#I think that so far I have only three OCs who live long?

[pekoposting]

This is interesting! Particularly because it's a departure from the usual conclusions that hardcore Pekoyama fans usually make from this evidence. Which is...

Peko's biological parents are the Pekoyama clan

The typical interpretation goes something like this:

The Pekoyama clan is a band of renowned swordfighters. For whatever reason, they get in massive debt to the Kuzuryuu clan. The Kuzuryuu clan force them to repay these debts by taking their young heir, and training her to be a bodyguard for their own heir when he is born. We know the rest of the story.

The evidence for this is as follows (though keep in mind, I did not consider your interpretation when I was formulating this, so the evidence seemed more self-evident originally):

Pekoyama's name in the Japanese is spelt 辺古山 ペコ. Her family name, (辺古山) is spelt normally, in kanji. However, her first name is spelt in katakana, which as far as I can tell is the only of the three Japanese scripts not used to write Japanese names. Also it's literally just the first two phonetic sounds of her surname. Which gives the impression that her surname is real, and her first name is something carelessly made up on the fly because you have to call her something.

The fact that she has a family heirloom. Why would the Kuzuryuu clan know the family of an orphaned baby? As far as I know, people in Japan don't usually attach their family name when they're orphaning a child.

...Yeah, it was primarily based on the premise that out of the two contradictory pieces of information we get about Pekoyama's parents, the one at the end of Chapter 2 (that she was abandoned by them from birth) is the correct one.

Of course... there are still issues with this interpretation. Primarily, that Island Mode dialogue where she says she has memories of her parents being alive. The heirloom is a bit iffy, too. (Perhaps it's something the Kuzuryuu clan also took along with Pekoyama?)

The only excuse I can come up for the parents thing is that it is Pekoyama deliberately lying to make her childhood sound more normal. Because the closer she gets to telling the truth, the more questions Hinata will have, and she doesn't want that. That's not the point she's trying to convey anyways, so she goes with a simple lie to smooth it over so she can talk about her memories

There are issues with your interpretation too, namely that the Kuzuryuu clan risks giving Pekoyama an alternative motive through giving her actual parents, i.e. humanising her and possibly making her consider if there's other ways she can live. As we both know, Pekoyama's Island Mode ending implies that she is only so dedicated to her tool mindset because it's the only way she knows how to live.

Whilst I probably will come around to yours more as I let it sink into my brain, I'm going to be honest, I am still quite attached to the 'Pekoyama was stolen from the Pekoyama clan' interpretation, because I've spent a lot of time thinking about it, and because those hardcore Pekoyama fans have also written about it.

One of my absolute favourite implementations of it is at the end of thewildwilds' already incredible fic [absolute zero.] where it's mentioned that upon taking baby Pekoyama, her parents cursed the Kuzuryuu clan by swearing that their child would ultimately cause the destruction of the clan. That's SO DELICIOUS

As you know, I am very much a fic writer. So much so that my opinion on ships is often determined by easy/fun they are to write. And there is a lot of potential things to explore in this interpretation that I've barely ever seen anyone cover beyond 100 word drabbles.

For example... this means that Pekoyama is the only former RoD who could still have their parents alive. So... how would she cope with that? (I have some answers to that, but they're not precise, and this is getting long enough already.) NO ONE HAS EXPLORED HOW SHE'D INTERACT WITH HER BIO PARENTS AT ALL SOB. I may have to get over my natural reluctance to make OCs for this...

(This still could be explored under your interpretation, it's just that it's harder to pinpoint who her bio parents are, and those parents are less defined.)

In conclusion: what the hell even was this (MY POST NOT YOURS). There are several points I almost certainly forgot. Pekoytama.

Random tidbits about the Pekoyama Dojo

Peko was adopted by the Pekoyama Dojo

Peko reminiscence about her parents taking her to an old amusement park.

Because Peko was abandoned as a baby by her birth parents, it can be deduced all her memories regarding her parents is with her adoptive parents.

The only time she feels like smiling outside her Free Time Event, is when she is at an amusement park.

Because Peko was given the Pekoyama's family heirloom, and the obvious fact she bares the family name, you can infer that Peko's adoptive parents was from the Pekoyama Dojo on the Kuzuryus behalf.

Peko states that her dojo is not exactly a Kendo dojo. The fact that their family heirloom bears the symbol of the Kuzuryu clan mascot, the Pekoyamas were mostly likely a vassel family who served the Kuzuryus (I think the Japanese term is Kashin but don't quote me on that)

Peko's experiences at the Dojo

Just because it would be too much to screenshot, it's strongly implied that everything she did was a form of training. Peko can't take an activity at face value and see everything as a form of training. Examples include: Splitting watermelons, dropping coconuts, watching movies, going into haunted houses.

You could make the argument, because Peko was a 'tool', this was the justification to allow Peko to do normal activities.

Overall, Peko recalls only nice things about the dojo

As always, shout out to Peko's pet finch that probably hated her

Not canon in the slightest, but a moment from the manga

Mentions of Peko's childhood that may or may not be related to the dojo

[yunhoszn]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside. 

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence. 

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life. 

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story. 

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes. 

And then your grandparents decided to retire. 

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time. 

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres. 

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later. 

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty. 

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh. 

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked. 

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable. 

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave. 

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention. 

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear. 

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops. 

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself. 

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives. 

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope. 

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again. 

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby. 

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.” 

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years? 

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good. 

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate. 

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache. 

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. 

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog. 

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought. 

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now. 

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore. 

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other. 

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency. 

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening. 

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else. 

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance. 

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet. 

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath. 

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.” 

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…” 

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague. 

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong. 

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects. 

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage. 

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine. 

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air. 

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own. 

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own. 

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. 

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric. 

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse. 

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain. 

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal. 

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen. 

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself. 

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple. 

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there. 

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide. 

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool. 

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now. 

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” 

“‘You turn me on.’” 

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad. 

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?” 

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs. 

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it. 

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it. 

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him. 

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release. 

I saw the way he was looking at you. 

I saw how you were looking at him, too. 

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho. 

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it. 

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place. 

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work. 

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to. 

And then you came here. 

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same. 

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role. 

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go. 

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches. 

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?” 

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters. 

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away. 

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else. 

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different. 

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you. 

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you. 

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop. 

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry. 

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top. 

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him. 

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief. 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special. 

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there. 

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets. 

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it. 

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure. 

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now. 

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own. 

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more. 

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat. 

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second. 

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again. 

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way. 

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand. 

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble. 

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams. 

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core. 

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips. 

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force. 

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth. 

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies. 

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts. 

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.” 

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created. 

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter. 

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day. 

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it���s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 1

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5393

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

You grew up hearing about soulmates, but since you were raised by your Aunt Ellen, it was something you weren’t sure was even true. She’d shown you the mark that had shown up on her hip, your uncle’s name, when she’d turned sixteen. Soulmates clearly were a thing, but you were skeptical, even as a child.

“Hey, you gonna take care of the customers or just stand there daydreamin?” Ellen asked you.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized, tending to the men at the bar.

How did I end up working here, of all places?

Your mind constantly drifted these days, and it started a month ago. Your twenty-fifth birthday was only three months away. Jo continually teased you when she found you off in your head during work hours. Then there was your Aunt Ellen, who was getting more worried about you as the days passed.

The music from the jukebox sounded far away, almost muffled as you absentmindedly took care of the tasks of cleaning tables, the bar, restocking bottles, and filling drinks. Guys would flirt with you, but you’d only give them that fake smile and move on.

It was the birthday you’d been waiting for, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone. You were turning sixteen, and you’d finally see the name of your soulmate. Thanks to your aunt, you had gotten your hopes up.

But the day came and went, and nothing appeared. You had checked everywhere, even behind your ears. There was nothing. It took months to pull out of that depression, especially when those close to you asked about it. You also felt like some sort of freak. In all the research you’d done, you couldn’t find anything about not getting the mark when you turned sixteen.

“Geeze, Y/N. You’re really out of it today. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Ellen asked you, pulling you from your memories.

“Sorry. My mind seems to have a mind of its own today,” you sighed, glancing around the bar for a moment.

“You still bummed about the soulmate thing?” she asked you sincerely, in the way she did when she was gently trying to get you to talk.

You just shrugged your shoulders before taking off your apron, “I have to go help Bobby at the garage again.” 

“Is it that time already?” Ellen asked, glancing at the clock, then sighed. “Alright. Tell the old grump I said hi, and don’t let him work you too hard.” That made you chuckle, “He never does, and I’ll let him know.”

Again, your mind drifted as you drove down the semi-busy streets to Bobby’s garage. He and your Aunt had been friends for a long time, so he was practically family, as was his wife, Jodi. Growing up, you’d spent half your time in the garage, helping Bobby fix cars.

Sioux Falls wasn’t a big town, but wasn’t tiny either. You knew most of the people who lived there, and they knew you. It was more like more of them knew of you, the girl with no soulmate. You sighed as you drove your 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400, a gift from Bobby you had to fix up, down the lonely road leading to his garage. 

“Got something for ya, kid, but you gotta fix her up,” Bobby told you when you showed up for your shift that hot summer afternoon.

“I told you. You don’t have to get me a present this year,” you groaned.

A year ago, you began hating your birthdays, and you didn’t want to celebrate this one. You begrudgingly followed him to his garage, then to the side of it, where you noticed the tarp over something.

Bobby walked over and pulled the tarp off, revealing the shell of a 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400. You had fallen in love with muscle cars as a kid, watching The Dukes of Hazzard. Your jaw hit the floor as you ran over to her like a kid on Christmas.

He was smiling from ear to ear as he watched you look over everything, “She’s all yours, but you gotta do the work. You can’t let any other mechanic touch her. I’ll answer any questions, but I ain’t helpin' either.”

“Are you serious, Uncle Bobby?” you asked excitedly, popping the hood of the beat-up frame.

A small smile crossed your expression with that memory as you pulled into the driveway of Bobby’s garage and parked in the back. It seemed like so long ago, but it was one of your fondest memories that had made your birthday not so bad.

“I’m here,” you hollered, heading over to the car you’d been working on for almost a week at this point. 

“How was the bar?” he asked, joining you in the garage.

“I was a space cadet, and Aunt Ellen is worried about me,” you replied, sliding back under the car to finish it up.

“You’re not a space cadet. I just think you can’t focus around all those people anymore. Come work at the garage, full-time,” he told you, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” you answered, tightening down a few more bolts.

“Besides, Jodi misses you being around more often,” Bobby added in an attempt to persuade your decision.

“I miss her too. Oh! Ellen said hi. I don’t know why she doesn’t text you more often,” you replied, sliding out from under the car, looking for yet another tool for yet another size bolt.

When you were in the garage, you always seemed to be able to focus. You knew Bobby had a point, and you’d been considering it for almost a month, but you weren’t about to tell him that. You wanted to let him think it was his idea.

Yeah, your mind drifted, but it was nothing like at the bar. Here, they were little snippets of memories: kids teasing you in high school, adults looking at you like you had two heads, and then there had been attempts to find a job but getting turned down everywhere due to not having the name of your soulmate on your body somewhere. 

By the time your shift ended, you had the car completely finished. Looking down at the car, you stood there, covered with blotches of grease but beaming with pride. 

“I’ll let the owner know she’s ready,” Bobby smiled, now standing next to you. “Think about it, though, okay?”

“I will,” you replied, giving him a hug before you headed home for the night since you’d already cleaned up the tools you’d used.

You lived in a cute little house not far from Bobby’s garage. It was the only thing that you had from your parents, along with a handful of pictures. You’d lost both of them to a car crash when you were only two, having no real memories of them. 

Since you were two when you had lost them, you never asked Jodi what had happened or if anyone else was involved. You honestly didn’t want to know. 

Dropping the things from your pockets on the table, you locked your door and headed to the bathroom. Your thoughts drifted again as you did your typical night routine.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time finding work, sweetie. You can’t work here till you’re at least eighteen. I can’t break that law for you,” Ellen sighed.

You crossed your arms and went back outside to your car. You knew why no one in town would hire you, and it was a stupid reason. However, being a teenager still, you were all hormones and now needed to go blow off some steam.

You peeled out of the parking lot and down the road to your parent's place, which would be yours in less than a year. The drive was short due to the speed you’d chosen to go, and a cloud of dust rolled over your car when you parked out back of the house.

Between the punching bag, the target practice, and throwing your knives till your arm was sore, you had finally calmed down some. You made a call to Ellen and told her you were going to sleep at your ‘almost’ house. She didn’t like it but didn’t argue either.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, curled up in the soft bed that would eventually be your permanent room as the sun set slowly. The thought of being alone for the rest of your life hurt more than you’d ever tell anyone.

Dinner that night consisted of leftovers, and you were thankful you’d prepared them ahead of time when the week began—baked chicken, potatoes, and gravy. You were far too out of it to even worry about a vegetable. 

I’ll tell Ellen tomorrow.

Finally deciding to quit working at the bar as you cleaned up dinner and headed to bed, almost feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Slipping under the covers and getting comfortable, you also felt more relaxed than usual. 

—----

Two hours into your shift, and Ellen had already had to pull you out of your head a dozen times. It was Saturday, so even the morning hours were busy today. You were just thankful that you never had to cook, knowing you would have ended up burning most of the food.

“Can you at least pay attention to the ones at the bar? Jo can handle the floor today,” Ellen told you, again sounding worried.

“I’ll try,” you sighed, glancing at the men sitting there.

There was no point in apologizing again. As you began taking care of the drinks, the bell over the door dinged, signifying yet another customer. Typically, you wouldn’t have even looked up, but something pulled at you.

It was three men, none of whom you recognized, and two of them looked to be around your age, with the third being older. All three of them sat at the bar, so you went over to get them drinks.

“What’s your poison?” you asked, putting on that fake work smile and not really looking at them.

“Three beers,” the older of the three said, “And please tell Ellen to come over.”

You were slightly confused but agreed. You set their beers down in front of them, then went to find Ellen in the back. “Hey, there’s a guy out here that asked for you.”

“Did you get his name?” she asked as she dried her hands.

“No. He didn’t say. He’s with two other guys who are younger, though, if that helps?” you replied as you followed her out of the back room.

You stopped halfway down the bar, but you were still behind it, as she was now on the other side, making her way to the three of them. The older man stood, both he and Ellen smiling as they embraced in a hug, which confused you. You managed to keep up with the drinks for those at the bar but couldn’t hear what the four of them were talking about.

“Y/N, come down here and get these boys a refill,” Ellen hollered, motioning for you to go over to them.

Rolling your eyes, you did as she asked, putting on that fake smile again, “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” one of the two younger ones said to you with what looked to be a flirtatious smirk.

“Don’t be flirting with my niece, Dean. She’s still what you’d consider innocent,” Ellen scolded the one who had just spoken to you, but to you, it sounded more like a teasing sort of joking around, which made you slightly curious. “Thanks. Like I need some stranger to know that sort of thing,” you grumbled.

“Sweetie, these are the Winchesters. They’re practically family. You met them when you were little,” Ellen replied, smiling happily.

For a moment, you were somewhat dumbfounded as to what to even say. You couldn’t seem to remember meeting the three of them. Ellen introduced you to John Winchester, the father of Dean and Sam, who were four years apart in age.

“I hate to do it, Aunt Ellen, but, I need to talk to you about something before I leave in ten,” you finally told her.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking quite puzzled.

“I need to take some time off for a while,” you mumbled, feeling bad.

“Take all the time you need, sweetie. I know things have been rough for you lately,” she said softly, then she gave you a hug. “And tell that old fart to stop by sometime.”

“Thanks for understanding, and I will,” you replied, relieved as you hugged her back. Then you looked over at the Winchesters, “It was nice to have at least met the three of you since I don’t remember meeting you before now. Not sure when I’ll see you again, though.”

“How come?” John asked, seeming fairly curious.

“I’m going to be working my other job full-time for a while. It’s the love of my life, honestly,” you replied with a smile, giving John your full attention.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked, which made you wonder if perhaps he knew Bobby since Bobby called you that all the time.

“I fix cars. Hate to do it, but I have to run,” you replied quickly, heading for the door and out to your Baby. However, your heart about stopped when you saw the black 67’ Chevy Impala parked next to your Firebird.

“Damn…” you breathed out in quiet shock and awe.

Shit! I’m gonna be late.

With that thought, you shook your head, pulled your gaze from the car, and drove to Bobby’s garage for your shift. It indeed was a beautiful car, and you knew that no one in town drove one of those. Through deductive reasoning, you figured it had to belong to the Winchesters. You just weren’t sure which one. Whichever one it was, though, they loved that car, and you knew it with how well it had been taken care of.

The leaves on the trees were changing colors already, and the light breeze was finally cooler than the summer heat that you hated. However, you didn’t notice much today; you were too excited to give Bobby the news.

You knew the smile you couldn’t hide would give it away, but you stepped into his little office anyway. You didn’t even have time to say anything before he did.

Bobby was smiling from ear to ear when he looked up at you, “Nice to know Ellen didn’t give you a hard time about being here full time. You can whip those boys on the morning shift into shape for me.”

“Like they’d listen to me,” you chuckled but rolled your eyes.

“They better, since you’re gonna be their boss from here on out,” he told you seriously.

“Wait? What?” you asked, in complete surprise.

“Kid, you know your shit, and you’re good at your job. You’re better at your job than the four boys I got workin here already. I’d rather just have you than all of them 'cause I know you’d get the job done like it should be, and you never cut corners,” he explained, being completely serious.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, still shocked.

“Just say thanks and be here at six tomorrow morning. Take the afternoon off and rest up,” he smiled.

You went over and wrapped him up in a hug. He knew the only reason you worked in the garage late was to avoid the boys he had working there in the morning. You had tried doing the dating thing after your sixteenth birthday, but realized quickly that no boy wanted anything to do with you.

That night, you were still smiling, even if you were apprehensive about being someone’s boss, let alone four grown men. People in the town were mostly courteous toward you but treated you like a plague of some sort since your soulmate's name never appeared on your body. 

—-------

As you got ready that morning, you attempted to calm your nerves, but it didn’t work. You gave yourself mental pep talks all morning and even on the drive, but that wasn’t helping either. Your heart was still racing as you parked out back like you usually did.

Bobby was the only one at the garage for the moment, and he even told you to breathe more than once. He explained that you’d still be working on cars, but now you’d also be keeping an eye on the boys he had working there and telling them when to take their breaks. It seemed simple enough.

Benny, Cas, Garth, and Jack were decent guys and were all friends. They’d spend time at the bar in the evenings when you were at the garage. It was how you had avoided a lot of people in the town since they really wanted nothing to do with you. The part you were worried about was interacting with them, as their boss. Bobby was standing next to you as the four of them arrived and mingled into the garage.

“Boys, meet your new boss,” Bobby said sternly, and all four of them looked up at you.

You were sure your heartbeat could be heard throughout the room as you froze under their gaze. The only one who didn’t look at you like you were a waste of space or something to avoid was Garth, and you made a mental note of that.

Something in you snapped with how they looked at you, and you laid into them before Bobby could comment on their expressions. “Look, I know that at least three of you would rather not work with me. I’m not a bitch, but I will be if I have to be. You don’t like this, there’s the door,” you told them sternly, putting your hands on your hips.

“Seriously?” Benny asked, annoyed. His Cajun accent was thick, and if it weren’t for his attitude, you probably could have listened to the man talk all day.

“Yes, Benny. She’s got the right to fire you if need be. I suggest you don’t give her a reason,” Bobby replied, crossing his arms, almost daring the man to challenge his decision.

Garth stepped forward, though, with that kind smile he always had, “I, for one, am looking forward to working with you, Y/N. You seem like a nice person, fair.”

Your expression instantly softened, and you smiled at him. “Thanks, Garth.”

“Alright, get to work,” Bobby told all of you before he headed into his office to keep an eye on things.

You turned from the four of them and headed toward the newest of the cars that had been brought in the day before. Your nerves were shot, but you were proud of yourself for standing up to the three of them. Pausing for a brief moment as you looked down at the car, you decided on something.

I’m gonna just be me. If they don’t like it, they can quit.

You turned on the radio to the classic rock station, then got to work on the car. Benny raised an eyebrow and just watched you silently before he got to work with the other three. It was odd for you with the other four working there, too. It was something you weren’t used to, but you found yourself keeping an eye on them, even while you worked.

An hour into the shift, Cas had stopped working and sat on one of the barstools, sipping some water. You watched him out of the corner of your eye for a few minutes while still focusing on your current task. Five minutes later, he was back to work. You took mental note of it and focused on your task again.

Each of them did that, taking turns to sit for a few minutes, have water, and then return to work. It puzzled you, but you weren’t ready to ask them why they did it, at least not yet. 

Just before nine, you heard it before you saw it. The beautiful purr of that Impala you had seen the night before. A smirk crossed your lips while you were unbolting the upper portion of the water pump for the current car in front of you. 

The Impala stopped, and then she was silent. You could clearly hear three sets of footsteps heading into the garage. The four boys erupted with greetings to the Winchesters, more Dean than the other two. Even Bobby joined in. 

So, they do know each other. Too bad the boys know them too. So much for maybe making a friend now.

You sighed and slid under the car, going for the bottom bolts now that the top ones were loose, completely ignoring the ruckus of greetings going on only about twenty feet away from you.

“Kid, you gonna come say hi?” you heard Bobby ask, and you realized he was standing next to you.

“I really wanted to get this finished, since the part finally came in, and this poor car has been sitting here for a week waiting,” you replied without moving out from under the car.

“Kid, don’t make me pull you outta there,” he told you a bit more sternly, and you knew he’d do it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding out from under the car.

“So much for not running into you again, Sweetheart,” Dean smirked, which made you roll your eyes.

“Dean’s gonna be starting tomorrow morning. Dean, she’ll be your boss, so don’t try anything funny. She’s also practically my niece,” Bobby told him, far sterner than you’d heard him talk to anyone before, which only piqued your curiosity as to what their past entailed.

“I’ll behave, Bobby, I promise,” Dean told him, somewhat seriously. 

You noticed a small twinkle in not only Dean’s eye, but also in Bobby’s. It was like there was something they both knew but weren’t saying, at least not in front of you.

“You better, boy. I got no problems telling your dad and making him fire you,” Bobby replied, glancing at John.

That was when it hit you. You’d seen the initials JW on several different pieces of paperwork and even a couple of packages that had been delivered to the garage. John was Bobby’s partner in the business, and Dean was supposed to inherit it when John passed or retired. You were a bit surprised, though, that you had the power to fire the boss's son or at least write him up if you had to.

John’s laughter filled the garage at Bobby’s statement, “If I have to get involved, you’ll be in far more trouble than just losing your job.” There was a joke in there, but you could also hear the hint of seriousness in his tone.

What do the three of them know but aren’t saying around me? This is so frustrating.

“I said I’d behave,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the car closest to him while the boys gave him a hard time. But it was there, even if only a hint of it, a smirk, and you noticed.

That was when John and Bobby both turned toward you, and for some reason, it made you nervous. “We’re having a little get-together tonight at Harvelle’s, and you’re invited. Sam graduated and is getting a full ride for law school, and that calls for a celebration,” John told you with a far softer smile than you thought the man was capable of.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” you replied, completely unsure of the idea of being around people who really wanted nothing to do with you.

“Good. Then we’ll see you there around say, seven?” John replied.

“Okay,” you answered, not sure what else to say.

Due to your attention being on John and Bobby, you missed the silent conversations going on between Dean, Sam, and the four grease monkeys on the far side of the garage. Dean was mostly watching you while Benny and Cas were telling him things, about you. Sam was also watching you, but his was more out of curiosity than anything else.

John and Bobby hung out in the office with the door closed for at least another hour. Dean and Sam were distracting the other four while they worked. You, well, you were changing out the water pump, ignoring all of them. It was what hurt the least. 

While you were tightening down the bolts under the car, you noticed a pair of feet standing next to you.

“You really don’t remember us, do you?” he asked.

“Sorry. I really don’t,” you answered, focusing on the bolt that was being a pain to get to.

“Wow. Kinda surprised since we went to the same schools and grew up in the same town,” he chuckled quietly, and you realized it was Sam and not Dean. Sam had a softer voice, and he didn’t call you sweetheart.

“I’m really sorry. I was kind of a loner,” you told him and finally got the bolt tightened down.

Sliding out from under the car and looking up at him, you felt like an ant with how tall he was. You shook off the feeling, got to your feet, and bent over into the engine so you could finish bolting the water pump in place.

“I remember. I heard about what happened, or uh, I mean- what didn’t happen when you turned sixteen,” he told you with that softness you were thankful for.

You shrugged your shoulders briefly, “Doesn’t matter. At least Bobby let me work here. All I ask is that you aren’t being nice to me out of pity. I’d rather be ignored.”

“I don’t pity you. I actually wanted to tell you something I found out while I was at college. It’s rare, like it only happens to one in a billion people. A traumatic event before the age of five can leave a child too scared to get their soulmate’s name when they turn sixteen,” he explained.

You froze where you were. It was more than anything you’d been able to find, and for a moment, you wanted to hope. You quickly brushed it away, though, remembering how badly you’d felt the last time you got your hopes up.

“You gonna keep going or just leave me hanging like that?” you asked, a little sharper than you intended.

Sam took a deep breath, and you missed him glancing at his brother momentarily, “Well, what I read said that the other person still gets their soulmate’s name. The one that went through the trauma has to fully heal from it before they get their soulmate’s name.”

You rolled your eyes, “Kinda hard to heal from something I don’t remember.”

“I just wanted you to know that me and my brother don’t see you like others do, and we’d like to be your friend, if you want,” he replied, then walked away to leave you to your thoughts.

Great. I don’t even know what to do to heal that sort of thing. I don’t even remember my parents. And now, the boss’s kids want to be friends with me. No, that can’t go horribly wrong, can it? Plus, I have to go sit through a celebration with people I don’t remember and others who want nothing to do with me, even if Ellen, Bobby, and Jodi will be there.

You focused on the car but finished it quickly before the Winchesters were even ready to leave. After wiping off your hands, you closed the hood and put the tools away before driving the car out to the finished area so it could wait for its owner to pick it up. When you headed back inside, your eyes were only on the office door, which was still closed. You didn’t see Dean watching you again.

“Hey, Bobby. Cars finished. I didn’t see anything else out back. What do you want me to work on?” you asked, setting the keys on his desk so he could get the paperwork together.

“How about you give Dean the tour? Show him where everythings at?” John suggested with a smirk before Bobby could say a word. “I figured Benny would do that, since they seem like friends,” you replied, not wanting to interrupt the six of them.

“I’m sure he could, but he won’t. You’re their boss. Comes with the territory,” John told you.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied in a slight mumble, heading back out of the office, closing the door, and then leaning on it.

As you crossed your arms, you watched the six of them. They looked like they were enjoying whatever conversation was happening between them, with Dean laughing at something he must have found funny. With a deep sigh, you walked over to them, slipping your hands into your pockets.

There was instant silence the moment you got close to them, but you didn’t let the hurt show, “John said I should give you a tour and show you where everything is,” you explained to Dean, not really looking at him.

Dean glanced at the office door then back down at you, “If that’s what my dad said, then lead the way, Sweetheart.”

Why does he have to keep calling me that? It’s not like he knows me. Maybe he calls all girls that, and it’s just his thing or something like that. 

“Yeah, not like you been in here a day of your life,” Benny teased him, which made you look up at Benny, confused. “Huh?” was the only word you could manage.

“Oh yeah, Dean’s been working in here since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Cas chuckled, teasing Dean.

Your gaze went from each of them and then to Dean, tilting your head in a fair amount of confusion. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked away from you.

“What’s wrong, Dean? Worried she’ll figure it out?” Benny stated.

“Figure what out?” you asked as Dean glared at Benny.

“Nothing,” Dean snapped, still glaring at Benny.

So, Dean’s got some secret he doesn’t want me to know about. 

“Do you still want that tour I’m supposed to give you?” you asked with a sigh, looking more at the floor than anywhere else.

“Dean, you were here less than a month ago. Did you really forget where everything is already?” Cas teasingly asked him.

You’d had enough, so headed out of the garage, tossing your hands up and hollering, “Never mind,” just before making it outside. Once you made it to your car, you texted Bobby and told him you were heading home since there weren’t any more cars to work on at the moment.

The six of them watched as you drove past the garage entrance and then down the driveway. You missed Dean punching Cas in the jaw. You missed John and Bobby going off on Benny and Cas. You also missed Dean going off on Benny. You were too pissed and hurt to even look back.

Bobby didn’t text you back, but you knew if he had an issue or needed you at the garage, he would have said so. The moment you got home, you went straight for the punching bag, needing to get the anger out of your system so you could shower.

How am I gonna get out of tonight? Can I even get out of tonight? Probably not. I’ll have to show up, at least. I can always leave early, though, right? 

You groaned at the thought of having to be around people, knowing full well that getting out of it, even early, was going to be difficult. At least you weren’t required to dress up any, so you went for a pair of black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and your favorite deep green flannel pulled over it. At the garage, you typically had your hair pulled back, but for tonight, you left it down.

Parking near the back of Harvelle’s Bar & Grill, you were just staring at the building, dreading going inside and having to “people,” as you called it. The sun had already set, and the darkness was allowing the glimmer of stars to be seen in the night sky, but you didn’t notice them, just the bar in front of you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

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[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

[emo-markie]

*:･ﾟ✧ Supernatural oc/reader fic recs

I like to read. So I read. A lot. This is my curated selection of fics that make me feral. I highly recommend checking out the creators!

REMEMBER TO READ THE TAGS!

Last updated : October 10, 2024

red means work in progress

blue means complete work

(sorted by alphabetic order)

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SAM WINCHESTER

Birdcage Fires by FallingDomino on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

After finding a naked girl on a lonely stretch of California road on a stormy night, Sam doesn't have long to try and help the amnesiac girl before Dean drags him back into the life of hunting. Over the past three years, he never really forgot her, but when they reunite, the brothers discover something much more sinister about the night Sam saved her. Sam/OC, Before S1, skips to S4

Complex by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Sam Winchester will do whatever it takes to save his brother from Hell. When all else fails, he tries a spell—and botches it. Cassandra Holmes awoke from uneasy dreams and found herself transported to a fictional universe. Cass wants to go home. Sam wants his brother back. Maybe, working together, they can both get what they want.

Pie and Consqeuences by SteelRigged on AO3

Rating: T

Dean’s eyebrows were popping off his face. He looked at Sam, who had pie falling off his nose, and swallowed a smile. "You're getting slow, Sam," Dean said, and patted his brother on the shoulder. Sam wiped pie from his cheeks and chin. Veronica's rage had caught him off guard. She was one of the few people from his past he was still on good terms with. At least he thought they had been on good terms. At least neutral terms. Not pie in the face terms. “Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean muttered, glowing with pleasure. “Don’t worry. I’ve been there. You probably deserved it.”

pythia - a supernatural rewrite by uncouth-the-fiffth on AO3

Rating: T

John goes missing. Like every time you use your Gift to track him down, it's hardly for his own sake. If it weren't for Dean, trembling under that too-big jacket on your stoop and working up the courage to even say Sam's name, you'd happily never think about their father ever again. Or what you're doing to Sam's life by pulling him back into the hunt. If it was up to you, John Winchester would never be heard from again. But the boys need you. So, you go.

I highly recommend checking out the author's other fics here: uncouth's spn fics

The LightBringer by I_Am_A_Silver_Lining on AO3

Rating: E

Waking in the body of Lucifer, having their memories and powers, should have been horrible. And it was... ...Until it wasn't OR Kore wakes up as Lucifer, powers, memories and all. She is still herself with a little something sinister sprinkled in and decides to rip up the script and throw the apocalypse out the door. However, her True Vessel seems to still believe she wants to get in him, but he'd MUCH rather have it the other way around... OR OC invades Supernatural and takes over the world one piece of trash at a time. with ART

This Untraveled Road (series) by BAPWarrior18 on AO3

By Fate or Free Will

Rating: M

In the year 2003, a witch unleashed a powerful spell that drastically altered the fates of thousands of girls and women around the world. Some were killed. Some were protected. Many went about their lives or deaths unknowing of their transformed purpose. However, each were meant to be soldiers in the war against evil. Each were meant to tip the scales in the favor of good. For one in particular, there would have been no tipping of the scales… if not for some higher being’s determination to piggyback not only on the spell, but on the things that had already been set in motion by demons. OR In which the Winchesters meet the original breed of hunter, causing tiny ripples that turns their world on its head. And brings forth the war of change. For better or worse.

War of Change

Rating: M

THE ROAD SO FAR… The Winchesters met their bespoke Slayer, shifting the balance of their lives and unknown to them, the fate of the world. The Catalyst awakened new paths, altered goals, and shifted motivations. Like a drop in a pond transforming into a tsunami. As intended. Six Special Children survived Cold Oak. Four Slayers fought at the opening of the Devil’s Gate. One Slayer met death and lived. One Slayer confessed and vanished. All the while, two beings of undefined purpose watched and plotted. None could have predicted the drastic turn of events caused by the union of Slayers and Champions. NOW Demons and hunters scramble to make sense of the new world order. Some revel in the change. Some attempt to fix the balance. Others struggle to carry out carefully constructed plans. In the meantime, the Winchesters navigate what it means to be Champions. The Catalyst comes to understand her true gift. And the purpose of The Connected becomes clear.

