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zepskies · 3 days ago

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And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk.

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor.

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.”

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely.

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad.

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

“Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #lovely review!! 💖💖 (always with you)#a line and a half feedback #ESC-verse

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starfishstark · 2 days ago

Note

frank with someone who's very independent but actually pretty anxious inside? a person who can talk and appear pretty confident but really is super shy and quiet if you got to know her really. I just feel like he's pick up in that so early, doing chores for you he knows you don't like to do. AND when he finally gets you in bed and sees how shy you are he's shocked at the difference

OH. EM. GEEEEEEEE.

girl the way i could talk about this for hours im literally on my phone and im about to spit out all my headcanons on this (probably 700+ words on this, eyeballing)

if ur here for smut i have it bolded where it starts from

we all know, no shit, frank has UNHEALTHY habits. like man will rely on the fucking force and will power to get through his day, but the second it’s anyone else? it’s all of a sudden “nah, you knew you were hurting urself and you let it slide? nah you don’t hurt someone i love.” dhhdjeuxhdj man just fuck me on the wall don’t you

and i’m assuming like this is a reader who knows how to cope with that anxiety, just getting through her day and pulling through till she can curl up next to him at the end of the night, wanting sleep so she can just shut everything out for a second till the next day

NOW ME PERSONALLY. THIS FITS ME SO WELL. everyone assumes im an extrovert bc of how much i like to talk to people and openly try new things, BUTTTT if you were really close to me, you’d know how much i’d like to step back and let someone else take the wheel, how much i’d CRAVE it.

i’d be friending all night and day for a chance to just let someone control me (frank castle, baby, WHERE YOU ATTTT)

i think frank would clock you out so GODDAMN QUICK. in his life? false walls, fake personalities, they don’t work out. he’s gotta know who’s who at the very instant he meets them.

see you may think you’re masking your anxiety pretty well, or that you’re hiding this shyness great with conversation and such, but he notices. maybe it’s the way you tug on your sleeve, play with your rings, sway back and forth in a comforting rhythm just waiting to get by yourself again.

and here is our conundrum- frank castle knows you.

he all of a sudden knows the big ol secret that you’ve been covering for a while, because what the fuck? being vulnerable? huh? what’s that?

and it just shoots up from there, everytime you’re around him before you start dating, he starts doing little things to ease your anxiety.

maybe you’re getting food with your friends, he guides you in with the rest of the group, gets a table and gets everyone situated, and all of a sudden he’s telling you about this amazing dish on the menu that you’ll like, so you don’t have to worry about ordering. your fav drink? already memorized for last time. what? you need to book a ride back home? tf he just standing there for, “c’mon little lady, i gotchu covered.”

it’s so fucking pleasing to be around, relieving to experience, and just so perfect that you don’t notice he’s doing it on purpose, for you.

by the time you start dating, there’s so much trust built upon that foundation— yes, you can get bold and sassy time to time, but he knows at the end of the day, you want to be held. you want to just be held so tight like the rest of the world would fall apart if you didn’t, you want to feel like every seam is about to start floating apart if he doesn’t get those huge arms around you right there and then, squeezing like a weighted blanket, like a safe haven in the midst of everything

(i’m so fucking single someone hold me)

any time he’d notice your anxiety tics, like your hands kneading themselves in your lap, all of a sudden observing the lights in the middle of a conversation, oh he’s step right in, getting close to your ear so you could feel his presence around, so you could correlate the moment you felt safe and maybe trick your brain into giving into the warmth js for a second if he could help

“smthn the matter? talk to me hun”

right, but you being you, you get all people pleasing, lighting up your face with that years-of-practice smile and answering brightly enough that it tricks most people

frank being the only exception, taking your answer if your in public and reapproaching alone, or if it’s in public and it’s someone else bothering you, oh he’s be so quick to pluck you out of that place like a daisy.

already planning getting your favorite drink and someone to sit and talk so you don’t feel like you wasted a day, tf was that supposed to mean anyways, wasting a day? with a face like that? ain’t a day wasted when he woke up next to that face resting next to him.

if you’re the person to feel anxiety from just a messy house, he wouldn’t even complain. by the time you got home, the dishes are already out of the sink and arranged

the counters decluttered, and at least the bed is made. it puts your mind to ease when you don’t have to do it after your day, able to just toe your shoes off and run for a hot warm shower and then get started on dinner

if you didn’t want to make dinner, he’s already tying his apron or calling up take out (where tf does he get his money from? ion kno)

if ur like me, you like to make dinner in a clean kitchen bc u can play music, dance around and get stuff chopped up, cooked up, smelling good and tasting even better and it’s a control that seems small, but it just lets you…quiet. it’s a process but it’s not tedious, it’s healing, yknow.

he’s come up behind you, those large hands on your hips (fucking veiny, large, calloused hands on your hips, fingers splayed with and across the skin, the balm to your jittery energy, the still you need to stop moving so much, the need for your desires, god, i could write headcanons about those hands itself)

anyways. he’s deeply inhaling with his head crooked down to rest on your shoulder while he peers into whatever you were making, listening attentively, letting you get into the whole works of it.

you babble mindlessly while you cook, here and there breaking into dance from the music playing, and frank all but indulges you, letting you have your little bubble in this home, if not here then where?

ok, shut up starry, she came here for the fun stuff, stop projecting ur domestics canons onto them

(cri)

ladies and gentlemen of the jury, i plead guilty. pls have frank castle fuck me. matt is my lawyer he’s a very good one, tell em matt tell em how much i need frankie to bend me over

(matt sighs from the table: this is a parking ticket.)

now before yall got intimate for the first time, he knows you’re a tease, it’s an easy joke that spills out, oh yeah you’ve observed it people love to gaffaw at those kinda jokes, and you love to please some people.

and even with him, the stupidest things, and you’re a tease about it.

you’re kissing maybe, or maybe you just feel the energy, and you’re already yapping off going on and diffusing tension building inside you, it’s not anxiety but you can’t quite pinprick it yet. he makes you feel alive, but it’s new and you try to rid of it

oh but he gets your quiet real quick doesn’t he. all it takes is a “look at me, don’t hide. let me see your eyes.”

FUCK. GODDAMMIT. HOLY MAMA HAVE MY BABIES.

eye contact is SO HARD when you’re strung up, the thought of someone looking into you seeing you when you’re not your perfect self, it’s horrifying. yet he loves you so; maybe even more when that smug smile rests at his lips, pulling you by the chin back in for a smile.

yall haven’t even taken your clothes off yet, oh he’s gonna get a kick outta this

and we all know we’d already be wet as a slip n slide at this point, but he’s a gentlemen so he takes his sweet ol time with foreplay, lips on your skin while he unhooks your bra with one hand (my favorite party trick you geezer, js for me?) and all of a sudden you’re huffing and soft pants when his hands grasp at your chest, squeezing, with those hands, rough and yet measured delicately, oh he knows how to string you apart like that, you’re not moaning yet, but it takes you by surprise, your breaths are ticking up at the end, you like this so damn much

but frank is nothing if not a clever bastard, he makes you say it. “u like that? cmon, say it, hun. tell me to keep going, tell me you like that.”

yessir yessir yessir. god you can’t even look him in the eyes, mesmerized by the way everything feels that you trying to tuck yourself into him, wanting everything, wanting closeness, wanting him.

you’d end up murmuring something out, and he’d respond that he could hear you actually, insist on the fact (except he could hear the change in your breath from at ease to anxious? sure.)

he wouldn’t stop pressing against you, a soft roll of his hips before you could even start your second attempt at the sentence, effectively shutting you up and going “m cmon, lemme hear you.”

he’s not talking about you talking anymore

franks not stopping till you’re practically whimpering that it feels good, that he should keep going, shaking like a leaf, so he shushes you up, making quick work of the clothes, and kissing you brainless

“mm so quiet hunny? where’d my big-talking girl go, huh?”

