would you care to dance, Princess?”

She looks at him coolly for a moment. “I would, actually.” And then, she turns to Arc, offering him her hand, “Sir Arc, dance with me?”

Arc blinks up at her and takes it as he stands. “Absolutely, Princess,” he says, letting her lead him away from the table and glancing back only long enough to catch the dumbfounded expression on Isaac’s face.

[spideymarvelws]

Hard Decisions

Prince!Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist

A/n : I just really wanted to write a prince!tom fic also i struggled so much trying to figure out a title and summary but im pretty happy with the actual fic Still dont like the tittle tho...

Summary : You take tom out for an escape from his life in royalty, at least that was the plan.

Warnings : Floof, kinda smutty but not really, mentions of violence, war, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.8k

...

"That wasn't fair in the slightest and you know it!" Tom shouted as he halted his horse, licking his lips with annoyance.

He was in the middle of his book that his master had assigned him when you burst into his chambers, breathing heavily like his dog after he took her out into the fields. You were dressed in your riding gear, throwing his own smack in his face, the only words falling from your mouth were.

“You, me, stables, now,”

It wasn't totally out of character for you to be so spontaneous, he was used to it by now, so were his guards and everyone in the castle. So much so that they weren’t fazed anymore when you zipped past them in the halls never knowing if you were running to or from something.

None of them were curious enough to ask.

Nevertheless, he was always free for a nice ride through the forests with you. He always enjoyed tagging along and partaking in your little shenanigans around the kingdom. It was a nice break from his responsibilities as prince.

"What isn't fair is that your horse had to deal with your terrible riding," you picked at your nails, smirking at the young prince, "Better than last time thought, only five minutes behind,"

Even if you always beat him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He muttered, jumping off his horse, his boots landing with a thud on the floor, "What are we even doing here in the first place?"

"You'll see," you smiled leaning off the tree trunk, "I put Galaxy over there," you pointed towards the brown horse shaking its head, most of its body hidden behind the thick shrubbery, "I'm sure she wouldn't mind some company,"

"Don't know, I feel like he would feel inferior to yours," Tom said, pointing to his horse.

"Don't worry, that logic only applies to you when you’re with me," you chuckled. It was known that you loved teasing him, it shocked him to this day that he still put up with your shit for the past years, putting in so much effort to see you at least once a week.

But you were the only person who kept him up float for the past years. The only person who treated him as an equal despite his blood and title. And he would be a fool if he let that go anytime soon.

Of course you couldn't know that, he could imagine how much embarrassment that would fill his body if you knew about his attraction towards you. He could already picture you brushing his words off as a silly joke and continuing with your day.

He didn't think he could deal with the rejection, to deal with losing you over some feelings.

"So, where are we going?" he said, dusting off his vest, "Or did you just bring me out here to murder me?"

"Trust me if i wanted to murder you, I would've done it a long time ago," you grinned, holding out your hand, “Now come on! The sun won’t be up for too long,”

You dragged him  up though the bushes and trees, maneuvering your way through the forest. He’d never seen you this bubbly before, running and jumping over roots and ducking swiftly under branches all while occasionally  looking back at him with a wide smile that made his heart melt.

“Are we there yet?” he whined, yelping when a branch hit him smack in the face.

“Oh shit,” your hand shot up to your mouth, trying to hide the laughter threatening to erupt from your throat, “Are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said sarcastically, rubbing his nose, trying his best not to sneeze, “like one always is when they get smacked with leaves and wood,”

You bit your lip, moving the branch back up so you could see him clearly, “If it makes you feel better, we’re almost there,”

He sighed, his head falling before picking it back up to look into your eyes, “Alright,” he chuckled when you continued to tug him along.

After a few more seconds of walking, he noticed the sound of water falling in the near distance making him a quirk up a brow. Soon enough you both emerged from the dense forest into a small opening.

His eyes trailed up the small pond, the ripples of the water reflecting the random rays of light passing through the trees hovering ever it like its own roof  As he moved up, he eyed the flow of water running down a layering of rocks like a small fountain. Around it was a mass of shrubbery, green with hints of colour throughout. It felt like he was stepping into a painting his mother painted for him when he was younger.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes taking in every part of the scenery.