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DEAN WINCHESTER

one of these nights by uncouth-the-fifth on AO3

Rating: E

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?” “Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.” “Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby."

This Curse On Our House by Sonny13 on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Faith has battles in her bones and nothing left to lose; a dangerous combination, but perfect for a hunter. But she's got demons out for her blood, convinced she can break some kind of curse, and they call her the Child of War - whatever that means. Things might be a little easier if Dean Winchester wasn't so damn frustrating.

Toil and Trouble by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: M

What’s the best way to infiltrate a coven? Be a witch. What does a modern witch need these days… Dean is going to be your familiar. He really wants to be a dog. He's not going to be a dog, and it works out way better and messier than either of you planned.

“Yeah, I have a Great Dean.” by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: E

Dean is a good boy.

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CASTIEL

Angel 101 by kittenofdoomage on AO3

Rating: E

The angels are dying out in huge numbers, and Castiel, searching for a way to save Jack from being used by them, and to also save them, is called by another angel to assist in what he thinks may be the solution.

Branded by ObliviousApple on AO3

Rating: E

Basically, the first time Cas ever touches you, a brand appears on your arm. A brand that says his name in Enochian. Come along for the ride as you try to stop the apocalypse, save the Winchester's from their own idiocy, and fall in love with our favorite feathered bastard. Spoiler alert: the brand is a soulmate mark. Who saw that coming?!

David by therev on AO3

Rating: T

What if the person who found amnesiac!Cas when he stumbled out of that river in Colorado had been a man and not a woman? And what if when Dean caught up with him, he found that Cas had a husband? And what if he was a real character and not the throw-away that they made Daphne?

Empire State of Mind by saprrowed on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Rating: E

Castiel makes a friend in New York City. And like many New York sitcoms, this is a story about nothing.

Feathers by enter_the_phantom on AO3

Rating: T

The giving of feathers and the revealing of wings is a sacred act for an angel, and it's something Castiel doesn't take lightly. But if there's one human he'd enter into such a close bond with, it's Abby Singer, the Winchesters' hunting partner and adopted sibling. Whenever he's around them, he feels things he's never felt before, and as strange as these new emotions are, he doesn't want them to stop. Unfortunately for him, Abby isn't the most receptive to his presence. They've been stubbornly opposed to his awkward attempts at friendship ever since they first met. In fact, it feels like he's the only one who can't seem to forge a relationship with the prickly hunter. Even more unfortunately, it doesn't seem to matter anyway, because another angel has already beaten him to it.

Gas-n-sip by eratothemuse on AO3

You just needed a job. Who knew that getting one at your local Gas-n-Sip would end up like this? (Set in 9x06 “Heaven Can’t Wait”)

Guardian Angel by ZonateBiscuit on AO3

Rating: M

When you feel lost, you begin to pray. Charlie Crivens is lost, but she's not sure anyone can hear her. Slow build Castiel/OFC

I Was A Stranger And You Welcomed Me by dorkilysoulless on AO3

Rating: E

Whoever he is, he's either homeless or hitching. He's also too damn pretty not to take home.

The Love Story of the Runner Up by Margo_Kim on AO3

Rating: T

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?”  “If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story. For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

The Original Cambion by thereluctantshipper on AO3

Rating: E

Just as they're gearing up to stop the apocalypse, Bobby, Dean, Sam, and more importantly, Castiel, meet the original Cambion, a half-demon half-human hybrid. And she wants to... Help them? OFC insert, starts roughly S5E16, will not follow story all the way through.

Questions and Answers by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

Castiel is becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his vessel. He comes to you with some questions.

Where Angels Fear To Tread by OrigamiDoll on AO3

Rating: E

Reader meets the Winchesters and Castiel when they roll through town on a hunt. They inadverdently expose her to the supernatural and turn her world view upside down. Soon, her house becomes a frequent detour for the boys and a friendship begins to blossom between the reader and Team Free Will. Castiel finds himself fascinated by the reader. Where will things lead?

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CROWLEY

Dead Body Moving by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Nell never expected to return from her cross-country roadtrip, but when a fellow camper goes missing during her stay at the Grand Canyon, she may live far, far longer than she expected.

Like I'm Not Made of Stone by ProlixInSpace on AO3

Rating: E

In ancient Mesopotamia, one careless death-goddess invents a cruel curse. Its singular victim can never die, but will rather live the last single year of a random human life somewhere in time, every year, forever and ever. In Hell, a belligerent soul takes centuries of abuse from Lilith herself, and is molded through her cruel tutelage into something darker, more ambitious, and cleverer by far than your standard-issue demon. A pair like that can only become more than the sum of their parts.

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GABRIEL

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) by bumbleberrysky on AO3

Rating: T

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe... Chuck works in mysterious ways after all. [divergent around s13/the end of s13-- will likely have spoilers]

Along For the Ride by MyPurpleSkies on AO3

Rating: T

Danielle Awenasa Callaghan thought being a hunter was complicated enough. That is until she joins the Winchesters along for one hell of a ride that involves repeatedly saving the world from danger, falling for a Trickster that's more than he seems, hiding the fact that your godfather isn't exactly human from the boys you're beginning to see as part of your family, and discovering that she and the King of Hell share a mutual appreciation for David Bowie's music. Not to mention being told by a cupid that she's met her soul mate already. Oh, let's not forget that she nearly died and was saved by some mysterious stranger that Death refuses to tell her the identity of.

I Want to Tell you by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

He can’t tell her when she’s drunk. That wouldn’t be right. He’ll tell her tomorrow. He’ll bring her coffee and let her shower and then he’ll sit her down. Tomorrow. It’s definitely time. He has to get this off his chest and tomorrow is the day.

Kibble by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: T

Sam and Dean ask Gabriel to cat sit for you, and it leads to a surprising discovery.

Third Time's a Charm by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: E

Gabriel unexpectedly comes to your aid and reveals a part of himself you never expected to see.

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SIBLING OC

Dynamics of an Asteroid by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: T

Sam thumped a photo album down onto her desk. Beneath the thin film of dust, the cover was dark burgundy. Margo recognized it at once. “Ah.” He was here for the other reason, then. The one she’d always dreaded, even if she’d imagined it more than a few times over the years. He was here because that photo album contained pictures of Margo from the time she was born through the time she was in high school. A rare few of them even showed her together with John Winchester—Sam’s father. And also, incidentally, her father. She was not prepared for this conversation.

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CHILD OC

Along Came Sophie by LaceyoftheTypewriter on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

Dean is still fighting supernatural crime with Sam when a pretty young plot twist named Sophie Gardner shows up claiming to be Dean's 15-year-old daughter. As she worms her way into his heart, he comes to realize what exactly he's been missing, and how far he'll go to fix what's broken.

Light of mine by TheTardyOwl on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

A Fledgling is almost killed during one of Michael and Lucifer's explosive arguments. Gabriel steps into the role of Caretaker for the little Angel and discovers that his new charge isn't what he expected.

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PLATONIC OC

Student Housing by darkshrimpemotions on AO3

Rating: T

Sam decides to rent out rooms in the bunker to college students. Finding yourself in a housing bind just before the start of your sophomore year, you decide the dirt cheap rent is worth the risk that your landlords might be serial killers.

[hllywdwhre]

Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Chapter 1

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This work is 18+, MDNI

Masterlist

*112 AC

Viserea leaned down low against the saddle of Tessarion,

“Aderī! (Quickly.)” She shouted, smiling as the wind whipped in her face. Rhaenyra and Syrax were close behind them as they neared the dragonpit and Viserea was determined to win their race. As the four came dangerously close to the pit, Viserea called out to Tessarion again,

“Paerī, nepot. (Slow, to the pit).”

The dragons touched down at the same time and Viserea waited until the two dragonkeepers had Tessarion’s attention before dismounting. Giving her dragon one last loving pat on her neck, Viserea made her way over to where Rhaenyra stood with Lady Alicent Hightower.

Viserea bit her tongue and forced a polite smile onto her face as Rhaenyra and Alicent spoke for a moment more. They boarded the carriage together and Viserea kept her eyes out of the carriage window while they rode through the streets of King’s Landing. She didn’t bother joining in on the conversation. She and Alicent had never seen eye-to-eye on most things and she wouldn’t be the one to make Rhaenyra choose between her two closest friends, so staying quiet during the conversations between the two was the best thing she could think to do. Mayhaps it was jealousy, but Viserea refused to let her mind wander down that path. Every time she thought about it, she was left even more confused than before.

After exiting the carriage, Viserea stayed in step with Rhaenyra and Alicent, participating in their conversation just enough to not be considered rude. They approached Queen Aemma’s door and all three were swiftly let inside the Queen’s chambers. Alicent greeted the Queen, then gave a small bow to the Princesses, excusing herself to allow the two to visit with Aemma.

“My girls,” Aemma greeted with a warm smile which the Targaryens returned. “Must you two continue flying while I am in this condition? You know I do not like it.”

“Your Grace-” Viserea started, only to be stopped when Aemma held her hand up,

“Viserea, you have been my daughter for years now. Unless you wish for me to only address you as Princess, I ask you to stop referring to me as your Queen. Aemma will do fine,” Aemma told her, causing the girl to smile and nod her head.

“You don’t really prefer us flying while you're in any condition, mother,” Rhaenyra pointed out, causing her mother to chuckle, “Did you sleep?”

“I did,” Aemma answered.

“For how long?”

“You know I am the mother here, I do not need looking after.”

“Well all the attendants surrounding you seem to be focused on the babe, I can only count on myself and Viserea to attend to your needs.”

“Soon enough you two will both be going through the same discomfort. It is our duty to the realm,” Upon seeing both girls grimace, Aemma continued, “The knights ride into battle and we fight a battle here, ensuring our legacy lives on, and doing so with a stiff lip. Now go bathe, both of you. You smell of dragon.”

Viserea and Rhaenyra both bid the Queen goodbye and placed a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

“I know it is our duty, but I do not want to become a slave to that bed,” Rhaenyra said once they were far enough away that they could not be heard.

“Neither do I. I do not wish to become a slave to my husband either. Only viewed as a title with a womb that can give him and his house more power,” Viserea replied. This was a topic the two had discussed multiple times at depth.

“What is it you wish for in a marriage?” Rhaenyra asked Viserea, looking to her with genuine curiosity written across her features. Viserea blushed lightly as she answered,

“A marriage to rival Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys’. We would be wed in the Valyrian manner with cut lips and palms to bind us to each other. Someone who looked at me and did not view me as just a Targaryen Princess, but looked at me and recognized the power Targaryen Princesses truly held. Aegon did not lock Visenya and Rhaenys away to their bed chambers and force them to provide him with heirs. He had them fight alongside him and gave them a voice in his court by always taking their opinions into account.”

“You seem to have thought about this before.”

“And you have not?” Viserea asked, already knowing the answer.

“I am to be wed to Syrax and cake alone. Never to a man,” Rhaenyra joked, causing both her and Viserea to burst into a fit of laughter.

The two told each other they would meet at the Godswood and Rhaenyra made her way to the Small Council room as it was her day to be the cupbearer for the King.

It was one of the first things Viserys did. After making Viserea a member of his family, he declared both her and Rhaenyra to be cupbearers, saying they could each spend a day by his side, and that if there was a matter of extreme importance being discussed, there would simply be two cupbearers in the chamber.

While Rhaenyra carried out her duties, Viserea was bathed, redressed, and her hair was freshly braided. Ser Ryden met her at her door when she went to exit and begin heading to the tourney.

“Princess, there is someone here that wishes to see you in the throne room,” he informed her as he began guiding her to the throne room.

A wide smile came across Viserea’s face, already knowing who awaited. When she entered the throne room, it was to no surprise of hers that she saw Daemon seated upon the Iron Throne, though she could hear Ser Ryden behind her gasp at the disrespect.

“You play a dangerous game, Uncle. One might think your actions disrespectful and let you feel the wrath of a dragon,” Viserea greeted in their mother tongue of High Valyrian.

“Are we so sure that the Queen is to have a boy? This throne might end up mine yet,” Daemon said, a playful smirk on his face as he looked down at the Princess from where he sat.

“The King said he had a dream that it was a boy. Though he also said the boy was born wearing the crown of Aegon the Conquere so I am unsure of how much faith to place in his dream.”

“Is it not possible that the babe being born with a crown is a metaphor for him being crowned king later in life?” Daemon asked Viserea. She gave a shrug in response,

“Every dreamer is different. My dream of Rhaenyra and I was straightforward, but I do not know what Danys saw. It is alway possible that her dream was not actually of Valyria burning and she was left to decipher the meaning of her dream.” The limited knowledge on dragon dreams was something that had driven Viserea to tears many times; unable to tell if nightmares were just bad dreams, or if her family would truly face the fates she dreamed of.

“Describe the dream again,” Daemon commanded with a voice full of curiosity.

Viserea had explained the dream to him multiple times over by now, yet he asked to hear the story of it every time. She had no qualms with explaining it again and again to Daemon, for he seemed to be the only one, aside from Rhaenyra, who seemed curious about the dreams. Others seemed to be in a state of awe after hearing it and many at court used “meeting the dreamer” as a bragging right to their peers. Daemon and Rhaenyra were the two that helped her look at every possible angle with her dreams, prophetic or not, and decipher if there was another meaning to them. So Viserea retold the story of her dream and the events that had taken place the next day.

“If the whispers are to be believed, I will be gifting you a new saddle for your dragon, soon,” Daemon said, apparently not being able to come up with any other meaning for Viserea’s dream and changing the topic of conversation.

“The dragonmasters say she will outgrow the pit at the rate she is growing and possibly grow larger than Meleys and Caraxes in the coming years. There are many adult dragons down there that Tessarion has grown larger than,” Viserea spoke in the common tongue now, though anyone could have told she was proud of her dragon by the look on her face.

“It seems fitting that the Targaryen princess named for Visenya would hatch and bond to her own dragon that is bound to reach the same size as Vhagar.” Daemon wore a proud look on his face as he spoke.

“I believe Tessarion will outgrow Vhagar and that we are looking at the next Balerion.”

The voice came from behind Viserea and she turned to see Rhaenyra approaching her. “Nice to see you again, Uncle. What has brought you back?”

“The tourney in my honor, Princess,” Daemon answered, stepping down from the Iron Throne.

“He still is not sure that mother's babe is the heir,” Viserea told Rhaenyra, to which she nodded.

“And until she brings forth a son, you are all stuck with me.” Daemon stopped in front of the two girls, looking down at them.

“Then Viserea and I shall both hope for a son,” Rhaenyra said, smirking up at Daemon and causing Viserea to giggle.

Daemon smirked back at Rhaenyra then looked to Viserea with the same fond expression before pulling something out for each of them.

“I brought each of you something. Do you know what they are?”

Viserea and Rhaenyra each reached for the object he held out towards them. He had brought Viserea back a ring and earrings, which she gently took. The steel felt cold in her hands and she realized what it was at the same time as Rhaenyra.

“Valyrian steel,” they said at the same moment.

“So we can all have a piece of our ancestry. Turn around,” Daemon said to Rhaenyra.

Viserea took out the earrings she wore currently and put in the earrings Daemon had brought her while Daemon helped Rhaenyra fasten the new necklace. After he had fastened Rhaenyra’s necklace, he took the ring from Viserea and gently placed it on her hand.

“They were intended to be worn together, but I do believe you two are one of the same. If both of you wear it, the set might as well be worn by the same person,” Daemon remarked, causing both of the girls to look at each other and exchange smiles. “I’ll see you both at the Tourney.” He said, dipping his head respectfully to the girls before leaving the throne room.

Rhaenyra and Viserea looked at each other after they had watched him leave, then began making their way to the Godswood, where they were both due to go over their studies with Alicent.

“How was the Council?” Viserea asked, reverting back to speaking in Valyrian so that the matters handled in the council would stay private.

“The Maester asked about the Rogue’s progress on the City Watch, father brushed it off and said he was ‘occupied’,” Rhaenyra started, distaste clear in her voice and it was obvious to Viserea that Rhaenyra was giving her the nice version of what was really said, “the Sea Snake is worried about a Triarchy in the Stepstones being led by a man who calls himself the Crabfeeder and what it could mean for our ports. No one paid that any mind because soon the Tourney was brought up.”

Viserea interjected before Rhaenyra could continue, “The trading ports? If there is danger near them, I side with the Sea Snake. Those ports cannot be lost.”

Rhaenyra gave Viserea a look that said she agreed, “The Tourney holds father’s attention over the ports. Who wants to think of war when the future king is supposed to be born?”

Viserea did not reply, knowing the question was a rhetorical one. Her thoughts raced everywhere as they continued walking to the Godswood; some of them on Aemma’s labors, others thinking of the Tourney, others thinking of the ports in the Stepstones, and a small portion of her thoughts thinking of the ring on her finger, the necklace around Rhaenyra’s neck, and the earrings adorning her ears.

For once, Viserea was happy to see Alicent. She offered a distraction. Viserea could focus on the stories of the rulers before them instead of the matters at hand. She answered all of Alicent’s questions, and helped Rhaenyra answer the ones she tried to simply play off. Viserea watched as Rhaenyra laid her head in Alicent’s lap and continued brushing off all of Alicent’s questions, even as Alicent grew frustrated.

She stayed seated when Alicent stood up and let a smirk play across her face when Rhaenyra recited Princess Nymeria’s tale of fleeing across the Narrow Sea. Viserea knew Rhaenyra could recite most of the book, and that she was much smarter than she let on, and in the moments she showed it, pride would flow through Viserea.

As they walked back to the castle, the three of them laughed as Rhaenyra cussed the Septa, and let their topic of conversation change to that of who was attending the Tourney.

Viserea was awoken early the next morning, the light of day not even shining through her windows yet. Groggily, she stumbled to the door of her chambers, opening it and finding two handmaidens standing there.

“The Lord Hand sent us to ready you, Princess. A Small Council meeting has been called.” Stepping back, Viserea allowed the handmaidens to enter.

They dressed her quickly, and one of them styled her hair in a simple braid, given the short amount of time they had. Neither of them spoke to Viserea, knowing she was not talkative in the mornings, and Viserea was grateful. She thanked both of them once they were finished and stepped out of her room, being greeted by Ser Ryden.

“You look as lovely as ever, Princess,” he greeted, walking beside her as they made their way to the Council room.

“I do not feel it, Ser. I feel as though I have just been called out of bed before the sun has risen,” Viserea said bitterly, though the knight knew none of the bitterness was directed towards him.

The two met with Otto and the King as they neared the room,

“…it was an unprecedented roundup of alleged criminals of every ilk. Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting… dismemberments when it was done,” Otto said, paying no mind to Viserea as she joined them.

“Gods be good…” She heard Viserys mumble as the entered the Council room.

“The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity,” Otto continued before being interrupted by the Lord Commander, Redwyne.

Daemon’s presence sent a jolt through Viserea and it took her a moment to remember her duties. She walked to the side of the room and picked up the wine, beginning to fill the cups of the attending council members, though Daemon and Corlys were the only two to acknowledge her with a thanks.

Viserea stopped behind Otto’s chair, her eyes on the blood streak that stained Daemon’s gold cloak.

“Do not let me interrupt, my Lord Hand. You were saying something about my impunity?” Daemon spoke, both he and Viserea watching as Otto looked to the king to continue the conversation.

When he stayed silent, Otto moved to his seat, causing Viserea to have to quickly step to the side to avoid being hit by the chair. Lyonel Strong reached for Viserea’s arm to steady her and Daemon’s look towards Otto turned to a glare.

“You are to explain your doings with the City Watch,” Otto said, paying no mind to Viserea.

“What about them?” Daemons questioned. He sat down along with the rest of the council when the king sat down.

“Your new “gold cloaks” made quite an impression last night,” King Viserys finally spoke.

“Did they?” Daemon replied, causing Viserea to force back a smile.

“The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim. They are an extension of the crown,” Otto continued before being cut off.

“The Watch was enforcing the crown’s laws. Wouldn’t you say, Lord Strong?” Daemon and Viserea both looked to Lord Strong, who looked taken aback. He stuttered out a “My Prince” before Otto was speaking over him again.

“Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws,” the Hand said.

Viserea couldn’t help herself as she stood still between the Hand and the Master of Laws and let her eyes flicker between Otto and Daemon.

“Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending King’s Landing for my brother’s tourney. Do you want them to be mugged, raped, murdered?” Daemon’s face looked bored as he continued speaking to Otto, “You mightn’t know this unless you stepped out of the Red Keep, Lord Hightower, but much of King’s Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying. Our city should be safe for all its people.”

“It’s true,” Viserea spoke, causing all heads to turn towards her. The blush that graced her cheeks matched the red in the gems of the jewelry gifted to her by Daemon which she currently wore. “The smallfolk don’t allow their children to roam the streets as they once did.”

“And how would you be aware of this?” Otto asked, looking up at her.

“Princess Rhaenyra and I notice it when we fly above. The children used to chase our dragons through the streets and now their parents keep a hand on them to prevent them from doing so,” She replied confidently, the lie coming easy to her. She would not tell them how she truly knew, though Viserys and Daemon both knew the truth and she could tell by the look the King was giving her.

“I agree that the city should be safe for all of its people, I just hope you don’t have to maim half my city to achieve this,” Viserys said, trying to calm the tension in the room.

“Time will tell,” Daemon answered easily, still looking up at Viserea.

Viserea looked away when Corlys voiced his support for Daemon and made her way around the table to top off anyone’s cups that needed it. She came to a stop next to Daemon when Otto brought up Daemon’s marriage. A sour taste filled Viserea’s mouth but she forced her face to remain blank.

“We understand from Lord Yorkers that you’ve not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone in some time. Queen Aemma was very proud to have arranged your union with Lady Rhea,” Otto continued on.

“I would think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence.” Daemon’s statement caused Lyman Beesbury and Lord Strong to both take sips of their wine, while Corlys and Viserea made eye contact and exchanged similar looks of amusement.

“Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale-“

“In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier.”

“You took a vow before the eyes of the Seven to honor the Lady Rhea in marriage.”

“Lady Rhea doesn’t seem to enjoy the Prince’s company either, is he to force himself on her?” Viserea quipped, an eyebrow raised toward the Hand.

Before Otto could reply, Daemon cut in again, seeing that Otto’s temper was about to turn on Viserea.

“I’d gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you’re in need of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently, did she not?”

Viserea nor Daemon flinched when Otto jumped from his chair, sending it toppling over.

“Perhaps you aren’t ready to move on just yet,” Daemon said, causing Viserea to cover her chuckle with a small cough.

“You know my brother makes sport of provoking you, Otto. Must you indulge him?” Viserys asked, his own exhaustion at the dynamic evident in his voice.

As Otto utters an apology and picks up his chair, Viserys looks up at Viserea, silently reprimanding her for aiding in Daemon’s comments. The King turned to Daemon and spoke once Otto had sat back down.

“The council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exact standards. Enforce my laws, but know that any further performances like last night’s will be answered.”

“Understood, Your Grace,” Daemon said, standing up from his spot, “Was there anything else?”

“That is all. You and Viserea can both be dismissed.”

Viserea was not surprised at her early dismissal, knowing it was the response to her comments and to her admitting she was sneaking around the city again.

She placed the wine down on its table and walked to the end of the table, where she took Daemon’s arm that he offered to her. She looked up at him as they left the room, clear confusion written on her face but no answers were given until the doors of the room were shut behind them.

Daemon answered her unspoken question, “I really do enjoy getting under our dear Hand’s skin, and offering the Princess my arm to escort her from the room and show that I do know how to use my manners is a great way of doing so.”

Viserea forced herself not to let the laughter consume her body, though the broad smile she wore showed just how amused she was at Daemon’s actions.

“I am glad I’m not the only one who enjoys watching his face turn red. It was worth being dismissed from the meeting early and any stern words I’ll receive from the King about my sneaking into the city if it means taking him down a peg.”

“You should be more careful, Princess. I am watching how you handle yourself in these meetings, and I cannot offer such a rebellious person a place in my council,” Daemon teased.

“Your council?” Viserea questioned, “Going by the King’s word, it will not be your council. It will be his son’s. I will be promised no place on the future King’s council so I might as well make sure my place is noted in the books. I do not wish to just be remembered as another Targaryen Princess married off to a Lord in order to further whichever King’s political gain.” Though her tone was light, her words held some weight.

“I shall see to it that you are remembered as more than that,” Daemon told her, his words completely erasing the joking atmosphere between the two. Viserea doesn’t doubt his words for a moment, looking up at him and offering him a small smile.

“I look forward to seeing how you carry out that promise,” she told him.

The rest of the day flew by uneventfully for Viserea. She had attended another council meeting of little importance later in the day, and recited the events of the two meetings to Rhaenyra in her chambers before they went to bed.

She did well when the Septa tested her on the histories and the Septa rewarded her with another book from the North, specifically from Winterfell, though this one was clearly written for her. It was a detailed history of the Starks and must have been written by the Starks own maester. The book was heavier than most, but Viserea knew some of that weight was mental. She had learned what she must about her family in her classes, but couldn’t bring herself to study more about them. It made her feel closer to her mother, but she found the cost to be just as large as the reward.

Viserea was never ashamed of who her mother was, in fact, she frequently wore dresses of Stark grey intertwined with Targaryen red to honor her mother and her mother’s family. However, she could only sometimes bring herself to do more than that. She loved Aemma as a mother figure, and she knew that Aemma loved her as if she was her own. Viserea was grateful for the love she received from her father’s family, but that did not fill the hole she felt of not having her own mother there with her. Learning about the Starks made her feel closer to her mother and farther away at the same time.

Viserea was more than grateful for the afternoon dragon ride she was able to take with Rhaenyra, though they kept the flight short in case Aemma’s condition changed at all. The short time in the air helped clear her head and she was back to her usual self by the time they returned to the pit.

That night, after Viserea had told Rhaenyra of the council meeting and they had bid each other a good night, Viserea fell asleep quickly. The sleep did not last long though.

She did not remember what the dream started as, but it quickly turned to one of horror. Aemma in pain, blood soaked sheets, and two pyres being burned by dragonfire at Rhaenyra’s command. She was shaken awake by Ser Ryden, concern written on his face as he checked her over for injuries and started to call for the maesters.

“No, don’t!” Viserea commanded, through a tear soaked face. “It was a dream, nothing is wrong with me.” She said, falling against Ser Ryden and sobbing into the cool metal of his armor.

“I need Nyra and Daemon.” She told him, pulling away. There wasn’t a single protest from him as he left the room to retrieve the two, coming back less than a moment later with a disheveled and concerned Rhaenyra.

“The Prince is not in his chambers.” Ser Ryden said, “I checked them myself on the way to the Princess’.”

Rhaenyra quickly made her way to Viserea’s bed and the two hugged each other tightly.

“Is it bad?” Rhaenyra asked her after a couple minutes of their embrace. Viserea took a shaky breath and nodded,

“Horrible. The other nightmares were nothing like this, they weren’t prophecies, this was.” Viserea told her, pulling away to look at Rhaenyra.

“What is it about?” Rhaenyra asked. Viserea tried to reply, but felt the tears start again and took a couple deep breaths to calm herself,

“I feel like if I say it out loud, it will make it come true and you will hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you.” Rhaenyra said quickly, taking Viserea’s hands in her own. “You see prophecies. They are already set in stone, you do not make them.”

“It’s mother.” Viserea said.

She gave Rhaenyra a moment to decide if she wanted to hear more and, once she nodded for her to continue, told her of the prophecy. She left out the gruesome details, telling her only that she saw Rhaenyra giving Syrax the command to burn their pyres.

“There’s more.” Rhaenyra wasn't asking, she knew that Viserea was withholding part of the dream.

“Trust me and hear me when I say that you do not want to know. It is not something you need to be haunted with.” Viserea’s voice was cold and serious, making Rhaenyra nod.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Rhaenyra asked her, though she had already begun pulling the blankets back for herself.

“Please.” Viserea replied.

The two girls laid down next to each other, with Viserea pulling Rhaenyra into her side. Neither of them said another word. Neither of them knew what to say. They simply took what little comfort they could in each other’s presence.

Rhaenyra nor Viserea slept much the rest of the night, the two waking each other up due to a bad dream or anxiety the moment the other fell asleep. When their handmaidens saw to them the next morning, both girls looked as exhausted as they felt and neither of them wanted to attend breakfast.

The Princesses’ late arrival to the tourney did not go unnoticed by Viserys, who threw both girls a sidelong glance. Viserea and Rhaenyra both apologized to the nobles they had to climb across and Viserea sat on the side of Rhaenyra not occupied by Alicent.

When Viserea nor Rhaenyra showed much interest in Alicent’s gossip of Lady Elinor being secretly pregnant, Viserea saw her curve her body to face them and she dropped her voice.

“Are you feeling well?” She asked with a voice of genuine concern.

“Rea was sick last night, I stayed with her.” Rhaenyra lied quickly, though Viserea shook her head.

“She can know.” Viserea said, dropping her voice down and turning herself to the two girls beside her. “I had another dream last night. It was… gruesome to say the least.”

“Might I know the subject?” Alicent asked the two.

Viserys stood from behind the three of the girls,

“It has just been told to me that Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” He announced, smiling widely as the crowd cheered loudly.

Upon seeing Rhaenyra and Viserea exchange glances with clear worry written on their faces, Alicent quickly realized what the dream was about.

“Is there a way to stop it?” Alicent asked, but quickly backtracked “Apologies, you two would have already done it if you could.” She told them, taking one of their hands in each of her own.

“I won’t discuss the details of what I did see. They aren’t pleasant.” Viserea looked to Alicent, whose face was laced with curiosity and a sad look.

“She would not even tell me, only that she saw me burning the two pyres.” Rhaenyra said, her voice still dropped low, though all eyes were on the knights dueling below.

The three girls’ attention was drawn away from each other for a moment as the Master of Revels introduced Daemon and watched as he and his horse passed along the knights lined up.

When he pointed his lance to Gwayne Hightower, Viserea forced herself to keep the amused smile off of her face. Alicent was okay sometimes and Viserea had grown used to her presence due to Rhaenyra’s close friendship with her and she trusted her not to wrong them, but that was the nicest she could speak of the Hightower family.

Daemon dismounting Alicent’s brother caused all of the nobles and royals in the box to lean forward and Rhaenyra to gently rub Alicent’s back in a calming manner once her brother stood up.

“Nicely done, Uncle.” Rhaenyra told him.

“Quite a skilled performance.” Viserea said.

“Thank you, my Princesses.” He tells them both, smiling at them after removing his helmet. He lowers his lance towards Alicent, “I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.”

The same feelings of jealousy that Viserea had spent hours in solitude debating rose as a bile in her throat as she watched Alicent blush and stand up before placing the favor on Daemon’s lance.

“Good luck, my Prince.” Alicent wished him.

Viserea looked to Rhaenyra who was already looking at her. Both of them had frowns on their faces that they forced away when Alicent returned.

As the tourney continued on, Viserea’s favor was given to her cousin, Rickon, who invited her to see Winterfell.

Upon seeing Ser Criston Cole dismount Lord Boremund Baratheon, Rhaenyra called over Ser Harrold and Ser Ryden and questioned if either of them knew of the Cole man.

“We have been asking the same thing, Princesses and my Lady. I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, the son of Lord Blackhaven’s steward. Other than that, and the fact he has now unhorsed both the Baratheon lads, I could not say.” Ser Harrold told the three girls.

The three move to the guard-rail when it is announced that Ser Criston has chosen Daemon to tilt against. Viserea’s attention is drawn away from the fight and she grips the guard-rail tight enough that her knuckles turn white due to the strange feeling taking over body.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a melee!” The voice barely breaks through Viserea’s trance while she concentrates on taking deep breaths to steady herself. She hardly registers the rest of the world, only noticing from the sound of the crowd that Daemon had apparently been bested by Ser Criston and feeling Rhaenyra’s hand rest on top of hers.

“Sit.” Rhaenyra commands her, leaving no room in her voice for argument and Viserea doesn’t try to.

She begins to make her way to her seat, but is waved over by Princess Rhaenys, while Corlys stands and allows her to take his seat.

“Thank you, my Lord, but you did not have to give up your seat.” Viserea tells him.

“Nonsense. You looked as though you were about to faint.” Corlys spoke in Valyrian to the Princess, avoiding drawing any concern to them.

“Are you that concerned for your uncle’s wellbeing?” Rhaenys asked though she knew that was not the cause for Viserea’s episode.

Viserea looked to her cousin, her dark hair and lilac eyes complimented each other and the rare combination radiated power that Viserea had nothing but respect for.

“I always worry for my uncle, but no, that is not the reason for my… unease.” Viserea struggled to find the word that fit exactly what she was feeling.

The three of them turned their heads when they noticed Viserys and Otto leaving the box, and though she had not eaten anything since the night before, Viserea still felt she might be sick. She looked back to Rhaenyra and Alicent and was grateful neither of them had seemed to notice the absence.

“It is the Queen. You’ve had another dream and the Princess and Lady know of it.” Rhaenys’ declaration did not surprise Viserea; Rhaenys was a smart, strong, and observant woman.

Corlys’ looked down at Viserea when she nodded,

“You can feel the dream happening?” Corlys asked and Viserea shook her head.

“I don’t feel her labor pains, but I feel that the dream is happening. It did not happen when I predicted our first dragon ride, though I was still a child and the excitement of my first flight was the only thing I noticed.” Viserea looked between Rhaenys and Corlys as they exchanged glances.

