#anyways heres my new son. (lifts him up by the collar)

[issues4him]

blue collar!rafe n reader are kissing or cuddling Emmett, n hunter get jealous cuz thats their mama

it was rare, these slow saturday mornings. the sun barely peeked through the blinds, casting soft golden light across the messy living room. cartoons played low on the tv, the smell of pancakes still lingering in the air, and the whole house felt peaceful for once.

you were curled up on the couch, legs tangled with rafe’s, wearing his oversized t-shirt and wrapped in his arms. emmett—now six and getting way too cool for constant cuddles—had just flopped beside you with his sleepy morning hair, asking for “just a minute” of snuggles. so naturally, you pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head while rafe rubbed his back, whispering something soft and sweet. it was one of those perfect little moments—quiet, warm, whole.

until a pair of feet came stomping through the hallway, “hey!!” hunter, all two feet and messy curls of him, came storming into the room, his face already in full pout mode.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you asked gently, reaching a hand out to him.

he ignored your question and glared directly at emmett, “that’s my mama.”

emmett lifted his head off your chest, all smug. “nuh-uh. she’s mine too.”

“no!” hunter shouted, lower lip wobbling. “mine.”

rafe snorted, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his laugh, while emmett crossed his arms like he owned the entire couch and all rights to cuddles, “well i was here first,” emmett mumbled.

hunter gasped—offended. betrayed. fully ready to wage war. but before it could escalate, you opened your arms wide. “alright, both of you. get in here.”

hunter scrambled up like he’d just won, squeezing his way directly between you and rafe, shoving his brother’s arm out of the way and clinging to you like a little koala. “no more kissin’ daddy,” he whispered fiercely, arms around your neck.

rafe raised a brow, amused. “woah, excuse me?”

hunter looked him dead in the eyes. “you can kiss the mav.”

you choked on a laugh, and emmett groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back with a pillow over his face. “why do you even wanna kiss them anyway?” he muttered. “that’s gross.”

rafe leaned forward with a smug grin, reaching over to poke emmett in the ribs. “you didn’t think it was gross when you were little and you used to cry every time i hugged her, too.”

hunter nodded solemnly. “kissin’ is for mama and me only not you.”

rafe threw his hands up. “unbelievable. you hear this, sweetheart?”

you just smiled, squished under the weight of one boy on your chest, another pouting beside you, and one large, very outnumbered husband shaking his head, “i guess you’ll just have to find a new wife,” you teased rafe, pressing a kiss to hunter’s cheek.

he smirked, leaning in close, voice low in your ear. “or i’ll just wait until bedtime and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

you swatted his arm as the boys bickered again. rafe just leaned back with his arms behind his head and the world in front of him—two grumpy sons, one kiss-stealing wife, and a saturday morning he wouldn’t trade for anything.

[ravcnism]

HEY uhm.. i've been having this idea.. like imagine kenji sato x m!reader athlete as well? help, i just thought the dynamic would be cute. it could be a rival team on the baseball league or another sports. I just thought it would be cool!

STRIKEOUT. — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: The Hiroshima Toyo Carp may have a new player in town, but his name is nowhere near unheard of. The prized star pitcher of The States takes the country by storm when he spontaneously shows up against the Yomiuri Giants. Ken Sato’s career is given a run for its money.

# # TAGS: Longform, Enemies to Lovers but like Still Enemies as Lovers, A LOT of Tension, Sports Anime-Level of Ridiculous, Star-Athlete!Male Reader, Author Doesn't Actually Know Anything About Baseball, Sort of a Slow Burn? No Beta We Die Like Onda

# # WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Mature Language, Eventual Smut if I’m Brave Enough, English is not My First Language, Around 2000 Words, Part One of ??

Night fell promptly upon the Sato residence. The sun had tucked itself into the sea and left a trail of gold in its warm, glistening wake. From afar, the ever-lively city of New Tokyo lit up street by street.

Beneath the water, in the basement, a newly-bathed Emi waddled towards her corner of the house; smelling of fresh sakura petals, and cuddling a half-crushed Nissan Skyline GT-R. Full from dinner, and satisfied by her shower, she felt the gentle arms of sleep coaxing her to a nap. With a squeaky yawn, and a stretch of her arm, she succumbed to its calls and laid on her spot on the ground. A very amused Hayao Sato came walking after her. “Silly girl. The bath and snack combo never fails to knock you out, huh?”

Kenji Sato, well-dressed for a night out, entered after. He was preoccupied by his sleeves, fingers fumbling to button them shut. “Remember, Dad. No videos after 10 pm. We can’t ruin her sleep schedule again.”

“Of course, Kenji.” His father waved him off with his cane. “You act as if I don’t know her routine like the back of my hand.”

“I’m just making sure.” He was fixing his hair, then, gelling it into place. His eyes narrowed at his own reflection, trying to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “And of course you’ve got Mina to help.”

“Definitely, Ken.” As if on cue, the round hovering bot came floating in. “We have everything under control. You needn’t worry about us here.”

Professor Sato chuckled at his son, leaning on his good foot. “You seem to have a lot of nervous energy in you, Kenji.”

The batter sighed, tugging on his collar one last time. “I’m always nervous when I’m not playing.” Deciding he looked alright, Ken left his reflection alone. “No idea why. Might have something to do with my dislike towards things that I can’t control, but I’m not gonna get into that right now–” He shuffled about, searching frantically for his jacket. “Mina, where did I put my–?” An extended robot arm appeared from the floor and handed it to him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Try to enjoy yourself anyway, Kenji.” Professor Sato had walked over to Emi, who was fast asleep, snoring slightly. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head. “I think it’s good that you go to these games even when you’re not scheduled. I can tell it lifts your team’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I’m still trying to get used to it. The whole sportsmanship thing.” Ken sprayed his cologne on. He made a quick jog towards Emi and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight, Sweetie.” He looked at his dad. With his motorcycle keys now in hand, he walked backwards to their glass elevator. “If anything happens, call me. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Ken,” replied Mina. “We do. Rest assured, there will not be a repeat of last time.”

“Right, right. Last time.” Kenji forced out a laugh. “Look, if she wakes up and I’m not home yet, try to get her to tire herself out. Load up a park. Throw some balls. But no flying outside, please? You know she gets carried away.”

“Understood.”

With a final glance, and a reluctant sigh, he stepped into the lift. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaving her 20-foot Kaiju-of-a-daughter never got any easier — no matter how many times he had gone and done it. He waved his family a quick goodbye, before disappearing from their line of sight.

His dad was right. It was good that he was going. The Giants had a game to win.

"Good evening sports fans! Ladies and gentlefolk, we welcome you to the highly anticipated matchup between the Hiroshima Toyo Carp and your Yomiuri Giants.”

The stadium was bright and buzzing with excitement. Ken was used to the energy, but he never grew tired of it. There was something almost magical about having this many people in a stadium together. Something electrifying about hearing their collective voices. Whether or not he was set to play, the crowd was what grounded him into focus. He adored their cheers, regardless of who it was directed to.

“We’ve got an intense start to the game so far, the home crowd doesn’t look too happy with Tateoka’s second strikeout.”

“How's it looking?” Ken appeared beside his teammate, Yuki, who was watching the game by the barriers.

“Bad. We're dying out there, Sato. Tateoka's our second batter. We're down one strikeout.”

Ken's brows knitted together, intrigued. He had gotten here a little late and missed a good chunk of the first inning. He had missed most of the commentary, too, so he was pretty much left in the dark. All he knew was that the home crowd didn't look too cheerful. And neither did Coach Shimura. ( Though technically, he couldn't remember a time when Shimura looked anything less than disappointed. ) Ken settled into his spot, nursing a canned soda.

The pitcher’s back was against him, his jersey name too far for him to read. He couldn't see who it was. Ken took notice of their form. Their figure. “Wait, who's throwing again?”

His teammate dropped a name so familiar it sent Ken choking on his drink.

“Fucking, who?” He dropped the name of a famous star-athlete. A name he saw on billboards, news reports, articles. A name so expensive it put his vintage cars to shame. A name with a strikeout rate so disgustingly high it had the best teams falling to their knees. A staggering 1.75 ERA. Almost zero walks. Your name, sent a shiver down Ken Sato’s spine. You, the Mets’ notorious Bullet, now a surprise player of the Toyo Carp.

He watched as you turned around. Your face came into view. You were frighteningly calm. The Giants’ batter was one strike away from an out. Kenji swallowed thickly. “When the hell did he get here?”

“Yeah. Apparently they traded him to Carp a week ago. Didn't get much buzz for some reason.” Yuki scoffed. “Think they covered it up? Element of surprise? It was a pretty big move.”

The fact that Kenji had never been put up against you before was sheer dumb luck. That's what he thought, anyway. Despite the fact that the both of you had been celebrities in The States, the seasons just never aligned well enough to get the both of you to play at the same park. But he hadn't dreamed of it. Who in their right mind would? Like a bullet from a gun, your pitches were unstoppable. You had a mutant-like control over the ball. There were studies on the physics of your technique. Even the best batters would miss your throws. And at that moment, as he watched his teammate strike himself out, Kenji wondered if he'd miss, too.

He wouldn't have to keep wondering. Understanding the weight of your presence, the Yomiuri Giants opted to bring in the calvary.

“Sato.” Ken flinched at Shimura’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, facing him. “Locker room. Get dressed — I'm calling you up.”

He laughed, nervously. “You sure that's legal, coach?” He wasn't scheduled to play today, and spontaneously entering a non-player into the field was only allowed upon certain circumstances. Like an injury, for example.

“Of course it is.” Shimura grumbled. “Tokuda just broke his arm.”

The mentioned Tokuda stood behind him, sipping on some soda, with his obviously not-broken arm. “You heard the man, Ken. I just broke my arm.”

Ken grimaced, heading for the door. “The press is going to love this…” Japan's finest batter, versus The States’ fastest pitcher. Oh, this would make the headlines for sure.

Kenji did as he was told. He walked into the locker room, then walked out in full-attire. The speakers crackled to life. There was a steady rise in the crowd’s demeanor. People were slowly piecing the situation together. The announcers were losing their minds. “And It looks like — oh my goodness, folks. I don't believe this. Ken Sato has been called up into the field!”

The stadium went alight. Ken walked into the park and wondered if the lights were a little brighter than usual. He was doing his stretches, rolling his shoulders. His bat was handed to him and he flipped it in his hand. He allowed the cheers to boost his energy, and perhaps a bit of his ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we might be witnessing baseball history tonight! Two of the opposing team’s star players have come face to face for the first time ever. And it's happening right here, right now.”

You met his eyes. Ken’s breath hitched. You were so… intense. He couldn't properly describe it. You watched him move into position like a lion stalking its prey.

“Will Sato stop the Toyo Carp’s brand new Bullet? Or will he walk out of this game bleeding?”

The trick was to look them in the eye. A pitcher was no different from a batter when it came to a game. They shared the same weight of responsibility. The only time a stadium is silent is when they're standing face to face. Like a duel. One of Ken’s techniques was staring them down and reminding them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was Ken Sato, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately for him, you were unshaken. Which he would’ve been offended by, if he were younger and more immature. No matter, he had other things to look for. Like the cues. Each pitcher had their own cue; a sort of tell that told Ken what kind of throw they’d be going for. He didn’t hit those pitches out of pure luck. Contrary to popular belief, he was actually thinking these games through. There were a plethora of things to look at. A pitcher’s stance, their position, which hand they were using. In an easier game, Ken would be able to read these pitchers like an open book.

But if you were a book, then you would've been written in a different language. He could find no such cues. He didn’t really have anything to calculate. You were as unpredictable as you were quick. None of his usual techniques seemed to be working on you.

The last resort: keep your eye on the damn ball, and freakin’ swing.

You held your hand outward, fingers pointed at him. There was a kind of hunger in your eyes, an expression that made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Your focused glare made him feel as if a red dot had appeared on his forehead. Like you had marked him for prey. It felt… personal. Like it wasn’t a part of the game, and you were only pointing at him. A threat. A dare.

You pulled your pitching arm back. He swore he heard a gun cock. The stadium went quiet. The crowd held its breath. So did Ken. He tightened his grip on his bat. He waited, eagerly, for you to make your move. He was counting the milliseconds, watching you, anticipating your throw, waiting for you to shoot.

And you did.

Ken blinked, and the ball was gone from your hands. He released the breath he was holding through a disbelieved scoff. He turned, and the catcher had stumbled slightly, holding your ball. The crowd grew into disarray, a rising cacophony of cheers and boos. They just couldn’t believe it. Ken Sato not only missed your pitch, but wasn’t able to move at all. He couldn’t even swing. You were too fast. Too abrupt.The ball was a white blur, there a moment, then gone the next. It wasn’t an issue of the curve, nor the direction. It was just too fucking fast.

His teammates couldn’t believe their eyes. And neither did his coach. Ken craned his head to look at you. You stared back at him, stone-faced.

He took a breath to regain his composure, resuming his earlier stance. He would never admit it, but he was rattled. He was trying to understand how that throw was humanly possible. How he had somehow forgotten to move. He could do nothing more but stand haunted as he heard the resounding “strike one!” from the umpire. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed, but it was the first time he froze. It was a spectacle to all, and a moment of horror for his fans. Did the Unstoppable Ken Sato finally meet his match? Even if he did, he was determined not to lose a second time.

“Okay,” he whispered. He took a deep, focused breath, slightly shifting his stance. He kept his feet firm on the ground, bat at the ready. “Okay, Hotshot. Bring it on.”

You kept your eyes on him and him alone. You stared at him as if you were the only two people in the stadium. The crowd went silent once again. The Giants fans were desperate to give Sato the focus he so-terribly needed, but the Carp fans were just curious to see how the second pitch would go. The air was thick and heavy with tension.

Like before, you threw your hand out, fingers pointed at Ken. You drew your pitching arm back, like an archer, and there was that sound in his mind again. The cock of a gun. Ken waited. He counted you down. He was a hunter dressed in camo, waiting for a deer to move.

Then, for the first time since he’d seen you, your expression changed. You grinned at him.

Then you winked.

Shit.

You threw the ball. Ken swung.

But he missed.

The crowd erupted into chaos. There was an indistinguishable pandemonium of disdain and celebration. People screamed and jumped and waved their banners as high as they possibly could. A number of them had already entered a state of acceptance — the Giants would lose to a perfect game. No batter would ever get through the wall that was you. But a lot of them kept their faith in the ever-notorious Sato. He could hit the last shot. He could pull this off. He might have been struggling to match your speed, but he would figure it out. They believed in him like he was a god.

And at that moment, as Kenji heard the echoing “strike two!” he certainly felt the anger of one.

Did you just fucking wink? Did you seriously have the audacity to wink at him? Kenji took it personally. Who did you think you were? Though his lips spoke nothing of the foul words he wished so eagerly to shout, it was clear on his face that he wanted you gone. It was one thing to embarrass him with a fastball, but another to rub it in. He wouldn’t let that slide. He wouldn’t allow you to strike him out.

Yoshimura was gripping the barrier so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.“Eyes up, Sato!”

Kenji breathed. Through his nose, this time. He drew a long breath into his entire body and blew it out through his lips. He wouldn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. While he might have already taught himself the humility that came with losing, he hadn’t taught himself jackshit about losing to you.

“If looks could kill,” whispered Ami Wakita, the reporter who watched the game from the press booth. Typing into her laptop, she wrote: “There seems to be obvious tension on the field. Nothing new for Ken Sato, yet, significantly different. Japan’s star player has finally met his match. This game has been a long time coming.”

This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kenji raised his bat, and narrowed his eyes. You weren’t blind to his added efforts, and smirked at him again. Oh, how it made his blood boil.

Point.

Pull.

Throw.

Swing.

This time, the ball made contact.

The crowd blew up once more, exhausting their lungs as they watched the ball fly across the field. Kenji had hit it. Kenji had managed to catch your bullet-of-a-pitch. He dropped his bat to the ground and ran for his life. Base to base, corner to corner. Kenji leapt across the field and jumped for home.

“Safe!”

The crowd went wild. He had heard stadiums cheer for him before, but he didn't think he had ever heard anything this loud. With a relieved laugh, Kenji got up from the ground, and finally caught his breath. His teammates ran to greet him, though they had only passed the first inning. With a round as intense as that one, they felt it was only right to celebrate a little early.

And then he looked at you. Your eyes met. You were smiling at him again. He didn't like the lack of concern on your face. He didn't like that you didn't seem challenged. And he especially didn't like the fact that he was out there playing for his life, while you seemed to have played for a weekend game at the park.

Kenji was glaring at you, as if he was burning holes into your head. You lifted a hand and threw him a casual salute, flicking two fingers towards his direction. Dammit, he thought. That wink really threw him off. Which it shouldn't have.

Unfortunately for him, the game was nowhere near the last time you'd interact.

And there'd be the after-party to boot.

[shadowqueenjude]

This is a repost but Tamlin’s POV of that scene where he drags Beron to battle:

Tamlin closed his eyes, taking in the news from one of the few sentries who stuck with him. Rage thrummed in his veins, calling to the beast within him. The name of that male alone had often been enough to bring rage to his veins in the years prior, but now, when they needed him to stand against Hybern and he had refused…

Beron. Beron. Beron. Beron.

He winnowed into the Autumn Court, shoving past the guards who wouldn’t dare stop a High Lord anyway. He found Beron Vanserra exactly where he’d expected him to be: idling on his throne, lording over his servants like the uncivilized imperialist cur that he was. Eris Vanserra stood nearby, talking to some courtiers of Autumn. The other brothers were scattered across the room. Tamlin gained savage satisfaction in seeing Beron’s face pale as Tamlin stalked towards him. Nothing- there was nothing of Lucien’s kind face, his charm and beauty, in this cruel male. As Tamlin finally reached his throne, glaring down at him, he snapped, “You’re needed for the war against Hybern.” Eris looked back, his pale face bored. Tamlin ignored him and continued to glare down at Beron. Beron inspected his tan hand for a moment before answering idly, “I never agreed to fight, nor shall I choose now to fight alongside brutes who dare insult a High Lord.” Of course, the male was that petty, to put his own pride above saving lives. Above saving Prythian. Tamlin let loose an unearthly snarl that reminded everyone of the beast that crawled within. His claws punched out of his knuckles, and he grabbed Beron by the scuff of his collar, lifting him into the air. Beron’s eyes widened, his scent of fear shoving itself up Tamlin’s nose. Monster. Tamlin suppressed a smile at seeing the male so weak and helpless in his arms. He was so small compared to Tamlin. Easy; it would be so easy to kill him now and punish Beron for everything he’d done to his sons and wife. For everything he’d done to Lucien.

               But no. They needed him today. The war was more important than revenge.

“Here’s the deal, Beron Vanserra,” he growled. “You fight beside us today, and I don’t rip you to shreds for what you did to Lucien. Deal?” While most of the room was quavering in fear, the Vanserras looked as if the Solstice had come early, none more delighted than Eris himself. Tamlin once again recalled that emergency tip-off that Eris had sent that allowed Tamlin to save Lucien’s life that day. Yet Eris managed to master himself enough to say, “Father, would you rather Hybern come in and take everything we hold dear? Let’s set aside our squabble to defend our land and get back to the revenge plan against the Cursebreaker and Night later.” Beron stared at his eldest incredulously, and Tamlin tensed. But Beron merely turned back to Tamlin and said, “Fine. Let me get my armor.” Tamlin smiled ferally. “Oh, I’m not giving you the chance to winnow away from me. Eris can find your armor and bring it with us, can’t you?” Eris pressed his lips together, fighting back his smile. But once again he regained his composure and replied smoothly, “Of course, High Lord.” Beron’s face reddened in anger & humiliation. “I’ll never forget this,” Beron hissed at Tamlin. Tamlin merely gave him that feral smile again, a brute through and through. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to, Beron Vanserra.”

             And when Eris came back donned in armor and holding another set in his arms, Tamlin grabbed his arm too, and together they winnowed to the battle against Hybern.

[writtenjewels]

School Dance

Salim didn't think he would ever attend an American high school dance, but when the school called him asking for chaperons, he volunteered. Zain was not happy about it—he griped that it was too embarrassing, his friends would make fun of him, how could he enjoy himself knowing his father was right there? It made Salim waver, but then he met the other parents who assured him their teenagers had the same complaints.

[You may be embarrassed,] Salim told Zain, [but you won't be the only one.]

He at least did his son the favor of letting Zain come to the dance separately. Salim needed to arrive early anyway to get instructions from the principal. He was given a short tour of the gymnasium, the hallways, the bathrooms, and the closest exits. He would mostly stay in the gym, but every ten minutes or so he would need to do a lap and make sure the students were all where they should be.

Once the students entered the gym, the night fell into a rhythm. Salim decided to do his lap right away so Zain could enjoy his friends without worrying about his father watching his every move. He came back and made his way over to the refreshment table. A few of the students were hovering, along with one of the chaperons. It was a man maybe ten years younger than Salim, wearing a simple outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. Salim knew this wasn't a formal dance, but the casual ensemble still looked a little strange. Or maybe his own collared shirt and slacks was a bit too much.

“Hey,” the other man greeted him with a wave. He had brown hair, though most of it was tucked under a baseball hat. If he wasn't wearing the chaperon tag on his shirt, Salim would think he had accidentally wandered in here. He had a nice smile, though, and Salim smiled back.

“Hello,” he returned. His eyes dropped to the lines of soda cans and cups. There were also wrapped packages of trail mix, crackers, and other small snacks.

“It's easier than a fuckin' punch bowl,” the other man said. Salim lifted his gaze. “When I was their age,” the man continued, gesturing to indicate the kids, “somebody always spiked the fuckin' punch.”

“I see.” Salim probably should have been shocked that the man was using such coarse language within earshot of teenagers, but he found it strangely endearing. Maybe it was the accent. Salim had a soft spot for that Southern drawl that made him think of cowboy movies. “My name is Salim,” he introduced.

“Jason,” the other man returned, reaching to shake his hand. “I'm the school counselor.”