MY GIRL 😫

(i have issues i know pls move along)

now he’s got you on your back, or pressed against the headboard, anywhere where he pries your legs apart, a kiss to your soft inner thighs as a thanks, one hand splayed across your hip and the other trying to work you open and loosen you up.

your eyes are skirting around, going here and there and trying to find a place to rest, practically blaring in your head DO NOT look down there; do NOT look up at him; Do NOT look at those damn muscle chiseled shoulders; the LAMP. yes. the lamp, very sexy, just focus on the lamp.

aw he’s having none of that, two fingers deep inside of you, not yet touching your sensitive soft clit, the sounds lewd and slick. knuckles deep, hitting places u physically couldn’t with his thicker longer fingers, grinning softly at your hesitance of where to look. that damn smile is what got you into this mess in the first place

“hun, look, look at me, ok? nah nunna that thinking nonsense, just look at me…n feel—yeah, you like that? right there? good girl, lemme hear you.”

you’re trembling, you’re gone coming after all that, eyes catching his and struggling still, but it’s his girls first time with a man good as him, he’s gotta let it slide. (oh he’s just a sucker for you)

once he’s successfully got you coming the first time, he’s gone. driven mad. you got this sheer coat of sweat painting your skin like a painting, eyes twinkling while they look up at him with expectations that he’s going to more than fulfill, hands propping herself up while he slides a pillow under her hips, so damn vulnerable and soft and fucking willing for him, willing to put up with his bullshit and his paranoia, trusting him and letting him control the moment, letting him soothe you, your need, it’s all driving him mad.

MADLY IN LOVE MWAHHAHAHAHAH (i am so sorry everyone i am not a serious person)

he knows you’re more sensitive cause you just came, and every stretch, every touch, feels like bliss exploding across your skin. it makes you so damn beautiful in his eyes

your hands are so small on him, anchoring onto his bicep or his shoulders, finding some place to hold onto while he fucking rails you into that bed

you know what getting hit by a freight train is like? me neither, but franks hotter than one anyways so who tf cares.

he’s got you gasping. hes got you there.

and all that sass, the attitude, teasing you gave him? worth every damn second of this. of this nervous shy girl that he knows js what to do with

make a (consensual) mess outta her

if you thought you’re getting away with only cumming once, well. it’s a good think he doesn’t want you to think in the first place, so you just lay back and let him take of it, why don’t ya?

ok back to my wholesome thoughts. we going aftercare with this one

ok anyways else a little sassy after sex like they’re making up for how dumb they were during it

(everyone boos at me. matt murdock in the back raises his hand and nods. “she’s right” he says. thank you matt)

so he’s cleaning you up and teasing you about what a mess it is down there and ur like “well who’s fault is that?”

and he grins, pressing just a little harder into that mound and rendering you useless for a minute, till you’re back again and going at him and he’s just smiling bc his girl is back. sassy, attitude, he loves it all. (especially when you’re as nervous as a mouse under him, but two sides to every coin type shi, yknow?)

warm bath depending on how boneless you are, still talking some crap against him while he picks you up from the bed like a bag of grapes, carrying you to the bath, (you’re still going on by the way)

it’s so heartwarming, just the way you got back up, he loves it. he loves you.

yeah, he loves you, alright.

and he gets u sushi. lotta sushi required for aftercare. or whatever the fuck you prefer. fufu? shi there’s gotta be a place in all of new york still open, and there’s gotta be some poor door dasher still ready to drive it over. italian? why didn’t u say so, the aprons coming out again.

anyways. cuddles. u get it i don’t gotta say more i’ve said enough.

i feel like deadpool with the amount of talking i just did. if i yap this much again, someone PLS say “starry, stfu” and get me outta my funk PLS

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #starry talks

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overrboarrd · 9 hours ago

Text

sanctuary [4]: vendettas

firefighter!roman reigns x azure clarke [oc]

warnings: bodily injury,slight angst,

word count: 5.1k

a/n: ik it took me forever y'all, so so srry. but on a good note, i'm pretty much done with my classes so updates should come more frequently. currently waiting on my new laptop to get here, but other than that we're back to our regularly scheduled sunday programming! also, i've been debating on whether or not to include visuals in the chapters, so y'all let me know if that's something y'all are interested in! anyways, love y'all down, and happy reading!

June, 2014.

The night was thick with the scent of summer rain, though the downpour had passed hours ago. Roman sat in the driver’s seat of his old black pickup truck, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The faint hum of Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven spilled from the speakers, and in the back seat, Dean sprawled out, cracking open his third beer of the night.

“Man, this song still hits,” Dean slurred, bobbing his head to the beat. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t.”

Roman shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re drunk, Dean. I don’t think you’re in any position to judge music right now.”

“Whatever, man.” Dean raised his can in mock defiance. “Seth, back me up here.”

Seth, riding shotgun, chuckled lightly but didn’t respond. His mind seemed elsewhere as he tapped at his phone, brow furrowed. Roman glanced at him, noting the tension radiating off him.

“You good?” Roman asked, his tone casual but concerned.

Seth hesitated, then shoved his phone into his pocket. “Yeah. Just… residency’s been kicking my ass. You know how it is.”

Roman didn’t press further, though he noticed Seth’s hands fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. It wasn’t like Seth to be this on edge. He was the golden boy of their group, always level-headed and a step ahead of everyone else.

Dean let out a laugh from the back seat. “Residency? Pfft. Sounds like a fancy excuse to be a buzzkill.”

Before Seth could retort, flashing red and blue lights filled the cabin. The faint whoop of a police siren followed, and Roman’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, straightening up and stashing his beer can under the seat.

Roman sighed, easing the truck to the side of the road. “Y’all just… don’t say anything,” he said, his voice steady.

The officer approached, flashlight cutting through the darkness. Roman rolled down his window, keeping his hands visible on the steering wheel.

“Evenin’, officer,” he said calmly.

“Evening,” the officer replied, his voice firm. “License and registration.”

Roman handed over his ID, and the officer’s beam of light swept across the cabin, pausing briefly on Dean in the back seat. The smell of alcohol was faint but present.

“Been drinking tonight?” the officer asked.

“No, sir,” Roman answered. “Not me.”

The officer’s flashlight lingered on Seth, who shifted in his seat, then returned to Roman. “Step out of the vehicle.”

Roman obeyed, sighing and stepping out into the damp night air. The officer motioned him to the side as another patrol car pulled up. Dean and Seth were ordered out of the truck, and Roman’s unease deepened when one of the officers started searching the vehicle.

Moments later, the cop emerged holding a small plastic bag containing four small orange pills.

“Care to explain this?”

Azure sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the melodies of Chaka Khan and boxes that seemed to multiply the more she unpacked. The room was slowly transforming into a semblance of home. With her tired arms resting on her knees, she stared at the box labeled ‘living room’, realizing she’d been zoning out for the last five minutes. A nagging energy had been lodged in the back of her mind all day—an energy that, she had to admit, felt a lot like the pull of Roman Reigns.