“I know, found it when I was sear- playing with Harrison’s sword,”

“You lost his sword?” Tom teased, catching your mess up.

“I found it back, calm your tits,” you uttered, mumbling under your breath, “after having some fun with it,”

“What was that?”

“It was a nice sword alright?”, you laughed, pulling your hand out of his. 

He watched with curious eyes as you approached the lake, stopping as you reached the edge. He felt the instant head rise to his face when your fingers grazed the bottom of your loose skirt, pulling it off your body in one go and throwing it to the side.

He coughed as he looked away when your boots came off next along with the rest of your undergarments leaving you in your underwear and bra. He tried his best to keep his eyes turned down out of respect, but he would be a liar if he wasn't fighting not to raise his head.

“Are you coming?” you said, dipping your toes into the water before fully submerging your both your feet, “Or are you just going to stand there,” 

“I-” Tom blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

You turned around to face him, hands crossing in front of your chest, staring at him expectedly, “Come on now, before your father figures out your gone,”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows-”

“Then you have no excuse!” you tilted your head to the side, jutting your bottom lip out, “I didn’t bring you out here to just stare at me as I bath,” you raised your eyebrow suggestively, “Unless that’s what you want to do?”

“I-,” he paused, looking back down at the ground in defeat (and to hide his blush at your words). He could never say no to you, “Fine,”

You jumped into the water in glee, shaking your hair purposely for the droplets to fall on his clothes.

He rolled his eyes playfully at your smug smile, unbuttoning his vest and throwing it on a patch of grass. He did the same with his shirt, turning around when he began to shuffle out of his pants. Tom wouldn't deny the fact that he knew his looks, years of fighting and working gave his body a defined shape.

He could feel your eyes burning into his back which gave him the boost of confidence he needed to turn around.

He carefully made his way into the water, hissing at its cold touch. You rolled your eyes at his slow movements, grabbing his legs and pulling him inside. You laughed as his body hit the water, splashing you and the land around the pool.

You giggled as Tom raised his head, shaking it back and forth, his brown locks creating a halo around his head. You pushed more water at his figure, laughing even harder at the look of betrayal on his face.

“You-,” he chuckled, moving his arms in the same manner, sending a wave of water in your direction.

“Oh, Is this war Holland?” 

“You bet your ass Y/l/n,”

You lunged at the brunette, pushing him under the water, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him down. But it didn't last for long when he quickly broke the surface of the water once more. You wrapped your legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to keep him down, but it was useless given his strength.

When you looked back into his eyes, you finally took in how close you were, faces merely centimetres away from each other. You could feel his hot breath against yours, your wet skin melding with his. Your chest tightened, emotions you tried so hard to keep hidden resurfacing without thought. A glimmer of hope popping in your mind when he didn't pull away instead resting his hands on your waist, keeping you close.

You just didn’t think a prince would reciprocate the feelings for a commoner girl like you.

“Hey,” you whispered, readjusting your arms around his neck.

“Hey,” he whispered back, his eyes darting from your lips back to your eyes.

“i-,” your forehead fell against his, eyes closed as your heavy breaths fell upon his face, “Tommy,”

“Just say the word,” he gulped, “Just say the word, and none of this happened,”

He held his breath when you didn’t respond, his hands loosening from around your waist. He relished in the feeling of your body pressed against his not knowing when it might be the next time you would ever be like this with him after today.

He was a fool to think that you actually liked him in that way, that this wasn't just the spur of the moment but feelings aching to be unraveled at the seams.

“I want this to happen,” you finally muttered, opening your eyes to look directly at him, “I’m just scared what will happen after,” 

Tom let out a shaky breath, looking back and forth between your left and right eye, trying to process your words, “Only one way to find out right?” he managed to say, licking his lips.

You bit the middle of your bottom lip, letting it go with a heavy breath, “Yeah I guess so,”

“Are you sure?” He couldn't help but ask again.