“Nice to meet you.” He took in the other man's appearance. Given his occupation, maybe the casual look was a deliberate choice. It was certainly disarming, and made him look more approachable than the other adults in the room.

“Which one's yours?” Jason asked.

“Oh, I shouldn't say. He didn't want me to be here.”

“Fair enough.” Jason stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. One of the students approached the table, glanced nervously between the adults, and grabbed a bag of trail mix. “So,” Jason spoke up when the kid left, “can I get you a drink?”

“Sure. Thank you. Something without caffeine, please?” Jason nodded and handed over a can, taking one for himself. The two sipped their drinks, Salim's eyes drifting from his new acquaintance to the dance floor. He couldn't see Zain, which would at least please his son. “I've never been to one of these before,” he remarked, turning back to Jason.

“They didn't have dances at your high school?” Jason asked with raised eyebrows. Salim wasn't sure how to explain his schooling experience, so he just shrugged. Jason set his soda can down on the table and grabbed Salim's hand. “C'mon.”

“What?”

“We're dancing,” Jason told him, taking his soda and sitting it beside Jason's. “The snacks can mind themselves for five minutes.”

Salim was being pulled onto the dance floor before he could form a response. He caught Jason's eye, and the younger man gave him a reassuring smile. He took Salim's hands and directed them to Jason's shoulders. His own hands did the same. Salim caught the black ink of a tattoo on Jason's left arm.

“The students must love that,” he remarked, nodding to the ink.

“Yep,” Jason confirmed. “The tattoo's what got me the job.” Salim stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes widened and he let out a breathless laugh.

“Ah. You were making a joke.” Jason confirmed with another smile, and Salim smiled back at him. His heart gave a pleasant little flutter in his chest. “How long have you worked at the school?” he wondered.

“Few years. I like it, helped a lot of kids. Can't go into specifics, but a lot of them just need someone to be in their corner.”

“It's admirable work. Right now, I'm sort of freelance. I do translation work for museums and a few universities. It isn't the most exciting thing.”

“I donno,” Jason argued. “I've seen some of the shit the kids here scribble in their textbooks. That can get pretty exciting.” That made Salim laugh. “Not everyone's got the patience for that,” Jason went on. “I think it's cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Guess I've always had a thing for nerds,” Jason said. Heat flashed through Salim's face. Did he just flirt with me? The song ended and Jason's hands dropped away from Salim's shoulders. “I gotta do a lap, check the bathrooms,” Jason said.

“Okay,” Salim nodded. He watched the younger man go, still a little dazed. Maybe Jason was just joking, like he was about his tattoo. Salim headed back to the table and retrieved his drink. He took slow sips, hoping Jason would come back.

He was understanding the appeal of these dances.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi don't mean to bother you but I wish to know if you were going to continue the yandere kny cat.

Last Post

You’d been so antsy lately you almost forgot to actually meet your new landlord

Apparently due to some unfortunate circumstances your old landlord had died was murdered

And his son has come to run the place instead rather than having the whole system shut down and everyone evicted

You were anxious because your baby Magenta was nowhere to be found

He didn’t even come home when you left catnip on your doorstep

Despite all that you made or bought some cookies for the new guy

And aren’t you surprised when you come face to face with those eyes

“M-magenta?”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh uh sorry! It's just your eyes…they’re very pretty.”

“Well, thank you. Care to come inside?”

He’s trying to act normally like his heart isn’t pumping with such intensity

To think you’d recognize him so quickly 

Even in his experience going undercover as a human not too many spoke about his eyes 

At least not in a positive light

When he finally waves goodbye he’s reeling with intensity 

There is something so much more exciting about experiencing you like this

Your shorter than him 

So much smaller than him 

So fragile compared to him

Demon or not you’re so weak 

He can’t have you out here unprotected 

With that in mind he waits until you’re out 

Before letting himself in to see the stern-faced cat of Giyuu Tomioka waiting near the door:

“I was waiting for you to trespass. I wonder can you even understand me now.//”

“I can.” 

At his words he lifted his hat letting his cat ears and lengthy tail out. Flicking, agitated he moved to let himself further into your home only to be stopped by the black cat hopping from his post on the counter to stalk in front of him. He glared into the deep blue eyes of the black tomcat before gliding him away with his foot. 

“Where are the kittens?”

“Why?//”

He growled, further letting himself into the house making a beeline towards your room. Ignoring the resounding hisses he let himself into your room. Expecting to see the kittens curled up on your bed and pillows, a position he typically ushered them to, only to find a completely different scene.  

“Oh Master! I’m happy to find you so close to your true form!//”

A blonde turkish angora with rainbow eyes was currently dangling a burgundy kitten off the bed by his collar. Nezuko was swatting at the bigger cat while Rui seemed to have awoken at his entrance immediately mewing positively at him.

“Doma put him down.”

“Yes sir!”

Unceremoniously dropping him, the cat proceeded to fully turn and stand at attention towards Muzan. Thankfully Tanjiro’s descent was halted by Giyuu dashing in to catch him by scruff. With a growl and bristled tail he carried him out the room immediately being followed by Nezuko who shot him a glare of her own. 

“Why are you here Doma?”

“One of (Y/n)’s friends have decided to go on a trip for work, so she left me here in the meantime.”

“I see.”

Doma stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for Muzan to give him orders or something only to find that the demon king was quite occupied. Holding the pillow to his face he aggressively sniffed letting his imagination run wild as he recalled smelling it on you during your last visit. Moving on, he used his enhanced sense of smell to guide him to your wardrobe. Folded with clothes and underwear he wasted no time rubbing them on himself specifically on his sweatglands-near his neck face. Completely focused he missed the increasing meowing his subordinates were doing. 

“M-master w-what are you doing?!//”

“I-I spent all morning scenting those Master? Can’t I have a little bit, since I am going to be leaving soon anyway.//”

Muzan didn’t stop what he was doing, only turning his head to deliver his aggressive glare making Rui and Doma bow their heads in submission. 

“Don’t be bold. When I’m here I’m the only one allowed to imprint my presence.”

“But you left!//” 

The accusatory remark came from Tanjiro who was barging back into the room with Nezuko right behind. Giyuu also peeked around the corner, seeming to have tried to stop him. Muzan seemed annoyed at the statement, turning wholly to look at the burgundy kitten. 

“You left (Y/n) and us all alone, how can we even trust you?//” 

“Tanjiro!//” 

Giyuu scolded him as he watched Muzan’s face remorph into one of anger; he moved to stand beside his junior only to be stopped by Doma who was standing on guard with his own way of smirking. 

“You’re such a kitten! Don’t you realize what I’ve done?”

He abandoned his scenting, looking down at the kitten who was continuing to glare at him completely unphased. 

“I got rid of that cockroach that kept sneaking in here! Do you think I should have just let him be when I could have gotten rid of him?!”

“No, but we could have gone about things another way!//” 

“Like what?! And what do you know! I’m hundreds of years older than you!”

“Well I’m not a monster that just kills all their problems!//”

“You say that but aren’t you the one that promised to ki-”

“ENOUGH!//” 

Giyuu meowed, bringing Tanjiro’s and Muzan’s fight to a halt. Both still seemed plenty worked up so Giyuu spoke again.

“Didn’t we agree that we leave all of that for home!? Just leave it. The only thing we focus on is protecting (Y/n)!//” 

The air between them seemed to calm as both Muzan and Tanjiro closed up on themselves. Giyuu shot the kitten a look and if that wasn’t enough Rui who was no longer on the bed swatted at Tanjiro who huffed before turning back to the cat-human. 

“I’m…sorry for misunderstanding you.//”

“And I forget that you're a kitten sometimes, must be the human side of this body.”

Everyone grimaced at the not-so-much apology before collectively breathing in a sigh of relief when Muzan began to smile at him.

“I have no intention of staying away from (Y/n) after all. So it’s best you get used to me.”

“Oh babies I’m home!”

Both dread and excitement ran through everyone as they realized that you were in fact home from work. Doma wanted to dart off toward you only to be held back by Giyuu who motioned towards Muzan who was very much still a cat-human who was digging through your drawers. Running around frantically Rui was raving about how they were supposed to hide him, Nezuko was getting worked up and proceeded to run around just as wildly leaving Tanjiro to chase her and try and stop them. All the while your steps increase as your sweet voice calls out for them as it was strange that they hadn’t greeted you at the door. 

“Babies, where are you guys? Are you guys all hanging out in the bedroom?”

Your steps grew louder as Giyuu tried to rationalize what to do. You finally stepped into the room watching the kittens run around on the floor with your black, blue eyed tomcat trying to ignore the rainbow eyed cat. A drawer in your wardrobe was open and came to find someone familiar digging through it.

“Magenta!? Where have you been, sweet baby!? Awww did you get bigger?!”

You scooped up the shorthair cuddling into him as he nuzzled into you. Turning right out the room you too focused on showering your returned cat you missed the prideful look he sent towards the stunned looking cats. 

“Did you know he could do that?//”

“...No…But I wish I did.//”

[bau-baby]

Hey😊Firstly, I just wanted to say that I loved the first part of ‘The Ultimate Loss’ so much!💞I’m so excited for the next part to come out (I really needed a new Hotch x reader series to read lol) Secondly, I noticed you’re request are open and I was wondering if you could do a Hotch x reader where the reader is Jack’s babysitter and her and Aaron eventually get together? Thank you so much🥰💕

home.

word count: 1048

warnings: big age gap (around 20-ish years),

A/N: I’m so glad you enjoyed ‘the ultimate loss’!!

It was another day when you saw the familiar contact show up on your phone, an impending call flashing at you. You click the answer button, already fumbling to get some clothes packed as you hear Aaron start talking.

“Sorry for the short notice, Y/N. Can you watch Jack for the next few days? I understand if you can’t-”

“Aaron, it’s fine. I’m already on my way over, don’t worry,” You grab your keys from the dish beside your door and open the door to your apartment, leaving swiftly.

You had been Jack’s babysitter for just under a year now, and you quickly made it into the heart of the Hotchner home. You became a rock in Jack’s life, just behind Aaron and his aunt Jess. 

You were making your way through grad school, taking odd jobs here and there. But, one fateful babysitting job would earn you your steadiest income as well as a wonderful friend with the best son. It was definitely a match of the century.

As you made your way to the familiar apartment building, you smiled to yourself. You took the key that Aaron recently gave to you, which was his way of demonstrating his overall trust he has with you with not only his son, but his home.

You opened the door to find to see Aaron and Jack on the other side. Jack wriggles himself off the couch, the biggest, toothiest smile gracing his face as he pummels into your waiting arms.

“Hey, buddy! Ready to hang out with me again?” You ask, hoisting him up onto your hip. That pulls a giggle from him as he nods his little head. You place him back on the ground, and he runs off to play in his room.

“He really enjoys having you. So do I,” Aaron says, and you see his lips quirk up and his eyes shine with something you’ve only seen when he looks at his son or the pictures of Haley sprinkled throughout the house. You choose to ignore it as well as the pull in your chest.

“Well he’s the sweetest kid, and I always love taking care of him. And I’d hope that you’d like me, you did give me a key to your apartment.” You try to play off the confusion you have towards what Aaron said, what it could mean.

You swear you see his expression fall entirely, his head tipping down slightly. You ignore that too.

-----

As the months pass by, you and Aaron both have instances of words that go ignored. You both choose to keep your heads down, merely citing the lack of professionality that would come of anything happening between you two. 

He’s much older

She’s much younger

It won’t work.

So, both of you continue business as usual. Or at least, you try to.

“Do you love my dad?” Jack asks one day while you play LEGO’s with him. You sputter at his words, wondering what this kid saw.

“Uh, well, why do you ask, buddy?” You ask him, trying to mask your apprehension towards his answer.

“’Cause my dad always talks about you the way he talks about my mom or Uncle Rossi or Miss Emily or Miss JJ or Uncle Spencer or Uncle Derek or Miss Penelope,” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You change the subject, your realization hitting you full force in the moment.

You’re in love with Aaron Hotchner.

-----

That same realization takes a lot longer for it to hit Aaron. He’s a damn good profiler, but acknowledging and distinguishing between different feelings wasn’t always his strong suit.

Who’s he kidding? It was never his strong suit.

A picture of you and Jack sits on his desk, next to one of him and Jack. He smiles at it often, many a memory connected to the photo. 

Dave raps his knuckles against the door and walks in anyway, to see Aaron smiling fondly down at the picture of you. 

“You should really do something about that,” Dave says nonchalantly, a little smirk on his face. 

Aaron’s eyebrows lift up, a question riddled within them.

“What do you mean?” His confusion makes Dave just shake his head.

“You’ll figure it out Aaron, you always do,”

-----

Aaron realizes when he comes home early from a case, finding you napping with Jack on the couch. 

He doesn’t realize it as quick as he would’ve liked, the pull in his chest confusing him. He smiles softly and leaves you two to sleep.

The realization finally dawns on him as he walks down to his room, the air of familiarity while having you here jolting him to the thought.

He’s in love with you.

You wake a little while later, taking Jack to his room and putting him to bed. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you walk out of his room, coming face to face with Aaron.

You jump, scared by his sudden presence.

“Sorry to scare you,” His small laugh and smile tell you exactly how sorry he is.

You smile too, shaking your head, “Sure you are.”

“I have some coffee brewing if you’d like any,” He tells you, already turning to the kitchen.

You follow him, grabbing some mugs from the cabinet once in the kitchen.

“You know me better than you let on, Hotchner,”

“You’re a grad student working through midterms. You aren’t as mysterious as you let on,” He counters, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You look at him, the domesticity weaving it’s way through the moment like a warmth. You straighten yourself as you angle your body towards him, while he dips his head towards yours, and your lips meet.

You turn towards him, framing his jaw with your hands as your thumbs swipe back and forth over his cheekbones. His hands come and rest lightly on your hips.

You break apart, and you immediately keep your eyes trained on the collar of his shirt, afraid he’ll see just how much you’ve truly waited for this.

He takes your chin in his hand, bringing your eyes to level with his. The next kiss is just as sweet as the first, the warmth radiating through the apartment as you realize your truly home now. 

[capsironunderoos]

Cold

DINCEMBER - December 14 - Cold

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: This really doesn’t have a plot, it’s more so just a snippet of life with Din in the small cabin you share with him and Grogu. Din returns from the marketplace one morning to find that you have a cold, and he makes it his job to take care of you.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of sickness, but nothing besides a temperature and a headache

Author’s Note: I AM SO BEHIND ON DINCEMBER! It’s literally over and here I am, still posting... Anyways! I had to finish up my first semester of student teaching, and then Christmas hit, and I’ve been trying to write in-between those things, but I’ve also been really sad lately, so there’s that. Regardless, I think I have five more posts for Dincember after this one (?) and I plan to have them all posted within the next few days. Also, this one is short, and as stated earlier, doesn’t really have a plot, it’s just kind of a glimpse into a domestic life with Din in a cabin with your small green kiddo on a planet where you’ll always be safe... I hope you enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt: Dincember - December 11 - Please, Come Home

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Cyare? Are you here?” 

At the sound of Din’s voice echoing throughout the cabin you try your best to sit up on the couch, but the sudden movement further spurs the headache you’ve woken up with. 

You can’t even bring yourself to let Din know you’re currently laid out on the couch, fighting possibly one of the worst colds of your life. 

You hear a noise beside you and your attention turns from the sound of Din placing his armor on the counter to the small coo beside you, so you glance to the floor to see Grogu staring up at you, his sweet little ears perked up as if he’s trying to sense what’s wrong. 

You smile at him as best you can, slowly shaking your head to let him know there’s nothing he can do for you. 

He seems to sense the distress the movement sends throughout your body, and you watch as he begins to slowly lift his hand. 

“Alright kid, I think it’s time you played in your room for a bit.” 

At the sound of Din’s voice so suddenly close, you and the child both snap your focus in his direction. 

He’s standing just beside the couch looking down at the pair of you. His beskar has already been removed, and he’s standing in a dark green sweater and deep gray shorts, his arms crossed over his chest as he glances over you with concern. 

“Go on,” you mumble out, and with your blessing the small child waddles to the hallway to return to his room. 

Once you and Din have watched him turn the corner, you return your gazes to each other. 

“Cyare, what’s wrong?” He asks as he moves around the couch so that he can squat just in front of your face. 

“It’s just a really bad cold, Din. It’ll go away in a few days.” 

Din can’t remember the last time he’d been really sick, but he knows what to do when you fall ill. 

He slowly moves his left hand to brush a few stray pieces of hair away from your face before allowing it to rest against your forehead. 

“You definitely have a fever,” he states, and you smile. 

“It’ll break. I just need to stay here for a little while.” 

He nods, agreeing with you, before his eyebrows furrow in the same way they always do before he asks a question. 

“How did you get here?” 

You laugh as best you can, but the movement brings on another pang of ache in your temple. 

“Very slowly,” you mumble out and he smiles. 

“How about some soup?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Has the kid had anything to eat yet?” 

A look of guilt flashes across your face and Din is quick to answer his own question. 

“Okay, I’ll fix some for us too then,” he responds with a soft smile and you nod in agreement as you burrow further into the couch and under one of the many blankets you keep in the cabin. 

Din makes the soup quickly, thankful that he decided to make a trip to the small marketplace down the road this morning, which reminds him of something as he places three bowls of soup on the small wooden table in front of the couch. 

“I meant to tell you,” he starts, and you look up at him as you slowly move to a seated position. 

“Waye asked where you were this morning, and that booth, the one you like to buy clothes for the kid from, got a new shipment in. The owner stopped me and told me that so that I would tell you specifically.” 

Waye had quickly become one of your closest friends on this small planet. She ran a small food cart and always had the best ronto wraps, which always came with a side of pleasant conversation. 

As for the owner of the clothing booth, he only knew that you were one of his best customers, as you and Grogu loved to spend hours perusing his stock while Din completed the actual grocery shopping. 

You laughed at Din as he told you of the clothing booth owner. 

“I think you’re his favorite customer,” Din responded, and you laughed again, nodding slowly this time. 

“I ought to be, me and Grogu spend enough credits there that they should just start shipping the new outfits here.” 

Din smiles at that as you both turn to see said child waddling into the room, clad in one of the outfits from the booth. It’s a deep blue sweater material that encompasses his small body like a romper. 

He must feel the stares of his parents, as his eyes quickly dart up to look at you and Din. When he does, he lets out a gurgle of laughter before running, as best he can, it’s more like a fast wobble, to latch onto Din’s leg. 

Din bends down to pick him up before setting him in front of his bowl of soup on the small wooden table. Grogu wastes no time and immediately digs into his lunch. 

You smile at the sight as the couch shifts beside you with Din’s weight. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, and you move to sit with him, resting perfectly between his legs as you lay against his chest. 

“I really don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter before looking up at him. 

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead before leaning up to grab your bowls of soup. 

“I’ll be fine, cyare, don’t worry about me,” he responds, handing you your bowl. 

You smile and lift the bowl to your lips, taking a small sip of the warm liquid. It warms your throat as you swallow, and a sigh of relief escapes your lips as you nestle further into Din’s chest. 

He chuckles at your actions, slowly sipping on his own bowl of soup. 

Once the three of you have finished, Din doesn’t worry over cleaning up, opting to sit the bowls to the side to pick up later. 

He lays down further on the couch, pulling you with him. You turn to lay on top of his chest, your right arm wrapping around him as the left rests just below his neck. 

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and Din makes sure to keep your blanket in place as you do so. 

He watches Grogu as he plays with some blocks in the floor in front of the couch, the fireplace illuminating his creations. 

Din suddenly notes a feeling of contentment settling into his chest. 

He had never considered his life to be one that would grant him such wonderful things, but here he is, his riduur asleep on his chest, and his son playing in the floor with blocks he had been gifted during a past Life Day celebration. 

“You think so loudly,” he hears you whisper, feeling you shift so that you can turn and see Grogu playing. 

He chuckles, and the deep rumbles of his laugh shake you ever so slightly. 

“Are you feeling better?” He questions, and you nod. 

“I think my fever broke, and my headache has gone away.” 

It’s silent for a few moments, save for the small sounds of Grogu’s wooden blocks knocking into one another. 

“What were you thinking about Din?” You ask, and he sighs as he begins carding his hands through your hair. 

“You. Grogu. Our cabin, our lives. The way everything has so perfectly entwined.” 

Your fingers fiddle with the collar of his sweater. 

“You deserve this and so much more, riduur.” 

Din hugs you tighter to his chest at your words. 

“I could never do anything to deserve you, or the kid, or this life, but whatever I’ve done to earn my place here, to create this life with you… I would do it again. I would do it over and over and over if it meant that I could have this, with you, forever.” 