She and Roman had been texting throughout the week, usually about the football season or updates about work. It was casual—light banter, half-serious game predictions, and questions about how things at the hospital and fire station were going. Shaking her head at herself, she decided to grab her phone from the kitchen island, checking for messages and reminders of football games she’d half-promised her dad to watch. As if on cue, her screen lit up with a text from Roman.

Roman: We’re watching the game at Jimmy and Naomi’s place Sunday at 2. Could use someone to defend that sorry ass team of yours.

A soft laugh escaped her as she read his text. The cookout had been unexpected, bringing a warm, easy comfort between them. A small smile played on her lips as she realized how quickly they’d slipped into a friendly rhythm, perhaps a bit too comfortable for her own good.

The thought of being around him again—and his family—felt exciting, though she tried to shake the feeling away. She typed out a quick reply.

Azure: I’ll be there. Someone has to bring sense to that family of yours. Except Audrey, of course.

She barely had time to put her phone back on the counter before it buzzed again. Roman was quick with his replies, and it was clear he enjoyed this back-and-forth as much as she did.

Roman: Ouch. Guess I walked into that one. You betting on the Lions?

Azure: Please, I’m not THAT hopeful. I just want them to play like they know what they’re doing.

Roman: Fair. If they don’t show up, maybe you can jump ship and root for my team?

Azure: Never. You’re stuck with that 49ers disaster on your own.

Roman: You got me. But I respect Lions fans. It hasn't been y'all's worst year, I'll admit that.

Azure grinned, pleased at his response. She leaned against the counter, the flutter in her chest catching her off guard every time her phone lit up with his name, and she found herself looking forward to their exchanges in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Azure: What got you into football? Can’t say it’s not an obvious firefighter hobby.

She hit send and waited, her fingers tapping the side of her phone case. Roman always replied quickly, but this time, the seconds stretched into a minute, then two. She frowned at her phone, wondering if she’d somehow pushed too far.

Finally, the notification buzzed, and she felt a small flicker of relief.

Roman: It’s just something I grew up with.

That was it. No follow-up, no joke or teasing remark. Azure stared at the screen, her brows furrowing slightly. She hadn’t meant to strike a nerve, but his brevity felt like a subtle wall being put up. She knew she shouldn’t take it personally; after all, it wasn’t like Roman talked much anyway. Still, the abruptness of his answer lingered.

Roman: You watching the game tonight?

Her shoulders relaxed a little at his double text. He wasn’t entirely shutting her out, but the shift in tone was clear. He wanted the focus off himself.

Azure: Yep, told my dad I couldn’t miss the Steelers losing. You?

Roman: Audrey and I are watching it. Told her if the Browns win, she gets to stay up an extra hour on a school night.

Azure let out a small laugh, imagining Audrey excitedly cheering for the Browns just for the sake of a little more bedtime freedom.

Azure: Let me guess, you’re secretly rooting for Pittsburgh to keep her on schedule?

Roman: Nah, we pinky promised on it, so I’m stuck backing the Browns for the night.

Azure: A man of his word. I can respect that.

Her phone stayed silent after that, and she let it rest on the counter as she continued unpacking. But her thoughts lingered on Roman. She caught herself imagining Roman and Audrey on the couch, their laughter filling the room. Even with his guarded nature, it was clear how much Audrey meant to him. She sighed, brushing off the thought, craving these conversations more than she wanted to admit.

Days at the station started early and ended late, each shift packed with an intensity that kept the squad on edge but also connected in a way that only first responders knew. Their evening drill had an added layer of rigor, with Roman calling for extra rounds to improve speed and efficiency in rescue maneuvers.

The guys fell into a steady rhythm as they practiced on the training dummies, the scent of sweat and metal mixing with the chilled evening air. Randy moved quickly, setting up the ladder with his usual precision. Drew climbed swiftly, while Damian had the patient loaded and secured within seconds.

“Alright y’all!” Roman barked. “Again, faster this time!”

They reset and moved through the drill once more. Roman watched as his squad started to strain, but he ignored it, focusing instead on Damian’s words of encouragement towards the rest of the group. As they completed the final round, the team slapped each other’s backs, their laughter mixing with the adrenaline coursing through them. It was these moments—these bonding experiences in the quiet before the storm—that Roman cherished most about the job.

“Good work out there,” Roman said to the team, nodding approvingly. “Head back inside, the rest of the night should be smooth.”

“As if you didn’t just jinx it.” Drew laughed, catching his breath and placing his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, don’t know why you even said that, brother.” Randy added, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

Not even five minutes later, the alarm went off. They shared a knowing look—Randy was the first to roll his eyes, muttering, “Told you.”

The dispatcher’s voice cut through the static over the loudspeaker: “Engine 2, respond to 1702 South Fort Street. Elderly female, fall with suspected head trauma. Approach with caution.”

Roman’s heart sank a little as he grabbed his gear. Head injuries were never easy, especially with older patients. And for reasons he couldn’t quite name, his gut told him this call was going to be rough.

•────────────────

The neighborhood was quiet as they pulled up to the quaint one-story house. The siren’s wail ceased, leaving only the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as Roman led the team up the front steps. They were greeted by a nervous middle-aged woman, who introduced herself as the woman’s daughter.

“She was in the kitchen, and she must’ve tripped,” the daughter stammered, wringing her hands. “When I came to check on her, she was on the floor, and her head was bleeding. I-I think she might’ve hit the counter on her way down…”

Roman offered a reassuring nod. “We’ll take care of her. Could you give us a little space, please?”

The daughter moved aside, her hands trembling as she held them together. Roman’s team entered the small kitchen, where they found the elderly woman slumped against the cabinet, her skin pale and her breathing shallow.

“Ma’am?” Roman knelt beside her, his voice soft yet firm. “Can you hear me?”

The elderly woman’s eyes fluttered open, but they seemed distant, unfocused. Roman signaled to Drew to check her vitals while he carefully lifted her head to inspect the wound. A jagged cut ran along her scalp, and he could see the faint pulse of blood underneath. It wasn’t bleeding heavily, but it was enough to be concerning.

“Vitals are unstable,” Drew announced, looking up with a furrowed brow. “BP’s low, and her pulse is erratic.”

Roman nodded, his mind racing through the protocols. “We need to get her on the stretcher. Randy, Damian, help stabilize her.”

As they moved her, the woman let out a weak groan, her hand gripping Roman’s arm with surprising strength.

“It’s alright, ma’am. We’re gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” he reassured her.

But just as they lifted her, the woman’s face contorted, and suddenly, she began to vomit, her body convulsing with the effort. Roman barely had time to react, but he kept his hold, guiding her so she wouldn’t choke. He shared a grim look with Drew—this wasn’t good. Vomiting after a head injury meant there was a significant risk of intracranial pressure. They had to move fast.

“Emergency transport!” Roman barked, his tone sharper than usual. “Let’s go—now!”

•────────────────

The hospital was quieter than usual as the night deepened. Roman and his crew had just finished transferring an elderly woman to the ER, her frail hand gripping his as she clung to consciousness. The call had been a tense one, and it lingered with him as he stepped outside into the cool night air, letting out a heavy sigh. He rolled his shoulders, the fatigue weighing on him as he scanned the parking lot.

And then he saw her.