“Just shut up and kiss me for God's sake,”

Tom finally smashed his lips on yours, tasting the fresh water on the surface before moving them along with yours. You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss. Even after imagining this moment for so long, losing himself in the thought almost everyday, it could’ve never prepared him for the feeling of your mouth on his.

His hands tightened around your waist, his feet moving slowly along the floor to press you against the nearest rock, wanting to be as close to you as possible, for this to last as long as possible. You fingers moved from his neck to his hair, tugging at the soaked strands making him groan into the kiss.

“Tommy,” you muttered, barely pulling away to utter the words before latching your lips back on his. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, biting your bottom lip as he pulled away fully.

“I-,” you started but was quickly interrupted by a loud bell that began to ring in your ears.

“Fuck, what’s that?” You breathed, whipping your head in the direction of the bell.

Tom replied hesitantly, “Someones attacking the castle,”

“What?” you said in disbelief, detangling your legs from around the prince’s waist, “Who would want to attack the castle?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said with a clenched jaw, despite his attempts to sound calm, the alarmed edge to his words failed to slow your rapid beating heart.

“You don’t know? You’re the prince!”

“Yes! As far as I’m aware we’ve been at peace with everyone for hundreds of years!” 

You took a moment to process his words. Your parents always used to tell you stories of the great war, always bragging that your great grandfather fought the battle that helped peace run through the lands.

The war that ended all wars.

Songs were sung everywhere, children learned about it all the time, hearing the tale of tragedy and loss every day of their loved ones. Hell, even you had the words memorised in your head so that you knew, the people knew that they were safe, that they were free.

The bell high in the castle was only meant to be rung when the crown was under attack. Thousands of questions began to run through your head.

Who would attack?

Why would they right before dawn?

How was anyone not aware of it earlier on?

None of it made sense.

“Come one, we got to go,” Tom gripped both your forearms, letting out a heavy breath. His voice was nothing but a distant sound in the back of your head, bouncing off the walls of your skull.

“I-,” you managed to squeak, your throat starting to close up as your breath became shorter, coming out in little, shaky huffs with deep inhales.

“Y/n, Y/n? Y/n!” tom said hastily, his hands making its way to your face, directing your eyes to his, “Look at me alright? You’re going to be fine. We are going to be fine alright?” his fingers wiped the wet hair sticking to the front of your face, “When we get back to our horses, yeah? I want you to ride far away okay. Do you remember our tree house, right? At the edge of the forest leading into the meadow? I want you to go there alright? Take galaxy with you and hide out there until i come for you,”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut before looking back into his panicked ones, “Wait, What? Tommy, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself!”

“AND I’M NOT LETTING YOU DIE!” he shouted, trying his best to control his breathing, his distress, his confusion, “I’m not about to lead you into a battle that i know nothing off unarmed!”

“What about you?” you whispered, but loud enough for him to hear, “Do you think I’m okay with you running into battle?”

“I’m the prince, it’s-,” he sighed, “It’s my duty,”

You looked up into his brown eyes, staring into them to find some sort of comfort. You tried to find the joke, something, anything that might tell you that this wasn’t real, all just some sick prank to get you back at disrupting his activities.

But as his pupils dashed back and forth between yours, unable to focus. You knew that you couldn't talk your way out of this one. 

You also knew that you would be of no help in the kingdom in battle but ideas began to pop in your head of how you could help outside the walls

“Alright,” you gulped, “Alright,”

He gave you a quick kiss to the forehead before jumping out of the water. He tossed you his vest as you got out behind him so you could dry your body first. Shuffling around to gather the clothes that were thrown haphazardly in the ground.

Once both of you were fully dressed, Tom grabbed your hand as he led you back to your horse. You ran quickly, trying your best to not let the thoughts consume you but focus on what you needed to do, what you had to do.

Letting go of your hand as you both reached the clearing, he ran to his horse, untying his restraints. You did the same, petting her main in a calming matter, not only for the horse but for you too.

You both froze at the faint sound of a sword slashing some shrubbery followed by some muffled voices.