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember: DINCEMBER - December 16 - Blankets

[shadowqueenjude]

Tamlin closed his eyes, taking in the news from one of the few sentries who stuck with him. Rage thrummed in his veins, calling to the beast within him. The name of that male alone had often been enough to bring rage to his veins in the years prior, but now, when they needed him to stand against Hybern and he had refused… Beron. Beron. Beron. Beron. He winnowed into the Autumn Court, shoving past the guards who wouldn’t dare stop a High Lord anyway. He found Beron Vanserra exactly where he’d expected him to be: idling on his throne, lording over his servants like the uncivilized imperialist cur that he was. Eris Vanserra stood nearby, talking to some courtiers of Autumn. The other brothers were scattered across the room. Tamlin gained savage satisfaction in seeing Beron’s face pale as Tamlin stalked towards him. Nothing- there was nothing of Lucien’s kind face, his charm and beauty, in this cruel male. As Tamlin finally reached his throne, glaring down at him, he snapped, “You’re needed for the war against Hybern.” Eris looked back, his pale face bored. Tamlin ignored him and continued to glare down at Beron. Beron inspected his tan hand for a moment before answering idly, “I never agreed to fight, nor shall I choose now to fight alongside brutes who dare insult a High Lord.” Of course, the male was that petty, to put his own pride above saving lives. Above saving Prythian. Tamlin let loose an unearthly snarl that reminded everyone of the beast that crawled within. His claws punched out of his knuckles, and he grabbed Beron by the scuff of his collar, lifting him into the air. Beron’s eyes widened, his scent of fear shoving itself up Tamlin’s nose. Monster. Tamlin suppressed a smile at seeing the male so weak and helpless in his arms. He was so small compared to Tamlin. Easy; it would be so easy to kill him now and punish Beron for everything he’d done to his sons and wife. For everything he’d done to Lucien.                But no. They needed him today. The war was more important than revenge. “Here’s the deal, Beron Vanserra,” he growled. “You fight beside us today, and I don’t rip you to shreds for what you did to Lucien. Deal?” While most of the room was quavering in fear, the Vanserras looked as if the Solstice had come early, none more delighted than Eris himself. Tamlin once again recalled that emergency tip-off that Eris had sent that allowed Tamlin to save Lucien’s life that day. Yet Eris managed to master himself enough to say, “Father, would you rather Hybern come in and take everything we hold dear? Let’s set aside our squabble to defend our land and get back to the revenge plan against the Cursebreaker and Night later.” Beron stared at his eldest incredulously, and Tamlin tensed. But Beron merely turned back to Tamlin and said, “Fine. Let me get my armor.” Tamlin smiled ferally. “Oh, I’m not giving you the chance to winnow away from me. Eris can find your armor and bring it with us, can’t you?” Eris pressed his lips together, fighting back his smile. But once again he regained his composure and replied smoothly, “Of course, High Lord.” Beron’s face reddened in anger & humiliation. “I’ll never forget this,” Beron hissed at Tamlin. Tamlin merely gave him that feral smile again, a brute through and through. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to, Beron Vanserra.”              And when Eris came back donned in armor and holding another set in his arms, Tamlin grabbed his arm too, and together they winnowed to the battle against Hybern.

When Tamlin dragged Beron's ass into the battle, I just know he felt so much savage pleasure in kicking the ass of the male who'd caused Lucien so much torment.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES

we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)

The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.

In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.

His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.

Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”

His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.

But there's good news this morning.

“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.

“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”

He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.

“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.

He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.

He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”

When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.

The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”

Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.

Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…

“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.

“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.

“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.

“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.

“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.

“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.

“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.

“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”

“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.

Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316

[akampana]

Prompt n.24 sounds very interesting. Arturia is a king, but also a knight. And the one thing a knight has by their side, is their trusted weapon...

But we know that sometimes, a weapon is not just a weapon. Sometimes its much more...

Right, Cu Alter?

24. “You will never lose me. I will always be right here beside you.”

Cu Alter x Arturia

One-shot, set in a world where Cú Chulainn and King Arthur exist in the same time period. Enjoy! Thanks for the ask!

___

A loud clang resounded within the stone confines of the throne room, and yet it was quiet compared to the storm raging hell outside, and quieter still to the turmoil that wracked King Arthur’s mind.

Tristan’s desertion was followed by those of a number of knights. The first crack in the glass foundation that kept Camelot’s flag flying high. The exposure of Lancelot’s affair, however, was the hammer that finally smashed it to smithereens. Now here she was left amongst the rubble, with an aggrieved Gawain, a conflicted Bedivere and the cold, dead body of poor Agravain, who fell victim to her excommunicated First Knight. Arturia did not know where Merlin was. Kay had left months ago with all his fortune. She needn’t be a genius to know he wasn’t coming back.

What the people demanded was revenge for King Arthur’s cuckolding: the hunt and execution of the treacherous French knight that fled to his homeland, to whom Arturia held no grudge. Her logic demanded she carry out the farce, but what remained of her sealed-up heart did not.

From this derived her conflict, which she wrestled in solitude, here at the glaringly empty Round Table that used to seat her comrades.

Pursue the man she’s forgiven or stay her hand? Give the people what they want or stand by her own beliefs?

Arturia flinched as cool metal brushed against her fingertips, her startled eyes climbing to meet orbs the color of the wine she just spilled.

“King—!” the glare he sent her stilled her tongue at once, his inhuman crimson eyes glowing in the dim candlelight.

“Cú,” she corrected herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Her thinner night garbs did little to hide the secret of her sex. In the dead of night, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Especially not at the Round Table, which was devoid of all life at this hour.

“Has your fire gone out for the night?” she said, twisting her father’s silver ring around her thumb as she spoke, “I will arrange for a servant to assist you at once—”

“Forget it,” interrupted the brutal warrior, reclining himself into Lancelot’s former seat as he poured his own goblet. “Can’t sleep in all this racket.”

She knew instinctively he didn’t mean the storm. Regretful green eyes inspected the mess in the corner, wasted wine that was a victim to her ire. Briefly, she wondered how the foreign king could hear her from all the way in the east wing, but it was hardly important. Cú was already a man of few words. He wouldn’t waste any on small talk.

“Yer gonna chase the bastard, aren’t ya? It’s what yer subjects want,” came his raspy declaration, cutting in through the silence just before a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Their eyes clashed in the glaring white light, blood orbs against evergreen.

“I can...I cannot deny them the justice they expect of me,” she answered, grief lacing the small voice that barely carried itself through the thunder.

“So you deny yerself. Just like you’ve done all yer life. Ain’t that right, Arturia?”

It took King Arthur a moment to fully grasp what had come out of his lips. Her breath began to labor as she wracked her brain for an excuse. Panic settled into her bones faster than the snow outside seeped into the grass. Before she could formulate anything, however, she felt Cú’s fingers encircle her wrist.

“Relax. I ain’t telling no one. Weapons don’t talk, remember?” he soothed, as much as an emotionless killing machine could, anyway.

“You are not just a weapon. We have been over this.” Arturia shot back, momentarily forgetting the source of her stress.

As her frantic breaths began to still, she managed a small question. “How long have you known?”

His claws released their grip, lamenting the small indents they left on her skin. “Since ya wasted yer fourteenth seat on a foreign king that once would have torn yer land asunder.”

Cú reached past her arms, lifting the wool cloak from the short king’s chest. Sure enough, he now had his confirmation, a modest chest that was so cleverly hidden behind her armor plates.

“‘Tis of little consequence to me,” he voiced, replacing the garment she pulled so closely around herself. She watched him as he gave her another glass of wine, trying to discern if he spoke the truth.

“I don’t bloody care about what’s between yer legs, the same way you never cared for this fucking tail that trails behind me. All I need to hear are yer orders,” her allied king continued, flicking away a loose strand of hair with the scaly appendage.

“If ya wanna kill Lancelot, Arturia, I’m with ya. Point me in the way of France. But if not, then gimme some other fucking command. I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s what ya want.”

The King of Knights pursed her lip, still unaccustomed to hearing her real name from one who wasn’t supposed to know her secret. Especially when the one who used it was someone she did not expect: the displaced King of Connacht, who was more frequently an envoy serving at her court as an allied Warrior of the Round Table than the ruler of his late queen’s territory. The latter job, Cú had delegated to Fergus, as the “Mad” King had chosen to dedicate his freedom to the one that liberated him.

Arturia shook off his crass manner of speech. After nearly a decade of having him by her side, she’d grown accustomed to his language, even if he was frequently scoffed at by Agravain and Gaheris when the siblings still lived.

The reminder of her knights’ deaths led her gaze back to her table and its empty seats. There were so few that still belonged to the living. Some of them were never to be filled again. Arturia turned to her right, to where Lancelot once sat, meeting ruby eyes instead of onyx ones.

“Then how about this,” she suggested, imprinting the Irish King’s face into her memory the same way she’d done for the rest of her knights. Slowly, she slipped off the silver ring she’d been fiddling with and slid it onto his pinky.

“Return to your homeland with as much gold as you can carry and my eternal gratitude. Take a fourth of the cattle. Reward each of those in your service with one and keep the rest to enrich Connacht.”

Thunder raged on outside the castle walls, but it was the silence of the king before her that unnerved Arturia to a ridiculous extent. For while neither were as talkative as her remaining nephew, the quiet had never been quite so tense.

“The hell?” Cú finally asked, glaring at the Pendragon ring with disgust instead of honor. “You’d have me run? Do ya think me a coward—”

“—I think you are a king that should not die for the flag of a kingdom that is not his,” she cut him off, grasping his hand before he could tear her father’s ring off. “You asked for an order. This is it.”

Cú Chulainn’s claws dug into the collar of her cloak, as he pulled her to his face, a menacing look upon his countenance.

“An order?” he grunted harshly, “Or a feeble attempt at driving me away before I can leave you?”

Arturia’s struggles suddenly ceased, her limbs going limp before the foreign king finally let go of her clothes. The chairs screeched as each ruler fell back onto them, the older one far more irate than the younger.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Cú murmured, his voice soft as his fist thudded onto the circular table. “Ya’ve been an absolute tool since that depressing redhead turned in his rank, and some thoughtless fools followed. Then ya let Lancelot leave, don’t even bloody try to tell me he got away.”

Arturia turned her head, hiding her eyes behind her hay-colored hair. It mattered not how her charisma could sway crowds, her tongue knew not how to lie. Green eyes searched the empty room, counting the few chairs that would be occupied tomorrow. Her sister’s remaining sons’, Bedivere’s and...oh, how very few.

Arturia rested her hand on his fist, urging him to keep the heirloom as proof of the great service he gave Camelot.

“Go home, Cú. I cannot...I cannot lose you, too.” the British king sighed, getting used to the chill of solitude. She’d always known that a life as king was a life alone. At least with Cú, she could choose the day he left, instead of spending her time counting the days till he made his exit, just like her knights, her wizard, her brother.

“Don’t ask something so fucking stupid then go looking so damn pitiful,” he responded, flipping their hands and dragging her into his space till her lips touched his.

There was a reason Cú had stayed, pawning off Connacht to someone else that deserved it more and joining Camelot’s court instead. Not only had Arturia broken the geis that kept him tied to Medb, but she also gave him purpose.

Cú never spoke of it, but he remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.

It was on the battlefield, back when he was still bound by geis to serve another mistress. Medb, the sly vixen, had tricked him into her service, forcing him into the frontlines till he’d slain every single one of his former comrades.

Bathed in the blood of his friends, the red clouding his vision, the man who was once Ulster’s proudest warrior was no more. His valiant face was replaced by a monstrous visage, his armaments were stained black. Upon his head sat a crown of thorns, forced onto his head by a queen who knew nothing but chaos.

Before long, the name he was proud to take up had been given new meaning. He was no longer Ulster’s guard dog, but Medb’s rabid hound, who sunk his teeth into anything and everything that so much as irked the devilish queen. Cú Alter, she called him, now that she’d bent him to her tastes. Cú Alter, a fitting name to a warrior forced to tarnish his own title.

As the bodies piled up around him, no rhyme nor reason for their slaughter, Cú began to see himself in a darker light, grasping at straws for some sort of purpose behind all the mindless killing.

He must have been a monster. A monster that massacred all that stood in his way regardless of honor and glory. Yes, that must have been it, he convinced himself, finally submitting to the dark cage that his hated loathsome queen had put him under.

As the black chains dragged him deeper and deeper into his own personal hell, he took up his spear once again. It lashed out whenever he touched it, staining itself dark till the vibrant red he used to wield was nowhere to be found. Once more, to the battlefield, said Medb. Once more, he tore across it with a godlike ease.

Then suddenly the cursed spear collided with its match, a sword of shining light that glowed as bright as its wielder. He remembered the moment so clearly, his breath hitching at his throat as his strikes were pushed back, the wind pressure whipping his hood out of his face. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his gaze fell down to his opponent: a tiny little thing, so small they should have fallen to his last strike, but there they still stood, defiant green eyes staring up at him with no fear.

Rage overtook his figure, fueling his strikes as he tried to cast the small warrior back, but all his efforts were met with equal force.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” a small voice, too fragile to have been a man’s, rung out across the battlefield. Spear met sword once again, pausing in their dance.

“Your name, knight.”

Even though he stayed on his feet, it was like the king had pulled the rug from under him. Their eyes locked once more, and he saw himself within the green irises, staring mouth agape at his opponent.

His name? His name? How long had it been since he’d been asked for his name? How many foes had he slain since then? How many nameless faces had he sent to the grave? How could this person, this puny king, take one look at his monstrous form and face him like a knight regardless?

“Cú Chulainn,” came his raspy voice, which too often had been used to roar like a beast. It felt foreign on his lips, which had ‘til then spoke nothing but bitter resentment.

That day, Arturia saw more than the monster. More than the weapon he’d disillusioned himself into being. Cú followed the king after Medb’s defeat, intending to find some proof that it was all a fluke, but it never happened. Arturia never treated him or her knights like a weapon or a tool. Arturia treated him like an equal.

And now, years spent the line, she was robbing him of that feeling, sending him away with glory and riches. If he were younger, he’d have jumped at the prize of heroic fame, but that was no longer what he wanted. What he wanted was to be right here, right next to the person that made him feel human again.

As their lips parted, Cú sent a glare through the empty seats of each of the deserters. He’d never understand how they could leave their king behind. He’d met his fair share of monarchs— hell, he technically was one—and even as belligerent a person he was, he wouldn’t wield his spear for any other.

“You will never lose me,” Cú declared in between rough kisses. “I will always be right here beside you. Understand?”

The Irishman returned her ring as she nodded, breathless, into his shoulder. She had one. Even if the world were to turn on Arturia, she still had one. One that would stay forever beside her.

Beside her...

Beyond Cú, the shorter king saw the backrest of Lancelot’s former seat, and finally, she knew just what to do to settle the people and follow her heart at the same time.

“Disregard my previous orders. Heed this instead…”

As the words left his king’s lips, Cú Chulainn proudly grinned.

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 2/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: A deal is made.

Notes: DON'T HATE ME. I'm not sure anyone thought that this was where this is going, but this is where it's going. Gold is a bastard, and he knows it. This is peak S1 Gold and Skin Deep-esque Belle, I hope that comes through. If there are any tags or warnings anyone thinks needs to be added to this, please let me know. I am always trying to be conscious of consent issues.

[AO3]

Alastair Gold sat in the back of his shop, scowling at the ledger on his desk.

His pen trailed along the edge of the paper, the tip guiding his eyes as he mentally added up the numbers. He wrote the total at the bottom of the column, -$450, and then, before he could contemplate what he was going to do about the debt he was owed, the bell over the shop door clanged loudly. Using his cane, he pushed to his feet and moved to the doorway between the backroom he used as an office and extra storage and the front of the shop to find a peculiar sight.

Belle French stood in the middle of the room in her red wool coat, her arms full of what appeared to be clothing. Her purse had fallen and was hanging from her elbow, and her hair was messier than usual. She looked harried and tired, and even at this distance he could see the redness in her eyes. One of his more responsible and courteous tenants, she was always ready with a smile and a kind word, even for someone like him. He didn’t understand why she went out of her way to speak to him whenever they were in the same location, or why she treated him like he wasn’t the complete bastard everyone knew he was, but the fact that she did secretly delighted and tormented him in equal measure. He might even admit to himself that he harbored the smallest bit of affection for her, a tiny crush that he buried down deep and never entertained as anything other than a fantasy.

“Miss French?” he said, folding his hands over the handle of his cane. “How can I help you?”

She took a breath and seemed to square her shoulders before she came up to the counter and dumped the contents of her arms across it. “I want to sell these.” Then she rummaged in her purse for a few seconds, and pulled out a small, black velvet box which she set down on top of the clothes. “And this.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he surveyed the items. She appeared to have brought in a collection of...undergarments, and he felt a tinge of heat creep up his neck. He cleared his throat. “I see.”

He moved behind the counter and leaned his cane against it before picking up the jewelry box. Flipping it open revealed a surprise, and his eyes darted quickly to her left hand and then back to the ring.

“I presume this means you are no longer the future Mrs. Gaston?” he asked, eyes fixed on the sparkling diamonds.

“Yeah, he, uh, he left,” she replied, looking to the side at the old gramophone that sat at the end of the counter. Then she turned back to Gold, her expression hardening. “And he took our shared bank account with him.”

Gold glanced up in surprise. Though he couldn’t say he was shocked that her engagement to Garrett Gaston had ended, given that the man was an idiot and frequently a chauvinistic jerk, he was taken aback by the fact that Gaston had also stolen money from his fiance in the process. It certainly explained why Miss French had come to his shop, and it also started to form a very shameful idea in his mind that nearly distracted him from the matter at hand.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he managed.

She gave a short nod. “That’s why I’m here. I, uh, I need money.”

He smiled crookedly. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

He took the ring out of the box and set it down on a square of padded velvet before retrieving a jeweler’s glass from behind the counter. She watched silently as he took his time examining the ring, which he made a bit of a show about, considering he had assessed the value of it the first time he saw it on her finger. It was a touch too gaudy for his taste, and he suspected it might be so for her as well, based on how she usually dressed. It was big, showy, and fake, not unlike Gaston himself, and Gold knew he would never see a return on it. He had suspected the stones weren’t real the first time he saw it, but he was willing to give Gaston the benefit of the doubt and not say anything. It was the kind of ring that would probably sit in his shop for years, and he considered that he might be better off to remove the stones and set them in something more suitable.

“Three hundred,” he said matter of factly, and set the ring back in its box.

Belle frowned. “For the ring?”

He nodded and her frown deepened.

“What? No!” She shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “That ring cost over three thousand dollars, and you’re going to give me a tenth of its value?”

Gold sighed. “Look, Miss French,” he began, “the value of a thing is only what someone is willing to pay. It’s devoid of the sentimental attachments we may have to the object, or the -”

“I do not,” she snapped, “have any sentimental attachment to anything that asshole gave me. I just want what is fair.”

“And I am telling you that what was originally paid for this ring is nowhere near three thousand dollars.” She continued to regard him with anger and confusion, and he sighed again. “Given the type of gold it’s made of, which of course is an alloy, and the fact that the stones are lab created white sapphires, albeit very high quality, that is the best I can offer you.”

Belle looked like she wanted to cry, and her loud sniffle told Gold she almost had, but she once again squared her shoulders. “So Garrett got me coming and going then.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “It would appear so.”

“What about this stuff?” she asked, lifting what appeared to be some kind of chemise from the stack of undergarments.

Gold stared at her hand and what it was holding for a long moment, and then met her eyes. “Nothing. I don’t want it.”

She dropped the silky nightgown, letting it spill across the counter. “But...it’s all new. Half of it still has the tags on. I haven’t even worn any of it yet!”

He flashed his teeth. “A pity indeed, but clothing rarely sells in my shop, even the cast off designer items from Mayor Mills, and I can hardly put anything like that,” - he nodded towards the puddle of black silk - “on display for the public.”

Her mouth hung open as she stared at him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, forcing his eyes away from the lingerie and curling his right hand into a fist to keep from touching it.

He wanted to feel the cool softness of it with his fingertips as it slid over his skin. It was a shame no one would see her in it, but since the only option for that had been that lummox Gaston, he considered it only a small loss.

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Gold exhaled and closed the ring box. “You could take the ring to another shop, or go back to the original retailer. Perhaps they would give you a better price, but I would be surprised if he paid more than three hundred for it.”

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “I don’t have the receipt, nor do I have the money for the gas to get me there, and it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. The rent is due next week, I need to buy food, and I promised my father I’d give him some money...” She sniffed again. “You don’t need to hear this, sorry.”

“You’re giving your father money?” he asked, curious, and she nodded.

“Yeah, it’s just for him to buy extra stock for Valentine’s Day. The shop always does well that week, and he’ll pay me back, he always does, but I have literally thirty-seven dollars to my name right now."

She gave him a flat smile and shrugged with her arms out to either side, and then let them slap sadly against her sides as she sighed. Gold regarded her for a moment. Moe French borrowing money from his daughter was not exactly a surprise. The man borrowed from anyone who would lend to him, and in fact the four hundred and fifty dollar debt in the ledger still open on his desk was from Mr. French. Moe had even used the same reason with him, that he needed to purchase more stock for the upcoming Valentine’s Day orders. Gold suspected that the loan Belle would give her father would be used to pay the debt to him. It was robbing from Peter to pay Paul.

Her hands went to her collar and she pulled out the short necklace she was always wearing. It was gold with a teardrop shaped pearl, a simple but beautifully elegant thing, that he had always thought suited her perfectly.

“How - how much for this?” she asked, her voice shaking as she pulled the pearl up and away from her neck.

His eyes narrowed. The fact that she wore the necklace everyday had to mean it was important to her, and the waver in her voice gave it away. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”

She let the necklace drop and it settled out of sight behind the wide, thick collar of her coat. “No,” she sighed. Then she ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath as she tried to keep herself calm. “Look, I know you don’t give extensions, but, maybe I could - I could get a loan from you to cover it? I get paid again in two weeks, and I could pay you back half out of that, or - or - shit, I don’t know. Help me out here? Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he met her pleading gaze. He knew what it was like to be down to your last dollar, the desperation and anxiety that came with it, and he knew what people might be willing to do in that situation. He had done things he wasn’t proud of, and he had failings as a parent that had left him with a more distant relationship with his son than he wanted, but unlike Moe French he had never lied to borrow money from his own child.

His eyes trailed down to the pile of lingerie still sitting on the counter. It was a shame that it wouldn’t sell in his shop. He might enjoy seeing it everyday, imagining what Belle might have looked like if she’d gotten a chance to wear it, knowing that each piece was something she liked, something she wanted to wear for her lover.

The sensation of the chemise against his palm when he finally touched it was a shock, and he blinked as a terrible idea formed in his mind. “Perhaps...” he started, drawing his gaze from the fabric to settle on her face again, “Perhaps we could come to an...arrangement.”

Belle swallowed and shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting from where his fingers were running back and forth over the black silk to meet his eyes. “What - what do you mean?”

He glanced down at the undergarments again and then up. “You said you’d never worn any of it?” She shook her head. “Would you want to?”

Her eyes widened. “How do you mean?”

Gold licked his lips. Something about the fear in her voice pulled at the darkest parts of him, the spread of silk and lace in front of him like a siren call to his deepest thoughts and desires. He was exactly as beastly and terrible as everyone said, and no amount of Belle French’s sweet conversation could change that. If she agreed to what he was asking then afterwards there would be no more of that, not for him, but for a little while, perhaps, he could indulge his baser notions.