Azure stood just beyond the automatic doors, talking softly with another nurse. Her scrubs clung to her slender frame, the faint glow of the hospital lights framing her like a portrait. When her eyes caught his, something eased in him. She raised a hand in greeting, her smile small but sincere. With a gentle nudge from her colleague, she started toward him, her hands tucked into her scrub pockets.

“Hey,” she said softly when she reached him, her gaze steady and warm. “Rough night?”

Roman nodded, dragging a hand down his face. “Head injury. Calls like that are always tough, and with her age… I just hope she pulls through.”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “She’s in the best hands. You did everything you could.”

Azure’s voice was soothing, a balm over his wired nerves, his chest feeling lighter in her presence. Before he even realized it, her hand rested lightly on his arm, gentle and grounding. The soft warmth of her touch seemed to reach past the fatigue and the stress, sparking something in him that he hadn’t expected to feel so keenly.

He opened his mouth to thank her, but the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the fragile moment.

“Well, if it isn’t the hometown hero,” came a voice laced with sarcasm. Roman’s jaw tightened reflexively as he turned to face Seth, whose sardonic smirk was as unwelcome as the tension he carried with him.

“Seth,” Roman acknowledged curtly, his voice void of warmth. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

Azure’s hand fell from his arm, and Roman found himself missing the contact, an unfamiliar ache settling in his chest. Her eyes flicked between the two men, her posture tensing as Seth’s eyes lingered on her for just a moment too long.

“Oh you know, just saving lives… just like old times.” Seth’s voice dripped with mockery. “Even though you were always good at making yourself look like the good guy.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, a pulse of anger rising at the barely-veiled insult. But Seth continued before he could respond, looking toward Azure with an exaggerated shrug.

“Just thought you’d want a heads up,” Seth added. “He’s always had a knack for playing savior. But sometimes, you can’t save everyone. Right, Roman?”

The weight of Roman’s irritation pushed him to put Seth in his place. “You got somethin’ to say, huh?” Roman’s jaw clenched, his body instinctively tensing. He shifted to face Seth fully, his voice low but his temper ignited to life.

Seth shrugged, his sight shifted to Roman. “It doesn’t really change anything, does it? No matter how many people you help, nothing can erase what happened. Maybe that’s why you’re still trying.”

Roman stepped closer, his frame towering over Seth. “Walk away,” he threatened, his voice low and dangerous. Azure glanced between them, the hostility crackling in the air like a live wire.

“Oh, come on,” Seth ignored the warning in Roman’s voice. “Let’s not pretend we don’t have a lot to catch up on.” he stepped even closer, looking Roman in the eyes . “You’re just mad that someone actually remembers what you were like back then.”

Roman knew exactly what he was getting at, and the implication felt like a sucker punch. His fists tightened at his sides, but he didn’t want Azure to see him like that—especially not with someone dredging up vague accusations about the past. He opened his mouth to respond, the sharp retort on his tongue, but Azure’s voice cut through, calm yet firm.

“Dr. Rollins, maybe this isn’t the time.” She stepped forward, glancing briefly at Roman as if to steady him, then met Seth’s gaze with surprising resolve. “Roman had a difficult call. It’s been a long night. Let’s leave it at that.”

But Seth wasn’t done. “You think you’re some kind of saint now, Roman? Playing the doting dad, charming everyone around you? We both know you’re just trying to outrun what you did.”

“Enough!” Roman barked, his voice echoing through the air. Heads turned, curious eyes watching the unfolding drama.

Azure stepped between them, her voice calm but firm. “Both of you need to stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

Seth sneered, his eyes bouncing between the pair before landing on Roman. “Next time.”

As Seth disappeared into the parking lot, Roman exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face.

“Roman...” Azure began, but he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice tight.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

Roman hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I’m fine,” he replied, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him. “I, uh… I’ll see you Sunday.” He walked away from her before she could respond. The tension in his body began to dissipate, but the anger lingered, mingling with frustration and confusion. He knew exactly what Seth’s problem was, but they’d seen each other in passing more often than not over the past few years. So whatever reason Seth decided to revisit the past all of a sudden left him more aggravated than anything else.

The morning sun had barely started to pierce through the clouds when Azure clocked in at the hospital. She couldn’t shake the lingering tension from yesterday’s confrontation, the storm that flickered in Roman’s eyes—it had etched itself into her memory. She sighed, bouncing her leg as she sat at the nurse’s station. If only work could be the distraction she needed.

“Morning, girl,” came a cheerful voice. Bianca breezed into view, her bright smile a stark contrast to Azure’s somber mood. “You good? You’ve been staring at that computer for five minutes straight, and I bet you haven’t typed a thing,”

Azure blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Before Bianca could respond, B-Fab sauntered up, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. “Honey, everybody saw that little showdown between Dr. Rollins and that firefighter of yours. He looked ready to throw down. What’s going on?”

“He’s not ‘my firefighter,’” Azure muttered, though her cheeks warmed at the insinuation. “And I’m not sure. They… have history, I guess.”

B-Fab smacked her teeth. “This hospital ain’t but so big. A fine ass firefighter EMT and the head doctor of our department going toe-to-toe? I woulda never seen that coming. That’s better than an episode of Grey’s-”

“Can we not blow this out of proportion?” Azure said quickly, lowering her voice. “It wasn’t that serious.”

Bianca arched an eyebrow. “Girl, please. The way Roman looked at Seth?”

Azure opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of the quick footsteps interrupted her. A nurse poked her head in. “Bianca, we need you in Room 312. Azure, Dr. Rollins wants to see you in his office.”

B-Fab gave Azure a pointed look. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Azure replied, though her stomach twisted at the mention of Dr. Rollins. She wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever the conversation would bring.

•────────────────•

Azure knocked lightly on the office door, the sound of her knuckles against the wood barely audible over the hum of the hospital.

“Come in,” Seth’s voice called from inside, smooth and inviting.

She pushed the door open to find him sitting behind his desk, his signature smirk already in place. The way he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head, was far too relaxed for someone who’d nearly caused a scene outside the hospital the night before.

“Azure,” he greeted, his tone lighter than she expected.

“Dr. Rollins,” she replied cautiously, stepping inside and closing the door.

“Seth,” he corrected with a soft chuckle, motioning to the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

She hesitated for a moment before taking a seat in front of the large hickory desk., folding her hands in her lap.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night,” he began, his expression softening. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Roman and I… we have a complicated history.”

Azure nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. “It did seem… tense.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Seth said with a dry laugh, running a hand over his beard. “But I promise, I’ll do my best to keep things professional going forward. This hospital doesn’t need drama, and neither do you.”

She relaxed slightly at his apology, though something about his demeanor felt off.

“You’ve been adjusting so well here,” Seth continued, his tone shifting to something more personal. “I’ve heard nothing but good things from Bianca and the rest of the staff. You’re a natural fit.”

Azure bit the inside of her cheek warm at the compliment. “Thank you. Everyone’s been really welcoming. It’s made the transition easier.”

Seth leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk. “I noticed Roman has taken a liking to you.”

“He’s been nice, but…” Azure frowned. “Why do you say it like that?”

Seth let out a soft sigh, as if weighing his words carefully. “Look, I don’t want to get in the way of your personal life, but Roman and I have known each other for a long time. He has a tendency to… get involved with people and leave things messier than he found them.”

Her stomach twisted at the insinuation, but she kept her expression neutral. “I haven’t known him that long, but he doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”

Seth’s eyes softened, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Let’s just say I’ve seen firsthand how things can go south when you trust him too much.”