“Get on your horse,”

“Tom-,”

“Get on your horse now Y/n,”

You quickly mounted Galaxy, grabbing the reins tightly as Tom pulled out a sword from around his waist, keeping it close to his side. 

“When I tell you to go, you go okay?” he said wearily, his head darting in every direction.

“Tommy,” you said quietly, grabbing his face in the palms of your hand when her turned around to face you. You pressed your lips on his one last time, pulling away to rest your forehead against his, this time without the water surrounding you both.

“Stay safe, okay?” you whispered, rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

“I’ll try my best,” he smiled, taking your hand in his, “For you,”

“Over here!” a gruff voice sounded, “I see a horse!”

“Go, Y/n, Now,” Tom said quickly, moving back to his original stance.

With a split second of hesitation, you pulled at your reigns, kicking the horsed side, riding Galaxy away from the kingdom. You cringed at the distant sound of swords clashing and men screaming. What scared you the most was that you didn’t know who they came from.

But you couldn't focus on that right now, you had to find the tree house and from there, figure out what the fuck you were going to do, to help the kingdom.

To help him.

...

Permanent TagList : @jadegill @joyleenl @sarcastic-sunset-7

Tom Holland Taglist : @dummiesshort @seutarose @thenoddingbunny-blog​

[fancyfearful]

Terms of Service (Celia Lede x Gender Neutral! Reader)

(Happy International Women’s Day/Women’s History Month, y’all! Please enjoy some quality fun time with a true girlboss.)

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WARNING/DISCLAIMER: Mature/Explicit themes, and ‘potential simp behavior’ are in this fic. Celia is a queen, idc.

Word Count: 2,042

(Edit: I forgot to tag @gatobob​ , who owns this character, whoops!)

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            You were scared at first.

            After all, you had gone from being naked and terrified in a dimly lit showroom, to waking up several hours later in a rundown, abandoned office building located far away from your home. A pair of handcuffs kept your wrists bound behind your back, but whomever kidnapped you had been 'generous' enough to dress you in semi-casual office clothes, though they were a bit too loose on your body.

               The only thing you knew was that the person responsible for bringing you here had the voice of a matured woman. However, the sound of sharp heels clicking against the ground warned you of their arrival, seconds before she entered the small breakroom where you were being kept.

               Upon meeting the well-dressed, businesswoman for the first time, you learned a few things. Her name was Celia and she was noticeably taller than the average woman, even with her heels on. But if looks could kill, then the mocha-colored eyes that looked over your body would've ended your life in seconds. You weren't sure if she was tired, irritated or both but regardless, Celia staring at your body made you feel uncomfortable.

               During her 'introduction', Celia informed you that your new purpose in life was to be her personal stress reliever, and that resistance of any kind was unacceptable, including trying to escape. She also pointed out something you had somehow missed earlier; an ankle bracelet attached to your leg. With a knowing smirk, Celia informed you that it came with a built in GPS to make sure that you wouldn't be able to leave without her knowledge. The brunette before you also mentioned something about several other 'secrets' that you'd find out about later, which did nothing to calm your nerves as she casually reached into the hidden pocket on her overshirt.

            Celia pulled out a thin, bright red dog collar, dangling it between her fingers before making her way over to fasten it around your neck. She had made it a little too tight on purpose, and when she stepped back to see how it looked, the brunette couldn’t help but scoff.

             “There, now you look like the dog you are. I hope for your sake you’ll be easier to train than the last one. It’d be a shame if I had to put down another pet…” Celia warned, dropping her voice to emphasize her point.

                 “Now, how about we teach you some new tricks?”

*****  

               The next few days had gone by faster than you expected, thanks to Celia’s rigorous training.