The three of them stood as more cheers and screams of the crowd suddenly grew louder. They glanced down and saw that multiple fights had broken out which brought a sneer to Rhaenys’ face.

“Some way to celebrate the birth of our future king.” Corlys said with distaste.

“Their lords sent them to the tourney field with fists full of steel and balls full of seed. None of them have known real war. It is a wonder that war did not break out at first blood.” Rhaenys spoke in the common tongue now and moments later Otto returned to the royal box.

He whispered something into Corlys’ ear and went to the next member of the small council. The unease Viserea felt was gone, washed away by grief. She did not need to hear the Hand’s words in order to know the message he delivered.

A flurry broke out in the royal box and Viserea stood quickly, pushing her way through until she stood just outside of it, awaiting Rhaenyra. Once Rhaenyra joined her, Viserea immediately took her hand, letting Rhaenyra lead the way as she wordlessly followed her.

As they arrive at the Queen’s chambers, Viserea bites her tongue to avoid letting any tears fall. They both step into the doorway but neither cross the threshold. Aemma had already been taken out of the room and Viserea’s grip on Rhaenyra’s hand tightened as the short flashes of blood and pain from her dream began flashing through her head. When Viserys does not move from his spot, Rhaenyra is back to pulling Viserea down the hallways, not stopping until they reach Rhaenyra’s own chambers where she begins pacing in front of her bed.

“I was never good enough for him. A daughter with a womb, never a son with a cock.” Rhaenyra’s words shocked Viserea, but not because of what she said. The anger in her voice was surprising.

Viserea stepped closer to Rhaenyra, stopping her from walking and hugging her tightly. She felt Rhaenyra’s tears soak the shoulder of her dress and the two sat on the foot of her bed and her own tears soon began soaking Rhaenyra’s dress.

The tears eventually stopped flowing and the two of them moved to lay in the middle of Rhaenyra’s bed. Each of them had their arms wrapped around each other while Viserea laid on her back with Rhaenyra’s head on her chest.

“I feel selfish. I was able to know my mother and I grieve the loss of only one. You have now grieved the loss of two and it is you who comforts me.” Rhaenyra spoke, her voice gravelly.

“Our losses are not meant to be competitions, Nyra. You comforted me last night and I was delivering news of Aemma’s and your brother’s loss.” Viserea said, playing with a strand of Rhaenyra’s hair that had fallen.

“I will have to give the command?” Rhaenyra looked up at Viserea as she asked.

“I saw you give the command and since your father’s dragon has passed, the responsibility would fall to you. However, you are the Princess of the Realm. If you wanted me to give the command to Tessarion, I would oblige… and I am sure Daemon would offer Caraxes.”

“No. I will not pass off my responsibilities to someone else so that I may wallow in my own pity.” Rhaenyra said with a firm tone.

Viserea nodded and the two sat up when they heard a knock on the door. Rhaenyra cleared her throat before saying,

“Enter.”

Viserea’s favorite handmaiden, Amarda, entered followed by one of Rhaenyra’s. They each carried a tray of food and gently sat them on one of the tables of the room.

“I thought you two would enjoy your dinner in the Princess’ chambers tonight. The King had his delivered to his own chambers.” Amarda explained, offering a hand to each of the girls to help them stand.

“Thank you, Amarda.” Viserea offered her a small smile which she returned.

Rhaenyra and Viserea ate what they could stomach of their dinners and were briefly separated long enough to bathe and dress in their nightclothes. They joined each other in Rhaenyra’s room again afterwards and eventually received the news that Baelon had also passed.

A second sleepless night was spent together and the handmaidens offered no surprise to see them in Rhaenyra’s room together the next morning as they brought them their breakfast. The two were soon dressed in black dresses and cloaks and being ushered to the funeral.

It was late afternoon by the time everyone was brought out to Rhaenys’ Hill, the morning being spent inside and dealing with nobles offering well wishes to the remaining Targaryens. Viserea did not bother wiping away her tears as the Septon spoke. She kept her posture straight and her head high, her free hand by her side and the other laced with Rhaenyra’s. She did not know if she had offered her hand in an attempt to comfort Rhaenyra or herself, but she was glad when Rhaenyra took it. She could force herself to maintain a regal posture and not be ashamed of her tears, but she could not force herself to stand without the other princess.

The crowd turned to look towards Rhaenyra, signaling it was time for her to say the word, though she made no move.

“They’re waiting for you.” Daemon spoke gently from behind the two.

Viserea saw Rhaenyra’s jaw clench in anger and she ran her thumb across the other’s knuckles. Daemon stepped to stand on the other side of Rhaenyra and offered his arm to her.

“Come. We’ll go together.”

“I wonder if, for those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.” Rhaenyra snapped, her breathing getting deeper.

Viserea kept quiet, agreeing with Rhaenyra’s words, but knowing her input would help nothing.

“Your father needs you… more now than he ever has.” Daemon said, looking to Viserea next, “Both of you.”

“We are not sons.” Rhaenyra said, dropping Viserea’s hand and stepping forward.

Daemon takes a step towards Viserea so they stand shoulder to shoulder. They both watch as Rhaenyra raises her head to speak and then pauses. Viserea can sense it before it happens and grabs Daemon’s wrist, stopping him from going to her again.

“Daor. (No.)” Viserea said, stopping Daemon. She knew Rhaenyra needed to do this on her own and that she would not appreciate the help.

“Dracarys.” Rhaenyra spoke. The dragon stepped forward, letting out a low moan, as if feeling Rhaenyra’s pain herself. A moment later and the dragon’s fire was cascading over the two pyres.

Viserea did not move from her spot as others began leaving the hill. She reassured Rhaenyra she would be inside soon and saw from the corner of her eye Alicent and Rhaenyra walk off together. Daemon did not move from Viserea’s side. When the hill finally emptied and the last of the smoke rose from the ashes left of the two members of their family, Viserea finally spoke.

“The gods are cruel. I have now attended four funerals for my family, and there is no positive to outweigh the grief. Rhaenyra and I both grieve the loss of a mother, I grieve the loss of a father, and the father Rhaenyra so desperately needs has never learned to appreciate her. ‘The Realm’s Delight’ they call her, and he has never opened his eyes to see how true those words are.”

“He loves her, loves both of you-“ Daemon started, though he was cut off by a harsh laugh from Viserea.

“I have no doubt in my mind that he loves us, but he does not love us the way he would have loved Baelon. He does not love me the way he loves Rhaenyra. He has already begun discussing possible future betrothals for Rhaenyra, but does not mention any for me. He may love us, but he treats her as no more than a political pawn and he does not even treat me as that. His first royal decree on the very day he was made King was that I was part of his family and I was to be treated in the same respect as Rhaenyra, and it is he himself who failed that.” Viserea’s words were laced with bitterness as she stared ahead with a few more fresh tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“The two of you do not see how much he truly loves you.” Daemon replied, his voice sincere.

“He did not notice anything was wrong with me at the tourney. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys noticed before he did. She was the one who put it together that I had another dream. Alicent noticed that something was wrong before he did! Alicent whom I do not speak to unless I must! The man who I am supposed to view as a father saw nothing wrong with me or his blood born daughter!” By the end of the rant, Viserea was shouting through tears and grateful that the hill was empty.

Viserea felt Daemon pull her towards him and she allowed herself to melt into his embrace and wrap her arms around him in return. After a couple minutes, Viserea had calmed down and she pulled away from him, wiping away any sign of her tears.

“You had another dream?” Daemon asked her, not commenting on her previous show of emotion.

“Yes. I called for you and Rhaenyra last night, but you were not there. I did not tell Rhaenyra the full extent of it and I never will. She doesn’t need to know what her mother went through in her final moments.” Viserea said, her tone surpassing its previous bitterness and turning to one bordering hate by the end.

“What was the full dream?” His voice was cautious, as if he was afraid that asking would only make her angrier.

“The babe was in breach. They were both going to die no matter what, but Aemma was never told that. He held her down like a pig for slaughter as the Maester suggested a new way being practiced in the citadel. She died terrified and in pain. Her screams will not leave my nightmares anytime soon.” Viserea told him.

“You do not plan to forgive him for this.” It wasn’t a question that Daemon asked. He already knew the answer.

“You and Rhaenyra are the only Targaryen family I have left.” Looking up at him, Viserea’s lilac eyes were cold and Daemon understood that her words were true to her.

[coolprettyleo]

so why do i still long for a home? - ryan leonard ☆

wc: 1.5k

tw: family angst, departure, leaving, arguing

ryan leonard x oc hughes sister!

death by a thousand cuts au

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

frankie's summer had been going amazing.

the girl finally felt like herself again. scratch that, the better version of herself. she was finally happy, and life once again held purpose for her, she felt like she had finally found her passion after searching so long to find it and that was the best feeling for the hughes girl.

she would admit that the hours were long, but it was nothing compared to the hours of 'torture', as she would call it, in the rink.

she had everything she'd ever wanted; a job she loved, loving friends, and a passion.

"I have to talk to you," summer said, coming into the brunette's room with a nervous look.

summer had liked her summer so far, only liked. of course, the girl was having a good time, but she didn't know if she held the same passion for modeling that frankie held. she wanted to return to bc in the fall, and that seemed to be the farthest thing on her best friend's mind.

"okay, shoot," frankie said, closing her laptop and focusing her attention on the blonde in front of her.

"have you thought about what you're gonna do in the fall?"

frankie had gave it thought. she'd given it a lot of thought, and she knew her answer almost instantly. she wasn't stupid; she knew summer wanted to return; she was just hoping to push off the conversation for a little longer.

"not really," she said, pushing the strand of hair behind her ear. everyone who knew the girl knew it was a habit she did when she wasn't telling the truth.

"I have, I want to go back to bc, and I know you don't, and that's okay. you can still stay here, you know my dad loves you-"

"i'm not staying here without you. part of the reason I'm having so much fun is because I'm doing it all with you. I'll just follow you back and find something else I'm supposed to do," she told her best friend.

"I think this is what you're supposed to do, frankie," she said as frankie sighed.

"i think it is too. but i'm scared. it's all becoming too real, and I don't know how everyone's going to take it," she said, thinking back to everyone's face when she told them she'd be moving to new york.

"you're dropping out?" her mother said, with a look of peer disappointment while her dad and brothers looked at her like she had three heads.

"i'm just going to try it out, nothing's for sure" she tried to smooth it over

"that industry is dangerous, frankie," luke said. the hughes brothers knew that a lot of those models either go crazy on drugs or go crazy trying to look better; they didn't know how they would feel about their little sister joining that whole scene.

"I only want to try it; if I don't like it, I'll return to bc in the fall," she said as she looked at her parents and brothers, who were all looking at her with worried eyes.

"are you running away from something? are you having problems with ryan? that's not a reason to just up and leave and change your whole life-" jack said.

"i'm not running away from anything-"

"seems like it" luke added with a scoff as she furrowed her eyebrows

"i really want to do this-"

"I don't like it," her father said, cutting her off, finally speaking.

"dad-"

"that's enough, frances. we've watched you throw away hockey, we're not watching you throw away your education as well. you don't have hockey to fall back on anymore; you're going to need a career, and moving to new york and partying for a living isn't," he said as her brothers held wide eyes. it was rare that their father ever raised his voice to scold them and even rarer for it to be directed at frankie.

"I'm eighteen; if I want to do this, I will-" frankie said with a shaky voice, raising her own voice.

"yeah? with what money? i'm not going to support this move frances! and god knows that city is expensive-"

"i already have a place to stay, and I have money saved up. I'm going whether you guys like it or not," she said, standing up and going to her room, slamming the door in the process.

"jim, that could have been handled better," ellen said once she was out of earshot.

"she's gone crazy!" the dad of four said.

"no, she hasn't. she's trying to find herself, and if doing this helps her, then maybe it's a good thing" she said before standing up and following after her only daughter.

"can i come in?" ellen asked with a knock.

"If you're coming here to change my mind, you won't," she said once her mother opened the door her back faced towards her.

"i know you won't. you're a stubborn girl. I just want you to remember that everyone in this house loves you and wants what's best for you, that's why hearing this news is a little scary, to say the least, but I'll always be standing beside you with a big sign and balloons no matter what you do" she told her as frankie burned holes into the wall. ellen waited for her to say something, but the stubborn girl did nothing.

"i'll be waiting for when you want to talk," she said softly before shutting the door.

frankie took a deep breath before sitting up and getting up to pull out her suitcase. she knew she couldn't stay here. they all looked at her like she was glass that was bound to break and she couldn't take it. thankfully she hadn't fully unpacked and only needed a couple of things.

the girl waited for everyone to head to bed before slipping out. she was startled when she saw quinn sitting on the island eating a bowl of cereal. the oldest hughes looked at her and down to her bag.

"you're leaving?" he asked his littlest sister as she nodded.

"you have to tell them, they're gonna worry-"

"I left a note," she said, continuing her way out the door, only for quinn to follow her out.

"frankie, don't leave. dad didn't mean to yell at you; he's just worried. we all are-"

"i have to do this, quinn. i'm not going to spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if'. I won't do it," she said, shaking her head as quinn sighed.

"at least let me drive you; you heading to the airport?" he asked, looking at her passport in hand as she looked at him suspisoucly.

"you'd do that?" she asked. quinn and her had never been the closest. he was six years older than her, and they were always at different stages in each other's lives. she was only nine when he left for the program.

"yeah, I'm not letting you take some sketchy cab," he said before grabbing his keys.

"thank you," she said, mumbling into his chest as she hugged him.

"just promise me, you won't be stupid out there, and if you ever need something, you won't hesitate to give me or any of us a call," he told her as they got into the car.

"okay" she said with a nod as they drove away from her home that hadn't been feeling much like home.

that had all been about a month ago. she had yet to speak to her dad but had exchanged a couple of check in calls with her mother and brothers but hadn't really spoken to them. 'needing space to be free' as she liked to call it.

part of her understood where her family's worries had been coming from. a lot had changed in little time. their daughter and sister, who seemed to love hockey like the rest of them, quit out of the blue, and now she was basically dropping out of college. to anyone, that seemed like an episode, but to the girl, it was her life.

the other part of her, though, didn't understand. her brothers left school, jack didn't even go, and they had been nothing but supportive of them. so why couldn't they just support her?

she knew her descion was not only going to cause an uproar within her family, but with her boyfriend as well.

she had barely seen ryan since school ended. he had been busy with the development program, and she had been busy with shoots. the two rarely got to talk. she had been feeling distant from him, and she knew he felt it too. he also still held hope she'd return to bc in the fall

"i'll always be here for you frankie. you need to stay here and live out your dreams," summer told her as she took a deep breath.

"I love you," she said, hugging her best friend.

the two girls stood there wrapped up in one another while the brunette didn't know what was to come for her. afraid of change, but excited for the new beginnings she was about to embark on.

[khunyuki]

"I've lived my life with blade and you always in my mind"

ᴍᴀɪɴ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ: 1. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Synopsis: Soshiro is extremely worried for his fiancee who called out to him in the middle of the night. He just wanted her to let her feelings out not knowing it would change the trajectory of their relationship. With feelings out in the open and confessions long due, they said those three words.

Pairing/s: Soshiro Hoshina x Fiancee!OC

Notes: This is originally meant to be angst and break up fic but Kagami said NO and I couldn't bring myself to say otherwise. This is the side stories' fault for showing how good their relationship is😭 I also changed the title to fit! Soshiro's eyes turn back to red to be the same as the manga~

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Masterlist: TOC, Intro, Next

Future Wife: I want to see you now

Future Wife: Please

When Hoshina Soshiro's phone chimed a special tune, he knew he received a text message from his fiancee. His hands that had a mind of their own, took his phone and opened it to see something that bugged him. When he clicked on the message, it was already unsent and he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding.

*Future Wife unsent a message*

*Future Wife unsent a message*

Kagami had never done this before so he could feel that something terrible must've happened.

Future Husband: What's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?

He saw her reading his message and he waited for her to reply. He could see her typing then deleting it as if she's hesitating, but eventually she did tell him.

Future Wife: Ryunei Shrine

Ryunei Shrine? What was she doing there? Especially in the middle of the night when she should be at home resting? Did something happen at the Uzui household? Soshiro had many thoughts regarding this as he knew of the strained relationship between her and her family. She may have never told him anything but he knows.

This is why he asked her yesterday if she wanted him to come but she refused knowing that he already spent the night searching for that new kaiju, Kaiju no. 8. Until now, he's incredibly worried with that kaiju still around and not caught. He knew she's capable of protecting herself but still he couldn't help but worry.

Future Husband: Wait for me

Ignoring the mountains of paperwork in front of him, Soshiro left his office to go to his fiancee. Of course he didn't forget to tell his captain about his leave. He told her it's an emergency with his family and they need him ASAP. Of course Mina knows he's going to her but let him be as she saw his anxious face.

.

When Hoshina Soshiro arrived at Ryunei Shrine, it was already deep into the night. He tried to calm his breathing to not let her notice that he ran. Then he saw her crouched down and playing with a dandelion...

She wasn't looking at him but he knew she acknowledged his presence. Even from far away, he could see just how exhausted she looked. It is only her side profile that he could see but he felt like he was seeing a moon goddess. Her long black hair that was over her shoulder was glimmering under the moonlight and despite her eyes being empty and lips not smiling, she still looked ethereal to his eyes.

He slowly moved closer to her, as silent as possible, as to not disturb her. He removed his jacket and gently placed it on her shoulders as he crouched down beside her.

"I heard that if you blow on dandelions, your wish will come true"

Soshiro told her as he himself picked one and blowed on it. He wished that he and Kagami will be happy. They watched as the seeds flew away along with the wind.

"I think my wish won't come true even if I blew on it"

Kagami let out a weak chuckle, the smile on her face looked taunting, as if she's loathing something. It made Soshiro frown for he hates to see her like this. He had many questions but he wants to respect her silence.

"You won't know until you try"

After a moment of contemplation, Kagami blew on her dandelion. She watched it disappear into the night for a long time. Then she stood up and turned to face her fiance who did the same.

When Kagami looked at the man in front of her, she was reminded of the time they first met.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Back then, her father told her that he would be visiting a friend and that he wanted her to come with him to meet his children. Young and naive, the girl only wished to spend time with her father so she instantly agreed. Shy as she may be, the prospect of having a new friend also made her excited.

When they arrived at the Hoshina residence, they were immediately greeted and led inside. At the sight of unfamiliar adults and surroundings, [Y/N] hid behind her father.

Then they entered a tatami meeting room, quite similar to the one they had at home yet still different. She still hid behind her father's back even as they were seated on the cushions provided.

"Haha, pardon her, my daughter is quite shy towards people she just met."

Uzui Juzo chuckled as he tenderly pet his daughter head.

"It's no problem at all, in fact, it's quite adorable"

Hearing the stranger complement her, the child blushed and hid further. Only the two adults inside the room chuckled at the cute response.

As the adults have their conversation, she finally calmed and started to look around. It was then that she noticed the two children sitting beside the man. Surprised, she shrinked back but peeked out once more.

They were both looking at her, with the older one smiling kindly and the younger one just... staring. She saw a glimpse of his red eyes but when she blinked, his eyes were already closed. She tilted her head in confusion.

A chuckle from the man presumed to be the boys' father made her turn to look at him.

"It seems like there isn't any need for further discussion."

"I agree. It's settled then."

Seeing the two men agree on something, she thought it was finally over when...

"Kagami, introduce yourself."

Obeying her father, she fixed her position and bowed properly like she was taught.

"It's nice to meet you. My name is Kagami, Uzui Kagami."

Before lifting her head, she heard the man encourage his son to reply.

"My name is Soshiro, Hoshina Soshiro. I am looking forward to knowing you, Kagami."

When she looked up, she once again saw the kid's eyes. But this time, he was smiling.

"From today onwards, the two of you are officially engaged."

Engaged? What does it mean again? Kagami thought as she once again stared at Soshiro in confusion. Sensing that, her father immediately explained.

"You are to become husband and wife in the future."

She tried to process it first before exploding red on the realization. She gazed at Soshiro in astonishment. The bowl-headed kid in front of her with narrow eyes striking red lenses was to be her husband? Husband and wife as in like her mother and father?? Someone who will be by her side forever???

Wow. Just wow. She couldn't be any happier.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

She couldn't be any happier, she thought. Yes. It was true. That was one of the best moments in her life.

It was an arranged marriage for sure but she didn't mind. Being with someone for a long time, cherishing them, loving them... That's what she always wanted. It's what she wanted until now.

When she looked at the man in front of her, her heart ached yet it was racing so fast. Because she...

.

.

Because she loves him...

"Who did this to you?"

Soshiro opened his eyes to reveal his concern. His irises glanced at her swollen cheek that he couldn't see earlier as it was skillfully hidden from him. He hesitated first before caressing it, his heart filled with hatred at whoever had done this to her. His hand was cold which was what she needed at that moment as she desperately leaned on it.

"It's not important"

She closed her eyes to hide as it was the complete opposite of what she felt. It wasn't unimportant at all. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry in his arms and have him comfort her.

"What do you mean it's not important? Someone hurt you and... I worry about you, Kagami"

Soshiro bit his tongue at the unspoken words he badly wanted to say towards the bastard who hurt her yet seeing the vulnerable look on her face, he just wanted her to feel safe.

He took her in his arms and cradled her. His left arm around her waist as his right hand was caressing her head.

"I'm here. I won't leave you. I love you"

He whispered words of assurance and sweet nothings while kissing her head. Just hearing him say I love you was enough to make her cry and sob in his arms as she finally wrapped her arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.

For years, she longed to hear those words come from his mouth. She never doubted him as he always showed her how important she is to him and how much he loves her. Rather it was herself that she doubted, she overthink things and deluded herself that he felt otherwise. After all, hearing it and feeling it were different, she wanted to hear it as much as she wanted to feel it.

"That's the first time I've heard you say that to me"

Kagami struggled to let those words out in between her hiccups. And Soshiro once again, widened his eyes in shock. He'd always been saying it on his mind and telling her about it when she's asleep. He blames himself for not telling her whenever she's awake, regretting it so much. This time he'll tell her properly.

"I love you, Kagami. I've loved you even before I met you"

He put both his hands on her cheeks and lifted her face tenderly, after of hurting her even further. He looked straight into her eyes and confessed.

"I love you too, Soshiro. From the moment I saw you until forever"

With the light returning to her eyes and bright smile on her face, Kagami confessed amidst her tears.

Soshiro's heart fluttered as this is also his first time hearing those words come from her mouth. He doesn't want to regret any further so he leaned down and placed her lips on top of hers.

It was gentle, as light as feather, but it ignited the fire in their hearts. It was a gentle first kiss, they regretted not doing it before. They've done it on every part of their faces but always hesitated on the lips. This time, there's no hesitation as they went for another, and another, and another. With every kiss getting deeper and deeper, not stopping as if they'd disappear if they did. They went at it for a long time, not even bothering that they were out of breath. They can never make up for the lost time but they sure can do it now, anytime they want.

.

When their high ended, they finally stopped and felt embarrassment. Despite their red faces, they did not let go of each other. There was still tension in the air and Kagami decided to break it by telling her what she thought of earlier.

"Earlier, I was thinking of the first time we met."

She looked up at him from her position, still leaning on his chest. Her ears listening to the fast beating of his heart. She smiled at him lovingly, placing her own hands atop his cold ones.

"Is that so?"

'Ah... His smile is so beautiful' She thought as she watched him chuckle at her reminiscing, placing his forehead on hers. She moved away a little to make it comfortable and placed his hands on her cheeks once more.

'This is bad. I'm falling in love all over again.'

"Yeah. I was so surprised back then, not knowing I'll be engaged."

"I knew about it though, my father told me about it first"

With a look of surprise, Kagami felt betrayed for being the only one who didn't know it back then.

"Well I also didn't think that i'll fall in love with the little girl who acted like a squirrel"

"Why a squirrel?"

With a blink, she tilted her head, earning a chuckle from him.

"Cause you kept hiding be it behind your father, or the wall. You were so fidgety and cute"

With a pout, she hit his chest and it only made him laugh harder.

"What about you, you were just acting cool the whole time. Soichiro-niisan used to tell me how you would always look for me when I wasn't there, then you'd whine cuz you kept losing in from of me because you didn't wa-ouch!"

Soshiro pinched her uninjured cheek to stop her from saying any further. The pout on his face telling her she succeeded in teasing him back.

"I never believed it back then but I do now!"

She tried to run away from him but failed as she still caged in his hold. She could only laugh at this moment, her laughter resonating with him as they look at each other with much love.

.

.

.

"Do you want to know why I asked you to come here?"

They just spend the time in each other's arms, knowing full well that they didn't want to leave yet. And that there's still something that needed to be addressed and he's just waiting for her to talk.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to"

Soshiro respects her decision as he knew thinking about it gives her pain. With much contemplation, Kagami finally spoke.

"My father..." Kagami bit her tongue.

"He wanted to break of our engagement"

Today must've been a day of surprises as his eyes widened for the nth time. He gently pushed Kagami away from him to look at her.

"I told him I didn't want to and..."

She touched her cheek, that was previously swollen but now only sported a bruise. Soshiro knew what that meant.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to"

"It's fine. I want to tell you"

She shook her head as she made up her mind to tell him the truth, the whole truth.

"It's long story. Will you listen?"

Soshiro nodded his head, giving him her full attention. But before that...

"Why don't we go somewhere else first. So you can do it comfortably?"

<- Previous Next ->

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: Crowley brings you… somewhere

Warnings: Mention of demoniac things, few demons here and there, mention of torture and some creepy (but not much) stuff. -> 18+!!

Other: I hope someone still remembers this but I’ve been busy lately so yeah. At this point there are only a few chapters left before the story ends, so enjoy. Also I think this is one of my favorite chapters of this fic so far.

-> Masterlist

-> Part fourteen ; part sixteen

-> Ready To Comply (15)

"Who ordered you to kill me?" You asked, managing to keep your voice steady and firm even though, inside, you didn't even know what you were feeling.

Dean hesitated before giving you an answer. "Fury."

Your heart sank down into the depth of your stomach at that revelation. It had been a decade since you first encountered Fury, and in that time, he had been the sole person capable of breaking through your defenses in order for you to start the healing process you didn’t even know you needed. Despite his usually cold demeanor, you saw him as a mentor and, if we want to be completely honest, even as some sort of father figure.

To discover now how he had ordered Dean Winchester to eliminate you, for reasons you still didn’t know, left you reeling. You couldn’t fathom why, considering you posed no threat to society or anyone else for that matter, you were an Avenger - and you became one because he wanted to, even. So the situation was even more absurd.

Amidst the shock, your gaze locked onto Natasha, who was as close to Fury as you were. “Nat?” You questioned, looking for an answer in her eyes.

“I didn’t know.” She responded immediately, her tone sincere. Her shock mirrored your own, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt that gnawed at your mind.

If it wasn’t for Bucky’s tight grip on your hand that, somehow, managed to bring you some sort of comfort, you would have probably lost your temper not long ago. You turned your attention back to Dean. “Why did he send you?”

But before Dean could reply, Crowley interjected, his smirk was an evident sign that he was enjoying the chaos he caused. “Why listen to another word he has to say if I can simply show you?” He proposed.

“No.” Sam said firmly, shooting a lethal death glare in Crowley’s direction. “Emma, this is not what you think. You can’t let him play with your mind, we’re not the enemies here.”

You clenched your jaw at Sam’s words, and you would have believed him in other circumstances. But you wanted one thing, and the only one who could concretely tell you something was Crowley. “Show me.” You said, capturing everyone’s attention. You tried to free your hand from Bucky’s grip, but he tightened it even more.

“Gladly.” Crowley chuckled, his amusement evident as he winked at Dean before he snapped his fingers.

Bucky’s grip tightened again on empty air this time, as he stared in disbelief at the spot where you stood only moments ago. Natasha and Cassandra mirrored his shock on their faces, but the other three men looked defeated.

“Where did they go?” Bucky demanded, scanning the room for any trace of you, struggling to comprehend your sudden disappearance with a mere snap of fingers.

You, on the other hand, stumbled nearly falling gracelessly on the ground as reality seemed to shift around you. The familiar living room melted away in an instant, replaced by what looked like some kind of cavernous throne room, some of the darkness was offset by the warm glow of countless flickering candles.

The single window, positioned right below the ceiling, illuminated the imposing throne situated right in the middle of the room. The throne itself was carved from black stone and the sculptures on it were nothing more than what you believed were demoniac faces that seemed to move under the flickering lights.

The stench of sulfur lingered in the air, but for some reason that didn’t bother you as it should probably have. After you took your sweet seconds to look around you, you finally noticed you weren’t alone; in the shadows, stood humans figures with pitch black eyes. Their soulless eyes were fixed on you, but they didn’t seem ready to attack, instead they were simply studying you.

Crowley sauntered over to his throne, and seated himself with a smug, satisfied grin. The people, whom you assumed were demons, parted respectfully as he gestured for them to leave, and you two were left alone in his territory now. Perhaps you didn’t really have the smartest idea.

“Who are you again?” You asked.

“Crowley, the King of Hell. Forgive me for the mess, I didn’t expect to have guests today.” He chuckled, and only then did you notice the skeletal remains of more that one person scattered around at the front of the throne’s stairs.

“And what are we doing here?” You asked, meeting Crowley’s gaze. “I asked you to show me why Fury wanted me dead. This doesn’t give me much of an explanation.”

Crowley huffed impatiently. “I will.” He conceded with a nod. “In time. It’s a long story, and I don’t provide services for free.”

“I’ve already declined your ‘loyalty’ offer.” You reminded him, referring to the conversation from the previous night. “I’m not interested.”

He rolled his eyes at you, an exasperated sign escaping his lips. “Fine, fine. I understand your hesitance. Let me clarify: I’ll reveal everything about your past, or almost, in exchange of a small favor.”

“So you no longer want my loyalty?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh, don’t be stupid.” Crowley scoffed. “I do want that, that’s my goal. But I need to give you something, I assume, for you to see that I can be trusted. Take this as a start, we can help each other.”

You pondered his proposal, torn between your desire for answers and the logical part of your brain that urged you to walk away. But you wanted answers, and as of now he seemed to be the only one that was willing for giving you some. “What do you need me to do?”

“There’s someone who’s been a constant thorn in my side ever since your little old friends decided to meddle with my Wendigos.” Crowley confessed, his frustration evident at the mere mention of the situation. “I need your help in using one of those creatures to extract this individual’s soul for me.”

“Huh?” You frowned, bewildered by the request. “Why can’t you do that yourself? Apparently Wendigos are demoniac creatures, or that was what I was told, and you said you’re the King of Hell. Are you just some sort of cheaper version of Lucifer?”

“No, you stupid kid. And don’t give me that look.” Crowley retorted, his irritation palpable. “It’s already embarrassing that I need your help to do so, you don’t need to know why just yet. But don’t worry, this ‘someone’ isn’t a person; it’s a demon. Simply killing it won’t cut it for me, I need to personally torment his soul for all eternity to find satisfaction!”

You couldn’t help but scoff at his words, even if his reaction was quite amusing. He seemed to boil. “Torturing a soul for eternity? Don’t you have hobbies?”

Crowley’s expression darkened at your mocking tone, irritation clear on his eyes. “You find this amusing, don’t you?” He retorted sharply, his patience wearing thin. “I assure you, it’s not! Asking to a little creature like yourself for something I could have done myself if it wasn’t for— I don’t even have the words to describe how pathetic this is!”

You couldn’t suppress a small laugh at Crowley’s outburst, but it was more the exasperation operating for you than anything. “You look desperate. Why do you want to torture this demon?”

“That is none of your concerns.” He snapped. “I’ll find a Wendigo for you to control, all you need to do is give the order. It will be our little secret, will you help me or not?”

“Give me my answers first.” You nodded. “And then I’ll help you.”

“Very well.” Crowley leaned back on the throne, his muscles seeming to relax a bit as his usual grin made its way on his face again, seeming pleased with the answer. “But I need you to show you something else first, enjoy the little trip; I’ll find you in time. It was a pleasure making business with you.”

You didn’t have the time to question absolutely anything because Crowley snapped his fingers again, waving at you as you disappeared.

The world around you shifted for the second time that day, and the next thing you knew was that you stumbled into a dim alley, the scent of garbage from a nearby dumpster assaulting your senses as you tried to steady yourself on the wall next to you.

“Damn you, Crowley.” You muttered under your breath, feeling way more disoriented that the first time he teleported you somewhere.

Glancing down, you realized your clothes had changed; instead of your usual attire, you now wore a simple vintage dress, the fabric rustling against your skin - what the actual fuck.

You stepped out of the alley, thinking that for a brief second you were just going crazy for real for once, but the smell, the sounds, the view - it was all more than real. The city around you buzzed with life, the streets were crowded and people, dressed in clothes you only saw in old movies, walked past you laughing loudly. An old-fashioned car rumbled by and in the background there was an unfamiliar music coming from somewhere near you.

You started to walk, blending in the crowd. You occasionally glanced over your shoulder, scanning for any potential threats, unsure of what to expect or look for. After a few blocks, you turned a corner and spotted a newspaper stand, approaching it with the hope to find some answers.