“Would you want to,” he repeated, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles, “for a price?”

She took a step backwards and eyed him. “What? Just like - like modeling?”

He braced both hands on the counter to either side, and leaned towards her. His shaggy hair slipped forward, shadowing his face and darkening his sharp features. “Of a sort, yes.”

Her chest rose and fell steadily, her gaze scrutinizing. “For you?”

His lips twitched. “Yes.”

“For - money?”

He smiled briefly, a flash of teeth in the low light as he spoke that had her hand tightening on the strap of her purse. “Yes.”

Her face seemed to go through several expressions in a matter of seconds, from surprise to confusion to disgust.

“No!” She took another step back and frowned. “Why - what? No. No.”

“I assure you it would be quite worth your while,” he said, finding himself oddly entertained by her reaction. She was seeing the side of him that others saw, the facade she had constructed of him possibly being a good man, the one that allowed her to talk to him so sweetly when they met, falling away. “You could make up everything you’ve lost, and more.”

Belle hesitated at that, and he could see that her mind was warring with itself in spite of her immediate rejection of the idea.

“What would - how would -?” She stopped and pressed her lips together before shaking her head. “No.”

Then, abruptly, she lunged forward and snatched the ring box off the counter, followed by the lingerie, her hands gathering it up without regard for how creased it might get and tucking it into the crook of her arm. Spinning on her heel, she stalked out of the shop, leaving Gold staring after her with a bemused grin.

Belle stalked through the door of the pawn shop, trying to hold her coat closed, her purse on her shoulder, and keep the lingerie against her chest where no one would see what she was carrying.

She had never expected Mr. Gold to proposition her, not like that. His reputation varied by person, but most were in some agreement that he was a bastard through and through, ruthless and hard, inconsiderate and merciless. She had always felt they were exaggerating, that their bad experiences of late rent and unpaid loans clouded their judgement. After all, it wasn’t Gold’s fault if someone couldn’t keep to their contract, was it? She had been prepared for him to protest an extension, to threaten her with a late fee or even eviction if it came to it, and he would have been legally within his rights, even if it made him a little heartless, but to suggest that she - that she would -

Her heels skidded in a patch of slushy snow on the sidewalk, and she reached out to catch herself against the pole of a streetlight. The cold air was making her nose run and she sniffed loudly as she straightened.

She was halfway across the street when she stopped and looked up at the lights from her apartment over the library, glowing through the window in the little galley kitchen. It wouldn’t be her apartment for long at this rate. She’d have to move in with her father again or sleep in her car, neither of which were attractive options.

You could make up everything you’ve lost and more.

Everything and more. It was exactly what she needed, but the thought of parading around for him in her underwear seemed beyond the pale. What had made him even suggest it? Was it out of cruelty or some streak of perverted amusement? She couldn’t begin to understand his motivation, but now that she was standing in the cold, her bare knees battered by the wind and her arms full of what amounted to useless trinkets, she considered that perhaps she didn’t care.

Mr. Gold had always been very exacting in his words, his agreements legally iron clad and always leaning a bit in his favor. He had said he wanted her to wear them, for him, nothing else. She’d asked if he meant modeling, and he’d said ‘of a sort.’ Modeling she could do, she thought, particularly for money, especially since most of the lingerie she was holding was fairly basic catalog stuff, nothing too risque or weird. There were a couple of items that she’d considered special, but those could be easily stowed away somewhere or shoved in the bottom of the trash before she agreed.

Belle closed her eyes and turned around. The shop glowed bright in the darkness as she slowly made her way towards it. She couldn’t believe she was considering this, but her alternatives were few, and consisted almost entirely of being homeless or hawking everything she owned. Unfortunately, what she owned was barely worth anything. Her engagement ring, such as it was, might as well have come out of one of the vending machines at the Dark Star Pharmacy. Garrett could have gotten a cheap ring and a temporary tattoo in a tribal pattern for fifty cents.

The thought, sad as it was, made her laugh, but her smile faded as soon as she came to the door of Gold’s shop. This was it, a moment of truth. She was either going to accept his deal and humiliate herself, or take the two hundred dollars for the ring and starve for the next month. She reached up with her free hand and touched the pearl at her throat, her mother’s necklace which she’d actually considered selling just a few minutes ago, and exhaled.

Do the brave thing, she thought, and pushed open the door.

Gold was still behind the counter, and he looked up as the bell rang out. “Miss French.”

His voice was as smooth and even as it always was, with no tinge of surprise at her return. She regarded him for a moment and then closed the distance, her arms tightening around the undergarments she was still holding.

“How much?” she asked quickly.

His eyes widened, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. “For each time or in total?”

“Each time?”

He smiled slightly. “One item, one night, each week until it’s all been worn.”

She swallowed and took another step forward. “Each time then. In - in case -”

“In case you want to stop?” he asked, and she nodded.

Then he took a pen from inside his suit jacket, tore off one of the pawn tickets from the pad beside the cash register, and wrote something on the back of it before setting it on the counter, facing her.

“I will pay you two hundred for the ring as well,” he added. “If you still wish to sell it.”

She inched closer until she could read it, and gasped when she saw the amount he’d written. It was more than enough to cover all her expenses for a month, and if he intended to pay her for each piece of lingerie, then in all it was definitely everything she’d lost and much more.

“Is that sufficient?”

She looked up and met his eyes, his mouth curving gently as he smirked, and for a second the sickening dip in her stomach made her feel as though she was about to sell her soul. “W-where? When?”

Gold pulled the scrap of paper back and took the time to fold it neatly before tucking it away in his pocket along with the pen. “My house, say, next Thursday evening?”

Belle pressed her lips together and then nodded. “Okay, um, do I need to sign something or -?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not necessary. Unlike some people in this town, I know I can take you at your word.”

She frowned at that and took another step forward, holding out her hand towards him. He glanced down at it, and then extended his as well. They shook hands briefly, and then she turned to leave, wanting to hurry home before she got sick or started crying again.

“Miss French,” he called out before she’d made it more than two steps. She turned back to face him, and he nodded towards the bundle in her arms. “You can leave those with me.”

“Oh...” She looked down at the now rather mangled and creased underthings as she moved back to the counter. “Uh, sure.”

She relaxed her arms and let the garments fall from her arms, in a messier pile than when she’d first brought them in. Somehow their disarray and the cramping in her arms made her feel even worse. Then she fished the ring box out of her purse again and set it down.

“If you wait a moment,” he said, taking up his cane, “I’ll get the money for the ring from the safe.”

“No no,” she replied. “I, um, I need to get home. Can I - can I get it on Monday?”

Gold inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Belle turned on her heel and hurried out of the shop, her shoes loud on the old wood floor. She heard Gold’s voice bid her a good evening as she pulled the door open, but she didn’t look back or return the sentiment. She had done the brave thing, and now she could only hope that it didn’t backfire.

[heademptynothoughts]

My Heart’s Always Yours

A Willex Princess Bride AU

ch. 1

Chapter 2: New Beginnings

Five years later…

Alex was numb. He was betrothed to the Prince of Florin and he couldn’t care less. How could he bring himself to care about anything when his true love was gone? It didn’t matter how much time had passed, he would always be numb, always be yearning for the love he lost. It’s not like he could’ve said no to the Prince anyways. When His Highness Prince Caleb Covington picks you out of a crowd and proposes, what other answer is there but yes?

While his parents still didn’t approve of two men together, they were exceedingly happy with their family’s new found status and as such only occasionally muttered about the wrongness of it. But their son was soon to be a prince and so they kept the worst of their comments to themselves.

Caleb (His Highness had insisted that Alex just call him Caleb) had moved him into the castle shortly after their betrothal. He believed it would be best that Alex begin to learn the ins and outs of being royalty right away and also admitted to wanting to keep him close. When Alex told Caleb that his heart would never truly be his, that he would never love him, Caleb nodded in understanding and said that he hoped in time he would at least come to care for him, but that he didn’t expect anything of him.

As Alex prepared for his official introduction to the Florian people, his thoughts couldn’t help but drift to Willie and he prayed that he would be forgiven for this betrayal. Enough time had passed that to most it would have seemed fine, but Alex’s heart ached at the idea of being with anyone but Willie. His name was announced and Alex took a shaky breath before stepping through the doors and walking out onto the carpet laid for him in the crowd. The faces around him were blurry as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Everyone was bowing to him but Alex couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stand there frozen, all the while wishing he was back on the farm with Willie in his arms. An impossible wish.

Afterwards, Alex decided to go for a ride. Being on horseback was the only time that some of the numbness disappeared and he was able to clear his mind. A sort of serenity fell over him as he rode further away from the castle, but his peace was soon disturbed by a small group of travellers. They were in the middle of the trail and as he got closer Alex saw that the group was made up of a pretty blonde woman, a sleeveless man with a lute strapped to his back and rapier sheathed at his side, and a smiling giant.

The blonde seemed to be the leader of the group. As he stopped in front of them, she told him that they were circus performers on their way to the castle for the Prince’s wedding, but they’d gotten lost and were in need of directions. Before Alex could respond though, the world went black.

———

Alex regained consciousness to the sound of strange voices and it took him a moment to realize what had happened. He tried to keep his breathing even and himself as still as possible so his captors would think he was still knocked out.

“What are you doing over there?” a deep voice called out. Alex assumed it belonged to the giant.

“Putting the plan in motion, moron,” the woman responded, “This is the Guilder crest, sworn enemy of Florin, remember? When the Prince’s husband-to-be’s horse returns to the castle, they’ll assume that Guilder took him, and when his body is found on the Florin-Guilder border those suspicions will be confirmed. I hired you to help me start a war and this is how we do it.”

Alex tensed, his breathing starting to become shallow. He had thought that maybe he would just be held for ransom, but this? His death as the catalyst for war? He willed himself to be still once more and hoped no one had noticed the clues to his being awake.

“I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent boy,” the giant said.

The woman scoffed, “Well it’s a good thing I didn’t hire you for your brains then, isn’t it?”

The third member of the party spoke up, “I agree with Reggie.”

The woman’s voice drew nearer, “I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion? Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about it, I’ll be the one to kill him,” there was a pause, “Oh, and boys? Never forget that I’m the one who raised you from the filth you’d been living in, I’m the one who gave you purpose when you had none, and I’m the one who’s kept your pockets lined and your bellies full. Do you really want to go back to your old lives? Hmm… didn’t think so.”

Alex heard the two men grumble to themselves as the ground beneath him began to sway. The sound of waves crashing filled his ears and Alex realized that he was on a boat.

———

Alex learned that the woman’s name was Carrie, the giant was Reggie, and the other man was Luke. After he had feigned waking up, Reggie had sat him up and bound his hands. It was late at night now, the sky dark but full of stars; if Alex had been out here under different circumstances he would have marvelled at the beauty of it.

Carrie sat across from him smirking. “We should be at the cliffs by dawn,” she said as she glanced at Luke who kept looking behind them, “What? What is it?” Carrie asked him.

“I think we’re being followed.”

“Well that’s completely inconceivable,” Carrie laughed, “There’s no way anyone from Florin could’ve caught up to us so quickly.” She leaned back, relaxing more against the boat.

Alex gulped, trying to put on a brave face, “This plan of yours will never work, you know. Caleb will find me and when he does you’ll be sorry you ever tried something like this.”

Carrie flicked her hair, “Whatever you say, little prince.”

Luke was still looking behind them worriedly though. Rolling her eyes at his paranoia, Carrie asked him what he kept looking at.

“We’re being followed,” Luke stated, “There’s a boat behind us.”

Reggie turned around to look and Carrie got up as well, “I already told you that would be inconceiv— oh.”

With his kidnappers distracted by the boat in the distance, Alex took the opportunity to attempt an escape, jumping off into the water. He wasn’t the strongest swimmer, but he hoped it would be enough to get away safely. The splash he made going into the water was rather loud though, which immediately alerted the group to his actions.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Carrie called out, “The water’s full of shrieking eels!”

And just like that, Alex heard them. His heartbeat sped up as he realized what a grave mistake he’d just made. The eels were so loud his ears began to ring. There was movement in the water around him, but he couldn’t see anything. Alex knew the eels had started circling and it was only a matter of time before one of them got him. He started thrashing, too panicked to swim properly. He hoped that his death would be quick, that he would soon be reunited with his lost love. An eel launched itself at him, jaws open, and Alex screamed. But the pain he was expecting never came. Reggie had grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back into the boat.

———

Dawn was breaking as the boat neared the Cliffs of Insanity, the other ship following close behind. There was a rope hanging off the cliffside. Luke put a harness onto Reggie, strapping Alex on Reggie’s back before strapping himself on his side. Reggie lifted Carrie to strap her to his front and started climbing.

A masked man dressed all in black began to climb as well, quickly gaining on them. Carrie yelled obscenities, urging Reggie to go faster. When Reggie pulled them all onto the top of the cliff, Carrie quickly got out of the harness and ran to cut the rope. Alex had been set on the ground, Reggie keeping an eye on him. As the rope fell off the cliff, they all looked down to see if the man following them had fallen. Somehow the man was still holding on, fingers gripping tightly to a small ledge in the cliffside.

“Inconceivable!” Carrie stomped her foot.

Luke glanced at her, “You keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Carrie shot Luke a dirty look and began walking away, dragging Alex with her. She called out to Luke, “Stay behind. If he doesn’t fall to his death before making it to the top, use that blade of yours to stop him in his tracks. Meet back up with us when it’s done.”

“I’m really more of a musician than I am a fighter.”

Carrie and Luke exchanged a meaningful look. “We both know that’s not true,” she said and continued to walk away.

Reggie put a hand on Luke’s shoulder before turning to follow Carrie, “Be careful.”

Being pulled away, Alex looked back to see Luke fidgeting with the sword at his side. He wondered what would be the better outcome for him: Luke or the mystery man. Whatever the case, he hoped it would all be over soon.

tag list: @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @julieandthequeers @flamingfawkes @sunset-sweeerve @williexmercer @thedeathdeelers @evilittlecrow

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 9

Stoneheart opened his eyes to darkness.

It took him a moment to understand where he was, and when he figured it out, he knew he was dreaming – he'd fallen asleep in a bush in a Twoleg’s yard, not in a forest, and especially not in this forest, with its thin, leafless trees and musty odors.

He wondered where he was, as he didn’t recognize these woods. The trees were nothing like the tall pines of ShadowClan territory, or even the thick oaks of ThunderClan’s forests. The ground beneath his paws felt like it was a drop of moisture away from behind too soggy, and the air felt still and stagnant. He looked up and, startlingly, found that the tree branches were locked together so tightly that he couldn’t see the sky beyond them.

A chill settled in Stoneheart’s pelt, and he couldn’t shake it away. He decided that moving was better than staying put, putting his paws onto the only real trail he could see through the thin wall of trees.

Was this a dream from StarClan, he wondered? As Stoneheart walked on, he thought back to his dreams of Mosspaw, his sister who had pulled him into the journey to the lake. His meetings with her had certainly not been in a place like this – the stars, for one, had always been shining. For another, he’d never felt unwelcome in those dreams.

Perhaps it was the chicken, he thought. It had been delicious, no doubt about it; but there was always a strangeness to eating Twoleg food. It just wasn’t made for cats.

A scent crossed his nose, one that tickled at his memory and set his heart pounding in his ears. His paws turned, following the smell, whether he wanted them to or not, as if it were pulling him along, pulling him towards...

The trees opened up, but the sky was still clogged with branches. In the clearing ahead sat a lean-bodied blue-gray she-cat, her pelt like the sky before stars began to appear. Her chin held high, she turned to lock eyes with Stoneheart, a cool, dark blue meeting his paler, sky-blue gaze.

Stoneheart’s mouth went dry. “Bluestar,” he murmured.

There was a spark in his mother’s eye, a flash of emotion that Stoneheart could not bear to read. “Stoneheart,” she called back. “It’s good to see you.”

The sound of her voice made Stoneheart’s fur rise. He wasn’t sure whether to lunge at her, claws unsheathed, or flee from her, his tail tucked between his legs. Bluestar had been the terror of the forest, nearly bringing down the Clans with the force of her ambition, and her dark legacy had never left Stoneheart or Mistyfoot.

Bluestar got to her paws and crossed the clearing to meet Stoneheart where he stood, unable to move. She touched her nose to his forehead, and her scent wreathed around Stoneheart, comforting in some ways and in others feeling like a blanket of claws.

“I am so proud of you,” she meowed.

Suddenly, he felt like he had the strength to move. Stoneheart stepped back, tail lashing.  “What do you want?” he demanded. His eyes darted around their surroundings, wary. “You’re here – that means that this can’t be StarClan.”

Bluestar was unphased. “You’re correct,” she confirmed. “You’ve always been perceptive, my son.”

Stoneheart’s pelt crawled. He recalled his battle with Poppy, and realized that it was Bluestar’s voice he had heard. His pelt crawled – had his mother really been encouraging him to kill that rogue?

“I don’t want whatever it is you’re offering,” he hissed, baring his teeth at his mother.

“I am offering you nothing,” Bluestar meowed evenly, “but my pride, and my condolences, and my assurance that I have been watching over you.”

Stoneheart felt like retching. “I want none of it,” he spat. “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done to the Clans, or how you treated me – no one has. Leave me alone.”

Bluestar only blinked, her dark blue eyes like brilliant stones. “I see great strength in you, Stoneheart. You are the leader that ShadowClan needs, now more than ever.”

She got to her paws, and somehow, though she was smaller than him, Bluestar managed to loom over Stoneheart. Fog gathered at her paws, and the world around them seemed to shift and change and twist, until only she and Stoneheart remained sure and solid.

Bluestar meowed, her voice low and serious, “Don’t ever forget where that strength came from.”

Before Stoneheart could retort, it was all gone – the forest, the fog, the strange land... and his mother. He was lost in blackness, clawing at the dream until finally, he succumbed, falling into darkness.

———————————————————

Stoneheart woke with a start, gasping, his claws digging into the soil. He felt low-hanging branches touch the tips of his ears, and he lowered his head to keep from hitting them. Pinkish-yellow light filtered in through the branches of the bush, and Stoneheart took a deep breath, recalling where he was – some yard in Twolegplace, not whatever horrid forest had invaded his dreams.

He shivered. Never again would he eat Twoleg food, not if it meant seeing Bluestar in his dreams! He thought he was done dreaming of his mother by now.

Wolftooth and Pinewhisker were gone, but that wasn’t what concerned Stoneheart as he got his bearings – his nose seemed to have finally adjusted to the cluster of smells that lingered in a Twolegplace, and now it was telling him that there was a stranger just outside his temporary den.

Stoneheart pulled himself out of the bush slowly, his muscles tense and ready to pounce – but he soon relaxed. It wasn’t an IceClan cat that awaited him, nor was it some other rogue or loner; it was a kittypet, her tabby pelt soft and her belly round, and she was chatting easily with Wolftooth and Pinewhisker, the little bell tied around her neck tinkling softly.

“Who’s this?” Stoneheart asked, approaching.

“I’m Cody,” the kittypet meowed, dipping her head congenially. “I live here! You must be Stoneheart?”

Stoneheart nodded, glancing warily at Wolftooth and Pinewhisker. Wolftooth shrugged in response, meowing, “She’s just a kittypet, I don’t think she means any harm.”

Cody didn’t seem offended by Wolftooth’s frankness. She drew a paw over her ear, and mewed, “We were just chatting about how you ended up in my garden. You say IceClan cats chased you off?”

“They did,” Pinewhisker admitted grudgingly. He shifted, trying to hide the scratches on his pelt. “Can’t say we were expecting them.”

Cody blinked sympathetically at the ShadowClan patrol. Stoneheart fought the urge to roll his eyes – they were ShadowClan, they didn’t need a kittypet’s sympathy! The tabby, oblivious to Clan pride, meowed, “Well, you’re obviously not from around here – IceClan thinks the city is their territory.”

“Good to know,” Wolftooth grunted. “Anything else you can tell us?”

Cody curled her tail around her paws. “Well, if you’re going to be wandering around here much longer...”

“Believe us, we don’t want to stay any longer than we have to,” Pinewhisker cut in.

Cody swept on, “... you ought to know that SnakeClan has the suburbs around here – they fight with IceClan over the yards they share all the time, and it’s so annoying...”

“There’s another Clan?” Stoneheart blinked, shocked.

Cody nodded. “There’s FuryClan, too; they hold the junkyards and the outskirts of the town. IceClan and SnakeClan are annoying enough, but they mostly just fight with each other. FuryClan, though... they’re horrible. I’m glad I don’t live anywhere near their territory...” The kittypet shuddered.

Wolftooth curled his lip. “Three of these rogue Clans? Great.”

Cody licked her chest fur to cover her worry. “I think they splintered off from that one Clan that was running around here a bunch of seasons ago – BloodClan? Is that right?” When Wolftooth nodded, Cody went on, “Yeah, they’re all bad news. You three were lucky!”

Pinewhisker’s whiskers twitched. “Lucky? We’re warriors - we could fight circles around those rogues!”

“Well, there’s more of them than there are you,” Cody pointed out brusquely. More firmly, she repeated, “You got lucky this time; next time, you might not make it home in one piece.”

“You’re right about that,” Wolftooth admitted.

Cody looked the three of them over, her head tilted curiously. “So... what are you three doing here, anyway? You said you were from ShadowClan, right? One of those forest Clans? Don’t tell me you’re coming to Twolegplace, too! We’ve got enough trouble as it is!”

“Certainly not,” Stoneheart grunted, and the kittypet sighed with relief. “We’re not here looking for a home, but we are here for a reason...”

Cody blinked, her eyes owlishly wide as she listened to Stoneheart recount the reason the three Clan cats had come to Twolegplace: “... so that’s why we’re here, but... we have no idea where to look, now, and we’re all turned around.”

“I see,” Cody murmured. She lowered her chin, clearly thinking. “Well, I haven’t heard anything about forest cats in Twolegplace, other than you three – I'm sorry. Most of us aren’t allowed in the forest right now, with all the workfolk walking around there. They’re not as nice as housefolk, and their monsters are very dangerous!”

