#i saw someone compare them to the ladies from sex in the city once

[eeblouissant]

I’d just like to say: every time I see someone compare how the golden girls looked (physically) at 50-60, to how 50-60 year olds look in more “modern” media an angel loses its wings. Because how do you miss one of the core themes of a piece of media so severely???????????

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands. 

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.” 

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.” 

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.” 

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-” 

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped. 

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality. 

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys. 

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours. 

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his. 

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you. 

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself. 

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly. 

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips. 

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements. 

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed. 

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away. 

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth. 

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself. 

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth. 

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely. 

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge. 

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder. 

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg. 

“Wha-” 

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you. 

You wished he would marry you. 

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.” 

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest. 

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you. 

He couldn’t marry you. 

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner. 

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more. 

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless. 

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release. 

“Fuck, Aemond.” 

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush. 

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate. 

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling. 

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should. 

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.” 

And you did. 

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

[harryspet]

off to the races | s.rogers

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, stripper!reader, ddlg, daddy!steve, abduction/kidnapping, mafia boss steve, murder/violence, a hint of peter x reader, hint of forced regression, sexy stuff, unprotected sex (wear condoms kiddos), hella angst 

A/N: I do not stan lana del rey but I do stan off to the races :)

In which you call the kingpin your Daddy. 

word count: 4.9k

main masterlist

taglist: @cherienymphe @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes​ 

God, do they have to play this song every night? 

You tried to tune out the annoying pop song, continuing to grind your hips against the man you were giving a small lap dance. You wondered how long you could grind against his beer belly before he finally requested a private dance. Lucky for you, you felt some cash being slipped between the lace of your turquoise, panty set. You turned around, a mischievous smile on your face, as you reached out to grab his tie. 

He was mesmerized by you as you expected, and you imagined that he was dying to see more of your scantily clothed body. A hundred dollars for fifteen minutes in a private room. If you could manage to get a few more private dances tonight, you’d consider yourself successful. 

You brought him to one of the back rooms and got to work. You let him run his hands over your bottom but once they started to reach between your legs, you knew what to do, “Ah, ah, ah, you know the rules,” You hid your frustration behind your sultry voice. You climbed on his lap, straddling him, as you reached around to undo your top. Beneath the lacy top were your breast but decorated in shiny gemstones. 

A lot of the other girls hated glitter and spending time doing stuff like applying tiny gems but you knew that it was another shiny thing for men to look at. You needed their attention. Besides, you didn’t mind the way it looked either. His eyes were wide and he gripped your bottom as you moved your breast, an inch away from his face. 

When the fifteen minutes were over, you quickly collected your top and fastened it back on, “Come and see me soon, baby,” You said something of that nature, all your words blurred together by the end of the night. 

You managed to get about four more private dances and as one a.m. approached, you were ready to be anywhere else but here. You headed underneath the neon exit sign, heading for the locker rooms, where it seemed a lot of girls were on their way out. You passed naked, sweaty bodies, and clouds of spray deodorant as you made your way to your locker, already slipping out of your tall heels. 

The first thing you pulled out was your money bag and you were careful when you were counting each dollar bill, tucking it away nicely. You felt a tap on your shoulder, turning around to see Wanda, red lollipop in one hand, and a white check in the other. Your eyes widened as soon as you read the number, “I’m missing fifty bucks,” You told her. 

She gave you a knowing look, “Late fee, Y/N.”

“I was a minute late! I even called and told him my train was late,” Angrily, you stuffed your money bag into your duffle bag.

“He’s not in a good mood, some suit was talking with him earlier,” Wanda shrugged, sensing she had bigger things to worry about. Like you, she made her money dancing and was trying to get by supporting herself, “I wouldn’t argue with him today.” 

“Screw that, fifty dollars is the difference between me making rent. He can’t do this,” You slammed your locker closed and you were about to storm off when Wanda grabbed your arm. 

“C’mon, we should go. Clint is gonna walk us to the station and he won’t wait for you.”

“I won’t be long,” You shrugged her off, making your way out of the dressing room, and toward Loki’s office. He controlled every part of the Mischief club, set the prices, chose the dancers, and even had a strict list of clientele. It wasn’t the nicest club you’d worked at but it was the closest thing to a consistent paycheck. 

You didn’t bother knocking, knowing that you had a point to make and only a certain amount of time to say it, “Fifty dollars! Are you serious-” You stopped in your tracks, realizing that your boss was not alone. Not only was he not alone, but you were also in deep shit. Steve Rogers sat across from the playboy club owner and, looking at the handsome silver-fox, you thought your heart might explode out of your chest. 

He’d found you. 

He smiled as soon as he saw you, “Babydoll,” A name you’d usually swoon at, made you cringe inside. There he was, clad in an expensive suit and dark overcoat. 

Your eyes met with those of Sam and Bucky who had made themselves comfortable by one of the tall bookcases, waiting for their boss to command them to do something. As Steve’s eyes raked over your body, you realized they’d never seen you like this. 

“You know her?” Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, an eyebrow raised, “... sir.” He added quickly. You don’t know why you were so surprised by this, knowing that Steve was feared everywhere, and Loki, no matter how evil, wouldn’t be the one to challenge him.

“I saw you perform tonight,” Steve spoke to you and, in his mind, you imagined that you were the only one he was seeing right now, “You looked beautiful.”

You hadn’t realized that you probably looked like you’d just seen a ghost. You tried to let go of some of the tension in your body, “What are you doing here?” You tried to keep your voice from faltering and, considering that you were half-dressed, you tried not to let your insecurities overwhelm you. 

“As of a few minutes ago, I am the sole owner of the Mischief Club,” Your heart had stopped its pounding and now it was sinking into your stomach, “If you have any grievances with your employer, you can speak to me-”

“This isn’t your side of the city,” Your lip trembled, anger bubbling within you, “Why … y-you . . . Steve, you can’t do this.”

“Every part of this city is mine, Babydoll,” He sighed, standing up from his chair, reminding you of his large, intimidating frame. Reminding you that you were nothing compared to him. You didn’t move as he crossed the room, moving until he was only standing an inch from you, slowly reaching out his hand until he was touching your cheek, “Chasing you made me realize that I should expand my influence. A club like this is a shit hole now but, in a few months, I’d make it a cash cow.”

“Once you run drugs through the place, you mean,” He tensed up for a moment and you realized you’d struck a chord. His hand was on your throat, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and a piercing gaze burning holes into your skin. 

“I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head over it,” For a moment, you closed your eyes, and imagined wrapping your arms around him. He’d become your haven so quickly and you’d almost forgotten how it felt for someone to care so much for you. Love you even when you didn’t want to love yourself. When you opened them again, you realized what he meant by his words. 

He wasn’t giving you a choice. 

You stepped back, letting his hand fall back to his side, before you crossed your arms, “Things aren’t going back to the way they were.”

Much to your surprise, Steve nodded, “No, I made some mistakes. Letting you go being the biggest one.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re dangerous, Steve, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“And this is safer, Y/N?” He raised his voice, “Men having their grimy hands all over you . . . I’m taking you home.”

“I can take care of myself!” 

“Really?” He smirked condescendingly, and you imagined he was seeing you as a bratty child throwing a tantrum, “He-” He stepped to the side, and pointed a finger at Loki, “-was going to lay you off a week from now. The club went under a long time ago and he was going to take your hard-earned money and run, leaving you with nothing. What would you do then?”

Loki stood up, interrupting, a nervous smile on his face, “Not with nothing. I-I pay all the ladies very well and I would like to continue to do that . . . that’s why I’m so grateful for your generosity, Mr. Rogers-” He cleared his throat awkwardly. He was lying through his teeth. 

“You won’t be paying them anymore, Mr. Laufeyson,” Steve spoke calmly, too calmly, and as his hands reached up to his waist belt, you suspected the worse. 

“Steve-” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Loki rushed out his words as Steve pointed his favorite silver handgun in his direction, “We had a deal!”

“Steve, don’t!” Panicked, you grabbed a hold of his strong arm. As soon as you saw him, you knew the night wouldn’t end good but death was not something you predicted. Before, he’d never show you the violent side of his world. Now, something had changed, “Steve, please don’t!”

“Come with me,” He spoke sternly, “Come home and I won’t.”

“Okay,” You said immediately, looking up at his unchanging expression. He didn’t move which only panicked you further, “I will! Steve, please don’t.”

“He’s not a good man. He’s been using you this whole time,” Steve said, finally turning to look at you. Your body was shaking, the idea of being so close to the gun was frightening you further, “You’d give yourself up for this scumbag?”

Though it made you more anxious, you moved closer to him, grabbing a hold of his free hand. With your other arm, you hugged his torso, and as he stared down at him, “I-I don’t want you to hurt anyone, Daddy,” You spoke softly, “ . . . please, Daddy?” Something softened in his features as you called him by his favorite nickname. He squeezed your smaller hand and, for a moment, you thought things might be okay. 

The sound was deafening when Steve pulled the trigger. Although you couldn’t hear anything, you knew you were screaming, and that you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to open your eyes ever again. He tried to wrap his arms around you and you remembered fighting it, hitting his chest, and screaming even louder. Somewhere along the line, you gave in, he was too strong, letting him wrap his long coat over your scantily clothed figure. 

You were breathing heavily and when you decided to open your eyes again, everything was blurry, “Daddy had to . . . I’m sorry . . . Babydoll,” You heard in your ear. You were moving, he was holding you . . . when had he picked you up? When did the car start driving? You wished badly that you’d listened to Wanda. 

You remembered holding onto him tighter, crying into his shoulder, “Why?” He heard the pain in your voice, felt the realization that your life would never be the same. 

“Because you’re mine,” He rubbed circled into your back, leaving soft kisses on your cheek, “And I needed to remind you of what your Daddy is capable of. Anyone who hurts you, anyone who even lays a hand on you, is going to meet the same fate.”

“I don’t want this,” You hiccuped. Steve didn’t believe you, not with the way you were holding him. “This . . . it’s so scary, S-Steve.”

“I’m sorry I had to scare you, baby,” It reminded him of last year when things were good between you two, and you comfortably moved in and out of little space. He could sense you were dying to go to that safe space and, selfishly, he was hoping the trauma of tonight would push you into that mindset, “Daddy’s going to take better care of you. You’ll live with me now, where you’ll be safe.” 

You only closed your eyes, no fight left in you. In the world of Steve Rogers, you didn’t think safety existed. 

+

You awoke in a pink cloud. The sheets were so soft, heavenly even, and it almost made you forget your situation. You felt something crawling on top of the sheets and you sat up quickly, almost giving yourself whiplash. Realizing it was a furry, white creature, you relaxed, “Alpine, you scared me,” The cat crawled into your embrace and you pet it gently, wondering where exactly it’s owner was.

As you looked around what you assumed was your new room, you couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. You almost forgot how well Steve knew you. Elegant white furniture, a canopy bed with white fabric falling from the sides, a huge wardrobe, a bookcase, a mountain of stuffed animals - frogs, elephants, dolphins, practically the entire animal kingdom - and the fairy lights were a nice touch. 

Maybe you were more than impressed. Astounded, actually. 

“Oh my . . . stars,” You climbed out of the queen-sized bed, cat in your arms, and quickly realized that your lingerie was gone and your glitter had been washed away. Did he give you a bath? While you were sleeping? You dressed in a large t-shirt and as you brought the fabric up to your nose, you realized it was his, “Why didn’t you warn me that he was this off his rocker, Alpine?”

The cat only responded with a quiet meow. 

You moved over to the window and, expectedly, it didn’t budge when you tried to push it open. You looked out onto the vast landscape, perfectly manicured rolling hills of green, a garden, Olympic sized pool, beautiful white statues, and armed guards to match.

It was like you remembered though Steve didn’t bring you to his “private home” often. The two of you always met in the city and, what started as an interesting sugar arrangement, quickly blossomed into a new dynamic. 

You wandered around the room, examining every detail that he had put into it. You imagined the military man had placed a lot of the objects himself, making sure everything was perfect when you saw it. 

The room is also gigantic, you could do at least ten cartwheels from one wall to the other. You’d never imagined living somewhere like this, the room itself was bigger than any place you’d ever lived. 

As the door creaked open, Alpine leaped from your arms, taking the opportunity to escape. You watched the creature crawl between Steve’s legs before slipping out, probably going to look for Bucky. As your eyes traveled up his figure, you assumed he’d be dressed down in his home but the businessman was clad in another suit. 

You were glad not to be crying anymore but seeing him now was reminding you of the horror show that was last night, “My things, I had money in my bag,” Was the first thing you thought to say, “I want it.”

“You don’t need it,” He said what you assumed he would. 

“But-” You stopped yourself, “Can you give it to Wanda, please?”

“Please and thank you?” Steve cocked his eyebrow, smirking, “I wasn’t expecting that from you today.”

You didn’t respond, only crossed your arms defiantly, “I want Wanda to have it.”

“Done,” Steve raised his hands in surrender, “Is that all you want? Can I interest you in breakfast, little one?”

He didn’t know how deeply his words cut into you. How you wanted nothing more than to forget your worries and be his little girl. How you’d probably get on your knees and kindly do anything he asked . . . if this was a perfect world. You tried to shake that feeling because this world was anything but perfect. 

“I guess,” Your hunger suddenly crossing your mind. 

He nodded, a smile threatening to form on his lips, “Do you want help getting ready?” You quickly shook your head and you assumed he knew that it would be your response, “Well, I picked something out for you. I left it in the bathroom.”

“So what, I’m supposed to  . . . wear whatever you want and be your little trophy?”

“And if you sit still and look pretty, Daddy will buy you anything you want,” Your eyes narrowed at him and you looked away, knowing you’d probably burst into flames if you looked at the annoying smirk any longer, “I’ll come to get you in ten minutes.”

You were already walking towards the bathroom, feeling his eyes on you the entire way. The bathroom was even more immaculate than the bedroom, a big chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, with sleek marble fixtures. You avoided the mirror when the thick makeup came off at the end of the day, so you were shocked seeing your bare face. It made you look . . . innocent. It was the opposite image the club wanted to present. 

You found a new toothbrush in one of the drawers and proceeded to brush your teeth, before washing your face. 

The dress he’d picked out was frilly and white, a stark but beautiful contrast to your skin. It puffed at the sleeves but grabbed your waist and then flounced out when reaching down to your knees. You did a small twirl, letting the ends of the dress softly caress the tips of your fingers. Realizing you liked it quite a lot made you frown in the mirror.

Most likely, there was no racy lingerie and tassels in that wardrobe. He said you looked beautiful last night but there was no chance he’d let you ever look like that again, especially in front of his men. 

When you left the bathroom and realized Steve had not returned, you decided to slip out of the room. You wandered down the big hallway, your bare feet padding against the carpet, as you examined each piece of artwork and decoration. Steve’s taste was expensive but his style was old-fashioned, choosing elegance over flashy things. 

You admired it for a second and then remembered the blood spilled, the money stolen, and the dirty things that funded it. 

 “I thought I said I’d come and get you.”

You turned around, noticing how his breath caught in his throat as he took you in. He was deadly, he killed a man right in front of you, yet he was like a teenager in love when he saw you. 

You mentally cursed. 

+

“Are you full?” He asked, looking at your plate of a half-eaten pancake. There was still a feast laid out in front of you which was tempting but you couldn’t help but see it as consuming more of his forbidden fruit. 

You only nodded and his lips pressed into a thin line. 

He was holding back, you could tell. He wanted to make sure you were fully nourished and he’d probably prefer to feed you himself. 

“Eat more,” He added, “Please-”

You stood up abruptly, “I want to look for Alpine,” You made a move to leave the dining room but, as you passed his chair, he grabbed a hold of your wrist. He gripped you stronger as you tried to pull away. 

“After you eat more,” He commanded. 

“I’m not hungry,” Your eyes didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Babydoll, can’t you see I’m trying to play nice?” He tried to hide the venom in his tone, “I could’ve bent you over my knee already for not addressing me properly. Do you want that?”

You shook your head. 

“Use your words, please.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I don’t want that . . . Daddy.” 

When you made a move to go back to your seat, he grabbed your arm tighter, “Sit with me,” He said but his tone was softer than before. You sat down on his knee and, instinctively, his arm wrapped around your torso, holding you in place, “Relax.” 

You turned your head closer to him, the familiar feeling of being in his arms led your muscles to relax. He brought pieces of fruit to your mouth and, as you opened your mouth for him, you heard, “Good girl.” 

When he first wanted to do things like this with you, he told you to imagine the things you liked when you were younger. You told him that you never had a lot of toys, never got a lot of praise, and that you were always the one taking care of others, not the other way around. What he made you feel was foreign but it satisfied a need you never knew you had. 

“You haven’t been eating enough,” He commented. You shrugged and he frowned a bit, “Three meals a day from now on. And snacks. And lots of water.”

“And what if I don’t, Daddy?” You challenged, more playful than you intended. 

Steve gave you a look that was much too loving for you to hold his gaze, “How about, if you do, then I’ll give you a reward . . .” His voice trailed off as he thought for a moment, “What would you like?”

“I wanna go back to the city-”

Steve smirked, “Something realistic, preferably,” It took everything in you not to roll your eyes, “A new outfit? . . . A new toy? . . . I know what you want.”

“No, you don’t,” You pouted. 

“Stickers,” He answered, proud when he saw you perk up, “Sparkly, butterfly ones probably.”

“I don’t-”

He interrupted your lie, tickling your side, and you tried not to smile, “You love those little things! You’d probably prefer it over a designer bag or a trip to europe.” 

“They’re not expensive and I like collecting them,” You tried to explain, your voice low. 

“Then that’ll be it. A week of not skipping meals will get you a special sticker for your chart, we’ll even hang it on the fridge.” 

You didn’t mind the idea . . . you could have so many stickers after a long while. 

“A week,” You repeated, “How long do you expect for me to stay here?”

“There’s lots to do, you won’t get bored,” He spoke dismissively, probably frustrated by your question. You opened your mouth to respond but was interrupted when the table started shaking, Steve’s phone vibrating on top of it. 

“Rogers,” Steve answered, pressing the phone to his ear, “Yes, I’m aware . . you told me that you took care of him . . . I don’t need to tell you how to do your job, you’re just supposed to do it  . . .  he’ll listen if it comes from me . . . i’ll handle it, okay? . . . Babydoll,” He softly patted your knee, “Why don’t you go look for Alpine?”

You took that as your cue that he was about to start cursing and didn’t want you around to hear it. 

+

An hour later, you were wandering around the garden and Steve still hadn’t tried to find you. You guessed that he was busy with his work now but you were more focused on finding Alpine. You’d search every inch of the inside of the house and now there was only one place left. You realized that you could also start thinking about a way out of this place. 

“Here kitty, kitty,” Your eyebrows raised as you heard an unfamiliar voice. You wandered further along the path, trying to look through the greenery, before stumbling upon an opening with a large fountain in the middle. Alpine was walking around the top of it, frustrating the man trying to get him down from such a tall height. 

He was one of Steve’s men, you could tell by the dark clothing, though you didn’t recognize him. He was much younger, and honestly, more attractive than a lot of them. You could tell the light had gone out in a lot of the people that Steve kept around. You could already tell he wasn’t like that, “Come on, dude, now you’re just messing with me!”

The cat seemed to brush him off, continuing to walk along the edge. 

“You have to be more gentle than that,” You said, knowing you would startle him. It amused you a little how he seemed to jump out of his skin. His hand held over his heart, you could tell he was a bit taken aback by your appearance. You moved toward the fountain, holding your arms out for it, “C’mere, Alpine, the scary man won’t hurt you.”

His eyes were wide as the cat easily jumped into your arms, “He obviously doesn’t like me,” He said, watching as you brushed Alpine’s ears with your fingers, “And yet Bucky always puts me on cat duty.”

“Maybe Bucky is the one that doesn’t like you,” You responded. 

He frowned, “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” You walked towards you, encouraging Alpine to climb into his arms. Alpine seemed to listen, welcoming his touch, “He’s never been this nice to me. Are you some kind of animal whisperer?”

You giggled a bit, “I’m Y/N.”

Peter’s mouth formed an “o” shape like he was connecting the dots in his mind, “I-I’m Peter . . . aren’t you like . . . not supposed to be out here?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Am I?” He seemed to panic for a moment, “I mean, I didn’t get the brief that Steve probably gave you all.”

“Right,” He nodded nervously, “Do you . . . should I walk you back to the house?”

“Actually, can you walk me to my room? I don’t think I remember where it was,” You played dumb. 

“Yeah, sure,” He agreed.

Perfect. He was perfect. If there was a way out of here, he was it. 

+

You didn’t see Steve until later that night. He was right in the fact that you didn’t get bored, there were a million things to do even in your own room. You’d floated away, your mind now completely occupied by the coloring page you were scribbling on. 

As Steve sat on the side of your bed, you felt the weight of his day come down with him. Another reason he kept your arrangement before was because you provided stress relief after a long day. He touched your hair, patting your head, and you turned your head to look at him. 

“Did you have lunch?” He asked and you nodded sheepishly, “Dinner?” You nodded again. 

“Maria made sure I ate.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your head, “Good girl. Wanna show me what you’re working on?”

You sat up from your position, moving the picture book into his lap, “It’s me and you,” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle as he looked down at the picture of Belle and the Beast. 

“You’re funny,” Steve smiled, his eyes getting those little crinkles at the side.

“Did you end up handling your business?” You asked curiously. 

“I did, actually,” He responded, failing to elaborate, “And that’s all you need to know.”

You closed your book, tossing it to the side, and standing up on the bed. You walked over to the pillows and plopped down, “Don’t you think it's a little unfair to hide things? I want to hear a story before bed. Or are your stories too scary?”

You were only teasing him but as he turned over, crawling towards you, your heart began to race, “Did I ever tell you the story about the little girl who always ran her mouth?” 

You shook your head, and Steve let you stew a moment longer before he pounced. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down onto you back, as he climbed on top of you, “Well, she was always mad at her Daddy because he was . . . very protective. Her Daddy had to fix this, of course, he couldn’t have such a naughty little girl trying to boss him around. He didn’t punish her though, he just fucked her until she couldn’t speak.”

“I don’t like this one-” You were interrupted when his lips crashed down on yours. 

You felt suffocated by him, trapped beneath his love, until you started to move your lips against his. You must’ve been just as crazy as he was for wanting this. 

You gasped for air when he finally pulled away. You watched him hurriedly take off his already unbuttoned,  button down, and undo his belt. You were sliding your dress sleeves off, trying to get your panties down your leg. When they were around your ankles, he tore them away, throwing them to the side. 

Your lips were on his again, “Steve-” He grabbed your wrist roughly, pinning them above your head with one hand, and he grabbed your face with the other.

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded, sinking between your hips. 

“Steve-” You felt a quick sting across your cheek and Steve watched a fire build in your eyes. 

“Bad girl,” He sunk his hard member into you, causing your head to tilt back. He was anything but gentle, moving in and out of you with long and hard strokes, “You’re such a bad girl.”

“Tell me you want my cum,” He grunted, breathing hard against your skin, “Tell me.”

“I want your cum,” You rushed out, an orgasm already building as he maintained his pace. You missed this so much. If there was one thing, you missed. He was the first person to ever make you cum without oral sex. Before him, you didn’t even know your body could do this. 

“Say it,” He continued, “Say it, little girl.”

He was going to slow down if you didn’t and that was the last thing you wanted, “I want your cum, Daddy,” You gasped out, your body convulsing beneath him, “I want it so bad, Daddy.” 

He finished deep inside you, your body tightly wrapping around him, and sweat covering your bodies. You were coming down from the high when the panic set in. Why did you let him do that? And why did you want it?

He was holding you and, as your tears began to fall, he pulled you into him, “It’s okay,” He cooed, “I’ve got ya’. You’re going to be just fine, Babydoll.”

+

part two

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated. 

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building.  Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room.  Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

**

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone,  presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack.  Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow.  Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - Two

A/N: The response to this little story has been insane! Thank you all so much for your kind words, it means the world to me. I hope you continue to like this very self-indulgent fic that has grown to be one of my favorite things I’ve written (even if most of it was written while sipping sprite+merlot). 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N), Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Warnings for this Chapter: MORE MAGIC!, Angst, blood and a bit of gore, not super-descriptive smut, Oberyn sometimes uses sex to make people smile. And it works. I once again wrote and “edited” this while sipping wine. All mistakes will probably not be edited. If you want to read more about Oberyn being in love with love, check out @pettyprocrastination and her wonderful hc’s about our favorite prince here!

Word Count: 7.6k (oops)

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

CHAPTER TWO: The Prince

Oberyn was only slightly amused when he heard the unmistakable sound of Pero grumbling (growing steadily louder) and a feminine reply (remaining calm and level, much to Oberyn’s delight) carry on for nearly the entire night before reaching a crescendo of an annoyed huff and a slammed door.

It would seem few people would actually sleep that night.

“She sounded pleased to see you.”

“Shut up, princeling.”

Oberyn only laughed.

When the sun came up the next day and the small company was ready to depart the ruined castle, Oberyn found himself beside the Magistrate, Orestes, as they set off toward Myr. Pero was leading the caravan while the lady—to whom Oberyn still hadn’t been formally introduced—was sequestered away in a carriage they had found in the castle’s stables. Orestes had muttered something about that it was one of the carriages of their original traveling party but no one seemed to care much. All of the men in their company kept their distance from the small carriage, strangely wary of getting too close.

All of it was so odd to Oberyn. He did not seem to feel what the other men were feeling. The all-too-brief glimpse he had stolen had proven she was a woman—beautiful and bloody—but not some formidable monster to fear.

If anything, the prince would have described her as delicate. Beautiful, obviously, but delicate.

A sudden shout from the back of the company had almost everyone turning to see a wave of fire encase the last standing spire of the castle before bleeding into the rest of the ruins. Oberyn’s dark gaze caught movement from the carriage; a hand slipping back into the shadows behind the curtains, skin dripping with something-

“Strange, is it not?” Orestes asked, looking at the fire. “Perhaps one of the men left a torch burning.”

Oberyn hummed an agreement but did not forget the strange sight of her hand slipping away just as the fires reached its crescendo. “Tell me about your lady, Magistrate. I have not had the pleasure of being introduced, yet.”

And Orestes quickly did, regaling the prince with tales of his time in Qohor and how Lord Ollo had been kind if not cold but his daughter was warm and welcoming and always ready to host him for a meal at their manse in the forest. “But it seems that the people of Qohor know very little about them aside from their names and how much power they can wield and how much gold they kept. They whisper that her mother was a sorceress, devoted to the god of Qohor and trained in Asshai. Gifted in magicks and all things arcane.”

“Have you not met her?”

Orestes shook his head. “Dead before I came to Qohor. And no one seems to be willing to speak of it. Tovar has met her, to my knowledge. My lady has told me that her mother used to bring him sweets after running around the forest outside their manse, gathering kindling for her hearth.”

“She spoke to you of Tovar?”

“Briefly, only a handful of times. Truly, until I met him, I did not make the connection of her childhood friend Pero and Tovar. She seems to guard their time together like a secret.”

“As does Tovar.”

Orestes turned his head to look at him, dark brows knitted together. “Does he not speak of her? If I held her notice for even a moment, I would never stop speaking of the time I basked in her attention. For it truly is a gift.”

Oberyn had to keep himself from smiling at the sound of unadulterated awe and obvious adoration of the magistrate’s voice. It was almost pathetic. But it was refreshing to know that at least someone was completely aware and proud of their feelings. Not that Oberyn was disappointed in Pero…right?

“She truly is someone to be treasured.” Orestes sighed and Oberyn bit back another laugh. “But, you said you have not been introduced? I thought surely Tovar would have made introductions. Then again, I thought I had hit my head when I first saw you together—seeing double.” He laughed. Oberyn did not. “May I introduce you?”

Oberyn easily found Pero’s form through the crowd and sighed. Stubborn man. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

The pair slowed their horses’ pace to flank the carriage and Orestes knocked at the carriage door as it rumbled along the old road. The half-torn curtain across the window slid away and the woman leaned her head out, greeting them with a smile. She looked far better than she had the last time Oberyn had seen her. Gone was the blood and the swelling had left her face—truly, if he did not know what state she had been found in, Oberyn would have just thought her a bit tired from her travels. Curious.

“My lady, I hope we have not disturbed your rest.”

“Of course not, Orestes. You know I welcome our little chats.”

Orestes cheeks bloomed with a blush and he ducked his chin for a moment. “As I treasure yours, my lady. But I would be remiss if I did not introduce you to Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell.” Orestes waved a hand toward him as he said her name, calling her The Lady of the Dark Wood.

Strange, Oberyn thought. Petal suited her much better.

She leaned a little further out of the small window and smiled at him. “You are far from Dorne, my prince.”

“You know of my country?” He asked. It was rare that someone from Essos knew much of Westeros aside from a few of the cities and trading ports.

Her smile widened and she looked radiant. “Only from my books. I would love to hear more, if you are welcome to the idea.”

“I am always happy to tell others of the beauty of my home.”

“Perhaps we could compare our homes,” Orestes interjected, his eyes narrowed just a touch as he looked at Oberyn before turning to smile at her.

She hummed, acknowledging Orestes, before her eyes cut back to Oberyn with some unspoken twinkle in her gaze. “I should like to hear of your home when we make camp.”

And she made good on her easily-dismissible comment, searching him out when they made camp that night. They were still a day’s ride from Myr Pero had commanded they stop for the night, not wanting to ride in the dark (and then the man all but disappeared with a handful of other men to search for something to hunt for the evening meal.)

She slipped from the carriage as the small band of men made camp and even helped one of the younger ones stabilize one of the poles on the muddied ground that surrounded them. The boy gave her a half-tilted smile in return and then hurried to finish the work for his tent.

Oberyn smiled as she approached, looking near-ethereal despite the bloodied wrappings around her arms and legs, peeking out from between her fine gown. He had just about finished setting up his tent and—just for a moment—lost his concentration as he watched her come closer. And the rope in his hand suddenly slipped from his grip, and the grounding stake scratched against his palm and tore at his skin.

The tent’s wall flapped in the wind until he grabbed it again and quickly righted the stake.

