#currently sobbing over the new chapter

[reverie-starlight]

I'm gonna cry we're gonna be getting sm haikyuu content soon

[pavlovers]

actually nvm im not emo anymore 🤧

[munson-blurbs]

Escaped Convict!Eddie Munson x Innocent!Reader

Summary: a peaceful morning of reading and coffee is interrupted when you stumble upon convicted murderer and prison escapee Eddie Munson, and your kindness towards him does not go unrewarded.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), oral (f! receiving), fingering, corruption kink, 'sir' kink, spitting, biting, mention of blood, mention of assault/murder

WC: 2.6k

A/N: in this fic, "innocent" refers to some sexual inexperience. Eddie and Reader are both in their mid-20s and neither are portrayed as childlike.

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At first, you don’t think anything of the slight rustling noise coming from the trees. It’s been a windy morning, the leaves swaying in the breeze since you’d first sat down at your favorite picnic bench, book in one hand and travel mug full of coffee in the other.

Now, you’re several chapters in, coffee long gone, the air warming as the sun reaches its peak in the sky. It’s almost time for you to head back home and get some lunch, and you begrudgingly tuck a bookmark into your tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

You hear the noise again; this time, it’s not accompanied with a gust of wind, and it draws your attention to an overgrown shrub in the near distance. Curiosity gets the best of you as you peer over it, but nothing could have prepared you for what you find.

One hand shoots out from behind the bush, yanking your wrist and pulling you down. Your jean-clad knees scrape against the cold ground, grass stains seeping into the fabric. A terrified squeal remains trapped in your throat, but you’ve gone completely silent in horror. Before you can process what’s happening, you feel a palm against your mouth.

“Don’t move,” a voice growls, low and slow against the shell of your ear. You keep your eyes staring straight ahead, unwilling to make contact with your captor. “You work with the cops? Hmm?” When you shake your head, his grip loosens slightly. Maybe it’s also because he can feel you trembling within his grasp, not even contemplating fighting back. “If I let you go, you promise you won’t tell a soul?”

You nod against his hand, taking a gasping breath when he hesitantly breaks contact, still unsure about trusting you. You try to scramble to your feet, but your body betrays you; every bone is gelatinous. Falling back with a pathetic whine, the adrenaline fades and the emotions it had been staving off comes flooding in. Tears fall from your eyes, hot as they slide down your cheeks in heaving sobs. The man swears under his breath, evidently distressed that you’ll give away his hiding spot with your crying.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry,” you apologize weakly, wiping at your face haphazardly and trying once again to stand. You’re successful this time, but before you can run away, you get a glimpse of him. 

He’s absolutely filthy; a mixture of blood and dirt covers his hands and bare feet. A formerly starch-white undershirt is caked in the same grime, bright orange jumpsuit tied around his waist. His hair is matted in several places, though you can see a semblance of curls amongst the knots. And the expression on his face is not one of anger or violence, but of fear. The same fear that wraps around you like a boa constrictor, squeezing and choking until there’s nothing left to feel.

It’s his eyes, the deep brown windows to his soul, that give away his identity. And though his current get-up is a stark contrast from the ill-fitted suit he’d worn to his televised court appearances, you know who he is.

Eddie Munson: murderer, prisoner, and now, escapee.

Your own eyes widen, and you take a staggering step back. You’d seen on the news that he’d broken out of Indiana State prison three days ago, but you’d never imagined that you would be the one to find him.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he snarls, snapping you from your stupor. “Just go!” He scoffs disbelievingly, not understanding why you haven’t taken off bolting back through the forest.

To be honest, you’re also unsure why you remain in place. You’d followed Eddie’s case since the moment it had first broken: a man leaving a bar in the strange hours that are past the night but not quite morning, plans of trekking home derailed by the sound of a woman’s frantic scream. Without thinking, Eddie ran towards it, fingers digging into a man’s throat to pull him off of her. He could have stopped there, the jury argued; he should have stopped there, but he didn’t. His fist connected with the offender’s cheek, delivering one punch after the other until his own fists were battered and bloodied. 

Eddie might have been hailed a hero if the perpetrator hadn’t been Jason Carver: All-American basketball player, a senator’s son, and most importantly, a man whose family had access to the best lawyers money could buy. The court overlooked Eddie’s act of courage in favor of the murder he’d committed and sentenced him to twenty years behind bars.

Was he innocent? Technically, no. But he also wasn’t the cold-blooded killer the media portrayed him to be.

You extend your hand, wincing at the way it shakes in front of you. “Let me help you, Eddie.” He flinches at his name, pulling back from you. “I…I can hide you, if you want.”

“Wh…what?” There’s no way he heard you correctly. You, the young woman in the soft sweater and frightened but kind eyes, just willingly offered to harbor a fugitive? “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says gently, pinning his hopes on you recognizing his authenticity, “you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I know.” You keep your hand out, biting your lower lip with so much force that you could draw blood. “I want to.”

With a plethora of reservations, he accepts your proposal as you discreetly lead him to your car. You naively expect him to sit next to you, but he opts to lay down in the backseat where nosy drivers are less likely to spot him. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tight to shrink himself even further. 

“If we get caught,” he whispers as you turn the key in the ignition, “tell them I made you do this, okay? Promise me.”

“Y-Yes. I promise.”

At your apartment, you point Eddie in the direction of the shower while you start on lunch. There isn’t much to choose from, but you crack open a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and make three grilled cheese sandwiches: two for him, one for you. You pour the soup into two bowls just as you hear the water turn off.

“Um, Sweetheart?” The nickname sets off a flurry of butterflies in your abdomen. “Do you have anything for me to wear?” He steps out of the bathroom, just a towel slung low on his waist. Droplets fall from his hair down his chest, blurring the lines of his tattoos. A dusting of brown hair trails from his navel and disappears below the towel. “I could put my own stuff back on, I guess, if you don’t.”

You will yourself to look away from the living, breathing artwork standing before you. “Y-Yeah, give me a sec.” Your arm grazes his torso as you walk past him towards your room, goosebumps appearing on your skin, and not just from the cooling water. Digging through your drawers, you manage to find a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt that your ex-boyfriend had left behind, never bothering to return to collect it. “Here,” you say; he doesn’t question why you have men’s clothes at the ready, just takes them gratefully and pads back into the bathroom to change.

You’re left breathless again when he walks out again, fully clothed. His biceps strain against the cotton material, filling it out better than your ex ever could. And his lack of underwear is evident, the outline just visible through his sweats. 

He’s gorgeous.

Eddie devours the food like it’s a delicacy, rather than canned soup and some Kraft slices on Wonder Bread. Perhaps, after years in prison and an undisclosed amount of days on the run, it is. He brushes the crumbs from his hands into his empty bowl and leans back with a small stretch. “Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile, leaning over to take your own used utensils. “I’ll wash these. ‘S the least I can do.”

You nod, not wanting to protest and risk making him feel like he’s a burden. “How long can you stay?” you ask softly, nervously picking at your fingernails. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I know you probably shouldn’t stick around in one place for long…” You feel silly saying it, like you have any idea of what the protocol is for running away from prison.

“Not long,” Eddie admits, wiping the sponge over a spoon before rinsing it and placing it in the dishrack. “Probably should head back out as soon as it gets dark again. But, really, I can’t thank you enough. The warm shower, the food, the clean clothes…just wish I could repay you somehow.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes flick across your body, soaking in the sight of you. The ache between your legs pulses now, desperate for him to fill the space. You’ve only ever slept with people you’ve been in relationships with; certainly never with escaped convicts who you’d found hiding in the woods.

“What…what did you have in mind?” Your voice is small, barely above a whisper as you stand up and walk towards him. 

“Don’t…don’t do this,” he hisses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Please. It’s been fuckin’ forever, I can’t…” He bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “I haven’t touched someone like I want to touch you in so fucking long, sweet girl.”

“You want to touch me?” You’re shocked at his candor, the way he readily confesses his needs. “W-Where?”

Eddie exhales, gliding his forefinger down your cheek. “Everywhere. I can’t get enough of you. Pretty little bookworm just begging to be corrupted, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you squeak, letting your palm fall to his bicep.

“Need to hear you say it,” Eddie urges, for your sake and his. His breath tickles below your ear. “Say it for me, sweet girl.”

“Corrupt me, Eddie.”

His hands are on you in an instant, pinning you against the countertop. Your lips find each other with the force of magnets, a clashing of teeth and tongues more fervent than you’ve ever experienced. He hoists you on top of it, tugging on your jeans and panties until they’re on the ground.

“‘M gonna taste you. See if you’re as sweet as you look,” he murmurs, crouching so he’s got a perfect view of your glistening folds. Broad arms wrap around your thighs to pull you close and he dives in, nose nudging your clit as his tongue broaches your hole. Your toes instinctively curl, back arching as he feeds off of your pleasure and gradually quickens his pace. One thick finger slides inside you, making you moan. “Goddamn, even your sounds are sweet.” He continues licking and sucking, adding another finger as you get wetter. “‘M sorry, I wanna keep eating you out, but I gotta…” His lips latch onto one nipple, giving it the tiniest bite that draws a whimper from you.

You’re surprised to find that you’re enjoying the pinch of pain, lacing your fingers through his curls and holding his face to your chest. You allow your senses to be overwhelmed, drowning them in the sensation of his mouth on your upper body and his fingers within you.

You rock yourself into him, desperately chasing the release that he’s inching you towards. It allows him even deeper, impossibly so, and you tighten around him.

Eddie lets go of your breast, focusing all of his attention on your pussy. His fingers plunge in and out as he looks deep into your eyes, not daring to break any contact. “Thassit, sweet girl,” he says in a cross between a hiss and a coo, “come f’me.”

And you do, relinquishing whatever semblance of control you’d tried to hold on to. You soak his fingers with a cry of his name. There’s no mistaking the proud grin that sweeps over his face, knowing that he was the one bringing you this pleasure. “You’re ready for my cock now, aren’t you?” He laughs when you nod, helping you off of the countertop. He tugs his pants down, exposing his hard length. He’s big, already leaking pre-cum, and you’re salivating at the anticipation of him stretching you delectably. “Bend over for me, honey. You’re gonna take it from behind today.” 

“Yes, sir.” You turn around, bracing your forearms on the Formica while he delivers a harsh slap to your ass.

“Fuck, say that again.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you want, sir.” 

He groans, throwing his head back as he runs his tip along your folds. “Such a good girl, knowing her place. Gonna take whatever I give you, s’fucking good for me.” He pushes inside you, little by little until he bottoms out. “So warm, so wet, holy shit.” Calloused palms grip your hips as he thrusts into you. “Take it, sweet girl. Mmm, jus’ like that.” Each snap of his hips is punctuated with a wanton groan. “I’ve barely fucked you and you’re already cock drunk. No one ever fucked you this good, huh?”

“N-No, never. Only you, Eddie.”

You feel your chin being pulled so your head faces sideways, his thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. “Open wide, pretty little thing.” You do as he orders, his saliva coating your tongue as he spits into your mouth. “Mine,” he declares possessively, eyes widening as you swallow what he’s given you without even being asked. 

He pushes down on your back, your breasts pressed against the counter while he thrusts faster and faster, no longer concerned about holding back. “‘M gonna come on your ass.” He squeezes there, turning himself on further just having your supple skin in his grasp.

And because you know how wild it drives him, you consent with a, “yes, sir.”

Eddie pulls out just in time, his hot spend spilling out of him and onto your flesh. You wish you could see the way he’s adorned you, but you’ll have to settle for the feeling of him dripping down your curves. He stands behind you, panting heavily, holding his softening cock in one hand. 

“God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl,” he mutters, reaching over you to grab a paper towel. It’s scratchy as he cleans you up, then takes another and wipes the residual cum from his tip. “You really are perfect.”

You face him and gingerly kiss his lips, probably too intimate for the utter filth you’d just engaged in. Still, he returns it, hands roaming your body with intent but no real destination. 

“Mind if we get some rest?” he asks, poorly stifling a yawn. “You, uh, kinda wore me out just now.”

You lead him to your bedroom, both of you climbing under the covers wordlessly, heads barely hitting the pillow before you’re each sound asleep.

When you wake up hours later, you’re alone in the dark. At first, you wonder if it’s all been a dream, but when you click on your bedside lamp, there’s a handwritten note hastily scrawled on some scrap paper:

My sweet girl,

I had to go and didn’t want to wake you. I knew that if I did, you’d convince me to stay longer, and I can’t put you in any more danger than I already have.

I hope that fate will allow us to meet again, maybe if I’m ever truly a free man. ’ll be thinking of you until then.

Yours, 

Eddie

P.S. burn this note and flush the ashes after reading

You do as he asked, heart sinking as the flames swallow his words. Maybe he’s written the same ones to dozens of different lovers, or maybe you’re the only recipient. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that fills your memory is the way he felt inside you earlier today. 

You will it to live there forever.

--

[mama2bears]

Starting Over Again - Chapter 5

Warnings: Swear words, attack

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“Y/N? Y/N?” You were suddenly aware of someone calling your name. You looked up, scanning the packed waiting room, then you saw them...Boone, Dexter, Lily, and Dani were pushing their way though the crowed, “Y/N?” Lily called.

“Here! Over here!” You stand and put your arm up and the four rush to you. Boone is the first one to you and hugs you, “You okay?” he asked.

“I am okay...” you nod as Lily and Dani rush to pull you into a hug. You break down into tears, body shaking with the sobs, “I don't know about Tyler though..”

“What happened?” Dani asked softly as the team sat around you on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

“Tyler took me to the park out by the lake for a picnic. We were getting ready to leave when the storm hit.” you took slow steady breaths trying to calm yourself, but you just couldn't.

“It's okay. Take your time.” Lily squeezed your hand. “We're here for you.” Boone placed a hand on your shoulder.

“The keys were locked in the truck, along with our phones.” You said, “Tyler and I went and took shelter in a ditch.”

Dani took your other hand in support and everyone sat in silence for a moment, waiting for you to continue.

“Tyler was on top of me, protecting me.” you sobbed, “It's my fault. It's my fault.” you whispered.

“Oh no...no don't you do that. None of this is your fault, Y/N.” Dexter said.

“No sweetie...It's not your fault. Tyler cares about you. We all could see that the first day. Of course he was going to protect you. It's Tyler. That's what he does. He protects those he cares about.” Lily said, “There was one time he literally was hanging onto a movie theater seat by his ANKLES, holding onto my arm with both of his hands to keep me from flying into the tornado.

“A tree fell on us.” you continue. We were pinned and part of it cut into his leg. If it weren't for Tyler...that would have been me. Should have been me.” you sobbed. “As if that wasn't bad enough, the river we were near flooded. I was trapped under Tyler, but somehow...somehow he moved enough that I could get out. I almost had him free, then the tree rolled back on him.” you broke down, unable to continue.

The team all had tears in there eyes, unable to imagine just what you had to be going though at this moment. What each one of them would have been going though, if the tables were turned.

“He was pinned under the water.” you gasped between the sobs. “Once I was able to free him, there wasn't a pulse...I...I...I did CPR.”

All four of the team members were crying with you, encircling you in a hug, “Has there been any word on him since you got here?” Dexter asked softly.

“No.” you shook your head, “He was stable but unconscious when we arrived. The medics said he lost a lot of blood and they were going into surgery.”

“A lot of people got hurt. It was a bad one.” Dani said, “They will be out soon. Tyler's tough, he's been though a lot. He always bounces back. This time will be no different.”.

* * * * *

Lee pulled into the hotel parking lot and walked into the office.

“Any chance you have a room for the night?” he asked as nicely as he could.

“I am sorry...between the storms that just came though here and all the storm chasers here for those storms, we are booked.” the clerk stated, “some people who lost their homes to the twister are camping out in the lobby.” she points to a group of people gathered around the TV. “You can join them for the night, if you'd like.”

“Thank you very much.” Lee fixed himself a cup of coffee from the lobby's refreshment table and stood behind the group, staring at the TV.

“also it has been reported that famed YouTube star and storm chaser Tyler Owens was taken to an area hospital earlier this evening. There is no update on his current condition at this time. We will update as more details come available.”

Lee grinned, only half listening to the rest of the news before approaching the desk again, “I am sorry to bother you miss, but can you tell me where the closest hospital is? I believe a friend of mine might be there.”

“That would be the St. Anthony Healthplex.” she told him, giving quick directions there.

“Thank you miss.” Lee was grinning as he hurried from the hotel lobby.

* * * * *

“Y/N? Y/N Y/LN?” The doctor called from the door.

You're heart sinks in your chest and you stand quickly, “here.” you say in a trembling voice.

“This way.” the doctor motions you though the door.

“I want them to come to.” you say, pointing to the team behind you.

“We're all family.” Lily stated.

“Very well.” The doctor nodded.

“How is he?” you ask before the door can even get closed. You needed to know, you needed to know that he was okay.

“The cut on his leg was the worse. We were able to get in there and repair the damage and stitch it up. He's got a few broken ribs.” the doctor looked at the group in front of him, “It's a miracle he doesn't have more injuries.” he paused, “It's a miracle he's alive, to be honest. He was awake a few minutes ago asking about a Y/N. He was very upset, demanding we get you. You may have a few moments with him.”

“Thank you.” you smile at the doctor as he leads you down the long hallway, followed by the rest of the team.

“Y/N? Oh my God, Y/N...I was so scared. I didn't know. I didn't remember.” Tyler had tears streaming down his face. “I last remembered being trapped under the water and then..nothing.”

“I am so sorry.” you rush over to him, giving him a gentle hug as he placed tender kisses all over your face, brushing a stand of hair back softly with his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Boone look on with a smile on their face. They suspected, but they had no idea you two had fallen in love.

“I am fine...now that I know you are going to be okay.” you kiss him softly.

Tyler turns from you and looks at his team, “Thank you for being here for her.” he smiles. “Please...take care of her for me. Make sure she takes care of herself until they let me out of here.”

“We got her, T.” Boone nodded, “Whatever you need done, we got.”

“First things first.” he looked at you, “I want you to go back to the hotel. Get some rest, get some food. Take care of yourself.” he said sternly then turned Lily, “I want you and Dani to stay with her. Make sure she's okay. Make sure she doesn't need anything. DO NOT leave her alone.”

Then, Tyler turned to Boone, “I need you and Dexter to check on the truck. Have someone come by and unlock it and get it back to the hotel.”

“We can't just leave you alone here.” you say softly, brushing your hand across his cheek.

“I'll be fine. The doctors want me to get some rest and they gave me something that is going to knock me out here in a minute.” he smiled at you, already feeling his eyes grow heavy, but not willing to give in just yet, “They aren't going to allow anyone to stay in here. I would feel better knowing that you and the team were back at the hotel and taken care of. Not stuck out there in the waiting room. Hopefully I won't be in here too much longer. They will call with any updates. I'll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he was right. You were too tired and sore to fight a losing battle. “We'll be back tomorrow.” you promised.

“See you then, sweetheart.” Tyler squeezed your hand one more time before you turned to leave.

“Take care of her!” he issued one more stern command to his team, knowing that they would.

Once out in the hallway Boone hooted, “You go girl! You and Tyler?? When were you going to fill the rest of us in?”

You blush, “I think it just kinda happen. We just talked about our relationship before the tornado hit.” you sighed, “I am still not sure I am really ready, after...everything.”

“Husband? Boyfriend?” Lily asked, nodding to the bruises. They all were wondering, but none of them wanted to ask. They wanted to give you time and space, just as Tyler did.

“Husband.” you confirm, “Started off great until we married. Then it was like I was his punching bag.” you shutter. “I knew if he caught me leaving a second time he would kill me.”

“Second time? Don't tell me you left that asshole and then went back!” Dani said.

“No..I tried to leave and he put me in the hospital for it. Once I got out of the hospital I tired a second time. That's when I got away and saw this job opening and just ran here. I didn't know what to expect, but it had to have been better then the hell I was in.”

“Glad you came.” Boone hugged you. “Hey, Dexter and I are gonna go get T's truck. We'll meet you back at the hotel, okay?”

“Thank you...thank you all for everything.” you smile.

“No problem. You're like our sister now. We've got your back.” Boone gave you another hug before him and Dexter headed off to check out the truck.

“Come on, let's get you back to the hotel. You can bunk with us tonight so you aren't alone.”

“Thank you. I'd like that.” you agreed. The last thing you wanted right now was to be alone.