Stoneheart’s heart sank, and Pinewhisker groaned. Wolftooth sighed. “Well, thanks anyways...”

Cody lifted her head, the bell on her collar jingling. “But I do know a cat who might be able to help!” she insisted. “He’s not far – come with me.”

Pinewhisker looked uncertain. “Follow... a kittypet?”

Cody tossed her head, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Oh, like you’d know where you were going?”

“Fair,” Pinewhisker conceded. “Put your fur down!”

Cody smiled, looking satisfied. She got to her paws, flicking her tail for the ShadowClan cats to follow. “It’s not far, come on.”

The round tabby led the way to the far fence, leaping up with surprising ease. She waited patiently for Wolftooth, Pinewhisker, and Stoneheart, and she didn’t begin to move until all three had their paws firmly planted.

“Tucker lives a few yards away,” Cody explained, leading the way down her fence. “I know the way around Twolegplace better than him, but I can’t stay out for too long today. He’ll definitely help you, though – he loves the forest, and talks about forest cats all the time!”

“And this... Tucker... knows where the missing cats are?” Stoneheart asked.

“Well, I don’t think he does,” Cody admitted, looking a little guilty. “But he can take you to someone who can definitely help.”

“Great,” Pinewhisker grumbled. “And I’m sure that cat knows someone, too...”

“Don’t look too hard at a gift mouse,” Wolftooth advised, his voice low. “We’ll see where this takes us. What do we have to lose at this point?”

Stoneheart kept his jaws shut, but some part of him wanted to say, Only our lives, or the hopes of the Clans, or Rowanclaw and the others... He knew it wouldn’t help. Cody was being kind, leading them to someone that might aid them, and if she heard their remarks, she didn’t say.

After a few corners and some fence-hopping, Cody stopped, gesturing to a Twoleg den that looked to be made with cobbled-together stones. The yard was small, with a little stone path leading through a few gardens full of flowers and around an aging willow that had lost its leaves.  

“This is Tucker’s nest,” Cody mewed. She glanced up at the sun and added, “He should have eaten by now.”

Stoneheart didn’t want to think about it, but his stomach growled at the mere thought of food as he and the others leaped down off of the fence. The grass here was thicker than some of the other yards they’d seen, more like the grass that grew in the forest.

Cody flopped down and rolled herself in the green, purring. “Tucker’s housefolk are older – they take such good care of their yard!”

Stoneheart stifled a mrrow of amusement when Pinewhisker rubbed his own cheeks in the grass, his striped tail twitching. “What?” the young warrior wondered, lifting his head. “It feels like the marsh-grass in greenleaf... Who knows when we might feel that again?”

At that, Stoneheart himself was almost tempted to roll around in the dirt. His heart hurt anew at the thought of the forest’s destruction, at how real it was. Running through the Twolegplace like a few startled sparrows had put that certainty out of his mind for a time, and now it was back, fresh and raw.

The grass at the lake will be better, he told himself. He glanced at Wolftooth, seeing the senior warrior look just as uncomfortable. Why else would StarClan send us there?

Cody was oblivious to the Clan cat’s emotions – she had sauntered her way up to the back door of the stone den, planting herself on a large slab of stone that lay just outside it. There was a curious square of something shiny just at her level, and she batted at it with her paw. It flexed beneath her prodding in a way that reminded Stoneheart of a leaf bending in the wind.

“Tucker?” she called through the hole. “Tucker, are you there?”

It took a moment before another kittypet appeared, pushing through the shiny square and stretching as he did so, the white patches on his tabby pelt glowing in the sunshine. He greeted Cody with a purr, touching his nose to hers.

“Hey, Cody,” he mewled, his voice as soft as his face. “What brings you here?”

Cody nodded to the three ShadowClan cats, and meowed, “They’re looking for someone, but I’m too busy today. Can you take them to Branch?”

Tucker jumped at the sight of the forest cats in his gardens, but there wasn’t any fear-scent clouding around the little tom. Instead, he looked excited, and he lifted his tail. “Of course I can!” he purred to Cody. “Right away!”

“Thanks,” Cody sighed, looking grateful. “But be careful, okay? They’ve riled up IceClan already.”

Tucker’s whiskers twitched in amusement, and he looked over the three ShadowClan cats. “Welcome to Twolegplace, then,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, we shouldn’t be seeing any IceClan cats on our way.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s Branch?” Pinewhisker wondered.

“I’d like to know that, too,” muttered Wolftooth.

Tucker flicked his tail. “I’ll explain on the way.” He stretched his legs again, offering to Cody, “I’ve got some leftover food inside, if you’re interested.”

Cody shook her head. “You know I don’t like that dry stuff!” she sighed.

“But it’s the good dry stuff!” Tucker insisted. “Give it a try?”

Cody rolled her eyes, and she decided, “Fine...” She flicked her tail at the ShadowClan cats, and meowed, “Good luck!” before she pushed her way through the square in the door.

Tucker’s gaze lingered on the space where Cody had been, until Stoneheart meowed, “Are we leaving?” and the soft kittypet jumped back to attention.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go!” he mewed chipperly. He headed for the fence, then turned and asked, “Uh... what’re your names, again?”

“I’m Wolftooth,” growled Wolftooth, prowling towards the fence. “That’s Pinewhisker and Stoneheart – we're from ShadowClan.”

Tucker’s eyes went round. “ShadowClan? I’ve heard about you guys! You live in the marsh, right?”

“We do,” Stoneheart answered.

Pinewhisker leaped up onto the fence, his tail-tip flicking impatiently. “And we want to get back there, as soon as possible,” he said curtly. “So, can we get going, already? We can chit-chat on the way.”

“Right, sorry!” Tucker bunched his muscles and leaped, landing on the fence with ease.

Stoneheart followed, jumping ahead of Pinewhisker. By now, it seemed an easy thing to keep his balance on the thin wooden planks. Tucker waited until Wolftooth was on the fence as well before he headed off, tail up.

“So... if you guys are from the marsh, that means the workfolk are on your territory, right?” Tucker meowed as he walked. “That sucks.”

“It does,” Stoneheart admitted. “They’re destroying our homes.”

Tucker’s expression was hard to see in single-file, but Stoneheart thought he looked guilty. “Well... Twolegs need homes, too,” he meowed. “I doubt they even know you’re there. They have a hard time seeing what’s below them, trust me – it gets worse as they get older!”

They crossed from Tucker’s fence to a new one, which was slightly taller. Tucker waited patiently for every cat to make the switch before he moved on. “I’m sure if they did know, they’d stop,” the kittypet went on. “They’d probably make sure you forest cats had a good home before they kept working.”

“Pfft,” Pinewhisker scoffed. “They’d make us into kittypets in a heartbeat!”

Tucker’s whiskers twitched. “Probably! But any home is better than no home, right?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Wolftooth grunted. “I’ve no desire to live in a Twolegplace again, and I’m going to guess every other Clan cat feels the same way.”

“Twolegs aren’t so bad!” Tucker insisted, leading them over another yard. “But I guess if you’re a wildcat, you’re a wildcat – not everyone can handle being a kittypet.”

Stoneheart bit back a comment. A kittypet’s life was so different from a Clan cat’s that Stoneheart had a hard time wrapping his head around it – surely there was a benefit that these cats saw in living this way. There wasn’t any time to debate who lived a better life.

Tucker turned a corner, leading them along a long stretch of wooden fence. Stoneheart, looking over Tucker’s head, had no idea how the kittypet was navigating so confidently. A dog barked in the distance, but Tucker paid it no mind, and he seemed to ignore all the noise and bustle like it was nothing.

I guess, in a way, it’s like a forest, Stoneheart thought. He’d had similar thoughts about Purdy’s Twolegplace. Just... different looking.

“So, how do you know Cody?” Stoneheart asked.

Tucker’s ears pricked. “Cody? Oh, I’ve known her for a while. She likes to roam around her block and explore, so it was only a matter of time before we met. She’s such a sweet cat!”

“Sounds like you’re smitten,” Wolftooth chuckled.

“Me? Oh, no!” Tucker paused, looking back at the ShadowClan cats. His eyes were wide at the thought. “Cody’s a really good friend, for one, and for another, she’s more interested in she-cats. I like her, but she’s only a friend.”

Stoneheart purred in amusement. “Well, it seems she has a good friend in you, as well,” he offered. “You were the first cat she thought of to help us.”

Tucker’s tail curled, and he looked pleased. He started walking again, his steps springy like a kitten’s. Stoneheart’s heart warmed. He does love her, he thought. Even if it might never be.

When the fence ended, Tucker warned them of the Thunderpaths they’d have to cross: “Branch lives at the vet,” he explained, “and it’s across a few roads.” Stoneheart looked ahead. All he could see were Twoleg nests. Behind him, Pinewhisker wondered, “Isn’t there any way to avoid the Thunderpaths?”

“Not really,” Tucker sighed. “I wish there were, too; believe me!”

“We just need to be careful,” Wolftooth grunted. “We’re no strangers to Thunderpaths – lead on, Tucker.”

Tucker nodded, doing just that, and soon enough they encountered their first Thunderpath. It was small, and the four cats managed to cross easily. Tucker called the dens that the Thunderpaths enclosed “blocks”, and as he led them along another series of fences, he explained that Twolegs tried to cram as many dens into a block as they could.

“It takes a long time to build Twoleg nests, and roads, too, you see,” Tucker meowed. “I knew a cat who waited four whole seasons before his home was built. Twolegs are big, so their homes need to be, too!”

Stoneheart felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Midnight had said that Twolegs were invading and destroying the forest to make more dens – and the ravaging had only just begun. The thought of trying to wait four whole seasons for the Twolegs to leave made Stoneheart feel sick.

Soon enough there was another Thunderpath, no busier than the last. Tucker led the way confidently, block after block, while the sun made its way through the sky. By sunhigh, Stoneheart had thoroughly lost his sense of direction, and the only hint of where they might be – the forest that peeked over the tops of the lower dens – was all but gone behind them.

Branch had better be worth it, he thought, nerves firing in his limbs. We don’t have time to search for the others and try to find our way back!

Finally, though, Tucker led them to what he called the last Thunderpath – this one was busier, but like Purdy’s Twolegplace there were paths made especially for crossing. Tucker led them along one of these special trails, confident despite the monsters being so close Stoneheart felt they might rip his pelt off. He scurried along, conscious of their growling and the heat they radiated.

On the other side was a block unlike the ones before – the buildings had no yards, and the grass was covered in a blanket of stone. The buildings here weren’t built like Twoleg dens – they were boxy and much, much larger, with bigger windows and strange colors. Tucker pointed out the vet’s den, the smaller of the buildings, with a large expanse of blank green grass nearby that felt oily and stank of hundreds of different animals. There was a little patch of woodland just behind it.

“We’ll wait in the woods for Branch,” Tucker promised, leading the way along the grass. “Lots of animals and their Twolegs come and go from the vet, so we’ll be out of sight back there.”

“And you’re sure this Branch cat can help us?” Wolftooth asked, trotting ahead. Now that they weren’t forced to walk single-file, the ShadowClan cats fanned out like a normal patrol. Stoneheart found he could ignore the strange way the grass felt – he was grateful his pads weren’t being pinched by wooden fences anymore.

Tucker seemed confident. “Listen, you’ll never find a cat like Branch anywhere in Twolegplace – he might seem weird, but he’s really smart. Once, a little Twoleg girl went missing and her kittypet went to Branch to help find her... and he did it! He found exactly where she was. He’ll find your cats too.”

“I hope so,” Pinewhisker sighed, glancing at Stoneheart.

Stoneheart looked away. He was already trying so hard not to think of never finding Rowanclaw again, he didn’t need the others looking at him like he was a kit that lost their favorite feather.

The cats reached the small patch of trees without incident. Stoneheart’s heart was pounding in his ears as he watched Twolegs come and go from the vet’s den, leading dogs by leashes or carrying their pets within what looked like too-small dens.

Tucker found them a spot beside the stump of a tree, stretching his legs and laying on his side in the dirt. “Branch usually comes out around dinnertime,” he meowed. “You guys should relax – if you’re hungry, birds like hanging out here. Don’t worry about the town Clans, either – they don’t bother Branch. No one hurts an animal that lives with a vet!”

“Huh, so there’s some honor among them!” huffed Wolftooth, looking surprised.

“Thank StarClan for that,” Pinewhisker complained, “I’m starving.”

“I’ll stay here with Tucker,” Stoneheart offered. He was conscious that Wolftooth was technically leading this patrol, but Stoneheart just didn’t have the appetite to hunt right now, not with this Branch – his only hope of finding Rowanclaw – showing up at any time.

Wolftooth seemed to understand. “Stay safe,” he meowed. “We’ll be back.”

Pinewhisker and Wolftooth left, heading deeper into the trees. Stoneheart turned away from them, focusing his eyes on the vet’s den. He spotted a door in the back, with another square-shaped opening like Tucker’s den had. If Branch was coming, he’d likely come out that way.

The goal was so close. Stoneheart hadn’t felt so nervous since the night before leaving for the journey, and he didn’t have Rowanclaw’s presence to soothe him now like he’d had then. Instead, he laid himself out beside Tucker, resting his chin on his paws, trying to ignore the way his heart was thudding in his ears.

StarClan, he thought. Please... let Branch have the answers we... that I... need!

[katrinawritesthings]

jonghyun / taemin; runaway; PG

close your thoughts and open your heart // hey love let's run away or you know that part in runaway after the bridge where jonghyun starts hitting in with the ad libs. I felt that in my heart @rollercoasterwrite hi again : )

After a while, a bouncy song worms its way into his head, has his heel tapping on the wooden slat of the train tracks. Taemin is holding his wrist in one hand, poking and pinching at the veins in his hand with the other. Jonghyun twists his hand so he can hold Taemin's instead, lacing their fingers together.

“Hey love, let's run away,” he sings softly. Taemin snorts quietly, the sound followed by a slow sigh.

“Sometimes I really want to,” he mumbles. He tilts his head away, but only until Jonghyun’s head falls to rest on his shoulder. Then he rests his head back on top of Jonghyun. “Just…” he says. “Pack some shit and... leave.”

Crickets chirp at Jonghyun’s feet as he walks along the dirt side of the road. The sidewalk dropped off about a block ago as he got towards the back of the neighborhood, where all of the big older houses are, the ones that are framed on this corner by the train tracks ahead of him and the creek to his left across the street.

 He can hear the creek now, barely; it's summer so it's pretty low, but there's still a very faint trickle of water running through the rocks at the very bottom. He follows it, hands in his jeans pockets, leather jacket over his shoulders, collar popped for style and gay, and alternates between watching where his feet are going in the darkness and gazing up at the starry sky through the trees grown tall and wide by the house on his right.

  Soon he comes to the end of the houses, the corner of this block, and faces the train tracks just on the other side of the road. He turns right and starts making his way that way, walking with the tracks to his left now, and keeps going until he hops back up onto the sidewalk in front of the blue apartments that line the road here. There he counts doors, passes one, two, three, four, Taemin’s, comes to a stop, turns left.

 There, across the street, sitting lazily on the metal rail of the train tracks, softly illuminated by a street lamp a couple of yards away, Taemin lifts a hand and waves at him.

 Jonghyun smiles even though he knows it's too dark for Taemin to see and waves back. He knew he would find Taemin here tonight. Taemin is always out here when he starts posting his emo lonely shit on his blog at 2 in the morning. Looking both ways, hopping off of the sidewalk yet again, Jonghyun jogs across the street and joins Taemin, sitting on the rail opposite him with their feet purposefully close together so that when he gets bored of sitting still they can play footy. 

 “Hey,” he says.

 “Hey,” Taemin says back.

 “How are you feeling?”

 “Mmh. Buh. You?”

 “Yeah. Same.”

 “Nice.” Taemin reaches one hand out over the tracks and Jonghyun takes it, a handhold of solidarity over their shitty mental health. They grin at each other in the lamp light, Jonghyun taking in Taemin’s tired eyes and mussed dirty blond hair under his hood and blotchy skin, knowing that Taemin is looking him over as well.

  A moment passes like that, and then another where Jonghyun appreciates that moment, appreciates Taemin, appreciates the gay little nut that he always harbors inside of himself for his friend. Then, before he even gets bored of sitting still, he gets bored of not sitting next to Taemin.

 So he stands up, just for a second, and moves to sit on the opposite train track, next to Taemin so their sides are pressed together. Swinging his arm around Taemin’s shoulders with enough force that they sway backward and forward a little bit, he smirks when Taemin rolls his eyes at him and leans their heads together. This is good.

 “How's work?” Taemin asks him then. 

 “Oh, awful,” Jonghyun says cheerfully. Taemin snorts, but not in a surprised way; Jonghyun knows that he already knew what the answer was before he asked. He elaborates more anyway: “Hours suck, mr. manager can't decide whether or not he wants to give me none or all of them,” he says, lifting one finger on the hand around Taemin’s shoulders. “Ever since summer started we get way less cool broke college kids and way more entitled Karens, management spent a whole month hyping up a super big raise that turned out to be a whole $0.50, one of the other stockers quit and I got stuck with training the new kid, except the new kid is just the managers son and he refuses to learn how to do jack shit because he knows he won't get fired, and Sekyung transferred to a different store last week before I could even get up the courage to tell her I liked her.”

 “Oh, dude,” Taemin says, a disappointed sigh accompanying his words. He turns to Jonghyun with a look that's half exasperated, half sympathetic. “I told you to get on that before you lost your chance.”

 “I know,” Jonghyun whines. He knows. Everyone has been telling him to confess to her for like 5 months. “I'm shy around femmes,” he pouts, turning to smush his face into Taemin’s shoulder. They make him all flustered and shaky. It's always been so much easier for him to flirt with everyone else. Taemin’s hand comes up to ruffle through his hair sympathetically, which Jonghyun appreciates.

 “How’s school?” he asks into Taemin’s hoodie. He knows the answer to this just like Taemin did when he asked his question, and just like he expected, Taemin groans rough in the back of his throat. 

 “It sucks,” Taemin says, probably too loudly for how close they are to a line of apartments at 3 in the morning. “It sucks and I hate it. I have too many classes because I need to take so many classes and fucking rich boy mc asshole that always sits next to me in bio always goes," Why don't you just take fewer classes and stay for more years?" and it's like, because I'm not fucking made out of money, asshole, and also, I don't even know why the fuck I'm taking bio, I don't know why I'm majoring in biochem, I hate it, I still can't believe I let my parents bully me into it, and I can't even join the dance club because the fucking dance club got cancelled somehow, and it's like, how the fuck do you--? It’s just a dance club? It's like one of the least problematic clubs in the school? How does that even happen? And all my teachers talk so much big shit about how woke and accommodating they are but they never even let me have one extension on anything, and--” 

 He stops talking in favor of just curling up his knees and pushing his forehead into them, and then tapping his forehead on them, harder and harder, almost to an alarming intensity. Almost because Jonghyun, knowing to expect it, quickly curls his arm even further around his shoulders and lifts his other arm to push on his chest, keeping him away.

 “Hey! Hey... Hey,” he says quietly, close to Taemin’s ear. He drops a tiny little smooch to his temple as well, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Be gentle with yourself,” he chides. He can't keep banging himself up every time he gets all worked up because of all of everyone else's bullshit. Taemin sighs through his nose, whole body sagging into Jonghyun’s.

 “Yeah, yeah,” he says. He sounds a mix of tired of how often Jonghyun says that to him and tired of how often he needs to be told that. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

 Jonghyun hums back and then lets it be quiet between them for a little bit. That's what always helps Taemin. Just sitting with someone that supports him and thinking through his brain stuff on his own. Jonghyun likes the comfort of quiet snuggling as well. He didn't walk four blocks in the middle of the night just because he was worried about his friend getting lost on the train tracks 10 yards in front of his own apartment. He was feeling emo and lonely and couldn't sleep, too. And Taemin has to know that, because he shifts closer to him and takes his hand to hold in both of his, rubbing warmth into his skin.

 Taemin looks into their laps, at their hands, scuffs the pebbley ground with his foot. Jonghun looks up, to the sky, at the moon and all the stars that twinkle down at him. Both of them are getting lost in the same way, lost in their thoughts, lost in their surroundings, lost in each other's comfort. It's a familiar and easy escape to settle into and Jonghyun rests their heads together gently again.

 After a while, a bouncy song worms its way into his head, has his heel tapping on the wooden slat of the train tracks. Taemin is holding his wrist in one hand, poking and pinching at the veins in his hand with the other. Jonghyun twists his hand so he can hold Taemin's instead, lacing their fingers together.

 “Hey love, let's run away,” he sings softly. Taemin snorts quietly, the sound followed by a slow sigh.

 “Sometimes I really want to,” he mumbles. He tilts his head away, but only until Jonghyun’s head falls to rest on his shoulder. Then he rests his head back on top of Jonghyun. “Just…” he says. “Pack some shit and... leave.”

 “Same,” Jonghyun says. The allure of it is so strong that sometimes he only has his executive dysfunction to blame for not actually doing it.

 “Yeah?” Taemin asks, turning to him with a raised eyebrow, so close that Jonghyun can see up his nose. He fights down his giggle in favor of nodding simply. Yeah. “Where would you go?” Taemin asks. Jonghyun grins. This at least is a question he can answer easily. 

 “Ideally?” he says, and then points a finger straight up at the stars. “Infiltrate NASA, steal a spaceship, blast off, explore the cosmos and find a universe where everything doesn't suck.” He lets his hand fall back down into Taemin’s. “Realistically?” he asks quieter, and then he shrugs. He's never really done more than daydream and he doesn't really have any actual plans. “SHINee is doing that free little concert on the beach this weekend,” he says. That would be fun to go to.

 “Fuck, I forgot about that,” Taemin hisses. “I was going to say Japan, but, fuck, I love SHINee.” Jonghyun chuckles. Japan sounds fun too, but, yeah, a chill acoustic beach concert a couple of hours away sounds much more doable. “One time, in high school,” Taemin says. “When I didn't feel guilty about asking for shit like concert tickets or whatever, I went to go see them. And this was, like, before they were popular, so I got front row seats, and Taeyeon did one of her spins, you know?”