The headline caught your eye immediately: ‘Next Moves of the Dictators.’ Beneath it, a black and white photo of Hitler and Mussolini stared back at you. Your brow furrowed as you picked up the newspaper, not understanding why would they be on the first page since those two thankfully and rightfully died a long time ago. You searched for a date to make sense of it all, but before you could find it, an old man snatched it from your hands.

“You need to buy this before reading, or get the hell away from here!” He scolded, waving the newspaper at you as if to shoo you off.

You stepped back, fighting the urge to talk back, going to God knows where. The city wasn’t familiar and it seemed rather old, but it was certainly big and you had no idea of what do to. You didn’t know why the fact that Fury sent Dean to kill you was connected to where you were now, but you were starting to think you had been fooled by Crowley. He was a demon after all, and those creatures weren’t worth the time.

As you kept walking with no idea of where you were going, a sudden scream echoed from a nearby corner. Your instincts kicked in, having the best of you, and you hurried towards the sound without a second thought. The alley was rather dark, but you were able to see three distinct figures - all men, unfortunately - standing there. Well, two of them were standing and one was on the ground.

“Pick on someone your own size!” One of the two men shouted, his familiar voice making you freeze on the spot. You saw the other man rushing past you like a coward, while the other one helped the guy get up from the ground. “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” The same man said.

Both men didn’t seem to notice you as the taller one draped an arm around the scrawny boy and they began to walk in your direction. And exactly as you suspected, as their faces came into view, your jaw dropped to the floor.

“Hey doll, did you get lost?” Bucky fucking Barnes said, looking at you up and down with a charming smile on his face. He didn’t have the beard on like he usually did, and he seemed younger than what he looked like just half an hour ago, when you had last seen him.

Then, you eyes shifted to Steve who looked nothing like the Steve you knew: he was way shorter and looked on the verge of death, basically, compared to what you were used to. That was surely the Steve before the Super Soldier serum, which meant Crowley sent you back in time.

“What- what year is this?” You blurted out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bucky and Steve exchanged puzzled glances at the weird question. “It’s 1943?” Steve replied, confused, his brows furrowing in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss?”

You nodded, trying to process everything with a fake smile on your face. “Yeah, everything’s fine… I’m just a bit disoriented, that’s all.”

“Well,” Bucky stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky. And this here is Steve Rogers.”

You shook his hand, playing along. God, if it was strange. “Nice to meet you, Bucky. And you, Steve.” You tried to mask your shock, acting as if you didn’t already know them personally.

The three of you made your way out of the ally and back to the streets, Bucky at your left and Steve at your right, as you tried to make sense of this senseless situation.

“So, Emma.” Bucky said casually, a smirk playing on his lips. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing alone so late at this hour?”

You let out a nervous chuckle because you didn’t know that yourself. “I was with… a friend and he just kind of…disappeared.”

Steve frowned, his concern deepening at your words. How could someone leave a woman alone at night in a crowd full of people? It wasn’t safe. “That’s not very nice. New York can be a tough place, especially at night. Would you like us to walk you home?” Steve kindly asked.

“Uhm…” You heard raced as you tried to came up with an excuse. “No worries. I don’t live here, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to visit New York before I go back home.”

Bucky raised a brow at your words, turning his head to look briefly at you. “Well, in that case, we definitely can’t let you wander around alone, this is your lucky night! Consider us your personal tour guides.”

Great. You didn’t know why the fuck Crowley sent you back in time, but you had a feeling that it had something to do with Bucky or Steve, because why would he send you back to the exact year where Bucky fell in Hydra’s hands? But then again, his decision seemed a bit dramatic when he could have just told you what you needed to know an just be done with the whole thing.

“I would love that.” You politely answered, as you let the men - mostly Bucky - guide you around the streets of the city. Steve stayed silent for most of the time.

Needless to say, Bucky was unrecognizable. He talked with a little charming grin always present on his face, and you didn’t miss the way he winked down at you a few times as the three of you spent time together. He was unusually chatty, talking with a confidence you had never saw in him - and then the sadness hit you. After every word he said, your heart felt heavier; that was the real Bucky, the one that wasn’t constantly worried about what people thought of him. He was the joyful man that wasn’t scared to speak his mind, nor the grumpy super soldier who stared at people until they were scared shitless. All because he didn’t know how to communicate properly.

You didn’t know what hour it was or where the men were taking you; under normal circumstances, you would never have wandered around New York streets alone with two men you had just met. But this situation was different. You knew them, they were good people, and most importantly, they were probably the only ones who could give you a clue about what was going on since everything started to lose sense ever since you met Crowley. Even long before that, if you thought about it.

It took an hour or so and an ice cream for the three of you to finally sit down on a bench, a bit away from the crowd. You took a relieved breath - those shoes were deadly, and you swore some blood was coming out from the back of your feet because of them.

All of the people around were focused on someone talking in a stage nearby, but you couldn’t clearly see who it was from where the three of you were sitting. All you heard was that he was talking about making flying cars in the future, which was amusing considering you knew for certain that something like that didn’t exist yet in your year.

“That’s Howard Stark.” Steve said, some of his ice cream falling and staining his shirt.

“Howard Stark?!” You said, your eyes searching through the crowd, trying to see his face. “The Howard Stark? Tony-” You stopped yourself before mentioning Tony’s full name, remembering he wasn’t even born yet. You never thought of being in a world without that infuriating man in it.

“The one and only. You didn’t know he would be here tonight? It’s a pretty big deal.” Bucky smiled, nonchalantly draping his arm on the edge of the bench behind your shoulders, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

But you did. And you didn’t push him away. You hated to admit that it made your cheeks heat up - you hated the feeling. Plus, you needed to remember that the man sitting next to you wasn’t your- the Bucky you knew, so you couldn’t feel that way. Still, if you could control your emotions, you would.

“I heard a thing or two.” You lied, turning your head to look at him. His eyes were set towards the stage, trying to catch a glimpse of Stark, but he couldn’t due to the crowd. You, however, were admiring his side profile - he was so pretty you almost forgot where you were, so you quickly looked away.

“Do you mind if I get back home?” Steve asked, gaining your attention. “I don’t feel well.”

Bucky turned to look at him, concerned, before a hint of of realization hit his features. “Steve.” He warned. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You’re the one who does stupid shit.”

You fought back the urge to scold him by saying ‘language’, but that was an inside joke between the Avengers and the future Steve, so you held your tongue.

Steve got up from the bench, his ice cream dripping on the ground and onto his hands, making him swear under his breath one more time.

“You’re a punk.”

“And you’re a jerk.” Steve remarked, though it was clear from his tone that it was all in good fun. Despite the playful banter, Bucky’s concern was evident. “It was nice meeting you, miss. Hope to see you around again.” Steve added with a polite smile.

“It was nice meeting you too, Steve.”

“Bye, Stevie.” Bucky waved.

With one last nod from Steve to Bucky, the scrawny boy walked away in his oversized clothes, leaving you and the not-yet-super soldier alone.

“Why do I have the feeling he’s gonna get in trouble?” You said, once the blonde man was no longer in sight.

Bucky let out a small laugh at your comment, scooting closer to you, still hoping you didn’t notice. “Oh, I assure you he will. It almost sounds like you know him, doll.”

“Eh, almost.” You replied with a forced chuckle, playing with the hem of your dress, which left part of your thighs and legs uncovered.

Bucky’s eyes flickered briefly to your exposed legs before he quickly looked away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to keep the conversation going. “You better eat that ice cream or it’s gonna melt.”

You then remembering the food in your hand that he payed for earlier, which miraculously was still half intact. “Are you sure you don’t want one? We could go back and get another for you.”

“Nah, I’m fine.” He denied with a polite smile, as you ate your ice cream. “You seem a little lost in thought. Is everything alright? Perhaps I’m being too-”

“No, no, no, everything’s alright!” You immediately said, making some of his worries fade. “I’m just… thinking about how different everything is here. It’s like stepping into another world, compared to where I live.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “But there’s something charming about it, don’t you think? Sometimes it feels like… an illusion.”

You nodded, ignoring the odd feeling you suddenly felt. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s nice to slow down a bit and just be in the moment, you know.”

Bucky watched you for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m glad you think so. At times we get so caught up in everything that we forget to enjoy the little things.”

You felt a shiver as a cool breeze hit your skin. Bucky noticed and without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. “Here, you need this more than I do.”

“Thank you.” You said, pulling the jacket closer. It smelled faintly of him.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the city in the background. You took another bite of your ice cream, feeling the cold sweetness melt on your tongue. Bucky watched you, his eyes softening with each passing moments.

“You have a little…” Bucky gestured to the corner of his mouth, indicating you had ice cream on your face.

You laughed, quickly wiping it away with your thumb. “Thanks. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, it happens to me all the time.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. “I know the question might seem odd, but do you know a certain man named Crowley?” You needed to shoot your shot.

“Crowley?” He let the name roll on his tongue. “Doesn’t sound familiar, no.”

“Mh.”

“Why?” He inquired, genuinely curious.

“Nothing serious, just… trying to understand something.”

As the sky darkened further, the soft glow of streetlights began to illuminate the square. The moment felt almost normal, if you ignored the fact that the only normal thing there was you - and that said a lot. You were completely lost: you didn’t know what you had to look for, and you were convincing yourself that maybe all you had to do was wait. Also, you believed that you made a mistake by trusting, even if for a brief moment, Crowley.

But the mistake was made and you couldn’t go back in time, so all you did was sit there and wait. Something had to happen at some point, right?

Bucky’s hand moving from the back of the bench to gently brush against your shoulder was the thing that dragged you out of your thoughts, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know it’s only been a couple of hours…” He began, locking his eyes to his. “But I feel like I’ve known you since forever.” He said softly. “It’s strange and creepy, I know, but I can’t shake the feeling.”

And oh, if he only knew.

“It’s not creepy.” You assured him, after all he did know you. Just not in 1943, where you currently were.

Bucky’s eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, everything else faded away. He inched closer, his face just mere inches away from yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible and that scared you shitless, you could not feel that was about him.

And yet, you did nothing to put an end to it.

Just as he was about to close the distance, you heard a distant shout from the crowd, breaking the spell - thank to fucking God. You pulled back immediately, almost flying away and falling off the bench.

“Sorry, that was too soon, wasn’t it?” He then asked, scratching the bridge of his nose, his voice hushed.

“A bit.” You nodded, as if that was the problem. You tried to steady your breathing as you searched for a way to change the subject. Your eyes scanned the diminishing crowd, and you finally saw what was happening on stage. “Stark didn’t do a great job with that car, did he?” You said, letting out a small laugh as the car that was supposed to fly crashed to the floor.

“No, he didn’t.” Bucky replied. His tone was much colder that it had been just a moment ago. “But he was great, wasn’t he?”

You frowned as you turned to look at him. “Was?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes darkening. “Too bad I’ve killed him.”

Time froze the second he pronounced those words. Your breath caught in your throat, the playful atmosphere evaporating in an instant, almost as if it was never there. “What?” You whispered, unable to comprehend what you had just heard.

Bucky’s gaze was hard, but there wasn’t any emotion behind them; he looked like a mannequin, deprived of the humanity he seemed to have until that moment. “I killed him.” He repeated. “And I enjoyed it.”

Before you could respond, something strange happened.

Bucky’s image flickered, like a glitch in a video game. His warm, reassuring presence distorted, his face morphing between the gentle Bucky you had been talking to and the cold, emotionless mask of the Winter Soldier.

The place around you began to distort as well. The trees, the benches and the people - all started to blur and flicker, replaced by cold, sterile walls and harsh fluorescent lights you knew too well. The cheerful sounds of the square gave way to the ominous hum of machinery and distant, tortured screams.

Once the flicker stopped and you found yourself in what you were sure was a room in a Hydra base, in front of you stood the Winter Soldier, his metal arm visible due to the lack of sleeve.

“Bucky?”

Behind him stood Crowley, his hands in his pocket as he looked at you smirking. “Soldat?” He called, and you saw Bucky tensing visibly.

“готов подчиниться” The Soldier said.

Ready to comply.

[evans23]

I Shall Live On

Pairing : David Friedman x OC

Summary : It's twenty-three minutes before seven and the fate of David and his wife is at stake. It's twenty-three minutes before midnight and the fate of David and his wife was decided.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Angst. Mention of death.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 So, apparently people like to suffer in this fandom, so here it is. I tried something different, it's why my female character has a name, anyway I hope you still like it.

Also read on AO3

It was twenty-three minutes before seven in the night when the heart of Rose Benson Friedman stopped beating in her chest. She was twenty-eight, walking in the street of New Orleans after a day of work in a bookshop, ready to return to the house she shared with her husband, the detective David Friedman.

She had met David when she was twenty-eight, by a happy coincidence. He entered in the bookshop where she worked during her shift. He was looking for a book except that he didn't know the title. Only a part of the plot and the colour of the cover. It happened that it was the book she had been reading for two weeks at the time. 

"And what do you think of the book ? Does it live up to the good reviews we can read everywhere ?" he asked her.

Actually, David hadn't read any reviews. If he had, he would have known that the press had destroyed the book and his author. He just needed an excuse to talk with Rose. For the first time in a long time, he had felt something strange, warmth, and alive inside him. 

He hadn't felt like that since his divorce. To be true, he hadn't felt like that far before his divorce. He had married too young, his childhood lover, but after fifteen years of matrimonial union, they fell apart. David was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice the distance that was settling in between his wife and him until he came back after long weeks chasing leads and pouring over shreds of evidence to find his wife in his bed with his best friend and colleague.

If he hadn't killed the man that day, it's only thanks to the alcohol which had numbed his senses. He still remembered how he had stood frozen on the threshold of the door, trying his best to not let the tears fall from his eyes. After all, he was a man, and never before had he cried in front of anyone. It was because of the alcohol. And the betrayal of his wife, of course.

He had run away, ignoring her wife shooting his name. He didn't remember where he spent the night, probably in his car, on the precinct parking since it was where he had woken up. In the morning, he came back to his home to gather all his things and he left while his wife was at work.

Six months later, the divorce was granted and one year later she married that little shit of Matty. 

After that, David dived deeply into alcohol and work. He could have died if it hadn't been for Rose. The day he entered her bookshop was a holy day. It had saved his life. Rose was his redeeming love. 

There was a ten-year gap between the two of them, but when they were together, sharing their thought, talking about their day or simply being domestic during a lazy Sunday, he felt more himself than he had ever been before. 

However, the beginning of their relationship hadn't been easy. Indeed, she couldn't put up with his bad habits to dig his sorrow into a bottle of alcohol. Not that David was violent when he was drunk, but it is not what she strived for in a relationship. Therefore, one day, she gave him an ultimatum : the alcohol or her.

This ultimatum led to an animated quarrel, but eventually, David admitted he had a problem and he sought help. He was afraid to lose Rose, but seeing how hard he was trying to get rid of this addiction, she supported him as best as she could, and after a long fight, he became totally sober.

Now, he only drank grape juice, and never had he touched a drop of alcohol again. All thanks to Rose, who had saved his life in every sense of the word. 

Because he had already got married once, without success, he wasn't up to commit himself again into marriage. After all, he didn't see the point of signing a sheet of paper to prove his love to Rose and she thought the same. However, when he got almost killed during an investigation, owing his life to Sadie, the FBI agent who became his colleague after their first investigation together and her retirement from the secret agency, he decided on a whim to propose to her.

Actually, not totally on a whim. More out of pragmatism. If he came to die, you would get nothing. Neither his money nor the house you were sharing. Maybe not even his ashes. Truth to himself, his proposal hadn't been romantic at all. She came to the hospital, sick with worry, but when she heard David complaining to a nurse before having the time to enter his room, she knew Sadie was right : David was more than fine. 

"You scream quite loudly for someone who had almost got run over by a car," she said with a smirk.

"Rose," said David with a little smile.

His whole face had brightened with her entrance. Only she had this effect on him. 

"Tell him he must rest !" almost ordered the nurse to Rose before leaving the room, slamming forcefully the door behind her.

"David, please, stop torturing the poor nurses," she joked, striding towards the bed where she sat down.

"I told them I was fine enough to go home but they want to keep me under observation for the night," he complained with a pout.

Rose kissed him softly, her fingers running through his blond hair with delicacy. 

"And you should listen to them. You almost got killed today David !" she chided him gently. 

"Talking about that, while I was in the ambulance, I thought seriously about something..."

He started explaining to her all the advantages of being married to a policeman. More interesting, a detective of his caliber. In fact, there were none if it wasn't for the sharing of love they had. 

"David, what if you just told me what's on your mind rather than beating around the bush ?"

He stiffened, his hazel eyes fixing the wall in front of him.

"David ?" she asked, squeezing slightly his hand. 

"I had a great deal of thought about something. Not only today. I've been thinking about it for some time now. But today, I realised I shouldn't delay it for any longer."

He felt silent, his eyes edging towards her suspiciously.

"Okay..."

"You do not have to answer me today. Or any other day. Feel free to say no. Besides, I expect you to say no. What an idea to say yes to such a stupid idea. I would never fathom what you can see in me, but hey, I'm not complaining, I'm lucky that you are smart but not enough to understand you could find someone far better than me..." he said with anguish, his hooked nose casting a shadow on his left cheek. 

"Ok, David, I don't know if you're scarring me or if it's just the drugs the doctors gave you," she cut him off.

David sighed heavily. She wasn't able to understand what he was trying to tell her. To be honest, even he couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Maybe she was right, his mind was dizzy with the morphine he had received earlier to alleviate the pain.

Nevertheless, he hadn't felt more conscious, wishing for her to say the word he really wanted to hear and not the one he was expecting her to say.

"If something happened to me, it would be better if you were my wife."

Her eyes widened so widely that she looked like a fish, that one people could admire in a Japanese garden. If he hadn't been afraid to hear her say no, David would have laughed at her funny face.

"Are you proposing ? To me ?" asked Rose with incredulity.

"Of course to you. Who do you expect me to marry ? The Queen of Saba ?"

Rose ignored his sarcastic comment, too flabbergasted by what was happening. 

"David, why does it sound like a business arrangement ?" she eventually managed to say. 

"I didn't know you wanted me to pull out all the stops. You told me you didn't believe in marriage," he groaned.

She rolled her eyes, reminding him that he had said the same thing to her many times. 

"Yes, yes... Only a fool doesn't change his mind. Don't tell me you want a ring," he moodily said.

"Of course, I want a ring ! A pretty one ! And Elvis," answered Rose with a smirk.

"Elvis ?" asked David, confused.

"Elvis Presley," she clarified.

"Isn't he a little bit dead ?" asked David, arching one of his brows.

"Oh, come on David, everybody knows he's living his best life on a private island. But I was talking about the one living in Vegas."

David had laughed so hard that he had almost popped his stitches. 

"So, will you ?" he said after having calmed down from his hilarity. 

"What ?" she asked, biting your lips.

"Little minx, you know what I'm talking about," groaned David.

"Yes, but I want you to propose to me correctly. Not as if you were trading an important business. We are not living in the Regency David !"

"Oh woman !" he grumbled.

Yet he obliged you by asking properly for her hand. And as a matter of course, Rose had said yes. 

They got married six months later, in Las Vegas, with Elvis acting as a priest and Sally as their witness. Rose had invited her parents, but they were living in London, her birth town, and her mother was too sick to travel so far away and her dad didn't want to leave her alone, something Rose had perfectly understood. She had been saddened by the lack of support of her friends, but since she had moved into New Orleans, she had fallen apart with almost all of her English friends, some of them having been in the green-eyed monster's grip when she had won the green card thanks to a contest, and she didn't have built any strong friendship in America. But none of that mattered anymore since she had David in her life. 

The wedding was everything both of them had dreamt about. Elvis for a bishop was obviously the greatest and misunderstood desire of Rose. David couldn't understand that fantasy of her, but as she didn't ask for much most of the time, he had graciously accepted, more than happy to get married in Sin City. Indeed, he had always wanted to try his poker skills at the great table of a casino. He didn't win that night, but he didn't lose too much either. After that, they ate some cheeseburgers and drank too much chocolate milkshake, then, David drove from Las Vegas to Los Angeles where they had spent their honeymoon.

Rose, who was a well of science in the field of cinema had led him all around the city, talking about all the anecdotes she knew about almost the beginning of the talking cinema. David always preferred books over movies, but seeing her so happy and in her element made him beamed with love and happiness. She had confessed to him once that she had tried three times to be accepted into one of the best dramatic schools in London, without success. She had finally given up, choosing to become a librarian. He never dared tell her that she was far too shy to be an actress, but she was skilled enough in writing to dabble with it and play aptly with words. 

"David, you're far better than me in writing. You should write some thriller. You had seen so many things, you could compete with the best criminal authors," she had said once. 

David had always written, but never before someone had acknowledged his talent for it. Not that he had thought of having any aptitude for that craft, but hearing her telling him how she loved his short story, something he had started to do when he went to therapy to cure his addiction, had made his ego thrive with pride. For the first time, someone was able to see more than his grumpy exterior and his being a detective. For Rose, he wasn't Detective Friedman. He was David, a man of many talents. A good cook, a writer, an affectionate lover, a support, her husband. 

After their wedding, David had been afraid to see her moving away from him as his wife had done. But it never happened. On the contrary, it had strengthened their bond. Rose was always there for him after a hard day of workwhen the horrors his work forced him to see took a toll on him and she never blamed him for his hectic schedule. She understood his job was demanding, but also the importance it had for him. And for that, he cherished her even more. 

For the first time, Rose and David were happy to be alive. Both of them had gone through difficult times, they had tried their best to get their life on track, their love had made him grow stronger, making them appreciate the little things in life, and able to see the hidden beauty of existence.

Unfortunately, life had a strange sense of humour. Five years after their wedding, Rose, thirty-three, collapsed on the ground of a little-used street in the Bayou. Superstitious, Rose consulted a medium twice a year. David always laughed at her, telling her it was all rubbish and she shouldn't spend her money on such a trivial thing, but she couldn't prevent the need to know, or at least having the delusion to know. She was a regular of Soraya, one of the most respected mediums in the vicinity. Rose would never forget what she told her the last time she consulted her. 

"There's a vampire lurking in the shadow. It'll steal what you love the most. It'll fill your soul with murderous torments. It'll take a toll on your fragile heart. It'll make your heart burn with a rancid venom. You'll wish to be dead, but be careful because sometimes, we get what we wish. Yes, this vampire will try to bring you down, but two angels will look after you. One won't be alive, the other one will be your salvation. Both of them will save you from the darkness you will be surrounded by. Yes, Rose, a vampire will encircle your soul with its cold arms, it'll feed your sorrow, but your ghost will help you to see the light and an angel will give back to your mind the peace and love that will save your life."

Soraya often spoke in riddles, and if Rose was utterly honest with herself, she would admit that the medium had never predicted anything true. Until that day. When she had left the little shop with the heady smell of incense, a vampire had touched her heart. A vampire called heart failure. That day, in a dark alley in the middle of nowhere, in the Bayou of the New Orleans, the heart of Rose Frances Benson Friedman had stopped beating. She had collapsed on the ground, with no one to notice her motionless body and the rain started to drench.

At the same time, on the other side of the town, the detective David Friedman was in the middle of a shootout. A madman with a Kalashnikov was shooting in all directions, shooting that he was Rambo. When he saw a little girl, who probably was five or six, totally unaware of what was happening, David, listening only to his courage, ran towards her, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her to the ground. At the same time, his partner, Sadie, had shot the man in the head. The little girl screamed and cried, protected under the tall frame of David. 

When the S.W.A.T. arrived to help the detective, the first thing they saw was a pool of blood. One of them, who had medical training, turned him with precaution. Another one took the little girl up in his arms, leading towards an ambulance while an emergency team was running towards David. It was twenty-three minutes before seven in the afternoon when a bullet reached the heart of David Friedman. 

He was rushed to hospital, when, somewhere in the Bayou, another medical team was choking Rose Benson Friedman with a defibrillator with little hope to bring her to life. Her body was cold, the rain having been of no help to keep her warm. The team didn't know when her heart had stopped.

She had been discovered by a homeless man who had phoned 911, explaining in bad English that a young woman was lying, probably dead, in the street of the worst part of the town. She didn't seem to have been assaulted. She didn't seem to be from those living below the breadline. She was probably one of those crazy people who had her fortune told by a so-called local witch. Maybe the bitchy witch had given her some brew to get pregnant, poisoning her involuntarily. 

Except that the homeless man was wrong. She hadn't been poisoned. It was just her heart that had broken. Little did he know that her life, if they were able to bring her back, would never be the same anymore. 

It was twenty-three minutes after seven in the night when both, David Friedman and Rose Benson Friedman arrived in hospital to undergo surgery. Sadie was in the hospital waiting room, trying to reach Rose, phoning her again, again and again, swearing under her breath against the woman who didn't answer her call. For God's sake ! Her husband was severely injured. Her place was here, in the hospital, waiting and praying for him. 

In another hospital, a medical secretary tried again, again and again, to get an answer from David Friedman, the emergency person of Rose Benson Friedman. After the tenth attempt, the young secretary swore that if it was there how a husband cared for his wife, she would never marry. Rose was dying, she would probably not last the night, she needed someone who loved her by her side. But no one was there for her. No parents, no friends, no husband. 

It was twenty-three after twenty-two in the night when David and Rose had been brought back to life twice and had died thrice. The medical team in both hospitals was doing their best, as did David and Rose. Both of them, even though unconscious, were fighting for their life in the abyss of death. 

Alone, in the little chapel of the hospital, Sadie who had finally been called by the hospital where Rose was losing the battle between the Angel's death, was praying for his colleague and his wife. She wasn't really a believer, but that night, she didn't know what else she could have done. She regretted having cursed David's wife for her lack of answer. But how could have she known the poor woman was in hospital ? 

Thankfully, the medical secretary, well decided to find someone who cared for poor Rose, had looked up David's name on the internet and found out his name in a small article talking of a corrupted Senator. She had given an educated guess and called the local precinct to ask to be put in relation with the detective who was working in another part of the town, for another precinct. It was Matty, David's nemesis, who had answered the call, explaining to the secretary that David was fighting for his own life but that he would tell his partner about his wife, and what he did, letting Sadie decide if she should tell David about it or no when he would come back from surgery.

Sadie wouldn't have to tell anything to David. Instead, she would drive across town to check on Rose who was in a coma. She would have to call her father, a man who had just lost his wife, and she would tell him that he might lose his daughter too in the same years, four months after the loss of his loved one. And if Rose ever woke up, what she hoped from the bottom of her heart, then she would have the heavy task of telling her.

It was twenty-three before midnight when the heart of Detective David Friedman stopped forever. It was twenty-three before midnight when the heart of Rose Benson Friedman had started again. 

[wardenparker]

The Viper's Bride - ch 15

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: Mature, but as always this blog is 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Talk of previous grievances, incest reference (Lannisters gonna Lannister), blink and you'll miss it mention of homelessness. As always, there is sexy talk. It is Oberyn, after all. Summary: The day before Oberyn is to represent Tyrion in the Trial by Combat, your extended and elaborate family comes together to celebrate in anticipation of the fight. Notes: First up, I'm working extra shifts and even though it's my dream job I'm tired y'all 😂 so sorry for any errors I missed. But also! We're almost at the end here, folx! We'll have one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Thank you all so much for sticking around to watch this polycule grow!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

It is three days before the Mountain arrives in King’s Landing. The Trial by Combat had been announced throughout the capital on the day it was agreed and the days since had been dedicated to the building of a great arena for the event. Every noble in the keep thought of it as no more than sport — every noble except the members of your party and Tyrion Lannister himself, who all had far more at stake. For the group of you, the days of anticipation have been agony.

“They are simply playing a game.” Oberyn hisses, standing in nothing but his breeches as he sharpens the spear he wishes to take into the ring. He’s already discarded several, broken in training, though he is now resting until the time where he faces Gregor. “Wishing to gain the upper hand by delaying, thinking I will become impatient.” He scoffs. “As if I have not waited years for this.”

“They have no idea of your true determination, lover.” Ellaria has seen so many shades and versions of this need for revenge that no part of it could surprise her anymore. She knows it could have been the singular focus that drive him mad, and that it is oddly fortunate that he escaped that fate.

“They do not know me or the Dornish need for justice.” He muses grimly. “They will discover it, publicly.”

“And then we will be rid of this place.” You have Margaery’s hand in yours as the two of you sit on the nearby chaise together, and you squeeze it gently in your fingers. It has only been a few days but the news of her marriage to the new Dornish lord had caused an outpouring of sentiment against her family and her specifically. Thankfully, Olenna Tyrell seemed more amused by it than anything and promised her granddaughter that they would all forget when the next scandal broke.

“I am looking forward to seeing Dorne.” She admits as she glances over to where Raeden is sprawled with Ellaria on another chaise. “I have heard about it and wish to marvel at its bright beauty myself. Especially the Water Gardens.”

“You could have your honeymoon there,” Ellaria suggests, leaning over to kiss Raeden and glad to talk about something other than tomorrow’s fight. “Locked up in your rooms fucking to your heart’s content until you are full of your lord’s babe, and then you can rest in the Gardens for all your pregnancy.”

“Perhaps I can also sample the prince’s cock once I am carrying Raeden’s heir.” She wears a small smirk as she greedily watches the lean lines of the older man. She’s sucked his cock, several times, but like Raeden with you, he would not risk her husband’s true heir being called into question.

“I would very much like to watch that,” you hum, turning your head to nip at her neck and pulling the younger woman into your lap. The two of you have become much closer in just a few days, much to the delight of your husbands.

“I will be very eager to sample your cunt.” Oberyn chuckles, looking up from his spear. “Although tonight.” He grunts, his eyes dark and lusty when he looks at Raeden. “I want to have your husband tonight.”

The statement hangs in the air between all of you, and Raeden is the first to nod. “You will. You will have me.”

It has been a long time coming, Margaery knows this, even with as short a time as she has been tangled in this group. Not once has she felt slighted because she does not bear any marks on her skin from the four of you. “It will be a night to celebrate.” She decides. “In anticipation of your victory.”

“You will witness true victory tomorrow.” Ellaria agrees, fire in her eyes as she gazes up at Oberyn. “They all will.”

He’s sure of himself, almost to the point of brashness, but he has also commanded his own company with the Second Sons. Survived the fighting pits and his reputation was well earned. Still, he is grateful for the support of his soulmates and his lovers. “Yes they will.”

“We should feast tonight.” The idea had formed in your mind yesterday and lingered, something that you have learned to pay attention to. The idea that it could – however unlikely he seems to think the possibility – be your last night with your husband makes you want to sob like you have just heard the news that he would be champion all over again.

Oberyn turns towards you, watching you for a moment before he nods. “Get dressed, Princess.” He decides. “You and I will go to the market and order our feast.”

There is no reason to point out that Cal or Leyth could easily see the Dornishman in the market. Everyone here knows that. But he wants to spend time with you, and you want more than anything to hold his arm while you walk and pretend it is simply a normal day. “I will only take a few minutes,” you promise him, pulling yourself up off the chaise and away from a reluctant-to-let-go Margaery.

“Take your time.” He smirks. “Wear something beautiful.” He wants you to be seen, wants to be seen with you. Firmly believing appearances can affect the memory of the day.

“I have just the thing.” Enough weeks had passed in the Capitol that you had been able to order gowns from a dressmaker with knowledge of Dornish fashion, and you had intended to save it for your arrival in your new home, but this seems far more important. You disappear into the next room to extract it from your trunk with a smile. Oberyn will be quite surprised.

Oberyn sets the spear down and walks over to the table that has a bowl of clean water with soap and cloths next to it. As much sex as everyone has been indulging in, it had seemed prudent to keep the water on hand. He starts to bathe his chest, sweaty from the day and wishing to freshen up while he waits.

The group of you have all packed. Determined to leave King’s Landing in just two days’ time, most things have been put away for the journey. What is left to amuse yourselves with is sex, books from the keep’s library — and usually more sex. The difference is only when Oberyn and Raeden are in the practice ring, but when they return they are usually ravenous for company.

It takes little more than ten minutes for you to emerge from the chamber in the gown that you had carefully selected the colors and fabrics of weeks earlier — gold trim making the colors of fire seem to dance with every step you take. The sheer outer layer sparkles and shines, and the layer underneath flows while still showing off your figure. It preserves that feeling of modesty that you are accustomed to with significantly less fabric and a form unmistakably Dornish flare. Even your slippers are more like the ones Ellaria wears each day, leather platforms tying halfway up your calves with amber lacing. “Are you ready, my prince?”

“Star.” Oberyn’s eyes widen and he groans as he takes in your appearance. “I will have to wear my sword so no one could try to steal you from me.” He hums, cock twitching in his breeches. “The seamstress who made this for you deserves every coin you paid her and then a hefty sum.”

"There are others," you promise him, glad to see the light in his eyes even over something as simple as a dress. "I gave her double her fee when I saw how fine the work was. Do you...do you truly like it? I know you have said many times that you wished I wore more Dornish style gowns."

“If I could show you now how much I like it, we would not feast tonight.” He growls, fingers tracing over your bare shoulder and sighing softly at your softness.

"You will show me later." Later, when he has all of you at his beck and call for whatever it is he might desire. But for now you take his hand and kiss his palm tenderly. "Let us go and walk. We will show the capitol that Dorne is not afraid."

“That’s my girl.” He curls his arm up and wraps your hand around it, looking at Margaery, Raeden and Ellaria. “We will be back. And I will want all of us in bed. So make sure you do not tire yourselves out.” He chuckles.