“Are you hurt?” Without waiting for his answer, she took his hand with a hum rumbling at the back of her throat. “It is not too deep.” Her dexterous fingers slid over the wound and he bit back a small hiss of pain. Blood oozed and she did not move her gaze from the wound as her fingers carefully bracketed the cut. “You will heal.” She pressed the small bit of blood between her thumb and forefinger, swirling it around to coat her skin, almost absentmindedly. Circling, circling, circling until it was only a thin coat of crimson on the pads of her fingers. A long breath pushed out from between her lips. “Most interesting.”

“What is?” He barely noticed that the sting from the wound lessened as soon as she pulled back.

She looked up at him and then wiped his blood against her skirts with a small smile, revealing nothing. “I hope you do not mind if I came to you before camp was settled.”

“Of course not, my lady. I am sure your company is much more pleasant than my brothers in arms.” He fastened the last tie on the tent and then held the flap back for her, silently inviting her inside.

The furnishings were a little grander than some of the other men’s belongings, but still probably far less than what she was accustomed to, if her fine dress (and Orestes’ constant blathering about her home) indicated. But she settled on his small, elevated bedroll without hesitation and patted the blanket next to her.

“I am sure you have many stories of your adventures. I hope you do not mind if I hoard your time for the evening.”

Oberyn couldn’t help but smile as he sat beside her after making sure the tent flap was tied open, allowing her to keep her propriety. He glanced down at his hand to see the cut seemed…like it had been healing for a handful of days already. He had seen stranger things—had read stranger still during his time at the Citadel. But this—she—was something to behold.

“But it seems you have stories to tell me too, my lady.”

Her smile widened. “You’re a bit more observant than your companions.” She leaned forward and, just for a moment, Oberyn caught a glint in her eye that made him think of a caged lion. But then it was gone. “What would you know?”

**

They spoke throughout the night, only leaving each other’s sides for a moment to retrieve a bit of food to sate their hunger, before retreating back to his tent. (Oberyn noticed how she, ever so briefly, sought to find Pero in the crowd and found nothing but unfamiliar faces before she turned back to him.) They spoke of everything—of their childhoods, their cultures, their parents, of their losses. But Oberyn knew she was waiting for him to ask the question he had, biding his time. And he noticed how she would easily skirt around Pero’s presence and absence in her life.

His dark eyes flittered down to the wound on his hand—now almost completely healed. When she caught him looking at it, she smiled over the rim of the wine jug she had produced from the depths of one of her trunks in the carriage.

“Ask, my prince. I know you want to.”

“How?” He asked simply.

Her smile widened and she handed him the jug. “You must be more specific. That question has many answers.”

Oberyn huffed, fighting a smile, and held up his hand. “The Maesters of Westeros have long said magic was all but gone from the world. It died with the last dragon, they said. And here you are, alive and well.”

She laughed, a light sound that had him laughing, too. “I am not magic incarnate, my prince. But it is true, most magic has been tied to dragons, to the wills of men who eventually shunned it for other things. But there are a few who have been blessed by they who watch.”

“The gods,” Oberyn said, knowing what she was saying. He took a quick gulp of wine before setting the jug aside, wanting to focus on her and the glint in her beautiful eyes.

She nodded and then reached out to take her hand in his. “Every gift comes with a price. Mine has been paid in blood and it requires constant recompense. I have touched your blood. You have paid a price. I must give you something in return.” Her smile was gentle as her finger traced the healed wound. “You have a great love ahead of you, my prince.”

He chuckled. “Oh? Have the gods found someone who will tame me?”

“Not tame you. No, no. They will never stifle or control you. Theirs is a gentleness to balance your wrath.”

“When will I meet them?”

She shook her head and pulled back her touch, leaving a cold spot on his skin. “I cannot see dates or years. I simply…see what I am allowed.”

“Have you seen Pero?”

Her answering smile was small—she did seem fond of smiling. “I have. Often. Even without the blood price, I would see him in my dreams. I dreamt of him the night he left, you know. And the night before he came again. A quiet comfort, to be sure. I had been selfish in year before, calling on the blood to show me his face, just show me his face, so I could know that he is well.”

And, just for a moment, Oberyn thought of a love-struck woman trying to catch a glimpse of her lover’s face in a crowded ballroom. But then he remembered what she had said—what Pero had said. “He left you?”

“Yes.” She said it so simply and it seemed to echo in his chest. “In the middle of the night. The day before my nameday, too.” She hummed. “A cruel present, my father called it.”

“Did he ever-”

“Tell me why? No. And he scarcely met my eye last night and then…” her words died on her tongue. “I am suddenly just a child again. Hoping for the boy I love to notice me.” The next laugh she let out was filled with bitterness. “Did he ever…speak of me?”

And Oberyn was nothing if not honest. “He did not, my lady.”

“Call me Petal. I know you think it suits me more.”

“You do not let the Magistrate call you Petal.”

“No. I do not.” She reached out to him and Oberyn readily placed his hands in hers. “But that can be our little secret, hm? Now, ask me anything. I know you have more questions running through your mind, and they do not involve Pero.”

“True. I do want to know everything about you. But I would be remiss if I did take the chance to ease your heart’s burden.”

“My heart is not burdened, my prince.”

“Call me Oberyn. And do not lie to me.”

She sighed but did not pull her hands from his even as she glanced away from his gaze. “It is silly to think of one person for so long and to know it is not returned or reciprocated. I tried to have him tell me why, last night. Why he left, why he did not care to tell me where he was going. And I only received his ire in return.”

“I do not believe it is ire, Petal,” he said, smiling at the sound of the nickname on his own tongue. It sounded right. “He is a stubborn man. Years of this life may have stifled that heart you knew as a young girl. But I promise you, it is still there. And it beats for you.”

“But are you certain, Oberyn? He has changed so much.”

“As have you, I am sure. But will you deny that your heart has not changed? At least when it comes to our shared companion.”

She shook her head, a smile starting to tilt up her lips once again. “I will not lie to you.” Her hands squeezed his. “You know, when we were children, Pero and I would spend almost all of our waking hours in the forest outside my home when my mother did not insist we attend lessons. The forest is almost always filled with mist and cloud—but that day, the sky itself seemed to want to seek the shelter of the trees. Pero would always count down between rolls of thunder, telling me he would know the exact moment the first bit of rain would fall. It was his gift, he said.”

The tent’s opening was suddenly filled by a dark figure.

Pero looked at him and then at the woman beside him. His dark eyes narrowed for just a moment but even as his face settled into a practiced apathy, Oberyn still saw the hardened gleam in his gaze. “I see you two have been introduced.”

“Join us, Pero,” she said with a hopeful tone. She held out a hand toward him. “I was just telling Oberyn of our time together in the forest—that time when we were caught in the rain-”

“It seems you have told him all that he needs knowing, my lady.” And while there was heat to his words, Oberyn heard the unmistakable hurt in his lover’s tone.

“Pero,” she said, “please.”

But he stepped back and disappeared back into the shadows of the camp.

“Oh,” was all she said before her hand slowly fell back down into her lap.

The sound of her own hurt stabbed at his chest and Oberyn quickly took his hands in hers and kissed her knuckles. He would have words with Pero later. But now, he would leave her alone. Not when he knew she felt so rejected. He would have her smile again. “Do not let him sour your mood, Petal. Am I not able to make you smile, too?”

She smiled, small, but it was still a smile. “I do believe you could rend smiles from stone, Oberyn.”

“Tell me more of Pero. Tell me anything you deem me worthy of knowing. Unburden your heart, at least for a moment.”

And that was when she finally pulled from his grasp and stood, walking to the tent’s opening. “Pero is…moonlight.” She hummed and angled her face up to look at the sliver of the moon. “It is lovely but untouchable.”

“There are stories about the moon being a man—a god—who loved a woman so much he came to this mortal plane to be with her.” Oberyn walked to her side and looked up at the moon, too, trying to see what she saw in that little ball of light.

“I think I’ve heard that myth. It ends sadly, doesn’t it?”

“Not all myths end poorly. Some are tales of hope, requited love, filled with joy.”

“I suppose that is true.” But her gaze did not move from the moon. “I suppose kissing a god would make an unhappy ending worth it, right?”

And she looked near ethereal in that soft light, so beautiful. And the prince always loved beauty. “Tell me, have you ever kissed a prince?”

“There are no princes in Qohor.” She turned from the moon to smile at him.

“Is that a ‘no,’ Petal?”

She laughed. “It is.”

And then Oberyn moved forward and pressed his mouth against her smiling lips. And she tasted so sweet—with a bite of something metallic—as he was able to lick into her wondrous mouth and her hands tugged at his tunic. Eager. His hands gently cupped her face and pulled her ever closer, letting her fall into his lap with another laugh against his mouth.

She was intoxicating.

Her fingers pushed into his hair and tugged just at the base of his neck, coaxing a moan from his throat. He only broke away to catch his breath, knocking his nose against hers and listening to the melodic tone of her breathless giggle. And then she was the one pressing forward to steal another kiss and then another and another.

And the prince would deny her nothing if it meant she smiled at him like that again. But he needed to know. “I am not him, Petal.”

“I know,” she whispered against his mouth. “And, tonight, that makes it all the better.” And she kissed him again.

His hands circled her waist and squeezed, just for a moment, before he reached out just enough to untie the last string on the tent’s flap, closing them off from the rest of the world as her mouth moved against his with ease.

Gently, ever so gently, he pulled at the laces of her grown and set it loose as he held her gaze.

“You may walk away at any time, Petal. Do not feel obligated.”

She shook her head and curled her fingers into his tunic, pulling him forward just a single step. “I am not obligated. I know you and I wish to know you.”

With that express permission, Oberyn took care to undress her slowly, carefully, like she was something holy, something—someone to be treasured. And she was. In the dim light of the tent, he marveled at her soft skin, the breathy sighs that slipped by her lips, and the decadent warmth she exuded as he sunk into her, letting his own sigh escape his mouth. She was magnificent. Her hips undulated in slow, smooth movements and his hands curled over her warm skin, needing to keep her close, to continue to feel her delicious cunt envelope him until he was truly spent.

“You are sublime, Petal.”

She gasped against his mouth as his grip tightened and he took control of her movement, hands tightening around her hips as his hips pistoned, faster and harder and then she was keening against his kiss-swollen lips and he felt her shake, felt her tight channel squeeze around his cock before a cry broke her lips. She threw her head back and his teeth sank into her skin, still chasing his own high. Again and again, his hips slammed into hers and then he was pulling out—just in time. He spilled across the skin of her thighs and stomach, painting her like some obscene canvas.

He leaned down to slant his mouth against hers and felt her smile against his lips.

“Oh, you make such pretty noises, Petal.”

“As do you, my prince. It has been a pleasure of my life to know I’ve caused them.” She gave a breathless laugh as his fingers swirled against the mess, rubbing it into her warm skin like a salve. Another happy sigh slipped by her lips as she reached up, fingers tracing across his chest. “I hurt you.”

He looked down to see four perfectly carved tracks over his heart. “It is nothing, Petal. A badge of honor.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss against her pouting lips. “I will heal.” He murmured it against her lip and laughed when she huffed. “Now sleep. Or would you like me to tire you out?”

**

Oberyn woke with a start. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with Petal curled over his chest and a bit of sweat cooling on his skin from their third bout of fucking—it had been peaceful and beautiful and wonderful. Waking up to find her crawling over his waist was and settling her weight on his stomach was not an unwelcome surprise but-

She did not look right. Perhaps it was the early morning light filtering in through the folds of the tent but her beautiful eyes were clouded, near milky, and then her clammy hands were grasping at his face, fingers pressing into his cheeks. “Lions and dogs on the wall and blood on stone.”

“Petal,” Oberyn whispered, gazing up into the unnatural depths of her eyes. “Petal, please-”

“The sun screams and is snuffed out.”

He reached up to grasp at her hands and let out a shuddering breath and her eyes shut. “Petal.” She felt cold under his hands. “Look at me.”

Her eyes opened and they were their usual, beautiful shade again. “The sun,” she said. “The sun…”

Oberyn wrapped his arms around her as he sat up on his bedroll, letting her shake in his grasp. “Where did you go, Petal? Tell me.”

She shook her head but sighed as his lips skirted down her shoulder. “You paid the price, my prince. And I gave what was paid for.”

“That was not like before—you were gone. Someone else took inhabited your skin.”

She shook her head. “The higher the price, the stronger the gift.” Her fingers tapped against the marks she had left on his chest.

“Is it always visions?”

She shook her head. “No. Not always.” Her head moved just enough to press another kiss against his shoulder before she stood and grabbed her discarded dress from the tent floor.

The casual way she said it had him thinking of her bloodied hand slipping back between the shades of the carriage just before the ruins were taken by fire. Not always visions, indeed. Oberyn watched her dress for a moment before rising and helping her tighten the lacings on the back. “Tell me. Why does your god demand such high a price?”

She turned to him as he finished and smiled. “I do not question him. He has given me a wonderful, fearsome gift and I will be welcomed by him with open arms when he calls for me.”

Oberyn had heard of the Black Goat worshiped in Qohor. A terrifying, dangerous god of death that some maesters called a demon. A god of death: strong and unwavering. “Why would you spend your life worshipping the end of it?”

“Death begets life begets death. Why should only one be worshipped? A good death is its own reward, is it not?”

Oberyn smiled and let his finger trail down her arm and grasped her hand in a soft grip before raising it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You speak as a warrior, my lady.”

“I am sure you have found most women are warriors in their own ways, my prince.” Her eyes sparkled with some unspoken jape before she pulled her hand out of his grasp.

He grabbed at the silken trail of her skirts like a besotted boy and let the fabric slide across his hands as he watched her leave, surrounded by the first rays of sunlight.

**

Pero was quiet as Oberyn urged his horse to his side.

“You disappeared last night.”

“What did she tell you?” Pero asked in return, tactlessly dodging Oberyn’s unanswered question.

Oberyn glanced back to see the familiar carriage still at the rear of the traveling party with Orestes keeping pace beside it. “She told me how you were her dearest friend and confidante during her childhood. She told me how you encouraged her gifts despite you not entirely understanding them.” Oberyn paused, watching the barest traces of emotions flicker by Pero’s features. Joy, sadness, fondness, despair—it was all there in the subtle ticks of his brows and the pull of his lips.

“Her father sent me away—three weeks to the day after her mother disappeared,” Pero bit out, hands tightening over his reins.

“For what reason?” Oberyn asked.

“He gave no reason. But he did not need to—it was obvious enough. I was a poor nobleman’s thirdborn son and she…”

Oberyn watched Pero’s face fall for just a moment before he looked away.

“It is of no consequence. She is safe. I have seen her smile again. That is what matters.”

Oberyn had to stop himself from groaning. “Truly, Pero, you are more dramatic than a mummer.”

“Hold your tongue, princeling-”

“She loves you—loves you still. Anyone with eyes can see that.” He paused. “Except for the magistrate, it seems.” Pero huffed but that did not deter the Dornish prince. “Truly, and for someone I trust implicitly to see things I cannot when I have my back turned, you are blind.”

“Enough, Oberyn!”

“No! She cares for you—cares for you even after you treated her poorly and refuse to meet her eye like she is some dirty urchin who attempted to steal your coin.”

“You spend one night with her and suddenly you are her confidante?” He hissed in return. “Just because you have been between her legs does not mean you know her. She is far more than you could ever hope to imagine.”

Oberyn reached out and grabbed Pero’s tunic, hauling him close before he could take his next breath. His horse whined at the sudden jostle of its saddle. “Do not speak of her like that. Do not speak of me like that. You are angry; at yourself, at the world, at the gods. But you do not have the right to shun her gentle smiles and company nor tell me I have used her like a woman in a brothel. We sought each other’s company when you spurned us.” Pero pulled out of his grip but Oberyn did not stop. “She asks for you, about you, every time. You have told me that no one is worthy of her attention or affection—but she has made it abundantly clear that she wishes to have your affections in the way you have garnered hers. She loves you, Pero. Loves you still. Do not run away for her again.”

But Pero only urged his horse faster, setting off toward the city finally coming into view. Oberyn only watched him go with a sigh and turned back to the rest of the company, telling them to ready for their entrance into the city.

Myr was beautiful—but it had been beautiful the last handful of times Oberyn had visited the city with the Second Sons. The city smelled of fresh earth and fresh linens and ink and filled with shining white stone structures and the bazaars were teeming with people selling their wares. Orestes was quick to show them to the ornate stables near the gates, making sure to loudly proclaim that their steeds were to be taken care of as if they belonged to Orestes. The carriage was also carted off and stored, Petal’s trunks quickly carried away by a small fleet of servants.

The Magistrate was instantly greeted like a prince or a king and quickly lauded by the crowds as they stepped out of the stables and closer toward the center of the sprawling city. Oberyn watched Orestes reach out a hand for Petal and she took it with a small smile, letting him pull her along into the crowd toward a large, gleaming building that had bits of greenery trickling up toward the carved windows. A villa, he supposed it was called.

The rest of the company followed Oberyn up the half set of steps and largely ignored the guards posted at the entryway who looked confused at their presence and waffling between barring them entry or simply standing aside. The inside of the villa was just as ornate as the outside, filled with carved columns and opulent stonework. The tapestries and carpets the city was famed for covered the walls and lined the halls and everything smelled of the dye Oberyn knew the Myrish artisans used to create a distinct shade of red.

It was not unpleasant, but a strange smell to be sure.

Orestes seemed uncaring that a group of mercenaries had come into his home and continued to point this or that thing out to her, telling her how much he paid for it or how it was made. And Petal, for her part, did seem interested in the words coming out of the magistrate’s mouth. Her easy smile never faded or turned strained and he heard her ask a question or two in return. Always a perfect lady.

Oberyn found himself smiling when she did, catching her eye when she turned and winking and delighting in the small laugh he earned every time. But then his mood was somewhat soured by the fact that Pero had quickly fallen to the back of the group, as if trying to keep as much distance as possible from Petal.

It hurt him, to see her rejected so openly. Even as Orestes had them all settled into the numerous guest rooms his villa provided and made sure they all had steaming tubs of water brought in for baths, Pero never once tried to slip away to try to find her. He stayed with Oberyn in their shared room, inspecting and re-inspecting his weapons while waiting for Oberyn to finish his bath. Orestes had invited several other magistrates for a celebratory dinner and to show his appreciation to the small mercenary company he had employed—and heartily paid already.

“Are you going to speak to her tonight or continue to sulk like a scolded boy?”

Pero’s head snapped up and he scowled. “I am not sulking.”

The prince only hummed and rose from the water. He felt Pero’s familiar gaze trail down his back and tried not to smirk—knowing the view was being appreciated—and grabbed the fine linen provided to dry off. “You are. And if you do not at least try to speak to Petal tonight, I will have to take matters into my own hands.”

Pero stood, setting aside his weapons and started undressing to ready for his own bath. “Oh? Is that a threat princeling?”

Oberyn wrapped the linen around his waist and turned to face his lover. “Yes.”

When dinner, a veritable feast, was called and everyone was escorted into a large hall, draped with red fabric and gilded statues of snarling lions, Oberyn made certain that Pero was seated beside his lady. This earned him a brief side-eyed glance from the magistrate but Oberyn paid him no mind—he had dealt with far more and was not afraid of the nobleman. He was too busy taking care of the hearts of two people he cared about—the magistrate could pout.

He watched her eyes light up as Pero took his seat and she slowly, ever so slowly, started to pull conversation from the taciturn man while largely pacifying the magistrate with simple answers or anecdotes in response to his longwinded questions or stories. The other magistrates tried to gain Oberyn’s attention but he was too busy trying to guess what the pair were saying to each other from the other side of the room. But he was happy when he saw Pero’s face almost seem to shudder before his lips pulled into the briefest of smiles, aimed only at her as she turned to her plate to stab at another carrot.

“Prince Oberyn, they say Dorne is filled with the finest mounts the world has ever seen. Sandy steeds, they’re called, no?”

“Sand steeds,” Oberyn corrected without looking at the man beside him. “And yes, they are the best in the world. Can run for a day, a night, and another day without faltering.”

“Surely not!” The man guffawed. “Not horse can-”

Oberyn’s head finally snapped to the side at that. “Perhaps the horses on your continent tire easily, but I assure you, the Dornish do not.”

The man at Oberyn’s side looked like he had been slapped. “I meant no offence, your grace.”

“Then take care with your words. I am a lenient man but I may not be so next time you speak out of turn.”

The man’s face somehow paled to a color similar of curdled milk while his neck became a violent shade of scarlet. “O-of course.”

Oberyn, satisfied, turned back his favorite show continue to unfold.

Just before the last course was served—some sweet dish Oberyn only half-enjoyed—Pero smiled again. And Petal smiled with him.

Oberyn could not help his own answering smile from spreading across his face.

**

The festivities—if Oberyn could even call them that with the level of boredom he had endured for politeness sake—had lasted long into the night and most of the revelry had moved from inside the villa to the sprawling, marbled pools that dotted the grounds. Some of the company took part, never willing to turn down free food and wine, but Oberyn was content to watch everyone else (mostly) enjoy themselves. Petal, unfortunately, had been drawn back to Orestes’ side after the meal had finished and Pero had pouted like a child in the shadows for a moment before taking a plate of food and walking back to his room. The magistrate paraded her around like a prized trophy, making all of his guests wonder at her presence—Oberyn thought, just for a moment, if Orestes even had an inkling of who the woman on his arm was or could become with the right push.

For a few moments, Oberyn entertained himself with a pretty servant girl before letting her go back to her duties after another servant spilt a large jug of wine across the floor and caused a fuss. But during the distraction, Petal managed to slip away from Orestes’ side and met Oberyn in the shadows. He handed her the chalice of wine he had and smiled when she took a large gulp.

“Your magistrate seems fond of you.”

“He is fond of seeming like a hero even you and your men were the ones to rescue me.”

Oberyn plucked the chalice from her hand and polished off the rest of the wine. “I do believe you might have rescued yourself, Petal.”

Her eyes sparkled in the low light and she smiled. Her fingers tugged at the simple belt of fabric around his waist to bring him forward just a few steps, closing the distance between them. Her lips brushed against his and he could taste the wine on her smile.

“You are a good man, my prince. I want you to know that.”

He leaned into her, stealing her breath as he licked into her mouth for just a moment. “And you have another good man waiting for you in our chambers. I shall keep the magistrate busy.”

She hummed and kissed him again before slipping further into the shadows of the villa in search of her moonlight.

Oberyn watched her go with a sigh before plucking another chalice of wine from a servant’s hands and quickly drinking it down. Pero would thank him later, he was sure. And as the moon continued its rise into the starry sky, Oberyn entertained and distracted the magistrate and his guests with stories of Dorne and the sellsword company’s exploits across Essos. Whenever he saw Orestes’ eyes start to wander, looking for his missing companion, Oberyn would start another story and make sure Orestes’ cup was filled. And soon—but not soon enough, in Oberyn’s mind—almost everyone had retired for the rest of the night, needing to sleep off their overfilled stomach or partake in a bit more of a carnal delight in the quiet of their chambers.

Oberyn smiled as he started to find his way toward his chambers and witnessed a few servants taking advantage of their lack of duties to kiss each other slowly in the darkened hallways. A quiet reprieve, well earned.

The halls twisted and turned but Oberyn eventually found the door to his and Pero’s chambers and slowly pushed it open, hoping to not disturb anything that might be transpiring. But he let out a disappointed sigh when he only saw Pero sleeping on the large featherbed. His discarded (and empty) tray was haphazardly placed on the bedside table. At least he was consistent.

Oberyn shed his tunic and slipped beneath the silken blankets, smiling when Pero turned toward him, seeking warmth.

“Where is she?” Pero murmured without opening his eyes.

“Did she not come see you?” Oberyn asked with a frown.

“She was only here for a moment.” The words were slurred on his tired tongue, eyes still not open. “Said she would come back…” The words drifted off and were punctuated by a hearty snore.

Oberyn sighed and pushed his head against the overstuffed pillows. Difficult. They were both so difficult.

**

For the second time in just as many days, Oberyn woke with a start. But now it was not the welcoming warmth of a woman’s thighs bracketing his own that woke him from sleep.

No. It was the quiet scrape of metal on metal, of hurried footsteps of someone striving to be quiet. Sounds which only meant danger.

Oberyn swept aside the blankets and stood, walking over to the window to see a group approaching, dark hoods and cloaks obscuring their features. One by one, the group moved almost-silently into the villa. Their weapons were drawn and ready; strange, foreign shapes he had never seen before with long handles. Oberyn looked to Pero to see him with his swords already in his hands despite his lack of armor.

Oberyn grabbed his own sword and they both ventured out into the dark hall. Soft sounds of a struggle grew louder and louder with each step they took. A door to their right suddenly burst open and a half-dressed nobleman ran out into the hall. A quick glance into the room showed the bodies of another man and the pretty servant girl Oberyn had kissed only hours before. The hooded forms they had spied earlier had filled the room while more were stalking silently down the hall—they cut down the nobleman before he reached the next turn of the hall.

Oberyn and Pero both turned just in time to skewer a pair of hooded men who were slipping up behind them.

“We have the girl. It is not your life we want,” one of the men said in a strange, strained accent. “Lay down your weapons and you will not be harmed.”

Someone—a woman—yelled and their eyes were drawn to her—to Petal—once again in the arms of a man who meant her harm at the end of the hall. But her eyes were not the glassy, tired eyes he had spied only briefly back in the castle ruins. These were alight with…something. Something dark.

There was a short shout and then the unmistakable thud of a body hitting stone. She stood over the corpse, blood dripping from a small wound at her shoulder and more pooling beneath her feet from her would-be kidnapper. It glimmered like black ink in the moonlight.

She moved like water, skirts lifting and pulling as if invisible waves had surrounded her. Slow and steady—deadly, like a rising tide. Words poured from her mouth in a language he did not understand and sounded shrill to his ears.

Pero’s hand on his arm kept him from moving forward.

“She needs-”

“She knows exactly what she is doing, princeling.” Pero’s dark eyes flittered over to her and looked almost…soft and sad. “Let her do what she needs.”

Her hand raised toward the group of men. Their slow steps stopped.

“The demon,” one of them hissed.

Her fingers uncurled, knuckles pointed and skin tight.

One stupid man took a single step toward her, blade held out in front of him. And then the words came again and the man froze, foot hovering over the ground. A terrible scream wrenched its way from the man’s throat. His face purpled. Blood started to spill from the corners of his eyes, his mouth, his ears.

“It was you! You did this!”

“Demon!” another shouted.

Oberyn didn’t understand and he could not take his eyes away from the man starting to convulse in front of him, like some sort of morbid mummer. The convulsions grew faster and faster and the screams he let out grew more and more pained until his chest split open like an egg and blood came rushing out. It sprayed over her dress and she walked forward, hand still outstretched. More words he did not understand tumbled on her tongue and the hooded men took a collective step back. But it did not help. One by one, each one of them started to shake and fall. The blood beneath her feet almost seemed to ripple with a heartbeat—her heartbeat, Oberyn surmised. She truly was a woman to be feared and loved. Sublime.

Shouts in Ghiscari soon filled the air. They were quickly snuffed out by the crack of ribs and spines, of bodies hitting stone.

Oberyn looked to Pero to see him quietly watching this woman, a strangely soft look in his eyes. He saw all of her. But maybe he always had.

There was another noise behind them and Oberyn turned, ready to fight, but only saw Orestes, still in his sleeping clothes. The magistrate stared at her with wonder in his eyes as soon as he stepped out into the hall. “You wondrous being. I always knew you were-”

A zealot’s body falling to the ground at his feet and the sudden gush of blood spattering against his skin quickly halted any other words on the magistrate’s tongue.

Two guards, tired and confused, seized the last handful of zealots and disarmed them. They could face punishment for their crimes here in Myr. Perhaps that would make everything easier for Orestes to explain away.

But that did not matter.

She did.

The hall grew quiet except for her labored breathing and then her knees hit the blood-covered stone.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. And even covered in blood, and having just slaughtered the men who would have harmed her for their own gain—she looked delicate. Not fragile—never fragile. But delicate. “Please, Pero. Take me home.”

Pero nodded immediately and sheathed his swords. He bent down to her and hoisted her into his arms, uncaring of the blood she trailed across his tunic. “I’ve got you, Petal. I’ll take you home.”

Oberyn watched Pero walk away with his Petal, heading toward the stables, and he only just caught her looking over Pero’s shoulder. With a bloody finger, she beckoned him to come along.

He could not say no.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Save me

Once again based on a Gone epidose, but we will pretend it’s Nick.

Warnings: None really, just fluffy cause i cant help myself.

WC: 1483

Enjoy x

You had just walked in your door from the gym. You needed something to distract you knowing what was going on, but you were surprised and confused when his name showed up on your screen. He was meant to be on a date. You had overheard him talking to Fin and Sonny about it. You were jealous and sad that he didn’t see you like that, so to try and get through the night you went to two classes at the gym back to back and then did another couple of hours. When his name flashed on the screen you wanted to let it go to voice mail. But of course when it came to Nick your heart took over,

“Nick?”

“Y/N, how are you baby?” Nick slurred over the other end of the phone.

“Ah- are you ok?”

“I need you Y/N. Can you come and get me I can’t drive”

“Where are you?”

“That Mexican place we went to last week”

Your mind was running a 1000 miles an hour when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant you had spent a night at last week with Nick and the rest of the squad. You paid and got out walking in through the door. You looked around the room at all the faces when your eyes found him and you started to walk towards him. A half-eaten meal in front of him and a full meal in front of an empty seat opposite him.  Nick was sitting back in his chair, both arms on the table, a bottle of beer in one hand, looking down with his jaw clenched.

“Nick” you moved the chair out to sit down.

“You were at the gym on a Saturday night?” Nick raised an eyebrow after looking you up and down, his eyes were glassy. He reached in pulling his car keys out of his pocket dropping them on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, we don’t all have dates every weekend” you rolled your eyes back “What happened?”

“She didn’t like my kind of baggage. A middle aged divorced Dad wasn’t her thing” Nick half smiled before he shot back the rest of his beer.

You looked over Nick’s shoulder catching the eye of one of the waiters signalling for the bill. You let Nick get up and he stumbled out of the restaurant and you walked to the curb flagging down a cab, you would come back tomorrow for his car. You both got in, Nick only moving to the middle, you got in sitting right next to him giving the driver your address,

“Guess a pretty lady is taking me home after all”

“Don’t think your luck is going to change that much” you shot back not being able to look into his eyes.