            Most of your time was spent acting as living footrest or chair, while she took her sweet time reading through and answering important, work-related emails. If Celia had a good workday, you’d play games like fetch, where she’d reward you with cookies shaped like dog biscuits if you did well. But if you didn’t retrieve an item fast enough, your cruel captor would deliver punishment by whipping your back and torso with her chain flogger. And on bad workdays, you’d be subjected to a game of ‘cat and mouse’, where Celia gave you a few seconds to hide before hunting you down; if you were found in six minutes or less, she would beat you to the point of bruising with the nearest blunt object in the room. The stapler was quickly becoming one of her favourites items to carry around, and even a good workday couldn’t save you from whenever Celia felt the urge to watch you squirm. Her eyes practically lit up whenever she subjected you to several new piercings on your arms or legs, a high only the most forbidden of drugs could provide.

            But today—or night, you couldn’t exactly tell what time of day it was down here—was different.

           The familiar, yet haunting, sound of heels clacking along the ground was replaced by something that sounded firmer, and heavier in comparison. And for the first time since your arrival, you were worried that someone or something even worse than Celia would find you here.

             However, seeing the familiar face of Celia suddenly appear in the doorway of the shabby office that had become your bedroom was bittersweet. But instead of her usual business attire, she donned a skin-tight, black body suit with thigh-high stockings, and her trademark red heels were replaced with thick, black wedges. Sure, you had noticed her figure from time to time, but the sudden style change made it even harder to look away. Instead, you tried to focus on the medium sized bag she was holding in her left hand.

                 “Ah, there’s my favourite dog. You look surprised to see me.” Celia says, making her way into the room before plopping herself down onto the desk nearby.

            Her tone sounded lower than usual, and the end of her words were a bit slurred. If you had to guess, she had probably had a few drinks before coming here, something that wasn’t uncommon. Whenever it happened, Celia was a bit of a wildcard. She motioned for you to come closer, making you gulp nervously as she reached into her bag to retrieve a long chain with a clasp at the end. Sheepishly, you avoid eye contact while Celia attaches it to the collar around your neck, grinning proudly before she roughly tugs on your new leash.

            “Now you’re really starting to look like a proper pet!” she comments, only to pat your head in a condescending manner. “And so well behaved too, isn’t that right?”

            You nod slowly, feeling your cheeks burn in shame. This wasn’t right. Her backhanded compliments shouldn’t have affected you like this, but these moments with Celia were the only times you could interact with another living being. It was better than trying to keep a stray pill bug for company again, only for it to end up escaping.

               “You should be grateful, you know. I turned you into something useful, something with value…” Celia adds, keeping one hand on your chain while the other tightly cupped your chin. “I saved you from being someone’s pathetic plaything. And yet I still have to tell you when to say ‘thank you’. How is that fair to me? Shouldn’t you know better by now?”

          You nodded again, only to be struck across the face with a harsh slap.           “Answer me!” Celia snarled, her face scrunched up in annoyance. She was losing her patience, and that was the last thing you wanted her to do.

                “Y-Yes, miss Celia. I’m sorry for not knowing better.” You replied. “Thank you for giving me value.”

       “Good! See, that’s what I like about you. You’re a quick learner, but there’s still something I’ve got to put to the test.” The brunette murmured, letting go of your chin before she pointed to the floor. “On your knees, pet. Let’s see if that face is as comfortable as it looks.”

               You were visibly confused as you tried to process her request. Did she mean what you thought she meant, or--?

“Are you deaf? Because I’m pretty sure I just gave you a task to complete. And if you can’t do it, then I’ll replace you with someone who can...” Celia commanded, her voice booming and steady. It was the kind of tone that could melt you within seconds or break you without warning.

               As quickly as you could, you dropped to your knees, trying to the ignore the dull ache that came with having them hit the floor too hard. Celia wound the excess length of your chain around her hand a few times, before yanking you towards the space between her parted legs. A muffled grunt escaped you as Celia’s legs wrapped around your neck and shoulders, keeping your face pinned against the smooth leather of her body suit while she kept an iron grip around your chain. The sweet scent of a strong smelling body spray invaded your nose, and although you wouldn’t admit it out loud, the fragrance was alluring.

“Well, pet? I’m waiting. Show me how grateful you are to be here.”

 It was at that moment that you started to think she was right. Not because you didn’t miss your old life, or your freedom but because in a weird, twisted way, serving Celia gave you a purpose. And all things considered, your kidnapper could’ve been much worse; she kept you fed, clothed, and even though the building was falling apart, it still provided shelter from the elements.