As you follow them out into the parking lot, you paused, looking up at the sky as lighting flashed over head.

Dani and Lily had kept walking. You stood for a moment, feeling the wind against your face and listening to the rumbling thunder. Everything you were seeing and feeling told you the storms were moving out.

“There you are...” a voice seethed from behind you. You froze in fear, a chill running down your back. How the hell did he find you here?

You scream out in pain and fear as Lee grabs you roughly and throws you to the ground, “I told you, Bitch! I would kill you and whoever you were with if you ever left me again!”

Dani and Lily turn, hearing you cry out and seeing you laying on the ground and a towering figure looming above you; they both came running. “Get away from her!” Dani yelled, plowing into the man. She didn't know or care who he was or what was going on.

“You okay?” Lily asked, “What happened?” she knelt at your side.

Your body was trembling in fear. “It's my husband.” you gasp out.

Not only was your life in danger, but so was Tyler's and the lives of your new friends. You knew Lee would kill them all, because of you.

Dani had Lee pinned to the ground, until he brought a knee up and kicked her off.

“NO!” you yell, seeing Lee pull a knife from the pocket and go after Dani. You were damned if one more person was going to get hurt because of you.

You stumble to you feet, tackling Lee and throwing a punch into his face.

“Oh yes!” he yelled, “NOW you want it rough he laughed, bringing the knife up and into your side.” You gasp, rolling over and Lee scrambles to his feet taking off into the night. He knew he was no match for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Dani and Lily were at your side in a moment, “Come on, we've got to get you into the ER.” they helped you to your feet.

“Tyler..” you gasped, “You've got to make sure he's not alone. Lee could come after him.”

“We're going to get you looked at first and then call the police.” Lily promised, “In the meantime, I'll make sure the doctors are aware. We won't let anything happen to you or Ty.”

*******

Chapter 6

* * * * *

Tag List

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[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (13)

ー☆ Chapter 13: You Know Me Too Well

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing, usage of the word 'bitch' ー☆ Word count: 6.5k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Well, well, lovelies...new chapter is up and maybe I'm kind of kicking my feet??? Who knows, we'll see what y'all think of this chapter hehe. Also, happy birthday to Song Mingi?! I actually didn't mean to post the new chapter today, but today was the only day I had enough time to write it sooo, yeah. Tmi, but MC's mother is exactly like my mom, so maybe I drew inspiration from real life lol, I love her to death but sometimes I really wish SHE DIDNT SPEAK lol. Also, I'm so obsessed with today's song for the chapter; I'm screaming, crying, throwing up over it LOL. Just a heads up, next chapter is the last like actual chapter of the series and then I decided to add an epilogue lol cue the sobbing. As per usual, listen to You Know Me Too Well before or while reading the chapter! I hope you enjoy and let me know through feedback hehe <3 Enjoy your weekends! divider

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red

@sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng

@deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf

@hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380 @xciiiomwliah @vixensss

@catchingskzzzs @tesssaurrr @ginger-mingi @mingisbbg

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

            Saturday (2:55 pm)

Me: mingi can we talk?

Saturday (8:30 pm)

Me: i am free whenever you say so just let me know and i’ll be there

            Sunday (9:15 am)

Me: we need to talk, mingi.

            Sunday (12:08 am)

Me: please hear me out im sorry

Monday (current time)

            “Do you think he’ll slam the door in my face?” The hallways were buzzing with life as I tried to veer my way around the crowd of students without running into anyone. Today, out of all days, I just so happened to have my last class of the day in a completely different building and at least a good five-minute walk away from the arts building.

“It’s what you’d deserve, to be fair, but—” The was a gasp on the other side of the phone and my eyebrows furrowed as Seulgi muttered something to someone, muffled, “sorry, Wooyoung almost dropped my mother’s favorite vase, I told him to take off that blindfold.”

Eyebrows furrowing even deeper, I abruptly stopped walking, making a girl give me a heated glare that I didn’t care for, “Why is he blindfolded? Wait! I actually don’t want to know.”

“We were playing hide and seek with his niece, you idiot, but I got bored and sneaked away when I saw you calling.” Seulgi’s voice was exasperated and I chuckled as I took off again, leaving the science major’s building as I nuzzled further into my thick scarf. Some days it was warmer, but most days it got really cold and I hated it. I couldn’t deal with the freezing weather, perhaps it was my biggest enemy after Jeong Yunho, “Anyways, as I was saying, you deserve to be ignored by Mingi, but knowing how big of a sucker he is for you, he’ll probably give in before you can utter a single word.”

My heart jumped at the thought as I gnawed on my bottom lip, cutting off the path as I hurried through the grass, uncaring that I was probably destroying the work of the gardener. Besides, the grass had barely just started growing out again, it would be fine, “You think so?”

“I know so.” I heard Wooyoung’s high-pitched voice shouting from the distance and my eyebrows furrowed as I realized Seulgi had probably put me on speaker. Now that was a bit awkward, “He’s an idiot, but he’s in love. Now that I come to think of it, you two are a lot alike, two idiots in love—”

“I believe your niece is looking for you, babe.” Seulgi cut her boyfriend off and I was thankful because I don’t think I could’ve handled hearing him say the words ‘in love’ again. That was scary, even just the thought of it. I was barely coming to terms with liking Mingi, but hearing the word love sort of made me want to turn back around and abandon my whole plan of trying to make peace between the two of us. And Seulgi knew this, thankfully, because she didn’t say anything about it again, “Are you on your way to his studio right now?”

I hummed and curled my fingers tighter around the thermos bottle, my nose cold from the weather as the arts building finally came into sight, “Yeah, three minutes and I’m there.”

“Good.” Seulgi sounded content and I sighed as I tried to ignore the dawning anxiety that tried to crawl through my body and make me abandon my well-thought-out plan. I had to do this. Seulgi and my mom were right, I couldn’t mess this up again. I liked Mingi, a lot. He is a good guy and I shouldn’t let my past and my fears dictate my life. Yes, Mingi is Yunho’s best friend, but Mingi isn’t like Yunho. Hopefully, “Update me later then, I love you Y/N, I hope you know that.”

I chuckled and nodded at the security guard as he was out of his cubicle, standing at the bottom of the steps, smoking his cigar, “I know, thank you for knocking some sense into me.”

“We’ll see about that later.” Her snort was amused and I shook my head as we said our goodbyes, the warmth of the building making me sigh out in relief as I entered through the front doors. I pocketed my phone and unwrapped my scarf from around my neck, greeting the familiar people I crossed paths with. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling nervous at all, after all, I didn’t know how Mingi would react. If he was anything like me, he wouldn’t forgive me so easily. Not when I’ve hurt him again and in the worst way possible.

As I ascended the marble stairs, I found stability in the thermos bottle clutched firmly in both of my hands now, its weight helping me to keep my determination and focus on going through with my own plan. When I woke this morning and went to take a quick shower, I was surprised to hear my mother’s singing and smell the delicious waft of pancakes, making my stomach growl loudly as I didn’t have dinner the night before. It seemed like my mother had taken a day off, grumbling something about her deserving a day to rest after she was almost choked out by one of her mentally ill patients. I couldn’t help but agree with her as we sat at the table in silence, enjoying our breakfast, that is until she cleared her throat loudly and stood up, fetching a mug and a cup from the counter next to the sink. I froze when I realized she was handing me the cup Mingi had designed with funny looking chicks on it, and I was even more confused when I realized it wasn’t coffee I was drinking, but hot chocolate.

“So, what are you going to do about that handsome fella?” I tried not to groan or regret the fact that I told her everything about Mingi. I took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate and realized it wasn’t hot before taking a bigger gulp as I enjoyed its sweet taste.

“I’ll talk to him today—”

“Great!” My mother didn’t even let me finish as she sprung up from her seat again to fetch something from a cupboard, “It’s amazing how strong our maternal intuition is, I swear my starlight, you should make some babies soon.”

“Mom.” I groaned as I watched her curiously as she took a blue thermos bottle from the cupboard and filled it with hot chocolate from the kettle, “We’ve had this discussion many times before, I’m not having children so young.”

“You’re not that young though.” She sent me a sheepish smile as my eyes widened, feigning hurt.

“I’m turning twenty-three?! How is that not young?” She cleared her throat as she sealed the thermos and walked back to the table to sit down.

“I’m just trying to inspire you, anyways,” She huffed and then placed the thermos on the table and pushed it towards me, “Bring this to him as peace offering, he’ll love it. Trust me.”

“I don’t think what Mingi needs right now is hot chocolate—”

“Finish your breakfast and shut up.” My mother didn’t let me finish as she cut off a thick part of the pancake with her fork and forced it inside my mouth, making me groan, “Mothers know best when it comes to stuff like this, be thankful I’m saving your relationship and be back before lunch. I’m ordering take out, and I certainly am not waiting for late your ass if I’m hungry.”

I knew fighting my mom was fruitless, so I just grumbled an okay as I tried to chew the pancake she had forced in my mouth, my cheeks all puffed out. My mother seemed content that I finally wasn’t talking back to her and I shook my head as I pulled the thermos bottle towards me, reminded of the time when Mingi had brought me tea knowing that I would be feeling probably a little sick after getting all soaked in the cold rain and harsh wind.

So, now, with Mingi’s clothes in my tote bag and the thermos filled with hot chocolate in my hands, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic despite the anxiety gripping at my thoughts. If my mother, Seulgi, and even Wooyoung—who knew Mingi like the back of his hand—were convinced that everything would work out just fine, then why would I not believe that? Sure, Mingi was probably still annoyed at me, but I didn’t think a few apologies and even more explanations couldn’t fix the issue at hand. All I had to do was be honest and come clean with my feelings and he’d probably do the same and then—that’s where anxiety stepped in. Then what? Was I ready to pursue a relationship? Did Mingi want to date me? Did I want to date him? Why did it have to be Jeong Yunho’s best friend I was into? Why could I not move past my fears and stop associating Mingi with everything I was wounded by, when he never once made me feel like Yunho did? I could dwell on these thoughts for an eternity, I fear, but I didn’t have that time right now. And to be fair, I didn’t want to think of such things right now because I could feel my determination wither the closer I got to the music majors’ floor, heartbeat loud in my ears.

I stopped at the end of the hallway and took a deep breath, eyes settling on the studio I knew now was used by Mingi only. Wooyoung was nice enough to tell me the number of his studio—not that I had forgotten since the last time I was here—and he also let me know that it was used by Mingi only, the teachers having granted him full access, even at hours when students were supposed to be at home. It seems so Mingi was a favorite amongst the teachers, and I could see why. He was diligent and hard-working; his lyrics were beautiful and nothing would stop him from fulfilling his dream of becoming a well-known rockstar. I couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of that, and hoped that I would be part of his journey, that he’d let me back into his life.

Steeling my nerves and trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I knew there was no turning back. I wanted to do this, I had to do this. I had to stop sabotaging myself, and so, I marched down the hallway towards Mingi’s studio with a newfound hope and determination. Which lasted about five seconds as I came face to face with Mingi’s studio door. There was a small window on it, which would let you know whether the room was occupied or not, and it was straight across the desk where he was sat at—with the blonde girl standing right next to him. And that should have been okay, because really, Mingi could talk to whoever and spend his time also with whoever he pleased. And it’s not like I didn’t have male friends—I didn’t, Seulgi was my only friend—it’s not like he couldn’t speak to one of his fans. After all, he’s made it clear she was nothing more than a fan he appreciated for helping spread the word about his band.

But then, why was her hand on his shoulder one second and the next second slowly trailing down the sleeve of his beige cardigan—which looked like it was messily stained with paint—and certainly the way my good disposal dissipated and was overtaken by blind jealousy and rage had nothing to do with the sudden possessiveness that shook me to my core. And perhaps the thing that bothered me the most wasn’t even her feeling up Mingi’s arm as she looked down at him with sultry eyes, perhaps it was the way Mingi leaned back in his chairs, legs spread wide, and smirk on his lips as he looked up at her with his sharp gaze, allowing her to touch him. Perhaps that’s what sent me over the edge as I barged inside the studio in the most unceremonious way, making the girl yelp in fright and Mingi flinch as his eyes widened.

『Baby, you're all that I want

I want you all to myself

Oh, but you know me too well』

And when I was angry—or panicking, or hurt—all rational thoughts flew out the window as I was led by nothing else but pure instinct and a shit ton of unclear and not so necessarily nice thoughts. Simpler put, I wasn’t thinking nor making sense, but I couldn’t care less as I glared at the both of them while I struggled to mask the fury licking at my veins. They were both looking at me wide eyed, as if I had caught them doing something I wasn’t supposed to, and that made me snap before I could think through how to proceed with this whole shitshow, “Get out.”

For a second, even I didn’t recognize my voice as it dropped a few octaves, fierce gaze set on the blonde girl as she paled, eyes scrambling between Mingi and me as, suddenly, Mingi seemed to snap out of whatever scare I had given him by slamming his door open and into the wall. God, I hope I haven’t actually damaged it, because I certainly didn’t have the money to pay for it right now. I couldn’t look at the blonde girl anymore, heart beating fast in my chest as Mingi and I made eye contact, his eyebrows set in a deep frown as he had a sneer on his face.

“Excuse me?” God, even her voice was annoying. I looked back at the blonde girl and raised my eyebrows at her mockingly.

“Are you deaf?” I chuckled, but it was humorless, “Do I need to repeat myself?”

She huffed, looking offended—rightfully so—and I gritted my teeth as I stepped inside the studio, making it pretty obvious that I wasn’t going anywhere before this bitch left. I tried not to see red as Mingi’s hands balled up into fists or the way the girl snickered, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“You’re the one that’s barged inside uninvited, sweetheart,” And if I could have, I would have ripped her blonde strands out, “this isn’t your fucking studio, so, shut up. Mingi wants me here, maybe you should leave.”

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing, somewhere deep in my mind realizing I looked absolutely psychotic and if Mingi didn’t hate me before, he certainly would hate me now. I wasn’t helping myself; I was making everything worse—just the usual, then. But this bitch wasn’t stopping me from getting what I came here for, and I hummed as my eyes fell on Mingi again, who’s jaw was clenching and unclenching. His sharp eyes were narrowed, but it seemed like he wasn’t saying anything anytime soon and that only pissed me off more.

“Sure,” I nodded and walked further inside, forcefully throwing my tote bag on the small couch against the wall on my left, making the contents of it spill out. I watched as both Mingi and the girl looked at the clothes, and Mingi’s expression flashed with something unreadable for a second, “Mingi wants you here.”

I suppose neither expected me not to stop until I reached the desk, coming up on Mingi’s left side as I slammed the thermos bottle—albeit too harshly—against the desk, a loud bang echoing in the room. Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed as I opened my mouth to tell the girl to leave again, but suddenly, he was up on his feet, staring me down. The height difference wasn’t that great between the two of us, but suddenly I felt small under his heated glare and sneer that seemed to settle on his lips, broad shoulders intimidating as he lowered his head just a little bit. He looked nothing like the Mingi I had gotten to know over the past few months, and it made my heart race as I realized I might not be able to reason with him today, “What the fuck is your problem, Y/N?! You tell her to get out when you barge in unwelcomed, and then start demanding for her to leave—”

I couldn’t even let him finish his sentence before I was firing back my argument, “Oh, what’s my fucking problem?! Maybe the fact that you lied to me?”

“About what?!” Mingi snapped, eyebrows furrowed as he took a step towards me, his body big enough to make the blonde girl not be seen behind him.

“Oh, be for real.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, “You never show anyone your songs to? But you so conveniently let me listen to that unfinished song of yours and now look who else gets to listen to it? Her. If you’re so desperate to get laid, you should have—”

“I didn’t show her shit.” Mingi cut me off, voice shaking as his cheeks grew red from anger, probably. Mingi wasn’t a scary person, but he looked scary right now. There was no ounce of kindness in his expression nor tone, he looked cold and angry and like he hated me. I gulped and realized, once again, that I was digging myself deeper into the shithole I had created for myself, that I was hurting him again and again. This is not how things were supposed to go, “I only showed you. That unfinished song you’re talking about, only you know about it. Thanks for reminding me again why I shouldn’t deal with you anymore—”

“Stop it.” I snapped, eyebrows furrowing as I felt fear grip at my throat, making my voice sound shaky as Mingi’s expression went blank. I hated when he did that. I wanted to know what he was thinking about, I needed to see what he felt. I couldn’t do this if he withdrew himself, I couldn’t do this if I was the only one that would bare her heart to him. I was scared. He was pushing me away like Yunho had done, Mingi was abandoning me.

“Stop it?” If I wanted to cry when he laughed in my face mockingly, impassive smirk settling on his lips, I didn’t let it happen. I kept my composure, anger, hurt, desperation, yearning all mixing together as I found it harder and harder to breathe, “You want me to be nice to you after all the shit you said to me on Saturday? You want me to treat you like before after everything that’s happened? I can’t. You hurt me, made me feel like a fucking idiot, Y/N, you broke—I thought we were friends. I feel disrespected and played, and yet here you are again, acting like you have even an ounce of right to act the way you are right now, when it’s you who made it so fucking clear you want nothing to do with me anymore. Do you enjoy making others suffer? Do you want to see me on my fucking knees begging for your attention? I have enough self-respect to step back and move on with my life when someone so blatantly tells it to my face that I am nothing—”

“But you aren’t!” My tone raised without me meaning to as my heart continued to beat out of my chest so fast my ears started ringing. I felt tears prick at my eyes, but I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to victimize myself, I just wanted Mingi to understand I made a mistake, that I knew I did, and that I was trying to fix things. I didn’t want us to part ways, especially not like this, he made me realize this second that I didn’t want to lose him, “You aren’t nothing to me. I said those things because I’m scared. I don’t know how to navigate these feelings—”

“Save it, okay?” I was left gaping as Mingi shook his head, pushing his hands in the pockets of his light denim jeans, “I don’t want to hear whatever sob shit you have to say right now, I’m asking you kindly to leave before I call security and delete my number, like I have deleted yours.”

The silence that settled upon us was deafening and my eyebrows furrowed as a tear rolled down my cheek without warning, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to find my breath. That hurt, it hurt more than anything before, it hurt more than when Yunho left me, broke my heart. Mingi meant so much more to me than Yunho ever did, and I bit my lower lip as Mingi seemed unaffected, expression blank and rather bored. Nothing was making sense anymore. I was scared, but I also felt ready to break free of the chains of the past, I wanted Mingi. And knowing all this, I didn’t want to hold back anymore, I didn’t want to consider my next words anymore. I just wanted to speak my mind freely.

“My ex-boyfriend is Jeong Yunho, your best friend.” Mingi had almost turned away from me, but he froze, head slowly turning back to face me once again, “We dated back in high school, many years ago, when we were still some headless and stupid teenagers. But he was the first boy I’ve ever loved and he fucking broke my heart, shattered into pieces with a bright smile on his lips. He promised me many things, and I was naïve, so I believed it all. And because I did, I ended up hurt beyond fixing and I’ve never trusted a man again. He was my first boyfriend and the center of my universe, yet he never cared enough about me to properly break up with me.

“Yunho talked about you all the time. Everything you liked, everything you hated, you were part of our daily conversations and I always wished to meet you, to see what was so great in you that had Yunho gushing all the time. I was jealous, so jealous that I became bitter. I started hating even the mention of your name, I selfishly wanted Yunho to myself, and you gone from his life. I couldn’t understand what was so great about you and why I wasn’t enough. I knew Yunho didn’t love me, but I wanted him to, so I made myself believe it, believe that I was worth more to him than you’ll ever be. And in the process, I stupidly made myself believe that he’d never leave me, that he was the one for me like he has said so many times before.

“He broke my heart so fucking bad that it took years until I could say his name or even see his face again. I am over him now, have been for a long time, but I can’t help still feel bitter about him. I can’t help but associate you with him at times. He made me defensive and untrusting of men, I couldn’t help but assume you’d be just like Yunho when I first met you, at least when I finally realized who you were. I felt so guilty, I tried to push you away but you wouldn’t fucking give up. You are everything yet nothing like Yunho and that scares me, because I want you, Mingi. But I’m scared you’ll abandon me like Yunho did, that you’ll fill my head with empty and pretty fantasies and then leave me alone with them, tearing my heart apart in the process. I want to open up, but I’m scared. I think, however, with you by my side, I’d be able to do that, to let my walls down.”