"I swear it," Ellaria chuckles, with one hand over her heart. "I will teach our newlyweds about edging if they need attention."

Margaery tilts her head curiously and smirks at Ellaria. “What is that?” She asks innocently.

The chuckle turns to a throaty, pleased laugh, and Ellaria sits up to kiss Oberyn before bringing Margaery into her arms. "Go and enjoy yourself, lover," she tells him with a lascivious grin. "We will be well occupied here."

“Come, Star.” Oberyn smiles as he guides you out of the chambers and immediately runs into one of Cersei’s servants. “Splendid.” He hums, leaning into the girl. “More water is needed.” He tells her. “There will be an orgy in these rooms tonight.”

She looks positively affronted by the notion but nods nervously, scurrying away as fast as her feet will carry her. "I suppose it does not matter that Cal could easily have fetched our water?" You ask, raising one eyebrow at him as you continue down the hallway. "You would far rather that it get back to Cersei's ears."

“Absolutely.” He chuckles and starts the slow, unconcerned stroll with you towards the front doors of the Keep. “She will either stay far away or have to come interrupt. Either way, I will now that she is wondering who is in the chambers moaning.”

"Whomever we want to be." A few months into your arrangement - and your marriage - it is safe to say that you are far more comfortable with yourself and with sex than ever before. "And that bothers her, too."

“I would like Cal and Leyth with us tonight, my love.” He ventures, patting your hand. “Do you have any objections? Only if they wish to join.” He won’t force them to, of course. He wouldn’t do that, but he wants to touch them again and tonight seems to be a fine night to do so.

"No objections at all." He could ask you for the moon and you would only tell him that you need to find a ladder tall enough. "They have missed being invited to your bed."

“As long as you are comfortable with it.” There has been plenty to keep him occupied and satisfied throughout the last weeks, especially discovering the relationship with you, so he had not ventured to invite anyone else.

“My love,” you squeeze his arm gently under your hand as you walk together. “There is very little you could ask for tonight that I would hesitate to grant you. I hope you understand that.”

Exiting the keep, Oberyn is quiet for a little while, thinking of what he wishes to say. It is only when the crowds begin to gather, farther away from the castle does he begin. “My love,” he sighs softly. “I have sent word to my brother.” He tells you. “Informing him of our valid marriage and my expectant heir.”

“That is good.” Once, he had thought to breeze into Sunspear and amuse himself with informing Doran of what was technically your elopement. The fact that he has done otherwise is sobering, but somehow comforting in its realism. “I am sure he will be very glad of the news when it arrives, considering how upset you were when you left Dorne.”

“Word would have already reached him.” He tells you quietly. “I sent a raven the day I took on being Tyrion’s champion.” He admits, looking past the merchants stalls as they come into view towards the harbor. “I also made sure that Raeden’s house is secure. My brother would do right by him.”

“Thank you, my love. I know it means the world to him.” It sounds as though Oberyn has been getting his affairs in order, and the implications of that make your shoulders tighten and your limbs feel heavy as you walk together. Tomorrow he will fight to the death to honor and revenge this sister, and the terrifying truth is that he could be the one to lose. As cocky - and as talented a fighter - as he is, Oberyn is not a stupid man. “Should the need come, I will make sure your Sand Snakes are as well cared for as you could ever wish. Ellaria and I will not let them want for anything.”

“I will be there to see them.” Oberyn promises. “However.” He slides his arm down to take your hand in his and bring it up to his lips. “Every Dornish lord here, all their men, will see you safely from the city.” He promises. After he had accepted the role, he had gone to see them, without Raeden so he could speak frankly to them. He wanted to make sure the other lords would wholly accept your lover as Lord Sunstone. They were happy to have a new lord amongst the ranks, especially one who chose Dorne. “You need not fear any abuse.”

“I do not.” And that, thankfully, you can count on the truth. The lords of Dorne had been surprised by your sudden appearance in Oberyn’s life but accepted you fully. “And I know that you will do everything in your power to come home with us. I do not doubt that even for a moment.” You do not doubt it, but you have learned a healthy fear of the unknown.

“I will.” He agrees, squeezing your hand and smirking at you. “Let is plan this feast. I wish to make sure that we have a night to remember.”

“It would be impossible to forget a night with you.” As sentimental a thing as it is to say, you truly do mean it. Oberyn has changed so much about your life and all of it has been for the better — how could you forget even a moment of that?

“I wanted to tell you this privately.” He admits quietly. “I know that you are scared and I will win, but I thought it would making you feel better. In case the worst happens.”

“I am scared.” There is no use denying that and you would not be cruel enough to disrespect him like that. “But only because I know that life is unpredictable. And I am grateful that you are open with me. That you understand it is not that I do not believe in you. Because that is the furthest from the truth.”

“All men must have some fear.” Oberyn admits quietly. “Do not have fear is to not wish to live. And then you have already died.” He watches the people that move past the two of you and hums. “The true test of a man is conquering that fear and not letting it turn him into a coward. Using the fear for his own purposes.”

“I will have to remember that.” In the meantime, because the fear you have is for him, you lace your fingers together tightly as you walk. “May I ask you something, love?”

“Anything.” He insists. “You know that, my love. I will hide nothing from you.”

“You may object to the request and I would understand that.” He nods when your eyes meet his and you return the gesture, biting your lip slightly. “I—it is only that…I cannot stop thinking of the baby.” So much so that your hand has been unconsciously resting on the side of your still unchanged belly as you walk. “If anything were to happen to you tomorrow…I wondered if we might be able to choose a name? You should know your ninth daughter’s name, if the worst happens.”

“I think we should also pick out a son’s name.” Oberyn grunts, even though he is smiling. “For the boy the babe might be.”

“I think if I were to bear you a son, no one would believe he was yours,” you half-joke, glad that Oberyn is humoring your anxieties and making the topic sweet instead of calling out your nerves.

“They will when he looks just like me and fights at the first insult to his mother.” He predicts with a proud grin.

“Perhaps that would be enough.” You smile at the thought, though it is a thin thing. Somehow in your heart you know that carrying another of his daughters is more likely than anything. Still, it is best to be prepared. “But you would not have him named for you.”

“I believe the boy needs to forge his own reputation, not live in the shadow of mine.” Names have meaning in this time, and he would not saddle his son with his. Giving him freedom to be whomever he chose to be. “That is why I would not name a son after me.”

“Then you would not want to name him after any family? Our only after you?” The logic does make sense to you, and you nod as you walk. The marketplace is open and though people may stare you have learned to pay them no mind.

“Only after myself.” He pauses and turns towards you. “But I forbid you naming the child after your bitch of a mother.” He warns, not wishing the revisiting the past every time you looks upon a girl with that name.

“I would rather name her after my father’s soulmate that I never even met then name her after the woman who abused me,” you agree, shaking your head sadly.

“Apologies, my love.” Oberyn leans in to kiss your lips softly. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?” Willing yourself to simply forget the mention of her and move on, you offer Oberyn a bright smile and steal another kiss. “I believe we were choosing names for a son?”

“Do you have any ideas?” He asks curiously. Wondering if you had imagined the names of your children before now.

"I used to tease Antony that I would name my son for him any time he did me a small favor." The sweet, nostalgic memory of an older brother doting on his younger sister brings a bittersweet smile to your face. As much as you might have told your brothers that they drove you crazy, you miss them desperately. "Anytime he did something as little as bringing me a pencil to write with, I would dramatically declare that I would honor him with naming my son Antony. It was...just a silly thing. But I suppose I never thought of anything beyond that."

“Would you wish to use that name or a piece of it?” He asks, smiling softly at the image of a young girl promising her older brother to name her son after him.

"Antony is a good name." Strong but not harsh, you had always thought it a very nice name aside from all the of the teasing. "And...Antonia is lovely, as well?"

“Naming our daughter after your brother?” He barks out a laugh even as he seriously thinks about it. “I like it.” He admits. “Antonia Martell.” He shrugs. “Rolls off the tongue better than my thought towards a name.”

"What was yours?" He has named eight daughters already, you cannot discount any ideas he might have with so much practice behind him.

“Marella.” He shrugs slightly, unconcerned. He will name the babe whatever makes you happy and be proud of it.

"Oh, that's lovely." Rolling it over in your mind though, you frown a moment later. "Although Marella Martell would be quite the tongue twister."

“Technically, she would be Princess Marella of Dorne, when people address her.” He teases. “But Antonia is much nicer.”

"I wish she was here already." It feels like a ridiculous thing to lament, but you wish it so that he could hold her. Because the fear that Oberyn might never meet his next child is creeping up your neck as if it were high tide on the rocks.

“She will come when she is ready.” Even if he teases you about giving him a male heir, he feels like you are carrying a girl. “Squawking and screaming as she shakes her fist at the world.”

You squeeze his hand again as you swallow your fears, and turn into the marketplace with him. “She will be so adored.”

“By so many.” He agrees, sighing softly. “I cannot wait to show you Dorne.”

“I hope you will show me everything.” In the weeks and months since your marriage, you have become more and more eager to see your new home. “Every time Ellaria speaks of the Water Gardens, I ache to see them.”

“We will swim in the gardens naked.” He tells you with a grin. “After the children are asleep.”

“I see you already have plans for conceiving your tenth child,” you tease, knowing he means sooner than that.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles and reaches over to rub your stomach. “I do not think we will stop at one child.”

“I certainly will not stop sharing your bed.” You could be more vulgar, but you are in public.

“It would be a dour day when you decided to stop sleeping in my bed.” He grunts. He does not think that would ever happen, despite originally thinking you would never share his bed.

“Dour would be correct,” you hum with equal dislike for the idea. “The only way it would happen would be very sad circumstances.” Very sad as in one of your deaths, and you are reminded again what tomorrow morning will bring.

“Do not think on it.” He can tell you are worrying about tomorrow again. He cannot give you more guarantees than he already has, and he will not insult you by demanding you not worry.

"I will try." Strolling together a little further, the stall where the Dornishman you have come to know as Salin sells his prepared foods is swarming with people. Since word had gotten out that Prince Oberyn enjoyed his recipes, he had been receiving more and more business.

“Salin.” Oberyn greets the man warmly, like he would any of his countrymen. “How does your day fare?”

"Very well, my prince and princess." Salin has come to recognize the sight of all of Oberyn's household, and always welcomes all of you with open arms. Today, he reaches for a fried pastry full of chopped roasted nuts, honey, and sweet dates and offers it to you. "I have heard a rumour, your Graces," he admits, smiling broadly when you accept the pastry with glee. "That you are to be congratulated?"

The prince huffs, even as he grins proudly. “Which one of them told you?” He asks, sure that Ellaria would have mentioned it since you were craving dates lately.

"I was not sworn to secrecy, so I do not fear telling you that it was your lovely paramour." He smiles even more broadly and puts one hand over his heart. "I would like to offer, if it pleases you, to send the recipe for my date cake with you when you return to Sunspear. Your cook will have no trouble recreating it, and I was told the princess enjoyed it very much."

“I would be very grateful for it.” Oberyn nods and tilts his head towards the man. “If you ever wish to come back to Dorne, I will give you a place in the palace to cook for our house.”

"You are..." Salin swallows thickly, looking between the two of you. "Your Grace is most generous." His voice wavers and his other hand comes up to his heart. "I left my mother and siblings there when I came to King's Landing and...until your patronage...did not have the money for passage to go home again."

Oberyn frowns, hating King’s Landing as much as the next Dornishman and looks towards you. “We are leaving King’s Landing. After the tournament.” He informs the merchant who has provided so many meals for his lovers and his wife. “The ship will be crowded, but I am sure we can find room for you if you wish to sail home?” He asks.

"I do." He murmurs, expression still aghast. "I wish to return home more than anything." The man looks as though he could cry, and something inside of you cracks a little, making your reach out to gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. "We had come to ask you to prepare us one last feast, but this is far better. We are happy to have you return with us."

“I-- I will prepare you the feast that would put all feasts to shame.” He agrees quickly. If he is leaving, he will need to deplete his stores. “And if your offer is genuine, I would be honored to prepare meals on the ship for your family.”

You do not even need to look over at Oberyn to know that the offer was real, but still your eyes find your husband's profile and you nod to Salin with a smile. "We will be the ones who are honoured, Salin. And thank you for this," you hold up the pastry, which you have already tried a bite of and will have demolished the sweet treat in less than another minute. "Truly, your talent is unparalleled. You either had a remarkable teacher or your talents are a gift from the gods."

“My mother.” He informs you proudly. “She runs a small tavern in Sunspear.” He beams and nods towards your pastry. “Although that is something special. It is a treat that she had made for her soulmate.” He frowns slightly but recovers to smile at the both of you.

"He had very good taste." The shadow that falls over his face does not escape you, but you do not feel your have the right to press. Instead you simply add, "And must have been a very lucky man."

“Perhaps.” That is all he will say about the man he has never met, although he looks back at the pair of you expectantly. “Do you wish me to just send whatever I make or is there something special you wish to have?” He’s not unaware that Oberyn will be in the tournament tomorrow, that he could possibly die. So tonight is a celebration feast in preparation for his victory.

"The prince favours your spicy lamb, but everything else is up to you. Whatever you feel your finest or favourite dishes are to prepare. And there are seven of us, so be generous." Everything he makes is delicious, so you have no doubt that it will all be wonderful.

Bobbling his head eagerly, Salin immediately starts to think about what he can send to the Keep. “I will have it prepared. Is there a time you will need it?”

"No sooner than usual," you assure him, knowing that your intention to eat and spend the rest of the night indulging in pleasure is shared by everyone in your small household.

“I will deliver it myself.” He promises, shaking his head when Oberyn pulls out his coin purse. “No, please. It would be my pleasure.”

"We would be remiss in offering you a place in our household and then not paying you for that talent of yours we so appreciate." The shake of your head matches his and you reach out to touch his arm again. "Please. Allow us to show you the respect you deserve."

“You are kind and gracious.” His lip trembles slightly. “My mother will be very grateful to have her oldest son back.”

Nearer now to being a mother than you ever have been before in your life, you already cannot imagine what separating from your oldest child would be like, other than being positively devastating. '"Whatever brought you to King's Landing, I hope that it was worth the trip, and that returning home will bring you just as much joy."

“My trip was in vain but I learned a valuable lesson.” He promises. “The return trip home will be much sweeter, although your patronage has made my little stand a success.”

"Perhaps the gods have given you something just as valuable that you have not yet realized." Wishing not to leave the man feeling poorly about anything at all - if you can help it - you find yourself wishing it was as easy as offering to spend time with him. To listen to his story. To find out what had happened and see if there is some way you can help. But again, you remind yourself not to force the situation. You are already giving him a way to return to his family, and that seems to be a help in its own right.

Salin nods and smiles at the Princess of Dorne and her husband. “The gods gave surely shined down in my humble soul.” He acknowledges before handing you another pastry. “For your walk, your highness.”

“You are very generous, my friend. Thank you.” With a nod of your head, you and Oberyn continue walking, leaving Salin to his work. There is much to be done before tonight, apparently, because he disappears into the back of his stall immediately. “He seems to be very glad to go home again.”

“Is there anywhere else you wish to go?” Oberyn asks you indulgently. The dress you are wearing is fine and causing many heads to turn, making him grip your hand proudly as you continue towards the water.

“I would visit every seller here just to prolong our walk,” you admit, nibbling at the treat that Salin handed you as you walk hand in hand with Oberyn. “Perhaps we could visit our smith friend once more before we leave?” An amused smile forms on your lips when his eyes slip past your face to your chest. “Or would you like to also offer passage to my dressmaker, since you seem so fond of her work?”

He snorts, and sends you an amused smirk. “If I could cart all the talented workers away from King’s Landing as a strike against the Lannisters. I would.” He jokes. “But perhaps we should see what other baubles we can purchase for amusement.”

“I know one that would amuse both you and Raeden.” You hum, making yourself walk by the bookseller’s stall without stopping. If you do, you might simply stay there the whole day. “I wonder if the goldsmith might have another necklace of thin chains for Margaery to match with myself and Ellaria.”

Oberyn grunts, his cock twitching and he hums in agreement. “It would be a very pleasant view, three gorgeous women, completely naked except for the chains around their necks.”

“It would be lovely to see.” You and Margaery seem to be the only ones who were surprised by how close you have become and how quickly, and your may or may not be looking forward to the sight yourself.

“Perhaps there is another bauble we can find for the three of you to wear tomorrow.” Oberyn muses. “I wish to see all three of you in very revealing dress. You will be on the sidelines.”

"We will wear anything you choose, love." It is very literally the least that the three of you can do, and you know that although you will all - Raeden included - be worried, you will be a united front of pride for Dorne.

“Good.” While there will be some who do not care what the lovers of Oberyn wear, just the three- four- of you being there will be an insult to the people who matter most in the private portion of this skirmish. Until he brings all their sins to the light for the Seven Kingdoms to see.

"It will be no small statement to have Margaery beside us. For the four of us to appear united in appearance as well?" It is an incredibly simple yet effective means of making your delegation seem all the more powerful, and you know that every small tactic counts. "It will disarm some of those in the capital who foolishly think Dorne to be less civilized."

“Exactly.” He is always pleased with you when you know why he is doing something. The cleverness of your minds makes him think that you would have been named your father’s heir of you had been born a man.

"Would you have us matching?" You ask him, thinking that that would take some effort to achieve by the morning. "Or wearing an emblem somehow?"

“Perhaps we will find something. If not, then there are…dresses in my trunk you could wear.” He admits with a small chuckle.

"There are more dresses in your trunks?" By this time you would have assumed that Ellaria had wore every stitch of clothing brought from Dorne to the northern capital, but apparently that assumption would be incorrect.

“If you wish to call them dresses.” He smirks. “There is more skin showing than fabric.”

"If only my belly were already swollen," you smirk up at him as you slow in your walk and come to a stop at the jeweler's stall. "That would be quite a sight to be shown off."

“One I will love to see when it happens. Especially since the dress will show off your belly.” Oberyn’s eyes narrow as he takes in the jewels on display.

"Your Graces." The man bows deeply to see you approach, the sight of the two of you together being most welcome to him. He knows it will end in a large purchase, if nothing else, and others had taken notice of the Dornish prince's patronage of his business. It had brought him enormous good fortune in the months since your first visit. "What is it you search for today?"

“Another necklace.” Oberyn informs him with a smirk. “Just like the one for my wife and my paramour. I wish to clasp it around our other lover’s neck.”

"I confess, I wondered if you might desire another." Disappearing from view for just a few seconds, the merchant comes back again with a small wooden box. He lifts the lid, showing off another glinting necklace of delicate chains. "Your reputation, after all, precedes you."

“Do you have a smaller version of this?” Oberyn asks as he traces the necklace with his fingers. “More…masculine?”

"Smaller as in…fewer strands?" The man's head tilts to one side, making sure he understands correctly.

“Fewer strands, more…” he turns to you with a frown. “I want one for Raeden.” He tells you.

"I assumed as much, when you wanted one more masculine." The expression on his face is half frustration and half plaintive, and you cup his cheek in your hand lovingly. "Do you want it to be worn under his robes tomorrow, or do you want it to be worn in bed, my love?"

“Both.” He grunts, looking at you with dark, lust filled eyes. “But I want him to wear it tomorrow. Showing on his bare chest to match your. United and under House Martell’s protection.”

"The prince desires another necklace with fewer, thicker chains," you inform the jeweler, squeezing Oberyn's hands in yours and pressing a kiss to his lips. "And it should be made to accommodate a broader chest."

The jeweler has questions but he keeps them to himself. Although the design might be on display after the custom jewelry is sold and discreetly mentioned that the Prince of Dorne bought for a male lover. It might be of interest to the right discreet party.

“It will be needed by tonight.” Neither you nor Oberyn would be willing to wait until morning and risk not having it be ready, but you are certain that Oberyn will want Raeden to wear the chains tonight, as well.

“Of course.” He knows now that the prince will not blink at the cost so he does not even warn him about the extra price for expedited work. The prince is a man who wants what he wants when he wants it with no regard to cost.

“What other new baubles have you? Any of your clever wife’s designs?” The puzzle ring that you gave to Oberyn is a favorite, and your eyes start to search through the trays of fine pieces right away.

“There is a wide selection.” He agrees eagerly, rushing over to show them to you. “Your interest and admiration has made her designs improve and her love of it increase.”

“I am very glad to hear it.” Oberyn has begun searching a different part of the stall, and you follows the merchant’s lead to look at the designs that his wife has made. “What is the piece she is most proud of? I wish to see it.”

“There is a bracelet design that my wife is very pleased with.” The latest designed may have been with a slight Dornish flair due to the Prince’s patronage. The bracelets have several bangles wove in between each other and can be pulled apart, but when they are in a solid mass, they give the illusion of being one solid piece, the bursting sun of Dorne etched into the gold.

“Oh, she is clever!” You hum happily when the merchant presents you with the multi-strand bracelet. “And your craftsmanship is exquisite, ser. It seems that no matter you you make, you and your wife are quite the formidable team.”

Delighted that you like it, he moves to grab the other ones. "I took the liberty of making several." He informs you. "Because I know that your group likes to have matching sets."

“We certainly do.” The stone in the middle of each Dornish sun is the only difference between the bracelets - one deep green, one pink-red, one orange, one yellow, one milky white, one rich blue, and one clear purple. They are stunning together and you beckon Oberyn closer to look. “There are seven, my love.” Your face shines with delight.

"Why seven?" Oberyn asks curiously. He could see if there were eight, for his daughters or two because of his last order of necklaces.

“You, Raeden, and Cal.” You have three bracelets beside your right hand, and then beside your left you point out the other four. “Ellaria, me, Margaery, and Leyth.”

"No, my love." He grunts. "I was asking the jeweler why he crafted seven bracelets."

The jeweler in question blushes, clearing his throat at the prince’s pointed attention. He was not going to call attention to the number after you seemed so delighted with the fact that there were seven. “In truth, your Grace?” He would shove his hands in his pockets in embarrassment if he had any. “There are three or four more being finished just this day. I thought to have a wide collection of colors for your Graces to choose from, that is all.”

"I will take them all." Oberyn decides, looking back at you to find you smiling down at the bracelet with a dreamy expression on your face. "What do you think, my love? For any others we might bring into our fold?" He hums. "Or perhaps..." He slides his hand around your waist and your stomach. "Perhaps as gifts for our children."

“They seem fitting for your girls, don’t you think?” If there are so many, that is. The idea of more cannot be banished from your mind. You must remember that Oberyn has a plan. “Hopefully they all have different favourite colors.”

The mention of ‘his girls’ makes Oberyn’s head snap back to the jeweler. “These bracelets.” He tells him. “I want eight more. Except instead of bursting suns, I want snakes. Coiled snakes with the different colored jewel in the eye.”

“It…is too much to do in one night.” The jeweler tells him with obvious regret and just a touch of fear. “Perhaps it could be done in two if everyone worked through the night…but I know that you are not one to wait, your Grace.”

"We will be leaving for Dorne in two days." He tells the jeweler. "Have them done by the time the ship leaves the harbor and I will give you a bonus to make it worth the effort."

“Yes, your Grace.” The man bows rather frantically, scooping up the few things that he had already talked to the two of you about, and dashing into the back of his stall. When his apprentice appears just a few moments later, you smile with the knowledge that he is going straight to work. It is not even the man’s own son he has sent to man his stall. He will be working well into the night.

"I will give my sand snakes the bracelets he is crafting now." He tells you with a proud smirk. "They will love them." He had been searching for gifts for his girls, always bringing them something when he has to travel and the bracelets would be perfect.

“They will make a beautiful gift, my love.” For his eight - soon, nine - children, a token from the trip when their father wed will hopefully be something to celebrate and not frown upon. “They will look well with the necklaces that Ellaria is bringing to each of your daughters.”

“She loves all of them.” He hums happily, smiling softly. “You will love them too, I hope.”

“I have no doubt.” One of your hands rests gently on his arm and you smile. “I cannot wait to meet them.”

“They will be waiting for us when we arrive in Sunspear.” He informs you with complete surety. “Expect many questions.”

“I expect they will have many.” Just imagining it makes you giggle, thinking of the youngest ones especially. The older girls you will be able to be more straightforward with. “Luckily we are bringing them a new grandfather as well, who will dote on them endlessly no matter who their mother is.” Being able to acquaint your father with the situations that resulted in all of Oberyn’s daughters’ births, he has been excited to meet them ever since. Once he saw how loving your husband can be and how happy you are, nothing else mattered.

“He had been surprisingly welcoming.” He had anticipated a bit of distance from his wife’s father, but he has been to dinner several times. “He will enjoy Dorne.” He frowns slightly. “I have written my brother about Marlee as well. To see if we can find her.”

“You are entirely too good, my love.” Losing her — and discovering why he had lost her — has been a reopened wound for your father, who has clung to all news and stories of Dorne in response. As though he might hear her name in one of them unwittingly.

“There is no stone I would leave unturned if my soulmate was lost to me.” He tells you, his hand sliding along your arm to tangle his fingers with yours.

“I believe I can confidently say that neither Ellaria nor I will ever leave your side.” Still, your fingers tangling tightly in his as though trying to convince him. “There is nothing in the Seven Hells that could ever tempt me away, my love.”

“That is good.” He squeezes your hand and smirks. “I will be very satisfied with being surrounded by my soulmates and our lovers for a long time.”

“Our trip home will be an interesting one, with so many of us in such close company,” you smirk up at your husband as you walk. “I imagine we will spend much time in our quarters.”

Oberyn chuckles. “I do not think Cersei imagined her gift to her daughter would ferry so many of her people away on it.”

“I suppose I can only be grateful that my family had a long-standing connection to Dorne and not to Casterly Rock.” You shudder slightly at the idea and cringe. “Imagine my mother’s victory if she had sold me to the Lannisters instead.”

“I would not wish such a fate on you.” He growls, protective of you despite the fact you are safe in his arms. “A husband with one hand who fucks his sister.”

“I would not wish such a fate on anyone.” It would have been her triumph, to manage something like that. You know how lucky and how grateful you are to have been promised to Oberyn. “I am grateful to be madly in love with my husband instead.”

“What is not to love?” He asks arrogantly with a small wink. He looks around the market again and then turns you back towards the books. “Should you not pick another dozen books for the trip to Dorne?”

“You have been so generous with growing my library that my trunks may weigh more than Margaery’s dowry.” Still, you are not about to protest. Not for a moment. “I may spend the entire journey home with my nose in a book.”

“The captain I have hired for the trip home is strong. He will have crew to move them.” He’s unconcerned with that, more interested in your happiness than anything.

“My husband indulges me.” And the adoration on your face is very clear as he leads you back toward the bookseller. “He is soft and tender hearted and sweet.”

“If you think me soft, do not be frightened tomorrow.” He jokes. He knows that you mean he is soft when it comes to you and Ellaria and how he indulges you.

“Ellaria has told me about Mereen,” you admit, leaning close to his side as you come to stop in front of the bookseller’s stall. “How you fight. What to expect.”

“I have survived many battles.” He nods. “I expect to survive many more.” He let’s go of your hand and pats your ass affectionately. “Go find the books you wish to read to me while you are sitting on my cock later on.”

******

There is a thickness, a palpable tension in the air, when you and Oberyn return from the marketplace. The jeweler had already sent by his delivery of the things Oberyn purchased which were already made, and the note from him listed the price for the items being created, which Oberyn barely glanced at. The delivery of your books, the scarves you found for Ellaria and Margaery, and the baby blanket made by the dressmaker who had crafted your Dornish-style gowns — all of it is waiting for you when you finally return. But the truest shock is that your father has apparently been spending time with Raeden, Ellaria, and Margaery this afternoon.

He hugs you when you drift into the room on Oberyn’s arm and shakes Oberyn’s hands warmly. “I thought I would pay my respects tonight instead of distracting you with well wishes in the morning.” He tells your husband honestly.

While he had not thought much of your father when he first met the man, he had been sorely impressed with his insight since your mother’s departure. They had several frank and interesting conversations and Oberyn had refrained from engaging in his normal pleasures that he might with another lord, taking him to a whorehouse. “Many thanks.” He offers with a smile. “Join us, we are having a Dornish feast delivered by the best cook outside of her boarders.” He boasts. “In fact, I have offered him a place in the palace kitchens and he will sail with us when we depart.”

“We are bringing Salin home with us?” Ellaria sounds delighted with the idea and her fingers trace up your arm. “I think the princess had a hand in this. For the love of date cakes,” she teases.

“It was Oberyn,” you admit, laughing at how right Ellaria is about your craving. “But I am certainly not upset about it.”

“I would be delighted to stay.” Your father perks up at the mention of Dornish food. “It has been some time since I have had a good Dornish meal. The cooks would alter the recipes at home to their tastes.” He huffs, aware that his mother had written them done very specifically.

“Salin is extraordinarily talented.” Even Margaery is looking forward to the meal, having been fully converted to the cuisine of her new home with the first meal she tried. “He prepared the feast we are the night Raeden and I were wed and I have never tasted anything more magnificent.”

“Then I am eager to sample this cooking. My Marlee was a magnificent cook and I would often tease her that she would make a fortune selling her food.” Your father hums, knowing no one would fault him for speaking of his soulmate.

“I would like to hear more of her, if you are willing.” Speaking of Marlee seems to soothe your father and you must admit to being curious about the woman who could have been your mother.

“She was always smiling, always humming a little tune under her breath while she worked.” He tells you. “Making these delicious little tarts. I could eat a hundred of them.”

"How did you meet?" There is tea from the keep's kitchens while you await Salin's arrival with your dinner, and you offer a seat in front of the fire to your father.

“In Dorne.” He looks over at you fondly, smiling with the bittersweet smile of a man who is remembering a better time. “We had traveled back for my grandfather’s funeral. Mother was beside herself and my father could not leave. So I volunteered to escort her.” He had been brash and young, but already a good soldier. Handy with a sword. “I was bored by the grieving in the house, so I had snuck down to the kitchens.” He sighs. “She was baking. Flour on her cheek and singing a song as she mixed bread dough.”

“She worked for Grandmother’s family?” That is a surprise, and certainly makes you wish you had been bold enough to tell him about Raeden sooner. He would have been far more sympathetic than you knew.

“Yes.” He nods, his eyes sliding over to where Raeden is sitting with Margaery. “Although I think your path was leading you here.” He tells you, knowing what is whirling in that clever mind of yours. “She was beautiful. Raven black hair and yet…she had green eyes. The color of a watery jade.”

“So you fell in love over a secret meeting and a loaf of bread?” There is nothing sad or even melancholy in the life you have now, so you try to keep the conversation happy.

“The scar on my neck.” He pulls down the edge of his undershirt and his robe to expose the old, silvery scar. “It was new and fresh. Her dress showed it.” He shares a knowing grin with Oberyn. “She was mine from the first moment.”

“That sounds terribly romantic,” Margaery sighs, still softly envious of anyone who knows their soulmate or who has ever known them. “To have such definitive proof. To never wonder. It sounds remarkable.”

Her husband tightens his hold around her, offering her comfort. Everyone in this room knows that Margaery’s soulmate died without her ever knowing who it was. “If matching marks are ever discovered.” He murmurs softly. “They will be welcomed into our home.” It is the least he could offer considering the two sets of marks he bears, and the relationships he has with both women.

“If I ever have a set of marks appear?” Margaery nuzzles against him, glancing over at you before looking back to his eyes. “I hope that they will be yours or Star’s.”

“I would wear three sets of scars proudly.” He murmurs, bumping his nose against her cheek and then kissing her lips.

“As would I.” If the gods ever saw fit to give you three soulmates, you could not be happier to have one of them be Margaery.

“You are too generous.” Despite her inexperience, she has come to love to dynamic between the three of you especially, although she also enjoys time with Ellaria and Oberyn. Even if Oberyn had not yet fucked her.

“The gods have twice blessed you, pumpkin.” Your father chuckles. He still not quite understand the dynamic at play, but has decided that as long as you are happy, he does not need to. “To heap more upon you would be showing favoritism.”

“I would not expect anything less from gods concerning Star.” Ellaria chuckles quietly. She winks at you. “Perhaps the gods will send another wonderful person into Margaery’s life to add to our blessings.”

Glancing over at your husband, you bite back a grin and you wink at his as he so often does to you. "We will need a bed the size of you entire chamber if we continue to add members to our group."

You father clears his throat, reminding himself that he does not need to ask questions about things he does not wish to know. You are happy, and that is a rarity in life. “Dinner will be delightful, I’m sure.”

"It will." Leyth appears in the doorway, blessedly distracting from your embarrassment and ushering in Salin with his baskets upon baskets of delicious food.

“Salin, you outdo yourself every time.” Ellaria rises graceful and moves to greet the man with a charming smile and a hug. “Oberyn tells us you will be sailing back to Dorne with us?”

"The prince has most graciously offered to allow me to return home with your party." His hand is over his heart as he sets down the baskets from his other arm and Ellaria begins to unload them all over the large dining table. "I am most grateful to be able to see my family again."

“You must join us tonight.” Oberyn decides, motioning to the table. “We will be spending time together in much less spacious confines, let us drink and celebrate with delicious food tonight.”

"I could not impose--" Salin begins, but you immediately shake your head to stop him.

"Please," you insist, motioning for everyone to gather around the table. "We will not stand on ceremony tonight, but feast and celebrate as friends and family. We insist."