               And with this in mind, you started to kiss along her inner thighs, turning your face and neck as much as Celia’s grip would allow. She wiggled a little, smirking as she watched her current pet creep closer and closer towards one of her most sensitive areas, making the brunette smirk deviously.

With a shaky sigh, Celia pressed her hips forward, testing the waters of her new toy by lightly grinding her crotch against your face. The combination of your tightened collar, Celia’s thighs, and the added pressure of that damned leash was making it difficult to breathe, but Celia didn’t care about your declining oxygen supply. If anything, your struggling only made her legs clench even tighter, and you could barely make out the twisted pleasure on her face as she slowly tried to suffocate you, her eyes twinkling in delight while she leaned back a little.

          Your tongue pressed itself up against the thin fabric covering over her body suit, earning an unexpected moan from your mistress before you closing any distance that remained between you two. Any other time, Celia would have punished you for touching her without permission, but in the heat of the moment, your hands wrapped themselves around her thighs, digging your nails into her stocking as your mouth worked to pleasure her as best as you could. 

         Paying attention to the sounds she made was paying off, making it a little easier to find her sweet spots, but you didn’t dare to move the dampened leather covering over her opening. Not without her say, at least.

         But the loud moans and high pitched whines coming from your captor were enough to awaken something in you as well; a small part of Celia was at your mercy, and this was a chance you couldn’t pass up. And so, you doubled down on your efforts, licking, kissing, suckling, and nibbling on every ounce of flesh and fabric between Celia’s warm, plush thighs, using your tongue to express the gratitude that she craved.

           Eventually, your efforts paid off in the form of a loud, breathy moan from Celia as she shuddered, clenching her legs around you so tight that your vision went black for a second or two. The bottom of her body suit was absolutely soaked with a mixture of her own juices, your saliva, and a bit of sweat between you both, yet the pleased chuckle Celia let out calmed your nerves. She only made that sound when something good happened.

            “…Ooh…Haven’t done something like in ages…” she sighed as she relaxed her grip.

            You were able to catch a glimpse of her face, her cheeks tinted bright red as she moved lose strands of hair away from her eyes. The firm, hardened expression typically worn by Celia had been temporarily replaced with a softer, more inviting expression. If it didn’t put you at risk to get kicked, you might even have kissed her. Nothing serious, as it just would have a quick peck on those plump, dark colored lips.

               “Don’t look so lovestruck, dog. Just because I had a few drinks before showing up and felt like trying something new doesn’t mean that you’re walking out of here anytime soon. You’re mine for as long as I want you to be.” Celia huffed, yanking on the chain to remind you of your place. And with a sheepish smile, you nodded.

            “Yes, miss Celia. Of course. Thank you.”

                        How you ended up in her possession was irrelevant. It didn't matter.

           What did matter, was your value. Your worth. It was about what you could do for Celia, not the other way around. It was about acknowledging your rightful place under the command of a superior entity, and that entity was her.

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 4

It’s a week before he leaves the safety of the shoten, a week spent focusing on anything (everything) except Erich.

The connection still remains between them, is still an unerring compass pointed in Erich’s direction, but unlike before, Erich doesn’t approach him. He can tell that Erich is still moving about — likely to different towns in his territory — but the man never heads towards him.

And maybe it’s nothing, maybe he’s just… just outside Erich’s territory at last, but he can’t help but wonder at how deliberate the avoidance seems; Kisuke’s been holed up in one location for an entire week, and Erich’s presence has never once drawn nearer.

(Maybe Erich simply doesn’t want to see him again.)

(It’s fine, it’s fine.)

(This is what he wanted anyway, isn’t it…?)

It only takes Kisuke a day of testing to figure out that the avoidance is deliberate; whenever he begins moving towards Erich’s location, the man changes direction to head somewhere else. It’s— it’s—

It’s exactly what he wanted, Kisuke reminds himself sternly, before wrenching his mind back on task. He has work to do, evidence to find, monsters to kill, and all manner of other important things to deal with. Tessai and Yoruichi are enough for him.