  He looks at Jonghyun like he expects Jonghyun to know what he means; Jonghyun does. The kind of spins that Taeyeon does when she's dancing, where she winds herself up and then nuts herself around like a top.

 “And some of her sweat dripped on me,” Taemin continues dreamily. He taps a spot high on his cheek, next to his nose. “Right here. It was so great.”

 “Lucky,” Jonghyun sighs wistfully. “2 years ago I got Junghee to sign a guitar pick for me,” he says. He blushes just thinking about her crescent eye smile, her sharp teeth, her buff babely arms as she handed him back the pick. He still has it in a tiny little glass frame on his headboard. “Do you think she would sign my bass for me, if I took it to the concert?” He asks. 

 “Probably, if we got up close to the front,” Taemin says. Jonghyun feels his shoulder shrug under his cheek. Then he feels it shift and move more, and sits up a little bit so Taemin is free to dig in his hoodie pocket for his phone. “How far away is that concert, even?” he asks, pulling up a map app and entering in two addresses. Jonghyun snorts as the directions and distance pop up. It's even further away than he thought; about four hours drive. Taemin doesn't snort, but he does sigh in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes and stuffing his phone into his pocket again. “Fucking. Hundred fifty bucks worth of gas,” he mutters.

 “I forgot how awful your car is,” Jonghyun says, the words coming out as half of a laugh. He knows he can't talk because he doesn't have a car, but Taemin’s car is a piece of shit. He loves that rusty little bug. Taemin laughs too, embarrassed, probably a little offended. Then he sighs again.

 “Plus hotel costs,” he mumbles. “You know I can't drive at night. It's scary.”

 “Sure,” Jonghyun says. He can't relate, but he understands. “Train tickets are only like, eight bucks each,” he says. “$30 round trip, that's not bad. Still would have to find a hotel, though.” The trains stop running too early around here.

 “Does it even have to be a round trip, though?” Taemin says absently. “I thought we were running away.”

 “Oh yeah,” Jonghyun says. He yawns into his popped collar, and then smiles as a wild thought appears in his brain. Leaning back on his hands so the pebbles skittered all over the ground dig into his palms, he says, “What if when we get there and I get Junghee to sign my guitar, I show her some of the songs I've written and she's so impressed she hires me to be like, her roadie slash groupie slash songwriter?”

  “Dude, yeah,” Taemin grins. “and Gwiboon wouldn't be able to resist my super cute face,” he says, poking his own cheek proudly. Jonghyun snorts, giggling into his shoulder.

 “Please, she has standards,” he says, elbowing Taemin in the side. Taemin just shrugs lazily.

 “Not high ones, you've seen how soft she is for Taeyeon.” and Jonghyun can't argue with that, so he doesn't. He just shakes his head fondly as he thinks about his 5 favorite ladies. Looking up at the stars, he finds his favorite one and smiles at it while Taemin yawns into the back of his hand. “We could pick up jobs with them, if we tried,” he says quietly. “You know they've talked about needing more help on their tours. We could just... Go. right now. Just us two. We could do it.” 

 “Yeah,” Jonghyun says, just as quietly. It really could happen. If they went. If they tried. He turns his head to his left to look at Taemin, to say something, but before he can, something behind Taemin catches his attention. Further down the track, way further, down on the main road, red lights blink slowly back and forth. And one big bright yellow light in the middle of the track slowly approaches. Faint dinging from the train crossing reaches his ears now as well.

 “Shit,” he mumbles, and stands up. When Taemin blinks at him in question, he reaches both hands out to help him stand. “Train’s coming,” he says, nodding down the track. 

 “Oh,” Taemin says, looking down there himself. He pulls Jonghyun off of the track, to the little metal fence on the other side of it that separates them from the ditch between the track and the high soundproof walls that encase the fancy rich people apartments. 

  They hoist themselves up and sit on top of the fence, Jonghyun slipping his arm behind Taemin to hold on to the railing on his other side, keeping him safe. Together they watch the train slowly draw near, chugging it's way along steadily, thick clouds of smoke puffing from the front. It moves slowly; it's one of the usual supply trains that runs on this track, not one of the fast public transportation trains. Jonghyun watches the line of cars on the main street pile up behind it, amused.

 It takes at least five minutes for the train to actually come near them, the scent of metal and grease and rust and smoke thick in the air. As it draws near, Taemin raises a hand in a lazy wave. Jonghyun smiles, then is filled with a sudden impulse.

 Slowly, hesitantly, with all of the same hope in his heart that he had when he was 8 years old, he lifts his hand next to his head and pumps it up and down twice. Then he waits, other hand gripping tight to the railing in anticipation. He can't see the conductor in there; it's too dark, and the headlight makes it too bright in all of the wrong places. The train chugs ever closer, almost passing them, and Jonghyun starts to lose hope, but then--

 The train whistle sounds, 2 long notes, just as the front cabin passes them.

 The sound blasts through the night air, no doubt annoying everyone except Jonghyun, who does his biggest and loudest woohoo!, both hands raised high in the air, fists pumping back and forth triumphantly, and Taemin, who has one hand on the fence and one hand on Jonghyun’s thigh as he doubles over laughing. 

 It's exhilarating; Jonghyun feels ecstatic, rejuvenated, alive. His heart beats against his ribs, his lungs expand with huge breaths of air, his cheeks almost hurt from how wide and hard he's smiling, his body tingles, the warm summer breeze feels extra sharp against his skin. He watches the train go, gratitude and excitement in his soul, feeling so light and so bright from that small favor from a friendly stranger that he feels like he'll burst into a million elated pieces. 

  It's overwhelming, almost. How happy he is right now, in this isolated moment, how intense the emotion is. He never gets emotions this intense anymore. He loves it, loves feeling so much so suddenly, so hard, so positive. It fills him up all the way, starts in his chest and expands to every single part of his body, and Taemin’s continued laughter next to him only makes him feel better.

 He turns around, takes in Taemin’s wide open mouth and round red cheeks and scrunched up eyes and feels like with him, he could feel this happy all the time. His heart, already so full and so happy, beats even faster, feels so good, so good that he reaches up and cups Taemin’s face in both hands and presses a kiss firm to his mouth.

  Taemin makes a noise into his mouth, not surprised, just a little muffled exclamation. Jonghyun keeps kissing him, shallow, simple, just to feel their mouths together, to prolong this moment of happiness, to share it with his friend. Taemin, after a moment, kisses him back, a breath of a laugh puffing over Jonghyun’s upper lip. His hands come up and cover Jonghyun’s, not to move them away, but to hold. 

 “Yeah?” he asks between two kisses. His voice is a little incredulous, but mostly resigned, and a little enamored. Jonghyun nods, moving their hands down together to rest gently around Taemin’s neck and angle him better into the kiss.

 “Yeah,” he smiles. He loves this, loves kissing, loves kissing Taemin, loves feeling this good. He wants to feel this good all the time. He wants to be with Taemin, to go with him, run away with him, he wants to--

 He pulls away for just a moment, and in that moment, looking at Taemin’s closed eyelids, his chapped skin, his softly parted lips, Jongyun’s elation fades away. Reality creeps back in, slowly, a trickle of disappointment. A thought comes to him. A real thought, not an emotion. A thought of responsibility. He sighs, sliding his arms down to hug Taemin around the arms instead, pulling him close and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

 “We should... Call someone to be our voice of reason and not let us run away,” he mumbles sadly. If he's feeling impulsive enough to want to kiss Taemin and be with him forever, and Taemin is feeling desperate enough to drive to the coast and never come back, then the two of them together really shouldn't be left alone. In his arms, Taemin expands and deflates in his own heavy sigh. 

 “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I guess you're right.” It's awkward when they're sitting next to each other like this on the fence, but he slips his arms around Jonghyun’s waist and hugs him back. “Jinki?” he asks. And despite how little and sad Jonghyun is suddenly feeling, he snorts and giggles a little bit. 

 “Are you kidding, his Sagittarius ass?” he asks. “He'd drive all the way over here right now and pick us up. Minho too.” he wouldn't trust either of them to stop a runaway impulse if his life depended on it, and that's him speaking as an Aries. Taemin scoffs quietly next to his ear.

 “Astrology hoe,” he teases. Then, before Jonghyun can grump at him, says, “Key would murder us if we woke him up this late.” Jonghyun chuckles a little more. That also is true.

  “That's the Libra in him,” he says slyly.

 “Excuse me? He's a Virgo.”

 “He's a cusp.”

 “What the fuck is a cusp?”

 “If you were an astrology hoe, you would know.”

 “God. Shut up.”

 Taemin shoves him away, but he's smiling when Jonghyun leans back and smirks, smiling and shaking his head. He pulls down his hood, runs his hands through his messy dirty blond bangs a few times, and pulls his hood back up. Jonghyun elbows his side gently, wiggling his eyebrows when Taemin glances at him just to make him shake his head again. Then he just grips the railing on either side of his hips, looking back up at the stars. Taemin holds onto the fence too, his right hand so close to Jonghyun’s left that their pinkies overlap, and looks down at the earth. 

 “I guess if we can't call anyone to stop us then we have to find some shred of responsibility between the two of us and do it ourselves,” Jonghyun says to the sky. He’s sure that between the both of them they can find one small nugget of good mental health and adult skills to keep them from making a bad decision at 3 in the morning. Jonghyun rolls his head to the side to nudge Taemin’s shoulder. “Want to go back to my place and just sleep?” he asks. Taemin breathes out a laugh, feet kicking against a lower rail of the fence so Jonghyun can feel every hit of contact under his thighs.

 “I don't want to fucking.” he lifts one hand to rub over his face tiredly, smile still wide behind it, then gestures it vaguely over the neighborhood. “Walk, like, over a mile in the dark, that's so much work,” he says. He nudges Jonghyun back. “You just come sleep with me in my place.” he nods his head forward, over the track, across the street, at his apartment door. Jonghyun raises his eyebrows, surprised.

 “I thought I wasn't allowed in your house?” he says. “Because your parents hate me, because I'm a bad influence and I turned you gay and I filled your head with awful horrible thoughts like, free healthcare is a human right and capitalism is inherently evil and no one should have to work for a living.”

  Taemin snorts into laughter, ugly adorable little giggles that crinkle his eyes, then shakes his head. Shrugging, he says, “I convinced them that it was actually college that did all of that, and you couldn't have done it because you didn't go to college, so now they just hate you because you didn't go to college.”

 “Oh, well, that's so much better,” Jonghyun says sarcastically. Taemin just shrugs back again, looking completely unbothered.

 “They're both asleep right now and they'll both be gone in the morning anyway,” he says. “Besides, I bought myself a lock for my door and pulled the I'm a 24 year old adult and I deserve privacy excuse for it. It'll be the easiest thing in the world to sneak you into my bed. Come on.” He hops off the fence, straightens his hoodie around his hips, and then holds out his hand. 

 Jonghyun looks at it, his weird little fingers, his bony wrist peeking out of the sleeve. Then he looks up at Taemin’s face. Acne on his cheeks, bags under his eyes. He feels nice in his heart, the way he did earlier, but less intense, more familiar. Taking Taemin’s hand, he resists the pull in favor of tugging Taemin close to him instead, pulling him to stand between his legs. Even from here he has to tilt his head up a little bit to look into Taemin’s eyes. He cups Taemin’s face again, rubbing his thumb over his bumpy cheek, and smiles, leaning in to softly peck his lips. 

 Taemin makes the same kind of not surprised but just amused noise as he did before. His hands slide up to rest on Jonghyun’s thighs. Jonghyun appreciates that Taemin lets him just do this a whole lot.

 “Hey, not to be impulsive emotional gay and also genuine soft gay in the same ten minutes, but,” Jonghyun says, resting their foreheads together, letting their lips brush as he speaks. “Thanks for being my friend,” he says. Then he kisses the little humming noise that Taemin makes in response to that.

 “Don't mention it,” Taemin says. “Come on.” He gets his hands around Jonghyun’s waist and tugs him off of the fence. Jonghyun pretends to stumble and leans all of his weight on Taemin, clinging to him, smiling against his ear when he staggers for real and makes a surprised, disgruntled little noise. Then, before Taemin can get mad at him, he just swings his arm around his shoulders, steadies him on his feet, and bumps him gently to start walking back to his apartment. 

 Taemin bumps him back even harder, but he also slips his arm around his waist, so Jonghyun doesn't mind.

 Their shoes crunch over the gravel around the train tracks, clink against the metal of the rail, thud against the planks. Jonghyun tilts his head to look up at the stars, thinks that would make a good picture, pauses as that thought stirs something in his memory. Tightening his hold on Taemin so he stops too, Jonghyun puts his hand into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone.

 Opening up Instagram, he leans back and snaps a picture of the sky. Then he takes another with the moon in it, his favorite lesbian, and then he lowers his phone and takes a picture of the train tracks disappearing into the darkness. Then he flips it to the front camera and smushes his cheek against Taemin’s, smiling pretty and watching him roll his eyes on the screen.

 “Why?” Taemin asks, even as he lifts a hand to mess with his bangs and make them look nicer.

 “It's this thing I read online one time,” Jonghyun says, waiting for Taemin to close his eyes and smile tiredly for the camera. He takes the picture and then continues, “to help with, you know, not being so mean to myself all the time. I'm documenting all the times that I feel like it's pretty okay to be me.”

  As Taemin hums quietly in approval, Jonghyun raises his phone and tilts it to give them one of those funny face selfie angles. Taemin catches on very quickly, raising both hands in little v signs and pushing up his cheeks. Jonghyun giggles, muffling them in Taemin’s shoulder, before popping back up and tilting his head and opening his eyes super wide so they look gigantic in the picture.

 Once he takes it, he pulls his phone back close so he can look at all of the filters and everything. He lets Taemin pull him across the street and up onto the sidewalk as he does. He plays with it, putting filters on all of the pictures except the selfies while Taemin quietly jiggles his key into the lock and sneaks him through the apartment and to his bedroom.

 When they get there, Jonghyun snorts at the fact that Taemin purchased a whole ass electronic fingerprint lock instead of a key or combination one. That must have been one hell of a conversation with his parents. Taemin opens his bedroom door and gestures Jonghyun inside with a silent flourish and a huge grin, one Jonghyun returns as he curtsies gratefully and flounces inside like a delicate princess.

 Then he tosses his phone onto Taemin’s bed and shrugs out of his jacket and jeans, doing his best not to stumble around and curse when his foot gets stuck. Taemin isn't doing much better; Jonghyun hears more than sees him bang his knee on his dresser as he makes his way to the bed. 

 Still, they manage to fall into bed together without making too much noise, and Jonghyun gets comfortable with his right arm under Taemin’s head. He picks up his phone and goes back to his Instagram post, typing out a summary of his night so he'll be able to look back on it another time when he isn't feeling as good. Taemin grumbles at the brightness and turns his face into Jonghyun’s shoulder, pulling his blankies up high over them.

  Ruffling Taemin’s hair gently, dropping a tiny kiss to the top of his head, Jonghyun finishes his post, sends it, and then puts his phone on power save mode so it doesn't die during their little snooze. Then he curls up on his side, wrapping his other arm around Taemin’s waist and tangling their legs together. He always likes sleeping with Taemin. It's so easy for them to be comfortable next to each other.

 “I hope you dream about playing guitar with Junghee on the pier at sunset,” Taemin whispers to him. It takes a moment for that sentence to process in Jonghyun’s brain, but when it does, his heart swells and he squeezes Taemin that much closer, that much tighter. That's so sweet.

 “Thanks,” he whispers back. “I hope you dream about dancing with Taeyeon and then you both have the sweatiest hug imaginable.”

 “Hell yeah,” Taemin giggles. “Nighty-night.”

  “Nighty-night.” And Jonghyun isn't feeling particularly sleepy, actually, but here, with Taemin, he can still close his eyes and let his brain turn off for a little bit, maybe doze for a little while, and that's more than he gets with anyone else.

[roro-mo]

Love can wait

Hi all,

i posted this fanfic on fan fiction.net in the New Year and thought I should share this on tumblr for those who are looking for more ZoNa, just like me. You can find this here.

This was one of my first fanfics but I haven’t updated the story in like forever so am looking to go back to writing fanfics. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the chapter as much as I did. 

You don’t need to read the other chapters as they are not really connected - sort of. We haven’t entered the main plot at all so not connected as of yet. But reading chapter 6 may help you understand some of the things in this chapter. 

Summary: What if Zoro and Nami were childhood friends? How different would their lives be? Lot's of one shots set in an AU where Zoro and Nami are childhood friends. Mugiwara crew will also make an appearance. (It’s one of those close balcony friendship - cringe i know lmao, was young when I started LOL)

Rated: M (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: One piece is not mine.

Also, Italics are what the characters are thinking. 

Zoro was completing his usual workout, but from home. He groaned, lifting the 15 kg weights for the 96th time. He needed to lift the weights 4 more times and he had to do it soon or Nami was going to barge in, ruining his schedule.

"97...98...99" he counted. He was lifting it for the last time when he smelt her signature fragrance.

"100" he grunted, dropping the weights and closing his eyes in peace. He felt her soft bosom on his back and her arms around him, as she completely pushed her body against him.

A single trail of sweat dropped from his temple to his cheek from the work out. He was too tired to push her away so he stood still, just breathing in and out to stabilise his heartbeat. However, this proved to be difficult as he could only smell her with every breath, and felt her soft small hands on his abs...wait... did he just feel her hands underneath his shirt?

"What the hell witch?" he spat, as his hands automatically stopped hers from outside of his shirt.

Nami was a flirt and loved teasing men, especially Zoro. She loved taking advantage of her beauty and loved getting her way. It was either her way or the highway. She was a greedy witch and she loved every part about it.

"Zoroooo" she said with a tone, a tone Zoro knew too well. It was a tone she used to get her way. A tone that often worked in nosebleed kun, which was not going to work on him.

"Seriously, what are you doing Nami?" he said, turning his head slightly to see what Nami was up to.

"I'm helping you remove your top." She said trying to move her hands, which was useless as Zoro clutched onto them.

"What do you want?"

"To eat." Nami said cheerfully. Today both their parents were out drinking while Nojiko was at university so it was only him and her. But their parents trusted them, hell they even encouraged to utilise their alone time and do something naughty. Nami's stepfather, Genzo, loved Zoro's wisdom and the way he respected elders. He would want nothing but for Zoro to take his no good spoilt daughter as his wife. While Zoro's father loved having Nami around and would be happy if someone, anyone could accept his muscle idiot of a son.

"And what does eating have anything to do with getting naked?" Zoro said with an eyebrow.

She withdrew her hand from underneath his t-shirt, away from his well built abs. Zoro was saddened at the departure of her warmth but was glad at the same time.

She pinched her nose, "well you kinda stink."

"Hurry and go take a shower. We are going to Baratie." she said, folding her arms, knowing Zoro was going to complain about meeting Sanji-kun.

"Baratie?" Zoro said, his voice slightly louder than he intended it to.

"Yes Baratie, Zoro, Baratie" Nami repeated it twice for her words to reach Zoro's head.

"We will be meeting up with Luffy there as well. Have a nice dinner and drink something nice. Well, Luffy won't. But we can." she said, making drinking gestures.

Zoro liked the idea of drinking with Nami. Maybe, they could resume their ongoing bet as well. Their bet of who can withstand drinks longer was still on hold as they either tie or come out drunk at the end of it. But seeing that shit head took the fun out of it.

He turned around, wiping his forehead clean with his left arm, showing off his biceps in the process. Nami's eyes fluttered to his biceps, enjoying the view he presented her.

"Will we see nosebleed kun as well?" he asked.

She made a face, "who is nosebleed kun? Don't make fun of Sanji kun." She said slapping his chest. Just to feel how hard it was and oh, it was hard.

"Just answer the damn question." he said, removing his top in front of her. His whole body seemed to be living as Nami could see each and every muscle in his body ripple against his skin whilst he removed his t-shirt. His nipples whispered hello to her and oh god, his abs. She trailed a single sweat that dropped from his neck, which made its way between his collar bone, past his chest, crossed his abs and disappeared in his belly button

"like what you see?" He said smirking at how fixated she was with his abs.

She quickly looked up to see him smirking at her, with that stupid grin. She was not gonna let him be the only winner.

"Nope, not at all." she said turning, throwing her hair to his face in the process, and moving towards the door. Zoro closed his eyes naturally and as he opened his eyes to shout some vain remarks to Nami, all he saw was her ass and hips moving side to side towards the door. She didn't need to say anything because she knew he was already looking.

"Be ready by 5 and come over as soon as you're ready." She said before leaving the room completely.

"Oh and invite law." she said with a wink.

///////////

Zoro was ready in 10 mins. He put on a simple white top, jeans and a simple black denim jacket. He looked over his balcony to the other side with a frown.

She is definitely still getting ready.

He went over anyways to pressure her into getting ready quicker, only to find her putting on a skirt that didn't fit. Zoro could see the plumps of skin near the waist of the skirt and her ass as she was struggling to put it on. She was wearing a pink lace thong that illuminated the pale skin underneath. His shameful eyes drank the scene in front of him; her buns juggled as she shook her ass to try to fit the skirt. Damn, that is one big ass, he thought. His hands twitched to slap her right cheek but he shook the thoughts away.

"I don't think that fits Nami." He spoke in a low husky voice.

His voice surprised her, causing her to trip over herself and lose her balance, falling face forward. As a result, her ass was high up in the air and Nami put herself on display for him. He choked on his own spit at the scene in front of her. And that thong was not helping, it practically covered nothing with her ass high up for him to see.

With a tint of blush, he turned around to give her privacy.

"What the hell Zoro!" she turned her head from the ground and was relieved when she found him facing the other way.

She got up and got rid of the skirt. The skirt was velvet and in the colour red. It was short enough to show her smooth legs and just long enough to cover the important parts. Although the skirt didn't fit her, she got it on a 80% sale and her first instinct was to buy it. It was a bargain and was the last piece after all! It's a shame it doesn't fit as it would definitely look good on her.