She didn’t reply, her mind racing. Seth’s words felt calculated, like he was planting seeds of doubt without offering any real proof.

Seth must have noticed her silence because he added, “I’m just looking out for you, Azure. You’re a great addition to this team, and I’d hate to see anything—or anyone—distract you from that.” His gaze lingered, making her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

“Well, thank you for the concern,” she said, standing abruptly. “But I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can. Just be careful. Not everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt.” Seth stood as well, his expression unreadable.

She nodded slowly, her mind a tangle of confusion and frustration as she left Seth’s office. By the time she returned to the nurse’s station, B-Fab was gone, and the unease in Azure’s chest had grown. Seth’s words replayed in her mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his story—and to Roman’s—than he was letting on.

The rest of the week flew by for Roman. His large frame settled back into the plush sectional of Jimmy and Naomi’s couch, savoring the scent of buffalo wings and nachos wafting in from the kitchen. Audrey was giggling on the floor with Jey’s daughter, Mila; their laughter a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the past week. The Detroit Lions were locked in a heated battle against the Chicago Bears on the screen, and while the game should’ve held his attention, Roman found himself glancing toward Azure more often than not.

She sat in the accent chair, dressed casually in jeans and a blue Detroit sweatshirt, her focus seemingly fixed on the game. Still, Roman could sense her reserve. Her laugh didn’t come as easily, and her gaze flickered away whenever his met hers.

Audrey’s shriek of laughter snapped Roman back to the moment. “No fair, Mila! You cheated!” she teased, pointing an accusatory finger at her cousin.

“I did not!” Mila shot back, her grin wide enough to betray her innocence.

Roman chuckled under his breath, grateful for the joy that Audrey exuded. But even in this lively atmosphere, his mind replayed the argument at the hospital—Seth’s words at the hospital had cut deep, reopening wounds he thought had long healed. Yet what gnawed at him now wasn’t just Seth’s accusations—it was how Azure might perceive him. The thought of her believing the worst caused an unusual feeling in his stomach.

Bothering him more than it should have.

•────────────────

The first half of the game was intense. Roman and Jimmy loudly cheered on the Bears, much to Jey’s dismay. Audrey and Mila eventually joined in, jumping up and down to mimic the excitement. Azure even laughed at their antics a few times, though she quickly fell back into silence whenever Roman looked her way.

Halftime came, and the game commentators’ voices filled the living room. Roman took a deep breath, catching Azure’s gaze. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded. “Sure.”

He led her out to the back porch, the crisp November air cooling his skin. They stood in silence for a moment before Roman finally spoke. “I wanted to apologize for what happened at the hospital. With Seth.”

Azure crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

Roman shook his head. “No, I do. That argument… it wasn’t just about work. There’s a lot of history between Seth and me, and I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

Azure’s gaze softened slightly. “He called me into his office after that,” she said. “Tried to explain his side of things. Said you were… untrustworthy, messy.”

Roman’s jaw tightened. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t believe him,” she said simply, her voice steady. “It didn’t add up, not with what I’ve seen of you.”

The weight on Roman’s chest lightened slightly. “Thank you for that,” he said, his voice quieter. A beat passed before he continued, leaning against the wall next to the back door. “Back in the day, Seth, me, and another friend were driving, cops pulled us over, and… I took the fall for something I shouldn’t have.”

•────────────────

June, 2014

“That’s not mine,” Roman said automatically, even though he knew whose it was. He turned to Seth, their eyes locking. The unspoken tension between them felt heavier than the humid night air. The officer shook his head before walking over to the second patrol car as another officer stepped out of the vehicle.

Seth broke first, stepping closer to Roman and lowering his voice. “Look, man, I can’t—this will ruin me,” he whispered, desperation in his tone. “Residency, my license, everything. You know what’s at stake.”

Roman’s stomach churned. “You brought that shit into my truck?” he hissed.

“I just needed it to take the edge off, alright?” Seth’s words tumbled out in a frantic whisper. “You—you’ve got connections. Your family knows the fire chief. This’ll get swept under the rug for you. For me? It’s game over.”

Roman stared at him, his mind racing. The weight of Seth’s plea hung between them.

Dean, now sobered by the situation, stepped forward. “Come on, Seth. You can’t ask him to do that. Take responsibility for your own—”

“Dean,” Seth snapped, his voice low and sharp. “This isn’t your life on the line. Stay out of it.”

Roman closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He hated the position Seth had put him in, hated the way the officer’s gaze bore into him, waiting for an explanation. But he thought about Seth’s future, the years of hard work that had led to this point. And he thought about his own family—their respectability in the community, their influence.

When Roman opened his eyes, his decision was made.

“It’s mine,” he said firmly, stepping forward and taking the bag from the officer’s hand.

“Roman—” Dean started, but Roman silenced him with a look.

Seth’s face was a mix of relief and guilt, but Roman couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

The officer gave Roman a long, scrutinizing look before nodding toward his patrol car. “You’re coming with me.”

As the handcuffs clicked around his wrists, Roman caught Seth’s gaze one last time. “Don’t waste this,” he muttered under his breath before being led to the car.

•────────────────

“Why would you do that?” Azure’s brows knitted together.

Roman exhaled heavily, shifting his weight to the opposite leg. “Because I was protecting my friend. Turns out, I was just givin' Seth a free pass to screw me over... I didn’t serve time for it, but still, a lot changed after that.”

Azure’s lips parted as if to respond, but she paused, considering her words. “That explains a lot.” She spoke. “But I think it says more about you than him—you took the fall, even when it wasn’t yours to take. That’s not reckless. That’s selfless.”

Roman stared at her, letting her words sink in. He wanted to believe her, to see himself that way, but a familiar weight pressed against his chest. He looked out at the darkening sky, his voice quieter. “Maybe,” he said, his tone somber. “But sometimes, no matter how much you want to protect someone, it’s not enough. You can’t always be the hero people think you are.”

A sudden thud broke through the brief silence, followed by a small cry. Roman’s head snapped towards the back door, and the duo ran back into the living room where Audrey was cradling her arm, her face scrunched in pain.

Jimmy was already at her side, and Azure quickly made her way around the coffee table, speaking softly as she knelt beside her. “What happened, sweetie?”

“I hit the table,” Audrey whimpered, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Naomi, where are the Band-Aids?” Roman called, moving to join them, his heart twisting at the sight of his daughter’s distress.

“Here,” Naomi jogged into the living room, handing the small box to him.

Roman handed a single Band-Aid and alcohol pad to Azure, watching as she carefully applied it and chatted with Audrey to keep her calm.

“It’s just a little scrape,” Azure soothed. “You’re okay, I promise.”

Roman crouched beside them, watching how tender Azure was with his daughter. The way Audrey leaned into her, trusting her completely, filled him with an unexpected warmth.

“Thanks, Azure,” Roman said, his voice low. His hand moved instinctively, resting on her shoulder for a brief moment, the contact surprising him.

“You’re welcome,” a faint smile spread across Azure’s face. The rest of the game passed in a blur for Roman. His focus wasn’t on the field or the score but on the woman sitting across from him and the way she had quietly worked her way into his life. Their lives. As the final whistle blew, signaling a Lions win, Roman found himself looking forward to the next Sunday—and not just for the football.

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!oc #firefighter!au #roman reigns x oc

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up-above-in-the-clouds · 2 days ago

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Listen, BEE, I get that you’re still made at the anonymous person who sent you that rude comment.