(They have to be.)

(They’re the only ones who stayed.)

(The only ones who believed him—)

(No.)

(Focus.)

Still, it nags at his mind like a loose tooth, and he keeps circling back and back and back again to the idea that… that maybe this isn’t what he wants. Maybe he’s just a liar-coward-fool.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try and trust—)

(He’s a worse fool for thinking that.)

Kisuke shoves the urge aside and gets back to work.

(He doesn’t have time for this.)

(He doesn’t.)

(…does he…?)

\\\

Kisuke manages to put the thought (mostly) out of his mind. He goes about the area, fights monsters, clears out nests, stems Invasions, and all without once running into Erich.

(It’s fine.)

(It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!)

Sometimes… sometimes he thinks Erich might have been nearby — Kisuke certainly doesn’t remember how he got out of some situations — but he’s never found direct evidence. He might just be getting lucky, or maybe there’s another person in the area capable of fighting monsters, or maybe he’s just… maybe he’s just being wishful about something he shouldn’t. It’s fine. He’s alive. He’s surviving. Everything’s fine.

And then it isn’t.

The steady connection stretching between them suddenly dims one day, wavering like a candle flame about to go out, and Benihime snaps to attention like a cat after prey.

(*Kisuke,*) she prods, insistent-focused-intent.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops the hunt he’s on and turns, honing in on Erich’s direction, and runs. Runs like his life depends upon it. Runs like Erich’s life depends upon it. Prays that whatever is happening will give him time, time that he doubts he’ll have—

He’s too far away. Has wandered too much, too far, and now he can’t— he can’t—

He falls upon the battlefield like a fury. Tears through the remaining monsters. Tries desperately to find any sign of Erich.

There are townspeople holding the line, fighting back to back to try and save their town. They cheer ragged-exhausted-joyful when they spot him, but Kisuke has no time for them. No time for the monsters in front of him, or the Otherworld Tear looming overhead, or the—

Or the three Grand Behemoths laying dead in front of it.

(Heavens above, three?)

(Things are beginning to escalate.)

(No, no, he’s not ready, none of them are ready!)

(If this is what’s happening here, how are the rest of the wild-lands coping?!)

Kisuke shoves those thoughts aside — they aren’t useful here and now — and focuses on clearing the stragglers and forcing the Tear closed; some escape, he sees them escape, but he doesn’t have time for them. Not when his sense of Erich is still wavering like a guttering flame. Not when Erich might— when he might—

Kisuke grits his teeth and turns away from the battlefield, stalking towards the exhausted defenders. He means to question them, means to find out where Erich is, but before he can even ask, one of the older men steps forward to greet him.

“Thank you,” the man says with a brittle, tired smile. “Once Erich fell, we didn’t think… thank you.” He shakes his head and then jabs a thumb over his shoulder towards the town proper. “Coupl’a kids managed to get him back to town, so our healer should be with him now.”

“Thanks,” Kisuke forces out, trying to not be rude when all he wants to do is find Erich and assure himself of the man’s wellbeing.

The townsman huffs a soft laugh and steps aside. “They probably brought Erich back to his place,” he says, which is good enough for Kisuke.

He knows this town — or at least knows where Erich lives in this town — which means he hurries past the group of townsfolk and down the street, aiming right for the building Erich lives in. He takes the stairs two at a time, hurries down the hallway—

A young man steps out of Erich’s home and closes the door behind him, looking almost as if he’d been out on that battlefield. He’s probably the healer the townsman mentioned, Kisuke decides as he assesses the young man and frowns at what he sees; the young man — boy, really — is pale and exhausted, his brown hair damp with sweat and his shoulders drooping. Either the boy is a terrible healer who cannot pace himself, or he’s a poorly trained healer doing his best with what little he has.

(Or Erich is wounded worse than ever.)

(Kisuke knows which option he prefers, and it’s certainly not the third.)

“How is he?” Kisuke asks before the healer can do more than take a few steps in the opposite direction.