She was dressed casual for today and was wearing a white cami top with lace detailed front. She was going to wear that velvet skirt with it but decided to replace it with high waisted ripped jeans. She felt a bit exposed after Zoro found her in her thong trying to wear a skirt that didn't fit! So she decided to go with something that would cover her legs.

"Just so you know," she said putting one leg through her jeans, "I'm charging you for that." She said putting the other leg in.

"What the hell witch!" he complained.

"How dare you walk in here and try to see me naked. I didn't peg you to be a Sanji, Zoro." She said walking towards her makeup table to brush her hair. Sanji is a term they use as an inner joke to call men who basically, well, act like Sanji-kun.

After what seemed to be an appropriate time to Zoro, he turned around to state his dissatisfaction.

"Well, it's not my fault you're not ready yet. You're the one who told me to hurry and now you're the one who's not ready. How is it my fault that you're still getting dressed after an hour?"

"You tell me to come over and now, you tell me not to come over, make up your damn mind witch." He said with a frown.

"Zorrroooo, I'm a woman. I'm allowed to take time to look my best." She said in a haughty manner.

She stood up, happy with her hair and turned to him.

"This," she said waving at her body, "doesn't happen overnight. It takes me time to look this good."

He just scoffed. Although he wanted to disagree and say she wasn't all the hotshot she thought she was, he didn't want to make her change clothes, which is something she would do if he disagreed.

He went to sit on her bed and complained that she was slow again.

"Did you call Torao-kun?" She asked reapplying her lipstick one final time. She checked her makeup once more before spraying her setting spray.

"Yes woman, yes, I called your ride." He said with a displeased voice.

Zoro met Law as a child in a kendo club. He was 5 and Law was 10. Zoro was always working hard and stayed behind every time to train harder. He muttered about getting stronger and this piqued Trafalgar D. Water Law's interest in the little boy. Law always teased Zoro for being a little boy yet having big "goals", to which Zoro always challenged Law and they somehow ended in a draw everytime. After leaving the kendo club, Zoro was still close with Law and had been together in every stage of each other's life. Nami and Luffy met Law only after an incident that required Luffy to visit the hospital.

Luffy unfortunately amputated his pinky finger from one of his stupid antics. Nami freaked out so much that she almost fainted when she heard the pinky land on her bedroom floor with a tap. Zoro fortunately knew Law who was a medical student. Law was from a family of doctors and his dream was always to follow his father's footsteps. He would spend hours reading on human anatomy and diseases when he was a child. Law was very smart as a child and eventually skipped grades before he entered medical school.

Zoro remembered law immediately and asked him for first aid through the phone. As they both sounded so distressed over the phone, Law asked them to visit his hospital where he was working as a placement. Zoro and Nami rushed Luffy to the hospital while Luffy was wailing and sobbing about his missing finger. Law helped Luffy calm down and proceeded to ask routine questions about the incident before helping to reattach his finger with surgeons (one of them being his dad). Thankfully, it was a success due to the first aid Law provided. Law was so surprised at how Luffy severed his finger, somewhere along the line due to his interests in Luffy's case, he became Torao and Luffy's friend without his approval. All he said was "so how did you cut your finger?" And Luffy hasn't left him alone since then. Nami thinks it's because Luffy was hysteric over his cut pinky and thanked Torao for (in Luffy's term) "saving his life."

Oh but Zoro knew. He's been with Law for a very long time and they grew up together after all. Zoro knew that wasn't the reason why Law still hangs around Luffy and Nami, and sometimes without Zoro. He's seen the stolen glances and the way law looks at Nami. Law wouldn't be wasting his time to drive them to Barati if he didn't fancy her.

A car honk was heard from outside of Nami's window. Zoro didn't miss the small smile that crawled on Nami's face and wore an annoyed look on his own. Nami sprinted out to her balcony and waved at her older friend.

She turned around and said "let's go!"

Zoro followed her with heavy footsteps. But he still followed her, he was compliant every time and he didn't know why.

As they got nearer to the parked car, Law lowered his passenger window and Nami leaned in on the opened window, revealing her cleavage to the driver. Zoro grimaced, acutely aware of what she was doing. Nami smiled and whispered a sweet 'thank you'.

That's when it hit Zoro. This witch knew. She knew Law had a thing for her and was using him like a Sanji.

Law's eyes followed the top that slightly slid down as Nami leaned over and settled at the cleavage that revealed itself to him. Law smiled in response and gestured Nami to get in the car. To save Law's dignity, Zoro shoved Nami aside and got in the front seat.

"Hey, what the hell?" She asked, ticked off at Zoro's actions.

"Sit at the back." he said gesturing behind him to the back seat.

She pouted because now she would have to sit alone at the back but got in anyways as she was hungry.

Baratie was a beautiful and a fancy restaurant owned by Chef Zeff, who Sanji admires and sees as a father figure.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by a well-lit restaurant with full-length windows around the whole restaurant for natural light. At night, the bulbs that hung on the ceiling were lit in different colours - purple, red, yellow, all creating beautiful lighting during the night. The wall was painted an elegant white, which matched well with the light pink velvet carpet on the floor. In the centre of the restaurant, one could find stairs leading down to the kitchen and up for more seating.

The receptionist recognised the distinct hair colours of Sanji's friends and she didn't even have to ask them about their reservation. She welcomed them and took them straight to the table reserved for "Sanji's queen" as was directed by Sanji in the morning.

"Here are the menus."

She didn't recognise the guy with the tattoos but proceeded to ask the other two whether they would like to order the same as usual.

Nami closed her menu and sweetly smiled before nodding her head. Her usual at the Baratie was a medium steak with chips and red wine, while Zoro's was a signature bacon burger with melted cheese and chips. Law read through a couple of pages before ordering a classic carbonara with white wine. She nodded before proceeding to head towards the kitchen.

Nami was sitting across Zoro and Law was sitting in between them. Zoro saw Nami looking around and guessed she was looking for Sanji.

"Where's Luffy? I thought we were supposed to meet him here." Zoro asked Nami. Nami finally looked at Zoro, he doesn't know why but it felt like she hasn't looked his way today at all. Frankly speaking, Nami was too embarrassed to look at Zoro after the whole thong incident.

With her cheek on her palm, she responded "You'll see him soon enough! He was supposed to come with us but he said he'll already be here by the time we arrive."

Zoro munched on some garlic bread and asked, "Where's nosebleed Kun?"

"Who's nosebleed kun?" Law asked as he didn't remember anyone who was called that.

"Yes, Zoro, who is nosebleed kun?" Nami asked sarcastically, tilting her head to the side.

As if Sanji heard her, he came running with the drinks while singing "Nammmiiiii-swannnnn!"

"My love, my body has been waiting this whole day for this moment." Sanji said, skilfully twirling towards her, without dropping any of the drinks on his way.

"Ah, Sanji kun!" she said clapping her hands together.

"Here you go mademoiselle, one red wine." He said, kneeling down for her.

"Hey, where's my drink?" Law questioned, but it was completely ignored by Sanji.

"Thank you." Nami said lifting her hand gracefully and touching Sanji's cheek.

"I missed you so much." She cooed.

"I can't wait to eat the food your very hands made." she said touching his hands now.

"Namiii-swannn, I know our love was meant to be. For you, I've cooked only the finest and delicious food."

"Ahhh, but I don't have enough money to pay for the finest meals in your restaurant." She said with an act.

"And it's all free for you Nami-swan." Sanji said holding Nami's hand on his and lifting it lightly to kiss her hand.

She giggled.

"Great thank you, expected nothing less from you, Sanji-kun." She said rubbing his chin before looking at the two pairs of eyes watching her in shock.

"You're going to hell." Zoro stated.

"And you, how can you be so dumb you idiot cook."

"It's not free for you shitheads. You guys have to pay." Sanji said to the boys coming out of his love trance.

"Nami-ya, if you can't pay for it then I will pay for you. You don't need to resort to such...err…" His words died on his lips when she sent an angry look directed at him.

"No, thank you law. You guys owe me money, not the other way around. I don't mind a free meal but I don't want to owe you." She said in a pompous manner.

If this was a cartoon, Zoro's eyes would've literally come out of their sockets.

"How in the world is it any different to what you're doing to nosebleed kun?" Zoro said facepalming.

He could hear the 'ohhh, he's nosebleed kun' on the background as law finally put two and two together.

After handing out the drinks including Law's and Zoro's, Sanji lit his cigarette and looked at the tattooed man before him.

"Who the hell are you and why are you calling Nami-swan without honorifics you shithead?" He said, trying to intimidate law.

"Now now, calm down Sanji-kun. He's a friend." Nami introduced Law to Sanji and vice versa.

"By the way, Sanji-kun, do you know where Luffy is?"

"Oh, you didn't know? He's working with us to pay for his tab because he's a big eater." Sanji said taking another puff.

"Are waiters allowed to smoke here? What a terrible service this restaurant has." Law said as a little bit of jealousy stung him when he saw how close Nami was with this "nosebleed kun".

"Huhhhh, what did you say you tattooed shit head. Don't think I'll be intimidated by the word death tattooed on your dainty little fingers." Sanji said rolling his sleeves.

"Oh boy" Nami shook her head.

"He's a chef, not a waiter and yes, why are you waiting our table you idiot. Go back to the kitchen. I don't want to see your face, shitty cook." Zoro said crossing his arms.

"You asshole, you wanna fight. I'll take both of you on." Sanji said making a commotion on his restaurant, causing many customers to look his way now.

Once the customers started whispering about Nami's table, Patty, the rowdy chef in charge of Sanji, came out stomping his feet.

"What are you doing here Sanji? You should be inside the kitchen. You're making a fuss and disturbing other customers." He practically screamed at Sanji, making things only worse.

"Now come apologise." Patty pulled Sanji and apologised to others by bowing to the customers and forced his neck to bow as well.

As Sanji and Patty were apologising to everyone, a corner table got Nami's attention when both the customers started acting a little strange. Zoro, on the other hand, was watching Nami instead during the commotion and had seen the table that caught Nami's attention. Nami's attention was then taken away from said table by Luffy.

"Oiiii Namiiiiii, everyone, you guys made it." Luffy said cheerfully while waving his arms.

Nami's eyes widen in shock, "Luffy be careful, you're carrying a lot of food, it might all come ….."

Before she could finish the sentence, she heard a loud noise which now caught everyone's attention in the restaurant.

Luffy lost his balance and dropped all the plates of food he was carrying.

"Luffy you bastard, that better not be Nami-swan's food." Sanji said walking towards him.

Patty just screamed, knowing it was the wrong decision to hire Luffy as a chore boy. They were losing more money than making money!

Law was quiet as he watched the scene unfold before him. Sanji was beating Luffy and Patty was beating Sanji while Luffy just cried and said "shumimashe". But if it is one thing Law knows about Luffy, it is that wherever Luffy goes, trouble always seem to follow him.

Nami sighed. Great, yet another perfect day, well night, wasted. She thought.

She moaned as she got up from her seat, she was tired of the same shit happening each time they went out together. Before she could walk away, Zoro's question stopped Nami on her tracks.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"For fresh air and away from these idiots." She said pointing at the two chefs and Luffy who was also beginning to fight back after shouting "I didn't want to work as well." on the top of his lungs.

Oh but Zoro knew. He knew where she was going, he had watched her the whole day after all.

He watched her as she walked past the trio, who were still arguing about the wasted food, and saw the path she was taking. She was planning to go towards the back door, which leads to Baratie's beautiful garden where one could enjoy food and nature together. But the table that caught her eye earlier was on her way as well.

That clever witch.

She walked towards the back door, her waist moving from left to right and then finally stopped when she was next to the table in question. He watched her as she turned her head towards the table, as if someone called her name and saw the smile that creeped on her face. As soon as she looked at the table, the two people visibly jumped and looked towards the window, avoiding Nami's gaze. To their dismay, Nami started walking towards their table.

Zoro chuckled and Law made a mental note never to go anywhere with these psychos. Two were still arguing in front of him, his food all spilled on the floor, and his friend was laughing at the sight like a psycho. Psychos, they're all psychos!

Zoro got up to follow Nami. He started to become extremely curious and wanted to know who Nami found sitting at the table.

"Well, well, well." Nami said hand on her hip.

"Isn't this a beautiful surprise." She said looking at the couple in front of her, their date apparently interrupted.

In front of her sat the student counselor, Nico Robin and Zoro's home room teacher, Cutty Flam, also known as Franky. Franky was hiding behind the menu while Robin nervously laughed.

Zoro's jaw dropped as soon as he caught up to Nami. "Franky, what the hell are you doing here and why are you with herrr!?"

Although Franky was a teacher and should have authority over his students, he often behaved like his students and was seen as a friend rather than a teacher by his pupil. He was always seen hanging around his students and giving life lessons to kids in school.

"So what is this, a first date or perhaps, a proposal?" Nami asked, walking towards the table, trying to work out whether this was a serious relationship.

Robin finally processed all the information and her brain switched on. She picked up her wine slowly and brought it to her lips. She was thinking of numerous ways to play this and was planning her next move. She finally smiled and held Franky's hand that was on the table.

"Yes, we are on a date," She smiled, "aren't you both as well?" She asked softly, her smile provoking Nami further.

Robin knew how gutless Nami was when it came to Zoro. Robin knew Nami could charm the whole world, yet she could not charm Zoro, with whom she's spent all her life with. Zoro was the only man that didn't fall under her spell and it ticked off Nami to her bones. Robin knew that and while Nami waits to make her move, Robin already made hers and was proudly showing off her results to Nami.

Nami frowned, recalling their first meeting. This was Robin's win.*

Nami also reached out to grab Zoro's hands before responding, "Whatever we do is none of your business." Nami did not want to disclose any information and give Robin the satisfaction of knowing whether they were going out or not.

"Let's go Zoro." Nami demanded and walked the other way, back to their table. Zoro didn't have much of a choice as she was still grasping his hand and pulled him towards her.

"Hey, where are you going? I thought you wanted fresh air!" Zoro asked while following Nami.

Nami turned around to face him. She was exhausted; she just got defeated in the battle of wits with Robin and she was hungry! She was hungry and all she wanted to do was eat and drink. She looked at Luffy who was now planning on quitting the job as a chore boy. She wanted to get away, away from all the drama and just eat, something, anything. Just as she was about to suggest going elsewhere for food, as if Zoro read her mind, Zoro asked Nami, "Wanna ditch them and go to a bar for food and drinks?"

Nami has never been happier.

"But what about Law?"

"Screw him, he'll find his way back."

Nami was happy, extremely happy with where she was with Zoro. They are good friends and understand each other well. Sure, they argue from time to time but he (yes, I said he) will always compromise for her and isn't that what a relationship is all about. She has it all and she didn't want to lose what she has with what she could have. She would rather have him near her as a friend than lose him forever. So asking him out can wait just a little longer.

"Okay."

This time, it was his turn to pull her towards the exit of the restaurant. It was going to be just him and her, just the way it should be. And the rest can starve to death, for all Zoro cares.

"Zoro, that's the wrong way!"

"Damn, it!"

/////

* Reference to chapter 6. 

Hope you enjoyed it.

Hope you have a good day/afternoon/evening/night. :) 

[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 1

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: The only daughter of House Caspian, close allies of House Stark, visits Winterfell with her family and meets the four interesting children that live in the great castle. Childish shenanigans and silliness ensues. 

Hi everyone!! Im gonna give a short fanfic series a try! ;w; I haven’t done this in years lol, and I’m a little proud of this. I think it’ll be around 6~10 chapters? I don’t want it to be long! (yes I am working on other requests i promise hahaha this just got away from me~)

Want to see your name in this fic? Use this fantastic extension for chrome!

The cold air hit her cheeks, and the only reaction she could give was delight. Normally she was scolding her little brother for throwing open the window to their carriage, but now she could only climb over him as she gazed out. The brilliant castle was in sight, and there was a sea of colorful banners all around it. She couldn’t imagine so many people in one place, all trying to fit into Winterfell. Even if it was a grand castle, how could it fit so many men and horses?

Her uncle leaned over her and her brother, chuckling at their starry-eyed expressions. “No leaning out the window. You’ll be there soon enough.”

Y/N recalled a time when her uncle let her lean over the bow of a ship to gaze at dolphins, but this didn’t seem a good time to remind him. It was hard to care about dolphins when she was so far from the sea, anyway. “Uncle, will there be room for us?”

“Of course, sweetling. Your father is a good friend of Lord Stark, remember? Do you remember the last time you were here?”

She shook her head, and so did her little brother, which was silly. He probably wasn’t even born then. Her father often mentioned Lord Stark and the great castle that was Winterfell. Supposedly he’d taken her twice, but they were such faint memories. Today was like seeing it for the first time.

“You were even smaller then, so I’m not surprised. I hope you two will behave yourselves while you’re here. Don’t make me write to your Lady Mother.”

At the mention of her, Y/N and her brother nodded again, except with more seriousness… Well, Y/N took it seriously, but Willam was already clambering back to the window. She felt her excitement begin to dwindle as she thought about her mother lecturing her over whatever thing she failed at, probably a botched courtesy. Her Lady Mother never lectured Willam when he ran through the horse stalls or wrestled in mud with the other boys.

Y/N patted at the neat braid at her shoulder, suddenly worried it was out of place. Her uncle would never lecture her about it being messy, but now she was thinking about it. She smiled at the shiny thread woven through the braid, and the pretty pearl at the end of it. Her father gave it to her. She wished he was here too, but he was riding on his huge black stallion ahead of their carriage. Uncle said Lord Stark gave him the beautiful horse. Y/N was wary of horses, but she liked that one.

Finally the carriage slowed to a crawl and made its way to the gates of Winterfell. Y/N gaped with her brother; it was so huge compared to their modest keep at Ramsgate. Y/N loved her family’s home, but it was like comparing a village to White Harbor. Her brother was bouncing like a proper five year old, tugging on her cerulean sleeves and pointing. “Look, look! A doggy!”

Huge banners flew on top of the parapets and unfurled on the walls. They were a brilliant white, and the creature running across them was as grey as the castle walls. She shook her head. “That’s a direwolf.”

Sometimes Willam looked at her as though she were a genius, which was a nice feeling. She pulled her rowdy brother into her arms and was pleased when he didn’t fight her. The banners and armored men on horses captured all of his attention. She used the distraction to untangle his hair and smooth out his tunic.

She was surprised when her uncle patted her shoulder approvingly, but it was a welcome gesture. The carriage had stopped, and she saw the black, teal and navy banners of their House passing the open window. She tried to be the calm lady, but she was feeling as bouncy as Willam.

Uncle Cole exited the carriage and opened the door for them on the other side. Y/N kept an iron grip on Willam so he didn’t just roll out and fall on his face; her Uncle picked the boy up and set him on his feet, then promptly held his collar so he didn’t go running off. With his other free hand, he helped Y/N down. She lifted her skirts and exited with much more grace.

Y/N looked over her dress, hoping it wasn’t too rumpled from the journey. Her Uncle said she could wear something comfortable for the trip and change into something nicer that evening, but Y/N was too excited to have a proper, real lady’s gown. She wore the beautiful blue and green of the sea, with beautiful little embroidered manta rays. They were her favorite part, and when she walked, her long sleeves swayed and made them look like they were swimming. With the threaded pearl in her hair, Y/N felt much older and more important than her eight years. She would be nine in a few months, and then ten, and by then she was nearly grown. Her lady mother said something to that effect, anyway.

She kept her skirts lifted as she walked through the yard and spotted her father. She would not run to him, because she was a lady, but she did allow herself a little happy skip. She thought he would pick her up like he always did, but his hands were dirty from riding, so she settled for his laughter.

“I’m sweating like a hog in summer, and my girl is fresh as a winter rose! That dress is lovely, Y/N. I know your mother would be proud.”

Y/N wondered about that. She was disappointed her mother was missing such a great harvest feast. “Maybe she should have come, father. What if she’s lonely?”

“Sweetling, the journey is too much for her right now, and she isn’t alone. She has your new brother, remember? He’s too young to leave, too, and she’d hate to leave him alone. Wouldn’t you?”

Y/N wasn’t sure how she felt about her baby brother. She hadn’t even had a chance to see him, but she remembered how her mother screamed when he came into the world, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought. The Maester said she was still bedridden, and she heard the washerwomen whispering about her condition. Willam was hard, they said, that’s why Lady Talia didn’t have a child for so long.

So why did she have another? She already has me and Willam. Y/N had asked the Maester, but he simply corrected her grammar and turned her attention to her studies.

It wouldn’t do to be unsure and gloomy today, not when they were in a grand new place and her father was beaming like she’d never seen before. “Can I write to her?”

“She would love that. Tell her all the details, don’t leave anything out.” When he laughed, his beard moved with him. Compared to other Northmen, her father’s was trim, and she liked that. He didn’t look old like the Maester or the horse master. “Little Y/N, do you remember the last time you were at Winterfell?”

“No.”

“Just so, you were barely to my knee, and Willam was still in your mother’s stomach. Do you remember their children?”

She knew the Starks had children, naturally, her parents and other adults mentioned them before. Y/N felt embarrassed she couldn’t recall any names, though. “No …”

“That’s fine, dear, it was a long time ago, and you weren’t here for very long. They have a girl your age, named Lyanna. You can play with her while you’re here. Their boys are too old for Willam, but I know you’ll get on well with them.”

It sounded like Y/N didn’t have much of a choice in playing with Lyanna or being nice to her brothers, but she didn’t mind meeting new children. Lord Manderly had no daughters to play with, only his two sons, and they were older and often annoyed her. One of her father’s men had a daughter, but she was younger and prone to crying at the drop of a pin. Y/N hoped Lyanna wasn’t like that.

She followed her father and uncle to the great hall of Winterfell, holding her brother’s hand firmly so he’d follow along. He was stopping and staring at everything, which she wanted to do too, but she was interested in seeing the hall and the Starks. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as she thought it would be when they entered, and gazing upon the banners hung up in the hall, Y/N realized they were one of the first families brought in.