But I know a lot of people are spiraling now, after recent developments in a certain country.

Wally, and the rest of the Dreamscape universe, is a comfort to us. And I think we all really need Wally right now.

So please. Bring him back. It doesn’t need to be perfect. But we need him. To mentally escape the hell that people voted for. To temporarily ease the pain that we will go through, just because we can’t fit the status quo.

But of course, the choice is yours alone.

now, as much as i understand the struggle we're all facing currently, i still have a storyline to go with, this askblog is mostly roleplay, so it'd feel weaird to randomly cut into an arc! to be completely honest with you, i am not upset at the insult, not one bit, in find i find quite funny! reminder, this is STILL roleplay, BEE.exe is an asshole because that's how he is, not because i'm trying to be rude- promise- non of this is personal! you do need to understand, i was hit pretty hard as well from the news, quite pissed actually, i'm horribly terrified of the next years to come, and the people in my...irl entourage don't seem to...take me seriously...and, maybe they don't look to good so it doesn't look like it, but these drawings take time, so much time! Especially with all the asks i get sent right after i finish a batch- it's gonna take time, and i'm truly sorry to make you wait! all i ask is for you all to be patient, and a little understanding that...this AU revolves on a lot of unanswered questions, things that don't seem as they are, and, of course, full of angst horror and sadness... i do truly care about you! all of you! i didn't realize how many people would fall in love of an AU i made over a year ago to comfort myself from all the drama happening in the fandom...and here we are! i'll leave you with this message... if you're terrified, in the place that you're currently in, please, stay alive, it must be so hard, fearing to leave your home, have people you cared for betray you, it's okay to grieve the loss of the potential you could've had for these next 4 years, i do hope the orange maniac is mostly all bark and no bite, for your sakes and ours... Remember that your breath at each time you take it as an act of protest in it of itself of all theses narcisstics who believe you should'n't have the right to live and have freedom as they do and in all of this, Wally still needs you, he'l be right here, as soon as you want him around, he loves you, and so do i, stay safe and stay strong, you'll live back to see this day knowing you made it. - 🐝

#sorry for all the ramble!#i do hope this helps...a little...#sorry if it's too long aha-#welcome home dreamscape au

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tyrantisterror · 2 days ago

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At Sea Without a Map pt. 38

"I'm just trying to get home - out of the Sea of Monsters," you explain. "We were told if our ship capsized and we survived, it could bring us underwater to the portals or whatever that can get me home."

A SOUND STRATEGY.

"Thanks!" you reply. "We were looking for a big shark named Lord Ironteeth who could do it, but got lost in the fog and crashed onto your island - err, or rather onto you, I suppose."

APOLOGIES. I TRY TO KEEP OUT OF THE WAY WHEN I NAP, BUT IT'S GOTTEN HARDER WITH AGE.

You nod as if you know what the crocodisle's going through, despite obviously having no frame of reference for this sort of thing. "You don't happen to know a way for me to get home up here on the surface, do you?"

THERE ISN'T ONE. ALL THE KNOTS LIE BELOW. NOTHING THAT CAN'T SWIM DEEP IS ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE SEA OF MONSTERS. I'M SORRY, HUMAN, BUT UNTIL YOU CAN DO THAT, YOU'RE STUCK.

"Shoot," you sigh. "Well, could you maybe help us? You seem big enough to capsize our boat."

IT HAS TO BE REAL PERIL FOR YOU TO GROW FROM IT, HUMAN. AND I DO NOT WANT TO HURT YOU.

"Aw frick," you sigh again. "So it's Viking rules?"

PRETTY MUCH, YES, VIKING RULES.

The crocodisle slowly unfurls its body, knocking your boat loose without sending it spinning, and then calmly swims up so its head is side by side with your ship.

BUT LORD IRONTEETH WILL LIKELY DO IT. HE HAS BEEN MENACED BY HUMANS BEFORE, AND HAS NO GREAT LOVE FOR YOUR KIND. I CAN POINT YOU IN HIS DIRECTION, BUT THE MAELSTROM THAT FOLLOWS HIM IS DANGEROUS. YOU WILL NEED TO KEEP YOUR WITS ABOUT YOU.

"That's be real helpful, thank you!"

NO PROBLEM. ANY FRIEND OF A CHILD OF SYCORAX IS A FRIEND OF MINE.

With imminent peril no longer imminent, you finally register what that phrase means. "Child of Sycorax - you mean Calibani? Is that what she is, a sycorax?"

NO, SYCORAX IS A SERPENT AND A SHIP-BREAKER, A VAST AND CROOKED CREATURE.

The crocodisle's eyes close in pleasant remembrance.

SHE IS A DEAR FRIEND. IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG SINCE LAST I SWAM IN HER WATERS. PERHAPS IT IS PROVIDENCE THAT HER CHILD WOUND UP ON MY SHORE.

Calibani leans out over the rail, her ear-like fins perked up with curiosity. "How do you know I'm her daughter?"

The crocodisle regards her quietly for a moment.

THERE IS A GREAT DEAL OF FAMILY RESEMBLANCE, EVEN IF YOU ARE MUCH SMALLER.

You look at Calibani and see her smile grow wide and warm. "I have family," she says quietly. "I have family!"

Seeing her so happy warms your heart, only to send a jolt of anxiety through you as you remember what your goal is. "I'm trying to get home," you repeat to the crocodisle. "But... I don't want to leave this place... to leave her forever. If I go home, is there a way I can return?"

The crocodisle's eyebrow shifts, making it look almost apologetic.

DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU GOT HERE?

"...no."

THEN YOU PROBABLY WON'T BE ABLE TO RETURN ONCE YOU LEAVE.

You heave a great big sigh and look down at the sea, realizing that your hope for the best of both worlds isn't well-founded. "I suppose that makes sense." As you try to think of some way you can compromise, a thought occurs to you. "Have you seen any other humans on the sea? Maybe some who've managed to survive out here?"

NOT MANY THAT LAST. THERE IS ONE GROUP OF HUMANS I'VE HEARD OF. THEY LIVE IN A METAL SPHERE BENEATH THE WAVES, DEEP IN THE DEPTHS. I HAVE BEEN TOLD THEY SHOULD BE AVOIDED, FOR THEY MAKE MUCH MISCHIEF. THEY'RE CALLED THE SPINDLE.

That last word definitely rings a bell, but not one you want to focus on at the moment. "What about islands? Are there any big islands we can find - ones with food, and shelter?"

NOT MANY, AND NONE NEAR. YOU ARE IN THE SEA OF MONSTERS, AFTER ALL. IT IS A PLACE FOR THINGS THAT SWIM FIRST AND FOREMOST.

You nod. "Thanks, you've been really helpful. You're... one of the nicest people I've met out here, honestly."

The crocodisle nods and nudges your boat a bit.

VERY KIND OF YOU TO SAY SO. GO FORWARD IN THIS DIRECTION, AND YOU WILL FIND LORD IRONTEETH. I WISH YOU LUCK, HUMAN, AND YOU AS WELL, CALIBANI, CHILD OF SYCORAX. MAY THE TIDES TURN YOUR WAY.

Then, with a swift yet graceful motion that miraculously does little to churn the ocean in its wake, the massive reptile slides under the skin of the water and dives deep into the depths of the ocean, disappearing from sight and leaving your boat free once more.