You were hurt and mad. He never saw how you felt for him, going out with women he didn’t even know, who didn’t know him and accept him like you did. You wanted all of him, his past, his baggage, everything and yet it still wasn’t enough. The cab was back at your place in no time, you paid and both got out. Nick was having trouble standing straight. You grabbed his arm throwing it over your shoulders Nick leaning into you.

Once the lift arrived at your level you walked Nick out and lent him against the wall while you opened the door. Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him inside towards your bedroom. You flicked the light on pulling him to the bed. You took off his jacket and he dropped onto his back lying flat on your bed. You took his shoes off and then rushed out grabbing a bottle of water and some pain killers. You were surprised when you came back in and he was still awake staring at the roof,

“Here” you walked to the bedside table sitting the bottle of water and pain killers on it “Get some sleep” you went to walk away.

“It should have been you” Nick mumbled.

“What?” you turned to face him with an eye brow raised.

“I see you. I see everything you do for me. It should have been you on that date with me tonight”  

“Your drunk, you don’t know what you’re on about” you turned on your heels turning off the light and closing the door behind you.  

You got comfortable on your recliner with a spare pillow and a blanket leaning it all the way back so it was like a bed. You tried your hardest to fall asleep but you couldn’t, Nick’s words running through your head. Eventually you gave up trying turning on the TV to see what was on.

It was early hours of the morning, you still nowhere near sleeping, half way through a Sex and City episode when you heard your bedroom door opened and Nick walked out in just his boxers and undershirt. You looked over at him surprised he was even walking around,

“You ok? Do you need something?”

Nick looked down at you, lifting the blanket off you and moving to lay between your legs resting his head on your chest resting an arm around you. You took in a deep breath resting your right hand on his shoulder and your left hand going to run through his hair running along his scalp. The room was silent for a long while, just the soft back ground noise of the TV till Nick spoke,

“Just because I was drunk before doesn’t mean I didn’t know what I was saying. I meant what I said”

“You seemed to have sobered up enough now, so say it again” you shot back.

Nick tilted his head up to look into your eyes,

“I see everything you do for me. It should have been you on that date with me tonight and I’ am sorry it wasn’t”

“Why did you call me and not Carisi or Fin?”

You pushed the chair so that you sat up straight and you moved over so that Nick could move from between your legs to sit next to you and you threw the blanket back over his lap,

“You’re always on my mind Y/N. The whole time she sat across from me I was comparing her to you and she didn’t match up to you and I was stupid to think going on a date would get you out of my head” You looked down and tried to process what had just been said to you, when Nick titled his head to look into your eyes “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure” you nodded.

“Why were you at the gym tonight?”

You took a deep breath sighing,

“I heard you talking about the date with Sonny. I wasn’t going to sit at home thinking about you being on some date and taking her home doing to her what I want you to do to me. So I did a couple of classes and worked out for a bit”

“Did that get me out of your head?”

“No” you scoffed back “Made everything worse, coming home alone and I started to picture you in bed with someone else after buying her dinner”

“A dinner that should have been brought for you” Nick sighed.

“Apparently” you whispered.

“I’ am so sorry Y/N. I don’t know what I was thinking”

“Honestly, me either. But it always the way isn’t it. Never see the one you really should till it’s too late”

“I was an asshole, but it’s never too late. I won’t let it be”

“And if she hadn’t of walked away you wouldn’t be here Nick”

“But she did walk away and I’ am here with you where I wanted to be all along”

“If that is what you really wanted you would have made it happen.”

“Y/N come on, you really going to make it that hard me? I said sorry” You shrugged your shoulders and looked down at your hands. Nick reached for your face, turning it towards him, but you kept your eyes looking down “Look at me Amor”

You very slowly started to look up into his face before you met his eyes. Nick slid his hand from your cheek to your shoulder pulling you towards him. His lips resting on yours kissing you softly at first. He poked his tongue out slightly running it along your bottom lip. You parted your lips and titled your head and the kiss deepened. Nick pulled back so you could both catch your breath, leaning his forehead on yours,

“I’ am sorry Y/N” Nick whispered.

“I forgive you”

Nick pushed the recliner foot rest down, stood up and grabbed your hand pulling you up into him wrapping his arm around your middle leading you to your bedroom,

“Next weekend, dinner, movie and you stay at my place?”

  Tags: @beccabarba​ @thatesqcrush​ @witches-unruly-heart @permanentlydizzy​ @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo​ @amorestevens​ @alwaysachorusgirl​​ @teamsladsandgents​​

[jaz-xedarix]

The Return of the Star

Thank you so much for your patience and your nice words. I really appreciated them too much. 

So finally I have finished part II, and things are starting to get really interesting.

As I promised there’s a new coloring among the text, I really hope you like it, and I put another one, but a bit older, since I couldn’t resist to post it in this part XD

Thanks so much to @buffaloborgine​ and @trinity-blood-translations for helping me correct this text, your effort is valuable to me. Send you lots of love my friends.

Let’s get started.

               ════════════╠☆╣════════════

                                      II

The Istvan Opera House was located on Andrássy Street, the main avenue of the city. It was an old style building that had survived Armageddon. After the liberation battle, it was the first place restored by the archbishop, to serve as a public building for the citizens. 

The building was built in a magnificent and delicate Neo-Renaissance style. It was an imposing work that could be compared to the Scala in Milan, the Opernhaus in Vienna or the Státní in Prague. The facade had a secluded air, but once inside the decorations in gold and purple colors overwhelmed the visitor with their luxury. 

The “guest of honor” entrance that Esther passed through was no exception. In the boxes facing the wide stage, the rugs were so thick that they reached to the ankles, as if she were in a lavish palace. The walls were lined with works of art and all the furniture had been expressly imported from Rome or Florence. 

However, everything paled when compared to the beauty of the woman who was waiting for her sitting on the sofa. 

“Welcome, Sister Esther. You may be exhausted after the trip...” 

The Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Secretary of State of the Vatican and head of its foreign policy, gave a friendly welcome to the nun. Telling her to sit on the couch that was in front, where the two priests was already sitting, she laid her cup of tea on the table. 

“I've was told you've had a difficult time with the media at the station. I am glad that you are well.” “Nothing happened… More than anything, it was a surprise that…” 

Looking into the gray eyes that smiled at her behind the monocle, the nun awkwardly shook her head like a puppet. For Esther, the Cardinal was a person almost as sacred as the Virgin. Every time she presented herself to her, she couldn't help but get nervous and tense. She brushed off the sweat she didn't have and continued in an uneasy voice: 

“Your Eminence, the journalists called me Saint… what kind of joke is this? And why am I the protagonist of the play that is going to be performed here tonight?” “We'll talk about all that later...” Adjusting her monocle, the beautiful woman looked up at the stage, the curtain still closed, and sighed. “His Holiness will be here shortly. He is accompanied by the Minister of Information, who is the one who has organized all this. I myself know only part of the story. It will be better if he tell us all about it in person… What I want to hear now is what news you bring me from the Empire.” 

The cardinal spoke with the usual serenity. However, her voice had hardened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the nun and priest, as she crossed her legs under her habit.

“Were you able to contact the empress?” “Yes, we have to inform you about it.” Esther steadied herself and her voice changed as she began to recite the report that she had been rehearsing mentally in the way: “We were fortunate enough to have direct contact with the Empress in...” “Well, the truth is that we couldn't speak to her directly…” 

Everything Esther had prepared came to nothing when the other voice interrupted her, preventing her from speaking.

“Eh!?” She didn't even have time to stop him. As he turned to the voice, she saw that Abel was still speaking with an irrepressible verbiage, which did not leave her a space to intervene.

“We did our best to deliver Her Eminence's message in person, but, of course, meeting the Empress in person was beyond our means. Even so, you need not worry, because we asked a local noblewoman, the Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran, whom I already knew before, to serve as an intermediary. The message will have reached its destination; you can be sure of it.” “Ah? Bu... Father... Wait a minute...” But what was he saying!? Esther nervously adjusted her habit as if to signal him, but Abel did not stop chattering for an instant, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands.  “Yes, we suffered the unspeakable to achieve it. Abroad, right? One does not know how things are done... To fulfill our mission we spend our days without stopping running up and down... tears come to my eyes just remembering it now that I tell you, and without doubt, you will cry too... Imagine, I lost three kilograms!” 

Where did all this nonsense come from? Esther managed to come to herself and resist the curiosity to see how far the priest would be able to go. 

“Wait... wait, father! Stop speaking nonsense!” She did not know what this foolishness was about, but if it continued like this, Caterina would end up thinking that they had not seen the Empress. Covering Abel's mouth with her hand, Esther yelled in the direction of the Cardinal:

“Ignore him, Your Eminence! We do…”

«We did speak directly to the Empress!» Just when Esther, red with exertion, was about to shout that phrase...

“Cardinal Sforza, I beg your pardon...” An elegant male voice echoed out as the door opened. Looking up, the Cardinal met a man who was greeting her respectfully and who was leading a group of three people. He was middle-aged and wore the purple sash on his habit that indicated his status as archbishop.

“Forgive us for interrupting your conversation, Your Eminence. His Holiness and Cardinal Borgia have arrived.” “Hello Beautiful!” The second voice would seem to have been made up of a frivolous shake spiced with kitsch. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to wear the Cardinal habit than the young man with long dyed hair and a nasal voice who had just entered. This was Antonio Borgia, the Minister of Information. “How long, right?! Makes sooo much that I did not see how fantastic you are that seems that my aesthetic sense have atrophied, you know? How are we doing?” “Good afternoon, Cardinal Borgia. I see you are very happy. If I'm not mistaken, we met the day before yesterday in Rome, right?” 

Responding sharply to the young man, Caterina turned her gaze to the third figure in the group. Seeing the face of the teenager coming up behind the two men, her cold gaze softened. 

“Ah, Alec…! How was the flight? Are you dizzy again?” “Y..., y... yes, sister...” Dressed with beautiful white clothes, the Pope Alessandro XVIII spoke with a low voice. In addition to being extremely shy around people, to the point of bordering on autism, get out of Rome or even out of the Papal Palace supposed one horrible adventure for him. Anyways, the face of his sister seemed to calm him a bit, because he went on, stammering: 

“I..., I got dizzy a b..., a little... b... but now I'm fi... I'm fine...” “Really? But you don't have very good color. I'll make someone to prepare some medicine for you... Wait, I'll take the opportunity to make the introductions, since we're all here. This is Sister Esther from the Secretary of State. She is the Saint of Istvan” 

Exhorted by Caterina, the nun saluted respectfully. “Nice to meet you. It is an honor to be in your presence, Holiness.”All Vatican employees knew of the reserved character of the pope. In order not to startle him, Esther spoke in a calm voice as she placed a light kiss on his hand.“I am not worthy of you granting me the grace to kneel before you... “ “Ah...! N..., no...” At the touch of the young woman's lips, the pope went from pale to flushed. His breathing quickened, as if he were going to have a heart attack, and he withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ”And…, and…, I… And…, and…, I…, I…”

“Holiness, you must be tired...” said the first man who had entered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the babbling teenager. Maybe half a century of his life had already passed, but his face had manly features that surely wreaked havoc on the opposite sex when he was young. With an attentive expression, he made the young Pope sit on the sofa.

“The show will take a while to start. Get some rest here. If you allow me, I will handle the speech.” “Thank you, Archbishop D'Annunzio...” 

Before Esther's eyes, the Pope was panting hard, as if he were going to have a panic attack or something. The one who wiped the sweat from his forehead to reassure him was Caterina. 

“Forgive me for putting you through something like this, but this ceremony took so much effort that...” “Oh, does not matter! It is an honor to be able to do our bit to the work of her eminence and the Vatican.”

 Emanuele D'Annunzio, Archbishop of Istvan, smiled kindly as he took Caterina’s hand. After kissing her like a gentleman kisses a lady, he turned his serene green eyes to her beautiful face.  “I wrote the script for tonight's play myself. I am afraid that it will not be up to the refined taste of Her Eminence, but it will be my honor that you listen to it... I do not know how the representation will turn out, but...” “It'll be great, you know? Sure: super, super good.” 

The one who responded in this way to the humble words of the archbishop was not Caterina, but the other cardinal present. Antonio, adjusting his bangs, continued with a slightly annoyed voice.  “Because, hey, haven't we helped you with production from the Ministry? I mean, the stage, and the direction, and the actors... Aaaaall of it it’s super mega first class. So if it goes wrong, it will be because of the script, you know?” “We will be forever grateful for your support, Cardinal Borgia. It is an honor that you have dedicated your valuable time to our representation...”

D'Annunzio's words were kind, but there was a hint of provocation in his tone. His green gaze was fixed on the young man, like an adult lion facing the cub that wants to take his place. 

“Today's ceremony is very important to us, because our recovery will serve to show it to the world. Its success will also serve to show the power of the Vatican… We hope to continue having the support of the Ministry of Information from now on.” “...” 

Although the tone was defiant, it could not be said that there was anything really wrong from the archbishop's words. Antonio was silent, something strange in him, as if not knowing what to answer, clearly feeling the difference in maturity that existed between him and his interlocutor. 

In his fifties, Archbishop D'Annunzio was an experienced man who had played a crucial role in the Vatican since the time of the previous Pope Gregorio XXX. As the right hand of Alfonso d'Este, who was then head of the College of Cardinals, he had held important positions as Director of the Holy Inquisition and Chief Secretary of the Vatican. In his spare time he had written dozens of novels and more than two hundred plays, and was considered one of the literary geniuses of his time. However, his brilliance had provoked the envy of Alfonso, who ended up moving him away from the center. His fame was surpassed only by Cardinals Medici and Sforza, the Pope's stepsiblings. No one but a skilled politician would have gotten Istvan city reborn from its ruins just a year after the catastrophe of The Star of Sorrow.

“Ah, but I have not yet greeted the main guest...” 

After silencing the young man, the archbishop turned quickly to Esther, who was silently observing the dialectical combat between the two high religious positions.

“This is the first time we met, but I know you very well, Sister Esther. I beg your pardon for having you come from so far away.” “Ple…pleased to meet you, Your Excellency...” Esther rose, embarrassed, from the sofa at the friendly smile of the priest and lowered her head, blushing at his manly features.“I am much honored that you invited me. It is an honor to meet you personally.” “Not at all, the honor is mine for being able to greet the Saint in person. I did extensive research on you to write this script. I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time, but... the truth is that you have surprised me. I didn't think you were so beautiful...”       “I… beautiful? Not at all…” 

At the Archbishop's compliments, Esther buried her head deeply and turned even more red. Half confused, half flustered, she looked around for Abel to come to her aid. “It's the first time I've been invited to a box of honor at the opera, but hey, what a sight! Heh heh, I feel like God...” 

The priest was lost in his thoughts, observing the theater, and did not realize that the nun was looking at him. In her imagination, Esther kicked him on the back, while scratching her head, wondering how to respond to the archbishop.

“May I ask you not to call me Saint? It's a too important word that I don't deserve at all...” “You don't deserve it? You are too modest, sister… ” D'Annunzio replied, still smiling, as if enjoying the young woman's bewilderment. Extending his hand to fix her cap, the archbishop looked at her with mischievous face “You are the holy maiden who protected the people and killed the evil demon... As Archbishop of Istvan I cannot be grateful enough. Tonight's performance is my humble attempt to help your feat remain in the memory of future generations.”  “I am very grateful to you, but...” 

With a tight smile, Esther awkwardly shook her head. Her face had suddenly lost its rosy color. Saint Esther? What all that was about? 

She murmured that inside her with downcast eyes, it wasn't just because the name disgusted her.  

A year ago a man had expired in her arms. He was someone who had loved his human wife, someone who had decided to fight the world as revenge because the humans themselves had taken the woman he loved from him. 

The “evil demon” that D'Annunzio referred to was that being. Esther had been elevated to the category of Saint for the "feat" of having killed him, but there was something that did not convince her. All this seemed like a farce in which she did not want to be involved... 

“Ah, by the way, Your Eminence, what about Cardinal Medici? I thought he was also going to be present at the ceremony for the fallen...” “Unfortunately, his commitments do not allow him to leave Rome. He said he would send a representative, but… still not arrived?” 

D'Annunzio and Caterina began to talk about practical matters. Relieved that she was no longer the center of the conversation, Esther turned her eyes to the audience. 

More than a thousand spectators filled the theater. They were all famous people from the city, but Esther didn't recognize any faces. During the reconstruction of Istvan, D'Annunzio had given preferential treatment to the industrialists of Rome and Venice to install their factories and banks in the city. The attendees were all rich people of that kind. The echoes of the conversations that were heard were not in Hungarian, but mainly in the official language of Rome. 

The curtain was still down, but the actors could be seen waiting behind the scenes, probably to come out to say hello before the performance. Among them was a smiling young nun, the heroine portrayed in the flier. The hunchback next to her would be the Marquis of Hungary. The sinister makeup highlighted his monstrous appearance and showed long predator fangs. It couldn't be clearer that he was the bad guy in the story. 

The fragile and beautiful heroine would go through many difficulties, but in the end she would defeat the monster and bring peace to the city. It was such a predictable story that just by seeing the actors you could already imagine. 

But… 

«But the fight end was much more complex», thought Esther, grabbing unconsciously the rosary that hung from her neck.                                                                                                                                                                        «It’s not the urge to kill. I don't have such bad taste as to enjoy killing others. This is a fight for life» 

The man who had said those words was not a mere “evil demon”, nor had Esther fought him for strictly holy motives. There were still many things that she did not fully understand, but it was clear that this had been a struggle for survival. If she had lost, it would have been Esther and her companions who would have died. Yet the young girl couldn't get a question out of her head: «Was it really an inevitable conflict?» 

A nun like her couldn't ask such a question out loud. As long as she worked for the Vatican, a doubt like that was tantamount to questioning her own identity...

“Eh?”

Esther was lost in her thoughts for one moment, but at once came back to herself. Among the actors who had gathered in one corner of the stage, a figure that had gone out discreetly from behind the curtain of the opposite corner had called her attention. 

 It was one girl more or less of the same age of Esther, she had brown skin, an unusual color in the region, and her hair of a raven black. The combination of the daring opening of her dress with the long gloves decorated with precious stones gave her an extremely dramatical air. But what attracted the interest of Esther was neither her figure nor the clothes she wore. Those purple eyes that glowed in the well-proportioned face... she had seen them before somewhere. 

“That girl looks familiar to me...” “Is there something wrong, Esther?”

The voice that echoed behind her was of the lanky priest, who was wandering absent-mindedly around the royal box. As he devoured with his eyes the plate of tea pastries next to the young woman, he asked:

“Suddenly you were silent, doing that face… Oh, do you have a stomach ache? Do you want me to eat those pastries? I don't mind doing you that favor...” “No,” Esther replied dryly, cutting off the priest and added, pointing at the girl with her finger: “Doesn't that girl looks like someone familiar to you, father? I've seen that face already... and not long ago.” “Eh, what girl?” The priest asked in an intrigued voice, and looking where Esther was pointing, he looked confused. “I don't see any girl… Ah, you mean that actress over there?” “No, I mean, the one that has come from the other si... Huh?”  

When she looked back to the stage, Esther furrowed her brow, as well as Abel. The female figure that she had seen an instant before had disappeared. “But how strange... she was there a moment ago...” “Wow! Is that the actress who plays your role? I had seen her in the flyer, but in live she is even more beautiful!” Abel had already lost all interest in Esther and was absorbed in watching the group of actors. He made no effort to hide the drool from looking at the actress. "But what a beauty! Both in style and in attractive it is much better than the original… Ah, but don't be angry, Esther. It is undeniable that she is much more beautiful, elegant and seductive than you, but you have your special appeal. You don't have to worry.” “I have to take that as a compliment!?” 

Esther put the cup of tea on the plate, ready to answer the priest as he deserved, but...

“Ah! The representation is about to begin...” murmured the Archbishop, raising the eyes to the clock and got up to say goodbye to the Pope and the Cardinals. “Holiness, Eminences, I hope you enjoy with the performance. Excuse me, I will give the welcome the public... Come on, Sister Esther.” “What!? Me?” 

Esther was stunned, pointing her finger at herself as she blinked in surprise.Why did she have to accompany the archbishop to greet those people?Seeing the nun's confusion, the archbishop smiled and in a sweet voice, he dropped the bomb:  “Let's greet the audience together… I suppose you have prepared a little speech.” “Sa... say hello to...? A speech!?” 

At those completely unexpected words, Esther was dumbfounded. It was a joke? He couldn't expect for her to just come out on stage in front of the crowd and improvise a speech! 

“Wait ... wait! It's a bit hasty...” “But haven't you come prepared? How clueless my Saint is... Well, what can we do? As I assumed something like this could happen, I have allowed myself the freedom to prepare a small draft. You just have to read it.” “Eh…? But…” 

The archbishop seemed to be completely serious and handed her a pile of papers. Esther received them without knowing very well what to do and looked doubtfully to the priest, looking for his help...

“Ah, Esther! If you go on stage, can you ask that actress to sign an autograph for me?” Let it say,«To Father Nightroad, sweetheart» or something like that, okay? Heh heh heh...!” “!” 

Saving her killer instinct for later Esther heaved a deep breath.There was no way out of it.            

 "Ugh, I'm late!"

Although it was still early November, the winter cold had already fallen on Istvan. Gloomy clouds covered the sky, and although the building was supposed to be equipped with heating, the white breath of the people walking through the lobby of the Opera House could be seen. 

However, the male figure that rushed into the hall seemed immune to all of it. From the gigantic man who crossed the room devastating the carpet emanated a suffocating sensation of summer heat. It goes without saying that such a figure attracted all eyes, as if a monster from another world had suddenly appeared in the room; but the man seemed oblivious to it and advanced with a hard look, as if he were entering enemy territory. 

“What a misery to have suffered a setback precisely when I am representing Cardinal Medici! This mistake can be very expensive, Petros!” 

Dressed in the uniform of a secret police officer, Brother Petros looked up at the clock as if observing an ancient enemy. Although there were still twenty minutes until the start of the performance, he had committed a very serious fault by not having arrived before His Holiness made his entrance. 

Anyway, he had only arrived in the city a few minutes ago, sent by his superior, who had too many business holding him back in Rome. He had not arrived by air, like the Pope, but had taken the land route. The planned inspection of the military facilities had taken him longer than planned, and that had caused the delay. 

Although the inspection had been satisfactory, it was scandalous that the director of the Holy Inquisition arrived after the papal retinue. No doubt a severe reprimand from Francesco awaited him when he returned. If it was just a row that awaited him... There was one other thing that Petros had to worry about... 

“Where will the honor box be?  Eh…? Where the hell am I?” 

As soon as he went through the lobby, Petros stopped. He had to accept that he was lost and began to look around, but none of the doors he saw were the ones he was looking for. 

Indeed, he did not know where he was. He had stormed across the lobby, but had no idea how to get to the honor box. Resigned to search blindly, he began to scan the surroundings with a fierce grin, to see if he could find any sign, but could do nothing more than make a passing child cry.

 The issue was that the box of honor was not accessible from the general entrance but it had its own access, but Il Ruinante had no way of knowing that. He gritted his teeth and prepared to undo his way when...  

“Oh!”

Behind the intrepid warrior monk came a small cry of pain. 

Turning around, Petros had collided head-on with a girl who was walking behind him. The girl fell on her back to the carpet, dropping what she was carrying. 

“Aaah! Forgive me, sister! How clumsy you are, Petros!” 

The man tried to apologize as he picked up the papers, which had been strewn down the hall. The nun was still moaning on the floor, clutching her bonnet.

 “Excuse my ineptitude! Are you OK? Eh? You!?” As he helped the nun to stand up, Petros' face changed as he roared in surprise at his interlocutor, who was still reeling: “You are Esther Blanchett!” “Ah, brother… Petros, right?” Moved by the violence with which the inquisitor had spoken her name, the young woman stepped back, raising her tearful gaze to Il Ruinante, and bowed to him. “We haven't seen each other for a long time… Ah, thanks again for your support in Carthage.” “No, please, I'm the one who owes you... But what am I saying?!” Petros began to respond to the greeting automatically, but quickly came back to himself. This was not the time to chat! “Esther Blanchett! What are you doing here!? This is not the place for you!” 

Finally the nun straightened with surprise in her eyes. “Well, I was getting ready for the speech. Archbishop D'Annunzio has ordered me to greet the audience with a few words and was reviewing the script...” “Has the archbishop ordered it? Impossible. How can it be that...?” Laughing like if he was talking to a little girl, Petros glanced at the script, his expression suddenly turning from skepticism to surprise. Topping the sheets was… the archbishop's seal!? The inquisitor began hastily reading the text. “Wha... but what...?! «Before all of you gathered here I want to raise my voice to denounce...»”

«Before all of you gathered here, I want to raise my voice to denounce that there is pure Evil in the world. I want to raise my voice to say that as long as that Evil is not exterminated, we will have no future. We must unite to fight and defend everything we love, everything we respect. It will be a difficult and tough fight, but all united in our Faith we must face…».

 It was unbelievable, but it seemed to be, indeed, the script of a speech. And it took up almost fifty pages. The tone was a bit affected and overly dramatic, but the closing archbishop's signature seemed authentic. 

“Hmmm! And the archbishop signed it... But I can't believe it! Why did he ask you to…!?” He said, looking at the nun with suspicious eyes. “Are you plotting against me!? Tell me the truth or you will regret it!” “Eh? The truth is that I have no idea what you are talking about for a while now...”

The young woman scratched her head, honestly confused. It was like talking to a drunk who did nothing but repeat the same story. 

“It's not that I don't find it strange to be here, really. First I receive a notice from the Duchess of Milan to come to Istvan, then they ask me to give a speech... The truth is that the...” “The Duchess of Milan… Cardinal Sforza!?” Petros reacted quickly to the young woman's words. The Cardinal... what was that viper up to? 

Actually, Petros was most concerned about what the Pope's stepsister might do during the visit. Taking advantage of the absence of Cardinal Medici, she could try to manipulate His Holiness or do some strange maneuver... He had to be prepared for anything, and the facts gave him reasons to suspect. So the viper had already set off... But he would not trip over the same stone of Carthage again. This time they would not escape from him! 

Staring at the nun, who was staring at him in bewilderment, Petros clenched his fist. That witch had played with him in Carthage. Just when he was about to uncover her plot, all evidence had been destroyed. He knew with certainty that she had had contact with the vampires, although it had escaped him at the last moment. But this time he would catch her. He would discover what is she plotting around the Pope and would denounce it to the world!

 “Ah, there you are, Sister Esther...” 

A cold voice roused the inquisitor from his inflamed musings. It was an elegant male voice, interrupting him as if to protect the nun. 

“I've been looking for you for a while. Eh? I think we've met before… What brings the Inquisition here, Brother Pietro Orsini?” “Yo... Your Excellence!” Hearing his secular name after so long, Petros turned as if an electric current had passed through his body. Seeing the archbishop approaching, he gave a forced salute. “How long! What a joy to see you again!” “Yes, a long time, Orsini. The last time we saw each other was when I left my charge as Director of the Inquisition, right? You were just a kid and look at you now. How time flies!” “I will never be grateful enough for your advice and your attention back then!” Said Petros, bowing deeply, as if he were a spring doll. 

Il Ruinante’s sword was feared inside and outside the Vatican, but there were four people he bowed his head to. One of them was Archbishop D'Annunzio. 

“Please excuse my delay. The review of the troops has taken me longer than I had calculated and the roads were collapsed...” “You can tell me that later...” the archbishop cut him immediately, turning around and say with sweet voice to Esther, who was watching them in astonishment. “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to read the script? It’s almost time for your speech. Let's go up on stage.”  “Yes, I have read the text…” replied the nun, embarrassed, taking the papers that the inquisitor had returned to her with an impetuous gesture. “But, Your Excellence, am I really supposed to read that speech?” “Eh? What do you mean, sister?” 

The archbishop was surprised to see the dark light that had covered the young woman's eyes, and asked with a cautious expression: “You don't like the parliament I have prepared for you? Does it not meet your literary expectations?” “No, is not that. It is wonderfully written and conveys the ideas very well… But the message…” The nun choked with her words… After hesitating and stammering for a few seconds, she looked up, determined. “Why make such a clear call to war? A year ago we fought the Marquis of Hungary, it is true. But it was a pure struggle for survival. We did not think of pretty phrases like «divine glory» or «security of human society»...” “Ah, that's what you mean...” D'Annunzio interrupted the young woman's fiery voice with great serenity. The archbishop's smile keep its charm, but his tone had a certain inhuman echo. “You don't have to take it so seriously, Sister Esther. The public gathered here tonight have not come to hear the truth. What they expect is a dramatic and exciting story… They want the story of the heroic maiden who struck down the evil vampire. Isn't it our obligation to meet those expectations?” “B... but...” “Listen to me, Saint...” D'Annunzio silenced Esther with a gesture and shook his head. The hallway had begun to fill up, and the archbishop lowered his voice, returning greetings to passing guests. “You are a very sweet girl, Esther. I fully understand that you don't like harsh words. But think about it for a moment. Although it has recovered a lot this year, Istvan is still going through difficult times. The life of the citizens, your compatriots, is still very hard. Think how important it would be for them to have a heroine...” 

The archbishop placed a very white hand on her shoulder as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Esther Blanchett, you must be their Saint. You must be the image that encourage their hearts. You must be the strength and the hope of all those you love, of all humanity. I will show you how.” “...”

Esther was doubtful at the powerful words of the archbishop, after opening and closing her lips as if not knowing what to say, the girl sighed deeply.

“Good. I'll try.” “Good girl.” Nodding with satisfaction, D'Annunzio opened the door that led to the stage.“Sister Esther, it's time to go on stage. The public awaits you.” “OK…”

«The public awaits you». She would have felt joyful, but the worried expression of the girl did not changed. Even it could be said that the suffering is evident in her face. Anyways, Esther began to walk dragging her feet. She went through the door the archbishop had opened for her and disappeared down the dark corridor. 

 After closing the door, D'Annunzio made a sarcastic face. 