Before her was the tallest man she’d ever seen. Her father was tall, she thought, he was bigger than the master-at-arms and her Uncle, but this one slapped her father on the back so hard she thought he hurt him. He had a great beard, too, and long black hair that was like the night. Beside him was a woman in beautiful white and grey silks, with hair so soft and brown, Y/N instantly thought of chocolate.

While her father and uncle loudly greeted the man, it was the woman who stepped toward her. Beside her were two children: A girl slightly taller than Y/N, and a boy slightly shorter. The girl looked just like the woman, down to her pretty brown hair and big grey eyes. She wore a lovely sky-blue dress that was simpler than Y/N’s, but she also had a braid that was tied back with a blue rose. The boy had long black hair that stuck up in a few directions and the same grey eyes. He wasn’t hiding his curiosity, and nor was his sister.

The woman bowed her head slightly, and Y/N attempted a curtsy while still holding her brother’s hand. “Lady Stark,” Y/N said, hastily trying to recall what she was taught. “It’s good to meet you. Thank you for having my family.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear,” Lady Stark said. She had a nice smile, and her steady voice reminded Y/N of her Lady Mother when visitors came. It was a comforting sound. Her daughter wasted little time in doing her own curtsy, but her excited words didn’t match the proper gesture.

“My name is Lyanna. What’s your’s?”

“Um, Lady Y/N of House Caspian.”

“I know which one that is,” Lyanna had a big smile. She seemed proud of knowing this, and she pointed to the little white manta rays on Y/N’s sleeves. “Your sigil is a black ray on a blue ocean, with navy waves. Your castle is on a beach!”

“Yes, that’s right,” Y/N held up her sleeve, and Lyanna happily admired it. Willam peered out from behind her skirt, and suddenly Y/N remembered him. “Oh, um, and this is Willam. My Lady Mother and youngest brother couldn’t come. Um, she wishes she could.”

“I wish she could as well, but I am praying for her health.” Lady Stark said. “I’ll look forward to seeing her next year.”

Y/N was about to ask why Lady Stark thought they were visiting next year, but the wild-haired boy took the spot beside Lyanna and spoke up. “I’m Benjen.”

“He’s the youngest,” Lyanna said, then added, “And the shortest.”

“You’re going to be the shortest soon, you know,” Benjen said. He seemed very good-humored. “Father said we’ll all be as tall as him. We’ll be able to put our elbows on your head.”

Lyanna scoffed loudly, and Lady Stark instantly raised an eyebrow. Before she could comment on that little noise, her husband took up Y/N’s entire vision.

He was tall.

Often, Y/N’s father and her uncle crouched on their knees when talking to her, but Lord Stark didn’t bother. He seemed to speak as loudly as the men at arms did when they trained. “Now, look here! You were up to here the last I saw you. Welcome to Winterfell, my lady.”

Y/N tried not to quiver in her own boots. She felt Willam’s little hand squeeze her’s, and she thought it was encouragement, but then she glanced over. The boy was trying to fight his own tears.

She opted to go for her courtesies. “Th-thank you, Lord Stark, you honor me.”

“Hah! Does she always speak so pretty? She’s a darling thing, Gareth. I wish Talia could have made it, but congratulations for your son. We’ll see them next time, I hope. Lyanna, Benjen, why don’t you introduce Y/N to your brothers?”

“I’ll watch Willam.” Uncle Cole said to Y/N before she could say anything about him. She worried her little brother would cry when his uncle took him from her, but she heard Cole say something about a knight and a wolf, and the boy’s eyes were filled with stars instead of tears. Y/N wondered if she was that simple when she was five.

Lyanna was quick to say “Yes, father!” and take Y/N’s hand in place of Willam’s. Before she knew it, Y/N was being dragged out of the great hall and out into the crisp, cold air. Benjen was hot on their heels, the air making his long black hair whip in every direction.

Benjen had a grin in spite of his words. “I thought father was going to make you cry, Y/N.”

“H-he wasn’t!”

“Brandon is pretty scary, too.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s just a big bother.”Lyanna said. “He thinks he knows everything because he’s eleven.”

“Lyanna’s only mad ‘cause he got to go riding this morning, and she had to stay and memorize banners.”

Lyanna made a move to punch his arm, but Benjen easily dodged her. Y/N was surprised she was allowed to move like that in a dress, then she looked down and noticed the hem of it was muddy.

They ran a circle around Y/N, Benjen not even bothering to really run, since Lyanna was hampered by her skirts. She knew it and gave up, tossing them down with frustration. The winter rose was sagging a little in her braid.

Y/N wasn’t sure what to say. “Um … I can meet your other brother, if you want.”

“Oh, Ned! Yes, Ned is better. He’s sweet and treats ladies properly.” Lyanna nodded, pleased with the suggestion.

“How old are you, Y/N?” Benjen asked.

“I’m nine in a few months.”

“Just like me!” Lyanna bounced. “Benjen is only seven!”

The boy wasn’t bothered by this. Instead, he took off running and called back, “Race to the training yard! Winner gets lemon cake!”

“You cheat!” Lyanna was already gathering her skirts and flying off. She whipped her head around, brown hair flying everywhere. “Come on, Y/N! Don’t let him win!”

“Um.” Y/N looked down at the pretty silver thread on her bodice, the little embroidered rays on her sleeves, and the neat hem of her dress. She looked around and, satisfying none of the servants were interested in what she was doing, pulled her skirts up to her calves, where her boots ended. She could run ladylike, couldn’t she? It was alright if her boots got a little dirty, because she could just clean them, right?

Y/N ended up doing something of a trot and skip, which didn’t look nearly as elegant as she pictured. She did her best not to lose sight of the Stark girl, and by the time she ran up to the training yard, she was trying not to huff and puff. Y/N hastily touched her braid and was relieved that the pearl was still there.

Lyanna’s winter rose had flown out at some point, and several strands of hair were in her face. She absently brushed them aside. “There you are, Y/N! Benjen cheated, as usual.”

An older boy was sitting on the fence, lazily swinging his legs. He bit into an apple. “Or you were too slow, as usual.”

“I would be faster if I had my tunic and pants!”

The boy snickered. “Mother would be angry.”

Lyanna had a retort ready, but Benjen waved to Y/N and called her over. “We found the wrong brother. Want to look somewhere else?”

Y/N glanced up at the boy, who wasn’t a real grown-up, but he was still bigger, especially when he sat up on that fence. He had black hair like Benjen, and while it was shorter, it wasn’t much neater. She didn’t like the look on his face, but she bowed anyway. “My name is Lady Y/N.”

“I’m Brandon. I’m going to be Lord of Winterfell.” He said in way of a greeting. He didn’t bother to stop eating his apple, or get off the fence.

Y/N was instantly annoyed.

Lyanna did that scoff again. “Right, he’s going to be an ‘important Lord’, so he’s busy. Let’s go find Ned.”

“He doesn’t want little kids tagging along, either.” Brandon said.

She ignored that. “Where is he, then?”

“How would I know?”

“Ugh. We’ll find him ourselves.”

Suddenly, Brandon asked Y/N, “Do you have a brother?”

“It’s ‘do you have a brother, Lady Y/N,’” Lyanna corrected quickly. “Where’d you leave your manners?”

“Same place you left your’s,” Benjen said easily, and both Brandon and Lyanna ignored that.

“I do have one.” Y/N didn’t like having to crane her neck up at this stupid wall to talk to this boy, even if he was the oldest Stark. “He’s three years younger than me. My other brother is a babe, and back at Ramsgate.”

Brandon huffed, and Y/N didn’t get what the attitude was for. It was Lyanna who explained, “Now that he’s almost good at sword fighting, he wants to fight every lordling that visits. He doesn’t even use a real sword.”

The older boy flushed. “I will soon! What do you know about swords, anyway?”

“I know as much as you, and probably more.”

That made him hop off the fence, and Y/N was dismayed to learn he was still tall without it. “Girls don’t use swords. Father already told you that.”

It was Lyanna’s turn to turn red with anger. Y/N was surprised at how quickly it came, and she wondered if this was a fight they had before.

“I bet I could use a sword and a lance better than you, if I was taught.”

“Well, you aren’t taught, and you won’t be, so you can’t be better.”

Y/N tried to speak. “Um, Lyanna, maybe we can do something else? Let’s walk around Winterfell —”

“Let’s try right now!” Lyanna said, not even hearing Y/N’s words. “I’ll use a stupid wooden sword, just like you. I’ll hit you right between the eyes with it!”

“You couldn’t reach me!” Brandon was yelling like his sister. “And Mother would have your head!”

“Are you going to tell on me? Afraid I’ll win?” Lyanna goaded, and that’s when Benjen tried to speak up.

“Brandon, stop yelling, everyone will hear,” He tried, nudging his older brother’s shoulder, but he was shaken off. Y/N tried to do the same to Lyanna, but the girl was as still as stone and couldn’t be moved. Y/N fretted, thinking of what her Lady Mother would do if she heard about this. She felt it was her fault, and she hated the idea of upsetting her father and the Lord and Lady Stark just hours after she arrived.

“Lyanna,” Y/N tried again to nudge the girl. She tried to hide her distress, but failed. “Come on, let’s go, I want to do something else.”

She looked to Benjen for more support, but the dark-haired boy was distracted. He was waving someone over, someone in the distance. Y/N looked with him — There was no way this person was an adult, and looking closer, Y/N saw he was a boy almost the same size as Brandon, but there was a small sword belted to his waist.

Lyanna stopped her arguing, and Brandon did too, but he was scowling. The new boy had the same soft, dark brown hair that Lady Stark had, and her pretty grey eyes. He said nothing, but Y/N could feel his disapproval.

Lyanna spoke first. “Brandon started it, he says I can’t use a sword and I know if I had one, I’d hit his stupid face —”

“— She’s a girl, and Mother said if she gets into another fight and ruins another gown, she’ll drag all of us by the ears around the yard —”

The new boy just let them talk over each other. When both Lyanna and Brandon saw they weren’t being heard, they huffed at each other. Lyanna crossed her arms.

Finally, the boy said, “We shouldn’t fight today. There’s lots of guests at Winterfell.”

Y/N didn’t expect him to say that, but it sounded like the right thing. To her surprise, Lyanna and Brandon looked equally sullen, as if they agreed.

“Brandon, you were supposed to be meeting guests with Mother and Father … and Lyanna, you already dirtied your dress.”

Lyanna opened her mouth to protest, then looked down at her muddy dress. She touched her hair, as if just noticing what a state it was in. Her mouth closed and she kept her arms crossed.

Brandon was ready to say something as well, but he just pursed his lips and made an annoyed sound. He and his sister glared at each other, but they said nothing. The new boy was giving his siblings a pleading look with those grey eyes.

“Fine,” They both muttered, and Benjen was smiling again. Y/N could feel the relief washing over her. She’d skip over this in her letter.

Lyanna lingered back to Y/N, her cheeks still red. She felt a bit embarrassed for acting like that in front of someone new, so she tried to move past it. “This is Y/N. She’s from the castle by the sea, at Ramsgate. Y/N, this is Ned.”

Y/N smiled and did her curtsy, grateful to the boy for restoring peace. She had a feeling he’d be nice to her, unlike Brandon. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She hadn’t expected him to hastily look down and mumble something. Had he not noticed she was there?

Brandon elbowed him, and Ned looked up, meeting her eyes with his own grey ones. She still liked the look of them, and now they were contrasting against the boy’s red cheeks. “Um. It’s nice to  meet you.”

“And?” It was Benjen’s turn to elbow him. Ned frowned at his younger brother, glanced at Y/N, hastily glanced away and added,

“AndwelcometoWinterfell.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at that. Lyanna was giggling at her side, and Brandon looked much more relaxed. The air cleared at once, and Lyanna nudged Y/N’s hand before taking it.

“Let me show you around Winterfell, it’s pretty here, even without the ocean. Oh, I know the best place to start!”

“She’s already in the best place,” Brandon said. “The stables are here, too. Let’s show her our horses!”

“I have the prettiest mare,” Lyanna said. “Do you ride? Oh, soon  Brandon is going to get a big horse, like the ones knights use in tourneys!”

Brandon beamed, and Y/N was glad the two had something they bonded over. Benjen added, “When you’re done looking at smelly animals, I know the best hiding spots.”

“And the kitchens, they’re making so many pastries for tonight!” Lyanna said.

“What about the top of the castle walls? And the big catapults.”

“The towers, too, especially the haunted one,” Benjen said. “Well, it’s scarier at night.”

Y/N noticed Ned hadn’t added anything to their list of suggestions. He actually seemed a little dismal, and he glanced up at the tall walls that Brandon mentioned.

“Um, Ned, where do you think we should go?” Y/N asked, wanting to include him.

He blushed again, and fiddled with the hem of his tunic. She thought it was odd how he had a little sword at his waist, but Brandon didn’t. “Oh. Um. I don’t know…”

“You’re coming with us,” Lyanna said, although Y/N didn’t think Ned would try to slip away. He looked forlorn about something, she just didn’t know how to ask or what to say. “We have to do as much as possible before you have to leave!”

He has to leave? But where? Is that why he’s so sad? Y/N wanted to ask him, but Ned was shrinking back behind Benjen and Brandon. The latter was already marching to the stables, calling the girls to follow him. Benjen tugged at his older brother’s sleeve to urge him along, just as Lyanna eagerly pulled Y/N.

Lady Stark was doing a very impressive job of managing a smile while fury burned in her eyes.

“Lyanna. Brandon. Benjen.” She said each name with great enunciation, and each child grimaced as their name was said. “To the baths. Now.”

None of them protested. Lyanna’s hair had long fallen out of its braid and her dress had a motley of grime on it. Brandon’s arms and cheeks were caked in dirt after deciding to show Y/N how to mount a real knight’s horse - and promptly falling. Benjen was dirty from his fingers to his toes because, while Lyanna and Ned were helping Brandon up, he decided to pelt his sister with mud and hay. She ran after him, tackled him to the ground, and that’s how her dress ripped, too. Brandon doubled over in laughter and Y/N expected Ned to intervene again, but he just sighed.

Ned was more or less clean, as was Y/N - she noticed some dirt on the hem of her dress, but she couldn’t do much about it, and she didn’t want to trouble Lady Stark. The woman sighed heavily, and she tried to return some sweetness to her voice.

“Sweetling, could you wash your hands for me? I’ll have a maid brush the dust out of your hair and fix the braid. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Lady Stark. Thank you very much.”

It was best to be courteous when the fire was under one’s “arse”, as her Uncle said, although Y/N wasn’t sure what that was and why fire would be under it. She liked the idea of her nails and hair being clean again, though. Lady Stark turned to her second oldest.

“Ned, it’s good everyone was having fun, but on important days like this, you should remind them how to act. I know Lord Arryn has taught you much about being a proper Lord.” She sighed, and much of the anger was gone from her at that point. “Brandon knows better, but he needs a cool head to set him straight. Do you understand?”

Ned looked as though he had been scolded, anyway. He nodded. “I know.”

“I’m not upset at you, love. I’m glad you’re home.” She gave him a quick hug, then turned back to Y/N. “I’ll show you where you can freshen up, sweetling.”

She was thankful Lady Stark didn’t take her hand; she’d already been almost reprimanded like a child, she didn’t want to be escorted like one. As they walked away, she glanced back. He looks lonely again.

His grey eyes met her own, so Y/N smiled and waved. He looked away, but eventually glanced back and gave her a little wave back.

The harvest feast was a flurry of colors and music. Y/N had attended such feasts at Lord Manderly’s beautiful castle, but everyone was so much bigger, so much louder here. Sometimes it was frightening, and she was happy to be seated close to Lyanna. They were at a table meant for the younger girls, but the ages were varied and Y/N could tell Lyanna was bored with all of them. Surprised at her own boldness, but getting antsy herself, Y/N was the one who suggested they seek out the boys.

“Great idea!” Lyanna said, and her enthusiasm made Y/N regret the suggestion.

No one paid them any mind as they left the table. Lyanna only seemed to be avoiding her mother and father’s gaze, but Lord Stark was loudly telling stories with Y/N’s father, and Lady Stark was in deep conversation with two other ladies. All it took was ducking behind two serving women and crawling under a table to make their escape to the door.

The cold air hit Y/N’s face again for the hundredth time, and it was no less refreshing. She missed the smell of the salty sea, but the mountains and snow had their own relaxing scent. She turned to Lyanna. “Do you know where they are?”

“I saw Brandon leave, I bet Ned and Benjen followed him. They always do.”

She was right. Close the feast hall was a yard, smaller than the big training yard, but still plenty of room for boys to poke each other with wooden swords and laugh. Brandon was taking on Lord Manderly’s two sons.

Like Lord Manderly himself, they were round, blonde and good-natured. They weren’t at all bothered by Brandon trying to take them on at the same time, if anything, they thought it was a fun game. They’d actually left her alone tonight, no doubt because all the other lordlings were playing knights and “sparring”.

“Wylis, Wendel!” Y/N called. Their father was the liege lord of her father, so it’d be rude not to say hello. Wendel stopped the game to answer back, but Brandon hit him square on the head.

“That wasn’t fair,” Wylis said. “You didn’t give him a chance to yield!”

“Hard to yield when you’re dead,” Brandon shrugged. Wendel rubbed his head, but still called “Y/N!” and waved. She waved back just to appease him, and Brandon took the chance to strike again, but this time Wylis called out and Wendel jumped back.

Y/N spotted Benjen, who was hanging upside down from a low branch on a tree. The three Ryswell boys were around him, wanting to do it too, and Lyanna announced her intention to climb higher than all of them. Y/N looked around for Ned, and didn’t see him.

Who she did see startled her. She thought he was a statue, but that was stupid. Who had a statue of a boy - no, maybe a young man? - in the yard outside of a feast hall? He was so still, and then, he moved.

His pale eyes looked down on her. Maybe it was the trick of the torches, or the moonlight, but they were almost colorless. When he stepped close, her head was just under his chest, and she was face to face with the emblem of a flayed, bleeding man.

Y/N could only manage a pitiful attempt at a curtsy. She recognized the house’s sigil, but the name of their lord and only son escaped her. She’d never met either, but it still felt like a failed test.

“What are you doing here?” His voice startled her, and she didn’t know why. She hadn’t expected it to be so … quiet, yet there was little if any warmth in it.

“I …” She was allowed to be here, she was a guest, the same as him, but Y/N still felt herself faltering. She frantically glanced back for Lyanna, but the girl was too busy playing.

She was smaller than him, but she felt even smaller, and she hated it. Y/N was ready to dart back inside when she heard snow crunching behind her. Just a moment later, someone put a hand on her head.

“Roose, your father is looking for you.” It was Ned’s voice. Y/N glanced up, feeling comfort in his presence and the warmth of his hand. Normally she would’ve shaken him off, but she stayed still.

The Bolton boy said nothing to that, not at first. He glanced down to Ned’s hip, where the thin sword still was. Y/N noticed he had one himself, but it was a real one. A proper one.

It was Wylis’ oblivious voice that broke the tension between the three of them. “Roose! Come join us!”

Y/N couldn’t believe he was speaking to a proper lord like that, and she fearfully glanced at the taller boy to gauge his reaction. He had none. His icy eyes glanced toward the children climbing the tree and Brandon, and he simply said, “I haven’t used a wooden sword in years.”

That was it. Not willing to indulge in children’s games, the Bolton boy brushed past her, and Y/N felt the night air get just a little colder. She shivered, then felt warmth close to her fingers. At some point, Ned had moved his hand to her’s, but he didn’t make an attempt to hold it. Y/N decided to.

“Thank you,” She said, and she liked the little smile he gave her. He only met her eyes for those few seconds before glancing downward.

“Don’t be afraid of him. You’re safe here.”

Y/N nodded, even if she still felt anxious. The sound broke her out of her fear, and Ned led her over to the tree. Soon Brandon and Wylis and Wendel joined them, too, and everyone ended up cheering on Benjen as he swung to the highest branch.

Y/N stayed for three more days, delighting in playing with her new friends. It was mostly her, Lyanna and Benjen, but sometimes Brandon and Ned would join their games and exploring. She wished Ned would talk to her a little more, but he always seemed embarrassed, or one of his siblings would talk over him.

When it came time to leave, Lyanna started to cry, and that made Y/N cry. “You have to visit next year!” She said, hugging her companion close. “You have to!”

“I will,” Y/N said, already promising it without knowing if she could. Didn’t Lord and Lady Stark mention it? “I’ll ask my father and mother if I can come next year.”

“I’ll ask mine, too! Maybe they’ll let me go to Ramsgate. We’ll built sandcastles and collect shells!”

Y/N wanted to stay in Winterfell, but she wouldn’t be picky. She gave Benjen a hug, too. Ned had a shy goodbye for her, and Brandon was off on his horse somewhere. Lady Stark kissed her brow and said she was welcome at anytime, and Lord Stark patted her head, very similar to what her father did, except his hand was huge.

It was usually Willam sticking his head out the carriage, but he was fast asleep, and Y/N had no shame hanging halfway out to wave at the Starks as she left. Eventually they were too small to see, and then the castle gate closed, and her Uncle gently urged her back inside.

“When are we going back?” Y/N asked him, and she didn’t understand why he laughed. She was being serious.

“Sooner than you think, little ray. Your mother will be very pleased to hear you had so much fun. What did you think of the Stark boys?”

“Ned is quiet, and Bran is too loud. Ben is nice.” Y/N shrugged. “Lyanna is my friend, though.”

“That’s good. Very good. You can tell your lady mother all about them.”

Why? I sent her a letter. Y/N thought, but she just nodded and glanced out the window to watch the passing countryside. She didn’t understand why her uncle was so pleased, and she recalled her father asked that question, too … and didn’t Lady Stark? “What do you think about Winterfell, Y/N? Are you getting along with the boys?”

Y/N frowned. Maybe they thought I wouldn’t like Lyanna’s brothers because the only one I have is so young.

Whatever the reasons, Y/N quickly pushed them from her mind as she admired the passing forest and streams. It began lulling her to sleep, and she tried to make herself comfortable as the carriage jostled and the horses padded along noisily. She was fast asleep by the time her uncle covered her with a blanket.