Calibani turns to you. "You want to come back?" she asks, her voice quiet yet intense with longing. "To... to see me?"

"Yeah," you admit easily. "You're my friend, Calibani. I want to get home, but... I don't want to lose you to do it."

She stares at you, her eyes wide and slightly watery. "Really?"

As you realize you've stumbled into an intimate discussion, you consult your compass on how to proceed.

(I know we already did a conversation update this week, but if you want to suggest some angles for our sailor to take this talk too, feel free)

#At Sea Without a Map

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hannahssimblr · 1 hour ago

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We surface eventually, and clamber down the back stairs and out into sharp morning light, squinting against the sun. I feel like a vampire. My friends’ faces are gaunt and drawn, eyes still black. They look like they’ve been dead for a week.

Except Jen, sober Jen, who smiles sleepily and stretches her arms, breath condensing in the cold air. “God, that was mad,” she says. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” I say. Being out in the daylight like this is always weird, with families walking around, people going to work, while we are like creatures who have dug our way out of the earth, lurching toward home amongst the living. My mouth is so dry, and my jaw hurts. I foresee an afternoon spent throwing up, head in the toilet bowl, groaning as Jonas hammers on the door, appealing to my sense of humanity by reminding me there’s only one bathroom in the apartment.

“Oh, well, I should probably pack my bags and stuff.” Jen says.

I rub my eyes. “Oh, your flight.”

“Oh, Jen,” Dalia says with a big sad face, “I wish you could stay,” they hug, and rock each other side to side. “Please, come back and visit. This was so fun.”

“I swear!” Jen says. “I love you guys. Come see me in Dublin!”

“Don’t make them go there,” I say, to which she laughs. “Actually, yeah. Never mind. I’ll come back here! And for longer!”

“Please!” Elias and Dalia cry in unison, and then we leave, trudging toward the train station.

She snoozes on my shoulder on the U-Bahn, while Jonas and I, wired, wide awake, stare at our reflections in the window all the way back to Kreutzberg.

I lie on my bed, eyes on the cracks on the ceiling, while Jen shoves things into her suitcase. She’s cleaned off all her makeup, leaving black smudged wiped crumpled on the surrounding floor.

“This was so fun,” she’s saying. “I had such a good time. I mean, last night was amazing. Did you see I kissed that girl with the fan?”

“The fan?”

“Yeah, she was carrying this weird, lacy fan. Anyway, she was dead pretty. I wish I’d gotten her number.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I tried, but she didn’t speak English. There was no point.”

“So you didn’t speak before you starting kissing her.”

“No, we didn’t need to. I just met her eyes across the dancefloor and we both knew.”

“Ah, nice.”

The mattress shifts under her weight, and her face slides into my vision, pink cheeked, with eyeliner still smudged in the spaces between her lashes. “You’re coming down.”

“Yep.”

“Poor Judie. Rough day ahead.”

“Honestly, it’ll probably be a few days. A week, even.”

“Oof. Do you do this a lot?”

“Too much, probably.”

“Oh well,” she plonks back down to the rug and continues shoving things into her case. “At least I know you’re having fun over here. I’d be worried you’re suffering.”

“Do you worry about that?”

“Kind of.”

I laugh gently. “No, Jenny. I’m not suffering. Things are good.”

She struggles with the zip, and it rasps lowly against the bulk. “I was worried I wouldn’t like your friends, you know. I’m glad I met them, because they’re amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wish they were my friends. Jonas is adorable. Elias too, so fun, and Dalia is probably the coolest girl I ever met in my life. I never got to ask her what part of America she comes from.”

“Pittsburgh.”

“I dunno where that is.”

“Nowhere close to where I grew up.”

“You sound different when you talk to her.”

Turning my head is an effort, and the room lurches a little. Later, I’ll probably be so dizzy that standing up feels like getting off the waltzers. “How so?”

“Your accent gets more American. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Well, it does. I suppose when you’re talking to someone from the states you kind of copy what they’re doing, or something. It’s just funny, because you weren’t like that at home.”

“With dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not like I really talk to him, is it?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve heard you say ‘okay’ to him a few times.”

“Hm,” I say. “Well, maybe I’ll lose my Irish accent while I’m here.”

“Would you like to?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

I shut my eyes in the hopes it will stave off the wave of dizziness that comes over me. My temples throb gently with the onset of a headache. I half listen as Jen goes on about how great my friends are, Jonas, Elias, Dalia. Perhaps she’s hoping I won’t notice who she has left out, but she is wrong.

“What did you think of Astrid?” I say, and she pauses, just for a beat, before answering with enormous enthusiasm.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. You were right. Even better in person than in the pictures.”

“Yeah.” I roll on my side. “She’s incredible looking, I know, but… like, did you like her?”

“Of course I did.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s so nice.”

I hesitate. Astrid isn’t that nice. At least it’s not a word I would use to describe her ahead of something like intelligent, confident, shrewd. Out of all the traits she has that I admire, I couldn’t say her niceness is something that sticks out. It’s not important to me, and I require it from her. Nice isn’t untrue, exactly, but it's not a real answer.

“Your opinion is really important to me,” I say, and she busies herself in her backpack, double checking for her phone charger and passport.

“No, I mean it,” she says distractedly. “She seems to care a lot about you, and that’s the main thing, you know what I mean?”

On my elbow now, I look at her, pulling things out of her bag and shoving them back in, and my anxiety rises. I wanted our dinner to go a little better, sure, and they could have hit it off more than they did, but Astrid is Astrid. She’s a tough nut to crack at the first meeting. It takes a while for her to warm up, to get comfortable. She takes some getting used to.

“I know things were a bit awkward there, when we were talking about school, and she didn’t have anything to say and all that.”

She waves this off. ‘No, it’s fine. She didn’t have to say anything. I was more worried about whether we were annoying her by talking about it so much.”

“I doubt it.”

“It’s alright, like, she doesn’t need to have the same humour as me.”

I frown. “Well, you and I have the same humour. In fact, we’re so alike that I thought you’d get along with her.”

“We got along.”

“But you weren’t bowled over.”

She sighs, “Jude, don’t make me talk myself into an awkward position.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m just wondering what you thought.”

“Yeah, but it’s like you’re not accepting my answer.”

“You haven’t answered.”

“I have. I said she’s nice.”

“Yeah, but like, ‘nice’ is a non-answer.”

“She’s not what I expected, right? But there’s nothing wrong with that. I just always thought you’d prefer to go out with a girl that laughed at the same things as you, or was silly and goofy, or, I don’t know, less… severe. I’ll meet Astrid again, and I’m sure I’ll be bowled over. We just didn’t have a lot of time to get to know each other. It was only a few hours, and, I dunno, Jonas was there too, and I was talking to him, mostly.”

“I–” I decide to ignore the first part about the girls I supposedly like. “Well, I hope so. I’d be pretty sad if my girlfriend and my best friend didn’t get along.”

“Everyone is friendly here.”

“Right.”

“I can tell you don’t believe me.”

I sigh reluctantly, and fall back onto the bed. My headache makes my brain slosh against the inside of my skull. “Jenny, I do. I believe you,” I say. “And I’m glad you like her. It’d be really fucking shit for me if you didn’t.”

“Well, I do.”

“I’m glad.”