The silence that settled upon us, once again, was deafening and I gulped, heart racing and making me feel lightheaded as Mingi’s face had fallen, expression finally not as void as before. He looked shocked, but surprisingly, he didn’t look hurt nor like he would hate me for ever. It made me hopeful for a second, it made me sniff loudly and blink away the insisting tears from my eyes. He gulped and took a deep breath, making me stare in his eyes, hopeful and less scared, as he sighed and rubbed at his chin; a stubble was showing. Now that I come to think of it, he looks rather tired with bags under his eyes, and his platinum hair has a blue hue to it.

“I’m sorry he made you go through so much; I know it wasn’t easy.” Mingi’s tone finally lost the edge it had before, finally it wasn’t laced with so much anger, and it almost made me cry, “I kind of—I knew. Not exactly the whole thing, but I suppose I can say I had a feeling that there was history between you and Yunho. It was too obvious whenever I brought him up that you didn’t like him, at first I was confused, but then I suppose everything just clicked into place. The drawing of his eyes, the sweater you lent me and the fact that you gave it to me in the end—I’ve known since then that it was probably Yunho. I never said anything to him, not like that at least, I wanted you to come to me on your own, when you fully trusted me with the information. And I’m sorry, but he—he was an asshole back in high school, he was insecure and he played with everyone’s feelings, he was quite good at manipulating people around him. He’s mentioned dating you, but very few times, and by the time you had broken up I had all but forgotten about you, I suppose I wasn’t much better compared to him.

“But all of this isn’t my fault in the end, and while I completely understand your reasoning now and why you often acted the way you did, I’m sorry, but I can’t just let go of things and start anew. There’s just—too many things that have happened, emotions that you stirred up in me, and I just can’t do it, I—it’s not even about you and Yunho, I don’t give a fuck about it, it was ages ago and Yunho is a changed man and I know he’s long moved on. And you too, I believe you have, you seemed less bitter lately, but I just can’t. I can’t help but ask again, what do you want, YN?”

At least he wasn’t mad at me, but I did feel ashamed that I made him piece everything together on his own, that I wasn’t capable of telling him the truth myself. I have made mistakes, sure, but Mingi apparently didn’t hate me for them, “I just want to apologize, for everything.”

Mingi nodded and I watched in despair as that cold mask slipped back onto his face, expression void of any emotion once again. It made me want to grab his shoulders and shake them, force him to look deep into my eyes and just see everything I felt for him, “That’s fine, I accept your apology. If that’s all, you can leave—”

“But that’s not all!” I snapped, having had enough of being dismissed by him. I saw the way his jaw twitched, the way his eyebrows furrowed at my defiance, at my reluctance to leave just yet. I was being pathetic and a pain in the ass, but I had to make him understand that I was ready to leave all my fears behind for him, to learn how to be a better person next to him. I wanted to change, and I wanted it to happen with him by my side, with him guiding me and teaching me how to be more like him, and less like the shitty person I was for so long. I longed to be the way I was before meeting Yunho, a lot happier and a lot less broody and hateful of the beautiful things that surrounded me, “Mingi, I cannot stop thinking about you. I spend every waking moment when we’re apart wondering what you’re up to, what’s going through your mind, whether you’re okay or not. And I’ve been drawing you, since the first time I saw you, you’ve captured my attention, you’ve made me curious of who you were the longer we spent time together. I don’t want to be like this anymore, I don’t want to hurt you anymore and shut you out, I want to fix everything. I want to—I just want you, Mingi.”

There was a quiet scoff behind Mingi, but neither one of us reacted to it as our gazes bore into each other, my eyes glinting with yearning and his façade slowly breaking down as he released a shaky breath, “Mingi, I adore you.”

“Get out.” For a second, my body froze as I thought he was addressing me, but then, he whirled around and pointed towards the studio’s still open door, “Get out, now.”

And I just realized that the blonde girl had been witness to everything, and I couldn’t help but blanch in embarrassment as she made to interject, but I guess Mingi’s sharp eyes made her reconsider her choice as she huffed and then stormed out of the studio. My cheeks felt hot and I realized the clothes were making me sweaty, so as Mingi hurried towards the door to close it, I shrugged my jacket off and placed it neatly on the back of the sofa together with my thick scarf. And as I looked up, mouth dry as the door clicked shut and Mingi turned around, it felt like time stopped, like the world stopped moving. But Mingi was moving towards me, in nothing more than three steps he stood in front of me, and before I could even as much as try to reason with him or plead more to be forgiven, warm fingers dug into my cheeks and the wind was knocked from my lungs as his plush warm lips slammed against mine, making me gasp as my eyes remained wide open.

『Filthy impetuous soul

I wanna give it to you』

I thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, I thought he’d tell me that he needed time to forgive me completely and for us to work things out. But I couldn’t help shudder and feel ecstatic as I grabbed the collar of his shirt and cardigan, my eyes falling shut, as I pulled him closer to my body, savoring the kiss as if it was our first. But it wasn’t anything like that one, it wasn’t soft nor careful nor slow, it was hurried and desperate as Mingi pushed me backward, pressing me against the wall, right between the small space between the sofa and the desk. My arms circled his neck as he grabbed my nape with one big hand and pressed his other into the small of my back, making it arch as my fingers tangled into his soft hair, not pulling, just feeling the need to hold onto something, to keep myself grounded.

And much like the first time, our lips seemed to fit perfectly, and I tried not to keen when he sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling on the soft flesh, and I tried not to turn into a puddle when he hummed lowly against my lips as my fingers flexed in his hair. Perhaps I kissed him a bit harder and more aggressively as our pace quickened, my hand holding the side of his neck as Mingi pressed his body into mine until it felt like he was trying to forbid me even of the idea of escaping from his clutches, and I had no fucking intention of going anywhere, because in his arms I felt content and safe, and perhaps a bit too hot as goosebumps covered my arms the longer our lips moved hungrily against each other. And when I cupped his cheeks and perhaps held onto them a bit too firmly, his lips parted, and I ignored my lungs screaming for air as my tongue slipped past his parted mouth. I didn’t expect him to moan as our tongues tangled together, all wet and perhaps a little disgusting, but neither one of us cared about that.

I tried to stand on my tip toes for better access as Mingi’s ring clad fingers were suddenly running through my hair and tilting my head back, making my skin tingle where he held my hip firmly. I had been kissed by other people before, but neither felt like with Mingi, neither made me crave more and more and more. But our lungs could only go on so long without air, and I would’ve been embarrassed for the loud gasp I let out when we finally parted, if it wasn’t for Mingi diving straight for my neck and finding the sweet spot that made me putty in his arms. And I tried to ignore his deep grunts as my fingers got tangled in his platinum blonde strands as he pressed open mouthed and wet kisses against my neck, his arms around my hips pulling me into an embrace that had my pulse showing through the skin of my neck. My lips were tingling and my lungs actually hurt, but I couldn’t care less when Mingi finally pulled back and blinked his dark eyes open, pupils dilated and lips so swollen he almost made me chase after them once again.

『Oh, just to see what you'd do

'Cause I'm so drunk on you』

“What’s in the thermos?” His voice was raspier than usual, and it made me bite my bottom lip as my eyes searched his face, his falling on my lips instead.

“Hot chocolate, for peace making.” I answered, sounding a lot more breathless than I actually felt, and Mingi chuckled, the sound deep in his throat. I let my arms fall from his shoulders and instead circled them around his torso, trying to fight off the smile from my lips. Mingi didn’t look angry nor dismissive anymore, but I knew I wasn’t actually forgiven just yet. And that was only fair.

“This is peacemaking, not the hot chocolate.” And there it was, the mischievous glint in his eyes and the smug smirk on his lips as he squeezed my hips once and lowered his face until our lips brushed together, “Although I do appreciate the hot chocolate too.”

“Good, my mom was rather excited when she told me to give it to you.” I pressed a chaste kiss against Mingi’s lips before he could try and say anything, and he chuckled when I pulled away, eyes creasing and crooked front teeth showing.

“What are we now?” His voice was a mere whisper, not insecure nor scared, just wondering, “What do you want?”

I gulped, but decided to be honest. No more hiding my feelings and thoughts from him, “I don’t know just yet, and that’s why I need you to take the lead, but this—I want more of this, of you.”

“Good,” Mingi hummed, lips pursed as he kissed my cheek once before slowly releasing me from his warm embrace, “because I’ve been wanting more of you for fucking ages, doll.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as suddenly I felt embarrassed and perhaps a little shy, but Mingi seemed to be unphased as he grabbed my tote bag and looked through it because his clothes were in it, “You can keep these, they looked better on you anyway. But you better not give them to Yunho if he ever happens to go over to your house—”

“Mingi.” I snapped mortified and pushed his arm as he dropped the tote bag and burst out laughing, giving me a cheeky smile.

“Want to hear the rest of the song I made for you?”

“For me?”

“Yeah, doll, for you.”

            By the time I managed to get home I might as well been on cloud nine and in so much ecstasy that one would think I was on drugs. Which, kind of felt like it after the day I have had—not that I’ve ever done any drugs. I failed to notice my mother’s silhouette in the window of our kitchen when I got out of Mingi’s car and, of course, that meant she saw him get out of his old Honda Prelude and jog after me to kiss me hard and leave me dizzy before he left. And all of that, of course, meant that by the time I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, my mother was leaning against the archway of the kitchen with the widest smirk I’ve ever seen on her face.

“So, did you have sex?”

My eyes widened in mortification and I struggled to step out of my boots and shrug off my jacket, “Mom!”

“So, you did, huh.” It wasn’t even a question, and suddenly running after Mingi’s car sounded a lot better than standing in front of my mother as she bit her bottom lip, giving me a wink.

“We didn’t!” I exclaimed, cheeks flushed a deep red as I cradled the tote bag to my chest, “He needs to take me out on a date first—many dates, actually.”

“Well, he better hurry up then cuz you’re glowing and you’re happy.” I froze at my mother’s words as she looked at me with a serene expression on her face, lips pulled into a small smile, forgetting all about her previous teasing, “He’s good for you, too good. I haven’t seen you so relaxed and happy since—since highschool.”

Since Yunho broke up with me.

“I know, and I will make sure I never hurt him again.” I told my mom and she hummed, looking down at her wristwatch.

“You missed lunch, by the way, so you’ll eat chicken tenders—”

“Again?!”

“Again, exactly. Go wash up before dinner.”

And I was out of her sight in no time, with a newfound rush in my system, skin tingling as I realized I craved to hold my pencil and my sketchbook in my hands. I couldn’t remember the last time I drew something for me and not because it was an assignment. And if hours later the sketch looked a lot like a familiar platinum blonde haired man with sharp eyes and a tall nose wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a beige cardigan over it, accessories many and nails painted black, then I wouldn’t even deny it anymore. Perhaps he would love seeing my drawings. Perhaps I should finally show him.

Mings 🖤: date on wednesday? Me: but im paying this time Mings 🖤: so when we went to the pottery coffee shop it was a date wasnt it, doll Me: maybe it was maybe it wasnt Mings 🖤: no maybes this time

『Oh, but you know me too well

Oh, but you know me too well, well』

❱❱ Next chapter

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[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

Another show just wrapped up, but a new one takes its place next week. Takara and Mitsuya have really become the bright spots for me in this current run of shows; they make excellent bookends for the week in jql. Of the five shows airing now, four are streaming weekly on Gaga and the other is available via fansub.

Takara's Treasure

What a fantastic episode of a show that continues to get better and better. The way this story has slowly built our understanding of these characters, and their understanding of each other, is masterful and so rewarding. I really loved the direct conversation they had about Takara's post-graduation plans and what it means for them, as well as Taishin getting to the heart of things and reassuring Takara that his desire is welcome. I'm excited to get a peek at Taishin's family next week and see how they navigate whatever challenges they bring.

Cosmetic Playlover

Farewell to this very pretty show whose story did not make much of an impression on me in the end. It never found a coherent relationship arc or gave us any foundation for this romance to hang onto, and it didn't live up to the dark and sexy tone of its original promotion. But it gave us a lot of beautiful visuals!

I Hear the Sunspot

We've now spent an entire month on repetitive side plots designed to separate and cause insecurity for Kohei and Taichi, and I am over it. I understand that the show is faithfully adapting the manga, but this is the thing about adaptations: when you switch to a new medium you have to adapt the work to fit the new format. When you read a manga you can speed through side plots designed to stretch out the story, but you can't do that in a weekly airing drama. And yes, I have seen the arguments that this is primarily a coming of age story about finding yourself, but it's not doing that well, either. This job falling out of the sky for Taichi and his boss—who we are meant to read as someone with good intentions—encouraging him to drop out of school immediately to work full-time is a strange development. That it once again set off a spiral of Kohei and Taichi feeling insecure about their friendship and misunderstanding each other only makes it worse. I understand the intention: we are supposed to be getting that Taichi is embarrassed about this job because it's tied to his still ill-defined feelings for Kohei. But they haven’t unpacked his hang ups with admitting (or understanding?) that he likes Kohei back enough for that to land. We've spent so much time sitting with Taichi's broody confusion without gaining any deeper insight into its source or seeing him grow, which makes all of this just feel like stalling instead of important character work.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

*sobs* Welp, the penultimate angst has definitely arrived. They distracted me with the possibility of dog death (Frito lives! THANK GOD) before sucker punching me with Mitsuya pre-emptively rejecting Ishida before their relationship could go further. And while I often roll my eyes at this kind of noble idiocy in the penultimate chapter of a romance, I think it's well-grounded in this story. Mitsuya has been worried about whether a relationship between them is right since he learned about Ishida's feelings, and on the heels of this blow about Frito's health and his sense that he burdened Ishida with this problem, he is feeling his age and his melancholy more than ever. He sees Ishida as a bright and beautiful young person that he would only drag down, and he does not yet understand that it was meeting him that brought this out in Ishida in the first place. The way he apologized and berated himself for asking Ishida to stay then hugged himself for that whole horrible conversation said it all. This also sets us up nicely for Ishida to finally make himself clear and do a classic jbl run next week (this show is ending too soon, I'm going to miss it so much). Thanks as always to @isaksbestpillow for providing her wonderful subs so we can all enjoy this beautiful drama. You can find the ep here.

Tagging @bengiyo to add this week's anime update.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Princess

Azriel x f!Reader.

One of the series I’m currently working on. Enjoy!

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse, trauma and death, swearing

Masterlist.

Princess Masterlist.

Chapter 8

How did she know? Does everyone know about the bond? Am I trapped here?

Some people say that the best kind of love is the one that awakens the soul, that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. They are right, that’s the reason why you and Azriel would never work, you didn’t want to reach for more, he planted a fire in your heart, but it wasn’t one that kept you warm, no… it burned your heart to ashes and like a phoenix it rises from them to give him the pleasure of burning it again and again. And peace to your mind? That’s a nice joke.

You kept crying until your body collapsed, pulling you harder against the floor, and your lungs clenched choking you with all your sorrows.

“This monster will always have a claim on you.”

Your blood boiled at the thought, and your body twitched with the need to get as far away as possible, to never look back and if necessary… to end your life so he will never be able to touch you.

You felt soft hands wrapping around you in a warm embrace.

“My sweet girl what did I do to you by bringing you here?” Mor spoke and her eyes watered.

“Its okay” you croaked. “You didn’t know that this would happen.” “Such a kind soul” she whispered and caressed your hair.

“Mor… please help me get out of here… please”.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

“Rita’s”

She nodded and got up. You grabbed a bag and filled it with a few clothes making her furrow her eyebrows.

“I’m not leaving Velaris, I will stay with a friend for a while.” You reassured her and she nodded.

You both tiptoed out of the house, and she winnowed you to Rita’s. “Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, and you shook your head.

“I’m fine, thank you for your help. I would really appreciate if you kept this a secret for now.”

“Okay but you will meet me here in three days. I want to make sure that you’re okay.” She spoke.

Make sure that I’m okay or that I didn’t leave? Am I your prisoner? You wanted to scream but the fear of returning to the house of wind choked you and the unspoken words pierced your mind like thousand blades making you flinch.

With a nod you entered the club and almost crawled to the bar, staring at Aeden’s eyes desperately. Your friend immediately read you and jumped over the counter, hugging you tightly and kissing your temple.

“What happened dollface?” he asked.

“I…he..all of them…” you sobbed each word and he shushed you.

“It’s okay… I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Clover glanced at you worriedly and cocked his head in question making Aeden shake his head. They had a conversation with their eyes and after a nod from Clover your friend grabbed your bags.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He said softly and guided you outside.

You walked down the road and turned right.

“Here” he said and climbed a few steps. The building looked warm and welcoming, just like Aeden and you couldn’t help but smile.

You entered his apartment, and it was just like how you imagined it, cozy and warm, a proof of his friendly character. He immediately placed your bags in a small closet and hurried to the room to change the sheets.

“I don’t want to be a burden…I can go if you want it’s okay” you sniffled.

“Nonsense, you’ll stay here for as long as you need, heck even forever.” He chuckled “But if you decide to stay forever you will pay half the rent.” A breathy laugh left your lips.  “Thank you.”

“Well it’s been a while since I had a beautiful female in here so thank you for making me look cool to my neighbors” he winked and finished making the bed.

“I will make something to eat” he stated and walked back into the small kitchen.

You followed him and grabbed his hand “Let me…as a thank you”.

He smiled kindly and nodded, taking a few steps back and sitting on the kitchen table.

“You know we’re going to eat on the same surface that your butt is currently touching” you wrinkled your nose.

“Thank the Mother I washed it today” he feigned a relieved expression and you giggled.

“You’re disgusting”

“I’m letting you stay here, and you treat me like that?” he gasped “You’re such an ungrateful little lady”.

You shook your head with a smile and started exploring the kitchen gathering everything you needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mor returned to the house of wind and rolled her eyes when she noticed everyone there sitting around the dinner table. She took a seat next to the warlord making Azriel quirk a brow.

“You usually sit here” the shadowsinger spoke.

“And today I’m sitting here.” She scoffed.

“We should wait for y/n before we start eating” Feyre said, and everyone hummed.

Mor lowered her gaze at her plate not wanting them to suspect something.

“I’ll go get her” Rhys said and walked to the hall.

“I don’t think she wants to sit with us.” Cassian spoke.

Rhys froze beneath the arch of the hall. “Why?”

Elain lowered her gaze and Cassian stared at the shadowsinger.

“Az?” Rhys questioned.

“We had a fight, I said some horrible things.” Azriel said with a cold expression.

Nesta scoffed making everyone turn to her. “Oh your quiet and kind spymaster has fucked up everything”

“What do you mean?” Rhys pushed, glaring at his brother.

“He has been spending his nights in Gwyn’s bedroom, lying in bed with her and reading books, my poor friend is completely in love with him, and he is taking advantage of that to feel less lonely. He didn’t even tell her that he has a mate, Emerie told us today. Do you know how bad I feel for them? I told poor y/n the other day that I could see something between the two of them and that he spends his nights with Gwyn as a heads up. I feel so stupid for telling a female something like that about her mate.” Nesta was glaring at Azriel.

“She wants to break the bond” Elain joined the conversation. “And I told Azriel because of a vision I had.” She glanced at Cassian for help.

“He burst into her room…” Cassian’s face flushed with embarrassment for their actions. “Many words were said. He told her that the monster -he will always have a claim on her.”

Azriel stared at the wall across him with a cold expression.

“Are you kidding me?” Rhysand was seething, his night-kissed power trembled the house. “We brought a scared and lost female here to help her find herself and you all treated her like shit?”

Feyre gaped at them, and disappointment flashed in her eyes. “She is such a kind soul…”

“I knew you two had problems, but I never expected this from you.” Rhysand told Azriel.

“She annoys me Rhys. I couldn’t believe that I have such a weak mate. You know how many enemies I have…. If I pursued her, I would put her in danger. Everyone who wants to get to me will target her. So, I decided to let her go but I can’t reject her… you know how faes have gone mad after rejecting the bond.”

“She wants to break it, if she can do that there won’t be any remains to make you go mad” Mor finally spoke.

Azriel shook his head and glanced at Elain “She will die”.

Everyone frowned.

“I saw her dying while breaking the bond… Azriel is strong enough to survive but she isn’t.” Elain informed them “That’s why I told him. I didn’t want to tell her because I’m afraid I will destroy her future, I don’t know how my powers work yet and I’m not willing to test them on her life.”