“What a difficult Saint to handle... one breaks one's back to turn her it into a star, and she, in return, complains...” “Ah?”  At the archbishop's cold laugh, Petros looked up in surprise. Opening the door again, D'Annunzio said in a clear voice, to the surprise of his former subordinate: “I never know how to treat smart ass girls. It's so boring having to lecture them like that… The tools should be quiet and just do what they are asked to do…” “A tool...? Your Excellence, when you say «tool» do you mean that girl? And what does it mean to «turn her into a star»?” 

Petros asked in astonishment. So he didn't really think she was a Saint? 

“Ah! So the director of the Inquisition is still there...” 

The Archbishop of Istvan turned as if he was seeing a stranger and responded with the tone of someone who had just discovered a stain on his clothing.

“You heard me perfectly. Saint Esther is nothing more than an image created by the Vatican. It is a huge fiction promoted through the management of the media and the investment of large amounts of money...”

 The bishop spoke confidently in the dark corridor, as if explaining everything to a tough-minded subordinate.  “As you know, the Vatican is losing power over the secular states. To stop this trend, it is necessary to regain the center of social attention. Creating a Saint is part of that project. Esther Blanchett is nothing more than a tool for our plans...” 

«You shall not worship idols», the Bible made it very clear. Didn't the archbishop know? D'Annunzio spoke as if he did not feel any apprehension or guilt for playing with the life of a girl and the faith of millions of people like that. “Besides, as a tool, it's first class. Her past is impeccable, and it doesn't hurt that she's so pretty… She has a very cute face, don't you think, Orsini?” “Eh? Well, I wouldn't know...”  At the knight's embarrassment, the archbishop looked at him with mocking eyes. “You don't know about that? Well, it doesn't matter… I have to introduce my Saint to the public. Orsini, you can go to the box of honor. Then we will talk about your delay. Get ready.”  

D'Annunzio turned, dropping those cold words, and reached for the door that led to the stage.

“Ah!?”

Frightened, Petros started to run away from his former superior, but just as he was about to give a farewell bow, he remembered that he still had something to ask him about. “Your Excellence... I really have a question to ask you before I present myself before His Holiness.”  Half-closing the door, the archbishop turned with an annoyed gesture at the voice of his exasperating interlocutor.  “What?”

D'Annunzio's voice was reminiscent of a teacher announcing to a student that he had failed. Petros barely repressed his desire to flee and ran from the archbishop just to ask: “I have just reviewed the City Guard, but… Your Excellence, what does this deployment mean? I have seen a complete division or even more. What about those tanks and aircraft!?” D'Annunzio continued walking as if he was unaware of the alarm that echoed in Il Ruinante's words.  “I admire how you have managed to reform in just one year an organization that had been completely destroyed. But for a public order force it is a bit out of proportion. Is there something going wrong?” “Eh? What is going to go wrong?” The archbishop stopped for the first time.

 Twisting his mouth, he answered coldly to Petros’ puzzled gaze. “Certainly the Guard's strength now exceeds what it was a year ago. Nobody hides it. But if the situation of the city is taken into consideration, it cannot be said that they are sufficient. After all, Istvan is the central column of the Vatican's eastern defense line. Their defensive potential has to be as great as possible... don't you think?” “If you will allow me to speak frankly, I think there is a problem of magnitude! The Second Division of the Vatican Army is deployed in this area, which is responsible of the defense work. The City Guard should only perform police functions. What is the point of equipping the police as if it were an army?”

The only response Petros' fiery speech got was a cold smile.  “Well, well, I see that you still don't understand anything, Orsini...” 

The archbishop made no effort to hide the malice and contempt on his face. As if he felt sorry for the stupidity of his interlocutor, he made a face, laughing through his nose. “Yes, there is an army division stationed here. But in the event of war, those troops will leave the region. Won't Istvan have to defend itself, then? That is why we have increased the strength of the Guard... Of course it costs us a lot of resources, but that is why we can’t afford to reduce it.” “But that dismantles all the plans of Rome and Cardinal Medici! Also, you speak of war, but now that the region has stabilized, where is the risk of war going to come from? Neighboring countries respect the authority of the Vatican and there is no sign of any disturbance to happen so...” “Brother Petros!!!” 

The scream echoed like an ice whip. Throwing a defiant look at the inquisitor, the archbishop harshly carved his words into the dark air of the hall.  “Are you the Director of the Holy Inquisition and you don't understand something like that!? Have you forgotten who the mortal enemy of humanity is!? Have you forgotten that this Empire of terrible devils is next to us!? If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. Never forget: this is Istvan, the front line of the battle against vampires!” “Ah…? But...” 

Anyone who had attended their dialogue would have been frozen in surprise.Il Ruinante, known as the most implacable man in the Vatican, had fallen silent. 

When he noticed Petros is not going to reply, the archbishop softened his expression. “Well, I don't want to lecture you anymore. Go back to the lobby. Didn't you come to escort His Holiness? That's all you're worth for. At least accomplish the mission you've been given.” “Y... yes! With your permission...” Gritting his teeth, Petros bowed. 

He was not at all convinced by the reasons given by his former superior, but he had no proper reply at the time. He didn't have time either. He turned towards the exit when... Just then the door closed in front of him. And, as if they were waiting for that moment, the guards locked the door from outside.

“Hey…”

Had they locked him up!? Petros looked around him, bewildered. The doors that led to the stalls were all closed with bolt. The lighting in the hall began to dim as the lighting on the stage took hold. The warrior priest then heard the sound of the presenter's voice through the microphone: 

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Istvan Opera House! In a few moments the Star of Sorrow will begin before all of you.”

“Petros, you are so clumsy!” 

The inquisitor began to get nervous. He had to find a way to get to the Pope's box as soon as possible! However, as much as he searched everywhere he was not able to find an open door. Apparently the security measures were meant to keep the public effectively locked inside the theater. 

He actually couldn’t make someone to open one of the doors invoking his authority as head of the Inquisition, if he did it, that would divert the attention of the speech that was about to start on the stage, and when they found out, the archbishop would scold him again some more. 

“Before we start, the author of the script will say a few words of welcome… His Excellene the Archbishop of Istvan, Emanuele D'Annunzio!” “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” 

While Il Ruinante was sweating while desperately looking for a way out, the welcome speech had begun on stage. Taking the microphone, the Archbishop smiled with all his virile charm. However, the voice that began to echo through the room had the serenity of a servant of God. 

“Welcome everyone. It has been a year since I received my appointment as Archbishop of this city. The road has not been easy, but with the help of the Lord and the collaboration of all of you, we have managed to happily overcome all the difficulties that have been presented to us so far. During this year we have defended in Istvan the glory of the Lord, who brought us a girl. I think we can be proud of it.” 

After uttering those phrases almost without breathing, the archbishop was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes as if he were remembering all the efforts of that year and raised his face to the ceiling. Petros realized that this was not more than a theatrical gesture, but the audience seemed to understand it as one reaction of sincere religious piety. Some mature women even began to sob quietly in the excitement.  Then, after checking that the entire room had gone completely silent, the archbishop opened his eyes again. Still smiling serenely, he raised his right arm to point to the small figure waiting at the base of the stage. 

“Tonight I am moved to have the opportunity to express our appreciation to the person who made the rebirth of this city possible. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the heroine who freed Istvan from the evil monster! Our hope before the devils that threaten us! Sister Esther Blanchett, Saint of Istvan!”

As thunderous applause rose, the hesitant figure of the nun appeared, equipped with a microphone. Blinking because of the bright spotlights and shrugging, the girl looked tiny in the middle of the huge stage, as if she were just a child.

 «She's just a poor kid…» Petros thought as he watched Esther walk across the stage. Come to think of it, the poor girl deserved his compassion for many reasons.First, because she belonged to the Ministry of Vatican Foreign Affairs, which was the lair of that witch, Caterina Sforza. Besides, she had to work with those agents, who had a horrible reputation of being sacrilegious. He couldn't imagine how she could lead a pious life as a nun between them. 

Above all, the entire show that night had not been sought by her, but had been implicated by the surroundings of D'Annunzio. At her young age, being worshiped as a Saint and being commissioned to make a speech to such an audience could only be considered a misfortune. 

“Uh... uh... Go... good night to every... Oh, no...! Good evening, la… ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor to introduce myself to you. I am Esther Blanchett. I do not have words to express my gratitude for this opera to be performed in my honor...”

  While Il Ruinante looked at her with compassionate eyes, the nun had started babbling. The inquisitor’s heart cringed just to see how her forehead was beaded in sweat and how her blue eyes were moving full of insecurity. Trying to smile faintly, the young lady put on the table the script that the archbishop had given to her before. Just when she deployed the first pages and prepared to start reading... the tragedy happened. 

“Ah!?”

The first thing that echoed through the speakers was a small groan. The pages of the script Esther was going to read flew across the stage. 

“No!” Cried Petros, as the papers fluttered like leaves blown up in the wind.Had she forgotten to re-tie the rope that held the pages together? The nun was trying to pick them up in haste, but many had already fallen off the stage. The girl's tensed face had lost all traces of color. But Petros and the rest of the audience didn't have to hold their breath for long. 

At first, the nun was so stunned that she couldn't even speak, it was natural.

 Having to improvise a speech in front of such a crowd, and also being people of such power in society… Even a veteran politician would have found it difficult. How could it cost to a girl who had just turned eighteen? 

In view of the events, no one would have criticized her if she had fled the stage. But the Saint did not.Biting her lip as if she had made up her mind, she rose to her feet, adjusting the hem of her habit. She was still a little pale, but a powerful light shone in her blue eyes. As if attracted by that look, the audience's attention was concentrated on the girl's face when she began to speak... 

“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness… The fear of speaking in front of so many people has left me a little stunned…” Esther began in a vigorous, almost savage voice. “A play will be performed in my honor tonight and I want to express my enormous gratitude to you for taking the time to attend the performance”.

Was this the same nervous nun who had trembled a few minutes earlier? Esther addressed the audience with her head up, as if all the perplexity of before had disappeared. 

“Well, to be improvising she does it very well...” Petros said to himself with admiration, as he looked for the archbishop with his eyes. At the backstage, D'Annunzio seemed to be more tense than before, but he was still looking at the young woman with a satisfied smile. As the nun had read the script before, a few as she remembered, things would go more or less as he had planned. Petros expected the same when he looked back at the girl. She would probably invoke God and the Vatican, would praise the courage of the combatants a year ago and call those present to remain united. If she said that, nothing would be noticed... 

“Thank you all. That was my intention... But now I have changed my mind...”

It would take a long time for Petros to forget how the atmosphere in the room changed with just that short sentence.What she’s going to tell them!? Glancing to the backstage, he saw how the archbishop had stiffened, staring at the nun in amazement, as if observing a ceramic doll that had suddenly begun to speak. 

Esther was not looking at the archbishop, but at the room full of spectators. In her pupils were reflected the innumerable puzzled faces that had been nailed to her. The audience seemed hypnotized by the words of the Saint, who whispered slowly:  “I have come to pray with all of you for the souls of those who shed their blood in battle a year ago. For that I have returned here, to my city.”  The voice was not overly powerful, but it completely dominated the room, where not a cough was heard. Without being too high or too low, it filled the air with a clean and serene feeling. It was the perfect example of a pleasant voice. As proof of this, when hearing her, Petros had completely forgotten that he had to go to the royal box, nothing further from his mind at the moment than to get away from there.

Il Ruinante had been lost in thought, listening to the flow of that voice.

“A year ago, we got a lot of blood flowing. Blood of our comrades, blood of our enemies… It was a horrible battle. But then I thought there was no other option. To survive you had to fight. We couldn't help but spilling that blood. In those moments it seemed that we were at a crossroads between life and death. Yes, that was really the situation. That's why we took up the sword... But now, a year later, I have the feeling that «there was no other option» is not a sufficient explanation for that fight...”

Esther was silent for a moment after the long speech. At the view of the girl closing briefly her eyelids to soak in those memories, Petros thought that this nun did not seem at all like the girl that he knew. More than someone alive, it recalled to the images of Saints that appeared in the murals and religious paintings of the cathedrals.  When she opened her eyes again, a sweet but intense light shone on them. Looking at the audience, which was in absolute silence, she continued with a calm voice. 

“During that battle I met one person... one person who back then was my enemy. He was the man I was trying to kill. But he also believed he had to kill to me to survive.” 

Her expression could not be said to be very refined, nor the sound of the words to be very beautiful. In spite of this, there was nobody in the room that was not captivated by the voice of the Saint. None of those celebrities and distinguished people uttered a single word. They were all focused, listening to the girl, who kept talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  

“But it wasn't true, no one should have died; However, due to a misunderstanding, at first, both he and I thought that we had to kill ourselves to survive… And not only him. I believe that among those we killed and who killed us there were many like him. Many who laughed like us, cried like us. Many who we hated. All possibilities were destroyed by a misunderstanding.” 

Perhaps it was the memory of that man that made a trace of suffering appear in the serene voice of the girl. The audience also felt the sting of that painful memory in their chest. Looking ahead, Esther spoke without hurrying, without forcing the words, penetrating every corner of the hearts of the attendees.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distrust yourselves. Be suspicious of justice. Maybe we are too simple. Be suspicious of your ideas about justice in the world. Are they really correct? Aren't they often just what we want to believe? Don't we impose them on our neighbor many times? Be suspicious. Mistrusting these issues is not bad.” 

«Be suspicious of justice».

Hearing those words, the audience felt a slight shudder. Since the nun had started her speech, that was the first moment of doubt. The audience had been rapt with her until then, but little by little the audience began to come to their senses. Esther was not flustered by the change in the audience, so she pushed herself even harder in her speech, expressively moving her arms.

“It may be that these words make you sad. You may think that everything is false and that nothing is certain. God and justice are nothing more than mirages… But they are not. We can distrust, distrust and distrust, but something will always remain. There is always something that cannot be denied… For example, on a winter night like this, meeting with the whole family in front of the stove and feeling the warmth in the heart…” The families in the audience exchanged glances, as if encouraged by the girl's words.“Or look at the starry sky from a deserted meadow and feel how precious our little existence is...” 

As to embrace to all those present, the nun extended the arms and continued talking, pretending this time caress the soul with the voice. 

“Love of oneself and of neighbor ... that's what remains in the end. That is what makes me believe in God. Because God loves us and has given us these gifts. So let's pray together. Let us pray for all the blood that was shed and the souls of all the fallen… Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.”

 Although they had wanted to rehearse it before, the response of those present would not have come out more conjoined. It seemed they had coordinated not only the breathing, but even the pulse. The echo of those words had scarcely been consumed when a thunderous round of applause went up. The ovation did not diminish after the nun finished bowing in thanks. After the archbishop's speech, the audience had remained seated, but Esther's words made everyone in attendance stand up to cheer her on. Even Petros, seeing the reaction from the room, was unable to suppress a cry of admiration.

“And she's just a little girl… What a charisma!” 

 N: A very old Petros’s coloring ;) 

Just with the dubious name of Saint, the girl had managed to move more than a thousand people. This was not normal. Thinking ahead, Petros felt a slight concern.  

If the artificial Saint that D'Annunzio and Borgia wanted to make was added that ability to attract the public, the potential of the girl was not negligible. If she developed her career under Sforza's guidance, she would be a formidable opponent for Cardinal Medici and his followers...

“Hey you! Where do you think you are going!? This is not the time for that yet!” 

Those reproachful words that came from the base of the stage brought the warrior monk to his senses. Turning, he saw a Guard soldier in his gray-blue uniform arguing with someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Probably wanted to give it to the Saint. The one who carried the bouquet was a young adolescent. From the daring evening dress she was wearing, she seemed to be the daughter of one of the attendees. However, her dark skin and pronounced features were a rare combination in these lands. Her eyes were slanted and her pupils a stunning amethyst color.The soldier holding her in the gray gloves began to speak in an increasingly harsh voice.

“Didn't you hear me? If you want to give the Saint a bouquet of flowers, you have to wait for her to come down from the stage. Go back to your seat and stay still.” “Stand aside,Terran!” 

The young woman slightly moved the arm that the other was holding, It seemed a only symbolic gesture, but what happened then was anything but that. 

The soldier, who was six feet tall and weighed a hundred kilos, flew off incredibly and slammed his face against the wall. The impact must have made him pass out. The horrible noise of his nose breaking was the only thing that accompanied his collapse to the ground. 

The scene did not go unnoticed. Muffled shouts of astonishment began to be heard from the audience, and in the box of honor the cardinals had risen with tense faces. However, Petros wasted no time in observing the reactions of the attendees, because he had noticed that the young woman had too long canines between her lips...

“No! Get away from her you all!” Shouted Il Ruinante, wielding with each hand the screamers that he wore on his waist. “She is not human! Is a…!”  “Nice to meet you, Terrans. My name is Shahrazad and I come from the True Human Empire…” said the girl, with a voice as beautiful as a bell, but at the same time full of defiant force.  

As the bouquet of flowers was dropped, the long jeweled gloves she wore began to glow. Leaning them against the wall, the girl, or rather the vampire, looked directly at Esther, who made no sign of wanting to flee. 

“This evening I come to see the killer who you call the Saint... and to kill her!”

 With a thud, the wall began to crumble, looking like a spiderweb. 

                           ════════════╠☆╣════════════

And this is it my dear friends, I hope you have enjoyed this and the new Petros’ coloring I added. I tried hard not to include personal notes in the translation, because I love Petros so much and I was like reacting to everything that happened to him.  Maybe that’s the reason I love this arc so much XD  I want to thank you a lot for your patience, for those who still support this and help me out with it, and to those who share the love by rebloging and liking this. I truly apreciate that.  See you soon on the next part, stay tunned because the best part is next to come. Please stay safe and healthy <3 

[kiatheinsomniac]

Unwoven Fate IV

[MY MASTERLIST]

(Y/n) had left her horse outside the walls of Florence, making it her priority to rent a room for the night before examining what she had found at her childhood home. The streets of Florence were busting with bards, merchants, artists, guilds and all other civilians of the home city of the Medici. 

Well, former home city. 

Something was wrong here, the same something wrong that she had missed back in Forlì. These weren't Florentine guards. Their uniforms were red and higher-ranked guards bore the emblem of a bull. It seemed that everywhere she had travelled to in Tuscany thus far had these soldiers patrolling the streets. Something had happened: some form of conflict or siege perhaps? 

(Y/n) didn't know a lot about politics; 'it's not a lady's business', her Aunt had always told her. That had always annoyed her. Regardless of the discrimination of her sex, it was the lack of knowledge that irritated her the most, something for her Aunt to lock away right before her eyes, like a child having their favourite toy taken away for their bad behaviour. 

These past few days were the only ones in which she was no longer treated as a child for the first time in her life. And it was getting increasingly difficult. 

Terracotta rooftops and tall church steeples rose from the ground around her as she made her way to a tavern, paying for her room and having to barter a little with the price, knowing that her money would run out sooner than she would like. Settling down in the bar below, she tore off a piece of bread to wipe around the edge of her soup bowl, mopping up anything that was leftover and leaning over her bowl. 

Her bag was settled on her lap, too worried to leave it and its contents alone in her room. She had started using an alias and trying to hide her face as much as possible by now, knowing that her Aunt and Uncle would use their influence to have people searching all over Tuscany. So, now she was Maria: a merchant's daughter attending the communion of her cousin in Venice, only passing through Florence for a time. 

"It was a very powerful speech, indeed, but I would have liked to see the stronzo burn." A man grumbled from a table nearby, speaking to his friend between finishing his drink, "He's the one that got the attention of the Borgia and if not for him, perhaps they wouldn't have come to Firenze at all and the Medici would still be here." 

(Y/n) could feel her ears perk up almost, turning her head away to listen without suspicion. The name Borgia rang a bell, hadn't her Uncle mentioned travelling to see a Borgia once? She could recall the event: sitting by the open garden doors while embroidering, her Uncle preparing for his journey. He had been gone for two weeks. 

But who was this Savonarola? (Y/n) knew of the Medici, of course, but why weren't they here? The Borgia had taken over the city? Had the infamously rich family been executed, imprisoned or exiled? 

"I think it's worth listening to Auditore." The other man replied, "He was wanted for a long time so something must have been keeping him busy, Something that motivated his speech, I bet. I was there when his family was killed, you know? I was one of the people that thought they were all guilty of betraying our republic and I saw him calling out in the crowd. He was only a boy, then mind you." 

More names: Savonarola, Borgia, Medici, Auditore. She repeated them like a mantra in her mind, engraving them there. She hoped that things would add up as she went along (although, much of that hadn't happened just yet) and these names could come to meet her understanding in time too. 

As the men changed their topic, she decided that now was the time to check what she had found back at her childhood home. Travel, shelter and hunger had taken up her priorities until now. 

Paying for her meal at the bar, she headed up the creaky stairs to her small room. She'd bought the cheapest one and the price showed: a small section of the loft with narrow walls, a singular bed and a desk with a candle that was on its last hour of light by the looks of things. Stepping outside, she lit it from the one mounted on the corridor wall, heading back into the room and locking the door behind her. 

Sitting at the desk, she carefully took out the scroll and the wrapped object, placing them down as gingerly as if they were holy relics. She bit her cheek as she ran her fingers over the mysterious parcel, feeling herself falter as she imagined either of her parents doing the same so many years ago. Taking a breath, she reached for the scroll first, untying the cord around the middle. 

Upon opening it, she realised that it had been folded as a letter once, with the wax seal broken on either side of the paper. The ink showed the same signs of age as the paper which was discoloured and fading. 

Signore y Signora (L/n)

The Assassins have lost their hold over Firenze. My brother and two of my nephews have been executed by the Templars. There was a traitor in their midst: Uberto Alberti. My surviving nephew has travelled here, to Monteriggioni, with my sister-in-law and niece. Do not try to continue your work in Firenze and do try to get your contacts in the city to safety, if possible. The Assassin stronghold has now been moved here. We need to reinforce our ranks: I am training more mercenaries and slowly introducing my nephew to the ways of the Assassin. Keep yourselves and your daughter safe. 

We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins. 

-Mario Auditore. 

Assassins. Her parents had been Assassins. That name! Auditore. Could Mario be the one that the men downstairs were talking about? No, the man said that a boy had called out to his family from the crowd and Mario mentions a surviving nephew. This nephew must be the Auditore that the two men were speaking of. Folding the letter back up, she reached for the wrapped parcel next. 

Her fingers carefully worked on unwinding the string that kept it all together, pulling it away until she could start peeling back the cloth. But she wasn't entirely sure of what she was looking at afterwards. 

Some sort of arm guard? It had a form of shaft going along the length of it with very intricate metalwork. Her brows furrowed as she picked it up and turned it so that the shaft was facing downwards. That symbol again, the same one that had been on the mosaic - it was at the base of the arm guard. 

She had been hunting with her Aunt and Uncle before and was trained with a bow. This device looked similar enough to the arm guard that she had to wear to prevent her arm from potentially receiving an archer's kiss, a bruise from the impact of the string hitting the arm if your elbow was positioned wrong. Pulling up her sleeve, she attached it to her arm and held the limb out to examine the armour, pushing her wrist back to-

She gasped as the shaft moved with some mechanism, causing a blade to poke out and stop with a noise. Her fingers had instinctually curled in to prevent them from being sliced off. 

Examining the device further, she guessed that more of the blade was stuck inside the shaft, what had come out looked too small compared to the size of the arm guard. It hadn't been touched in years, perhaps time had taken its toll on this too? she reasoned. Rolling her wrist to try and trigger it again, the blade shot back into the shaft. She took it off and switched it to her dominant hand instead: this was not armour, this was a weapon. 

She put the letter back in the bag and shoved it under the bed, changing her clothes and laying them over the back of the chair of the desk. She could feel as she braided her hair that it needed to be washed and she prepared herself to go to sleep. In the morning, she would set off to Monteriggioni and see if Mario Auditore and his family had any answers for her. 

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she looked back at the hidden blade before stashing it back into her bag. Finally, she felt like she was getting somewhere! She had travelled from Forli to Florence now on the hope of finding something and now she finally had. Her parents had been Assassins! Someone in Monteriggioni could have answers! Snuffing out the candle and pulling the woollen blanket over her body, she closed her eyes. Tomorrow morning, she would head out for Monteriggioni. 

⚜⚜⚜

She had to get off her horse as soon as the town was in her sights. Tears prickled her eyes as she led the creature by the reigns instead. She always felt two steps behind the world: as if, while living with her Aunt and Uncle, what would have been her life had continued while she was left behind to learn how to play the violin and how to embroider, how to have her whole life planned out for her. Be a lady, marry a man, give him heirs, die. It was the only future she knew but now another one was revealed to her; one that had been taken and she couldn't go back to. 

But she would make a new one - she was making a new one - right now. 

She left her horse outside the city's walls, looking around at the rubble. The defences had crumbled in many areas, homes showed signs of having been burned down either partially or entirely. The people looked tired, hungry, scared. 

The remains of a large villa stood at the far end of the small town, the stairs leading up to it having makeshift paths for the people to cross safely over the damage. (Y/n) reached out to place her hand on the arm of a woman passing by. Her blonde hair was styled up with wisps framing her face, her silk skirts were dirty and she hugged a shawl around her shoulders, her makeup a mess. She had no undershirt, just her corset. She looked cold. 

"Excuse me but, what happened here?" 

"The filthy Borgias! That's what! They came a few weeks ago and destroyed the place early in the morning. Almost everything is gone and those who can't help to rebuild are leaving." (Y/n)'s eyes were caught by a red and gold flag on the floor, partially covered in debris, that same symbol! The one worked into the blade on her arm and on the mosaic puzzle. 

"And that flag? What does the symbol represent?" She pressed further. 

"I've always assumed it belonged to the Auditore family, they started flying them shortly after they arrived. The villa was theirs, they ran the town, brought it to prosperity." There! That name again! Things were adding up. (Y/n) had to contain her excitement. Upon seeing the state of the town, she felt that it could be another dead end but this could lead her to the family who knew her parents, this other family of Assassins. 

"And where are they now? I need to meet them - I've come a long way." The young woman continued. 

"Lucrezia, dai!" The blonde looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder to a group of women dressed similarly to her. Courtesans. 

"The family's daughter owns a bordello in Roma now, we are travelling there today." 

"Can I come with you?" (Y/n) spoke with a pleading note in her voice, "I won't trouble you, I just need to find these people." The courtesan eyed the woman eerily. 

"And why would a lady like you, want to travel with girls like us?" Her eyes became fixed to the strings of pearls around her neck that were poking out from under her chemise. 

"Because I'm alone and I've never travelled before recently. Someone wronged my family years ago when I was just a child. My parents died as a result. The Auditore's are the only ones who might be able to help me find out why." She paused, "Please." 

The courtesan gave a pitiful smile, "I'm sorry to hear that. . . Come along." She beckoned with her hand as she led (Y/n) over to the group of girls. 

As she mounted her horse again, she felt anxious. She didn't know what she was going to find in Rome. Her parents had been Assassins. What if they had been bad people? Who's to say that they had killed for good? She had only told herself this because she wanted to believe it. What if she was wrong?

Either way, she would find this Mario Auditore in Rome and, hopefully, she would find answers with him. 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Alone With You

Here is a commission for @realityinspace featuring their LOVELY BELOVED oc Saros for Overwatch! Please ask them about their oc and appearance bc they are LOVELY! I had a lot of fun writing this but maaayyy have gone a bit overboard on what was promised.

Image for the Oc found here!

(Older content)

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Relationship: Reaper/OC

Fandom: Overwatch

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reaper is a trans man and if the story is continued WILL be mentioned explicitly later down the line, Bondage via Reaper’s shadow powers, hand around throat but no choking, no penetrative sex, mild flicker of angst but nothing more than a glance.

Words: 4.8k

____________________

There were times like now that the city really reflected the thoughts going through Saros’ head. The streets of France could be full of liveliness in the city he was in, and yet now, the streets almost seemed solemn. The sky was gray, patters of rain dropping from the sky onto the reflecting concrete. It felt nostalgic, in a way, the way people were quietly going about their days with umbrellas up and above their heads. Voices but a whisper compared to the soft patters of rain and the sound of cars passing.

The sight of couples leaning on each other would have been sweet to anyone else, but bitterness held in his chest made him shy his eyes from said people. More interested in pulling his thick jacket around his body more and continuing his slow pace through the city. He had no destination, just the itch for something familiar. There shouldn’t have been a familiar face in the city, no, and that’s what he’s betting on.  

Familiar faces by now were ghosts or people who wanted to harness his power. A power that made him itch for destruction yet itched for a still calmness of a soothing lullaby.  

~Rest under the cut~

Saros passes by a window that holds a reflection. Something he ignores without even sparing a glance, just catching the dark outline of his body. Though, what does make him pause is a mannequin in the window. Its features are indistinct, nothing special. But the leather jacket and the dark beanie shoot him back into memories.

Fond ones, at least.

Of his Commander, imposing yet welcoming barking out commands for Saros, Jesse, and Genji to follow. How his hands felt checking over Saros on more than a few occasions and his gruff voice asking, “You doin’ alright, kid?” And for Saros to nod his head quickly.

A certain memory stands out, however, when he notices that the mannequin is also adorning rings on the left hand.

--

It had been a rough night, that night years ago. Jack and Gabriel had been at each other for awhile, there was a rift in their relationship and tensions could be felt if you walked into the same room as them. Overwatch had been taking the praise and all the good work done, Blackwatch had been treated like the hand-me-down child and taking all of the faults, all of the blame.

Which in turn meant Jack taking the praise, and Gabriel taking the pounding of the government questioning the orders given. Which meant Overwatch pointing fingers downstairs to the people who DID do the dirty work under the table.

And once Jack got promoted? It went all tumbling downhill from there.

Gabriel was who Saros learned his compassion and emotions from- not to mention Jesse and Genji. Jesse was happy to show Saros movies and explain why people interacted in such ways, or making comments if the movies was a romance and saying to NOT do certain things that were on screen. Such as if you made your lady angry, do not pull her into a kiss and suddenly everything would be better. Whilst Genji, on the other hand, taught him to harness his anger and hatred. Genji was a lost soul much like himself, and even hearing his story made Saros’ heart strings tug even if he wasn’t too sure how having a sibling would feel.

Or family for that matter.