The young man freezes and spins back around, his eyes widening at the sight of Kisuke before immediately honing in on Benihime and narrowing. “And your interest would be?” he asks sharply, pulling himself up as he does. It doesn’t make him look intimidating in the slightest, but the thought is certainly there.

“I’m a… a friend,” Kisuke answers, praying that Erich won’t take offense at the presumption.

The young man purses his lips and fixes him with an assessing stare, then huffs and turns away, one hand gesturing sharply for Kisuke to follow him. “I take it you’re that ex-Shinigami he’s mentioned a few times lately,” he says as he heads down the hallway. “Erich’s sleeping right now, and I won’t have you bothering him, so come on.”

Kisuke grimaces and lengthens his stride to catch up with the young man. “You know, I could have been anyone, actually,” he can’t resist pointing out, even though it damages his own chances at being believed. “You handed me the perfect cover right there.”

“I really hope there aren’t any other Shinigami around, ex or not, with your horrible taste in clothing,” the young man grumbles as he casts a sidelong look at Kisuke. “Look, everyone around here knows that Erich’s been sulking over a blond ex-Shinigami, and someone matching your description has been seen hunting monsters all over Erich’s territory. I’m pretty certain you’re who I think you are.”

“Aha, well… when you put it that way…” Kisuke rubs at the back of his neck, then grimaces at the feeling of sweat and grit against his fingers. “Sorry, but I should probably stop to wash somewhere—”

“My home is small, but I have a bathing room,” the young man says firmly. “If you think I’m letting you get away before Erich wakes up and can talk with you, think again.”

Kisuke huffs in exasperation, annoyed that he has a reputation, especially when he wasn’t planning on running anyway.

(He needs to see Erich with his own eyes before he feels comfortable leaving.)

(He needs to assure himself the man is fine.)

The young man leads him to a small place not far away, then unlocks the door and leads him in. “Bathing room is through there, second door on your right,” the young man says, pointing down a short hallway. “There are towels in the little closet in the room itself, and I’ll…” he pauses, eyeing Kisuke up and down, then sighs and finishes with, “Find something to lend you. Somewhere.”

“I’m used to it,” Kisuke tells the young man dryly. “Just do what you can, I’ll deal with it.”

“I imagine you would be,” the young man says, then shakes his head and shoos him along. “Go on, get clean, I’ll be back shortly.”

Kisuke quirks a tired smile at the young man, then turns to do just that.

(It’s not like he has anything better to do.)

\\\

By the time Kisuke is clean and dry, the events of the day have finally hit him in the face; he’s hungry and exhausted and wrung out the way only a combination of combat and emotional turmoil can leave him.

He really wants to just eat something and then fall into bed, but he can’t just yet, not with the worry gnawing at his stomach and the fact that he doesn’t even know where he’s going to sleep.

Someone knocks on the door frame, and then the young healer says, “I found something that should fit you decently well,” as he slips the door open a crack and passes a bundle of clothing through. “If you pass me your clothing, I can have them cleaned up for you.”

“Thanks,” Kisuke says as he accepts the bundle and sets it down, then wads up his dirtied clothing and passes it back. “Don’t worry about getting those spotless,” he says with a hint of amusement. “Clean and dry is all I care about.”

“I can tell,” the young man drawls as he pulls his arm back and closes the door. “I’ll… be back. Feel free to wait at the table in the main room.”

Kisuke makes an agreeable noise as the young man walks off, then washes his hands off and gets dressed; the clothing is a… snug… fit, but it’s manageable so long as there’s no combat in Kisuke’s immediate future. Which is unlikely, given the home he’s in, but is still something he needs to keep in mind.

Once he’s as decent as he’s going to get, Kisuke steps out of the bathing room and wanders back towards the first room the young healer led him through: he’s pretty sure that’s the ‘main room’ given the layout he’s seen so far.

Thankfully, there’s a table and cushions already set out, and Kisuke settles down on one with a sigh of relief then drops Benihime at his side and slumps over.

Maybe he’ll just close his eyes for a moment.

That sounds… good.

(Darkness takes him between one blink and the next.)