The High Lord took a deep breath. “Okay we won’t tell her but you will leave her alone. You will either become her friends or just leave her alone. If you can’t do that, me and Feyre will take her to the River House.”

“She enjoys training, I think its best if she stays here. Emerie and Gwyn want to be her friends and I think I want that too.” Nesta shrugged.

“There won’t be a problem with Gwyn?” Feyre quirked a brow.

Nesta snorted “It’s Azriel’s fault, and Gwyn knows it. She actually feels bad for Y/n and herself”.

Azriel nodded “I won’t bother them again”.

“Good I’m going to fetch her and all of you will apologize” Rhysand used his High Lord voice, and everyone nodded.

They remained silent and all snapped their heads to Rhysand when he came back, his face pale.

“What?” Azriel asked and raised from his seat.

“She’s gone” the High Lord mumbled.

“What do you mean gone?” the shadowsinger asked again and sprinted off. He entered your room, his shadows darting away covering every corner of the house.

She’s gone. Some of her clothes are missing too. His shadows whispered and then he felt them piercing his mind.

Idiot. We’re losing her.

Azriel walked into the dining room again, his whole body shaking.

“I’m going to find her” and with that he walked out and jumped from the balcony, his wings stretching wide and his shadows scattering around the city, making it look darker like it was mourning. Mourning a love that never happened.

If I forgot to tag someone please let me know. What do you think?

@glitterypirateduck, @zara-aliza08, @mika-no-sekai-blog , @purpleshoelaces , @act1839 , @fasoaurore , @pinksmellslikelove, @bunnyredgirl, @lectoracronica , @tuggboatfishin, @sunnysideup000 , @blessthepizzaman, @universevsd, @raisinggray, @ssmay123 , @kalulakunundrum, @justasillylittlegoofyguy , @tsunami-of-tears, @just-a-social-casualty-1, @thelov3lybookworm , @saltedcoffeescotch, @justdreamstars , @strangersunghoon , @sosuitcandy , @cat-or-kitten

[jerseysmostwanted]

So I’ve seen the new chapter where we can see Ochaco sobbing over Toga. My only question is why people think this is the right time to have Izuku confess to her? This isn’t Izuocha hate, I love them, but why would this be a good time? She’s openly grieving; confessing right now would be completely out of character for Deku and second of all, it’s very inappropriate timing. If anything, Deku is probably gonna empathize with her, considering his situation with Shigaraki.

You guys also only ever bring up Ochaco when Dekus involved, or as a matter of fact, whenever she’s paired with anyone as a love interest. You guys make her whole character “the love interest” and completely disregard HER feelings and HER current situation.

Anyone who thinks confessing your love to your crush while she’s sobbing about her dead friend is a right thing to do…. Idk what to say to yall.

Also, anyone who thinks izuocha is gonna happen within the next 2 chapters is insane. I mean, Horikoshi literally said he doesn’t like happy endings. Izuocha would be a happy ending. Overall, I just hate to see people mischaracterizing Deku and Ochaco, thinking they’re gonna confess in a time of sorrow, and thinking that izuocha is gonna magically become endgame in only 2 chapters.

ALSO as an addition after replying/reading to some comments; we need to let them HEAL after the whole war they just went through. Girl they just won a WAR and now she’s grieving. LET THE GIRL HEAL! goodnight.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Time Will Tell - Chapter 9

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: Hyun-su being sweet with the kids, Hyun-su having a monster episode. Word Count: 1,113

prev | current | next

“Where’s appa? And noona?” Yeong-su questioned his older sister tearfully. His nose sniffled every few seconds as the tears refused to stop. “I’m scared. Su-yeong, it’s too dark in here.”

“It’s okay,” Su-yeong tried to console her brother. “We’re gonna be alright. Unnie will come and save us.”

“And appa?” Yeong-su asked again. Both kids were too young to truly understand how fatal the fall of their father was, Yeong-su only recently even learning what death was. Su-yeong had hope for her father’s safety, one that was born of childhood innocence and a need for guidance. 

“Yeah, he’ll be back soon,” she reassured. Her own tears soaked her cheeks and she cried quietly, trying to stay strong for her younger brother but only being able to do so for so long. She was only nine. She wasn’t supposed to be doing all of this at such a young age. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Both kids flinched and stayed quiet. Su-yeong pointed her flightlight at the door when it knocked again. She could just barely see the silhouette of a man through the glass but didn’t want to risk it. Not until she heard him speak. 

“Kids. I’m here to help you. I know you’re scared but I’m not a monster. I’ll get you to safety,” he promised. Su-yeong got up and walked to open the door, cautiously at first but then opening it fully for the stranger to enter. 

He walked in, looking at the two kids and sighing in relief when he saw they were unharmed. He helped set up some candles to start with before the three of them sat around the wax fires on the floor. 

“Please, sir,” Yeong-su was the first to interrupt the silence that had settled over them like a blanket. “Do you think you can save our dad?” He asked. His voice was devoid of any hope but he still desperately needed the answer to be a yes. 

“What?” Hyun-su asked them, momentarily forgetting how their father fell from out their window on the 12th floor. 

“Our dad fell down the building and hit the ground,” the young boy explained. 

Hyun-su looked down at his lap, wishing he didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news for these two kids. “I know.”

“Maybe he’s still-” Su-yeong said hopefully only for that hope to be crushed by his next words. 

“I’m afraid nobody can survive a fall from the 12th floor,” he confessed. Both kids started to sob softly, mourning the loss of their father. Hyun-su took a moment before trying to lighten their spirits with some good news, no matter how small that news was in comparison to everything else. “There’s a man on the 14th floor that has a lot of food for both of you. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Both kids nodded in agreement and he continued. “You don’t want to stay here by yourselves, am I right?” 

“But what about noona?” Yeong-su asked quickly, his voice wobbly from the tears he continued to shed. 

“What?” Hyun-su asked.

“What about our sister? What if she comes back here?” Su-yeong elaborated. Hyun-su took a moment before coming up with an idea. 

“What if we left her a note to tell her where we went? That way she can head there too if she comes back,” he offered. Both kids looked content with that idea and he smiled softly, trying to reassure them. 

“In order to get there, we’ll have to go into the hallway. There might be monsters,” he continued with the explanation of his plan. “How old are the two of you?”

“I’m nine…” Su-yeong started. “And my brother is six years old.”

He looked between the two of them before smiling softly again. “You know, those are perfect ages to fight monsters,” he assured. Another moment of silence went by as he looked between the two of them before reaching over to gently squeeze the younger boy’s shoulder since he was still sobbing. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m gonna protect you, I promise.”

He ignored how his hands shook when he promised them that. He wasn’t lying about that promise, he would protect them no matter what. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t let any harm come to them. 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t scared though. 

After placing a sticky note on the wall directly next to the front door of the apartment, Hyun-su led them out of their home, down the hallway, and to the entrance of the stairs. After opening the door and letting them go through first, he took a step to join them until he felt his legs freeze in place. A jolt of pain rushed through his body but the one he focused on the most was the one on his right forearm, right over his scars. His eyes widened and his breath staggered when he saw a hand - that had to be his but was not one of the two attached to his body - run over his arm. 

‘Protect them?’ He heard his own voice question him. The voice sounded like it was spoken directly into his ear, as if a clone of himself was standing behind him and whispering it like a secret. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

He stumbled, dropping his weapon and falling against the wall. The same type of nosebleed he had gotten hours ago in his apartment happened again. Blood streamed out in an almost comically exorbitant amount. It stained his skin and his clothes, soaking everything within its path. His eyes squeezed shut, images flashing through his mind without his consent and making his head pound. 

He knew what this meant. 

He knew this meant he was infected.

He just wished it came after he had saved the two kids in front of him. 

“Are you okay?” Su-yeong asked cautiously when she didn’t hear or see him following them.

“Get away from me,” he warned, his voice strained. “Leave, now!” And he slammed the door to the stairs shut, separating them from him. 

“You always liked to act cool in front of the weak, didn’t you? Now look what happened,” the other version of himself asked. Other voices, ones he knew from the past, bounced around and echoed through his head. 

“It was my fault…”

“Fucking dumbass! Haha!”

“Come out!”

“Hyun-su? I’m not related to him! Who told you that?”

“Just let it go, please Hyun-su?”

“It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Bastard!”

“It was your fault!”

“Just let it go, please Hyun-su?”

“You’re a sad case. It was unfair.”

“Just die already.”

“It was unfair.”

“It was unfair.”

“It was unfair.”

[brainr0t-landfill]

T

Chapter One: You get baptized.

Captain Price x male reader

(T.W: forcemasc fetish, kidnapping, forced headshave, reader is currently girlmoding, implied stalking, implied cheating)

The road to your new home is long and wet John is stiff in his seat as the cold lights of the bumfuck, misreable town you called home for years bleed across the dark car he wonder if you can see them if you're still awake, rain splashes against his front window.

Wrongness gnaws at something burried deep in his chest even though it's been hours since your struggle has died down; your desperate pleas and pathetic threats muffled by an old rag and held in place by duct tape, all the frantic energy in your soft body weighed down by exhaustion, he feels bad for you so confused and lost but he knows he's doing what's right like his old man always told him.

"No one finds their true love, son."

He'd tell him sitting on his old throne shallow, warm glass of whiskey in hand.

"You make it, wives like your mother are for husbands like me. I didn't find her on the side of the road as she is today, made her i did."

The contradiction is that Senior Price was more shaped by his wife than his wife by him John's mother with her dishwasher white knuckles and red stained lips, an ex whore, a cols blooded creature in a warm home trying to make her claws into wings.

The contradiction is that John never wanted a woman like his mother, never wanted a woman at all.

On the edge of town he stops the truck, turns the engine off and steps outside walks through the murky mud puddles to the trunk pops it and beholds you, curled into yourself with eyes like a desperate dog you thin wrists held together by zip ties, knobby knees knocking against eachother.

He kneels infornt of you on one knee like a crude mockery.

"I know you're confused."

He tells you rubbing across your ribs,

"But in due time you'll get it luv, I'll be so good for ya, never gonna want for nothing y'hear?"

He gives you his best smile but you don't respond he shushes the sniffles with a heavy hand grabbing you by your scruff and dragging you out, you don't struggle at all and he gently rips the tape off it leaves red lines across your pretty, soft cheeks and pink lips glossy with spit.

"Please, please I won't tell anyone I need to go home please please-"

He stands there as you kneel on the ground big paw rubbing at your sore jaw as you work yourself into tears and sobs begging for things you don't want, he sees your eyes stuck where the sun is setting on the other side of the road desire peeking out like teeth.

"Shhh, shhh it's alright now, it's alright"

He tells you as he rubs his hands across your beautiful locks, such a shame

"I'm not gonna hurt ya luv, no, no not at all. But you need to trust me, alright?"

He looks down at you and clicks his tounge in dissapointment but of course, men are proud animals they play best when they think they'll win, they grasp at any chance to prove their loving masters wrong.

"Looky here, let's make a deal, yeah?"

He takes a deep breath and plays a gamble, rolls the dice knowing he holds every card.

"A year, ya stay with me a year, listen, and be good and if by the end of that year ya still wanna go back home, I'll let ya. Hell I'll even drive ya, drop ya off at the door. But untill than you play by my rules, yeah luv?"

He asks and rubs his calloused hand over your cheek watches the war raging behind those eyes.

"O-okay."

You croak out and your trembling seizes as you steel your shoulders.

"Okay, y-you've got a deal, just please don't hurt me."

He pats your head and takes the clippers out, drags you to the gutter, walk you on your knees deep into the filthy water, stains your pretty, modest white skirt not that you'll have much use of it anymore.

You start screaming again struggling like a feral dog, he thinks of what name to give you, dogs get new names after all to know what they should answer to your old one never fit you anyways.

"What are you doing-? What are you-"

He starts it up and runs it across your scalp, your soft hair falling into the water and your sweat stained blouse as be buzzes it all off, there will be better cuts in the feature; neat crew cuts like his in barber shops before your wedding and once every month, routine trims and beard oil.

"Oh don't pretend you don't know luv, look at you! Even with ya short height everybody can tell, ya make such an unconvincing girl, sweets but that's alright. Everybody strays sometimes, not ya fault ya never had anyone to guide ya right, ya just trust me, alright? Ya just trust me."

He burries your face in his crotch to muffle your noises as he shaves your head feels you go limp with shame.

He pities you, he doesn't know what it's like to be seen after a life spent hiding, to be in the light after two decades of chasing it.He strips you off your skirt and blouse there, pockets your jewelry and wedding band takes out your I.D and taps your picture there.

"Ya recognize her?"

Your lips twitch, mishapen face scrunched up in shame.

"No, ya don't, ya never did..."

He thinks for a second, what to name you, who to make you, how to love you.

"Tommy, Tom Price, ya recognize that?"

You nod and he brushes the hair off your scalp as he leads you back to the car, lays you in the back seat to stew, throws his uniform jacket over you.

"Wait-"

He looks down, at you half hidden under the jacket, pulls it further, tucks you in to hide a body that's of the past.

"Yes luv?"

"What's you name?"

He smiles and huffs out a laugh that's been brewing for weeks, weeks and weeks of watching you, feeling your yearning eyes burn kisses on his skin.

"Jonathan, Jonathan Price, ya can call me sir."

[ceruleanangel]

Diamond of Zaun- Chapter 3

Pairings: Vi x Reader, Silco x Reader could be more later...

Tags: f!reader, performer!reader

Content Warnings: Drug Use, Angsty Angst

a/n: Hey guys! had to take a bit of a break cuz scholarship essays were due 🙃 but I'm back! you'll get a little glimpse of what I meant by may be more later, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two

You awake to a searing pain in your head. The pain travels through all of your limbs, burning like the fires that surround you. Your eyes slowly open, taking in the ash and rubble that blur and crowd your vision. 

“Vi?...” you mean to shout it, but it comes out of your throat, a hoarse whisper. As you sit up, a chill runs through your body. The building around you is crumbling. You hear a shift in the foundation, looking up, you roll away seconds before a piece of concrete would have smashed you into the ground. You stagger to your feet, limping away from the structure, watching as more of the upper floors collapse. You feel a dull throb in your head, placing your hand to it, you see crimson coat your fingers.

“Vi?...Mylo?...Claggor!...” Your screams become more desperate as you lethargically claw at the rock, digging, searching for anyone, until your fingertips bled. 

You collapse in a heap, tears running down your cheeks, sobs painfully forcing their way out of your throat. The sun casts a vermillion shadow over your face, reflecting the pools of blood all around, bathing the new day in the carnage that took place in the one before. 

You were too late.

Ekko had come running to you as you were about to step on the train to Topside.

Your bag was left sitting on the platform, along with your letter of acceptance, as you were already halfway to the abandoned building. You arrived only to be blown away by a blue explosion.

 All you could see was a twinkle in the smoke before you slammed into the brick and it all went black.

You were too late.

“Y/n?”

You turned to be bombarded by a small boy with white hair. Your hands quickly held him tightly in your arms. 

“Are they..?” Ekko started. You glimpsed at the building, still burning, most walls broken down, exposing the debris inside to the morning light. “They’re…they’re gone,” You whispered, cradling his head with one hand. You felt Ekko's arms tighten around you, feeling your shirt grow wet beneath his eyes. You thought of Vi, probably crushed, burning amongst the rubble.

I’ll protect you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding your tears back. You pulled little man closer, swearing to yourself, and Vi,

“I’ll protect you.”

…

You brushed down your skirt and checked your face once more in your hand mirror, glancing up at the sign above the building. You entered, brushing leafy vines out of your path, passing masked and unmasked patrons lounging about the couches and carpets, their eyes and hands wandering… You continue brushing past a draped door to the front desk, to a woman taking a drag on a pipe.

“I want a job.”

Current Time

You fumble to unlock the back door to The Last Drop, shaking in anger. How dare she say that I don’t care anymore!? Where has she even been?... If she wasn’t dead, then …where?

You walk through the door, leaning back and slamming it closed. You take a breath, your hand going up to cradle your temples. 

“You sure are out late…”

Your head whips up to the almost empty bar, eyes widening. A man sits, back straight as he takes a sip of a glass of whisky. He turns, his heterochromatic eyes boring into yours before moving down and scanning the rest of your body.

You quickly relax your tensed shoulders and force a small smile onto your lips, quickly crafting a lie you hope he’ll take, “Just taking a look at my new billboard, it looks especially bright at night.” You walk towards the bar, taking a seat next to the man. “What has you up so late,…Silco?” The man stares into his glass before setting it before you. You take the cue and take a small sip from the glass, letting it burn its way down your throat.

“I hear there's word of a pink-haired girl in the Lanes.”

You choke on the liquid, setting the glass down with a thud. You feel his hand calmly patting your back as you struggle to intake air. Once your breathing steadies you turn towards him feigning ignorance, “You don’t think it’s…” You cast your eyes down at the wood of the bar, “ We both know she died that night…” You do your best to sound convincing despite the pounding in your chest, that you hope he doesn’t hear. Silco studies your face, his hand coming up to turn your chin to face him. He moves to cup your cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

 “I know that she’s dead, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay…We both know the effect she had on you,” He pauses, glimpsing from one of your eyes to the other, “No one likes shadows of their past showing up to haunt them…” You resist the urge to hold your breath, keeping it even as his hand slides up to touch his gifted flower in your hair. His hand moves down your cheek, stroking the column of your neck, pausing on your shoulder, “Stay in tonight,” He stands, slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. He turns away and steps toward the stairway, halting on the first step,

“Shadows tend to make their way out at night.” 

…

You stared into your dressing room mirror, the bright saturation of the flower standing out among the locks of your hair. You carefully remove it and gently place it back into the vase, making sure it connects to the water.

 Threading a black mask around your ears, you fix it to cover the bottom half of your face. The green bills feel rough in your hands as you count through them, making sure it’s all there before stashing the wad in your pocket, and slipping out the window. You walk through the neon lights and the old buildings, making your way to the oasis within the dust, but something catches your attention. You look down from the bridge you currently stand on, catching a glimpse of a pink-haired girl, limping, and a blue-haired one trying to support her. 

Vi?

Yet again, you’re filled with questions, all of them having something to do with this pink-haired girl. Intrigued, you jump over the edge of the bridge, sliding down a rooftop. You run past walls of rock before glimpsing down into the pit below,

 Why would they go…here?

 You take a few steps back before running forward, jumping to grab a hold of a metal pole, gliding down to the ground. It’s dark, but you know not to shine a light, some things want to stay hidden. Swiftly walking past all the groans and reaching the hands of the beings that surround you, you finally glimpse a hooded figure, standing upright unlike all the others. You even spot a bit of blue peeking out from underneath the fabric. 

You walk up behind her, softly placing a hand on her shoulder. She immediately whips around, her gun pointed and ready. The sudden motion knocks you off your balance and sends you falling to the ground. 

“Easy, easy! You make a display of showing your empty hands before lowering one to remove the mask from your face. “It’s just me…” Her eyes widened, recognizing you from earlier, before shoving the gun closer to your face.

“Why are you here?” she questions, furrowing her eyebrows. You glimpse the building behind her, the building that harbored so many memories. Your eyes turn back to her, “I saw Vi limping… is she okay?” The girl frowns deeper, weighing the pros and cons of trusting you,

 “She’s been stabbed…she needs a doctor" she states sternly, lowering her gun. Your eyes widen, racking your brain of how you can fix a stab wound down here. A more grim solution is the only remedy you might be able to get in time. 

“There’s no doctor,” you cringe, “ But there may be something else.” You motion for her to follow you, making your way to a stand covered by metal bars. Your fingers reach out, causing melodic chimes before an inner door slams open. 

“Ailment?” You confer with the apothecary, trading before a magenta-colored potion is set on the ledge in front of you. Taking it, the blue-haired girl turns to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Thank you…truly,” You look towards her hand giving a brief nod. She takes her hand back nervously.

“It’s Caitlyn, by the way.” You’re only half listening to her words, your attention turning again towards the dilapidated structure that Vi currently resides in. Caitlyn notices and takes a few steps, gesturing for you to follow, “You should come along, Vi would like to see a familiar face.” You shake your head, looking toward the ground, a pained smile making its way onto your face. “Vi’s seen enough of me, she only wants to see her sister,” Caitlyn pauses, her face covered with confusion. 