However, Gabriel? Saros stuck to like glue the second he saw him. Gabriel always made comments about how he was feeling, explaining his motions to Saros as if teaching a child how to behave. Except Saros was a full fledged adult who had been kept from human interaction for so long. He’d watched as Gabriel had first opened his arms for the first time when Saros was throwing a fit, tears down his own face and frustrated at something he wasn’t sure. There were items being lifted into the air via zero gravity coming from himself and yet-

Gabriel hadn’t run or yelled at him, just held open his arms and let Saros figure out what that meant by winding his arms around Gabriel’s small waist and getting protective arms around him in general. The softness of a hand on the back of his neck and the grounding murmurs into Saros’ temple had been so soft that he had steadily calmed down.

So, this fateful night? He’d caught Gabriel in the debriefing room. His arms were crossed on the table, face buried into them and beanie set to the side. The ring he’d worn on his finger had been thrown across the room on the other side of the table, not to mention the room just felt gloomy.

When Saros had touched his shoulder softly and watched as his commander turned his head up to look at him, he could only make a choked sound at the sight of Gabriel’s dark brown eyes absolutely glassy and red like he’d been crying. And as if on command, he slowly opened up his arms for Gabriel who had laughed at him softly and rubbed at his eyes. “See, you’re learning quick enough, kid.”

Before his arms had wound around Saros’ waist so softly and he’d just slumped into Saros and he knew it was his turn to hold onto his commander this time.

From there? It had been a whirlwind of emotions. Jesse and Genji heard the news the next day and Jesse threatened to cut off Jack’s dick and feed it to the wolves. Genji offered his blade, said he could make it look like an accident. Gabriel had waved them off, saying he was alright, that he had a feeling it had been coming is all.

Saros could see how he looked away though, even if Saros wasn’t too sure about gauging body language yet, he could tell that his heart had been broken into a million pieces.

And yet, Saros and Gabriel started becoming closer than before. Their relationship seemed to flourish, and yet, still seemed at a pause. Gabriel wasn’t willing to cross the threshold into another relationship; Not to mention with one of his subordinates. It just felt like an imbalance of power, no matter how much Saros’ puppy dog green eyes got him.

There was always a tension that even Saros could feel when they were close to each other. He felt his own eyes flicking down to Gabriel’s full lips on multiple occasions, watched as he’d lick them and avert his own eyes as if Saros was killing him just by looking. Or when Saros would be in his space to learn from him- or if they sparred.

Saros had never yearned, or ached before in his life for that matter. And yet, all he wanted to do was let Gabriel Reyes do whatever he wanted to him and he would have accepted with a Thank You Kindly, Sir.

--

Saros’ own mind gets away from him reminiscing about the past. His eyebrows knit so briefly in a facial expression he can’t pinpoint when he remembers Gabriel is gone. The explosion- the screams- the funerals-

He flinches slightly, turning his gaze away and sighing to himself. Hatred and bitterness burned in his heart once again, replacing the nostalgic warmth he had been feeling. How cruel of a world to be able to take these beautiful emotions he once had learned and twist them into a fury he could not express. He missed the warm hands, he missed the dark eyes from across the room burning into him, he missed sneaking his own hand down his pants and being able to remember a face that would haunt him with lust rather than grief.

As Saros begins to walk down the sidewalk again, he can’t help but tune in to the sound of footsteps behind him. Far enough away to not be loud enough if he wasn’t paying attention, but he notes that they’re just after his own. Curiously, he takes a random left across the street, heading more downtown and in a back area that no one would usually take.

When he hears the footsteps following, that’s when his skin crawls.

Talon shouldn’t be in France- Overwatch had its recall but there wasn’t a crisis here- Vishkar? They wouldn’t be in France...would they?

His paranoia begins to escalate as he makes the mistake of starting to speed up now that he knows he’s being followed. The second Saros hears the person pursuing him speeding up, he quickly takes off into a sprint through the nearby buildings through their alleys to try and lose them. He’s consumed with a feeling he can name right as he feels it, something so familiar that even before he had come to Earth he had felt before.

Fear.

Just as his eyes scale a large wall in front of him to come to a dead end. Saros’ heart is pounding, turning his back to it to press flat to its surface. His eyes search the shadows frantically in front of him, chest pounding and lips parted to pant as he watches the body emerge from the shadows- as if the shadows were the very person themselves.

A white owl skull mask, leather clad body with a trench coat, the talons outstretching from gauntlets and the threatening appearance of shotguns withheld on their back.

The Reaper, someone Saros had heard about but only seen in news reports online or through the papers. He’d never seen the being in person. A ghost, of sorts, said to have a haunting and chilling voice and a deadly trigger finger. Shown to be working with Talon agents.

Talon...

Saros steadies his breathing, watching as this being takes well timed steps towards him. It’s slow, deliberate, and yet doesn’t feel threatening. It feels authoritative. Like this being was used to being in control.

Saros watches with an intense gaze, eyes slipping down the frame. Small waist, hourglass figure with wide hips and strong legs. Down to boots that stomp with purpose, a hip swaying with one leg dramatically, and following.

A flicker in his mind, starting to piece together the body, the sound of the boots, the way this being doesn’t even reach for its weapons-

“Gabriel-” Saros feels the name slip from his lips, a shot in the dark maybe. But it’s too familiar- it- it had to be!

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Comes the haunting voice as it is now only maybe a foot from him. Saros doesn’t realize his mouth has opened in awe, eyes widening as he pieces it together. This voice was still gruff, deeper and almost like three different voices talking at once in a permanent growl. Yet, it was still familiar. Almost...playful.

Regretful.

The slap across his mask’s cheek is well deserved from Saros. The Reaper turns its- no, his head to the side with the effort but makes no move to reach out to Saros. As always, let him come to him first, no pressure, no movement. Just slowly turning his head back to facing him as Gabriel keeps a healthy distance away.

An unfamiliar sob rips through Saros’ throat without his permission, a choked noise as tears gather in his eyes and begin spilling down his pretty cheeks. Gabriel’s heart twists, arm twitching and hand outstretching to the side until Saros gets the hint and dives for him. His arms wind around Gabriel’s waist like old times, squeezing him tight as Gabriel’s go around his shoulders slowly, one clawed gauntlet resting at the base of his neck and cradling the man to his neck softly.

“I-I thought you were dead! The news-  Overwatch- they said they found your dog tags. S-said that-” Saros’ breath is shaky, nosing at the fabric by Gabriel’s neck and inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon and dark chocolate- sensual and familiar. “They said that you were dead. I went to your funeral-”

Pulling away briefly, Saros keeps his hands still on Gabriel, staring at the mask with his brows furrowed in a way that reminded Gabriel of his own frustrated appearance. He could laugh, but he holds it in as Saros growls out in absolute grief, “You were ALIVE and you didn’t contact me!” Yet tears still stream down his face, no malice in his words, Saros’ facial expression seeming to try and find the right thing to set to.

“Not the place for this conversation,” Gabriel murmurs, so deep it rattles his chest and makes Saros’ expression drop into a momentary panicked look. “But...it is the time,” He reassures gently, pulling Saros softly back from him. “You remember the old base ‘round here? South- in the woods?”

Saros nods shakily, wracking his brain to remember the coordinates. It’d come to him once he passed by the old willow tree, that much he knew for sure. Watching Gabriel nod, he takes the hint and wipes at his own eyes with a sniff. “Yeah- yeah I’ll meet you there.”

--

How Gabriel had left into a swirl of dark mists is a deal between him and the shadows, as Saros quickly figured out. He took the time Gabriel had spared him to head back to his hotel room under a false name, gathering his stuff in the backpack he had and tossing it over his back. Getting to the base wasn’t too hard, it required a little bit of hiking and remembering before he found the old hideout. It was covered by a wooden plank and old leaves, you wouldn’t even second glance at it.

The door’s pass code comes to him from memory and the drop down isn’t too bad without using the ladder. But he hangs onto it briefly to be able to make sure the door shuts and is covered back up. He then enters a dark, long hallway lit with old lights in the ceiling. Dim now after years without use before he reaches the door at the end. Another pass code and he’s in.

This place looked like a little home. Couches, a kitchen, a staircase leading down to an armory underneath. A bedroom was around the corner, fit with clothing of many sizes to blend in with the crowds around, a bathroom connected with running water and a decent sized shower with toiletries to spare. Dim lights were implanted into the ceiling, the kitchen was small but still had food stocked in it in cans and boxes. There were blankets left on the couch, one with little dragons on it that makes him smile as he strokes his fingers across it fondly remembering Jesse holding it up proudly to Genji.

Saros does, however, see the figure slowly creep from the shadows and is reminded like a slap to the face of why he’s here.

It’s quiet between the both of them as Saros comes to sit on the couch, slouching and dropping his backpack onto the floor nearby and Gabriel taking measured steps to come closer. Gabriel, as always, does not push boundaries as he leans against the nearby wall, arms crossed and hip jutted out in the way he always did.

There is when Saros finds his voice, “Where have you been?” He seems to murmur to the ghost of a man, still not believing his eyes at how Gabriel appeared so powerful now. Yet, completely covered up. With the skin he could see, Gabriel’s once warm dark brown flesh seemed almost a dimmed color. Like he really was dead.

“Mercenary work.” Gabriel starts with a heave of a sigh exhaling from his lips. It comes out black through his mask, like they were apart of him. Saros’ eyebrows knit, opening his mouth to question him further but Gabriel continues. “You’ve probably seen the news- I know you’re not dumb, kid. I know you have questions about my involvement with Talon.” Even the very word makes Saros flinch and Gabriel’s heart sinks, wanting to reach out to him, but he keeps his arms firmly crossed to remind himself not to let his heart win.

“Talon is...another contractor, we’ll say. Not my home.” Gabriel clarifies, sighing softly and turning his head to the side to look towards the wall briefly as he tries to find his own words. “I...I didn’t mean to leave you behind- hell, I thought Jesse would have taken you with him to wherever he was going- I thought...” He trails off once again, sighing shakily and resting a clawed hand over his mask as if burying his face in his hand.

Excuses. He only had excuses. At least, that’s what it felt like.

How could he look Saros in the eye and say he had been a willing test subject for Moira? How Angela’s science experiment worked to bring people back from the grave? How Moira had harnessed something similar? How could he look at this man and tell Saros, who had been a victim of science experiments most of his life and turned into a weapon, that the same had happened to him?

Gabriel’s so caught up in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear Saros approach. Not until a gentle hand touches his shoulder and he flinches, jerking his head up to look at Saros who is holding an unreadable expression. Like he’s trying to find the right one to match his mood.

It ends up on almost fond and concerned. Eyebrows knitted and icy green eyes looking over Gabriel’s mask before his lips part softly, “I want to see you. Your face- I- I want...” He trails off as Gabriel slowly moves his arms to his sides, giving him free access as Saros’ fingers gently hook under the sides.

There’s only a brief moment where Gabriel’s hands come up, grabbing his wrists gently with the clawed gauntlets and making a strained noise in his throat. As if worried. “I don’t look the same like I used to, kid.” His voice is dripping with concern, but Saros pushes onwards. With the movement of the mask, Gabriel’s hands drop to his side, his hood falling back behind him and revealing most certainly the same man- but definitely different.

His hair was no longer cropped, now in beautiful inky black waves flowing down to about chest level and well taken care of with a side part flipping his hair to the side and curling on his high cheekbones. His eyes were no longer that lovely dark shade of brown, but now a vibrant red with slit pupils and pitch black sclera. His full lips, parted and showing the glint of a tongue piercing Saros remembered- but the sharp, deadly double set of canines he does not remember. All side effects of Moira’s experimentation dosages including genetic material based upon large felines.

His skin is duller, almost grayed out from its warmth. His facial hair is trimmed, lining around his upper lips and down over his chin in a thick goatee.

Saros thought he looked positively charming. Watching how Gabriel’s eyes flicker back and forth between his own, his lips starting to move to say something, but Saros moves quicker.

A gentle, warm hand comes to rest upon Gabriel’s cheek. Thumbing over his sharp cheekbone and drawing him forward so Saros could finally do what he longed to do after watching all those movies with Jesse. He kisses Gabriel, with such softness as his lips mold with his own. Saros’ eyes close and so do Gabriel’s, whose brows are knitted before he begins to smooth out. One clawed hand coming to rest upon Saros’ waist just as he begins to pull away.

It was the best kiss Gabriel had ever received.

He’s a bit disoriented, eyes fluttering open half lidded and looking at Saros like he’s not working properly. As if trying to get his system to boot back up just as Saros smiles shyly, eyes down casting and licking his own lips as if to taste the lingering flavor of Gabriel. “I...I wanted to do that a long time ago. My feeling for you are still the same- even if I am not sure what it is SUPPOSED to feel like. It feels...right- you. You feel right, Gabriel.”

Hell, Saros says it so soft that Gabriel is tempted to make sure Sombra didn’t do something to him before he left. Was this real? It had to be, Saros was there, he sounded the same, he’d been crying- God Gabriel felt like he was in his twenties again.

“I hope you feel the same-” Saros starts, voice anxious as his hand begins to pull back from Gabriel’s cheek. Uncertainty in his eyes that Gabriel promises to make up for as he lurches forward, cupping Saros’ cheeks in his hands and being mindful of his gauntlets as he drags him into a warm, deep kiss. Fit with both of their cheeks flushing and Saros making the most beautiful, soft moan in delight as he clings to his former commander.

--

There’s talk before Gabriel goes any further, murmuring into Saros’ ear that they could stop there and Saros making a soft noise in reply of, “No, have me, please-” And it takes all of Gabriel not to body slam him onto the couch and just have him. Just like that. He has enough sense to take him to the bedroom at the very least.

This is where Saros is now. His clothing lovingly taken off and Gabriel having stripped down enough with him. Losing the extras like his gauntlets, cloak, extra ammo packs- all of it. Down to just a skin tight leather tunic and matching pants with his belt across his hips. Saros notes how Gabriel’s hands are almost pitch black, smoking up and winding to about below his elbow, but he makes no comment.

He can’t, not really, not when Gabriel is fit between his thighs and taking his mouth again and again. Saros is sure he’s mapped out the way Gabriel’s tongue feels in his mouth by now, or the way his sharp teeth feel digging into his bottom lip. One of Gabriel’s hands is fisted in his hair, pulling sharply back and making the kiss break so Gabriel could suck another hickey below his jawline to match the rest darting up Saros’ dark flesh of his throat.

Gabriel’s long hair flutters as if a curtain to surround them both, smoke seeming to emit from different parts of his flesh as his mouth kisses its way down Saros’ chest. Finding his nipple and curling his tongue over the peak of it before taking it into his colder mouth to suck on it. The sudden pleasure makes Saros’ hips jump, his hard cock smearing across Gabriel’s abdomen but doing no mind to the man above him.

Gabriel’s hands are needy, all over Saros’ flesh to grab and to hold. Saros whines, starting to sit up, but suddenly black, smoke-like tendrils curl around his biceps and yank him back down. There’s a brief moment of pause where Gabriel kisses down to his bare abdomen, looking up at Saros as if to make sure that was alright. But seeing just how red Saros is and how he practically sobs out, “Please-” In that little whining tone that was all his to discover on his own, Gabriel knows it’s good.

Another snakes around Saros’ throat, not to choke, just to hold him still as it caresses Saros’ cheek adoringly. He looked a pretty picture, cheeks flushed, hair knocked from its bun and cascading to the side. His icy green eyes are darkened from how wide his pupil is as he watches Gabriel acutely. Whether to learn or just to watch, Gabriel isn’t sure, but it does make him grin faintly as he kisses along the v line of his hips. “Such a pretty little boy. How many times have you touched yourself thinking of me?” Gabriel’s own voice is a low growl, seeming to echo all in the room as he noses his way down through Saros’ happy trail to his curls.

“Every time,” Saros practically wheezes out, hips trying to stutter upwards but getting caught by Gabriel’s arm that locks over his hips to push him right back down. A sob bubbles from his chest then as he tries to continue, “Couldn’t th-think about anyone else.”  

It’s an honest answer, and a good one at that. Gabriel tries not to get touched by it the way he does, but he can’t help it. But, he distract himself, nosing at the underside of Saros’ cock and humming in approval at his size. “Poor thing...” He murmurs cruelly, toying with Saros who nearly lets out another sob before Gabriel licks up his cock from base to head. His free hand wraps around the base, massaging the length there with his thumb as he takes the head past his full lips.

Saros reacts just as expected with over sensitivity and his hips lurching upwards. He cums almost immediately with a pathetic, chest heaving sob and his entire body jerking with each jerk of his cock. He watches, amazed as Gabriel only parts his lips to let Saros see the mess left on his tongue before swallowing it and going right back to what he was doing.

Over sensitive, Saros reacts beautifully. Toes curling into the sheets and head throwing to the side but not going far with the tendril around his neck. His lips part in a loud cry, hips straining against Gabriel’s grip as he takes him to the root and swallows solidly around his cock.

In total, Gabriel makes him cum just like that again and again, for three times. He’s far past wet in his own pants, feeling the easy slide when Gabriel goes to sit up, moving over to Saros’ side to see him still shaking from his last orgasm. “Look at me.” Gabriel murmurs, watching Saros’ eyes flutter open on command and peering at him through his lashes. Gabriel’s heart twists, but he catches him by his chin in a rough grip, guiding him into a bruising kiss as he lies beside Saros.

The hand grabbing his chin soon moves down, briefly squeezing Saros’ throat and noting the delicious sound he makes- something he’d keep in mind for another time. His hand drifts back down Saros’ abdomen to soon grip his cock in a solid grip, still wet from his saliva as he begins stroking languidly.

The reaction is immediate. Saros’ relaxed kiss turns into his mouth parting in a sharp gasp, pulling back so he can shake his head as tears begin rolling down his cheeks. “Gabrie- Ga—Commander I can't- fuck- please, please I can’t!” He tries to sob out, chest lurching forward in an arch as best as he can in his bonds when Gabriel thumbs at the drooling head of his cock with a soft hum and a kiss beneath his ear.

“You can. Just one more, baby boy, give me one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?” His voice is a sin on its own, a low rumble in Saros’ ear who lets out the most beautiful, choked noise as tears pour down his cheeks. He sniffles, nodding vigorously and losing himself as things begin to float in the room.  

With one last dry orgasm, Saros is finally allowed to relax. In his stupor he hears Gabriel praising him, calling him a good boy and kissing him softly. There’s a wet cloth cleaning him up by the time Saros makes a soft hum of confusion and murmurs, “What about you?” Starting to roll over so he could find Gabriel who just tugs him to his chest and kisses the top of his head affectionately.

“’Nother time, kid. I promise you that.” Is the last thing Saros hears before he’s nodding off with a soft grunt of approval. It’s the best night of sleep he’s had since the accident, waking up in the arms of Gabriel and blankets thrown over them both.

--

“Why have you returned so soon?” Akande asks, brow furrows and arms crossed over his chest in clear disappointment at Reaper. A shrug is not a good enough answer, Reaper knows this, but he certainly does try it. Only to have Akande bare his pearly whites in a snarl. “I do not tolerate failure.”

Reaper laughs, haunting and multi-voiced as he does and crosses his arms to match the stance. His entire disposition screams at Akande to make his move, and when he doesn’t, it’s his turn to speak. “The kid wasn’t in France long enough and knows how to hide his trail. Try picking up on some factual information about where your targets are before calling me.” A low snarl to hiss right back.

But, Gabriel knows exactly where Saros is.

A similar tracker having been gifted to Saros the same way Overwatch had their recall system. A little skull symbol that looked like nothing more than a little keychain picked up in travels placed lovingly in Saros’ hand with a parting kiss and a promise uttered so softly in his ear.

“I won’t let you be alone again.”

[realalice4646]

Some thoughts about House Of Earth and Blood

I waited 6 hole months for this book, and being in the communit it was impossible to avoid spoilers, so after some time I started  reading the ebook in english, and wow.

Bryce is a party girl, diferent compared to Feyre and Aelin, she likes to have fun, but she’s not just a party girl, she’s also a friend, and a daugher, and someone who works hard. 

Bryce’s suicide attempt, and JUniper being there to help, I hurt my poor little heart, and Fury ignoring her let me so angry...

Hunt is suufering, he stil suffering because of his lover’s death, for being a slave, for killing people, he’s depressed and suffering from PDSD, and that scene, when he saw the pictures of Bryce, and how she become happier, and how she made his life happier, I was almost crying.

speaking like a Sarah J. Maas fan, I was really concern that Danika was going to be like Nehemia ( that I hate), that she was going to be that tipe of friend that uses her death to manipule Bryce’s felling, thatkfully, that was not the case, Danika hid things from Bryce because didn’t want her to be in danger or suffer. And being her the one that killed the pack, It made me cry again...

Talking about Ruhn, he’s such a cinnamon roll, he protects his sister, he try to make things right, he ir naive but also funny and hot, and he did everything to help his sister. he and Hypaxia are endgame and their relationship was so cute.

A lot of things in this book made me cry and laugh, like Bryce’s relantionships, with HUnt, Ruhn, Her mom, Randall, Lehaba, the Kimera.

Ithan made me angry, and sad, because of the way he and the wolves treated Bryce, and because they are suffering and needed someone to fault, and the scene when he goes after Bryce, it hurt so hard, I started crying nonstop. 

now some things I want for the next book:

Bryce and Hunt having sex

Bryce and Hunt in a romantic date

Juniper and Bryce dancing

Fury getting what she deserve

Ruhn and Hypaxia

Ruhn fighting with his father for Bryce

Bryce being sassy over the autum king

the autum king getting what he deserve

THE REBELION 

more about Aidas and what he wants with Bryce

the wolves acepting Bryce as one of them

Bryce using the Starsword ( and knife, if she finds it)

Viktoria being free once again

Hunt’s father

Bryce training

More about Randall

Bryce getting a badass nick name (like, Crusebreaker, High lady of the night court, fire breathing bitch queen, fireheart)

Jelly Jubile

And I also want a big worlds map because I was confused, more POVs , more cities, more about Hunt.

I guess that the next book is going to be about the rebelion, and killing the Asteri...

(I’ll add more when I am mentaly stable )

[mysterious-foxes]

TW: Death, Drugs, Emotional manipulation/gaslighting

I don’t want to go back and edit anything, but this took way longer than I thought it would while trying to write it out. This is for documentation purposes and some entertainment if you want to hear about a psychotic woman that came into my life. Here ya go:

Okay, now that I’m home, I’ve eaten, given both dogs love (and bf took them on a walk), and I have New Girl on in the background, I’m ready to write out this crazy rant. Feel free to skip if you don’t want to read this LONG story or for whatever other reason you wouldn’t want to read it. I’ll add a ‘read more’ so that this doesn’t take up everyone’s timeline. I will say this though, if someone had told me this was going to happen a year ago, I never would have believed them, but everything I’m writing is 100% true.

If you are here to read my crazy rant about this fucking insane lady, welcome! I hope you find this as funny/interesting as I am currently. This is also a very emotional subject for me so while I might be thinking it’s funny now before I write it, I may go through a range of emotions while writing this. Such as anger, sadness, bewilderment, confusion, etc. 

A little bit of a background. I am the youngest of 6 kids. I have 2 sisters and 3 brothers. I’m going to give them all code names using the color of the rainbow. Oldest to youngest is Red (f), Orange (f), Yellow (m), Green (m), Blue (m). Red and all 3 brothers are married (Yellow has been with her girlfriend for 3+ years).  Blue only just got married a couple of months ago. I have 4 nephews (2 from Yellow and his wife, 2 from Green and his wife) and 2 nieces (both from Red and her husband). My mom and dad were married for over 30 years. They would never show much (if any) form of PDA in front of us kids and I never once saw them fight. My dad has always been quiet and never talked much. And he never really built a good relationship with us kids, especially those of us who have left the religion he believes in which is 4 1/2 out of 6 (I’m still unsure of Blue’s complete views and I don’t think he even knows. I wouldn’t be surprised if him and his wife left the religion within the next few years, even if it’s just secretly). My mom passed away a year and just a few days ago (on Green’s birthday). I miss her more than anything.

A little about my mom (again, for background). She was a great lady. She was also religious. She was extremely involved in the community, her church community, volunteered a ton (served on the local softball board for 17 years and did anything and everything for my high school’s theatre even after I was gone). She put everyone ahead of herself (especially us kids). She also pushed through any pain she had. About 2 years ago, she realized she was really sick and needed help. Doctors could not figure out for the life of them what was wrong with her. They took out her gall bladder. They put her on diets. I honestly don’t even know what else. About 6 months later, they found the problem and delivered the news. She had pancreatic cancer and it was severe. They gave her 6 months to live. We made the most of those 6 months. I was going out to my family’s a lot more than I had in a while. Red flew out and stayed for a few months. All of my siblings were there when she passed. Oof, I got a lot more into that than I meant to, but I feel like it gives a pretty good background about her. I told you this would be long.

Okay, so now we’re to where I can start talking about this insane lady. So for obvious reasons, my dad was very lonely. In May, my dad gives me a call and tells me he’s been talking to a woman (we’ll call her Ethel). Well, it felt soon, but I was happy my dad was finding comfort. He met her (get this) on an LDS widow and widowers facebook page. She lived in Oregon and he was going out to meet her in person and spend time with her for a week or 2. Awesome! Way to go Dad! Live your best life and make yourself happy!

He comes back and we start talking about when she’ll come to visit. Well Ethel has a sister (who lives in a city about an hour from my dad’s house) needs to have heart surgery Ethel needs to watch her cat. So Ethel comes to Utah and stays at my dad’s house for a couple of days. A few of us kids go out and have dinner with them to meet her. I was the first one there. Upon first meeting her, she talked, A LOT. She talked the majority of the time. It didn’t take long to realize that she had something to say about EVERYTHING and she seemed like she though she was the expert in EVERYTHING. For example one of the most recent times I talked to her, she was talking to me about the theatre I work at (which is a $31 billion theatre, super high tech and honestly they do pretty well). When I mean she was talking to me, I mean SHE was talking (she doesn’t let other people talk very much if at all. Only for “I’m sorry, that must be hard” or “I agree with you”). Well, she hasn’t been to the theatre I work at, but she’s been to their location in another nearby city which puts on a lot smaller productions and doesn’t have even 1/10th the amount of tech. They don’t put on nearly as good of productions. Well, Ethel tells me, “I’ve never been to a Broadway show, but I think that they’re as good as Broadway.” Like what?! HAHAHAHA. How can you even say that? You know absolutely nothing about it and you’re saying that!

Now, we’ve all met her, but she doesn’t really know the first thing about any of us kids. She asked me one question and then took over the conversation as soon as I got 2 words in. She did ask us all in a group about my mom (which was super awkward). We mentioned my mom was very charitable and she goes, “Oh I’m charitable person!” Who the fuck says that? And comparing herself to my deceased mother (who both her and my dad have “reassured” us time and time again that she’s not trying to replace). She constantly says how much like my mom she is or what she’s done better than my mom. HUGE RED FLAG. How desperate do you have to be to try to one up a dead person?! 

In Ethel’s constant talking, she talks about her children and family members a lot. She talks a lot about how her husband passed and her brother passed and someone else passed all pretty quickly. She talks about her brother passing basically every time I talk to her. Now you might think it’s sweet she talks about her family, but it’s not. She doesn’t talk good things about any of her family. She talks about all the mental illnesses they all have. Her children refuse to meet my dad (or so she claims). And she doesn’t talk to any of her 3 children at this point. Another huge red flag.

So Ethel was here to take care of her sister and her sister’s cat while she was in the hospital. Well, turns out her doctor couldn’t do it the day they had planned, so it got pushed back. Then her sister desperately needed to go shopping so she had to push back her HEART surgery again. And I think one time she couldn’t go because her feet hurt from diabetes? There were a few different things. So Ethel is staying at my dad’s house this entire time. My dad’s very religious and so they’re not having sex, sleeping in the same bed, or even sleeping on the same floor. My dad is staying downstairs while she sleeps in his room. Finally, a month later, her sister goes in for surgery. Ethel is gone from my dad’s house for 2 days. To be fair, my dad wasn’t feeling good and had an infection in his tooth so was in a lot of pain. So yes, I get why she wanted to come support her new boyfriend, but also, my dad had plenty of children close enough to take care of him and she was supposed to be taking care of her sister’s cat. She stays at my dad’s house for another 3-4 days before going back to her sister’s. She gets back and to her surprise (but nobody else’s), the cat is missing. I also would have ran away if I thought I was abandoned and needed to scavenge for my own food since I haven’t been fed in days. 

Finally, Ethel is going back to Oregon. Orange and my dad take her to the airport. On the way home, my dad mentions to Orange that they’re talking about getting married. Wow! Less than 9 months since my dad’s wife of 30+ years passed and he’s already ready to get married to another woman. What the fuck?! How is he over my mom already? I get wanting companionship, but holy fuck that’s quick! So I call my dad. My Aunt J had already chewed out my dad telling him that he’s moving too quick and not thinking about us kids (which is not wrong). And I guess she told him just to have sex and get it over with. I know my sisters also called my dad just before me. I called my dad and told him I was uncomfortable with how quick they were moving and I didn’t understand why they felt the need to move so quick. He just kept saying that it’s different when you’re older....I told him the 2 reasons that I could think that they were moving so quick is that she’s a gold digger or that they wanted to have sex (which come to find out that she claims she never had sex with her deceased husband and hated sex when she had it with her ex but I don’t know if she ever told my dad that because some of the things he has said to her is questionable). He assured me that was neither. Sure Dad...