Looking around the table, Salin sees nothing but encouraging smiles and the murmurs of agreement, and he nods. "Your Graces are very kind. It would be my honour to join you."

There is something familiar about the young man. It tugs at your father’s thoughts but he tries to dismiss it as simply being nostalgic for his soulmate and everything to do with a culture he had much preferred to the rigid standards of the North.

Sitting down together at the table is indeed like an odd group of friends and family, but it is welcoming for that. Cal and Leyth join you instead of eating separately. Ellaria's mood is bright and boisterous. She speaks with Oberyn and Salin of home with such nostalgia that your father practically sighs with longing, and the rest of you who have never been to Dorne are hanging on every word.

Raeden leans back, watching the group with a smile as he strokes Margaery’s arm. Looking at the group that he has come to care for very much and squirms slightly in anticipation for things to come. It was not as if he had meant to wait to be with Oberyn. The moment had just never really come to be quite yet, but he want it so badly he cannot wait for the night to continue.

“I hope you will all forgive the indulgence,” Salin is saying as he begins to unpack the beautiful containers of sweet treats he prepared for dessert. “I have catered to her Grace’s cravings for our final course. Date cakes, figs with soft cheese, honey soaked fried dough, and crispy pastry with honey and nut filling. All of the princess’s favourites that I have been fortunate to discover so far.”

“Salin.” Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the spread, practically giggling with glee. “You are far too kind and far too indulgent.”

The pastry with honey and nut filling makes your father tilt his head curiously as he finishes up his own meal. Easily enjoying the best Dornish meal he has had since he has been to the country. Watching as you pile a clean plate high with the delicacies with an indulgent chuckle.

“Try them, Papa.” You insist, moving the plate of crispy, sticky pastry toward your father. “I promise you will not be disappointed. Salin is a magician.”

Once offered, your father eagerly reaches for the pastry, likening it to one he has had many years ago and takes a bite quickly. "Mmmmmhhhhh." The moan is immediate and louder than he would have normally given over any good food. "I-- this tastes exactly like the tarts my soulmate would make."

“Are they traditional?” The question is for anyone at the table who would know - Salin, of course, but Oberyn or Ellaria, too.

“Not especially, your Grace.” Salon’s expression is apologetic. “They are a family recipe. My mother would make them for special dinners. Birthdays, usually.”

"This-- this is exactly like Marlee would make." Your father groans again after another bite. "She added a touch of anise. Not too much or it would overpower the nuts, she always said." He shoves the rest of the tart into his mouth and reaches for another.

Confused, Salin tilts his head and watches as your father seems entranced by the sweets. “You knew my mother?” He asks, not entirely sure how that could be.

The air is sucked out of the room and the tart in his hand falls to the table as your father's head whips around to gape at the man who had served the food. "Your mother?" He chokes out. "Your mother is Marlee Sand?"

“I—yes?” Confused even further as to why this fact has caused such a reaction in the older nobleman, Salin nods. “Marlee Brude, after marrying my sisters’ father. But she was born Marlee Sand.”

"She-- she's dead." The blood rushes to his ears and his head is swimming as he rolls his eyes over to you desperately. "She told me she was dead." He whispers, begging you to confirm that your mother told him that his soulmate was killed.

“I am sure it is a coincidence.” Although, which your father clutching your hand so tightly, your confidence wanes. “Sand is the most common name in Dorne. And surely Marlee is—”

“Is an unusual name.” Ellaria cuts in, glancing between the two of you and Salin. “Not unheard of, but not common.”

“And my mother is very much alive,” Salin adds, still not quite understanding what is happened. “I had a letter from her not a fortnight ago.”

"I don't understand.." He shakes his head, clinging to you and looking at Salin with a more critical eye before he gasps. "Boy." He barks, although Salin is a man grown and not a boy. "Do you have your mother's eyes or your fathers?" He demands.

Salin huffs, being well past thirty years of age and no longer a boy. “My father’s, according to my mother. Much good though that may do me.”

“Pumpkin.” He reaches for your jaw and cradles it gently as he looks from your eyes, his eyes, and then towards the man who shares those eyes. “How-- is it possible?” He whispers quietly.

"You cannot be my father, sir, no matter how much coincidence maybe at play tonight." It is all a little too much for Salin, and he pushes away from the table with a frown. "My father was some far-flung Northern lord who chose money over his soulmate. He married a shrew of a woman and never gave my mother a second thought."

That makes him frown, shaking his head and letting go of your chin to stand, swaying slightly at the revelation that this is his son sitting in front of him. “I can swear on my honor I have thought of your mother every day I have been apart from her.” He tells Salin. “I was led to believe that she had returned to Dorne when my betrothal was announced, as I was trying to convince my father to let me marry Marlee.”

"It cannot be." The color drains from Salin's face even as he stands to face your father. His father? There is something familiar reflected in the older man's face that makes him hesitate, but as he glances away to try to take a shaky breath, his eyes fall on your father's neck. Or - specifically - on the decades old scar that mars his skin. It is that scar that makes him gasp and his eyes dart up to the older man's again. "Tell me how you got that scar." He demands.

“A small skirmish on the northern boarder of our lands when I was young.” It was the first time he had killed a man, and he had barely escaped with his life. He had told Marlee about it one night after sex, her giggling as he had re-enacted it completely nude. He sees that Salin might believe him. “Have you see it before?”

"Do you know what truly happened to the Marlee Sand that you knew?" There is anger there, or at least frustration and surprise, and Salin bristles slightly when your father's story matches what his mother told him of the scar she wears from her soulmate. "Why she returned to Dorne?"

“My bitch of a wife had confessed just weeks ago that she had paid a solider to have her killed.” Your father’s anger rides across his face, a dark storm cloud of emotions that has him curling his fists. He had missed Marlee for years and then mourned her over the past weeks, now to find out she was still living? It is almost too much to bear.

"That soldier had a change of heart." Salin murmurs, feeling the impossibility of the situation slam through him with determination. "He told her to run, and she did." His shoulders hunch, disbelief clouding his features as he shakes his head. "I am Salin Sand because she was driven from your lands. It was many years before she even acknowledged a man's attention. My sisters are young, yet. Young like Lady Sunstone."

The chair in front of him is the only thing that keeps his kneels from buckling as your father learns his soulmate is really alive. Still bearing no marks from her on his body, he had never considered she was alive. “Son.” He chokes out, nearly sobbing at the fact that this man is his grown son. “Tell me she is well. That she is happy?”

Before Salin can even think, he finds himself embracing your father - his father - with tears pooling in his eyes. "I think she will be again," he admits, shaking a little as he processes everything that has happened today. He has gone from simply being able to return home to returning home with his father. "She has been a widow these last few years, but I know she has never forgotten you. In fact--" He pulls away just enough to look at the scar again, fully digesting its existence and the existence of the man who wears it. "She had sent me to learn of you. That...that is why I left Dorne."

“She-- you did?” He’s astonished because he had never seen you before tonight. “I-- did you ever come to the Vale?” He asks, immediately suspicious of his bitch of a wife. Even if she hadn’t rubbed the knowledge of his bastard son in his face, she might have sent him away and never let him know.

“I was robbed on my first night in King’s Landing.” Salin sighs. “I opened my stall in the marketplace as a way to earn the money to return home, but clearly I have been unsuccessful.” Living hand to mouth is difficult for anyone, but it had been particularly embarrassing to have to live in his stall the first few weeks. Things had improved, but not enough. Not until Prince Oberyn.

“I-- I didn’t know of you.” He tells him, hating that they had pulled apart to continue talking. Even as the rest of the table looks on with great curiosity, he only had eyes for his eldest child. “Or I would have- I would have brought her home.” He knows that marriage wouldn’t have been allowed but Marlee and Salin would have been safe, protected and loved.

“It seems I was meant always to have sisters.” The younger man laughs, finally looking over to where you are still sitting - dumbfounded - at the table before his eyes cut back to his father. “Mother will be glad to know you have not forgotten her.”

“I will-- would you allow me to see her?” His eyes are hopeful but there may be too much resentment there to let it be possible. The idea of seeing his soulmate again has him wishing he was already in Dorne.

“It will be up to her.” Even as a young boy who wished to defend her, Salin understood that his mother was strong enough to choose her life for herself. “I have already sent a raven home to tell her that I will be returning with the prince and princess. She will be waiting at the docks for my arrival. I only ask that you allow me to tell her you are there first. To not ambush her.”

It is nearly a miracle that he does not make himself lightheaded, he is nodding so quickly. “Of course.” He agrees before he looks around the table at the rest of the group. “Would you--” he clears his throat. “Would you like to come to my chambers?” He asks, knowing you are eager to celebrate with your husband and he wants to talk to Salin more. “I have wine, or stronger spirits. We can talk?” He is hopeful, biting his lip as he looks at the son that he has missed out on his entire life with. Wishing to know everything about him.

“You are not going anywhere until I am allowed to embrace my oldest brother.” The idea of all of it has overwhelmed you, but the smile on your face is soft and dreamlike. How utterly right that your father should be able to have again what had been stolen from him. That he will have the chance to know his eldest child.

Salin seems almost shocked that you would be wanting a hug, but he’s opening his arms immediately and moving towards the woman who he now knows is his sister. “Gladly. Without you and the prince, this would not be.”

“We will all have time to get to know each other much better on the voyage home.” The warmth of the embrace is genuine — two shocked individuals taking what is in front of them and fully accepting it head on. “And I hope you will find it a comfortable thing to call us by our given names now that we are family.”

“It-- it will take time, Princess.” Salin admits with a small smile as he pulls back. “Perhaps his feelings will change once we change his last name to mine.” Your fathers interjects. “If he is willing to be claimed.”

“We will have that conversation.” There are many mixed feelings that Salin has had about his father over his lifetime. Now, with an entire family being offered to him, the thing he wants first is simply to know this man. “But tonight, let us simply begin to know each other. More will come in time.”

“Come.” The older man nods and motions towards the door. “If we talk too late into the night, there is another bed you can sleep in if you have no wish to walk the roads of King’s Landing.”

It is almost surreal to watch your father and brother step away together. The tension that had filled the room seems to dissipate all at once, and you fall down again in your seat beside Raeden with a sigh. “That was…unexpected.”

“Completely astounding.” Oberyn muses thoughtfully, still reclined in his chair and shaking his head. “Fate is playing in your life, Star. The Gods have truly taken an interest.”

______

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[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 10

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: more death, more canon typical violence, some bonding between allies because they gotta survive this bitch as long as they can...

Chapter Summary: Danger lies in places you least expect it. Whether that be in the form of a small animal, or in a harmless capitol citizen. No one is safe from anything in the hunger games.

Word Count: 3.2k

howdy ho, pls excuse my laziness as of lately and enjoy some daily updates (i am not lazy i swear i have been launching a literal fashion brand ToT)

He snapped out of his trance when he heard the tail end of a half whispered conversation behind him.  “I imagine with her it would be marvelous, she certainly has the stamina,” one of the men behind him chuckled, the one on his left nodding in agreement before slamming back his drink. “Not to mention the flexibility.”

Finnick was restless, watching the screen, as usual. 

He’d only gone into the viewing party to stir some chatter, enough to get a sponsor, but then he’d been back on his couch, Mags close by in a chair that was far too large for a sweet little old woman such as herself. She did not care to move, either. 

It hurt her, to know that all this work, all this dedication, and all this commitment to the girl that came here from four might be in vain. But she kept a smile of optimism on her face for him, because she hadn’t seen him care so much about something in a long time. He had almost been numbed to these occasions, dulled to their effects. She held onto the same sliver of hope that he had been clinging to, praying that he would not be crushed if she were to lose. She couldn’t bear to watch him go through something like that again. The first time being when he watched the girl from his district die in the arena beside him. They trained together, they were allies together, and they had known each other before the reaping. Just like you and Lukas. 

Lukas, the dear boy with the longing for a loving mother. Mags hoped she gave him a taste of what it was like, to have someone wrap their arms around you and to be proud of you without any cause or reason. Lukas needed that. Lukas needed a lot of things. She hated the rules of these games, hated the games more than anything. That boy deserves to live, deserves to finally be shown respect from the one person he craves the most… but Finnick’s girl. One who also deserves to live, to come home and to let Finnick hold you in his arms. Mags would never bring it up to him, but she knows the glint in his eye is more than just the protection of a mentor. The look of genuine fear when he feels his prized girl may be in danger is not just one of sympathy for another tribute. He’s latched onto this one, she can feel it. She only hopes that when the time comes for one of them to die, that she will not have to face the streams of tears… her own or Finnicks. 

She watches him, the way he studies your every movement when the screen returns to the career pack, now depleted to three careers and a district seven tribute. A wild bunch they are, but hopefully the game makers will not overestimate their abilities. Lukas may have killed one tribute already, but Mercedes hasn’t. Mags doesn’t think she even could if she tried to. She knows that Finnick thinks the same thing. 

His smile when he leans forward is sweet, seeing her open the note she had crumpled into her pocket. She mirrors his smile on the other side of the camera, not even realizing it. His heart melts as she reads it, and rereads it, and then once more. She’s clinging to it, holding onto that little piece of paper. It’s the only communication she can get from him on the inside of this damned arena. 

-

“We should save those, we need to be using this time to gather other sources of food before more tributes come back to the cornucopia.”

Lukas was taking the lead again, and for good reason. There was little debate when it came to who was pulling the strings of this makeshift operation. He’d been the most confident with his survival knowledge, although he lacked in combat from the other careers. 

“He’s right, by tomorrow, the last tributes are going to try and find us. It’s best we stock up everything we’re going to need before that happens,” Lyra said, throwing on one of the backpacks, one of the smaller ones full of Kunai knives and hunting lures. 

“I w-wove this last night, it’s n-not standard, but it should w-work,” you held up to Lukas the fishing net you’d conjured before you’d gotten so tired the night before. It was far smaller than what he was used to, but it would work nonetheless. 

“It’s perfect,” he smiled, packing it up into another backpack, slinging it over his shoulder as he nodded his head towards the trail ahead. 

You all were going to need to find a river, but luckily for you, Rodey had claimed to see one earlier yesterday, when you were all barely limping back to the cornucopia. 

He was doing really well this morning, probably on account of the sponsor he’d gotten. A new pair of shoes to replace the ones that were torn to bits from running yesterday. His blisters were killing him until those new shoes arrived. Now he was chipper as ever. 

“It was a bit further out, had a waterfall behind it…” he trailed, leading you all in a twisting and turning hike through the foggy forest of vines and trees that were tall enough to be skyscrapers. 

The scenery was something out of an old adventure book, something of an era you wished was alive today. Something where the hero gets the girl, and the danger comes to an end. You don’t see that happening at the conclusion of your story. You see your picture in the sky and the boom of cannonfire, ringing out in your ears before it all goes dark. You just hope it won’t be too horrible, too violent or too messy. 

By the time you reached the river, which was barely even a river, you went to the edge to stand by Lukas. You looked out to the waterfall that was sitting at the edge of the river bank, creating the endless flow. It was pretty, or it would be, under different circumstances. The other two of the group had taken off, finding bushes full of Echinacea flowers, and started harvesting those in case of any possible infections occurring in the future. 

“W-what do I need to do?” You asked the boy next to you, helping him take the net out of the backpack and unfold it enough that it will work to catch. 

“Not much. Can you stand in this shallow part over here?” 

You used his help to step down into the water, the surface level barely reaching your hips. The coolness drenching your clothes was a nice contrast to the constantly warm and overly humid environment. You’d been feeling sticky and gross for the past two days, and this was like a little bath of sorts. It rid you of that nasty feeling, and for once, you were happy to be standing in water.

“You’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m g-good.”

He nodded, hopping in as well and handing you one end of the net, beginning to walk over towards the further side of the small river. It was far deeper on his side, but it didn’t deter him. He kept steady, opening the net and allowing it to start blocking the flow of anything swimming through. There weren’t many fish in the water, so it would take a minute of waiting. 

Meanwhile, Lyra and Rodey had stuffed their pockets full of the flowers and other plants that may be useful to them.

“So, Mercedes,” Lyra began, looking towards the riverbank and seeing you splash your hair into the water. She found it amusing, considering she heard one of the boys comment about her lack of swimming abilities. Maybe they’d been joking. She was from four, so it didn’t quite make sense. 

“What about her?” Rodey’s brows strewn with confusion, he turned to face Lyra completely, setting his backpack down for a moment to sit and rest. It had been a longer journey than expected to get here. 

“You call her Mercy, right?” She asked, and he nodded in return. What was she getting at? He didn’t care to interject yet. “Do you think…?”

“Do I think what?”

She sighed, looking once more to yourself and Lukas, before settling her eyes on Rodey. 

“Do you think she’s actually merciful? I have to think she’d kill either of us if she had to, but something tells me she’s not so sure of herself… She’s strong, man… she’s really strong. But she doesn’t exert it. When she fought me in training, it’s like she didn’t care if she won or lost.”

Rodey’s eyes found your smile by the riverbank, something sweet and warm and full of life, the exact opposite of what these games are supposed to be. You contradicted the meaning the capitol gave them, and he wondered if that would be in more ways than one. 

“She hasn’t killed anyone yet. I think when the time comes she’ll do what she has to, but until then, I wouldn’t bet on it being either of us.”

Lyra nodded, seemingly having the same thought. Rodey likes you, he wasn’t going to say something about you that could get you killed before you had to be. That’s the game, but for as long as he can he wants to take a page out of your book, avoiding the rules.

-

Finnick was standing as straight and tall as he could, his confidence on the outside rivaling that which had been seen for years. The side of him that people knew and loved. His cocky gestures and snarky remarks, the slight arrogance and acceptance of man worship at his feet. It had always been a facade, but it was harder to wear recently. Now he did his best to show that he was back, his original self was on display for everyone to see. 

He’d taken the day to become a little more serious about sponsors. So far, there was only one need of a Capitol gift, but as the last days roll around, he knows that he needs to start racking up the funds. You and Lukas have dwindling supplies, and soon, he’s sure the game makers will be using that against you. 

Mags never felt herself useful for this sort of thing, she always sat quietly in the corner and tried to simply read the room, giving tips to Finnick if he needed them. She was so thankful to have him by her side. He was so much better at being the talkative presence in these Capitol functions. Especially ones that had so much riding on them. Today, yours and Lukas’ lives. Next year, another pair of tributes who will need the same supplies, sponsors, and supporters. It was a crucial part of the games, and now more than ever, Finnick sought after these wealthy citizen’s personal assistance. 

He’d taken a break from circling for a moment, standing before the screen, watching you help Lukas with the fishing net. The water was shallow enough to stand in, and you seemed to be doing alright, the current of the stream not pulling or pushing you in any which direction. You’d even dunked your hair into the water, bringing some relief to your body, having thoroughly been exposed to the heat and humidity of this rainforest. Even though it rained often, it was still warm and humid. 

You’d whipped your hair back over your head, splashing Lukas in the face. He playfully scooped a hand into the water and threw it up in your direction, and you laughed with a wide smile. 

You were so beautiful, your smile was stunning. He was momentarily frozen in wonder… awestruck wonder. Like a moment where you gaze upon a magnificent sunset or a calming scene of nature. Something that you have to sit and admire for a second, because damn… you didn’t think anything could be so lovely without even trying.

He snapped out of his trance when he heard the tail end of a half whispered conversation behind him. 

“I imagine with her it would be marvelous, she certainly has the stamina,” one of the men behind him chuckled, the one on his left nodding in agreement before slamming back his drink. “Not to mention the flexibility.”

Finnick turned on his heels, staring down the gentleman’s face, and acting as though he didn’t know what was going on. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He played, tilting his head to entice some sort of response. 

“Oh, nothing. We were just talking about how agile and athletic your tributes are. You must be very proud.” 

“I am, and I’m going to do everything I can to keep bad things from happening to them,” he said with a sarcastic tone on the last bit. He knew that with the look he shot the man to speak, they would consider another topic of conversation. 

Finnick only turned back around when they moved on to talk about other tributes. 

What he’d heard pretty much cemented in stone what he already thought to be true. If you made it out of that arena, you’d be doomed to a life the same as him. Being called into the Capitol for nightly visits until they grow tired of you. It took finnick five whole years to become old news… he can’t even imagine how loved you would be for many years beyond that. You’d somehow charmed him without even trying, and here he was on a mission to save your life because of it. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could grow tired of you. There’s no other tribute, past, present, or even future that has a chance of beating you in sweetness and beauty. There’s no other tribute who has your compassion, your mercy… as much as he hated that nickname for you, he now found himself clinging to it in hopes of repeating it back to you. 

The people around him continue to speak of you, and he knows that his selfishness will use it to his advantage. Your life out of the arena would be filled with comments like these, and the repercussions of them, the work and practical slavery of them, not one ever being your fault. But even through all of it, he still wants you to live. He wants you to come home and have a house across from his and beside Mags’. He wants to keep giving you swimming lessons until you feel confident to go into the water without him. He wants to teach you how to fish like he and his father used to do. He wants to take you into the market and show you all his favorite places to get food. He wants to watch you thrive and grow beyond these games and forget about all the bad things. His want for your happiness, his need for your presence to return… It's what drives him. 

He doesn’t linger on the screen for too much longer before he continues making his rounds.

-

The looks on the other tribute's faces when you offer them a piece of split open fish is hilarious. You can’t help but giggle. You have to sit for a moment and think, because no, other districts probably don’t just tear open a fish and eat it. How strange, that the tributes can be so different in culture, but still all the same. 

You’ve grown up eating fish, grown up being around the smell and feeling the texture. It doesn’t bother you because it is familiar, and mundane. 

They eventually sucked it up and tried some, knowing that by tomorrow they would have to eat it anyway. 

“It’s not terrible, could use some salt,” Rodey joked around, twisting his face into different expressions with every bite he took. 

“My m-mama cooks fish better than a-anyone I’ve ever met. Bakes it with lemon juice a-and pepper.” You smiled, willing yourself to remember your mother and her home cooked meals. 

She hadn’t been able to cook in very large quantities lately, one of the primary reasons you’d been hungry so often.The loss of your dad’s paycheck was bound to take a toll. 

“Sounds pretty good to me,” He laughed, leaning his shoulder into yours playfully. His attempts at affection were becoming more pronounced as the day went on. Offering you his hand to step out of the river, handing you one of the blankets to dry off with, his lingering touches and prolonged stares that lasted just a bit too long. You didn’t mind it. He made being in this hellhole a decent experience. You’re going to die anyways, might as well enjoy the time you have left. 

Out of nowhere, Lukas’ yell of warning stirred everyone. 

“Lyra, watch out!” 

But it was too late. There was a long and colorful snake that had just sunk its teeth into her arm. Lukas immediately grabbed one of the short swords and cut it in half, ridding her of the animal… but the damage had already been done. 

“What was that thing?” She grabbed her arm in pain, writhing around on the ground after feeling the spread of its venom in her veins. It turned them dark, the webbing of black inky venom had already sunk too far into her system. 

“Lyra,” Rodey tried to still her movements, her screams of terror going in one ear and out the other. Lukas rummaged through the backpacks, along with you, to try and find some of that healing ointment that the sponsors had given you the day before. You’d found it at the bottom of the last pack, turning around quickly and trying to help her. 

“Hold her still,” Lukas told Rodey, opening the canister, and applying some of the medical treatment over the entry wound, but it didn’t do anything. She still shook like a leaf, and wasn’t stopping. 

You knelt down and grabbed one of the bandage rolls from the same pack, trying to tie off her arm and create a tourniquet from it. The venom didn’t spread as fast, but it was still going, slowly reaching the top of her arm as it crawled over every vein she had. She had stopped screaming, but took your arm with her other hand. She pulled your forwards, and your eyes widened momentarily in fear. 

“Take it off, please,” she cried, her voice now slightly hoarse from the screams. You shook your head, about to protest, but she nodded. “I’m one less person to kill. Take it off.”

You looked at Lukas and Rodey, and they looked upset, but didn’t tell you anything. They didn’t know what to say. They had been happy to have this girl as an ally, but this is the hunger games. All will die but one, and this is Lyra’s time.

You looked back to her, your eyes welling up with tears. With a heavy heart, you untied the bandaging, letting the venom spread quickly again. Her flailing movements and screaming returned, but you had to step back, turning away and ducking your head into Rodey’s shoulder to keep her out of your eyeline. Once again the screaming stopped, and you looked back… Lyra had a look of peace in her now still eyes. She was gone, and the cannon fired synonymously after. You didn’t stop crying, and neither Rodey nor Lukas said anything to you about it. You felt like it was you. You felt like you’d killed her… 

That’s the thing about mercy. It isn’t always about showing restraint, or holding back. Sometimes, it’s about giving in, and letting things take their course.

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 8

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2866

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Dean being a sweetheart, Dealing with emotional stuff.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

Dean, for the first three days, respected your need for space. But in the confined quarters, it was impossible to truly escape each other. The tension between you and Dean grew like a pressure cooker about to explode with each day you spent apart.

It was that fourth day while you were sitting at the kitchen table having coffee, your back toward the living room, that Dean decided he’d had enough. He set his coffee cup down with a thud on the table across from you before he slid into the seat.

He knew it would cause you to look up at him, which was why he’d done it. “Okay. I gave you three days. I’m tired of the elephant in the room. I’m tired of you avoiding me. Yeah, I do have a soulmate, but there’s no guarantee that soulmates find each other. Am I really that repulsive that you’d rather avoid me than us maybe having something together?” 

You blinked at him blankly, attempting to fully comprehend what he’d just said, and it threw you for a loop. He was far blunter than you were used to with him, at least on this topic. Then, you realized it was the things he hadn’t wanted to talk to you about that had helped you keep him at arm's length.

You took a sip of your coffee, then a slow, deep breath, trying to find your nerves, “You’re the furthest thing from repulsive, Dean. Hell, you’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. It’s hard to think you’d even want me since you still haven’t told me about your past,” you replied, and you had gotten quieter with each sentence. Your gaze even dropped to the liquid in your cup, feeling as though you were pushing him to talk about something he really didn’t want to share with you.

Dean was taken aback by your response, as it was not what he’d thought you’d bring up. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with more than you were already dealing with. I’m- I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“I know you said you couldn’t talk about it, and that I had to keep what you had told me a secret, but there’s so much you avoid, so… I don’t ask. You know everything about me and… I- I just feel like you don’t want me to know about you,” you managed to get out, barely, your voice now barely above a whisper.

He rubbed his hand down his face, leaning back in his seat. The atmosphere of the kitchen seemed tense, and it was getting uncomfortable for both of you. You couldn’t do more than glance up at him briefly before looking back down at your coffee, which was mostly gone now. Finishing it off, you got up and refilled your cup but stayed standing at the counter with your back to him.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay,” you told him in a sad, quiet tone.

Since he hadn’t responded, you headed to your room, coffee in hand, giving him the space of the rest of the house. You set your cup down on your nightstand, your gaze on the floor as you went back to your door to close it. Just as you went to push it shut, Dean’s hand was on the door, holding it open.

“I just didn’t want to put you in more danger than you were already in,” he told you quietly.

Slowly, you looked up at him and saw the worry in his eyes, “Probably can’t get much worse than being forced to hide out in this bunker for who knows how long,” you replied with a dry chuckle.

He managed an understanding smile, “You know, you’re probably right about that. Can I come in?” 

You bit your lip nervously but nodded, then went and sat on your bed, taking your coffee cup between your hands. Dean sat across from you on the edge of the bed. You attempted to gauge his mood by his demeanor again. He was leaning forward, his forearms resting on his legs, hands clasped between his knees while he stared at the floor. 

“Remember how I told you about that woman who had my name professionally tattooed on her? Well, she also had fake records. The name she gave me was the same as the one of my soulmate. It wasn’t until a couple years later that I found her real ID. Her name was Lisa. She even had a kid,” he began explaining, never moving from how he’d been sitting.

You stayed quiet, though, just listening. This was at least more details than he’d given you before, even if it wasn’t yet making much sense. You wanted to ask him questions but also didn’t want to interrupt.

“She used makeup to cover up her real soulmate's name. If I hadn’t found it when I did…” he shuddered slightly as he trailed off, “... she and I would be married right now. That’s the legal battle going on right now, trying to prove which one of the names on her is real and which one is the tattoo. My dad hired a detective and had her investigated. She’s working for the Vaught family.”

Your eyes went wide, and goosebumps ran down your body. You even opened your mouth to apologize but then quickly closed it. You hadn’t involved him in anything. He had been involved for a while now. 

Slowly, your mind began attempting to piece together bits and pieces of information that he’d given you, as well as the things from your parents’ letters. Your right hand instinctively went up and rubbed your collarbone where your soulmate’s name had begun appearing. You still hadn’t been able to make heads nor tails of the marks since they still didn’t look like anything, yet.

Just as Dean was about to open his mouth to continue, you asked, “What’s your soulmate’s name?” It came out quiet, blurted, but you needed to know. 

He sighed but didn’t look over at you, “I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he replied quietly, now turning and revealing the name on the front of his shoulder; it was the same as yours. 

Your name wasn’t common, but it wasn’t uncommon either. Seeing it on him, though, pulled at something deep inside of you. Even after he covered it back up with his shirt and looked back down at the floor. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” you asked nervously. You felt all those anxiety feelings rising through your body again.

Don’t hope, don’t hope, don’t hope…

“I was hoping you could heal first,” he sighed, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

The anger was beginning to fester within you at his lack of a straight answer. The cabin fever you’d been feeling wasn’t helping the situation either. You’d been through so much since you’d turned sixteen, and the things you’d discovered from your parents less than two months prior. Not to mention how most of the town treated you. It was like a pressure cooker that was about to blow it’s top.

Dean quickly turned to you, a worried look in his eyes, “Hey, it’s okay. I know you’re angry,” he began, holding his hands up in mock surrender, attempting to calm you down.

That alone would have been enough to anger you further, but instead, his words almost comforted you in a way. You wanted to be angry, at everything, but something about him was making it utterly difficult.

“I know you’re my soulmate. I’ve known since I was sixteen,” he finally told you quietly, still holding his hands up, and it looked like he was hoping it would help calm you.

If you hadn’t been so angry, it might have worked, but all it did was piss you off, and you snapped. “You’ve known this entire time, and you never said anything! You went off with some tramp and let this whole town treat me like I was a plague! Get out!” you yelled at him, pointing at the door.

It was far too much in your angered state and you had lashed out. All he did was sigh, hang his head, and left your room, closing the door behind him. You had no idea how deeply your words had cut him. You also had no idea how badly he was hurting due to you pushing him away. It wasn’t a rejection, as his name, so far, hadn’t appeared on anyone, yet. 

You spent the next almost hour basically having a tantrum like a pissed-off child before the sadness finally hit you. When it did, though, you curled up in your bed and sobbed. Everything hurt: your heart, your soul, even your body. Due to your sobbing, you didn’t hear your door open or close again. You didn’t hear his bare feet make their way across your bedroom and stop at the side of the bed your back was facing.

You did feel the blankets move and the bed dip as he slid behind you, then snuggled up against you, wrapping his arm around your waist. Him being this close while you felt this vulnerable only made you cry more, but you attempted to keep it silent. 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he began in a whisper, “Even when I was around Lisa, I could still feel you and what you were going through, at least a little. She’d always keep up the lie, though, whenever I asked if she was feeling that way. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

His words seemed to bring on more tears, but in a way, they were somewhat comforting, as was his closeness. You’d felt so alone for so long, and bottled it up, that now there was no holding back the damn of emotions that had broken through.

“After you turned sixteen and you didn’t seek me out, I thought maybe I was wrong. So, I left just after senior year and traveled. It wasn’t until after Sam started in college and found out what the authorities were trying to keep under wraps that he told me. It took him another couple of years to get enough information to do anything,” Dean explained, still in that soft whisper.

“Why does it all hurt so much?” you asked in between sobs.

Dean sighed, then gently rolled you onto your back. You tried to hide your face from him, not wanting him to see you cry, but he was gentle, wiping away your tears. “Sam explained it to me like this. When a soul is wounded, it’s like there’s this big empty spot on the inside. And that, being close to your soulmate helps it heal, but it can feel overwhelming and hurt, even physically,” he explained as he looked down and into your eyes, and for a moment, you thought you could see pain there.

“How do I make it stop?” you sniffled.

The way he looked at you at that moment could only be described as loving as his thumb brushed away a tear that slipped from the corner of your eye. Another mild jolt of pain throbbed in your chest, and you winced, grabbing your shirt where you felt it. 

He leaned a little closer, now almost as close as he had been, when he looked at your collarbone, “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

You wanted to, God, you wanted to, but you were terrified at the same time, “I’m scared,” you replied, nearly inaudibly.

“I’ll never hurt you, at least not on purpose,” he told you softly, giving you that sweet smirk, one that you loved to see on him, especially when it was directed at you. “Even with you being scared, do you trust me?” he asked again, searching your expression for some shred of hope.

You took a shaky breath and bit your lip nervously for a moment, trying not to wince at the mild pain throbbing in your chest. “Yes,” you whispered, sniffling one more time.

Dean slowly leaned closer to where there was almost no distance left between his lips and yours. His eyes never left yours. You weren’t sure if the throbbing in your chest was pain, or your heartbeat, or possibly a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Just as you brought your hand up and held the back of his that was cradling your cheek, his lips soothingly met yours.

It would have been wonderful if that just fixed everything you were feeling and made all the nightmares of reality nonexistent, but that wasn’t how reality worked. The throbbing in your chest did seem to fade, at least enough to make it bearable. Your collarbone, on the other hand, burned, causing you to wince and pull away.