“You can’t seriously think that can you?” your eyes raise to meet hers, your face mirroring her puzzled expression. “The second she heard you were at The Last Drop she came running for you. 

She was looking for …you? 

Caitlyn turns and makes her way back to the hut, yet again emotions run through you, anger, sadness, fear, fear of rejection, causing you to step back on one foot, feeling the need to run away. But the same words bubble up to the surface of your mind, 

“I’ll protect you.”

And yet again you feel yourself running to see the same pink-haired girl another time. 

Chapter Four Coming Soon...

[harkonnin]

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Previous Chapter - Resurrection Current Chapter - Never lose me

***

It had been a few days after Feyd left to go back to Giedi Prime, wedding preparations he said. He didn’t leave you much time to bond after the kiss, nor did he have need for a conversation about feelings. You attribute it to his upbringing, assuming Harkonnen don’t talk about their feelings at all. So, you stow away yours for now.

*

Feyd wanted to make haste, he wanted nothing more than to stay on Caladan and ravish you before the wedding, but he also respected his duty and the rules involved with an arranged marriage. Should he break those rules, he wouldn’t be able to marry you. Intercourse before marriage wasn’t frowned upon, it was downright illegal. He had to put a distance between the both of you before his feelings could settle in the pit of his stomach and he lost all control.

*

A few weeks pass while Feyd is busy sorting out all the legal business, talking to servants to import certain items from Caladan, and even requesting an answer from you concerning your wedding dress and the sort. You receive the message during a sparring match with Duncan, who has been training you extra hard upon hearing the news that you were going through with the marriage.

He sees your face contort after a member of the staff gives you the message and asks what you want to respond with. It felt so, indifferent and impersonal, a message as black and white coming from Feyd, no love to be found, no greetings, just a demand. You frown as you respond to the messenger and turn back to Duncan, sighing.

He stays silent for a few moments, until the messenger leaves.

“I know it is not my place Lady, but do you mind if I give you any advice?” he sounded sincere and worried.

You nod at him, curious.

“Please don’t marry Feyd. I know it might seem like a good idea, if we’re speaking about bloodlines and dukes and barons, but… you should be with someone who loves and respects you.”

He got closer to you as he spoke those last words, his hair partially stuck to his face because of the sweat of battle. He extended his hand for you to take, and you did. Feeling anything at all was better than the dryness that got stuck in your throat when you received Feyd’s ‘demand’.

“Duncan, I-…” you trailed off.

You didn’t want to admit that you liked Feyd, it wasn’t love yet, but there was a certain attraction between the both of you. You wanted to explore this, even if it meant being married for a different cause. You just felt insecure after he left so fast, seemingly taking all the sweetness away from the moment you shared before.

Duncan pulled you into a hug, somehow knowing exactly what would help at this point. You felt his heart beat fast, faster than usual. He gave you a kiss on the forehead and continued to talk.

“Feyd has no idea how lucky he is. Should he ever try to hurt you again, I will intervene.”

He lets you out of the hug and takes your hands in his and goes onto one knee.

“If you ever feel doubt know that I’ll be here for you. I love you, Lady Atreides.”

He says as he kisses your hand. The confession feels heavy but sincere. You had no idea Duncan felt like this, you had always just assumed he was a man with his heart on his sleeve, loving all the Atreides family, because he had just always been there for you all. But a proposal?

“Oh, Duncan, I-“ you say as you feel a tear starting to roll over your cheek.

He comes back up and cups your face in his hands, wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead, and returns to hugging you. You softly sob as the heat of the older man gives you the comfort that you needed.

“I know.”

*

Feyd is struggling to get everything sorted, there’s a lot more shouting and killing of servants going on right now. He wants the wedding to be utter perfection, no place for errors, this includes everything you should bring or prepare. He shouts at a servant to ask about your wedding dress, and to make it quick. This explains why the message sounded so cold and demanding when you received it. The Harkonnen were anything but subtle with words.

He had been in and out of meetings concerning the festivities and he was about one more question away of killing another servant. He hated this, hated that he had to do everything, make all the choices, he should’ve just asked you to come along, but rules forbid. Curse the rules, he thought.

For an arranged marriage the people involved wouldn’t be allowed to see each other for a month before the marriage, this is to allow both families to prepare everything and make sure that the couple still wanted to get married. Also to get all the political things in order, most of all.

Feyd had 5 minutes of peace before he had a meeting with yet another person involved with the wedding. He was staring out at the arena and somehow missed simpler times like that. His momentarily peace got disrupted, however. A servant asked for his attention, it was Tula. Feyd knew how fond you were of her, so he promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt her. She was however, testing his patience at the moment.

“My Lord Na-Baron, I have a message for you, from Lady Atreides,” she spoke quietly.

Feyd shot up and took the message out of her hands, read it and a frown came over his face. Your reply was very formal, much the same as his question, or demand, felt to you. Yet he didn’t expect it to be so… dry. He looked up at Tula for a second, almost questioning her why your message didn’t sound nicer. He thought he knew you a bit more than that at least.

“My lord? Are you ok?” Tula questioned, seeing his face contort in several ways. “Fine,” his voice all gravely, he even sounded tired.

Tula started to walk away but then suddenly came to a stop. She considered the sentence she had on the tip of her tongue before finally saying it. As she turned back, Feyd looked up at her.

“My lord, … I have also received more information about Lady Atreides.” Her eyes trailed off, suddenly aware of the stare Feyd was giving her. “Speak.” He spit out. “… it appears that Lady Atreides has received a counteroffer for marriage, from Duncan Idaho.”

Feyd’s eyes narrowed into slits. Unaware of his next action, Tula wanted to make sure she would live after giving him the bad news, so she continued.

“Lady Atreides has declined his offer however,” she had no proof, but she also felt like you wouldn’t just bail on everything that had happened between you and Feyd.

She assumed you would say no to Duncan, considering the position you were in. A wild bet, to save her own life.

“Is that so…” he trailed off, started to stalk around Tula.

He took out his dagger and started to play with it, she feared for her life.

“It seems like I will have to teach Duncan some manners in the future.” He looked at Tula and then his dagger.

He reminded himself that the time would come where he got his revenge on Duncan and sheathed his dagger again. Tula almost sighed in relief.

“Send a message to Lady Atreides, tell her I look forward to making her mine soon.”

The implications where there, both innuendo and not, and Tula made sure she left as soon as she could.

*

When you receive the message, you’ve just finished bathing and are in a comfortable robe, hanging out on your bed. The staff member leaves the message in your hands and lets you be for the night. As you start to read the message you realise it’s from Tula. She tells you Feyd found out about the proposal from Duncan and wasn’t happy about it. She also conveys his own personal message to you.

“Make me his? Who does he think he is!”, you talk to yourself.

The way he talks to you ever since he left was very different from how he was on Caladan. No softness anymore, the Harkonnen in him had returned. You were sure that planet had something to do with it, Caladan was far more relaxed than Giedi Prime was. You decide not to answer him, it was only a few more days before you travelled to the planet yourself, so a response could wait.

You wonder if Duncan’s proposal had something to do with how cold he sounded in the message. You assumed it did, you didn’t see Feyd as an insecure person, but knowing how close you and Duncan were, anything could happen. You just hope Feyd doesn’t go ham on him and kill him. You fear that will be the only outcome, however.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you missed Feyd. It made you insecure to not have him around you. What was he doing right now? Did he also miss you? All these questions came floating to the surface as you kept thinking about him, and his hands, and his lips. And how strong he felt when he was holding you close, how his hands moved to your lower back and your legs, how his hot breath felt on you in the damp wet grass.

You instinctively open your robe thinking about him and start to touch yourself. You wanted nothing more but to feel him all over you, feel his hot mouth on your entrance. You imagine that your hands, are his, as you circle your clit. You insert two fingers and start to pump, cupping your breast in the other hand. You felt his erection as you sat on top of him, panting, and you think about how big he was, how he would stretch you, how he would make you his.

His cold words from the message now circle in your head, as you imagine him saying them out loud, whispering them in your ear from behind you, as he’s taking you. You come hard, thinking about him enveloping you, not stopping until you’re completely ripped at the seams. You imagine him holding you after, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, as you drift to sleep.

*

Feyd is having another night, however. His insecurity takes hold of him the night before your arrival. You hadn’t replied to his last message from a few days ago and he imagines you might just give up on the entire wedding, and so, give up on him. He keeps thinking about how he can convince you to marry him, what he would do to Duncan should he ever see the man again, and his anger boils inside of him.

He has thrashed his room already, broke a few chairs and killed a few servants, but nothing seems to help. A servant reminds him of the box they took with them from Caladan and he remembers the rose oil he took from his chambers. The servants draw a bath for him, with water, and put the rose oil in it. As soon as he enters the bathing area he relaxes. It feels like you are in there with him, soothing his fears and feelings, and calming him down.

He's not one to let his guard fall, but he drifts off into a soft sleep while he lay there. He dreams of you, in the damp grass, on top of him, under him, in any way he wants because it’s his imagination. He reassures himself that all will be fine once you’re here. He wakes and gets himself cleaned off. Before he goes to bed, he sprinkles some oil on his bed sheets, so that he would at least feel as if you were with him that night.

*

You travel to Giedi Prime on the day before your wedding. The rest of house Atreides would arrive later today. As you arrive you are greeted by a few servants, and you react with glee once you see Tula. You hug her and forget the differences in culture for a while before letting her go and straightening yourself. She has a soft smile on her face, however.

“Let me show you to your chambers, Lady Atreides.”

She walks in front of you as the other servants with your bags follow suit. As she ushers you into the room and your bags are in it, she closes the door and turns herself to you.

“My Lady Atreides, I fear I have a confession to make.” She looks strained.

You take her hands in yours, and you ushed her to sit down on the bed. “What is it, Tula?”

She shifts her eyes up at you, guilty for some reason.

“I was the one who told Feyd about the proposal from Duncan. I wanted him to hear from me, because I was afraid he might hurt you, should you have told him. I’d rather he hurt me, than you.”

You’re somewhat shocked but not for the reason Tula might think. She risked her life for you, knowing Feyd, he probably did end up hurting her.

“Did he hurt you?” you look at her, worried. “N-No, he did not actually. He only mentioned that he would have to punish Duncan, that’s it.”

You sigh, happy. But you’re also surprised he didn’t lash out at her. A mere servant in his eyes, what would be one more or less. Maybe Feyd was more perceptive than you thought.

“Tula, you did nothing wrong. You were loyal to your Na-Baron. I understand. I think Feyd will notice that I declined the offer if he sees me in a wedding dress tomorrow, we’ll be fine.”

You notice she had some tears forming in her eyes, so you decide to hug her, and she lets it all out.

“I hope he deserves you, Lady Atreides.” She tells you in between sobs.

It was the sweetest thing any servant had ever told you. You hope he still wants you as something more than a political pawn. Insecurity creeps back in as you prepare to go to bed before the big day. You wonder if he has any interest in you anymore as you drift off to sleep, worried and anxious.

[lithepetal]

Second Chance Chapter 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: Aurora’s worst nightmare comes true.

Warnings: panic attack

Series Masterlist

To most, the Winter Soldier was a ruthless, deadly assassin, who murdered indiscriminately. Who would believe him capable of a compassionate gesture?

“You’re safe, little one.”

Following movie night, Bucky’s translation of the Winter Soldier’s words replayed over and over in Aurora’s mind.

Days grew shorter and colder. Flurries of snow gusted against the window, blanketing the field surrounding the Compound. It was the perfect weather for staying indoors—not that Aurora ever argued. Yet, as she pressed her nose to the glass, her breath obscuring her view of outside, she sighed.

Two years and two months. She’d given up ballet, her friends, and until recently, her freedom.

~ * ~

Aurora glided along the ice, waving as she passed Bucky. Smiling, he leaned against the railing overlooking the frozen Hudson River and waved back. She wanted to go ice skating, but Tony refused unless someone accompanied her. That someone being Bucky.

Graceful as ever, he watched her more closely than he probably should’ve. “Are you cold yet?” Although she was bundled in several layers, her cheeks were redder than the star on his shoulder.

“Why? Is the Winter Soldier out of his element?” She giggled.

Shaking his head, Bucky chuckled. “You’re lucky I have a metal arm.”

“Oh, right.” She smirked. “I think I hear the ice splintering beneath me.”

“I doubt that, doll. What if I promised to make you hot cocoa? My ma’s recipe,” he added for emphasis.

Enticed, Aurora skated to the bank of river and exchanged her skates for boots. Slipping her hand into his, they crossed the campus to the Compound. They walked inside, and suddenly, her vision tunneled. Every bit of color drained from her face.

Purported on the news to be a mercenary wearing a skull and bones mask, the side-by-side image revealed his true identity. Crossbones a.k.a. Brock Rumlow.

“Buck, catch her!” Steve’s authoritative voice reverberated throughout the common room.

Reacting quickly, Bucky caught Aurora just as her knees gave out. Braced against him, she sank to the floor and stared unseeing. “Doll?” He frowned, placing a hand over her chest, at the same time JARVIS announced over the PA system:

“Sir, Aurora’s heart rate is elevated.”

Everyone parted to let Tony through as he rushed in. One look at the television told him everything he needed to know. He knelt in front of her, assessing her current state. He tilted his head and tried to make eye contact. “Aurora, honey, breathe for Dad.”

When that didn’t work, he reached out and gently took her hand in his. This seemed to rouse Aurora, whose eyes blinked into focus. Tears brimming her eyelids, she stood with his help.

Bucky looked to Steve, as the latter shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell,” he said, and proceeded to follow Aurora and Tony.

~ * ~

Tony cradled Aurora in his arms, her broken sobs like a lance through his heart. Coming to his side, Steve gripped his shoulder. They shared a glance, and Tony made a mental note to someday thank him for everything.

“You all knew, didn’t you?” She recalled seeing a glimpse of a heavily scarred man on-screen in the conference room. She’d forgotten all about it. Now, he wore a mask befitting his moniker to hide the scars.

“Yes, honey, we knew. We didn’t want to tell you.”

“He resurfaced on our radar several months ago as a known terrorist. We were- we are doing everything we can to find him, Aurora,” Steve assured her. “He won’t hurt you, not again.” He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, anger barely contained.

As Aurora’s cries subsided and her grip on him loosened, Tony pulled back slightly, brushing back her hair. She sniffled, as he used his sleeve to wipe away her tears. “Happy will escort you wherever you want to go. He’s, uh, followed you every time you left the Compound with Barnes. Steve’s idea.”

Aurora cracked a watery smile. She knew better—and felt better, knowing the times she did leave the Compound, she had security. “Thank you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Aurora. Like Cap said, we’re going to find the bastard.”

~ * ~

That night, Aurora sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, blanket wrapped around her, quietly watching the snow fall.

‘With Barnes’. The inflection in her father’s voice seemed to imply that Bucky was able to get her out of the Compound regularly where no one else had, and maybe he was right. But, why?

The romanticized version of the Winter Soldier in her mind was a saint compared to the world’s view of him. How did she, a girl with no superpowers or unique abilities, appeal to his humanity?

The Winter Soldier comforted her; what about Bucky Barnes? Faced with the past, and the uncertainty, and the power to either heal or harm Bucky with the secret she possessed, Aurora was no longer sure of anything. Or herself.

[leclerc-s]

the tortured poets department

series masterlist

liked by danieljonesricciardo, blakelively, yukitsunoda0511 and others

daphnejonesricciardo the tortured poets department. an anthology of new works that reflect events, opinions and sentiments from a fleeting and fatalistic moment in time - one that was both sensational and sorrowful in equal measure. this period of the author's life is now over, the chapter closed and boarded up. there is nothing to avenge, no score to settle once wounds have healed.and upon further reflection, a good number of them turned out to be self-inflicted. this writer is of firm belief that our tears become holy in the form of ink on a page. once we have spoke out saddest story, we can be free of it.

and then all that's left behind is the tortured poetry.

the tortured poets department is out now.

user has restricted comments

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esteban ocon crying in club to the entire album.

charles leclerc a win for the sad bitches (me)

dulce perez the extra 15 songs destroyed me. i was already sad and then daphne had to go and kill me.

natalia leclerc can you believe charles refused to call off our engagement so i could experience the full album in all it's pain?

daphne jones-ricciardo that seems horrible. let's run away together

fernando alonso where's daniel? he's usually the first one here screaming about how he loves the album and daphne.

rhys jones crying in his room over the album. there was a solid 15 minutes where he spent screaming "did i hurt you?" to no one in particular. the cats left him and joined me instead.

rowan todd ending the album was a 10/10 but ending it with the manuscript was a 4823014/10

carlos sainz i will never recover from this.

ollie bearman SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!

oscar piastri he's still crying in bella's arms.

isabella perez WE'RE CRYING TOGETHER!! pato o'ward MAKE ROOM FOR ME!! I'M COMING TO CRY!! gael perez YOU'RE IN LONG BEACH!! THEY'RE IN CHINA!! dulce perez WHEN THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY BITCH!

max jones-verstappen can't believe i made it onto another daphne jones-ricciardo album. that's 4 out of 11!!

natalia ruiz Y'ALL I'M ON A DAPHNE JONES-RICCIARDO ALBUM!!!

fernando alonso daphne, i knew you were in love with me!

daniel jones-ricciardo BACK THE FUCK OFF OLD MAN!

daniel jones-ricciardo THAT'S MY FUCKING WIFE!!

daniel jones-ricciardo DAPHNE ALISON JONES-RICCIARDO I FUCKING LOVE YOU

daniel jones-ricciardo SHE HAS MORE TALENT THAN I DO IN MY PINKY TOE!!

daniel jones-ricciardo YOUR BRAIN WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS!

daniel jones-ricciardo I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!!!!

rhys jones we knew it would take fernando to get you back.

zoya torres and if i cried to clara bow?

bailey winters anyone who says they didn't cry is lying.

rhys jones i will go to my grave wishing i got a daphne x xnda collab.

pato o'ward I LOVE THIS ALBUM!!

pato o'ward ISA!! WE HAVE TO CRY TOGETHER TO THIS ALBUM!!

isabella perez i will always cry to this album and i'm in a happy and healthy relationship.

gael perez for once.

dulce perez says the one who broke up with his boyfriend because he was scared.

pato o'ward woah

daniel jones-ricciardo i expect all of you to be playing this album over the weeked in your garages. make me proud children.

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @bella-1 @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! does the tagging actually work?? cause when i do it looks like it works but i'm not quite sure if it actually does work or not. anyways, happy ttpd release! this was supposed to come out sooner but i got distracted watching grey's anatomy.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - "Nodology", Part 1

It's best to read this story after first reading "No More Scars", since this is a sequel. While it's not necessary to do so, it helps paint a picture of Jon and Sansa's current relationship, and there are some references to scenes from that fic that might be lost on new readers. "No More Scars" was about the organic progression of Jon and Sansa's relationship on the road to Riverrun after he rescues her from King's Landing, and this is the story of that singularly-focused narrative now entering into the larger world of family and politics and societal expectations. Long story short, shit gonna get messy from here on in, folks.

Like in "No More Scars", there's been some speeding up/condensing of the timeline, and aging up of all characters. For those that are new, Jon died up at the Wall and then went South to rescue Sansa. Expect lots of creative license being taken, lol.

Nodology

Chapter One: There's a Poem in there Somewhere

"The knot fastens ever tighter." - Jon and Sansa. After rescuing her from King's Landing and bringing her to Riverrun, the two try to navigate a love they never intended to start, especially with so many watching eyes.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

All things come to an end, Sansa realizes.

This is what she thinks when she makes her way through the gates of her mother's family home.

(This must be how it ends – their journey.)

It's not home, but it's as near to it as Sansa expects to be for a long while. Riverrun's gates open before them, and Sansa sees her family, standing at the bottom of the stairs leading into the main hall at the end of the courtyard. The breath stalls in her chest. She's hardly aware of the halt her horse makes when she settles before them, Jon leading the horse on foot, keeping the proper decorum between them. And she's hardly aware of the offer of his hand for her to hold onto when she dismounts, rather than the familiar way his palms used to fit around her waist to help her down. They left intimacy back on the hill, after all. And part of Sansa's heart hurts for it, but in this moment, she hasn't a mind for it.