I know I’m kinda all over the place here, but bear with me. So my Aunt J reached out to Ethel’s children. Only the oldest daughter responded (which Ethel claims is a liar and manipulative and basically the worst person on earth). So at this point, for I feel like pretty obvious reasons, I don’t trust much of what Ethel says and will most likely take her daughter’s word over hers. My aunt didn’t want to say everything and wanted us to reach out to the daughter personally, but she did tell us that the first thing that Ethel told her children when she met my dad was that she met a guy with a 401k. Who the fuck talks about that first?! Not even his name or where he’s from, but that he has money...So Orange ends up reaching out to Ethel’s oldest daughter. Ethel has said that her oldest daughter is a liar and manipulator and is basically the worst person in the world. I don’t know how someone can say that about their own child that they claim to love so much. Anyways, so Orange is pretty level headed and took everything that the daughter said with a grain of salt. But the daughter said some nice things and honestly made us feel better about Ethel all around. One of the things that Ethel has said on multiple occasions is that her children refuse to meet my dad. Well, when Orange talked to the daughter, she said that she was more than happy to meet my dad and talk to him about Ethel. But again, overall, she did make us feel better and that Ethel actually had feelings for my dad and wasn’t going to gaslight him (turns out that wasn’t accurate). We wanted to be upfront with my dad so Orange told him about the conversation and told him that it made her feel better. My dad told Ethel (including that Orange took what the daughter had to say with a grain of salt and that the daughter made her feel better) that Orange talked to her daughter and Ethel says, “I can’t believe that Orange would believe her lies!” First of all, I trust anything that her daughter says over her in the first place, but that just reaffirmed that. Second, that’s extreme gaslighting and my dad believes it.

Okay, so this has been a lot to write out and a lot more exhausting than I thought it would be. I’ve taken week long breaks (if not more) at a time, so I don’t know if I’ll forget to say something or if I’ll go in a different direction than I was originally planning for the next paragraphs but hopefully this is all entertaining enough. It won’t be all in chronological order, but I’m doing my best.

So after all of this, my dad tells us that we should go through my mom’s stuff that’s in the house that we want. Until you’ve done that shortly after the death of a loved one, you don’t know how exhausting it is. The first time was on a weekend that almost all of my siblings were able to be there. We video chatted my sister who couldn’t be there since she lives across the country. So we split up all of the big stuff. There’s some big furniture that people couldn’t currently take. Like I live in a tiny 1 bed apt and I couldn’t fit a piano, dresser, and vanity all in my apartment (let alone just one of them). So those are staying there until I can buy a house (which hopefully will be across the country). I was going out every Sunday to go through everything. I was a little petty and at one point was going through a box that had a bunch of church stuff in it right in front of my dad and kept asking him if he wanted the church things. My dad said we had plenty of time to go through things and take what we wanted so we were only doing what we felt was necessary and then would take our time from there.

One of the things that my dad and Ethel claimed was that their deceased spouses were trying to get them together...if anyone knows my mom, that’s definitely not true. I don’t know how my dad doesn’t see my mom would have hated Ethel. Her, Green’s wife, and myself would be gossiping so much about Ethel. Plus, one of my mom’s wishes when she passed was that if my dad got remarried then all of us kids would like his new wife. Not a single one of us like her. So not only is my dad completely oblivious to the fact my mom wouldn’t like her, he doesn’t uphold to one of her dying wishes.

So Ethel comes back to Utah. I don’t remember quite why. But she stayed at my dad’s. It was supposed to be temporary and she was supposed to stay somewhere else for most of the time she was here. Then she kept making excuses as to why she wasn’t leaving Utah and not staying somewhere else. There was one point where she was supposed to drive back to Oregon, but her car “broke down” about 7 (I think) hours from my dad’s house, but probably somewhere in the middle of the drive. So my dad being the good guy that he is drove out to pick her up and brought her back to his house. Where she has stayed ever since. The only time she’s left since was for their honeymoon. She had come back a couple of months before they were even technically engaged. 

Oh my god! I just remembered something I forgot to mention earlier! Ethel and my dad do a LOT of PDA. My parents rarely showed affection in front of us. They rarely kissed in front of us. The most they would do was hold hands. Well Ethel and my dad are full on cuddling in front of us. Which wouldn’t be a big deal if that wasn’t the first thing I ever saw of her when we first met and if they didn’t do it so much in front of us at the beginning and if my parents showed any form of PDA. They also called each other pet names which my parents never did. All in all, it was really weird. AND my dad made a dirty joke which he has never done so to his kids in the 34 years he’s had any of us. I was very taken aback. So they ended up getting officially engaged and wanting to get married ASAP. Blue had been engaged for several months before. We told my dad to not even get engaged before Blue got married...well, they were talking about having a small ceremony in Oregon and inviting only a couple of her friends. No....my dad is not getting married without a single one of his friends or family members. I think enough of us spoke up about that so the idea was quickly shot down. But my dad was talking about getting married within maybe even weeks. We all knew Blue didn’t want him to and that would be taking away from him. So we convinced my dad not to get married before Blue’s wedding. He was unhappy about it, but he waited.

So leading up to their wedding, Ethel kept pushing us to get things out of the house. When we talked to my dad, he would always say that we could take as much time as we need and Ethel would say she never pushed us at all. And whenever I’d come out, I hated being around Ethel and would always go hide in the basement “doing things” until the rest of my siblings came. When I was forced to talk to her by myself, she would just keep talking and talking and not letting me get a word in. I live with my boyfriend and I’m not married so she thinks I just live in sin. She asked me about him once just so that she could say that she has family in the city he grew up in and so on and so forth. She also won’t talk about my sister’s girlfriend. Probably because they live in sin too...anyway, Orange, Green’s wife and myself planned a bridal shower for Blue’s (at the time) fiancée. She didn’t want Ethel there, but it was being hosted at my dad’s and Ethel never left so we couldn’t get around it. Speaking of Blue and his wedding, Blue was supposed to have brunch with his fiancée’s parents and my dad. Before my dad was actually engaged, he brought Ethel along. And Ethel doesn’t even ask, but tells them all that she’ll take care of the ties. Then she goes out and buys some samples before even knowing what the wedding colors are! Blue didn’t want her going to the wedding, let alone doing anything for the wedding. When I get married, Ethel will not be doing anything for my wedding. 

Blue’s wedding happens. This is the first time Ethel meets my boyfriend. I don’t think they even said one word. This is also the first time that Yellow and his wife have met Ethel. Now Yellow’s wife got her degree in psychology and is a therapist. She said that Ethel crossed off almost all of the signs of a narcissist. Ethel still hasn’t even met Red and her husband in person (even to this day). Now we’re a month away from my dad’s and Ethel’s wedding...unfortunately. My dad asks me to put together a playlist for their wedding. No thanks, but I’ll do it for my dad. He specifically requested a song by Chicago for her walking down the aisle. Chicago was my mom and dad’s band so I was very upset that my dad would have a song with another woman from the band that him and my mom loved so much. I begrudgingly put together the playlist and added that. However, I didn’t add any other Chicago songs (even though he suggested that). And I made sure any songs I used didn’t mention forever or only love or anything like that. I might be a little petty.

Day of their wedding, I find out that all the decorations Ethel asked for from Green’s wife were from Blue’s rehearsal dinner. She didn’t even ask Blue or his (now) wife if she could use them. She asked Green’s wife...and then when she told Ethel she would have to ask Blue, Ethel said something along the lines “Well his dad paid for them so I can use them.” I don’t think it was quite as snarky as I put it, but that was the message she was trying to get across. My siblings are all hanging out at the dining table before the ceremony. Even though they’re both religious, they were just having a civil wedding in the backyard because if they were to marry in their temple, she would have to divorce her deceased husband (but my dad would be able to be married to multiple women for eternity...not misogynistic at all right? /sarcasm). My dad’s bishop comes in all bright and cheery. He knows quite a bit of my family so he comes and says hi. I don’t think it took long for him to realize we weren’t happy about the wedding. Ethel claims she invited her children (I really don’t think she did). She had a few of her family and friends come to the wedding, but none of her children. We’re pretty sure one of the couples that came was her daughter’s ex husband and his new wife (whom she has said she is closer with her daughter’s ex than her actual daughter).

Okay, so I’m now at the point where I’m going to give information that I don’t 100% remember fits where. Some of it was before their wedding, some of it before they even got engaged, some of it after their wedding. This may just be a bunch of word vomit, so I hope it all makes sense and anyone who happens to still be reading this doesn’t get lost. BTW, if you happen to still be reading this, congratulations on making it this far! I told you this would be a long post.

One of the first times we met Ethel when she was out here the first time we were doing a family dinner. I don’t remember everything we did for the dinner. Green’s wife cooked the main meal. Orange was supposed to be in charge of the Au Gratin Potatoes and something else. Well, I had asked what I could do and had the choice of rolls or salad. In our family group chat, my dad said Ethel wanted to contribute and asked what she could do. I told him I would do the salad and asked if she could do the rolls. Apparently that wasn’t good enough and she wanted to do more so she ended up doing the au gratin potatoes. We specifically wanted our family recipe for the potatoes and Orange had already bought the ingredients for it so she let Ethel know where to find the ingredients. Before I get into what actually happened, one of the things that Ethel boasts about all the time is that she grew up helping her mom with catering and so she knows how to cook really well (I have liked very few of the things she’s cooked). So Ethel doesn’t use our recipe and uses her own for the potatoes...they weren’t very good. And the rolls she brought were terrible store bought rolls. Like, if she doesn’t want to make rolls, whatever, but at least buy decent rolls. Also, rolls are a really easy thing to make to show off to a family you’re trying to impress. I seriously just get the frozen Rhode’s Rolls and then after cooking them melt butter on top of them. Super easy and people are always super impressed with how good they are. So not only does she not use the recipe for potatoes we wanted, her recipe is meh, AND she gets shitty store bought rolls.

At one point, Green’s wife and I were going through the small room upstairs cleaning it out and trying to make sure my sibling’s belongings got in a box for each of them. This is the room that my mom died in. All of my siblings were in this room with her. It is painted dark blue and along the middle of the wall around the room is a trim of wallpaper covered in whales. Ethel and my dad are wanting to turn this room into his home office (especially with how much he’s been working at home due to Covid-19). Which is whatever, they can do what they want. While Green’s wife and I are in there cleaning out the room, Ethel comes in and starts using some sort of tool on the wallpaper that tore small holes in it. She said it was so they could take down the wallpaper easier.  I don’t know why she had to do that while we were in there cleaning. It has been a few months since then and she hasn’t done anything else to that room (including taking down the wallpaper). Green’s wife believes she did that while we were in there just to be mean. She actually believes Ethel just likes being mean and does things just to be mean. It’s hard to disagree with that considering everything else.

I don’t know why I didn’t say something about this earlier when I was writing about how Orange and my Aunt J had spoken to Ethel’s daughter. There were some things that they talked about that were huge red flags. Ethel’s daughter said that Ethel was a gold digger and just looking for someone to take care of her. Also that from Ethel’s first marriage, she got $60,000 from her ex husband and she blew it all within just a few months. Ethel has been filed for bankruptcy multiple times and just overall isn’t great with money. All of her children have tried to help her and she has burned every bridge because she just sells the cars they would buy for her or do other stupid things because she never had any money. I mentioned before that Ethel’s children refused to meet my dad. They said that it was way too soon after her last husband passed (their step dad) for them to meet my dad (yes, it had been like 7 months). So since they refused to meet my dad right away, Ethel told them that they wouldn’t be a part of her life anymore. Of course my dad doesn’t believe any of this, but like I said earlier, I trust Ethel’s daughter way more than I trust her.

When my dad was talking about getting married to Ethel, one of the things we pushed for was a prenup. My dad reluctantly agreed that he would look into it. It turns out that in my state, if they hadn’t gotten a prenup stating otherwise, when my dad died (if Ethel was still alive) then everything would go to her and then once she died everything would go to her children and nothing would go to my dad’s kids. So he did go through with the prenup (which also covered if they got a divorce he wouldn’t have to give her money or anything). His lawyer actually gave him some really good advice and I hope that my dad was more open to his lawyer about those things than he was with us even though we said the same things. And luckily, control of the trust and everything else is still in the hands of my oldest siblings when my dad passes (even if Ethel is still alive).

So Green has 2 kids. One that they’re fostering and hoping to adopt, the other has some cognitive disabilities. Even so, he is the smartest kid I know. At 3 years old he could name all of the planets in the solar system. I’m 24 and I can’t do that. He just retains knowledge really really well. Well, Ethel likes to call him her “special little buddy”...which is extremely ableist to say the least. He doesn’t really like her and he can tell that we all don’t like her (he’s 6 and he can see that better than my dad). Green’s wife absolutely hates it when Ethel calls him that too. Green’s wife is probably the one that stands up for all of us the most. But she’s also super nervous of the inevitable time that she pisses Ethel off. Ethel has called CPS on her own daughter because her preteen grandson was moody and didn’t talk to her while she was at lunch with him. If she calls CPS on Green and his wife, then they take their foster child out of the home immediately and who knows what that’ll do to their chances of adopting him. When Ethel calls CPS on any of my siblings, if I haven’t already done it for other reasons, I will tell my dad that I want to be a part of his life, but our relationship can’t include Ethel. I know my siblings and they do not do a single thing that would concern CPS.

So when Blue got married, I’m not sure exactly when it was, but I know that Ethel talked to Blue’s new sister-in-law for a bit. And she was talking about Blue’s wife’s anxiety, which Blue’s wife has never said a thing to Ethel about. And Ethel just went on and on about Blue’s wife’s anxiety and how hard it must be and that’s why Blue’s wife is like this and so on and so forth....I’m curious to know what Ethel thinks my mental illness is and tells people about.

I’m writing this one right now because it just happened and I don’t want to forget the details. So my dad’s house has 6 bedrooms and 2 family rooms. It was a good size for my family while we were growing up, but now it’s just the two of them in a 6 bedroom home. They’re planning on redoing a lot of things and we’ve been doing a lot to clean out the house and split up my mom’s stuff. So in the smallest bedroom in the house, there was a lot of baby stuff and when we didn’t know where to put things, a lot of it would go in there. Well, on multiple occasions, they’ve told us that we can take as much time as we need to go through the house and that there was no rush. Ethel has been pushing to get everything out when my dad isn’t around, but now even my dad has pushed to get things out a little bit. They decide that anything we haven’t gone through and they’re not sure what we want, they’ll put in a storage unit for us to go through when we can. I thought that was a great compromise. Well, Ethel ended up taking a picture of the small room and posting it on Facebook talking about how messy we are and how terrible of step children we are. How we were supposed to get it out by the time they got back from their honeymoon so on and so forth. Yellow and his wife see this before Ethel ends up deleting it off of Facebook. Yellow calls my dad (which I’m so grateful because so far it’s just been the girls making any sort of fuss) and is really upset about it while talking to my dad. My dad puts him on speaker and talks to Yellow and Ethel together. Ethel says she accidentally posted it on Facebook and it was supposed to be just for her aunt. How do you accidentally post something on Facebook? And if you’re talking shit and posting it to a private audience, you sure as hell aren’t going to make the mistake of posting it publicly. But also, she was talking shit about my dad’s kids and he defended her. How can he take her side on that one?

The anniversary of my mom’s death is on the same day as Green’s birthday. Well, the day was coming up and in our family group chat Ethel asks how we want to celebrate the birthday and remember my mom. Not my dad, ETHEL asks...that is not her place in the slightest. If my dad had asked, then I would have been more than happy to talk about it, but Ethel doesn’t get to be the one to try to see how we want to celebrate. Green’s family, Yellow’s family, and myself and my boyfriend ended up going to an amusement park for that day. Then we went out to my dad’s that night for pizza (hawaiian especially to remember my mom) and to watch a destructo show (because my mom LOVED those). Yellow and his family were staying at my dad’s. Well, Ethel told Yellow and his wife to make themselves at home and to eat whatever and drink whatever. When Yellow was telling me about this, I thought it was so funny because 1 he said he felt like “yeah, of course I’ll make myself at home, this is my house, not yours! and 2 my mom would get so annoyed with him for when he visited opening up a bag of chips without asking for permission or things like that. Like small things that didn’t matter in the scheme of things, but he would do with my mom, of course he’s not going to care what Ethel thinks about it. The other thing that Ethel talked to Yellow and his wife about was getting rid of all the sippy cups and only keeping one in the house per grandchild with their name on it. She said that she would always find 5 sippy cups full of milk laying around the house, but she wasn’t saying that because of Yellow’s family. So that means she was saying it because of Green’s family. Which, the younger one never leaves his sippy cup behind and the older one doesn’t drink milk (he used to be allergic and now just doesn’t like it).

One of the things that bugs Green’s wife a lot is that Ethel will always message her and say passive aggressive shit or ask her to tell my family about something or talking to her about getting everything cleaned out of the house, etc. At one point she asked Green’s wife to choose what toys they wanted to keep in the house. My mom bought way too many toys for the grandchildren, but she loved them. She would end up putting a bunch in storage and rotating them out when the kids stopped playing with some toys because they were bored of them (genius really). But it sounded like Ethel was wanting to get rid of basically all of the toys, which the point of having them there and not at my siblings’ house was so that the kids had toys to play with there and only got to play with them at my dad’s house. I think one of the reasons for getting rid of them or at least downsizing is that she always claims that the toys don’t get put away. They do though. I have been there when my siblings are putting their kids mess away. I’ve helped clean the toys up. They always get cleaned up.

Oh my god!! I can’t believe it has taken me this long to mention this one. So while my dad and Ethel were on their honeymoon, we were going through the house and trying to clean out as much as possible. Well, while doing so, we found a TON of different medications. Some were for her, some her deceased husband, and some were for somebody named “Gale Friend”. But there were probably at least 40 different bottles of pills (if not more). And at one point, Green’s wife was downstairs cleaning out of of the bedrooms. In one of the vanities (that is either mine or Orange’s, not even my dad’s let alone Ethel’s), there were some more bottles of pills and LOOSE PILLS in the drawer. This is an area that my nephews are unsupervised a LOT. Imagine if one of them opened the drawer and ate one of them! Yellow’s wife thinks that it’s too sloppy for an addict and that Ethel was trying to get us to say something to my dad so that she could play the innocent victim and that his kids just hate her and it’s her and him against the world.

Speaking of playing the victim, she does that with my dad a lot. She has literally told him before that it’s him and her against the world. She has talked bad to him about every single one of his kids (except my oldest sister that I know of). She has been trying to cut him off from his family. He can’t talk to anyone of us or even his sister alone. Also, when we’re around, she talks to my dad in a baby voice. I’m sure she does it when we’re not there too, but just trying to act like she’s this innocent helpless little girl and my dad has fallen for it. I’m sooo scared that he is finding himself to be miserable and feels like he has nobody there to help him. I hope he knows that any one of his kids would help him if he said anything. He’s such a good guy and deserves happiness. I hope that soon, he is able to realize that she’s not happiness.

Wow, this was incredibly long. I’m 100% sure there are things that I missed/forgot about. And I’m 100% sure there are things that will happen later and I will be back here writing it down to keep record and if anyone actually was interested in knowing. If you are here reading this, you seriously deserve a medal for being able to get through this entire thing. Thanks for bearing with my scattered brain and I hope it at least made you laugh at the insanity if nothing else.

[hypnodesires]

What if I hadn't waited?...

I often look back on my life, on all the crazy things I have done in the past that I know for a fact, I could never do at my age now (I'm making myself sound like I'm 80 but trust me I'm way younger than that)….  For me at least being a first-time mom took a lot out of my body and mind (along with the damn drama going on in my family is not helping), so I can't see myself getting it on in the back of a movie theater or a quickly while the family is in the next room or out in a park…. Fuuuuuck that shit, I have had my fun but in all that time I never told anyone about hypnosis or my love for it….. I can't even imagine what someone would have done to me if I had shared it with the wrong person… (keep in mind I lost my Vcard at age 14 freshmen year) and that guy played me for a fool… of course I fell into it, I didn't feel loved in my own home. Everything and anything that happen was always blamed on me… and all the house duty fell onto me as well, while my younger sister was clearly the favorite and got away with it all. I made lots of bad choices just because I wanted to be love, Not to mention the body-shaming my mom put me through that still effects me and my sister to this day….. being told no one would love me being as big that I was (keep in mind I was 150 compared to what I am now 223 lb or my biggest that I ever was 265 lb) but After falling for that fuckface with a small ass dick who played me, I knew then that I couldn't let it happen again.

I don't know what others would do if they went through what I did, the rest of my relationships following that event had to wait more than 6 months to get any action from me….. And for a teen girl or boy that shit was hard lol (I was a good ass tease though wink*). I wanted to know that the next person was into me as a person and not just wanting sex, I kept my true kinks to myself and if asked I would say "3sum, roleplay, etc" even in roleplay I would never bring up hypnosis, none of the men I was with ever mention it…… but if they had ooooo I was going to have a good time, I mean it was role play, why waste it right, not like they would know. After I dated fuckface, I dated a metalhead for 2 weeks… he left me only to date another girl the next day….. my only guess is that she was willing to put out the same day, in a way it just reinforced my mindset on making men wait (trust me, ladies, the payoff is glorious) but I know not everyone has the same will power but I have my weaken too, I am only human after all haha. I was single for a short time after that metalhead, where I soon became the target of a dirty (I mean never took showers) white guy, An old friend of mine told me he never took showers until he started to ask me out over and over. In high school, I would get there an hour before classes just so I could eat with my friends before school and one day he showed up along with some other guy who I thought was much cuter but was gay sadly, we'll call the gross guy Jim. I don't know what he saw in me that he just could not leave me alone, I had turned him down twice but I'm guessing he got some of my friends to get me to give him a chance….. How I wish I hadn't, this guy was so pushy about wanting to do stuff and my no's fell on deaf ears. Asking people to help him but my good friends stayed out of it (you could warn a bitch damn lol) inner thoughts, I was approached by two teachers at different times while I was with him. I was told by one that Jim would throw fits like a toddler in class and scream if things didn't go his way, they just wanted to make sure I was ok and he wasn't doing anything to me (not at that time) but after the second teacher confronted me about him, I was already seeing some signs….. he wanted to follow me into the girl locker room until a teacher kicked him out, he would run to my last class of the day just so he could walk home even though we lived in a different direction, the thing that creeped me out was when he called me while I was out at the movies with my friend but I never told him what movie I was in and 20 min into the movie I hear the theater door open all hard and when I turned there he was looking around to find me….. and he did. I found myself wanted to get away from him but I still stayed up until he moved away….. Well, even then I still stayed… I'm not proud of it but I was young and dumb plain and simple, I know that if I would have left him while he was still in the same city I would have ended up on the ID channel (google it if you don't know ). I can't even imagine what he would have tried to implant into my mind had I ever told him…. I shudder to think. I was in my senior year of high school and still with Jim, he would text me all day and once home I would hope on yahoo massager and we would talk the rest of the day…. But I met my main man that year in my second semester, we became friends through a mutual friend of ours, he knew I was with Jim but told my love I was single. In a way I'm glad he did that, I don't think I could of left Jim on my own. As time went on I knew my love had the feeling for me and so did I, I woke up on Feb 14, 05 at 5:00 am out of a deep sleep full of energy blurting out "he is going to ask me out today!" something in my gut was screaming at me that it was going down, I worked up the courage to break up with Jim….. yes on that same day…. I was scared… I called and prayed he wouldn't pick up…. I pulled a Mosby (how I met you mother reference) I left a brake up voice mail and before any more of you looks down on me, ANYONE and EVERYONE is allowed to break up with a CRAZY/UNSTABLE person over the phone that is the only exception that is appropriate and not to mention its much SAFER.  The day went on and I kept checking my phone surprised that he hadn't blown up my phone yet, my love asked to walk me home and he did. While we walked I kept checking my phone but not a word from Jim, we made it to my house and my love gave me some candies, a beautiful card with his feeling written down inside… at that moment I had forgotten all about Jim, forgotten my fear, my dread. Looking into the eyes of my love I felt safe & that I found someone who truly loved me, to this day I still can't fully explain how he made me feel in that moment all I know it was a beautiful feeling... All I know is that no one ever made me feel that way since. Of course, once he left and us being a couple now, I was on cloud nine…. It would be short-lived. Once I hopped onto yahoo messager I made sure to stay invisible as to not be seen, Jim was on and had already sent me a hello message… I was surprised he was so calm, surely he'd already heard my voice mail?…. I had sent it first thing in the morning but it was already 4 pm, I switch to online and asked him if he wasn't mad?  He said mad about what? I then told him I was sorry but my voice mail would tell him and I "log off"  1 min goes by and I got call after call from Jim. He left voicemails with each call he made and there was a pattern, first message he left was him crying "please Quinn pick up, I love you don't do this to me" next massage in a raging voice "I'll fucken kill you, pick up your phone you stupid bitch" next message "I'm going to kill myself plz Quinn PICK UP!" and start all over with the sobbing and begging for me to comeback…… I did pick up the phone after he left over 50 voicemails and told him "you need to stop, I can't do this anymore and you are scaring me…." Before I could continue Jim said, "please talk to my mom PLEASE!" I agree and while on the phone with her, I could hear Jim screams and his mom yells out to her husband "get the pills away from him! Jim, you need to stop!.... sweetie what going on?" I told her I was scared of her son and that I was no longer going to move up there with them, she understood and told me "you know that ring Jim gave you? it's my engagement ring, could you send it to me. I gladly agreed and asked her to mail me back some of my stuff Jim had taken from me and she did, though not all of them, I was happy he was no longer in my life. He did continue to call my cell, my sister cell, and my grandparent's house phone just to talk to me, until my dad picked up the phone and asked him to pass the phone to his dad which he did & that was the last time I heard from him over the phone, he did try a few months later but I never picked up… so I think he gave up.

I was with my love for 3 years until I ended it due to, growing apart and I didn't like being put down or made to feel bad just cuz I didn't want to do something. We met in 05, the same year that How I met your mother premiered, and got back together the same year the show ended in 2014. my reason for leaving him, to begin with, was the fact he got too comfortable just taking off and sayings things like "I guess they're not much for me here then, I'm all done here then" and he would just leave if I didn't put out for the night?! our break up was necessary for us to make the changes that ultimately made us stronger. I was a freak in the sheets it was his fucken loss, he knows that now and say he will never let me go. I know we did a bit of role-playing of my kink when we were first together, but he never took it seriously and I never made a big fuss about it…. but it was hot. Then I was with Kyo (it was my pet name to him because he didn't like his name) I was with him for a while and I fucked up…. WE both fucked up, meeting him online and being apart I had a relapse and slept with my love….. I know why would I sleep with him if I left him in the first place…… no one is perfect but I made it clear that this was NOT going to continue, I felt extreme guilt and told Kyo…. He forgave him as we still had not even met yet, but little did I know he was still talking to some women he had been seeing and fail to tell me he hadn't ended it with her….. but once he moved in with me it was over but something inside me was telling me to look through his laptop so I did, I found he still had photos of his ex... nude photos of her… including emails of him making it seem like he was still with her but he told me they broke it off and he deleted everything. From the start I should have known this wasn't going to work, we all make mistakes and I have defiantly learned from it. But as time went on Kyo discovered he was into cross-dressing with the help of my best friends, I encouraged him to be himself and that was the only time I saw him happy…. We would give him dresses, do his makeup, wax his whole body, and take him to the clubs to strut his stuff. At the end of the night, we'd go home and enjoy some sexy time and he loved being in his outfits while we got it on and I loved it as well…. With many outing that we have done, I decided to finally tell him about my kink…. Keep in mind I did what I could to get him off whatever he wanted I tried, he likes it when I would jack him off with my panties, blow jobs, and doing it while dressed up…. So when I brought it up, he was like "that weird" (really guy?!?! I'm weird! Get your bitch ass out of here with the panties jerking and cross-dressing) I was hurt…. I had welcomed all he wanted and never made any faces or made him feel bad about it cuz there is no need to kink shame, but he couldn't do the same for me? He barely gave it a try. More time went on and my love for him had faded away, I didn't feel loved by him…. I had done so much to make him feel welcome with all my friends and showed him how much I cared but I never felt like his #1, I felt like an afterthought with him… like I'll get to you when I can…. I knew that if we didn't last, his childhood friend would hop on that dick when I left him. He took it hard and called him mother to tell her everything….. we both made mistake but I'm sure I was made the main villain, Kyo kept telling me he wanted to try again and he still loved me but he was joining the marines. I had told him before he ever thought of joining that I could never be with someone who joins the marines/army/etc, etc… and I kept good on that but my best friend called him out on his bullshit about "loving me" as he had shown her photos of him at base camp but failed to remove the nudes photos of the girl I knew would take him once I was gone, my friend just told him "you love Quinn huh? You can cut the shit you have moved on, so stop acting as if you miss her".  From what I know he is married to her, she doesn't like his cross-dressing and won't sleep with him if he does dress up cuz it makes her feel "uncomfortable"…. He told me this on the last conversation we ever had, I could hear his sadness but I could hear him try to play it off like it wasn't hurting him or bothered him…. How could it not? For almost 4 years he had encouragement, support, and lots of love from a woman who fully accepted every part of him to a woman who thinks it's weird…. How the tables have turned.

I didn't stay single for long as I reconnected with my love and soon started dating again, since we last were together  we sure did a lot of growth in that time apart. It made us even stronger, I honestly can't see myself with anyone else (maybe Johnny depp lol) a girl can dream right hahaha I can feel my love's eyes rolling back hahaha. When I first told him about my love for hypnosis his reaction was the best, with a calm loving look he says "oh that's new" since then we have had our fun with it, even tho its more for me then it is for him. he is coming around to it so that makes me happy. 

i’m happy with how thing have been going on in our sexy time department, getting our kinks out and what not. i’m just glad i don’t have to worry about someone fucking up my mind, its mine! ya i want someone to play with it and get freaky with it but at the end of the day i’m still me! and not with abuser or crazy person. so watch your mind ladies and gentlemen not everyone is going to care for you so choose wisely we only have one mind, so dont loss it!

[stusbunker]

Featuring: MoC!Dean x Demon!reader, Original Female Character, Castiel, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena

Summary: Our reader’s back and there’s gonna be trouble! Charlie brings back the Book of the Damned and CC asks Castiel for something he doesn’t want to give.

Warnings: This is super long, possession, show level violence, rough sex, face fucking, oral sex (male and female), hair pulling, dirty talk, dub!con smut.

Series Masterlist

*^*

March 30, 2015

Munich, Germany

           The city was old, streets wrapping around buildings at harsh angles and in varying stone. But that was what you needed, age, wisdom, answers. At your sendoff, Crowley had given you a name, occupation, and a proverbial pat on the head. You didn’t know why you complied so easily; until you heard the first peal of laughter from a stranger on the sidewalk. Humanity. To be surrounded by life was worth the mission. Language and social niceties came back quickly, adjusting from vessel to vessel as you navigated the foreign byways.