“Good.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2011 #sorry for late post I’m painting a ceiling lol #sims 4 story #ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #sims story #simblr #simblr story

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fusionfanatic · 1 day ago

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Ooh this is all very interesting 😮!! Love the cult part that’s so hilarious honestly and I can imagine all the shenanigans she gets into whenever she uses that story!! Definitely can relate to the part about her joining organised and identity theft (in my story she works for a secret criminal organisation that pretty has its hand in every jar you could think of). Also heavy on the emotional breakdown part and feeling lost - her arc essentially involves her being coerced into coming to our world and when she is our world, she takes every opportunity that she can to try to find a way to escape it, much to the ire of her new co-workers. But like you said, it’s impossible for anyone from her past life, fire nation or otherwise, to reach her here, and so as she delves further into her line of work, travelling the world and growing closer with her co-workers, she starts to question everything she was taught and the decision to want to go back to the fire nation becomes one that is increasingly difficult to make (also it doesn’t help that our quality of life is generally so much higher than anything she could imagine back home — I mean, as a lover of learning and knowledge, the internet is just TOO darn fascinating for azula to want to give up)

Also, regarding firearms, a plot point in my story has azula have a debilitating fear of firearms, after witnessing somebody get shot dead right in front of her! The loud sound, the instantaneous collapse of the person that was shot and their almost immediate death triggers a lot of complicated feelings within her. I mean, she was raised a soldier, taught that the fire within her body was the most destructive weapon in the entire world. And here she is, watching somebody just immediately collapse dead after some loud noise had just gone off. How do you think she’d feel knowing now that she’s no longer at the top of the food chain? That’s she no longer an apex predator able to come out on top of every confrontation with sheer brute force, like she always did? That the speed of a bullet is infinitely faster than the speed at which anybody is able to possibly firebend? She’d feel so small and inadequate

Research for an au fic I’m working on: how would Azula act and behave in a modern setting? And I don’t mean re-imagine her character within a modern context and stories. This isn’t Azula, but she’s an overachieving American high schooler with strict and overbearing parents, or Azula, but she’s the soon-to-be CEO of her father’s multinational conglomerate based in Japan or something. No, I mean how would Azula as she is in canon, Fire nation princess and all, act and behave if you simply just took her from her world and plopped her into [insert current year you’re reading this]?

#avatar the last airbender #atla #atla azula #azula #princess azula #azula headcanon #modern au #fanfiction

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mist-the-wannabe-linguist · 2 years ago

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thinking about the czech anthem in comparison to the majority of other national anthems and we truly are the poor little meow meow of countries

#but like #i like it #i like it a lot after thinking about it #like the majority of anthems i know of are about fighting #and ours is just like ''my home is so pretty i love it here so much ;~; ''#and in connection to our history it feels kinda like...passive resistance sort of way?#it's not about the fight. it's about survival #no matter who the current king or tyrant or shitty politician is we'll just keep on living here #describes us pretty well tbh. both in the positive and negative aspect #like there is this sort of ''keep your head down and wait for the bad times to blow over without giving much effort to make it better''#but whatever #we've got pretty trees amiright lol

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pardonmydelays · 6 months ago

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i had so much fun last night omg

#the dragon's parade!!!#cause it's the great dragon weekend here in kraków now #so we finally went out with friends #i always miss those losers we don't really see each other often but i love them sm #then we went to drink at my bestie's place & he finally told them he's gay (i was the only one in the group who knew)#i'm proud of him tbh #also it's so funny cause our friend said she was always intrigued by our relationship #and she was like 99% sure there was something going on between me & him shdhhdhdh #and i can't blame her cause she's not the only person #my mom keeps asking me if he's REALLY gay like at least once a week #also his parents keep asking him about me & they say i'm pretty & that MAYBE THERE'S SOMETHING GOING ON HERE #like... no #hell no #he's my little brother i would fucking murder everyone who ever tries to hurt him #but no that's it hdhdhdhdh #i never talk about those kind of stuff so i'm not sure if he knows but i think he knows (i hope he knows)#it's so funny tho i just think we give the same kind of energy #so when people see us together there's this weird kind of chemistry there but like... not in a romantic way #more in a “hey this dude knows all of my secrets & i know all of his as well” kind of way #idk can't explain i'm happy tho & kinda relieved at the same time cause i don't really like secrets #anyway yesterday was fuuuuun <3 #i came back home around 5am i'm exhausted #please give me all the coffee in the world #but sincerely can you hear me?*

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penisbilt · 7 months ago

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the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

#latimers parents not mine!!!! i am NOT moving back to florida LOL #really hope that the changes will be good for my mental health. this apartment is toxic to us #ive been on the verge of meltdowns Kind Of A Lot lately. imnot doing great #extremely dependent on substances. just to reach a baseline level of functioning. but even that isnt working as much anymore #the only things i do on my phone or tablet these days is like. 2 mobile games. and skirting past my dms to check latimers blog #its too overwhelming to even open discord these days yknow. everything on earth is too much for me right meow #i havent been drawing i havent been social online OR irl i havent been cooking or creating #i havent been keeping up with personal hygiene like at all im particularly ashamed about that one #i've been really bad about doing my T the past few months which is a HUGE shame because im SO fucking hyped to be on it #theres just. too many obstacles in getting it done half the time. and the other half of the time i just forget #anyway. anyway.#our lease ends in july so between now and then we're just gonna try our best to tolerate our living situation enough to get by #there's a light at the end of the tunnel. and its called 'i only have to be in charge of like 2 rooms at most. and not a household!'#we're gonna try to slowly comb through all our things between now and then so the process of moving wont suck as bad #cuz listen. its pretty fucking bad right now #maybe not for other people. but it is for me. and its okay to let myself come to terms with that #im just. so relieved. still very stressed! but theres at least light at the end of the tunnel and its only like 2 months away #ill be able to draw guilt-free again. ill be able to just EXIST guilt-free #i dont think ive felt guilt-free for just existing the way i do since like. turning 20 #i know my mom wouldve loved if i stayed home forever. and im sad i cant be there for her #but ever since i had a fight with my dad at 15 or 16 it just really felt like he didnt want me there more and more #maybe as the youngest he was resenting that i was preventing him from becoming an empty nester or something. i dont know #because all the other kids had been moved out and on their own at least once but i had never left home before #i dont know if he'd be heartbroken or not to hear that i feeling like he was resenting me. but thats the energy i was picking up for years #i dunno. i dont know #anyway. back to housing. for now im going to try to relax and store energy for the moving process #the huge pile of things by the kitchen? i dont have to worry about that becoming permanent because we're leaving in 2 months #the general discord of the state of our possessions? we have to go through everything to pack it all anyway. we can move in RIGHT this time #when we moved in here we didnt have a car or license so we were dependent on latimers 3-hr-drive-away parents to help us move #just /across town/. and we had a whole month between leases! but it still had to be done in a weekend

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago

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@zepskies

I'm not kidding this might be my favorite gif ever lol. BUT I am so excited to read the last chapter of this series!! I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏

I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.

“I will protect you,” she says. Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be. He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly. Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown. “Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says. Her brows raise. “No?” “Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man."

I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

Excuse me sir? SIR?! You know... he's right Mila. You should listen to your future husband.

Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize… Her heart has already chosen.

Girl it's chosen correctly. No remorse. No regret. Please oh my word let them both live at the end of this fic. 🙏🏻

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

AWW YEAH IT WAS GOING THAT WAY! lol

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?” Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others. It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. “No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection. “All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.”

Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life.

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it.

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky.

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance.

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs.

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life.

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.”

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter!

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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