"Oh, Sansa," her mother cries, and then she is folded into her arms.

Everything comes undone in Sansa's chest. Her breath rakes from her, her eyes wetting instantly, and when she reaches trembling hands up to the back of her mother's dress, she fears she may crumble against her form.

"My dear Sansa," Catelyn cries into her hair, a hand stroking the back of her head, the other wrapped tight around her shoulders.

The sob catches in Sansa's throat. "Mother," she croaks out, voice breaking. And then the tears truly do come.

They hold each other there in the open courtyard. Robb watches them with a trembling lip, his throat flexing. He opens his mouth, perhaps to say her name, to say something, but nothing comes. He clamps it shut, the quiver in his chin barely discernible, his eyes never leaving her form.

And then there is Jon, still holding the reins of the horse she'd rode in on. Still watching, always, from a distance. She meets his eyes over her mother's shoulder.

He offers her a tender smile, just the slightest quirk of his lip, his own eyes wetting at the sight of their reunion.

She mouths a silent 'thank you' to him, her tears hot along her lids, and then she buries her face in her mother's shoulder.

Her knees buckle, but Catelyn holds her.

She is home, home, home.

(Because home is not a place.)

Sansa doesn't bother to smother her cries this time.

* * *

Catelyn frets over her the first several hours, and dinner that night is awkward for her at the beginning, the anxiety still bundled in her chest, the fear still wound tight throughout her gut.

The last time she sat at a dinner table, Cersei sat across from her, wine goblet in hand, sneer in place.

Her appetite is slow in returning.

Catelyn brushes a stand of hair behind her daughter's ear with affection. Sansa smiles tenderly at her, seated beside her, before refocusing on her plate.

Jon sits across from her. Ghost lies at her feet beneath the table.

More than her appetite may be slow to return. But he is here.

And she is safe.

And there is time in the world for everything else.

* * *

Jon had expected to be the one to break the terrible news of Arya no longer being in King's Landing, but before he can, Catelyn is already assuring Sansa of their search for Arya, her hands cupping her cheeks, her eyes fervent on hers.

"She's been seen in the Riverlands, and I've sent trusted people in search of her. Your uncle is helping," she says with a nod to her brother Edmure.

Tears bead in Sansa's eyes.

The air tangles in Jon's lungs – equal mix dread and relief.

She's been spotted, at least. She's alive, at least. But beyond that...

He meets Sansa's eyes across the room and finds the same tangle of emotion reflected in her gaze.

In this world, and in this war, they have no guarantee of anything, after all.

* * *

There's a knock on her chamber door. She calls for the visitor to enter and stops her perusal of the many dresses her mother has laid across her bed for her.

Robb enters, eyes meeting hers briefly before glancing to the floor, and he closes the door behind him. He meets her gaze again in silence.

Sansa stills in her surprise, before her manners return to her. She curtsies. "Your Grace."

"Sansa, please – " he starts, hand out-reaching, before stopping. He clears his throat. "You can forget the formalities," he tells her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Sansa watches him quietly, aching to reach for him, to bury her face in his chest and cry in his arms and call him 'brother' once more, but she's unsure whether he wants that as well. Whether she is still 'sister' to him.

"You've returned to us. Safe and sound," he says in relief.

The anger flares hot and unbidden within her. She purses her lips, turning back to her bed. "Yes, though your definition of 'sound' is questionable at best," she snaps.

He steps toward her. "Sansa..."

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. This is her king, as well as her brother. She turns back to him. "I'm sorry. That was... unworthy of me."

He hesitates a moment, and then he reaches for her, wraps his arms around her frame, sighs into her hair. "You've no idea how worried I was."

"No, I've no idea," she breathes quietly into his shoulder, stiffening in his embrace.

Robb doesn't seem to notice. He pulls back from their hug, his hands resting along her arms. "I want you to meet my new wife. You'll get on well, I just know it."

Sansa heaves an exhausted sigh. "Of course."

Robb peers at her. "Are you tired? You must be tired. Of course, you're tired. I should let you rest." His hands fall from her shoulders. He moves to turn, and then stops, glancing back at her. He opens his mouth, closes it, tries again. "I'm glad you're back, Sansa. Truly."

Maybe he means it. Maybe he means all of it.

But Sansa cannot think of that right now. She only nods silently, offering a perfunctory smile. "So am I," she says placatingly.

Robb smiles at her, before leaving her chambers.

She drops down to sit along the edge of the bed, her eyes glancing over the dresses laid out across her furs.

It rises in her – sudden and poisonous.

She grabs a dress, slings it across the room with a shriek.

Sansa stands staring at the offending garment, her chest heaving with her ire, and then she grabs for another, throwing it just the same. Another. And another. Her shouts of rage crumble into grievous cries, her arms finally giving out as she stumbles back along the bed, sliding down the side of it to drop to the stone below. She buries her face in her hands, her breaths coming quick, her eyes stinging with unshed tears, her frustration panted into her palms.

She pulls her knees up to her chest.

She is home, home, home.

(And it shouldn't feel like this.)

* * *

Jon finds her in the stables, brushing out the mane of her horse. He glances around the stalls, making certain of their seclusion, before he steps up behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling back against his chest.

Sansa startles in his embrace, before she realizes it's him, the brush in her hand still held mid-air, her other going to Jon's own hand around her waist. "Jon," she whispers with caution, glancing around the corner for any witnesses to his sudden affection.

But Jon only sighs into her hair, clutching her more firmly. He buries his nose along her shoulder. "Just give me a minute."

Sansa worries her lip, stiffening in his hold, even as his warmth floods her. "Jon, we have to be careful," she hisses, eyes still flicking around the corner of the stall.

"Just a minute, please, Sansa," he rumbles into her neck, his eyes fluttering closed at her scent, her nearness, the steady weight of her braced to his chest.

The ardency of his request seems to move her, and her shoulders lose their tension, her own sigh stealing past her lips as she leans back against him, quietly surrendering.

He's back there, suddenly, back to being on the run like they were only weeks ago, when there was nothing but her and him and a horse and a road. Nothing to stop him holding her like this, and no one to interrupt. Nothing to risk, and no shame to be found.

He breathes her in, his fingers clutching at her, and it's too short – this time that he can hold her. It's too short and too fleeting and too edged with danger.

(He knew this going into it. He knew this when she reached for his hand atop the hill and told him: "This isn't as far as we go." But knowing doesn't make it any easier.

He knew he was still her brother.

He knew this was still wrong.

But knowing and wanting have never gone hand in hand for him.)

He takes a last lingering inhale at her neck, his nose still pressed to her hair, his hands slipping from her waist reluctantly, before he moves to turn her gently in his hold, facing her.

She looks up at him with a tenderness that rakes through his chest.

He closes his eyes and sighs heavily when she braces a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his coarse beard.

"What is it?" she asks him softly, peering up at him when he settles his hands on her hips.

"I just miss you," he manages, his eyes fluttering open to rove across her face.

She smiles up at him, before leaning forward to plant a kiss along his cheek. "And I miss you. Always. Even when you're right across the table from me."

Jon sighs out his aggravation, his thumbs brushing unconscious circles over her hips. "I feel like we haven't spoken in days."

Sansa looks down, her hands going to brace along his arms. "We haven't, really," she says forlornly.

He doesn't let her linger long on it though, directing her to the bench across the horse's stall. They settle next to each other, their hands held between them. "How have you been?" he asks her.

She gives a slight shake of her head. "I'm worried for mother. There's been no further news of Arya."

Jon grunts his acknowledgement, his eyes drifting down to their joined hands, his thumb gliding over her knuckles in comfort. "There will be. I promise."

She smiles up at him. "When you say it, I believe you."

"Good."

She squeezes his hands. "I'm surprised you didn't offer to join Uncle Edmure's men in their search for her."

He considers it a moment, his eyes still following the trail of his thumb over the back of her hand. "I thought about it," he says softly.

She cocks her head at him. "But...?"

He looks up at her then. "But Robb is planning his next attack soon and I need to be with him."

She frowns at his words. "Will you be leaving then?"

At her slight pout, the hint of a smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her jaw. "Not immediately."

"I don't want you to go," she says firmly, leaning toward him with a plea in her eyes.

Jon sighs at the urgency in her words, the smile slipping from his face. "Sansa, I have to."

"No, you don't. Robb has enough of the Northern lords behind him. You don't have to risk yourself as well."

"And you're okay with letting our brother go to war without me? Without his family?"

Sansa's mouth thins into a tight line, her throat flexing imperceptibly. Her eyes flick away from his, focusing on the tie of his tunic instead. "No," she croaks out, finally.

But Jon knows where the hesitation comes from.

"Did Robb send you?"

The years apart have made them different people. But he still remembers how Sansa used to hang off Robb's arm at feasts, and how eagerly she played her harp for him, and how she dragged him into her games of pretend when they were children. He remembers her proud smile when Robb first donned the cloak she'd sewn for him, and the way she refused to cry in his presence, and the intensity with which she held him as they said their goodbyes outside the gates of Winterfell, before her ill-fated trip to King's Landing.

Robb was Sansa's favorite brother. Always had been.

And maybe that fact never really hurt before because he'd been his as well, and maybe it doesn't really hurt now because being Sansa's favorite brother isn't even what he wants – now, when what he wants is so decidedly far from brotherly, it isn't even in the same vicinity.

And still:

"Did Robb send you?"

Maybe it hurts now because they've both since learned the answer, even when neither will say it.

"Of course, I want him safe," she says, her voice quaking, her eyes still fixed to his chest. She sighs, her shoulders slumping with it, her gaze falling to her lap. "But I can't lose you both. I wouldn't make it, Jon, not after... not after everything."

Jon releases her hands to cup her face, the gentle brush of his thumb arcing over her cheek. "Hey, look at me."

She does, and the trust he finds in her gaze nearly rends him clean in two.

"Sansa, we have a chance, don't you see? With the Riverlands and the Vale lending their support, and Theon off securing the Greyjoys' alliance – we can end this war."

Sansa's brows dip in concern. "But when Robb married Jeyne..."

Jon shakes his head, a rough sound brewing in his throat. "I know. I know the Freys aren't happy, but we're still in talks. And nothing's been decided. And with Robb as our king, I know – I know we can finally – " He stops, the words clogging up his throat as he takes in her face. "The North can be free. You can be free. And I promise – I promise you, Sansa – neither Robb or I will ever let you be captive again, do you understand me?"

Sansa reaches up to hold his wrists, pressing her cheek into the palm of his calloused hand.

He just wants her to believe him.

Because he means it. He means it more than anything in this world.

Sansa is free when the North is free. And for that...

For that, he would give anything.

"Tell me you believe me," he begs of her, his face inching closer to hers.

The slight sheen of tears blankets her eyes as she blinks up at him. But she nods mutely, and it is answer enough.

He presses forward and kisses her. Just the once. Swift and sure and promising.

She sucks a shallow breath between her lips, her forehead bracing to his when he pulls back. Her hands never unlink from around his wrists.

Sansa is free when the North is free.

(And he needs no further reason to fight.)

* * *

"That's all I know," Sansa says, glancing down at the map of King's Landing Robb has spread out over the table.

Jon watches the tick in Robb's jaw at her words, his hands braced along the edge of the table, eyes fixed to the map. "Sansa," he sighs, "There must be something you missed. Something that can help us. You know how important this is."

Catelyn, Brynden, Edmure and even Robb's wife Jeyne Westerling stand around the table with them, all eyes keened to the layout of King's Landing spread before them, a stilted silence pervading the room. Outside the chamber, Robb's advisors and the other lords of the North wait patiently to convene the war council.

Sansa crosses her arms defensively at Robb's words, her eyes flashing to him. "Of course, I know how important this is. I'm not a simpleton. But I can't tell you what I don't know! It's not like I was privy to the Lannisters' council meetings," she huffs.

Robb looks up at her with frustration, before he pushes from his lean over the table, a hand wiped over his mouth. "Think, Sansa. Even the smallest detail may help us. Something they may have let slip."

Sansa narrows her eyes at him. "I'm sorry, was I meant to be spying between the bouts of terror and abuse? Apologies, Your Grace, but I never received that missive," she bites out.

Robb sucks a sharp breath between his teeth, his mouth opening on a scathing retort.

Catelyn's hand goes to his arm, stilling him.

The room feels stiff in the aftermath, Edmure and the Blackfish both shifting their weight from one leg to another, watching the scene before them carefully. Jeyne folds her hands in front of her, eyes falling to the floor when she pulls her lip between her teeth.

Sansa doesn't lower her gaze from her brother's.

Jon watches the exchange anxiously, his hands held tight behind his back.

Finally, Sansa tears her gaze away, hot tears pricking her eyes, her fingers tightening over her arms.

"I'm sorry for your suffering, Sansa, believe me, but this is about more than that," Robb begins, voice rough. "This is about Northern independence, and I can't afford to delay that to cushion your hurt. I need information. I need details. And I need you to give them to me."

Sansa's fingers flex over her arms, her eyes still fixed to the table, still brimming with tears. "I know that," she gets out on a croak.

And oh, what it must take from her, to be scolded like this before her family, and to keep her graces, even still.

Jon grips one hand beneath the other at his back, the muscles in his arms bunching.

Everyone stays silent before the King in the North, gauging his ire.

"But that's all I know," Sansa sighs out, her frustration nearly strangling the words in her throat. She blinks back the tears, the remembrance.

Jon can practically feel the thrum of Catelyn's anxiety beside him.

Robb sighs again, a heat behind the exhale. "You were Tyrion's wife, for Seven's sake. You mean to tell me he let nothing slip? No indication of their force's strength, their next move, any weakness of the Keep, nothing?" he bites out.

A growl brews quietly in Jon's chest at the words, at Tyion's mention, at Robb's forcefulness. His knuckles go white beneath his grip.

Sansa glowers at Robb. "He wasn't one for pillow talk," she clips out, the flush of anger coloring her throat.

Jon sees the hurt behind her eyes clearly.

"Robb," Catelyn whispers at his side, an ache lining her voice.

But Robb ignores it, his gaze narrowing on Sansa. "You were a Lannister bride," he hisses, almost accusatory. "You must know more."

"I know who I am," Sansa croaks out, blinking back the tears, her lip trembling, the words too close to apologetic for Jon's liking.

Too head-bowed for a daughter of the North.

(Too yielding for Sansa.)

Jon bares his teeth, the breath raking from him. His eyes are only for Sansa when he tells her, surely, and with everything of himself, "You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell."

His deep voice heralds a stilted silence in the room, all eyes turning to him upon their utterance. He's painstakingly aware of Catelyn's steady gaze beside him.

Sansa blinks up at him, her mouth parting.

They stare at each other in the quiet of the room.

He wants to go to her then, wants to wrap her in his arms and bury her in his embrace, wants to press her cheek to his chest and breathe against her hair, wants to hold her to his bones, until she knows, indisputably, and without doubt – that she is the blood of Winterfell. That she is the North.

Sansa Stark.

Not Sansa Lannister. Not Sansa the traitor's daughter. Or Sansa the captive.

But Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark.

This is who she is, who she will always be.

And no one, not even her brother king, can take that from her.

(This is who she is, and who he loves.)

"You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell," he says again, no less certain, no less adamant than the first time.

Robb sighs heavily at the end of the table, his fists bracing to the edge of the wood, his gaze drawn down to the map before them. The fight leaves him slowly, replaced by a weariness that slumps his shoulders in its wake.

Catelyn's hand rises to his shoulder, a measure of comfort in the heated quiet of the room, and Jon is grateful for the release of her intense gaze upon him.

Robb waves his mother's council off, a hand going to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Leave me," he says on a tired exhale, an unspoken surrender to the words.

The group shuffles out wordlessly, Catelyn's hand slipping from her son's shoulder reluctantly.

Jon looks at Sansa one last time before they exit the room.

She meets his gaze almost instantly,

The axis of his body tilts toward hers, the gravity of her almost overwhelming him.

(To hold her to his bones and tell her – )

She is Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

And he is in love with her.

* * *

"I can't seem to... talk to her anymore," Robb tells him, stilling in his wiping of his blade.

Jon glances at his brother beside him, as they sit along one of the benches in the training yard. He raises a brow his way. "Who?" he asks, sliding the whetstone along his own blade, but even in his feigned ignorance, the answer is blaringly apparent.

Robb returns the oiled cloth in his hand to his sword, face screwing up in concentration. "Sansa," he tells him.

Jon grunts his acknowledgement, eyeing Robb beside him. "What do you mean?" he asks carefully, the words tight in his throat.

"You were a Lannister bride."

Jon's grip over Longclaw tightens, his nostrils flaring at the memory.

Robb huffs his frustration, stilling his motions again. "She's different, somehow. She's not the Sansa I used to know."

Jon scoffs. "Aye. Being held captive for years tends to do that to a person."

Robb straightens as he looks at Jon. "You're not blaming me, are you?"

Jon considers his words, his hand stilling the swiping motion over his sword. He sighs out heavily. "It's not about blame."

Robb stays silent, his mouth a tight line. "You think I should have made the trade for Jaime Lannister."

Jon straightens as well, setting his blade aside. "Is this really the conversation you want to have right now?"

"Yes."

Jon frowns. "No, you don't."

Robb turns frustrated. "Just because you're my brother doesn't mean you can speak to your king this way," he says brusquely.

Jon swallows back the instant bile. His mouth thins into a tight line. "See? This is exactly why we can't have this kind of conversation." He stands, moving to replace his whetstone along the rack, sheathing Longclaw.

Robb tosses the oiled cloth in his hand down to the bench as he stands as well, his sword still in his other hand. He grabs for Jon's shoulder and pulls him back. "And why is that?"

"Because you don't want honesty," Jon snaps.

Robb stills at the heat in the words, his hand falling from Jon's shoulder.

Jon sighs, wiping a hand over his mouth. "You just want to be reassured." And maybe he gets that.

The realization softens something in Jon. The heat drains from his gaze, his shoulders slumping with it as he watches Robb.

His brother doesn't answer, his eyes drifting down, his face solemn and hurt.

Jon grabs for his shoulders, catching his gaze once more. "Look, Robb, I can't tell you what the right choice is, or what it would have been. I can't tell you what you should have done. And I can't tell you that I would have done differently in your place."

It's not a truth he likes to admit, not after seeing that pale white scar at the nape of Sansa's neck, not after the stories she's told him from across their shared campfires, not after watching her tremble through nightmares and only stilling when his arms were around her.

But it's a truth, nonetheless.

Jon sighs. "I can't tell you whether you made the wrong decision or not. I can only tell you that Sansa hurt for it. She hurt dearly for it. And you're either okay with that or you're not. That's all I've got."

"Are you okay with it?"

The question surprises him, and he draws his hands back from his shoulders in silence. Jon clears his throat, shoulders pulling back. "What do you mean?"

"Are you okay with my decision? With how it's hurt her?" There's an ache behind the words, but also a need.

But Jon cannot fill that need. He knows that now. Knows that clearer than anything.

He grinds his jaw, thinks of that white scar along her back, thinks of the tears he's wiped from her cheeks, thinks of all the times she asked about their brother while they trekked through the wilderness on their way to Riverrun.

"Did Robb send you?"

And how that question has haunted them, ever since its first utterance.

How he hates that he had to be the one to kill that hope in her, how Robb is the one who made him do it.

"Jon?"

Jon clenches his jaw, the words settling along his tongue. "No, I'm not okay with it. I'm not okay with anything that hurts Sansa."

Robb blinks at him, his shoulders slumping.

Jon has to turn away, before he says any more. Before he reveals all his gruesome little insides. "Apologies, Your Grace, but I don't think I can be of any help to you for this one." He turns to leave, his hand settling along the hilt of Longclaw at his hip, a measure of reassurance, steadiness. He looks back at his brother. "Talk to her, Robb," he says softly.

Because he knows she wants that, too. Even if they should hurt for it.

They promised each other, after all.

They promised no more scars.

He only hopes that Robb isn't one already.

* * *

"Your ankle seems to be better," Catelyn muses, dragging the brush down the length of her daughter's hair.

Sansa glances up and catches her mother's gaze through the mirror, offering a smile with her answer. "Yes, much."

"You twisted it in the storm, you said?"

Sansa nods, her mouth pursing with the memory.

(Her and Jon's drenched forms, the refuge of a cave, Ghost's warmth at her back, and Jon – )

Sansa swallows tightly, her gaze falling to the vanity in front of her.