           It was easy to forget your time with Dean here; to imagine yourself something newly minted in this different world. The power you found during your initial escape in that lonesome field painted with bull’s blood, was nothing compared to the possibility of redemption. It taunted and teased you with that naïve hope only Crowley’s goading could coax from your battered mind. He hadn’t mentioned your previous time running his errands, nor the Winchesters, but he didn’t have to. He had your number, and once you started stacking the clues together; you had his.

           The shop was warded to the nines, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t watch from the café across the street. You handed the server a fifty Euro banknote and asked to be left alone, freeing your table for the lunch hour and beyond. Hell, the teacher of eternal patience had left you with nothing to do but absorb and endure. So, you did what you knew; you waited. Eventually, the shopkeepers eased from the side door, their business hours long faded into the setting sun.

           They each cast a hasty glamour once they spotted you. Too late; you had their scent now. Carefully you rounded the building the opposite way they had headed, the alleys were dark and narrow so much more inconvenient for the humans you tailed. Their hurried footfalls remained unmasked, up and over the next embankment. You didn’t flinch as they separated, trying to confuse you further. They only managed to spread their magic too thin and soon you had gained on the rasping breaths of the one that had decided to go north.

“I’m not after you, you know. I’m looking for someone else,” you said in blunt German.

“I know who you work for,” the rough voice answered in accented English.

“Then you know it is easier to give me the information than wait for the consequences.”

His middle-aged face appeared as he dropped his last barrier from your shining black eyes. He pushed off the brick wall and squared his stance, hands dangling and fingers working in distracting movements. You pulled the handgun from your waistband and met his bluff. No one expects a cowboy duel in the Fatherland, but nothing about your afterlife made sense.

“You want to draw a little more attention to yourself there? Bullets don’t scare me, demon,” he spat out the last word as if he was some holy man, some saint worthy of a judgement.

“Witch killing bullets might slow you down a tick though, yeah? Witch.” You said it how it felt best on your tongue. You spoke over your shoulder to the one who had rounded back, failing to trap you, “thanks for joining us. All I need is for one of you to talk and then we can all go home. Easy peasy.”

“What does it want?” The one still hidden from sight demanded from the one staring down the barrel of your gun.

“Information,” you answered evenly.

“On who?”

The man shook his head at his partner; the name in your head reaped more fear in the witch than Crowley. The silent conversation dragged between them and you decided incentive was necessary at this point. If Crowley’s reputation wasn’t enough, enforcement needed to make up for it. You pulled the hammer back and aimed.

“Alright, alright, what do you need to know?”

“Give me everything you have on Rowena MacLeod.”

*^*^*^*^

April 1, 2015

Inside Man

           If Dean was avoiding CC, then he was. If CC was avoiding him, he had no idea. It was almost too easy to be with her in the quiet library or even the cavernous garage, now. Maybe it was the non-human thing, but Dean didn’t really notice her anymore. A chameleon in any room, there, only when she wanted to make her presence known, otherwise she had become as peripheral as furniture. So, it was with the same regard as to a bookcase that Dean called Rudy, begging to be his back up on a case. Sam had his mime movie thing and Dean had his cabin fever. Bupkis it was.

           He slipped into the driver’s seat and headed to nowhere in particular, the purples and greens of twilight kept at bay with Baby’s headlights. Dean needed something normal, something expected, something as easy as his hands on the wheel and his cassettes in the deck. This was where he belonged, where he was himself and how he could make sense of things. Now with what the Mark and the world had done to him, he needed it more than ever. Without Sam’s constant vigilance and CC’s over accommodating methods; Dean needed to feel like Dean again, even if it was just for the forty-mile drive to a douche filled sports’ bar.

           He switched to the radio about twenty minutes down the road, letting a familiar snare walk and bass line fill the car. He started singing along, drumming his fingers on the downbeats. Dean let himself sink into the music, the carefree joy of belting out crescendo after crescendo. His voice cracked on a lyric and he stopped to swallow as it all hit him. He missed her. He fucking missed the demon. He finished the song, words hitting him harder on the other side. He ignored the tightness in his chest and the shake to his hands. Thinking it made it real and the reality of longing for something, someone like that made his stomach pitch. But it wasn’t disgust, it was grief.

           Dean yanked his thoughts out of the depths and brought them back to surface survival as he pulled into the parking lot. The faux neon signs reflected on the Impala’s freshly waxed hood. The meager groups were congregated around the pool tables and Dean decided to try his luck.

           A few beers and a pool hustle later; Dean realized he should have stayed in for the night. Rowena had set a pack of rabid frat boys on him and he had to reign in every ounce of his control to stop from gutting them all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean had the tiny woman pinned to the bar after her spell failed to even give him a nosebleed.

“Saving my son!”

Dean’s confusion was dwarfed only by his surprise. “Your son?”

“Crowley,” she challenged him, adding another shock to the moment.

“Crowley Crowley?!”

“My son is a king! A god, or he would be if you didn’t—You snap your fingers and he comes running like a wee lapdog.”

Dean started to back away, missing whatever blame he held in this scenario. “Lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good influence on him. That’s why you need to die!”

“Well, sorry your little light show didn’t work,” Dean held her fast, he wasn’t going to underestimate her now.

“Oh, I’ll try again,” she whispered the promise that sent a chill down his spine.

“What, you think I’m just gonna let you walk outta here?” Dean matched her menacing smirk.

“I think, you’re a hero. You could have killed those men, but you didn’t. Because they’re innocent.” She winks at him then, taunting him even with the knife to her very pale throat. “Cuz, you’re the good guy and you want them to live. But the spell I cast will DEVOUR them from the inside out, just like it did that girl.” She knew exactly how to use her powers and wiles against him. “I’m the only that can save them. What’s it going to be, HERO?”

Dean recoiled, releasing Rowena as he stepped back to allow her the chance to reverse the damage she had caused. “Fix ‘em up and go.”

“So civil, aren’t you?”

“Lady, I think I’m being the, bigger person here? You did just try and kill me.”

“Well, bigger isn’t always stronger, is it? Brains are a muscle you might want to, strengthen?”

Dean rolled his eyes behind her back. Lithely, Rowena whispered into each of the dude bro’s ears, pulling hexbags from their pockets.

Another bar, another drink with another MacLeod

           “Who’s the liar now?” Crowley looked at Dean a little too knowingly. Dean scoffed and took a drink. “She says I’ve gone soft.”

           Dean chuckled, because damn if the red head isn’t right, “you have. What? Yeah, maybe it’s all the human blood that Sammy pumped into you, you know? Maybe it’s, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know. But the old Crowley, he would have come in here with hell hounds and demons and he would have blown the roof off the joint. Now? You didn’t want to fight. You wanted to talk. And maybe I’ve changed too. Here I am playing Dr. Phil to the King of Hell. Never saw that coming.”

           “Maybe we’re getting old,” Crowley waxed mortally.

           “Never saw that coming either,” Dean agreed.

           Dean let go with Crowley, explaining the backbone of who he is and how he had made it this far. Family. Then he shoved the piss poor example of a mother Crowley was clinging to, back into the demon’s face. “Does that sound like your mother?”

           Crowley knew better, but he was feeling generous. Dean had become his Achilles’ heel after all. “You know I may have seen it coming. Might have had someone digging up all her years of indiscretions since I’d last seen her.”

           “Well, good, can’t be too careful,” Dean takes the last pull from his glass, smacking his lips together.

           “She’s kind of a wildcard, but I think she’ll get the job done. Who knows, maybe it’s just me getting soft. But I do love an underdog,” Crowley’s eye sparkled back at Dean as the suspicion creeped through the man’s features.

           “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “Dunno,” Crowley stood. “Just, uh, let me know if you want her number? Might be worth the dime.” With little segue, he vanished. Dean groaned and slid Crowley’s drink over, holding back the fruit and ice before taking the leftovers as payment for not offing the guy’s mom.

April 16, 2015

Book of the Damned

The Bunker after the Cabin

           “Whoa,” CC muttered just as she felt Castiel arrive. She looked across the War Room table to Sam who just walked in from whatever he had stashed in his room. “We’ve got company.”

           “Hello, Sam, CC.” Castiel joined them, filling in the details of their plan to get information out of Metatron on the Mark behind Dean’s back. Castiel explained in guilt-laden detail how his original grace had been restored. CC felt an ease in the Angel’s eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Sam did his best to placate Cas, while CC started guessing how a being like Metatron on the loose was going to come back to bite them all in the ass. A stone started to worry in her gut over the words of a never forgotten dream.

           “You did the right thing. That book needed to be destroyed,” Castiel’s reassurance brought CC back to the present. “We will find another way, Sam.”

           The creaking of the entry door turned everyone’s head skyward.

“We’re back bitches!” Charlie’s spunky return continued to brighten the mood as the evening moved forward with genuine ease in the air. CC never saw Dean smile as much as he did when the red head was around. Something about her tenacity and unabashed nerdiness brought out the teddy bear in him, which CC liked to see, even from a distance. The hacker had become part of the family in a way she never had, despite living with them for this long. Thoughts of a lonely childhood and her looming solitary eternity caused CC to call an early night, leaving only a weary Sam to notice her exit.

April 18, 2015

Manhattan, KS

A summons.

Though the hope had betrayingly crossed your mind, more than once, you never thought he would actually do it. Now that you stood before Dean Winchester once more, you weren’t sure if it was to kill you properly or to fuck you senseless. His glare was that gloriously intense. You welcomed either outcome, if it was at his hand.

“You rang?” You smirked in greeting, hoping the vessel was moderately appealing. The timing of the spell didn’t really give you many options, she was a petite Latina in her early forties, though her genetics hid her age well. You weren’t in the Bunker, but what appeared to be the storage area of an old basement. Mildew and old masonry evident as you gathered any detail that held potential of his intentions. Secrecy abound; you were very much alone.

“Y/N?” Dean didn’t break eye contact, his voice cracking as your eyes misted at his acknowledgement. You only nodded, the emotion of seeing him again began to break through.

“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” a whispered confession.

Dean looked down, shame falling over his usually steadfast features, “Yeah, well I had to do some digging.”

“So, you still don’t know who I am?” Realization knocking you down a peg once more. Geez, drag a girl across the world and you still can’t put the pieces together, some great love he was. And yet he was, damnit.

“I don’t think I know anyone the way I know you.” Dean chided himself, biting at his lip and tsking his tongue. He stepped closer, eyes searching yours. You unconsciously mirrored his movements, taking you to the rim of the red spray paint on the cellar floor.

“I suppose that is the best I could ask for.” Your arms longed to be around him, to feel the weight of him against you, to feel his heart beat. You didn’t know what he wanted from you, but you knew it was your last chance at honesty. You answered his call and raised him with your shared history.

A heavy breath escaped your chest and you let your eyes go black. “I first met you, centuries ago. Before I was a Demon and before you were the infamous Dean Winchester. When you were just some kid who sold his soul for his much more promising brother. Before you knew of your destinies and long before you gave Heaven and Hell the finger.”

Dean’s shoulders straightened, one hand in his pocket as his head cocked with mild amusement.

“I remember the first day Alastair strapped you to his table, the way you screamed and challenged him. I still heard it some nights back home: your voice in agony and me powerless to stop him just outside the door to his favorite torture room.” You began to pace inside the trap, working through the memories both cherished and painful.

“How long did he leave you there?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest now, brow furrowed.

“I was left outside your sessions until the day you took the deal,” you stepped forward as he shook his head in disbelief. “I heard him, every day, ask you and I heard you every day, even after hours of anguish, refuse. I begged him for the same opportunity, but I wasn’t special. I wasn’t you. And then I finally saw you face-to-face.”

“The First Seal.” Dean closed his eyes as it all came crashing back and into focus.

“I never blamed you,” your voice fell, hand raised trying to comfort him. He stood just beyond the barrier of his own devising. “Of course, I would have done the same, had I been given the chance. But it wasn’t until your Castiel rescued you, did I feel Alastair’s final torment.”

“Just stop, okay?!” Dean pleaded suddenly; he thumbed the Mark of Cain which seemed to be throbbing over all of the blood he had shed in Hell. The hunger that threatened his humanity once more. You flinched at his words, your stories had brought you back to that vulnerable human soul who had witnessed her schoolgirl crush and torturer ripped from her plane of existence. “You’ve only ever seen the worst of me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

He kept his eyes down, but you saw how perplexed he felt; you were not a predictable demon and bless him for trying to understand. Your face softened, the endearment you felt catching him off guard. “I was just getting to that part, dumbass. Love. Alastair’s final torment for me was an unwavering and unrequited love, for you.”

“We had very different experiences with Alastair.” Dean’s face broke into a smile, the slight blush on his features. He was such a dork, it hurt to watch him like this.

“Yeah, well, according to Crowley, it wasn’t Alastair at all. He wasn’t ‘that sophisticated with the emotional aspects of the job’.” You shrugged.

“He has a point,” Dean relaxed, walking a bit as you continued to speak.

“Where’s Chloe?” You asked nervously, “And Sam?”

“Chloe? She’s still kicking ‘round the Bunker, but, well, too much water under the bridge.”

“That’s our girl.” You knew she would move beyond this ordeal better than most, yet somehow you still worried for her wellbeing, even after she extradited you. Fucking symbiotic relationships.

“And Sam’s fine. Ornery and trying too hard to make me listen to reason–”

“A lost cause if there ever was one.” You teased, Dean smirked, toeing the line that separated you.

“I’m done fighting the Mark, Y/N.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not strong enough, either I go hermit-style like Cain for as long as I can, and people die. Or I just give in.”

“That seems a very narrow list of solutions to a very new problem.”

Dean’s whole torso twitched at your candor, “Well, the Book of the Damned was our last lead and that’s toast. Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

You stepped closer; tips of your pointed shoes frozen against the magical wall of the Devil’s Trap. “I’m what you would call an ‘entry-level demon’. I got out on sheer dumb luck the first time, Dean. They don’t share the great mysteries with the cesspool. Honestly, I think Crowley has been honest with you about the Mark since you became his trusty Knight in Shining Plaid.”

“Yeah, well, worth a shot.” Dean tried and fell just below gracious. He was truly desperate. It carved at you to see him so defeated.

“Is that the only thing you wanted from me?” The pain you couldn’t hide from your words, returned to you in his aching glance.

“It’s not like that.” Dean swallowed. “You know it’s—”

“It’s better left unsaid.” You nodded, trying for the stiff upper lip, sniffling against his stubbornness. “But tell me something else?”

Dean head shot up, waiting for your next question.

“If you’re done, if you’re giving in to the Mark. Why the trap? Afraid I’d get out or just afraid I’d touch you? And you’d really turn? If there’s really nothing to lose, why don’t you—”

Then he was kissing you, Dean Winchester had stepped inside your cage and welcomed your darkness as if it was his only salvation. Though you couldn’t save him; you needed to show him everything words were unable to convey. How you wished he could see how perfect in his imperfection he was, how his self-sacrifice never ceased to take your breath away, how with just the sound of his voice you could withstand a hundred years in the Pit. How much he was loved and needed and how he deserved so much more than a worthless hell-spawned wretch could offer him.

The height difference sent you spinning, he was everywhere, broad shoulders and strong hands, clutching at your now smaller body. The danger Dean accepted by stepping into the circle gave you a rush, your core tightening as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, you were weightless, he lifted you up, your legs quickly opening to lock around his waist and before you knew it you had tugged open half the buttons of his shirt. When you pulled the tee shirt up from where your thighs had pinned it to his sides, Dean broke the kiss, with heavy breaths he rested his forehead against yours. It had been years since you had tasted him and never with this tongue, but somehow, he still knew how to kiss you.

*^*

Dean could have stayed in that moment forever; the oasis of Y/N’s arms was something he hadn’t known he had missed until he found his way back home. Her hands were now delicate and soft, her legs shorter and waist impossibly narrow, but she still moved the same, with Y/N it felt right. His cock twitched against both his jeans and her impossibly sheer leggings. She rolled her hips against the movement, causing him to groan before leaving a fierce trail of nibbles down her jaw, her skin spiced and smooth beneath his chapped lips.

*^*

The heat growing in your belly intensified as Dean’s mouth wandered lower, his teeth tearing at the lowcut top, you pulled down the shirt and lace covered bra, freeing your aching nipples for his hungered mouth. Balancing one hand tightly on your back, Dean’s free hand kneaded your left breast before teasing the puckered flesh with the warmth of his tongue. You clamped down against the emptiness inside, overwhelmed with each affection Dean gave you.

You grinded harder against him, whimpering, letting your hands snake through his hair, your fake nails digging in as he switched to the opposite tit, pulling that nipple between his straight teeth. He watched you grow needier beneath his every touch, the desire in his eyes making you more desperate. You pulled yourself up, flush against him as you worked off his shirt. The anti-possession tattoo utterly elementary compared to the ancient curse on his arm.

You took over, your kiss demanding his submission as he backed you against the invisible concave wall. The barrier, though intangible was strong, and you used it to rest against as you slid down Dean’s body to remove the clothing restricting you from taking him fully. You wiggled the trim hips from the thin material, tossing the drenched lace to the side among the bunched pant legs. Dean had kicked off his boots, thumbing his shorts and jeans off with a swift dip. He was simply gorgeous, solid and bowlegged, but stunning all the same. Lust battled the emotional appreciation of his nudity and all too soon you were sinking to your knees. Tiny fingers raked up his calves and over his sturdy quads, heavy lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you waited for his impatience to get the best of him. Your face so close you could smell the tang of his heavy balls, eyes lingering on the drop of want leaking from his menacing tip.

Every inch of him seemed larger than before, perspective was in the eye of the beholder and for this vessel Dean’s cock was downright intimidating. The trim legs held you up, the abundant chest brushed against his leg as you silently dared him to make the next move. His hand came down hard on the crown of your head, thick fingers lacing in the dense black locks, he slid through until yanking at the nape of your neck. As he snapped your head up your mouth opened automatically from the jarring tug. In his other hand Dean fisted himself, “You don’t get to tease me, or I’ll send you back. You understand?”

You nodded, tears forming from the intensity of his grip on the base of your neck.

“Sorry?” Dean tilted his head, dramatically inviting you to speak up.

“Yes. Yes, Dean, I understand.”

He sucked air through his teeth, green eyes darkening as he released his hold on your hair, his rough thumb dragged down your jaw to circle lazily around your pouting lips. Instinctively, you licked them before he paused. “No teeth, Y/N. I know that was you and I mean it.”

“Whatever, you liked it,” you hissed before taking him into your smart mouth. Dean’s hand fell away from the base of his shaft as you worked him deeper and deeper with each test of this mouth. The lips were fuller, plush against the veiny length of him. He repeatedly tucked your hair back, keeping your face on full display as you sucked and mewled over him. As your tongue lapped from underneath, your core clenched, once again, over nothing. The gagging girth of him quickly made you lightheaded.

“You want it so bad you’re gonna choke on it, aren’t cha?” Dean crooned down at you as you looked back up at him, his fat bottom lip clenched between his perfectly white teeth. You slid back to lock eyes with him completely, delicate fingers massaged his balls as he called out into the night. “That’s it, that’s my dirty little demon slut. Hmmm,” Dean huffed and suddenly the Mark took over. His massive hands planted themselves on either side of your fragile skull and suddenly he was thrusting back into you. His dick deepened to puncturing your throat, your stomach rolled, saliva building as he growled with the fierce snap of his hips.

The pressure on your temples increased alongside his speed, delicious and terrifying. Then you began to cough, Dean finally slowed, which allowed you to swallow against the thick mucus that had gathered in your esophagus, tender and stretched wide. You dragged her nails back down his legs before letting him go with an audible pop. Then Dean did the hottest thing you had ever seen, he crouched with those damned bowlegs, lowering his pulsing cock to the generous cleavage in front of you. In a frantic whimper, you tugged your breasts apart for him, tips of your fingers teasing the dark areolas before holding the fleshy globes tight against his spit-slicked cock. Once again, his strong digits weaved into your hair as he fucked your tits. His every muscle worked to dominate you, the Mark of Cain ragged against his pale forearm, his abdomen tense behind the soft layer his other vices supplied, all overloading your senses with his power, his lust for you and just how far you would push each other.

You teased the ruddy head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, his salty juices seeping out to aid in the rough friction. Your nipples ached as your pussy sopped with emptiness.

“On you back, Y/N. I need to eat some of that before I am done with you.” Dean growled, tugging as his cock as he tried to step back from the brink. “Fucking smell you from here, you know that?” ­­

You didn’t reply, just slowly sat back on your bare ass, the cold floor sent shockwaves through your overheated thighs and straight to your folds. Your nipples puckered impossibly smaller. Dean spread out his large shirt behind you, before leaving a tantalizing kiss on your shoulder. Then his lips took over, he sucked and nibbled and decimated the teak colored skin. When his hot breath hovered over your nipples you thought you were going to cum on the spot. Each sensation barreled into the next, your legs were shaking by the time Dean spread your knees wide.

“Now this view, Y/N? I have got to hand it to you, hmmmm, nice choice,” Dean’s eyes glinted as his thick tongue found your swollen bud. It gave a dizzying jostle before licking broad strokes up and down your lips. Spreading you wide, Dean gathered your juices with his skilled fingers. You half laughed and half moaned when, at long last, your trembling cunt earned its fill. Dean’s fingers worked into you as he sucked gently on your bursting clit.

“Is it sweet enough,” you teased back, watching him lavish you, drunk on your sex. His scruff shown with your arousal, his whiskers adding roughness along your tender apex, further blurring the lines of pain and pleasure.

“You know what’s the most messed up part?” Dean whispered, sliding back to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “I don’t know this chick and I don’t care. I am just fucking you. Not Chloe, not anyone else. Right now, it’s only us. And I should care and I’m sure I am going to hate myself tomorrow. But that feeling of not caring?”

“I’d call it freedom. Best kind of bittersweet.” You sighed, reaching up to stroke his temple. His closed his eyes and you finally saw how bone-tired he was.

“I hate being this scared, Y/N. It’s not who I am.” His fingers never stopped; his mouth ghosted over every sensitive crease as if the act alone was penance for his confession.

“Dean?” Your voice hitched.

“Yeah?” Dean placed tiny pecks along the inside of your thigh, his voice impressively soft.

“I really need to cum. You make me feel so good, but I can’t—” you broke off into a gasp as he added a third finger inside you, his tongue pressed wide and forceful against you. You didn’t know if it was his admission or the added effort once you begged for it, but less than two minutes later and your climax overcame you. Waves of heat flooded your system as everything contracted. Then the break and you fell: unwinding with the stuttering pulses. Dean pulled you through it, his fingers’ pace slowed in calculated increments. Just as he slipped from your clutches, he made sure to nuzzle your mound before easing up to his knees.

With a tempered swat at your knee, you caught his drift, rolling completely over you rocked back to give him another angle to admire. You arched your back and shimmied your shoulders to stretch out the tension that had settled as you braced for your orgasm. You couldn’t see him, but you knew Dean was centering himself behind you, his damp fingers coating his length as it returned to its full glory. You squared yourself, knees below hips and shoulders over splayed palms, ready for whatever he would give you.

Dean nudged your knees farther apart, causing your upper half to lower onto your elbows, the cold stone floor stiff beneath your thin joints. Ass bared and ready. “I want you to tell me, who I am.”

“Deeeeeeeeannnnnnn.” You keened as he stretched you open, even his fingers couldn’t prepare you for the heavy steel of his cock.

“And?” he slowly rolled his hips, barely hitting that secret spot, as if by accident. He was fucking vindictive.

“Dean fucking Winchester.”

“That’s more like it, Y/N.” Dean built up his rhythm.

“Hunter.” You mewed.

“What else?”

“Mark Bearer?”

“And?” His teeth were clenched now, the words strained and menacing.

“Knight of Hell!” You screamed as he smacked your ass, pounding into you with constant shallow thrusts.

“Who am I?”

“The Righteous Man!”

Dean growled at the old title, the darkness of the Mark at war with his true nature: protector of the innocent. As his other hand connected with the opposite cheek you tensed, unsure of what else he wanted to hear.

“Michael’s Sword!” your voice was high and whiny as everything that was holding you upright began to weaken. He took both of your hips in his palms now, dragging out of you slowly before popping his pelvis back in, forcing you to press back into him or crash to the floor. He hummed in appreciation as he spread you wider from behind, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole, adding to the building pressure throughout your core.

“That’s mine, just like this pussy is mine. You hear that, Y/N? You’re mine.”

“Always have been,” you replied plainly without even registering what it all meant. “My Seal Breaker.”

Dean liked that one, because he raised one knee up and began to work you over again. You tossed your head back to watch him over your shoulder, bending nearly in half. He was breath-taking, his mouth open and panting, skin dewy and tense, uncountable scars and freckles randomly yet perfectly placed to outline this impossible man.

“Come on, baby, let me see you,” Dean coaxed, your eyes burst open, the inkwell pools staring back at him as he thrust harder into your luscious depths. “Hmmm, Y/N, you know how good you feel? So. Fucking. Sweet.”

“Better than her?” You half-whispered, half-begged.

“Every ti–.” Dean broke off on a moan, your body pulling him as deep as it could, and suddenly you crested again, muscles spasming as a howl escaped your mouth. Dean gave you only two beats before slamming back into you with wild abandon, reveling in the tightness and the added slick. The slap of his balls against your clit and his strong hips against your firm ass an erotic symphony.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum so hard in that borrowed pussy, you want that?”

“God, yes, Dean. Fill this tiny little thing up,” You whined, tugging at your nipple as Dean began to add an extra roll of his hips between his thrusts. Damn, he knew just how to move, your channel quaked against him, another orgasm looming just out of reach. Dean slid one hand from your waist to palm the small bubble of one ass cheek, fingertips digging so deeply they’d leave marks in the morning. He brushed your g-spot over and over again, everything was vibrating, but it grew too loud. As soon as you felt the next wave approaching Dean froze, spilling inside your wanton cunt. Hot, thick and delicious Dean’s cum slipped from your lower lips as he eased his spent cock from your shaking walls.

He wouldn’t stop touching you, his hand on your hip as you slid down to curl on your side. He let his breathing regulate as he perched back on his heels, his well-built body on full display, the base of his multicolored pleasure trail glistened with both of your juices. His mouth a perfect pink “O” as he blew out a chilling stream against your lolling breasts. You groaned and rolled back up to all fours, biting his delicious thigh as you snaked up his body to steal another kiss. His arms encased you, pulling you in a painfully tight squeeze, the Mark of Cain, hotter than the rest of him, pressed against the lower curve of your ribcage.

He nestled his nose against yours with a satisfied hum, “Now, THAT, was not something I never thought I would do.” Gesturing to the sigils beneath your bodies.

You laughed, “Come on, not even when you were the demon?”

“Okay, maybe once, but Sam was in the room, no way he was getting a free show.” Dean winked down at you, which you eye-rolled away, letting the black slip away for effect. This was it: you felt the inevitable end approaching like a derailed train. You couldn’t look away or sidestep the onslaught, you just had to let it happen. If Dean would let go of the brakes, it would all be over soon.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” You asked softly, letting your hand rest just below his tattoo, head against his collar bone.

He shook his head, “Not a clue, but I had to see you again, in whatever way I could.”

“Well, you could have come to me,” you teased, “I’m pretty sure Knights get all access passes.”

“I’d much rather come in or on you, sweetheart.” He grinned, what an ass. You shoved him away playfully, setting these carefree moments to memory. Even if you were both shit at coping, but professional at bullshit, at slapping on a mask for everyone else’s benefit. Well, Dean the later at least. You didn’t care much for anyone other than yourself, him and CC, if you were being honest. Which you weren’t.

“I don’t think I could handle if you went back, you deserve better than Crowley’s crap-dom.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t die then.” He kissed you gently. “And won’t be going on another karaoke tour anytime soon.” There were so many things you wanted to say and none of them sounded like what he needed to hear. So, you sat there in silence, naked and blissed out upon the grimy floor of a forgotten warehouse in Dean’s arms.

***

He had fallen asleep, with his flannel as a pillow and his jeans thrown back on, unzipped and rumpled, he snored lazily at your side. It was some surrealist painting unraveled, he was raw and clammy with every spare patch of skin reaching across fictitious distance between you. He grumbled senselessly as you watched him, the vessel’s pleas growing with each passing minute. You kept your exploits from her, but she still knew she wasn’t safe there. The wrongness of losing perspective fostered the alarm churning inside your shared head. You savored every second you spent watching Dean dream, which was all the more precious because it was brief. Fleeting as a heartbeat, gone as quick as a wink. Nothing gold can stay.

Once the awe of it all wore down into undeserved contentment, she pushed harder and your willingness to ignore her thinned. You had work to do, a King to please and a vessel to free. You may have been a demon, but you weren’t cruel. CC had taught you how to be honest, even when it cost you everything. You wouldn’t look him in the eye and offer a true goodbye. You didn’t want to hurt him, and you couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t as pained as you.

Which is why you left like a thief in the night. The trap meticulously scratched through with the switchblade Dean always kept on him. Hastily, you left a note, prying a strip of vellum from the spell book he had used. Sam would have a bitchfit about it later, that you were certain. You couldn’t just disappear after experiencing an ecstasy of his choosing. Dean deserved more than you could offer, but you muddled through. With an air of melancholy that would make a Victorian widow proud, you staggered away on feet too swollen to be shoved back into her tiny boots.

*^*^*

When Dean woke up, everything hurt: his pride especially.

He hadn’t planned beyond summoning and facing her, but once he was inside her vessel with her; Dean had found what had been missing all those months. Dean saw his mirrored half: damned and deceitful, surely, but beautiful and blossoming all the same. He started to laugh when he fully came to, a deep belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. Here he was, left half naked in a devil’s trap and somehow felt like he was the one doing the walk of shame. Either way, they both were. Figured.

He started gathering his spell materials as his phone went off.

           “Dude, where are you?!”

           “I had an errand, Sam. I’ll be home before noon.” Dean plucked a folded piece of paper from the middle of the old grimoire he had stolen from the Bunker’s collection.

           “Everything alright?”

           “I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you mean.” Dean read the note carefully before tucking it into his breast pocket, phone pinched between his shoulder and ear.

           “That’s not what I— You know what, forget it. I’ll see you when you get back.”

           “Not if I see you first,” Dean replied ad nauseum.