“What?” Dean asked, confused.

“My… shoulder… it burns,” you said between grimaces.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion as he moved so he could get a better look. “Damnit,” he grumbled, seeing the red, irritated skin as more of your soulmate’s name was attempting to come through. It still didn’t look like anything yet, and now, it hurt.

He quickly got up, headed to the bathroom, then hurried back to you. He sat on the edge of the bed, opening up a tube of what you thought might be some sort of cream. It was cold against your skin and somewhat relieved the burning sensation.

“Sam said this might happen. You’re a true empath, Sweetheart,” he explained with a heavy sigh before looking into your eyes. When he saw how confused you were, it almost made him chuckle. “God, you really are adorable,” he smiled, brushing a few strands of your hair behind your ear.

The blush that crept into your cheeks and the pout of your lip did make him chuckle, though, “What’s an empath?” you asked, still pouting.

“It’s a special kind of person. You are capable of feeling people that aren’t your soulmate. The closer soulmates are to each other, the easier it is for them to feel what the other is. You, though, you can feel what anyone near you is going through or feeling. It’s stronger for those that you are close to,” he attempted to explain to you.

“So, what does that have to do with why my mark is burning?” you asked, still confused.

Dean thought for a moment, wanting to explain it in a way you could easily understand. “Because your soul is wounded like it is, because of what happened, the more your mark comes in, the more it will burn. You’re connected to those around you, not just to your soulmate. So, when you didn’t get your mark, and the town shunned you, it wounded your soul deeper than if you weren’t empathic.” He watched you, not only while he spoke but also afterward, hoping his words made sense. It was mostly how Sam had explained it to him.

The gears turned slowly in your mind as Dean’s words attempted to sink in. It was a lot to comprehend. You’d heard of empaths. Most of them were in professional fields, like the police, FBI, Therapists, and even Doctors. What he said at least made sense, but you still weren’t sure why you had to get stuck in the life you ended up in, as this just seemed like one more thing to make things worse for you.

“Why me?” you asked, feeling utterly miserable at the moment.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m not going anywhere, though. You don’t have to go through this alone. You’re not alone anymore,” he answered, caressing your cheek again with that sweet smile on his lips. 

You weren’t sure what came over you, but his words hit something deep inside. Sitting up, you flung your arms over and around his shoulders in a hug, which surprised him, but only briefly. He sighed contently, gently snaking his arms around your back and holding you close.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not wanting to let go of him.

It was hard to sort your thoughts, but at the moment, you at least felt a little better, even with the slight burning feeling on your collarbone. You pulled back just enough so that you could look into his eyes. Those wonderful emerald eyes that sparkled with his laughter and held the softest of gazes when he watched you.

You were debating kissing him when the alarm sounded from your closet, causing both you and Dean to look in that direction. Without thinking, you let go of Dean, moved across the bed, and were in the closet quicker than he was. 

As you slid into the seat, looking at the videos flashing with red borders, Dean leaned over you, his hands on the back of the chair. Three men were in your house, moving through the rooms. Your heart was pounding in your chest again as you looked up at Dean, then back at the monitors. One of the men was clearly Azazel, but you hadn’t seen the other two before.

“I need to call Jodi,” Dean said through a clenched jaw, pulling out his burner phone. “Jodi, he’s here.”

----------------------------------------- Chapter 9

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[mint-yooxgi]

{12} - Hotel California - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Based off of This ask and Hotel California by Eagles

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Wooyoung & Yeosang, slight Jongho & Mingi)

Words: 13,562

Warnings: Sexual tension, a whole lot of it. Mentions of violence, some insecurities. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: The song that Yeosang plays for the OC is from The Two Towers, and is the first 1:30 or so from The King of the Golden Hall. It’s the main Rohan melody found throughout the series. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the chapter, you should all know what and whom to expect for the next chapter *wink wonk* by the time you’re finished reading this. Hehehe, let me know your thoughts! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Main Story - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Mini Masterlist

The remainder of that same day is spent resting and catching up on sleep. That headache didn’t want to seem to break until late that same night, and once it did, the tremendous amount of relief you felt was insane. 

The guys all noticed, of course, immediately offering to take your pain away and heal your headache. Only, you refused, saying you probably just needed some sleep. You had too many things on your mind to think about, so you figure that that’s probably what all the stress had been from, anyways. Plus, you have the added fact about Miyeon and the danger she poses.

Now, you aren’t dumb. You figured that they would have many, many exes and past relationships given who, and what they are. If they didn’t have at least ten significant others in all of their long years of living, you would be extremely curious as to why not. Still, you never expected their latest ex to hate your guts, more than likely wanting to kill you in the most brutal ways she knows how.

What a sad life that must be, to not be able to move on after twenty long years, and recognize one’s own faults. Clearly, Miyeon is incapable of self-reflection, but then again, she’s probably incapable of realizing a lot a things about herself if that’s always been the way she’s treated them. She is nothing but a narcissist, seeking that validation through manipulation, and believing that she can do no wrong.

When the next day comes, you still find it difficult to get out of bed, except to do the basic things like eat and bathe yourself. All you want to do is rest, your mind exhausted from all of this new information presented to you in the past week alone.

The guys are good about it. Giving you your space when you need it, but still making sure to check in on you every now and then. You’re still a little colder to Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Jongho, though. A fact which the three know they all deserve, but still makes their hearts pang in their chests when it happens.

At least you never went back to ignoring them.

San, on the other hand, is constantly kissing up to you now. Every day, he’s making you your favourite meals, and showering you in praises and apologies. Granted, he didn’t surprise you as much as Jongho did when he originally voted ‘no’, but he did sound a bit hesitant to you when he said it, and he’s shown the greatest amount of remorse since the incident. The quickest, too. At least, in your opinion.

You’ve noticed a change within you, as well. The other four, certainly, you’ve grown closer to, but there’s a deeper understanding between you all now - a deeper trust. You even go so far as to begin smiling when you see one of them pop their head into your room, your eyes lighting up as they ask you how you’re feeling. Though, none have experienced quite the change as Yunho and Yeosang have.

If someone had told Yunho that you would be suddenly brushing up against his mind more often, let alone speaking to him through your connection over the next three days at the very start of your relationship - if you could have even called it that - he would have laughed in their face. Even now, on the fifth day after the mall incident, as you link your mind to his once more to show him an art meme you found that he might like, he cannot help but swoon. Finally, you’re opening up to him, just as he has always been ready and willing to open up to you.

He just wishes you’d come to see his art room, but he supposes that that’s all in due time. After all, good things come to those who wait.

Yeosang, on the other hand, is still one of the first ones to get you anything and everything you might need. He’s almost memorized your patterns, recognizing the familiar twitching of your lips when you’re starting to crave your favourite flavour of ice cream in the middle of the night, or even the slight trembling in your hands when you’re aching for another’s embrace.

One thing that they can both agree on, though, is how much more affectionate you are towards them. Even Mingi and Wooyoung have experienced the change, though you still keep a little bit of a closer eye on Wooyoung than the others. It saddens him, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re opening yourself up to him in the same ways the others have already gotten the privilege to experience.

At least he’s not like Hongjoong, Seonghwa, or Jongho for the moment.

Poor Jongho. The one male you had seemed to be the closest to is suddenly the least of your concern now. You used to spend hours with him in the library, either simply just sitting in one another’s company, or discussing some book one or the both of you have read with each other. Now, it’s like all of that progress means nothing, and he knows he only has himself to blame. He just wishes you would talk to him again, instead of giving him short, one word answers, or brushing off his inquires entirely whenever he sees you.

Luckily, with each day that passes, the three of them have slowly been making their way back into your good graces. By the time a week has passed after the mall incident, it’s almost back to what it was like before the argument, just not as intimate. At least you’ve told them that you’ve forgiven them at this point, sternly reminding them about what would happen if a situation like this should arise again.

Both San and Jongho cried at your vindication, and even Hongjoong got a little teary-eyed. Though, none felt their hearts swell with joy as much as the eldest did.

As soon as those words had left your lips, Seonghwa had fallen to his knees, soft cries of gratitude falling like mantras from his lips. It was then that he asked if he could embrace you. A first for the eldest and what you have so often experienced with him.

The moment the confirmation had escaped your lips, his arms were around you. One hand immediately came up to cradle the back of your head as he tucked your face into the side of his neck, while the other wrapped securely around your waist. You felt the tears he had so desperately been holding back finally fall. The tiny droplets began to hit your shoulder once more as he whispered his thanks into your ear, promising you that he would never let you down again.

You had returned the embrace then, softly carding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck while cooing comforting sentiments into his ear. Along with a joking, ‘you better not’, of course.

They had all chuckled at that, watching as you pulled away to stare deeply into Seonghwa’s eyes. An understanding had passed between you then, and you smiled. You actually smiled at him for the first time in what felt like ages.

All too soon, you were puling away, only to be asked by each of the other three if they could also embrace you.

You agreed, which could not have made any of them happier at that moment in time.

Currently, after a week and a day since the mall incident, you find yourself making your way towards the library, a bag held firmly in your hand. In all of the commotion and fallout of the past week, you have yet to open any of your new albums, or shelf your new books. Which is exactly what you’re going to do now.

Stepping into the library, you make your way over to your specific section, as you so lovingly call it, and place the bag onto the antique coffee table before you. 

Excitement thrums through your veins at the prospect of reorganizing your shelves after opening your new albums. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to do so, and you’ve found that it’s always been able to help calm you down; a relaxing way to take your mind off of things for an hour or more, depending on how many new items you have, and how quickly you work. You’re just glad that there’s ample shelf space for all of your things, you were starting to run out back in your old apartment.

Turning to the bag you’ve just placed on top of the table, you start to remove all of the items, spacing them out in neat little piles on top of the desk after sitting on the edge of the couch.

You don’t even hear the door nearest to you opening until you hear a fond chuckle from across the room. Looking up with wide eyes, you see Wooyoung leaning against the side of the frame.

“Want some company?” A small grin tugs at the corner of his mouth as his arms are crossed over his chest, mirroring the exact same position he was in when he asked you such a question for the very first time in the game room.

You cannot help but think back to that moment, a slight upturning of your lips as you do so. He looks much less nervous now than he did then.

“Sure.” You respond. “Though, I don’t know how entertaining this’ll be for you.”

Looks like you might have to tone down your reactions for certain albums when you open them, especially if you pull your bias. The last thing you want is another jealous demon to deal with for the moment. You giggle to yourself.

“Penny for your thoughts, Beautiful?” He quirks a brow as he walks over to you, sitting right next to you on the couch so that your knees are almost brushing.

The best part? You don’t move away.

So, you decide to tease him, a knowing grin tugging at your lips. “I’m just surprised you’re willingly ready to be made jealous.”

“I would never,” his jaw drops, hand coming up to cover his heart as if he’s personally been scandalized. Then, he’s nudging your knee with his own, soft smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t feel like you have to tone down your excitement for me.”

You shoot him an incredulous look, brow quirked and all.

“I want to know more about you.” The way he repeats the same words you said to him merely a week ago with such earnest reflected in his voice has your heart warming in your chest.

“Alright,” you meet his gaze, a softness shining there that he’s only ever dreamed of being on the receiving end before that makes his heart jump into his throat. In a good way, of course. Then, you’re shooting him a playful look, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Seeing you happy makes me happy, Gorgeous,” he replies, smiling wide as his eyes fall shut.

You smile back softly, “I appreciate that, Woo.”

Oh, if only you knew how that one simple little word makes his heart thunder in his chest. His head spins at the fact that you’ve just referred to him by one of his own nicknames, the ghost of your lips tingling against his cheek once more.

A shudder nearly runs down his spine. Now, if only he could have you moaning as such beneath him… Yet, he knows: all in due time.

“So,” he begins, shifting closer so that his thigh is now pressed right up against your own, “how do you usually go about this kind of thing?”

“Well, I don’t really have a particular order in terms of opening certain groups first,” you admit, reaching for one of the albums in front of you. “But, I do usually save the albums I’m most anticipating opening until last.”

Wooyoung nods, eyes eagerly watching as your hands unwrap the plastic from the colourful package held in your grip.

There was more than one reason Wooyoung wanted to join you today. Yes, he wanted to spend time with you, and he’s so glad that none of his brothers have decided to interrupt so far. However, he also wants to get more of an idea of how you think. What so many people do not realize, is that every action they make, every word they say, slowly gives away everything about them. All of their fantasies - all of their desires - are laid bare in the subtleties that make up who they are, and how they want to be treated.

He isn’t the master of seduction for nothing.

Every single action you make, every ministration against the packaging, he observes. Even the words you have just uttered ring through his ears as he does so. 

You must like to be built up, then. Teasing yourself until you’re finally able to find relief in what you crave most. A relief that Wooyoung is always more than ready and willing to give to you, in any and every way he knows how.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts, and staring at the delicate way your hands open each album, that he hardly registers that you’ve asked him a question.

“Sorry, Beautiful,” he grins sheepishly, “what was that?”

“I said,” you simply shoot him a playful side-eyed look, a chuckle falling from your lips in the next second, “any luck with finding Miyeon yet?”

“Not yet.” Wooyoung exhales a small sigh through his nose, lips tugging downwards in the corners. “We’re still trying to track her down, but she keeps moving from one place to the next before we can get to her.”

You nod your head in understanding. “I’m sure you’ll find her soon. I have faith in you.” You turn your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile causing your lips to quirk upwards reassuringly. “All of you.”

“Thank you, Beautiful.” Wooyoung cannot contain the pleased hum that builds in his throat. “That means a lot to me.”

Before he can stop himself, or lose the nerve for that matter, Wooyoung places a gentle hand onto your knee, giving it a light squeeze. Of course, he lets his touch linger, especially as he watches you place your own hand on top of his, giving him a soft squeeze back.

Oh, so badly does he want to let out a roar in happiness. You’re touching him. You’re actually touching him! And you’re not pulling away, or tensing beneath his grip. A fact of which only makes him more ecstatic for the moment, the pleasant thrum of his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

In the next moment, he’s shifting his gaze to the three opened albums you have stacked in a pile on the table, keeping his hand resting upon your knee all the while.

“Pull anything good so far?” Genuine curiosity is held in his voice as he asks this.

“So far, so good, but nothing monumental.” You smile back. “These three are only groups I listen to casually, anyways. Now, these on the other hand…” you trail off, motioning to the last five albums you have yet to open, “will be a different story.”

“Which one are you looking forward to most?” He looks over the five items spaced out before you on the table.

There seems to be three groups left, for there are two piles of two albums stacked together, while a singular album lays in between them. You reach for that one first.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” you shoot him a wink, and you feel him physically shiver with his leg still pressed firmly up against your own.

So, you like to tease, do you? Though, that fact isn’t all that surprising to him any more. He’s known that since the very beginning. It’s just different when you tease him now, for you’re no longer doing it unknowingly. At least, most of the time. Plus, there’s a greater significance to it now than there was when you were just doing it before just for fun. The fact that you want to tease him, to rile him up and make him go even crazier for you drives him insane. Always, in a good way.

Fuck, he can’t wait for the day when he can properly tease you back. In any and all the different ways he knows how. 

Though, that’s not including the times he teases you now. No. Wooyoung wants to be able to build you up, to have you aching for his touch in the best ways until you finally give in to him. He wants you to embrace every primal desire you’ve ever had, and experience a type of pleasure only he can provide for you. After all, he’d do anything for you, including letting you use him in any and every way you so desire. As long as it’s him you’re using, you could do whatever you want, and he would not complain.

“My word, she’s so beautiful,” your breathless voice draws him out of his much too vivid thoughts of laying you down on this couch and kissing you until you’re breathless and clinging on to him desperately, begging him for more.

Wooyoung blinks, eyes focussing on the album you seem to be flipping through at the moment. He takes the opportunity to lean further into you, resting his head on your shoulder as he gazes down at the pictures printed on the pages you keep looking at.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” You sigh wistfully, turning another page and admiring the photos there.

“Sure, she’s pretty,” Wooyoung shrugs, nonchalantly agreeing with your statement. Then, in the next second, he’s turning his head to stare intently at you, his eyes shining as his chin rests on your shoulder, “but I’ve seen prettier.”

“Psh, sure,” you chuckle, a playful roll of your eyes as you flip over another page. “Who could be prettier than Kang Seulgi?”

Wooyoung hums, his lips tugging upwards gently. “I’m looking at her right now.”

You wish you could deny the way that your heart positively flutters at his words, a heat rising to your cheeks fairly quickly in the next moment. From the way you can practically feel his cheeky smile boring a hole into the side of your face at the reaction you give him, you just know he’s heard your response loud and clear.

“I meant it in a gay way,” you mutter, slightly embarrassed for the moment.

“Oh?” Wooyoung quirks a brow, shifting his body so that he practically drapes himself over you, wrapping his arms around your torso and leaning further into you in the next second. His voice is a low drawl right by your ear as his breath tickles the skin of your neck. “Should I start getting jealous, then?”

At the way he can feel you shiver in his arms, a smug smirk is stretching across his features.

“Depends.” You hum, deciding to play along with him for now.

“On?” The grin that pulls onto his lips is nothing short of devious, loving the way you still have yet to pull away from his embrace.

“If you believe there’s really anything to get jealous over.” You shrug, managing to push him slightly off of you for the moment as you close the album and place it to the side.

You can feel the growl reverberate in his chest as you say this, the pleased sound caressing your ears softly. You chuckle, reaching for the next two albums by the same group.

Little do you know of how significant those words are to Wooyoung. If what he’s interpreting them to be is correct, you’re implying that you would still choose him over this female idol any day. Despite the attraction you may feel towards her, the attraction you feel towards him is stronger, so he has nothing to worry about. Besides, you two share a deeper connection. You always will.

The sound of your voice draws him back to the reality before him.

“Two bitches, two bitches, one Porsche,” you mutter, almost subconsciously to yourself as you unwrap the one album.

Wooyoung snorts, “please tell me that’s not actually how the song goes.”

“The demo did,” you laugh, right along with him. “No, they changed it to ‘Two Baddies’, which, in my opinion, doesn’t make it any better.”

“Is the song any good?” He asks innocently.

“Subjective.” You tilt your head, tossing the wrappings into the bag with the others as you place the album on the table in front of you, flipping to where all the inclusions are. “My bias wrecker looks great this comeback, though- holy fuck!”

The gasp that escapes your mouth as you flip the first photocard around is nothing short of shocked. The way he can see your eyes widen, lips parting in awe has a pout tugging at his features. However, it’s the way he can hear you hum in content, nodding your head in the next moment that has the growl of discontent finally escaping him.

“Who is that?” His eyes narrow at the one photocard in your hand, nearly flashing black as he sees the second photocard displaying the same exact male on it.

“Mmmh,” it’s like you don’t even recognize Wooyoung is even there anymore as your hooded eyes stare at the two cards held in your hands, “Yuta. What a fine ass man.”

Wooyoung’s lips pull back against his teeth in a snarl as he releases you from his hold. The worst part is, you don’t even seem to be registering you’re saying these things. The response is so natural from you, almost as if it’s been ingrained in your mind since the very beginning, that Wooyoung hates every second of it. Why can’t you react like that for him? Why can’t he be the one who has you practically drooling at the mere thought of him?

“What’s so special about him, anyways?” He grumbles, crossing his arms against his chest as he slouches in his spot.

“So, it’s only the males I find attractive that you’ll get jealous over?” You quirk a teasing brow as you place the cards back into the album. “Double standard, much.”

“I’ll get jealous over anybody you find attractive that’s not me,” he tells you, a slight rumble to his voice as he watches you flip through the rest of the inclusions with a soft smile on your face.

“Even your brothers?” You quirk a brow knowingly as you close the album, placing it onto the pile with the others in the next second.

He grins, “especially my brothers.”

“It’s a shame, then,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “You won’t have a reason to be jealous much longer.”

“Oh?” His heart begins racing in his chest, excitement beginning to pour through his veins as he leans closer into you, eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “Why is that, Beautiful?”

“Because, Woo,” the way you drawl out his name sends a pleasant shiver down his spine, “I find you extremely attractive, so you have no reason to be jealous over someone who doesn’t even know I exist.”

The growl of pleasure that wants to escape him gets caught in his throat, doing whatever he can to stifle his immense satisfaction for the moment. He can tell you have more to say, and like hell is he going to stop you, especially right now.

“You should know, though, that yes, I can still find people attractive, but looks aren’t what matter the most to me.” You shake your head. “In fact, I don’t really care about how someone looks. It’s their attitude and personality that really attracts me to someone in the end. And Sunshine?” You meet his gaze and his breath hitches in his throat at what he sees swirling behind your eyes. “You’re stunning.”

This time, he doesn’t even try to muffle his pleased snarl, eyes swirling with that all too familiar blackness as his hands find purchase on your waist, instantly pulling you on top of his lap so that your legs rest on either side of him. His grip is desperate, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he pulls you in closer, staring deeply into your gaze before his own is flicking to your lips once more.

Only, the way your breath hitches in your throat, your whole body tensing as you do so has him freezing in his spot. He can feel how hesitant your touch is as your hands steady yourself on his shoulders, purposely holding yourself away from him as far as you can for the moment.

A soft breath escapes him, immediately releasing his grip on your thighs in the next moment. His eyes droop, averting his gaze as he squeezes his hands into fists beside him on the couch to prevent himself from shaking until the need to touch you, the need to pull you closer into him until there’s no space between your bodies left, dissipates.

“Sorry, Gorgeous,” he swallows thickly, clearing his throat in the next second. “I got a little too carried away.”

Seonghwa is right. You really do make it so difficult to control themselves around you, in any and every way possible. Looks like he owes the eldest an apology.

You move off of him carefully, sitting back onto the couch beside him with just a tad more space between the two of you than before. A fact which makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

Fuck. Why can’t he seem to do anything right? Three steps forwards, one step back.

“It’s okay,” that all too familiar heat rises to your face once more as you reach for another album, attempting to control the trembling of your own hands. “I’m just-“ you let out a soft sigh, “I’m just not used to it.”

Wooyoung blinks, completely caught off guard by your admission. “Surely, you’ve been desired before.”

It’s not a question, but a statement that falls from his lips.

You shoot him a side-eyed glance, hands momentarily pausing in unwrapping the plastic from the album you’re currently holding. Then, you’re letting out a small sigh through your nose, a slight shake to your head. “Not in the way you all want me.”

For a brief moment, that conversation with Seonghwa all those weeks ago flashes through your mind.

“You lie,” there’s no malice in his voice when he says this, only pure and honest disbelief. “Impossible.”

When you remain silent, he shifts closer to you. Though, he’s cautious, not wanting to scare you away again.

“Have you-“ his voice is gentle, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. “Have you ever-“

“If you’re asking about whether or not I’ve had sex before, the answer is yes.” You reply, keeping your gaze locked on the album in your hands as you cling to it for dear life. “Now, whether it’s been satisfactory or not… well, that’s a different story.”

“What imbecile didn’t take the time to learn how to please you properly?” He nearly scoffs.

“You’d be surprised,” you huff, flipping open your album quite pointedly as if you’re recalling the memory right now.

He nearly growls in response until an idea pops into his mind.

“Well, you know what they say,” he hums, a smug look taking over his features as he leans into you, breath once more tickling the shell of your ear as his voice drops, “it takes a true King to know how to please his Goddess.”

The way his words have your breath hitching in your throat has another content rumble building in his chest, eyes swirling with that all too familiar blackness. The way he can practically smell your scent spiking in arousal has his eyelids practically fluttering shut, the ghost of a moan on his lips.

What Wooyoung wouldn’t give to completely ravish you right now. To pull you into his arms and beg you to let him please you in any and every way he knows how. A single touch isn’t enough. A small taste won’t be able to sate him. He wants it all, - your everything - and he wants it bad.

“Tell me, Gorgeous,” he shifts his head ever so sightly, his nose brushing along the column of your neck and causing a shiver to run down your spine. “When was the last time someone had you trembling from their touch? When was the last time someone worshipped you like you’ve always deserved?”

Your heart skips a beat, voice catching in your throat as your lips part in response.

“Tell me,” he hums, placing a tender kiss right over your racing pulse beneath the skin of your neck, and absolutely revelling in the way a shuddering gasp leaves your lips. “Has no one ever taken the time to drown you in ecstasy, focussing solely on your own pleasure, and the intimacy it brings from knowing that they are the only one to touch you like this? To please you in any and every way they know how, making you come over, and over, and over again for them and them alone?”

“Wooyoung,” your voice is breathless, an airy whimper of his name that he’s long since desperately craved to hear fall from your lips. Hearing it now sends a shiver down his spine, his cock twitching excitedly beneath his slacks.

“Because I would do it all in a heartbeat,” his voice is but a low growl on his lips, shifting once more so that he can nip at the skin of your ear, “and I would never expect anything in return.”

Your eyelids flutter closed, your breathing coming in shallow breaths as you attempt to control yourself for the time being. No one has ever said anything remotely like this to you before, and meant it so sincerely. A fact which just makes heat flood straight to your core, liquid fire burning in your veins. The fact that you believe him only adds to the amount of anticipation growing within you at this very moment.

Much to your disappointment, or perhaps relief, he’s pulling away from you while another pleased rumble escapes his chest.

“How about we save that for later, though,” he trails his fingers down your spine, caressing you tenderly as shivers follow in his wake. “Why don’t we start with you telling me about everything that you like? I cannot please you to the best of my abilities if you do not tell me how.”

Though, even without you saying anything, he can already tell the type of effect his words have had on you. You must absolutely adore when your lover is vocal, then. In every way possible, too - dirty talk, moans, groans, growls. Wooyoung is willing to bet you love praise, too, and heartfelt confessions during the moment, especially if your reactions now are anything to go by.

Still, anything and everything there is to know about you, he wants to find out. What better way, too, than to ask?

A moment later and you’re inhaling a shaky breath as your eyelids flutter opened once more. You take a few calming breaths to steady yourself, noticing how he continues to trail his fingers along the back of your spine comfortingly, the touch both soothing and sensual at the same time.

“No one’s-“ you swallow the dryness in your throat, “no one’s ever asked me that before.” 

The admission feels like a condemnation as you clasp your hands in front of yourself while leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. An image he recognizes from last week as he watches you curl in on yourself in embarrassment.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever cared enough to ask,” you say, your thumbs nervously rubbing over one another.

Immediately, his entire demeanour is shifting and the tension around the both of you lessons. Concern is on his features as his one hand stills on your back, the other reaching over to gently cup you chin using the tips of his fingers, guiding your gaze to meet his. The sincerity and love that you can see shining there has your breath hitching in your throat once more.

“I do.” His voice is firm as he stares deeply into your eyes. “I care. More than you’ll ever know.”

You smile faintly, heart racing in your chest at his words as you feel your entire body relax in his hold. Your eyes briefly glance down to his lips before a small, albeit hesitant, smirk is pulling at your own. “I didn’t think I’d need to explain the female gaze to you."

“The only female’s gaze who is important to me right now is your own, Beautiful.” He breathes out, his skin singing beneath his fingertips where his touches your own. “I want to know everything about you. I want to know what makes that pretty little mind of yours tick. I want to know your greatest desires, and I want to be the one to be able to fulfill them all.” 

He swallows, licking his lips in the next moment as his voice drops, his eyes hooding over as his grip tightens against your back. “I want to know every single little thing that drives you crazy, and then I want to drown you in the deepest of pleasures so that you can feel my love, my passion for you in everything that I do. Every touch, every whisper is for you, and you alone. Please, never forget that.”

“Wooyoung,” again, the way you whisper his name, so tenderly as your one hand comes up to cup his cheek, has his eyes fluttering shut, a shaky breath escaping him as he leans into your touch. “I believe you.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s sure that you can feel it pulsing beneath your fingertips as he watches you begin to lean in. His eyes glance to your lips once more just as he knows yours do the same to his, his tongue darting out to wet them in the next second.

This is everything he’s ever wanted, and so much more. The only thing that would make this moment sweeter is hearing you say how badly you want to kiss him, just as he does to you right now.

Only, before the question of permission can escape his lips, a harsh clearing of somebody’s throat draws both of your attention to the side.

You practically fling yourself away from Wooyoung, and to the opposite end of the couch as you both turn to see Jongho standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No fucking in the library.” His voice is low, accusatory as he glares at his brother across from him.

“I wasn’t-“ you splutter, eyes wide in shock, “we weren’t-“

“Aw, come on, Jongie,” Wooyoung whines teasingly, “you ruin all the fun.”

Internally, though, Wooyoung is more than irritated with the younger male right now. He was this close to finally kissing you after simply dreaming about it for so long, and then Jongho had to go and ruin it for him. Ugh, Wooyoung could just scream.

From the pointed glare the younger sends him, too, a smug upturn of his lips as he takes a seat in the empty armchair across form the two of you, Wooyoung knows that Jongho’s doing this on purpose.

You little fucking shit. Wooyoung glares at him from across the way.

It’s not my fault you’re sitting in the place that I frequent the most. Jongho retorts, flipping open the book held in his hands quite exaggeratedly in the next second and pulling out his bookmark before beginning to read.

Wooyoung is so caught up in cussing his brother out mentally that he doesn’t even register that you’ve managed to recover much quicker than he has. In the next moment, an excited ‘oh’ is escaping you as you finally pull the photocards out of the other album you had unwrapped a little while ago.

Immediately, Jongho is glancing at you from over his book with a fond look in his eyes. “Who’d you get?”

“Jaehyun.” You smile to yourself, placing the inclusions all back into the album before reaching for the final two on the table.

Little do you notice the way both males seem to stiffen as soon as the admission is out of your mouth.

You mean that same bastard that broke her heart? Wooyoung nearly growls audibly.

At least we know which one he is now. Jongho adds.

“Who’s Jaehyun?” Before he can stop himself, the words are out of Wooyoung’s lips.

“Isn’t that just the million dollar question right there?” You sigh, shaking your head. “He’s just an idol I enjoy.”

“Enjoy how?” Jongho quirks his brow at you, doing his best to hide the snarl that pulls at his lips behind his raised book.

“In the same ways I enjoy the other idols I like, you weirdo,” you shoot him a suspicious look. “What are you expecting me to say? That I saw him every weekend for funsies until he broke my heart, and now I’m stuck in a sad bit of unrequited love pining after an idol I can never have?”

The snarls both men release are probably the most feral you have ever heard from them.

“Woah, okay,” you raise your hands, a semi-amused chuckle falling from your lips. “Reminded me not to joke about the idols I like around you guys anymore.” Then, more to yourself, “and here I thought the reaction to Kai and Taemin was bad.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flash at the mention of those two dancers, but specifically Taemin. There you go again, probably thinking about him when Wooyoung is right there, ready and willing to dance for you at a moment’s notice. Not to mention how he literally just admitted to being open to pleasing you whenever and wherever you wanted him to.

“We’re just…” Jongho searches for the right word, “concerned, given the fact that you told Yeosang and I that he broke your heart without a care.”

“Wait,” you blink at him, brow furrowing in the next second, “you thought I was serious about that? Did you also believe me when I said Samantha pushed me off the swings when we were five, and I scraped my knee?”

Jongho shoots you a bit of an irritated look.

“Darling, I wasn’t being serious.” You chuckle, and the use of the pet name has him instantly relaxing in his seat, unlike a certain demon beside you who only pouts at the fact that your attention is no longer on him for the moment.

“We just worry about you, Angel.” Wooyoung replies, a gentle tone to his voice as he looks towards you. “Knowing that you’ve been hurt before drives us insane because we haven’t been there to protect you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Woo. I really do,” you shoot him a tender smile as you reach for the second last album you have yet to open. “But, you all won’t be able to protect me from everything. No matter how badly you may want to.”

“We can try.” Jongho mutters, flipping the page of his book rather pointedly.

You let out an amused huff, shaking your head in the next moment as a silence settles over the three of you. It’s neither tense, nor awkward as you finish opening the final two albums on the table, a smile painting your features as you manage to pull a few of your biases for Stray Kids, sending a quick pic to your friend as you’ve also pulled one of hers.

Immediately, she’s texting you back, saying she’ll trade you her Lee Know for the Bang Chan you’ve pulled. Of course, you immediately agree, a smile tugging at your lips as she sends you a meme imitating how you usually react to seeing Minho in general.

“Thighs, huh?” Wooyoung’s voice is teasing, the same lilt to his tone as there was when he inquired about a certain knife kink you may or may not have.

At this, Jongho shoots a quick look towards his brother from overtop of his book, sliding slightly downwards in his seat to extend his own legs outwards, emphasizing the thickness of his thighs as he spreads them slightly apart. He nearly smirks when Wooyoung sends him a mental image of that brief flash of your phone screen with a meme of a gold star with ‘goddamn, your thighs are just *positive grunting*’ printed on it beneath a message of your friend saying ‘you when you see Minho’s thighs’.

“Female gaze, remember?” You decide to tease back, a quirk to your brow as you quickly lock your phone before standing back to your feet. Not before sparing a quick glance at the way Jongho is now sitting, of course. In the next second, you’re turning to your shelves. “Now, the fun part!”

The next hour or so is spent integrating your new books and albums onto your shelves, fitting them in nicely where there’s space and moving some things around to categorize them how you like. The two males still keep you company, chatting with you idly to pass the time.