Catelyn continues her gentle brushing, a thoughtful look on her face as she takes in Sansa's curtain of hair.

Sansa doesn't expand any further on the experience, though her hands bunch together in her lap.

"And Jon was wounded when you were fleeing the Lannisters' men, is that right?"

Sansa looks at her mother through the mirror once more, a question furrowing her brow. "Yes," she says cautiously, unsure of where her mother intends to take the conversation.

"And you tended his wound?"

"Of course," she says easily.

Catelyn is silent for many moments, though she never stills her movements. And then she clears her throat softly. "So, he disrobed before you," she clips out.

Sansa stiffens in her seat, her mind reaching back to the cave, to the bare expanse of his chest pressed to hers, and his arms around her naked form, and the weight of his breath in her neck, and the kiss they'd shared the following morning, the way he'd yielded to her, opened to her breathlessly, and how good he tasted – how she'd wanted nothing more than to taste him further in that moment.

Sansa blinks back the memory, attempting a nonchalant shrug and a reassuring smile, trying to catch her mother's eyes in the mirror once more. "I've seen all my brothers shirtless in the yard before, Mother. It's no matter." She hopes she sounds more convincing than she feels.

Catelyn sets the brush aside and takes Sansa's hair in both hands, her elegant fingers threading through the strands, parting them in familiar ways. She purses her lips, eyes still fixed to her daughter's hair. "You were each younger then, and never alone. Now, it is..." She frowns minutely, turning one strand over another in her hands. "It isn't proper."

Sansa barely manages to smother the huff of frustration that tries to escape her. "What was I supposed to do? Leave him wounded?" The idea is painful, and impossible.

After seeing his scar-riddled chest –

She can't ever imagine leaving him wounded again.

Catelyn sighs, her hands stilling their ministrations. She meets Sansa's gaze through the mirror, her features softening somewhat. "No," she tells her, though it seems to take great effort from her. "No, you did the right thing."

Sansa waits for more, but her mother doesn't continue.

Catelyn keeps her gaze a moment longer, and then she turns back to her work, silently braiding Sansa's hair, any further thoughts on their recent intimacy held behind the cage of her teeth.

Something in Sansa thrums at the uncertainty of her mother's silence, at the unspoken wariness of their sudden closeness. "I'm safe with Jon," she says without preamble, the words coming up of their own accord.

Catelyn doesn't react. She simply continues her braiding.

Sansa's brow furrows in determination, her shoulders setting straighter. "If you believe anything, believe that," she says imploringly, proud of the way her voice doesn't shake with the words.

Catelyn's fingers graze her cheek as she pulls the strands from her face, her eyes never meeting hers through the mirror. "I will try," she tells her.

But while the words should stir hopefulness within her, Sansa finds there is only a fluttering in her gut, a coil of unease that lingers long into the night, many hours after her mother has left her.

* * *

She's on her way back from the sept one morning when he grabs her arm and tugs her into a shadowed alcove, smothering her surprised yelp with his calloused palm over her mouth. She blinks wide eyes up at Jon, catches his wide grin in the shadows, and the relief that floods her has her sagging against the wall behind her. When he releases her mouth, his name comes out in a scolding, a swap to his shoulder for good measure.

He laughs good-naturedly, and Sansa opens her mouth for a scathing retort about his frightening her this early in the morning but then his hands are slipping under her jaw and tilting her face up to his and then his mouth is opening over hers – long and languid and slow.

Sansa can only sigh into it, eyes fluttering shut.

Jon tilts his head, slanting his mouth over hers in a wet, almost filthy kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth easily. A quiet moan escapes her at the sensation and a rumble answers in his chest, his breaths coming harder as he presses into her, bracing her back against the stone with his hips pinned to hers. She grips at his shoulders, fingers curling in his tunic, her back arching against him, as she sucks on his tongue, her own kiss growing hungry and heated.

He keeps his hands on her face, his grip tightening over her jaw at her eagerness, as though he aches to release his hold of her, to instead slide his hands down the length of her body, his thumbs just barely grazing the sides of her breasts, gliding over her ribs, along her waist, anchoring at her hips, the small of her back, dangerously low as they grip her to him, pressing them intimately together.

The thought is maddening to her, especially when he keeps his hands so frustratingly secure along her face, even as he kisses her wildly.

She thinks of her morning prayers in the sept, and her cheeks grow pinker (if that were even possible in this moment) at the sudden realization that perhaps she should have also asked for forgiveness, because a surge of boldness courses through her right then and she reaches for his hands, drags them down to her collar, just above the tops of her breasts in her open-necked gown, her chest heaving against him as she continues kissing him.

He groans along her tongue, gripping at her shoulders to steady himself, still ever so honorable, his thumbs unconsciously stretching down to brush along the bare skin of her modest cleavage, and he pulls back suddenly, panting, his mouth hovering over hers, his breath warm as it fans her swollen lips.

She's delirious at the sudden loss of him.

"Sansa..." he gets out roughly, voice laden with desire.

She pushes forward to meet his mouth again, and he sighs as he opens to her, meeting her eager tongue with his own, his weight sagging against her in his surrender. He presses her full against the wall now as his hands slide down her sides before wrapping round her back, dragging her hips into his with a low growl vibrating over her tongue in his mouth.

She startles at the press of hardness into her thigh, suddenly highly aware of his desire, even as her own flutters in her gut, spitting like hot coals.

Jon seems to notice, dragging his wet mouth from her own swollen one reluctantly, his chest heaving against hers, his moan painting her lips for half a breath before he drops his head into her shoulder, hugging her tightly against him.

She tries to take example from his self-control, but it's just so hard with him pressed so deliciously against her, with his hot breath in the crook of her neck, and his hands gripping the back of her dress, one bunched fist scandalously low, his arms trembling with his waning willpower.

She mewls at his ear, the soft, embarrassing whine of his name escaping her lips, and she links her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his throat. "Don't stop," she croons into his skin.

He chuckles at her shoulder, his arms tensing a moment, and then relaxing, unwinding from her to brace his palms along the wall behind her instead. Still, he keeps his weight pressed against hers, keeps their bodies a single, melded line. "I must," he gets out raggedly, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Or I truly won't stop."

She thrills at the possibility, not fully understanding where that may lead but knowing that she wants it. She wants him.

Desperately and daily – she wants him.

Like a fever beneath her skin.

She wets her lips, eyes peering up into his when she whispers against his mouth, "Then don't."

Jon closes his eyes on a weighted sigh, grinding his jaw in some semblance of control. When he opens his eyes once more, he chuckles at her unchanged expression – earnest and hopeful. He plants a quick kiss along her nose. "Sansa, this is hardly the time or place for us to... explore."

She scrunches her nose in indignation, her arms loosening around his neck. "Well, you started it."

He actually barks a laugh at that, and Sansa beams at the sight of it.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes roving her face with a grin. "Aye, and you intend to finish it, is that it?"

She peers at him, her smile turning mischievous as she twines her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, her back arching subtly. "Precisely," she answers tartly.

Jon's eyes flick to her mouth, his smile slipping as his hand drifts from her hair back to her jaw, his thumb edging along her bottom lip.

Sansa stills at the motion, her mouth parting slightly at the tender yet heated touch.

Jon watches as he brushes his thumb slowly across her mouth, still pink and ripe and swollen from his kisses. He licks his lips unconsciously. "Careful, girl," he breathes out.

Sansa takes the warning for what it is, her own breath coming heavy in her chest again. She swallows thickly, cocking her head to look at him.

His eyes flick up to meet hers at the motion.

"But it... it feels good," she says cautiously, her nails curling along the back of his neck. "Doesn't it feel good for you?" she gets out on a hoarse whisper.

"It feels more than good," Jon says thickly, clearing his throat as he drops his hand from her mouth, leaning back from her for the first time since their mouths met. He still keeps one hand braced to the wall behind her. "And therein lies the danger."

"I'm safe with you, though," she says instinctually. She doesn't even need to think the words. They're simply there. They simply are.

As plain a truth as she's ever known.

Jon laughs softly at her assertion. "You humble me, Sansa. Truth be told, my control is slipping day by day."

She sucks a short breath between her teeth, silently exhilarated at the admission.

His expression softens as he watches her. "I missed you," he says quietly.

Her heart clenches at the words.

He shakes his head, sighing with it. "I always miss you," he admits, leaning close to press his forehead to hers.

"And I, you," she answers, her hands slipping from his neck to slide down to his chest, bracing there. "I want to see you every day," she says without inhibition, the brightness of the emotion bringing a smile back to her face. She turns her head slightly to press a fervent kiss to his cheek.

He chuckles at her unhindered earnestness. "You mean you didn't tire of me all those long weeks on the road?"

"I could never tire of you, Jon," she says sweetly, the truth of it slipping easily from her. She leans back to look at him. "In fact, it's quite the opposite actually. I find myself needier and needier for you as the days go by. Especially when I'm without you."

Jon quiets at her words, his gaze falling to her mouth again. He stares at her lips for a long moment, a slow, steadying breath easing out of his chest as he works his jaw, an ardent look crossing his features. "I should go," he says finally, voice rough when it leaves him. He clears his throat, glancing back up to meet her eyes. "Before I do something I shouldn't." He leans away to glance back out the empty corridor. "And before your mother starts to worry at your absence," he adds on.

Sansa pats his chest affectionately, grabbing his attention once more. "Will you meet me in the gardens this afternoon? I've something to give you."

Jon answers with a brilliant smile. "Alright, then." He leans in and plants a brief, sweet kiss along her lips. He pulls away from her reluctantly, his hand reaching for hers in farewell as he moves into the hall.

Their fingers thread together, before slipping apart, their yearning already building back up in the space between them.

Sansa watches him go, fingers pressed to her lips, heart full.

* * *

She presses the kerchief into his hands, and he stares down at it, at the elegantly stitched white wolf decorating the edge of the material. He blinks dumbly at the gift in his hands.

Sansa beams at him, her hands clasped gracefully before her. "A lord should always carry a favor from his lady, should he not?" she says brightly.

Jon looks up at her, the words stalling in his throat.

Her lashes flutter as pink tinges her cheeks. "I am your lady, am I not?" she asks hesitantly.

Jon releases a short chuckle at her question, before glancing around the secluded corner of the gardens where they stand, and then snaking a hand behind her neck and pulling her toward him, meeting her mouth with his in a fervent kiss, a sigh breaking from him when her hands slide up his chest to anchor at his shoulders. They smile against each other's mouths when they break the kiss.

He pulls from her, his fingers flexing in her hair, his breath fanning her lips. "I can only endeavor to be a worthy lord, my lady."

She presses her nose to his cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Just tell me I'm yours," she sighs impatiently.

Jon chuckles again, a hand going to the back of her head, his other anchored at the small of her back, her favor bunched in his fist. He pulls back just enough to catch her eyes again. "Sansa – "

But she kisses him then, cuts off his words. Her mouth is insistent on his. She pulls back, breathless, her eyes shifting between his. "Tell me, please," she whispers in the space between their lips.

There's something needful to the words, to the way she presses into his chest, the way her fingers dig along his shoulders.

His gaze darkens on hers, his sigh painting her lips. He curls his fingers into the soft silk of her favor, his fist pressing low on her back. "You are," he tells her, voice dragging from his chest. His gaze drops to her mouth, his tongue wetting his lips. "You are mine," he gets out roughly, angling his mouth to press over hers.

Her hands glide along his shoulders to the back of his neck, nails sinking into his hair as she smiles against his lips. "As you are mine," she breathes with certainty, just before he takes her mouth with his.

The kiss is sweet and decadent and indulgent, their mouths moving against each other's slowly, deliberately, tasting each other without demand. His hand tangles in her hair, holding her to him, his tongue swiping into her mouth with a low groan as he presses into her.

Her back hits the bowled edge of the fountain behind her, and her steps stumble, but he's got her securely in his hold, his mouth breaking from hers at the slight jostle. He meets her eyes, and they stare at each other with mischievous grins, the panted heat of their breaths mingling in the air between them. And then he dips his head to her throat, his nose brushing the edge of her jaw, his lips planting a soft, reverent kiss along her skin.

Sansa sighs prettily at his ministrations, her nails catching along the nape of his neck.

The feel of her is nearly dizzying.

"Sansa!" someone calls upon entering the gardens.

Jon tears himself away from her instantly, attempting to steady his pants, a hand smoothing through his hair, his chest heaving at the sudden retreat.

"Sansa!" the voice calls again, getting closer.

Sansa licks her lips, coming back to herself, her trembling hands smoothing over her skirts as she rights herself beside the fountain.

Jon is a respectful distance away from her when he turns to their intruder, a brow raising upon seeing Edmure Tully's entrance into their corner of the gardens.

The Lord of the Riverlands makes his way to Sansa without a look at Jon, his hands grabbing hers. "Oh, Sansa," he sighs out brokenly.

Sansa blinks at him, her breath stalled in her throat. "What is it, Uncle?"

Edmure glances at Jon finally, only briefly, before meeting his niece's gaze once more. "It's your brothers, Bran and Rickon. At Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy, he – he..." Edmure turns almost green at the words, a grimace passing over his features.

Jon stills at Edmure's distress, his body settling into a single, taut focus.

Edmure swallows thickly, his hands tightening over Sansa's. His face hardens, his shoulders going stiff. "You need to go to your mother," he says simply, the words low and full of warning.

Sansa stares at her uncle, a line of concern creasing her brow. She looks to Jon, her mouth tipping open.

But he has no answers for her.

"Go to your mother," Edmure says again, more sure this time, a darkness crossing over his gaze, as he tugs her along after him.

Jon watches her go, his own feet rooted to the ground.

Something sinks deep in his gut – like a stone he will never be able to dig out again.

* * *

Her mother is inconsolable. Her grief is a wailing thing at night, and a quiet haunt by daylight. Sansa watches her from across the breakfast table the following day, watches the way she drags her fork disinterestedly around her plate. Robb reaches for their mother's hand, squeezing it gently.

"You must eat, Mother," he says softly.

Catelyn looks up at him a moment, and then pats his hand atop hers. "I think I'd like to rest," she says hollowly before rising from the table.

Sansa barely manages to choke back her own sob as she watches her mother leave the room. She turns to look at Robb, but his hand is over his face, a heavy sigh leaving him. Edmure and the Blackfish are equally quiet, exchanging worried glances with each other. And then she looks at Jon.

He's already watching her, but he turns his gaze away swiftly when she meets his eyes. He rubs a hand over his mouth, exhaling roughly as he drops his fork atop his plate and leans back in his chair.

None of them look at each other.

Bran and Rickon are there in the room with them, their names hanging unsaid in the stilted air, their deaths stinging like smoke in the eyes.

Their memories raw like a blister.

Sansa closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. The tears are instant.

Robb glances to her at the first sob that hits air.

She presses a hand to her mouth, eyes flickering open to stare at the half-eaten food on her plate. She doesn't quite manage to smother it. "I'm sorry," she croaks out before it overtakes her, and she pushes her seat back, running for the door, the tears nearly blinding her.

She doesn't look back. She simply runs.

She runs and runs and runs. Through the corridors and past the courtyard, out the gates and across the bridge. Along the riverbank, she runs. She runs and runs and runs, crying all the while, until her legs finally give out and she stumbles to her knees, her hands going out to catch herself, palms squishing in mud, and her mother will scold her for ruining her dress, she knows, but then – but then she's laughing at the thought. A delirious, ragged laugh that breaks on a hiccup, her sob catching along its end, and she inhales sharply, holds it tight to her chest, gasps and shakes and laughs once more, and then – and then she's crying again. Crying so hard it makes her head spin.

Her fingers dig into the mud, her knees aching from when she'd fallen. And she is terribly and uncontrollably – anguished.

Anguished beyond words.

(Her little brothers).

Sansa wails, a hand going to grip at her chest, her heart rending beneath.

(Her little brothers.)

She cries until she can't anymore, until the exhaustion overtakes her.

She sleeps for hours by the riverbank, until she blearily recognizes Robb's arms scooping her up and carrying her back into the keep. She keeps her head pressed to his shoulder.

He never minds the mud.

* * *

Sansa spends the following days with her mother – making sure she eats and bathes and makes the appearances that she needs to. Catelyn humors her attentions without any fuss, something that only makes Sansa more worried for her. But Catelyn doesn't miss any meetings of the lords, doesn't disregard her position on Robb's council, and her detached, cold objectivity on current matters is somehow both admirable and terrifying to Sansa.

Is this what she herself has to look forward to? As a lord or king's wife?

Button up your grief, keep a tight lip, only cry your piece when you've made sure that chamber door is shut.

Sansa wonders if it's ever really worth it in the end.

She hasn't seen Jon in days, and it makes her gut curl in anxiety. Of course, she's seen him, but at a glance, only. Across the breakfast table and three seats down at the meetings of the lords and passing him as he trains in the yard, her arm linked with her mother's.

But she hasn't seen him. Hasn't touched his face or felt his kiss or even traded words past a cursory greeting. She's nearly nauseous at the loss of him.

It's how she finds herself before his chambers one night, when all propriety would have her in bed already, but instead, she tries the latch to his door and breathes a sigh of relief when it opens easily. She closes it behind her quickly, the lock clicking into place.

Jon glances up from his bed where he sits with his arms resting over his knees. "Sansa," he hisses, glancing at the closed door behind her and then back to her. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know," she says, "I know but I – I can't just..." The words seem to die along her tongue. She doesn't really know what she came here to say.

(Except maybe that she's sorry. Sorry that he's lost his brothers, too, and couldn't even be there to help them. Because he was too busy helping her.)

Jon works his jaw silently, staring at her, his eyes already wet.

(They all cry their piece when that chamber door is shut, she realizes.)

"Jon," she says softly, moving from the door.

He rises from his seat, wiping a hand over his eyes, clearing his throat. "You should go," he says, voice rough. He takes her gently by the arm.

"No," she counters, planting her feet.

Jon looks at her, his hand still wrapped around her forearm. He sighs, eyes drifting down. "Please, Sansa, I don't want you to get into trouble."

"Is that why you want me gone?"

He doesn't answer her.

She swallows thickly, cupping her hands around his cheeks to lift his face to hers. "Or is it because you blame me?"

He rears back at her words, brows furrowing sharply down. "What?"

She licks her lips, the words catching along her throat, but she pushes them to air, her voice cracking beneath the weight of them. "Are you mad at me because I kept you from them? Because rescuing me meant you couldn't be there for them?"

Jon releases her arm, his mouth dipping open. "Sansa, no, that's not – I've never – " He stops, clears his throat, notices the tears starting to form along her eyes. He sighs heavily, the grief shaking from him, like snow coming off the boughs, and then he's wrapping his arms around her, dragging her into his embrace, pressed to his chest. He winds a hand into her hair and presses his mouth to her ear. "Oh, Sansa, no, no, I've never thought that."

"Are you sure?" she chokes out, grasping at him, desperate, the sorrow clogging up her throat. "Because I have," she admits, closing her eyes on a sob.

Jon presses a kiss to her temple, his hand bracing along the nape of her neck, his other wrapped around her back. "Gods, no, Sansa, it isn't your fault." He presses another kiss at her ear, along her cheek, at the corner of her mouth, pulling from her just enough to meet her gaze, his hands going to brush the hair from her face, his palms cradling her cheeks as he makes her meet his eyes. "Sansa, this isn't your fault."

She exhales raggedly, her hands bunching in the material of his tunic. "But I'm here and they're not. They're not, Jon, they're – they're dead, oh gods, they're dead, Jon. Bran and Rickon. They're – they're gone, and I'm never going to hear their laughs again or – or brush their hair or clean their cheeks or – gods, or hold them, Jon. I'm never going to hold them again and it should have been me! It should have been me you left. You shouldn't have come for me, Jon, you should have saved them! And then everything would be okay. And mother would be okay. And Robb would be okay. And everything would be fine if you'd just never come at all, if you'd just left me, Jon, if you'd just – "

She doesn't get to finish, because then his mouth is on hers, and it isn't like any kiss he's ever given her before. This kiss is punishing. It's forceful and blunt, all teeth and snarl, his hand grabbing her chin almost painfully, keeping her mouth pressed to his, pushing her back, and she hits the door with a thud, a surprised grunt leaving her. He presses his whole weight against her, trapping her there against the door as he kisses her, slants his mouth over hers and takes and takes and takes, his other hand moving from her face to her hip, dragging her up against him, and he's never been this forward with her before, never been this passionate and she finds herself nearly paralyzed in his hold, her mind jarring into stillness, her hands fisting along his sleeves, her heart thudding painfully in her chest and she's full of it, full of him, and this, and everything, and – and –

He breaks from her, panting, his hand still firmly holding her chin, keeping her gaze fixed to his when her eyes flutter open, her breath raking from her in shallow gasps.

She's never seen him look so angry, his eyes dark and unblinking on hers. It makes her whimper quietly in his hold, squirming beneath him.

"Jon," she pants out breathlessly.

"I need you to understand something," he tells her, hot breath fanning her lips.

Her wide eyes flick between his, her chest heaving against him.

His fingers flex over her chin as he tilts his head to look at her, his gaze roving her face. He swallows tightly, wetting his lips. "If I had the chance, I'd do it again."

Sansa blinks at him, mouth tipping open. "What...?"

He meets her eyes once more, steady and dark and sure. "Even knowing what we know, if I had the chance to do it over again, I'd still come for you."

Her chest tightens inexplicably, her eyes watering without her bidding. "Jon," she moans out, voice threatening to break with her tears.

He surges forward and kisses her again, just as forcefully, just as possessively. He releases her slowly, his mouth still hovering over hers, his breath still painting her lips. "Every time – a thousand times – I would come for you. Do you understand?"

She nods mutely, because he has silenced any words she could speak, anyway. She's overcome, suddenly, so she wraps her arms around him and meets his mouth with hers once more, pulling him back against her, and he follows easily, pressing her into the door behind her, his hands roving her form greedily.

It's a desperate, needful grasping for each other – full of loneliness and guilt. But also full of longing, acceptance.

His hands meet the soft flesh of her body for the first time, braced against her trembling stomach when they dip beneath the hem of her night shirt, and the touch burns beyond anything she's ever felt before.

His hands meet her, and she burns.

She thinks there's a poem in there somewhere, or a song maybe, a tale like the ones she used to love.

But right now, in this moment, it's only Jon.

It's only Jon, and it's only her, and it's only them.

It's the way he kisses her like he'll never get the chance again.

It's the way he cradles her face in his hands – like she is something precious and worthy and needed.

It's the way she knows, without doubt, and without regret:

Every time – a thousand times – she'd wait for him.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 3

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |-| Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

AO3

Summary: In the wake of a terrible loss, the arrival of a new airman at Thorpe Abbotts promises to change the trajectory of Frankie's life forever

Warnings: Death, grief

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles

A/N: HE'S HEREEEE 🗣🗣🗣

It was dark in the mechanics' hut, the lights kept off during the day to preserve power, but the overcast nature of the afternoon did nothing to light the space from the outside. Hours had passed since the pilots had left, and although Frankie was never made privy to the specifics of their missions, she could tell by the amount of fuel that had been requested that they were going far, much further than they ever had before. There was not a man among them who hadn't seemed to have a dark cloud over his head as they had prepared to depart that morning.

She and Lemmons sat on the floor together, backs propped up against the wall, both too troubled by worry to work. Frankie had an old fashion magazine in her lap, and they passed the time by flicking through each section and poking fun at a myriad of ugly sweaters and ridiculous hats.

"Those are nice," Ken stated, pointing at a pair of green brogued shoes.

"Seriously? I think they're garish."

He shrugged. "My Fonda has some like it. They look nice on her."

She let out a low whistle, teasingly nudging his side as his face turned bright red, a satisfied smile curling his lips. For a boy as young as he was, he sure loved Fonda. Frankie had noticed the heart-shaped locket that hung from his neck the very first day they'd worked together, but it had taken weeks for him to let her have a look inside. It must have been nice to be loved the way she was.

The magazine was losing its charm. It had been over an hour, and they were running out of pages. With a huff, she tossed it across the room, landing in a heap of crumpled pages underneath the table. Ken looked over at her, raising a brow.

She shrugged. "Bored. Want a cigarette?"

Without waiting for an answer, Frankie dug around in her pocket and produced two loose, slightly bent cigarettes, passing one to Lemmons. She lit hers swiftly, taking in an inhale of smoke. He rolled his between his fingers, never bothering to light it. Sometimes she forgot he didn't smoke.

"I'm gonna take you for a drink tonight. We deserve it."

"I'm nineteen."

Frankie stared at him for a long moment. "...So?"

"So, I can't drink."

"Jesus Christ. Welcome to England mate, you might be the only nineteen-year-old currently in the country who doesn't already have a drinking problem."

He opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could emerge they were interrupted by a rapid knocking at the door. Far from the usual pounding thuds the men usually used, this knock was delicate, polite, but its urgency set Frankie's heart to beating twice as fast.

Scrambling to her feet, she rushed for the door, tossing her cigarette into the ashtray on the table as she passed. Hauling it open, a wave of nausea coursed through her as she saw George standing outside, hair damp from the drizzle, tie pulled loose away from her neck, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Wh-" Frankie trailed off as she slammed into her, gripping her in the tightest hug she'd ever felt. As she wrapped her arms around George's back, she could feel her shaking beneath her palms.

George let out one sob after another, face buried in Frankie's shoulder as her tears soaked the fabric of her coveralls. Looking back over at Lemmons, their gazes met in wide-eyed expressions of anxiety, and if George hadn't been crying so loudly Frankie was sure the thumping of her heart would've been audible.

"George- George," She spoke firmly, hands pressed to George's cheeks as she forced her to meet her eye. To be so harsh to a woman who needed nothing but softness ripped a hole through her, the guilt churning her stomach, but she needed to know. "Tell me what happened."

She nodded hurriedly, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. "They made it to Africa - we started getting messages through about an hour ago, but, uh..." George's lip trembled, and she sucked in a long, haggard breath. "Curt's dead, Frankie."

Lemmons let out some sort of strangled gasp as Frankie felt all of the blood drain from her face. For a moment she didn't know how to process the words, she just knew she needed to hold George - to hold her tight, tighter than anyone ever had. There was not an inch between them as she stroked a gentle hand through her golden hair, trying with all her might to keep breathing as she felt a warm tear roll down her cheek.

Over George's shoulder, she spied Ken making for the door, a frown casting a shadow over his boyish face. He met her eyes, and she offered him a nod, freeing him from the scene so he could inevitably tell the others.

The two women held each other for a long moment, Frankie's chin burrowed against George's collar. When she finally spoke, it was little more than a hoarse whisper, her throat suddenly dry as a bone.

"...And Bucky?"

Sniffing loudly, George pulled back, shaking her head. "No, no, he's okay. He made it to Algeria." Frankie hadn't released she was holding her breath until she let it escape her, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she nodded.

"Yeah? Yeah. Alright," She could worry about the others later - for now, knowing Egan was alive was enough to settle her drumming heart. "You need to go home, ok? You need to rest."

"My shift's not over, I still have to-"

"I am gonna walk up there myself and tell them you're not coming back today. Not tomorrow, neither. And if they've got a problem with that they can take it up with me - believe me, I don't give a shit if I take an insubordination charge over this."

A tearful smile broke out across George's face, holding onto Frankie's hand as it cupped her cheek. "Tangling with you? I don't fancy their chances."

Frankie chuckled, pulling her into one last hug and pressing her lips firmly to her temple. "Go, go. I'll see you soon, ok?"

"Yeah," She whispered against her neck, reaching out to squeeze her hand as she broke the hug, stepping backwards towards the door and disappearing.

As soon as she was alone, Frankie sucked in a long, laboured breath, collapsing into one of the rickety chairs that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. Doubling forward, she lay her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes as she focused on taking one breath after the next.

Since the war had begun, she had been cycling through phases of fear and calm, letting herself slip into the all too comfortable belief that it couldn't touch her here - couldn't take from her as long as she was home, as long as she was safe.

But God, how the world kept proving her wrong.

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Almost a month had passed. Every mission took a toll, but the trip that had killed Curtis Biddick seemed to hang heavier than any other ever had.

Or perhaps it just seemed that way because of George.

Some nights Frankie would stay up late, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes as she fought to stay awake long enough to finish a chapter of her book, lit by the dim bulb of her bedside lamp. And then in the darkness she would hear a rustling, a casting aside of the course, army-issue bedsheets, and feel a weight press into the mattress beside her as George slipped under the covers, silently resting her head against Frankie's shoulder. She liked to listen to her heartbeat on the nights she felt most alone - when she felt the farthest from home, the most separated from the boy she almost loved - it brought her comfort to listen to that telltale sign of life radiating from the person closest to her. She had someone, and that was enough to live with.

Frankie had liked Curt, but she hadn't known him well. Sometimes she wished she had, if only so that she wouldn't feel so guilty, comforting her best friend over a loss she no longer felt so keenly. Instead, all she could do was softly whisper the words she was reading to her, and let her mere presence be the comfort as they both drifted off to sleep.

It had grown warm overnight, and the humidity combined with the heat of George's body burrowed close next to hers left Frankie slick with sweat by the time she woke up, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands. Peeling the covers away as she clambered out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping friend, she made a beeline for the showers, hoping to wash away the unpleasant, sticky sensation that coated her skin. She was used to evening showers after a long day's work, and it felt strange to stare down at the hot water rolling off of her body and see it come away clear, clean, not streaked with the dirt and oil she was often coated with by the time she made it home each night.

Wringing her hair out with a towel as she made her way out of the bathroom, Frankie dodged the other women emerging from their beds as she reached her own area, her coveralls and workboots waiting for her on a nearby chair. George had moved back to her own bed, carefully removing each of the curlers she meticulously applied every night, just like all of the other servicewomen who were afforded the luxury of working indoors, a far cry from Frankie's reality. It wasn't that Frankie didn't like to dress up - she loved the chance to do her hair and makeup, to dress up and feel pretty for once - it just wasn't a practicality her profession afforded. Her hair needed to be out of the way, and it made no sense to waste money on makeup that would be ruined by sweat and grime within the hour.

"If Dye makes it back, there'll be a party tonight," George stated, watching her reflection as she looped her tie into a knot. "You gonna go?"

"Uh," Frankie considered this for a moment, sniffing her coveralls from the previous day and grimacing at the smell, switching them out for a clean pair. "Nah, not tonight, I don't think. I've already got some outstanding stuff from the last few days that needs sorting, it's gonna be a busy one."

"Alright, I'll see if Sandra and Helen are going."

"I'm glad you're going," Frankie smiled.

George's gaze turned to her, and she considered this for a moment before shrugging. "Can't sit here forever."

It was a fact that didn't need dwelling on, and Frankie wouldn't patronise her with praise. This was just the way their lives worked now. One by one, the women in their hut finished getting ready and left for their various jobs until Frankie was the only one left, locking up the front door as she exited. The burn that had scorched her palm had long since healed, leaving a mottled pink scar across her hand, but she could clutch the handlebars of her bike without pain now, so she had returned to her morning ritual of cycling as fast as she physically could to the airstrip, revelling in the feeling of the warm morning air blowing through her hair.

Dye's plane was swooping in as she arrived, and Frankie couldn't help but smile at the chorus of whoops and cheers that pierced the air, flight and ground crews alike lining the runway to await his valiant return. Twenty-five missions. She could barely fathom it. For as long as she could remember, planes like this had been her life, but she'd never flown in one - Dye had done it twenty-five times. The number boggled her, a reality so close to and yet so distinctly separate from her own.

"Frankie!" Lemmons called over from where he was sitting with a few of the local boys. The village kids had taken a shine to the young mechanic, and she found she rather enjoyed their presence, childish wit relieving the strain of their long working hours. She crossed the grass towards them as he spoke up again. "Gonna replace the panelling on the bombers from last week, you in?"

She shook her head, batting a hand dismissively. "Nah, you go enjoy the celebrations with the others, I'll handle it."

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I hardly even know Dye, I'm not missing out. Take the night off, you deserve it."

A smile began to spread across his expression. "Well thanks, Frankie."

"No worries. Hey - did we get that delivery of rivets that was meant to come in?" Lemmons shook his head, and she shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I'll take a list to the boss of everything we need."

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It was growing dark, a work light on the tarmac illuminating one of the B-17 engines as she worked away at it, a pile of scattered tools littering the ground from where she had tried and failed to toss them back into her toolbox without paying proper attention. She could hear the muffled music far off in the distance, the lights from the party casting a golden reflection against the clouds like a beacon in the night. Tightening one of the bolts, Frankie prayed to herself that George was having fun.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind alerted her to sudden company, but she was too engrossed in her work to turn. Besides, she could already guess who it was.

"Heya, Frankie," Bucky's voice came, and she suppressed a smirk at the accuracy of her prediction.

"Evenin'."

"We missed you at the party," He stated.

"Busy," She replied, letting out a grunt as she pinched the skin of her thumb with her wrench, flapping her hand for a moment to relieve the pain.

"Just came to see ya 'cause I don't think you've met Rosie yet."

Frankie let out a sigh, sliding her wrench into her pocket, speaking as she began to turn. "Bucky, if you boys have got yourselves another fucking dog, I swear-"

There was another man there, standing next to Egan, blue eyes watching her as she stumbled over her words, trailing to an awkward stop. She had a smear of oil across her forehead from where she had absent-mindedly wiped the sweat from her brow with a filthy hand, and Bucky pursed his lips tightly as he tried not to laugh.

"Not a dog," Rosie stated, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"No," She breathed, snapping herself out of her awkwardness. "No, uh, sorry - Frankie, I'm Frankie," Holding out her hand to shake, she noticed its filthiness and grimaced, swiftly retracting it.

"Frankie's one of our mechanics," Egan explained. "She'd be happiest if we fired the rest of the ground crew and let her do the whole thing herself."

"But then who'd clean the dog shit and vomit out for me, eh?" Frankie shrugged, a pink spatter colouring her cheeks. Bucky almost frowned, taken aback by her uncharacteristically awkward demeanour.

"Look, I promised Buck I'd only be gone five minutes, so," He looked down at his watch, shrugging.

"No, no, that's fine, you have a good night," Frankie smiled, wiping her dirty palms on the sides of her trousers.

Bucky turned to leave, pausing for a moment. "Rosenthal?"

"Oh, no, I was gonna head off anyway, thanks Major," Rosie nodded, and they lingered in silence for a moment after Egan left, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness down the runway.

"Sorry I thought you were a dog," She chuckled slightly, breaking the quiet as she rubbed her thumb where she'd pinched the skin, a red mark forming.

"Well," Rosie shrugged, standing with his hands in his pockets. "Been called worse."

Frankie smiled, a flash of teeth in her grin as she glanced back at the engine for a moment, the great thing looming over her in its frame. "And... sorry Bucky dragged you all the way out here, I'm sure the party is much more interesting, and-"

"Hey, you don't have to apologise," He shook his head. With the work light shining on them, it seemed to cast a halo around her head, brown hair running golden along its edges. Even covered in filth, she must've been one of the prettiest girls he'd seen in... well, he couldn't quite recall. "How long have you been out here?"

"Uh, what time is it - eight?"

Rosie let out a laugh. "Gone midnight."

"Jesus Christ," She flashed him a tired grin. "Shit, I missed dinner."

"Well," He shrugged. "I am a Captain. Sure we can find something."

"You're on," Frankie agreed, the empty feeling in her stomach suddenly amplified once she realised how long it had been since she'd eaten. "Although, I'd better clean up first," She noted, wiping her hands on one of the engine rags.

"By the way, you've got a little-" Rosie gestured to his own forehead.

"Oh, shit," Frankie muttered, reaching up with the rag and just managing to miss the oil stain. He let out a chuckle, stepping forward.

"Here, lemme just-" She offered up the rag, and he dabbed at the stain, which less went away than it did smudge even more. He furrowed his brow as he tried to get rid of it, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at the sheer concentration in his expression, their faces far closer than she would ever usually allow with a man she'd only just met. But there was something endearing in him, something safe. "I think... I think I got it."

"Thanks," Frankie chuckled, taking back the rag and stepping back towards the Nissen hut. "I'm just gonna wheel this engine inside and wash the crap off my hands, then we can go."

"I await your return, milady," Rosie nodded, smile turning to a cringe as she turned away from him. What was that? Don't say that!

She smiled to herself as she entered the hut, her pleased expression turning to a grimace as she got a waft of herself, the twelve-hour shift out in the sun making itself known. Oh shit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mess hall was completely deserted, the only light coming from the kitchens as Frankie waited patiently for Rosie to return. He had volunteered to go and scrounge for food, confident that his rank would protect them if they were discovered, and she grinned as he returned, proudly carrying a large tin of peaches and a couple of bars of ration chocolate.

"Oh, perfect. Midnight feast," She beamed, taking a seat on one of the long benches that lined the tables as he sat down opposite, producing a tin opener from his pocket.

"Food fit for kings, I'd say," Rosie agreed, wrestling with the peaches for a moment until he was able to break the lid. Producing two forks, Frankie held one out to him, using her own to skewer a slice of the orange fruit.

"I'd just like to preface this by saying that I don't usually smell like this... actually, I do," She admitted, picking at some dirt stuck beneath her nail.

"Hey, I'm not judging - you wouldn't either once you'd smelled the inside of our flight suits," He shrugged, and she let out a huff of laughter, chewing on her peach slices, a droplet of sweet juice running down her lip. "So... how long've you been a mechanic?"

"Dad's been running an auto repair shop at home since before I was born, I grew up on it," Frankie explained, skewering another slice with one hand as she unwrapped her chocolate bar with the other. "He wanted to go over to France, help fix army jeeps, but he lost his foot in the Great War so they won't take him - I was born when he was away, see, he'd been over there for six months or so when a shell went off and he lost it. So the cars were all we had. I switched to planes when I was about fifteen - bit of an impractical hobby, but I've read every single book on it they had in Stratford library," She chuckled.

"Stratford... Shakespeare, right?"

Her brow raised. "Yeah. Right. Y'know I think the only good thing about this war is that the tourist buses have stopped coming around," She joked, and Rosie laughed, nodding along as he ate. Why was she telling him all this? In the last hour, he'd found out more about her than Bucky or Lemmons had in months. But she found she didn't feel embarrassed telling him any of it, the words just flowed naturally.

They sat there in the dim mess hall eating peaches until they started to feel sick, the hands of Rosie's watch ticking steadily past 1am by the time they left, making sure to hide all evidence of their midnight raid. It had begun to rain by the time they stepped out into the night air, and before Frankie could utter a single word of complaint he had shrugged off his uniform jacket and given it to her to hold over her head, her own makeshift shelter whilst his own curls fell flat, the water leaving dark streaks down his shirt.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked for what must have been the third time as they reached the end of her row of Nissen huts, Rosie's hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, his skin almost visible through the drenched state of his clothes.

"I said stop asking," He assured her, nodding confidently despite the visible trembling in his shoulders.

"I'm just worried I'm gonna ruin your jacket."

"Well, it'd die for a worthy cause."

Frankie grinned, slowing to a stop as she reached the front door of her hut. The lights were all off inside, not a single sign of life as her bunkmates enjoyed their well-earned sleep. When she spoke again, it was in whispers, careful not to wake them even despite the hammering of rain against the metal roof.

"Thank you for dinner, it was... unexpected."

"Very," Rosie nodded in agreement, mirroring her smile. She handed over his jacket, and he folded it, tucking it beneath his arm, already well past its usefulness.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a rough morning."

"Take the day off, have a lie-in, you deserve it."

She raised a brow, and he laughed. "You know I won't."

"I suspected as much," He agreed, nodding firmly. "G'night, Frankie."

"Goodnight."

Frankie slipped carefully inside, cautious not to make a sound as she crept over to her bed, stripping off her wet coveralls as she reached quickly for her nice, warm pyjamas.

When George's whispered voice broke the silence, she swore she almost had a heart attack. "You've been... working?"

"Something like that," Frankie shrugged, taking the fact she was awake as a sign of consent to turn her lamp on, giving her the light she needed to untie her boots. "Have you met the new Captain?"

"Who, Rosenthal? No. Why?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, buttoning up her pyjama shirt before flicking off the lamp, plunging the room into total darkness as she climbed beneath the blankets, letting out a satisfied sigh at the warmth.

"He's nice."

George let the silence simmer for a moment, her tone laced with suspicion. "... Right."