Wooyoung did offer to help at first, but you brushed him off, saying you were okay for now. You admitted you don’t really like other people touching your albums when you shift, because that way if you drop them, or damage them in any way, you have no one but yourself to blame. That is, until near the end of everything, when they hear you swear under your breath.

“Shit,” you sigh, looking back at the coffee table where the last few albums rest as you purposely hold the space open on the shelf for them. You turn to look at the two men already staring at you. “Can one of you-“ you immediately stop, recalling the way your sweater was torn in two by two other eager demons ready and willing to lend a helping hand. “Sunshine, can you please hand me those albums on the table?”

“Of course I can, Gorgeous!” Immediately, he’s hopping up from his spot, a large smile on his face as he reaches for the albums.

“Remember,” your smile is nothing short of threatening, “if you damage them in any way, I will damage you.”

Wooyoung falters for only a moment as he picks up the albums from the table. Then, a sultry grin is pulling at his lips at he walks over to you. 

“Promise?” His voice is full of hope, his eyebrows raising at you expectantly.

“Wooyoung!” You gasp, clearly scandalized as your mouth parts in shock, hitting his arm lightly with your free hand as he comes to stand beside you. “I’m starting to think you’re a masochist.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jongho snorts from his seat, turning another page of his book as his brother shoots him a pointed look from over his shoulder.

Your eyes widen in understanding, a chuckle falling from your lips as you take the albums from Wooyoung’s hand to place them on the shelf before you. A moment later, you take a step back, admiring your work.

“Looks wonderful, Darling,” Jongho appears on your opposite side, hand finding purchase on your lower back as he looks over your shelves with you.

The best part is, you don’t move away, or brush off his touch like the last few times he had attempted to initiate contact with you.

You smile faintly, admiring the detailing of the library once more. Your heart swells in your chest as those all too familiar emotions of awe and gratitude flood your veins, eyes shining as they roam over the shelves of your collection.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you hear a voice from the doorway to your left. “Looks like you’ve just finished.”

Turning your head, you see both Mingi and Yeosang standing there with grins on their faces.

“I did,” you confirm, stepping back towards the table to grab the bag with all your garbage in it to clean it up, only to see it already gone.

“Great!” Mingi grins, sharing a look between his two other brothers standing just off to your right. “Yeosang and I have something to show you.”

“You do?” You blink in mild shock. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, My Dear,” Yeosang smiles at you, extending his hand out to you in invitation.

Instantly, you close the distance between the both of you, placing your hand in his. Yeosang wastes no time in interlocking your fingers together, leading you out of the library in the next second with the others following close behind.

Slowly, he leads you through the hallways and back to your own room. Only, you don’t recall closing your door when you left. Which is when you realize that the surprise must be inside, especially given the way Mingi giddily smiles at you when you spare him a glance over your shoulder.

You pause just outside the threshold, anticipation and excitement shining in both Yeosang’s and Mingi’s eyes as they watch you carefully. Both Jongho and Wooyoung stand just behind, also eager to see your reaction to their brother’s gifts. After all, your happiness brings them no greater sense of joy, or pride, especially when they are the cause of it.

“Go on, Starlight,” Mingi encourages softly with a nod of his head. “We’re right here.”

Carefully, you extend your free hand out to turn the handle, entering your room shortly after that. As soon as you cross the threshold, a gasp is escaping your lips.

“No fucking way,” your jaw drops, along with your hold on Yeosang’s hand as you see the giant Snorlax beanbag chair sitting off to the side, a black fuzzy lump curled up right in the centre of it.

The first step you take closer to the cushion is synonymous with the little furry lump’s raise of it’s head, and you cannot help but let your jaw drop. In the next second, an excited squeal is escaping your lips as you cover your mouth with both hands.

“Is that-“ you turn to look at both Mingi and Yeosang, eyes shining in awe. “Is that Kuroo?”

Mingi nods, eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiles widely at you.

At the soft mewl you hear, you turn your head just in time to see the little black kitten with the golden eyes jump off of the giant Snorlax and trot over to you. Happily, he rubs against your leg, beginning to purr quite loudly as you pick him up and hold him in your arms.

“Oh, yes, hello there,” you chuckle as Kuroo rubs his face all along your jaw and neck, purring all the while. “I’m happy to see you, too, Tetsurou.”

At the lick he gives your cheek, you giggle, and it’s one of the most melodic sounds the four men have had the pleasure of hearing, soft smiles adorning their faces as they take in the sight before them. What makes it even better is that in the next moment, you’re turning back around to face them, that look of wonder and awe directed directly at them.

“Which one of you-“ you briefly glance between Mingi and Yeosang.

“I did,” Mingi smiles once more, feeling his heart race as the bright expression is mirrored on your own face, directed straight at him. The fact that he feels you tenderly reach out with your mind to his own in this moment only makes it all the more sweeter.

“And the Snorlax?” You turn to look towards the shorter male standing right beside his brother knowingly.

“Was me, Dearest,” Yeosang nods in confirmation, a loving smile tugging at his features as you send one back. A fact which has Yeosang’s heart racing erratically in his chest.

You walk up to them, a warmth blooming in your chest as you take the time to meet each of their gazes.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, holding Kuroo securely in your one arm as you reach out to place a kiss onto Mingi’s cheek before turning to Yeosang and placing a lingering kiss onto his forehead. “The both of you.”

Mingi’s ears turn bright red, a giddy chuckle escaping him as he brings his one hand up to cover the cheek you’ve just graced with your lips. His fingers press lightly into his tingling skin, heart swelling with love for you and only you. He smiles wide, eyes crinkling naturally in response.

“Of course, Starlight,” his voice is barely above a whisper as he responds to you.

“We’re just glad you like the surprises we got for you,” Yeosang replies with a smile of his own, cheeks warming as he clasps his hands in front of himself almost bashfully. 

He can feel his forehead tingling from where you’ve kissed him, and he couldn’t help but to notice how he’s the only one to have ever been graced such an intimacy with you. Sure, three of his other brothers have all received kisses on the cheek from you, but he’s the only one who has had your lips grace his forehead. Besides, if Yeosang didn’t know any better, he would swear that your lips lingered against his skin a little longer than the rest, too.

“I love them,” you reply earnestly, scratching happily at Kuroo’s chin as he continues to purr loudly in your arms. “Now, could one of you hold him? There’s an urgent matter I need to attend to.”

“Of course, Dearest,” Yeosang is already moving to take Kuroo from you without a second thought.

“Thank you,” you grin while handing the kitten over to Yeosang. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

All of the boys share a brief, curious glance with one another as they watch you walk right up to the Snorlax bean bag chair before flopping face first into it with your arms spread wide.

You let out a blissful sigh. “Yeah, this is the life.”

None of them can help the fond chuckles that escape them, projecting this happy memory immediately to the others who are more than willing to share in your joy, even if they’re not in the room. The way your legs seem to be kicking slightly in earnest behind you has warmth flooding their veins, jaws twinging from smiling so widely.

“I think I’m going to have a nap,” you call from over your shoulder, snuggling deeper into the plush comfort of the Snorlax beneath you. “This is way too comfortable to be legal.”

“We’re glad you’re enjoying yourself, Dearest,” you hear Yeosang reply from behind you.

“We’ll let you rest, then,” Jongho says, and you can hear the soft smile in his voice as they begin to exit your room.

Just as Mingi goes to shut your door like you normally do, your voice calling out to him stops him right in his tracks.

“You can leave the door open, Min,” you turn to look at him from over your shoulder and notice the way he freezes with his hand still holding the knob. You smile softly at him. “I don’t mind.”

Mingi nods gently back in acknowledgement, his eyes shining with something you can’t quite understand from this far away. He leaves only a moment later, but not before wishing you sweet dreams, an adoring smile on his features.

Little do you realize the significance of what leaving your door open for them means. The trust alone makes their hearts flutter in their chests, warmth flooding their veins as content rumbles build beneath the surface. 

The opening of your door feels like the opening of your heart. To all of them. A fact of which they could not be more grateful for.

Turning back around, you adjust your position on the large plush beneath you, cradling your head beneath your arms as you let out a blissful sigh. Cuddling deeper into the cushion, you close your eyes, letting the darkness consume your thoughts and mind.

About an hour and a half later, your eyes are fluttering open, sleep still clinging to the corners. You yawn, stretching your limbs outwards like a cat would as you rub your neck. Next time, you should definitely grab a pillow or something for extra support.

Shifting slightly, you feel a small warmth at your side that mewls when you move.

A smile tugs at your features as you turn yourself around, allowing Kuroo to immediately crawl onto your chest and curl up into a little ball there. You fingers gently stroke through his fur, giving him soft, gentle scratches as he begins to purr once more. A few minutes later, and he’s fallen back asleep, perfectly content to lay on your chest.

Being stuck beneath a cat, or any animal like this, is never a bad thing. As your fingers continue to mindlessly pet Kuroo, it allows you time to think. All of the events from the past week and a day flood your mind, and that familiar warmth blossoms in your chest.

Despite the minor setback you had, and the major one with Miyeon, you do trust them. More than that, you appreciate their honesty. For, to you, it not only demonstrates the trust that they have in you, but also their respect.

Taking a deep breath in to steel your nerves, you decide it’s time to extend that same curtesy.

You drop your void.

It’s Yunho that notices first. Is everything alright, Petal?

Everything’s fine, you don’t need to panic. You reassure all of them. Don’t be popping up in my room suddenly, either.

Aw, darn, you hear Wooyoung jokingly complain. There go my plans for the evening.

Did you sleep well, Starlight? It’s Mingi’s voice that echoes through your head next, and you cannot help but smile softly, his concern easing some of the tension you can already feel building within.

I did. You hum. Thank you, Min.

You cannot see him, but you just know he’s smiling at you right now.

There’s, uh, actually something I wanted to share with you all. You begin, somewhat nervously. But I want you all to promise me not to come running. It’s nothing bad, I swear. I just don’t want to be crowded, and I’ve already received the comfort I needed at the time. I just- they can all hear you sigh, I just want you all to understand some things about me that I think you all deserve to know.

Did you kill someone? Perhaps it’s just you, but San sounds just a little too hopeful in his inquiry.

What? No! You immediately respond, and you notice how your shoulders relax from the distraction. 

You smile softly to yourself as Kuroo stretches, curling deeper into your chest.

Whatever it is you would like to tell us, My Love, know that we are all ears. Hongjoong’s gentle tone resounds in your head, and you can feel the way he reaches out to you to caress your mind tenderly.

Thank you, Joongie, you reply, subconsciously leaning into his phantom touch.

Hongjoong nearly drops the dagger he had been sharpening in his hands. This is the first time you’ve ever referred to him with an affectionate name, and he wants to revel in it. His heart thunders, for more than one reason now.

One of you already knows what I’m about to share with you all, you begin and Seonghwa can already sense where this is going, but I need you all to promise me not to come running.

There’s a brief moment where you can practically feel them all agreeing with one another before one of them is speaking to you in your mind.

We promise, My Love. Hongjoong informs you, a lingering feeling tugging at the back of his mind as to what you might be about to share with them.

Okay. Good. You nod to yourself before continuing. You’ve all been honest with me this past week, and I want to extend that same curtesy to you. I am sharing this memory with you all because I trust you, and I feel comfortable enough to do so. It will hopefully shed a little bit of light on why things have been a little rough to start on my end.

You pause, and they all wait anxiously for your thoughts to return. They can feel the nervousness pouring off of you in waves, the uncertainty in your emotions clear as day. This is a big part of yourself you’re sharing with them, after all. The vulnerability alone is astounding, and each male recognizes that, even before you continue.

Whenever you’re ready, Dearest. Yeosang’s soft voice assures you, feeling him also reach out to caress you tenderly with his mind in the next second.

You lean into his touch more than you realize.

Immediately, all eight of them are plunged into your memory, unfamiliar to all, except two.

“Do you want to know why I reacted the way I did when that happened?” You seem to be sitting inside of Seonghwa’s tailor shop, said man sitting across from you with your sweater held firmly in his hands.

That’s when they all realize: this is what transpired between the both of you that day all those weeks ago. You are finally sharing this memory with them, a fact which could not make them happier as Seonghwa’s own words about this not being his memory to share with them rings through their ears.

Intently, they all listen, hearing your words wash over them as you explain your feelings to the eldest in your memories. Each cannot help the way their breaths hitch at hearing that you actually enjoyed Seonghwa’s ministrations that first day all those weeks ago. A fact which still takes the eldest’s breath away hearing it for the nth time in your shared memories.

The echoes of your conversation from earlier begin to flit through Wooyoung’s mind as he listens to you admit to everything in your memory. No wonder you were so tense when he pulled you into his lap today. No wonder you said what you did.

If each of them could, they would go back in time to comfort you right then and there, pulling you softly into their embrace and whispering sweet nothings into your ears. They would tell you that you have nothing to worry about. That they do want you. You, and only you. Yet, from where this is going, they know Seonghwa’s already beat them to it.

Mingi and San both drop the glasses in their hands as they hear you utter words that could not be more untrue in this memory of yours.

“It’s because I’m not- I’m not beautiful.”

Wooyoung falls to his knees in his room, mirrored exactly by how Yeosang collapses into a chair in his own at this admission. Yunho, who had been working on painting a bouquet of your favourite flowers, drops his brush, managing to spill his paint water all over the floor without even realizing. The book Jongho had gone back to reading tumbles to the floor, his whole body frozen in shock as your words reverberate through him. 

The two eldest, who had both been expecting such an admission, are still not prepared for how harshly their hearts squeeze in their chests at hearing you say such an untrue thing once more in your memory.

Unbeknownst to you, tears spring to each male’s eyes, falling freely down their faces as your emotions within the memory wash over them.

The last glimpse they see of the memory is Seonghwa’s look of complete and utter bewilderment before he’s hissing out, “That is the filthiest lie that has ever fallen from your lips and you know it.”

A fact of which they all agree upon.

You end the memory there, choosing not to share with the seven men the words of comfort Seonghwa had given to you at the time. A sort of silence settles over all of you as you let the memory sink in. That is, until you’re breaking it.

Well, now you all know. Your voice is calmer than you feel, inhaling a shaky breath as you hold onto Kuroo’s soft body for support. Do with that what you will.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve closed your mind off to them once more.

San’s reaction is immediate, the sentiment echoed by nearly all of his brothers as he prepares himself for what he’s about to do.

I need to go to her. He’s about to transport to your room despite the promise they all made not to. Until Yeosang is appearing beside him and holding him back. Let me go! She needs me!

We all promised her we wouldn’t disturb her after this. Mingi reminds him mentally, even if he is also having a hard time not running to you immediately and pulling you into his arms, comforting every negative thought in that beautiful head of yours until they are no more.

This is not just difficult for you, San. Seonghwa reminds him.

Says you. Jongho is having a hard time keeping his breathing under control as more tears escape his eyes. You were there. You gave her comfort at the time, didn’t you?

Of course I did! Seonghwa’s response is immediate. Do you think that little of me, brother, that I would let the love of our lives believe such filthy lies about herself?

We never doubted your integrity, Hwa. Yunho wipes at his tears before moving to clean up the spilt water on there ground. Any one of us would have comforted her were we in that situation.

Did anyone else know? Yeosang finally manages to calm San down enough to sit him in a chair, the two clinging to each other practically for dear life as another sob escapes the younger’s throat.

A moment of silence as most of them deny knowing. All, except one.

Captain? It’s Mingi’s soft voice that asks.

I did. Hongjoong admits, staring intently at the dagger held in his hand. I overheard them talking that day, and concealed myself so Hwa wouldn’t know I was there.

When did you get there? Seonghwa asks, a slight frown pulling at his features. Only Hongjoong could sneak up on him like that. No wonder the younger entered the shop at the point he did, acting the way he did.

Shortly after she admitted that she enjoyed what had transpired between the both of you. Hongjoong tells them, twirling the blade slowly in his grip.

And neither of you told us? It’s Jongho who says it, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

It was not our memory to share. Seonghwa repeats his same words from days earlier.

We could have went to her. Wooyoung attempts to reason. We could have done something to lesson those worries in her mind.

I think we already have. Yeosang breathes, stroking a comforting hand through San’s hair as the younger demon finally calms down enough to speak.

She trusted us enough to share such emotions with us. San says, and they can hear the lingering tears still in his voice. She chose to share that memory with us.

All we can do now going forward is make sure that she never thinks - she never believes - such things to be true about herself. Yunho replies, eyes catching on the now dried out flower crown he has hanging on display at the side of his art room.

I’m sure whatever Seonghwa told her was what we all would have said in the moment. Yeosang adds.

It was. Hongjoong confirms. She believed it, too.

How do you know? San questions, genuine curiosity in his inquiry.

We felt it. Seonghwa answers for him. At least, I know I did.

A moment of silence as they all wipe at their lingering tears.

What are we going to do now? Mingi leans against the wall, supporting himself as he runs a hand through his hair.

We’re going to do what we promised her we would, and give her as much time and space she needs until she wants us to go to her, or she comes to one of us. Hongjoong responds. Until that time, just go back to whatever you were doing. Or do whatever you can to pass the time and take your mind off of things for now.

Echoes of agreement sound throughout each other’s minds, each male going off to do their own things to channel their feelings for the moment.

Immediately, Yunho is grabbing a fresh canvas, setting the one with the bouquet of your favourite flowers aside for the moment. If there’s one thing he knows he can do right now, is express himself through his art, and he knows exactly what he’s going to paint. 

Grabbing a pencil to begin outlining the figure, a single tear escapes his eye once more.

Artistry be damned, Yunho is going to paint the most beautiful portrait of his life right now, and he doesn’t care if it takes him weeks to do it. By the time he’s done, he’ll have painted the exact way he sees you. A fact which he hopes will make you never question your unfathomable beauty again.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa loses himself in his shop. He grabs a fresh stencil, outlining a design for a new dress, this one even more extravagant than the rest. A brief thought crosses his mind, but he quickly shakes it away. He doesn’t think you’re ready for that type of gift from him, yet. Though, perhaps he’ll still start a set for you. After all, he only wants you to feel as beautiful as he’s always known you are.

By the time he’s done designing and fashioning you an entire outfit like this, you will finally be able to realize the royalty that you are. By the time he’s finished, he’ll make sure you both look and feel like a Queen.

Jongho, on the other hand, begins browsing through the stacks of poetry in the library. He’s always been better with words on paper than with speaking them, anyways. Besides, he’s more of a listener, and he loves listening to you, but perhaps this time, it’s better if you listen to what he has to say.

Pulling some books off of the shelf, Jongho is quick to grab a highlighter and a pen. Once he’s done, he will have compiled an entire library’s worth of quotes from his favourite poems and poets about how he feels about you, and of beauty, life, and love. He will quote them to you as you read them, repeating every annotation he adds in order for you to understand what you mean to him.

There is no greater part of himself that he can give to you than the pieces of his soul scattered throughout his favourite pieces of literature for you to find. For you, and only you.

San, Mingi, and Hongjoong all do what they normally do when they need to relieve some tension from their bodies. They spar, practice, and train. 

Hongjoong focusses on throwing his knives, hitting each target and pretending that they are every single person who has ever made you feel less about yourself, or insignificant in some way. He imagines skinning everyone alive who has ever told you such lies and made you believe you are not the most beautiful thing to have ever walked this earth in decades. He only wishes he could kill all of your insecurities in the same ways.

Mingi and San spar with each other, a tangle of emotions and limbs as they clash their weapons against one another. Each male has tears still lining their eyes, not caring how rough or irrational they’re being with their attacks right now. The only thing on their minds is how best to comfort you when you call; how best to protect your mind from such horrid thoughts taking control again.

There are tears in Wooyoung’s eyes as he vents his frustrations out while in the dance studio, the speakers playing some of his favourite songs. Choreographies he’s made for you are second nature to him at this point as he runs through the dances again, and again, and again until he collapses onto the ground in a pile of sweat and tears. The sound of the music barely muffles his sobs, his mind reeling with both your shared memory and what happened with you earlier in the day.

Wooyoung doesn’t regret what he said or did earlier, no. He only wishes he knew. He wishes he could have controlled himself better, or even tried to brush against your mind to see if you would be open to sharing your thoughts in the moment. 

He just doesn’t understand how you can’t see how precious you are to him. To all of them. He feels as if they’ve failed you, that he has failed you by not making you see how utterly stunning you are to him - to all of them. He’ll just have to find a way to show you; to make you believe you are both incredibly special and beautiful for the rest of your life.

At the same time, Yeosang finds himself in the music room, picking up the instrument that he loves so dearly. He spends a minute tuning it, making sure everything is properly in its place before bringing the small piece of carved wood and strings up to his shoulder. Raising the bow in the next second, he begins to paint a melody, letting the music guide him through his emotions.

The notes soon begin to flow together, blending into a hauntingly beautiful symphony that cascades around the room as his eyes flutter shut. He’s always had a way of getting lost in the music he creates, and when it now concerns you - the emotions you shared, the memory, and everything that you make him feel, Yeosang cannot help but to let the sombre notes ring out.

The song is hauntingly beautiful, reflecting every emotion that he’s feeling right now for you. The melody itself is you, embodied within his music - how he sees you, how you make him feel, what you do to him. Everything that you mean to him is put into the way he draws his bow across the strings, his fingers pressing into the neck of the violin as he plays this song for you.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s started, but by the time he hears footsteps approaching the room, the sun is beginning to set behind him. The warm hues of light filter through the large windows as he rounds out the melody, heartbeat racing erratically as he recognizes those soft footfalls to be yours, drawing closer and closer to the music room with each step.

His back is turned to you when you reach the open doorway, and he can feel your gaze staring intently at him as he lets the last note ring out through the air. Slowly, he lowers the instrument to his side, turning to face you in the next moment.

The moment his eyes meet yours, your breath hitches in your throat. The tender love and affection you can see shining there sets your heart racing. Not only that, but the clear concern, and empathy you can see lingering there, too, has a warmth spreading through your entire body.

You smile at him softly, an expression which he returns almost immediately.

“You play beautifully.” You comment, voice a bit airy as your breath escapes you in awe.

That single expression - and admission - is enough to knock the wind right out of his lungs.

“Thank you.” His voice is small, heart catching in his throat as you two stare at one another.

“How long have you been playing for?” There’s an excitement in your voice that he can hear you trying to contain for the moment. A fact which just makes him smile, palms suddenly becoming sweaty at you interest in his other passion.

“A millennia or so,” he admits, running his thumb lovingly over a string as he holds the violin at his side. “Give or take a few centuries.”

“Wow,” your eyes go wide, swallowing the sudden dryness in your throat. “Can I-“ you nervously shift from foot to foot, averting your gaze so sweetly. “May I watch you play?”

Yeosang nearly collapses on the spot. This is everything he’s always wanted, and so much more.

He clears his throat, a soft smile gracing his features as he meets your gaze, “I would be honoured.”

Slowly, carefully, he walks over to your form still standing in the doorway. Extending his free hand out to you in offering, he gently guides you into the room. Your touch, placed so delicately on top of his own, sends a pleasant shiver up his spine, his thumb brushing over the skin on the back of your hand.

“I, uh-“ he clears his throat, helping you sit down on the piano bench at the side of the room, “I actually have something that I would like to play for you. Would that be okay?”

Immediately, you nod your head, eyes lighting up as a smile adorns your features. “I would be honoured.”

It’s the way you repeat his very own words back to him, combined with the way you’re looking at him right now that has a feeling unlike any other spreading throughout his body. It’s a pleasant feeling, yes, but there’s also a lingering sense of nervousness that Yeosang has not felt when he’s played in years.

He says nothing, opting to place a lingering kiss onto your forehead instead before stepping away from you and taking his place once more in the centre of the room. The way he feels you brushing against his mind has him immediately latching onto that feeling, solidifying that connection so that you both won’t be disturbed by the others.

This moment is for the two of you, and the two of you only. Nothing will change that.

With the connection open like this, Yeosang is privy to all of your thoughts and emotions. He can sense the excitement strumming through your blood, making your pulse race beneath your delicate skin. He can feel the anticipation lingering in your mind, curious to hear the song that he wants to play for you. His only hope is that you like it, and that he can do such a song, given it’s meaning to you, justice.

He raises his instrument, bow at the ready, as he shoots you a final smile. A soft one being sent back from you almost instantly.

Taking a deep breath, Yeosang begins to play.

As soon as you hear the first notes echoing around the room, your whole body straightens in your spot. Your breath hitches in your throat, heart leaping in your chest as tears spring to your eyes. Immediately, your one hand comes up to cover your mouth while the other grasps at the jewel shining around your neck.

The beautiful sound of the melody of Rohan fills the air, flooding your senses and comforting you like a warm blanket on a cold day. Your absolute favourite violin melody.

You can feel your entire body trembling as the first of your tears begin to trail down your cheeks, your hands never leaving their positions for even a second. Chills wrack your body as goosebumps form over your skin, the meaning and significance of such a song washing over you in this very moment.

With each rise and fall of the notes, your breath hitches, sitting frozen to your spot as you watch Yeosang lose himself to the melody, his eyes having long since fallen shut.

It isn’t a very long song by any means, the simple melody only lasting a minute, maybe a minute and a half at most. However, the fact that he learned this for you, that he is playing this for you because he wants to, not because you asked him to, or he felt the need to, has your heart swelling in your chest. 

More tears trail silently down your cheeks as the final notes ring out in the air between you. You wipe at your eyes, chest shaking as you inhale a breath, your emotions overwhelming you.

Every thought, every feeling, Yeosang understands. His mind is still connected to yours, so every fleeting emotion you felt during his performance, he felt, too. A fact which has his own heart thundering away in his chest as he’s over come by your awe, your gratitude, your wonder, your fondness, but more than all of that, a single emotion he’s never experienced from you before. An emotion that he doesn’t want to assume, or feel for too long, as he doesn’t want to get his hopes up before the time is due.

Wordlessly, you stand to your feet, drying your eyes with the back of your hands. You swallow the lump in your throat, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

“Yeosang,” the soft call of his name from your lips is like the gentlest of breezes caressing his skin after a long summer’s day. You begin to step towards him slowly. “Did you-“

You can hardly form the words, but he already knows exactly what you want to say. Even if you both already know the answer, you still want to hear him say it. You need to hear him say it.

“I did.” He breathes, allowing his arms to fall to his sides, his one hand holding both his violin and bow. “I learnt it for you.” A brief pause as he swallows. “I learned them all for you.”

All of your favourite songs. He taught himself all of your favourite songs on the violin for you.

You can hear your heartbeat echoing in your ears as you come to stand in front of him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. A movement, which you notice, that he catches.

Softly, your one hand comes up to caress the side of his face, eyes shining with all of the unspoken words you wish to convey. Not only that, but there’s such adoration and fondness shining there, that he cannot help but stare into them. 

He leans into your touch, raising his free hand to gently place it over your own.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, caressing his cheek softly with your thumb. “Yeosang, thank you.”

It’s one of the greatest, most meaningful gifts you could ever give me.

His heart skips a beat in his chest, eyelids fluttering shut as he revels in both your touch, and your praise. Anything for you, Dearest.

Your lips part, glancing down at his own as you subconsciously step closer into him.

“Can I-“ your breath catches in your throat, hardly able to get the proper words out. “May I-“

“Yes,” Yeosang’s eyes are flinging open, a desperation you’ve never seen before shining within as he hears you pose the question in your mind. “Please, Dearest. Kiss me.”

Your lips are on his without another thought, your one hand moving to tangle in his hair as the other continues to cradle the side of his face tenderly in your palm. Without another thought, you deepen the kiss, pulling him in closer as he gently cradles the back of your head with his one hand, his opposite arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.

Yeosang cannot help but let the pleased rumble that builds in his chest escape him as he feels you tug him closer into you. This is everything that he could have ever asked for, and so much more, especially when he hears the small whine escape your throat as he pulls away, teasingly tugging your lower lip between his teeth as he does so.

His eyes fall shut once more as you both lean your heads forward to rest against each other. Nothing can take this moment away from him, right here, right now, with you. He revels in the feeling of your hands against his skin, his lips still tingling with the ghost of yours as he attempts to catch his breath, along with you.

“Dearest,” his one hand tightens its hold on you as he pulls you impossibly closer, overcome by his own emotions for the moment as his lips tug upwards in a brilliant smile. “You are my entire world. There is nothing that I would never do for you. I am so in love with you, I fear I lack the words to describe such strong emotions. You are so unbelievable beautiful, kind, intelligent, and unquestionably perfect in every way. Please, never forget that.”

“Yeosang,” you breathe out his name once more, pulling away just enough to stare deeply into his eyes as a tender smile tugs at your features. A brief pause, until you’re uttering the words that have his heart racing once more in his chest, “I believe you.”

[saturnine-saturneight]

OC Questionnaire Tag

Tagged by @gioiaalbanoart [here], @the-golden-comet [here] [here] and [here], @rotting-moon-writes [here] and probably more that I'm missing! I am not on top of my activity tab. At all.

My questions:

What would you do if your enemy asked for help?

Would you ask your enemy for help?

Do you act on impulse, or do you think before you act?

What is your happiest memory?

What do you wish to achieve?

How far will you go to reach your goals?

What never fails to make you laugh?

How can you tell if you’ll get along with someone?

Do you prefer sweet, savory, sour, or salty snacks?

What was your favorite childhood toy?

What has been your worst injury?

Where do you go when you need to think?

Doing this for Nat and Ron.

1. What would you do if your enemy asked for help?

Nat: "Laugh in their face about it. Or - wait, no. How exploitable is the situation, exactly?"

Ron: "Question the fuck out of the whole thing. I mean, probably a trap, right? But if they're sincere, I dunno. Depends on the enemy? I'm trying to come up with people I'd actually consider that and I'm kinda coming up empty, though."

2. Would you ask your enemy for help?

Nat: "Not over my dead body. I solve my own goddamn problems, I don't need that kind of help."

Ron: "Is this a hypothetical where they're, like, the only person who can help me? Then yeah dude, probably. I'd have to figure out what they could want from me in return that I can give without getting tangled in anything."

3. Do you act on impulse, or do you think before you act?

Nat: "I think before I act, of course. I'm a creature of intellect. I plan." [They don't.]

Ron: "Way more often on impulse than I'd like, that's for sure." [He's also wrong about this.]

4. What is your happiest memory?

Nat: "I'll pass on this question. Those memories are mine, thank you very much." [They're thinking hard, but they're coming up empty.] "Oh. Being picked out by Bishop. But you can see how that went for me."

Ron: "I dunno, nothing really sticks out. I like the days best where nothing happens and we're just hanging out. With most of the rest of the happy memories, they usually involve escaping by the skin of my goddamn teeth from something and being happy I get to live another day, lol." [Please don't say lol out loud, Ron.] "Man, that night that we decided to hit the bricks and run away together was really cool, though. Just the three of us, right? Me, Teo, and - y'know." [He rubs the back of his neck.]

5. What do you wish to achieve?

Nat: "I just need to make one good contribution to the field of blood flowers. I need to leave my mark before I die, and if that doesn't work out, then I need somebody to take my field notes and publish them for me posthumously."

Ron: "I don't know, man. I don't think I'm living the kind of life where you achieve shit! More of an accomplishing kind of deal, you know? Let me use that in a sentence: Nat and me are accomplishes in crime :P"

Nat: "That was terrible."

Ron: "You don't fucking appreciate me."

6. How far will you go to reach your goals?

Nat: "Don't ask me that. You aren't going to like the answer."

Ron: "Depends on the goal? I like ferretting out solutions to shit, but I'm not super keen on putting myself in danger."

7. What never fails to make you laugh?

Nat: "Someone tripping over something. Gets me every time."

Ron: "People-watching and talking shit with Nat."

8. How can you tell if you'll get along with someone?

Nat: "When that somebody isn't incredibly useless, I will generally be fine with them." [Nat doesn't get along with other people in general.]

Ron: "If they're not immediately trying to kill me?" [Even then he'll consider it.]

9. Do you prefer sweet, savory, sour, or salty snacks?

Nat: "I don't snack an awful lot. When I do, it's usually salty, though. I drink more water than the average person, so I need to mind my salt intake."

Ron: "Sour all the way, fuck yeah. You know those super long rolled up candy snake things with the fizzy powder? Those are the shit."

10. What was your favorite childhood toy?

Nat: "Ugh, I'm not sure. A doll, probably? Who gives a damn." [Nat doesn't remember the majority of their childhood.]

Ron: "Stones? We used to play with stones a lot. You know, skipping them, doing board games on the ground, stuff like that."

11. What has been your worst injury?

Nat: "Getting the entirety of my shoulder degloved, I would say. Does the word degloving apply to body parts that aren't hands? If it doesn't, then it should."

Ron: "The eye thing." [Which he doesn't want to talk about.]

12. Where do you go when you need to think?

Nat: "Into my field notebook or my notes app on my phone, generally. I like to write things out and see how I feel."

Ron: "Rooftops? Road trips too. Somewhere quiet."

Bonus questions for you:

If you had to pick an item of clothing or an accessory to wear for the rest of your life, what would it be?

If you were forced to forget one memory, what would you choose?

What is a positive thing your worst enemy would say about you?

(Re)Tagging gently:

@paeliae-occasionally @rotting-moon-writes @marlowethelibrarian @tragedycoded @noblebs

@writingrosesonneptune @davycoquette @the-golden-comet @gioiaalbanoart @chauceryfairytales + open

Feel free to do any of these, none of these, whatever you like.