           Sam barked a forced laugh. “Nice.”

           “Yeah, well, you too.” The brothers both hung up, allowing Dean to finish clearing the basement of everything but the mangled sigils ringed in red. Before Dean started the Impala’s engine, he pulled out the thin scrap and reread the words she had left him.

           Dean-

                       I’m sorry to do this like this, but this one needs to get back to her life. I’m still on a job in Europe for the time being, but thanks for the one-night vacation. You were, as always, incredible. I hope you know you can call me; whichever way works best, anytime. Just, don’t do anything stupid. O.k.?

           Always yours,

                       Me

May 1, 2015

After Angel Heart

If Castiel had known Chloe Collins her entire life, perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised by her request. Maybe, if he had known her without a demon’s influencing their entire history; she would have built up to this massive deceit with more finesse. Though angels were known best for being direct, unless one considered Lucifer and Gabriel, of course. Every way he regretted their tumultuous past; it still didn’t make answering her any easier.

“No.” Castiel glared at CC like she had suggested he trade the trench coat for Bermuda shorts.

“Castiel, please? This is really important and now that you’re fully you, you can show me how.” CC hated asking for favors, especially of the Angel, but this had gone too far.

“I don’t understand why you think I would do such a thing.”

“Because it is for their safety, Castiel. Sam and Dean are in danger with this hanging over us. We ALL are in danger from the truth getting out.” CC moved further from the backdoor of the Impala, drawing Cas out of earshot.

“Why?”

“Because, ‘Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.’” She huffed in exasperation, eyes locking onto his impossible blues as the warning resonated between them.

“Whose words are those?”

“Mine, or my granddad’s, I don’t know. I had to make a choice to comeback from being comatose, Cas. I chose to live with the knowledge of my birth, of what and who I am. So now; I am a target. Dean doesn’t need another cross to bear, his plate is full. And Sam? Sam’s already walking on thin ice.” She stopped before she could expose every dirty secret she had learned from her months of hiding.

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Claire. You did the right thing, even if it hurt like a sonofabitch.” CC gave him an impressed eyebrow as he took what she said as the compliment she intended.

“You trust me?” Cas looked at his hands then back to CC, who’s own were tucked into her back pockets.

“Us Heaven rejects need to stick together, right?” Her smile pulled one out of him.

“If I agree to this, when would we even be able to do it?”

“As soon as possible. I need to get back at it, especially with the Steins still out there.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s safety?”

“Fuck no. This is the only way to ensure Sam and Dean’s blood isn’t on my hands. Those assholes don’t do safe, you know that.”

Castiel nodded into a shrug, still playing at considering her offer.

She stepped forward, dropping a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t care about them, Cas.”

He noted her repeated use of his nickname from Dean and the physical contact that they had never shared before. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll erase the knowledge of your lineage from Sam and Dean’s memories.”

“And Charlie’s,” CC added.

“And Charlie’s, of course.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” CC reached her opposite hand out and shook Castiel’s hand, solidifying their agreement. Cas took her hand and her anxiety in his, sensing she needed the peace of mind as much as she needed the escape.

*^*^*^*

Next Chapter: Finale: Just One of the Many

[essaysbyciara]

Thy Neighbor II: Lovin’ The Crew [Chapters 11 + 12]

[Prologue] [Chapters 1 + 2] [Chapters 3 + 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapters 7 + 8] [Chapters 9 + 10] 

Man, we’re eight chapters away from the end of this story. Ugh. Let’s see who gets on y’all nerves this week LMAOOO. 

OH! I started a Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Reader story called (1) New Message. Check it out if you haven’t done so already! 

As always, thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu for the likes, comments and love. Taglist is still open! Peace & (most importantly) Love! 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“It’s okay, Jasmine...” Ciara finds herself Monday morning in the bathroom stall at Proverbs’ Camden location rubbing the back of a seven-year-old girl puking up a liquid Ciara can’t quite figure out. When Ciara signed up to volunteer at Proverbs, she expected to peer into the eyes of Y’lan, not the contents of a toilet. But as the only woman volunteering that morning, she bides her time inside the restroom with little Jasmine as she tosses up her little life. 

Ciara went to church on Sunday slightly hungover with thighs that ached to the delight of Trevante. Even as she started to reconcile her decision to break her rule to have sex with Trevante, she found herself always reminded in church about being “in the world, not of the world” and how we all need to “stand firm”, a sermon series in Ephesians convicting her as if she was up for capital murder. 

Ciara’s decision to not have sex wasn’t a biblical one. It wasn’t because the Church told her to keep her legs closed or because as a Christian, she is to save herself for marriage. She found all of these rules to be antiquated and patriarchal. Ciara chose to be celibate to prevent the heartache of sleeping with someone who would leave her, to not end up like she did after her ex-boyfriend left her: waxing her rejection away with as much sex as she could. As soon as she knew her man to be committed, she’d be down to consummate their love but Trevante hadn’t make them official, so Ciara jumped the gun. So she wouldn’t get left. 

So when she saw that phone call grace Trevante’s phone, she wanted so bad to throw the phone at Trevante and walk out. But she didn’t want him to then call that girl back and leave Ciara out in the cold. So her heart -- and her nether regions -- made an executive decision to make Trevante stay. Whoever “Meganne Thee Intern” was would have to wait for her turn. 

CIara wishes it is someone else’s turn to coddle Jasmine inside of the bathroom. When she thinks Jasmine has no more puke left to give, she picks her up and carries her outside of the bathroom. To her delight, Y’lan is standing right outside waiting for them both to exit.

“Yo, Ciara … I really appreciate you right now.”

“Oh, I know...is her Mom on the way to get her or something?”

“Her Aunt is coming. She ain’t happy but the girl ain’t going to school like this…” 

Ciara cradles Jasmine’s head as she looks into Y’lan eyes, causing him to match her glance. They exhale to break their trance. 

“Do you have clothes for accidents? I want to get her in a new shirt,” Ciara says, wiping Jasmine’s eyes to stop her from using her stained shirt. 

“Yeah. There’s a closet down the hall before the steps, to your left. I’m sure you can find something for her.” 

Ciara consoles Jasmine as she walks down the hallway. Y’lan stares at  Ciara as she carries her patient, adoring her care of Jasmine in that moment. He’s happy the church ladies chose to take this Monday off. 

Y’lan walks into the kitchen just as Winston finishes prepping the after school snacks for later. Winston was caught by surprise when he walked into Proverbs to see Ciara sitting at the table with some of the children, helping them try to finish their math homework before heading off to school. Winston didn’t want his car ride with Ciara to end, the both of them waxing off about their favorite rap albums and college courses. 

He found himself enraptured in Ciara as she talked about her research paper, falling in love with her enthusiasm toward her project. He picked her brain to know the best place to grab a bite of Carribean food in the city, she picked his brain about Harlem, New York, the city he lived in before moving to Philadelphia. The conversation felt so natural, as if they met in another lifetime. He couldn’t help but think about who she was dating and what a lucky guy he must be. 

And how it was that guy’s loss and Winston’s gain to be able to drive Ciara home that night. 

Winston and Y’lan quit their small talk when Ciara walks into the kitchen. 

“Hey, Y’lan. I just gave Jasmine to her Aunt, so we’re good. There anything else you want me to do before I head out?”

“No, Ciara. You did enough today. I appreciate you. See you on Thursday at U City?”

“Yep! I think I might have some really good news for you. See you then. Winston, so good to see you! I’ll see you later!”

Ciara waves at them both. Winston follows her graceful exit with a stare which Y’lan mirrors until he notices Winston’s unbreakable gaze. He laughs and throws a bag of Goldfish snacks at Winston, causing Winston to quit following Ciara with his eyes.

“My bad, man…,” Winston says to Y’lan breaking his stare with a laugh.

“No, it’s cool. I just ain’t ever seen you like that.”

“There ain’t drool on my shirt, right?” Winston looks down at the blue cotton fabric draping his broad chest. . 

Y’lan laughs uncontrollably. 

“Nah, you good King. She’s bad, bruh. Y’all have classes together?”

“We have some seminarian classes together. I have to be careful, man. I feel like she catches me looking at her all the time.” 

“Yeah, she’s good for that…” 

“Hey, man. If you staking claim on that, I’ll bow out.” Winston’s shot confidence causes him to believe that his tall and soft body with a bespeckled visage can’t compete with a former football player like Y’lan. 

“Real talk, Winston...she and I had a thing about a year or so ago.” 

Winston’s heart catches another dagger. He knows the rules. 

“My bad, man. Ain’t mean to…” 

“Nah, bruh. You’re good. We’re adults. It didn’t work out, it wasn’t her fault. She caught me when I was out here tripping.  I thought she’d kill me when I first told her what happened. I’m surprised she’s even volunteering. The non-profit she works for is helping us find staff.” 

“Maybe she’s plotting your murder, eh? But nah, she seems like a good girl.”

“Yep, she is…” 

Y’lan continues packing lunches until he catches Winston’s mood turn from jubilant to desolate. 

“Winston, you aight?”

“Stuff like this makes me realize that I’m so scared to date. I keep getting scared about relationships, man. Like I don’t want to meet a woman and punk out or think it’s going to fail.”

“Yo, man. I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve been doing the work to get yourself right since the divorce. If you think you’re ready to step out there, you should do it.”

“Wild thing is that I did with Ciara, man, and failed.” Winston shakes his head. 

“What you mean?” Y’lan grows more inquisitive. 

“I asked her out like months ago, worked up the nerve and everything. And she turned me down.”

“Word? I mean, she met you through me at the time when she and I were beefing real heavy.” 

“Maybe but she told me she was dating somebody, so...” Winston goes back to packing lunches leaving Y’lan’s mind to go back to that moment inside of U City Coffee when Trevante offered to take Ciara home and it made his senses go off. 

“She’s dating not married, man.” Y’lan says to reassure Winston. And himself. 

“You’re right, bruh. So are you telling me to stay close?”

Y’lan inadvertently juices up Winston, turning him into the competition. But now he’s even more sure that Trevante’s been in a race too and he needs just one opportunity to find out for sure. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Hey, man. I can’t wait for this launch event in March,” Y’lan says as he steps away from the conference room table and closer to Trevante.

Y’lan and Trevante couldn’t be anymore different. Trevante’s tailored suits and crisp ties make Y’lan’s polo shirts and jeans look juvenile. Y’lan’s wild but kept hair towers over Trevante’s crisp fade, waves distinguishable from a mile away. They both play match with the beard, keeping it lined and tight. 

Y’lan reformed choir boy antics don’t compare to “Playboy Tre”, what Y’lan calls Trevante. He grimaces at the “war stories” he hears from Trevante, only because he used to be worse. Even though he tries to caution Trevante to get it together, he doubts that he ever listens, watching Trevante put new numbers into his phone like they could win the lottery. He hoped that his talks about futures and wives and happy ever afters would get to Trevante.  He just wasn’t expecting Ciara to be the result. 

Y’lan knows he has to ask Trevante if he and Ciara are together for sanity’s sake. But he also feels that it is not his job to inquire. If anyone needs to fess up, it would be Ciara to Trevante. She owes Trevante at least the courtesy to know that she’s working with a man who once dreamed to sex her and would have if Ciara wasn’t so upright. 

After hearing Winston’s desires for Ciara’s attention, Y’lan quickly concedes his participation in the sweepstakes game to win Ciara. As much as he wants Ciara, their history is too messy and complicated. Y’lan did her dirty, he has no right to believe that Ciara would be interested in rekindling their flame even if they let their embers burn at the coffee shop and with intermittent stares at Proverbs the other morning. He knows that feeling will pass. Ciara will wake up, smell his coffee, and go back to hating his guts. 

Therefore, Ciara is fair game to Winston. 

But not Trevante. 

“I’ll meet you at the whiskey bar on 2nd St. in about an hour, fam. I gotta send some final emails.” 

“Bet, see you there.” Y’lan daps Trevante and walks out of Trevante’s office, almost walking into Meganne, who was turning into Trevante’s office to hand him one of his email marketing reports. 

After sleeping with Ciara, Trevante noticed two missed calls and multiple texts from Meganne, some with attachments he was happy Ciara wasn’t awake  to see. He knows he must tell Meganne to chill out, hopefully as pain free as possible. But as it always is with Trevante, telling a hopeful woman “no” never ends well. 

“Hey, Meganne, you have a second?” 

Meganne hasn’t mentioned her text and phone attack on Trevante. He thinks that she’s too embarrassed or too drunk to remember. 

“Sure!” Meganne sits down on the chair in front of Trevante’s desk. 

“When did you put your number in my phone?” 

“Oh! Yeah … when we were at the bar the other night. I thought it would make things easier. If you needed to reach me or whatever.” 

“You should’ve asked me first.”

Meganne feels rejection in the air. She fights to not inhale.

“I’m sorry, Trevante. I figured you wanted it after the other night.”

“What happened the other night?” Trevante is clueless as to what he did.

“One of your friends asked us if we wanted to go to Atlantic City with you guys. I figured you needed it to plan and everything.”

Trevante and Y’lan already let their friends know about the trip to Atlantic City for Michael’s bachelor party. What started as a trip for five -- Michael, Yahya, Trevante, Y’lan and Michael’s cousin, Sterling -- is turning into a 15-man trip with both Trevante and Michael’s fraternity brothers in attendance. There isn’t an expectation of women being present. Especially not the 21-year-old intern and her friends. 

“It’s a guys trip, Meganne. My bad. I wish he told you.”

“Oh, it’s okay! You still have my number though if you want to link up.”

“I can’t, Meganne. You gotta stop sending me pictures too. My girl don’t like that at all.”

Meganne’s enthusiasm turns into mush. 

“Oh, you have a girlfriend? I’m sorry, Tre. I didn’t mean to violate.”

“It’s cool, you didn’t know.”

Meganne catches her embarrassment enough to walk out of Trevante’s office. Trevante doesn’t regret using Ciara as an excuse to get out of this mess. Even if Ciara isn’t his girl yet. 

That’s what he hopes to talk to Y’lan about. 

Taglist:  @doublesidedscoobysnacks @diva-princess-on-fleek @voyagetoadinas9 @walkrightuptothesun @wvsspoppin  @dreamlovealways @rockwit609 @thegayaxeman @joyfulwombatdreamermaker @blackpinup22 @hookedtoherfire @kris-did-it @l-auteuse @styleismyaddiction

[rami-hoe]

Welcome Home

Summary: Merriell comes home six months after the war has ended, and receives an intimate welcome back. 

Warnings: Mentions of war, smut

Word Count: 2K

The smell of smoke and liquor lingered in the air. It was so thick it threatened to suffocate Merriell the second he stepped off the train, but it was the scent of home. He breathed the smog into his lungs as he walked across the platform. After the years he had spent being smothered by the heat of the pacific, the New Orleans air was a welcome change.

Six months ago, these streets were alive with the celebrations of new peace. Soldiers arrived home to free booze, an night of endless parties, and the open arms of women happy to thank them for their service. Now, the streets were silent save for the few drunks stumbling home after an evening of drinks and cards. Merriell stood on the sidewalk, eyes scanning the city before him. Why bother going home? He didn’t know if he had a home to come back to. His landlady had promised she would spare him the rent by leasing the place to others until the war ended. That had been years ago, and he hadn’t heard from her since. For all he knew, his apartment was being occupied by someone else. Although it wasn’t much of an apartment. Just a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a space for a bed. It was the best he could afford.

After saying goodbye to his brothers in arms, Merriell didn’t feel like taking the risk of going back to a home that no longer belonged to him. He adjusted the strap of his pack, and crossed the street, walking into the nearest pub.

The energy in the place was low. It was late; most of these men had passed drunk about an hour ago, and were dangerously close to falling asleep at their tables. Merriell didn’t care. He wasn’t here to celebrate. He sat down at the bar and dropped his pack on the floor. His fingers tapped a mindless beat on the counter as he waited for the bartender to emerge. After a few moments, his patience wore thin and he called out “Anybody back there?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked out. She slipped behind the bar and went to grab a glass. “What’re you having?” She asked.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” He said. “Somethin’ strong.” As she turned and grabbed a bottle from the wall, Merriel let his eyes rake over her body. He had seen a few lovely ladies on the train home, but none of them held a candle to her. Under any other circumstances, he would have been coming out with his best lines. He just wasn’t in the mood to get slapped again tonight.

She placed his drink in front of him and leaned against the bar. Merriel picked up the glass and took a slow sip of the amber liquid, pausing the appreciate the sweet burn it left in his throat. The bartender stared him down at he did. “Like it?” She asked, and he nodded, emptying the rest of the glass. “Good.” She tipped the bottle over his glass to refill it.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You just get in or somethin?” She asked, gesturing to his uniform.

“Yeah.”

“War ended six months ago,” She said.

Merriell looked up at her, and laughed when he saw the teasing smile on her face. “Thanks for remindin’ me,” he said. “Someone had to stick around and clean up the mess.”

“Lucky you,” she said. “Where were you stationed?”

“The pacific,” he said before he downed his second glass.

The bartender paused for a moment. “Heard it was rough down there.” She filled the glass once again.

Merriell didn’t drink right away. He picked up the glass and rocked it, letting the alcohol reach the brim before he twisted it back the other way. “Yeah,” he murmured, seemingly mesmerized by the whiskey. “Real rough.” He closed his eyes and used the drink to chase the memories away. He didn’t want to have think of those fucking islands right now.

Her eyes travelled around the pub, and a sigh left her parted lips. “Not much to come home to,” she said.

Merriell scoffed. “Six months and everybody’s done celebratin,” he said. “All the other divisions got drinkin’ and dancin’ and parties in the street. You’d think they would’ve saved a dance or two for the rest of us.”

A moment of silence passed before she grabbed the bottle and put it behind the counter. “Come on,” she said as she grabbed her purse and walked around the bar.

Merriell slid off the stool and stooped over to pick up his bag. “Where’re we goin?” He asked.

“To celebrate,” she said.

“The drinks-“

“On the house.” She called over her shoulder “Henry, I’m headin’ out early; you’re on your own for close up.” The man sitting at the corner table held up a hand to acknowledge her as they walked out the door.

Merriell followed her out of the pub and around the corner. The stairs to her apartment were just behind the building. “I’m Merriell,” he said. “Merriell Shelton.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mister Shelton,” she said as she pulled open her front door. “I’m Y/N.”

As Y/N walked inside and flicked on the lights, Merriell stepped into the small apartment, and hovered by the door. Y/N dropped her purse on the counter, and walked over to the sitting area.

As Y/N knelt by the sofa, Merriell dared to venture further into the apartment. He took off his hat and slipped his jacket over his shoulders. Y/N rose, and placed a record in the player she had sitting on the table. The record began to spin, and soft jazz tune of Body and Soul poured into the room. She turned around and smiled. “Care for a dance?” She asked.

Merriell straightened his tie, and crossed the room in four long strides. He took her left hand in his right, and she stepped closer to him, letting her free hand rest on his shoulder. The two of them swayed to the sound of Ruth Etting’s voice; the song was too slow to swing, but that was fine by Merriell. He liked this better. His hand pressed against the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

“I know this isn’t the homecoming you imagined,” she said. “But on such short notice, a dance is about the best I can manage.”

“This is perfect,” he assured her. “Drinkin’ the night away is fun and all, but it don’t compare to a slow dance with a beautiful lady.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered down to his mouth. She slid her hand to the back of his head, and pressed her lips to his.

The women Merriell met on leave in Australia were all about heat. They kissed him like they expected him to die the second he shipped back out. It was frantic, desperate. Afterwards he always felt like they had only given him sex as a consolation for his imminent death. But Y/N wasn’t saying goodbye; she was saying hello.

As the song came to an end, so did their swaying. Y/N inched closer to him until they were chest to chest, releasing his hand and sliding her own up his neck. She parted her lips and let Merriel slip his tongue into her mouth.

Merriell was a physical sort of guy; he was usually eager to move things into the bedroom, but he would have been contented to stand here in the dim light of Y/N’s apartment and do nothing more than kiss. She, however, had other plans.

Y/N broke the kiss and ran her hand down Merriell’s chest. Her touch left his skin tingling. He had been numb for months, but when she grabbed hold of his tie and led him into the bedroom, his nerves came alive, and begged for her touch.

She let go of his tie, and began to unbutton her blouse as she sat on the bed. He sat down beside her and placed his hand on her knee as she kicked off her shoes. She slipped the cotton shirt off, and Merriell’s eyes dragged over every inch of her exposed skin. He pressed his lips to Y/N’s neck, kissing the soft skin as she ran her fingers through his hair. His hand trailed up her thigh, sliding underneath her skirt. She spread her legs for him, and he dragged his thumb across her panties. She hummed in appreciation when he pressed down on her clit, her hips lifting into his touch. He pushed the fabric to the side and swirled his fingers around her entrance.

“Wet already?” He murmured against her skin.

“What can I say?” She said, gripping his shirt. “Men in uniform really get me hot.”

He chuckled as pushed his middle finger into her and curled it upwards. She began to tug at his shirt buttons, taking them off far more quickly than she had done with her own. He pushed a second finger inside, rocking his hand rhythmically. Her hips moved with him, pressing her clit into his palm as she undressed him.

Y/N reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. The temperature in the room rose once they were skin to skin. Merriell moved his hand away from her cunt and pushed her back onto the bed, toeing off his boots before he climbed on top of her. He pulled her skirt down her legs and tossed it off the bed. She took the initiative of stripping out of her underwear and pantyhose herself.

Their lips reconnected, and Merriell pressed his hardening cock into Y/N’s leg. She tilted her body to the side to give him more of a surface to grind against as she unbuckled his belt. He shoved his pants and boxers over his hips, kicking them off as Y/N stroked his cock.

“I need you inside me,” she whined, squeezing him with her thighs.

Merriell rested his weight on his forearms, and buried himself inside of her. He grunted as her walls wrapped around him, squeezing his member perfectly. “Feel fuckin’ amazin’,” he muttered.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Merriell and held him against her as he began to roll his hips forward.

Merriell let this moment of sensual passion, far different from the rough, dirty fucking he was used to, overcome him. He thrust into her slow and deep, staring into her eyes as her heat surrounded him.

Y/N rolled her hips in time with his movements, letting out a shaky breath as Merriell’s cock rubbed against her sweet spot. Her head fell back against the pillow as she moaned “faster.”

Merriell granted the request and picked up his pace. The bedsprings squeaked as their bodies rocked the mattress. She reached down to rub her clit, biting her lip as pleasure pulsed through her core. Merriell smiled at the low moans that escaped her. “You like that?” He asked.

Y/N’s nails gently dragged over Merriell’s back. “Yes,” she said. “Merriell, yes!”

Merriell shuddered at the sound of her moaning his name. “Say it again,” he said.

“Merriell!” Her back lifted off the bed, her fingers moving faster over her clit. “Fuck, Merriell, don’t stop,” she groaned, her grip on him tightening. His thumb ran along Y/N’s cheek as she tensed around him, screaming his name in pure bliss.

Her arms relaxed as she came down from the high, legs shaking and pussy throbbing. Merriell groaned, and hips began to stutter as he neared release.

Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck, and she pressed soft kisses to his throat. “Come,” she said.

Merriell pulled out of her and pumped his cock in his hand. He groaned her name, and his hot cum shot onto her belly. His chest rose and fall heavily as he rested his forehead against hers. He breathed in the scent of their pleasure, and she stroked his hair. Two minutes passed in silence before he rolled off of her, scooping his arm around her to pull her with him.

She lay her head on his chest, and he planted a soft kiss to her hair. “Welcome home, Merriell,” she whispered.

[winryofresembool]

Love Can Melt the Ice, ch 23 (the Grande Finale)

Summary: I think the title says it all ^ it’s time for the goodbyes ;___;

A/N: This is it. The final chapter before the epilogue. I can’t believe we have finally gotten here. I’ve had a bit of a skitty day but at least I finally managed to finish this so I’m very happy about that. Please, please, review because now that we are at the end, I really want to hear your opinions. I guess that’s all for now. I’m probably gonna repeat this once it’s time for the epilogue, but thank you to everyone who has supported me and this fic through this long journey! Without the lovely comments, I wouldn’t have been motivated to continue. Oh, and special thanks to the amazing @roboticrainboots for the amazing art ♥ 

Now, get ready for a monster chapter (I will post this on ao3 tomorrow!). But make sure to read A Letter to Winry before that if you haven’t, because it has a role in this chapter.

Previous chapters:  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5.5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 pt 1, pt 2, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22

Next chapter: coming

Companion pieces (note: these are all post Olympics happenings so reading the main fic first is recommended): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Words: 5700+ (yup.)

Genre: mostly floof.

Warnings: there is one scene where things get p close to M-rated but... there’s nothing explicit imo...

Most of Ed’s team plus Winry and Gracia gathered together to watch team Amestris’ ladies play for bronze. Winry was wearing her green jersey again, earning a cheek kiss from Ed, even though he refused to tell her what the kiss was for. Alphonse, who was sitting next to them, just giggled at his brother’s behavior before turning his attention back to the ice.

The first two periods of the game were even, with team Amestris tied 1 – 1 with team Drachma at the end of the first 40 minutes. Apparently, coach Olivier Armstrong managed to encourage her team in just the right way during the intermission, though, because in the third period the audience got to see a whole new team Amestris.

“Is it just me, or do they look like they’re almost ready to kill?” Winry asked when Rebecca Catalina gave a Drachman forward a particularly powerful tackle. A few moments later, Riza Hawkeye shot the puck from a spot she had never failed to score from, and the Amestrisian side of the audience got a reason to get loud.

“She’s better at that than I am,” Roy gawped at his long time “friend” who coolly fistbumped her teammates after the goal.

“That doesn’t really mean a lot, though, Mustang,” Ed remarked and made everyone laugh. “Isn’t your shooting percentage like… 0,05?”

“Funny how you remember stats like that… but you don’t remember how much I’ve sat in the penalty box because I’ve had to defend you.”

“Now now, everyone cool down a bit!” Hughes yelled over the roaring audience. “Ross is on a breakaway!”

And she was. She had managed to outspeed two Drachmans and was just about to get face to face with the goalie, when someone tripped her. A penalty shot was called, and Maria Ross used the opportunity to her advantage, making the situation 3-1.

“You guys could learn a lot from them,” Gracia teased, and the men around her couldn’t help but agree.

At some point Ed and Winry started wondering why Al was being so quiet, but when they turned to look towards him, they noticed Mei had finally arrived. She and Al were throwing disgustingly sappy looks at each other, something that Ed would probably call “eye sex” when Al wasn’t hearing.

Riza scored one more goal (from the corner of his eye Ed could see Roy’s badly hidden excitement), and team Amestris ended up winning the bronze medal with a 4-1 game. As they got their medals, no one on the ice looked prouder than Olivier Armstrong, and Ed guessed she would soon start sending smug messages from their celebrations to Roy. They had a weird rivalry going on, having known each other since they were kids. Ever since having to finish her playing career early because of an injury, Olivier had acted bitterly towards Roy and used every opportunity she could to brag him about her coaching achievements.

Roy didn’t care about Olivier’s expressions, though, because his and Riza’s eyes met and his expression turned softer than Ed ever remembered seeing.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Ed asked with annoyance, but then a familiar arm wrapped around his, making Ed forget all about the googly eyes around him.

…

Ed tried to talk himself out of the ending ceremony of the Olympics, because having played only one game and having to walk on the crutches, he thought he would feel out of place there. However, his teammates kept insisting, and when the goalie Armstrong offered to carry him on his back at the stadium, he knew he was fighting a lost battle.

Since it was a known fact that these were Gracia’s last Olympics, she got the honor of carrying the flag of Amestris as one of the most successful figure skaters the country had had so far. Her fiancé was next to her the whole time, gesturing towards her every time a camera went past. Winry, who also walked near her, glanced at Ed on Alex Louis Armstrong’s shoulders every once in a while. He looked a bit embarrassed but was still smiling and waving at the audience just like everyone else in their group. Winry knew he was actually happy to be able to participate and grinned at him when she noticed he was watching her.

A bit later, they were sitting in the stands next to each other, and when the fire on the giant torch went out, and the final fireworks formed colorful shapes above, Ed said: “Can’t believe it’s over.”

“Yeah,” Winry agreed. “But let’s not be sad that it’s over, let’s be happy it happened, right?”

“Sounds good to me.” Ed looked briefly down and saw Winry rubbing the knuckles of his real hand through the glove. Something warm that he couldn’t describe started bubbling in his stomach, making him happy he was there in that moment.

…

”Hey, granny!” Winry answered her phone at the airport. It was a day after the ending ceremony, and everyone had packed their things and left the hotel after the breakfast to start their trip back home.

”Hey, dear.” Pinako Rockbell greeted her granddaughter. “Are you on your way home yet?”

“We just arrived at the airport. Uh, that’s sort of why I’m calling.”

“Oh.”

“You see…” Winry started a bit hesitantly, “we get back to Central City quite late and there aren’t any trains leaving to Rush Valley until tomorrow…”

“And? Are you going to stay at the hotel for the night?” Pinako asked.

“Actually… I was going to stay at Ed’s place. If that’s OK with you.”

Pinako had to admit she still saw Winry as her little girl, but it was a fact that she was already 18 and way smarter than Pinako had been at Winry’s age. So in a way, it would be hypocritical of her to deny her this.

“Ed’s? So, are you two a couple now?” Pinako asked curiously.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Winry still blushed when she stopped to consider the fact that she really had a boyfriend now.

“Oh. I hope that runt is treating you well,” Pinako stated coolly.

“He is! I mean, he’s nothing but respectful…” Winry reassured her.

“Good. Well, you are an adult now so you have to make your own decisions. But remember to be careful. And use protection!”

Winry’s eyes widened. “Granny! Just because I’m staying a night there doesn’t mean… ugh… Sleeping is all we are planning to do. He’s recovering from a pretty bad injury.”

“I believe you,” Pinako said. Winry thought she could hear a bit of laughter in her voice. “Somehow, I still have a feeling that’s not the only reason why you are calling. You wouldn’t listen to your old granny even if I had said no. So, what’s on your mind?”

“Granny… I think I’ve made my decision about the next step in my career. But I want to hear your opinion before telling anyone else…”

“Go ahead, tell me.”

The two women spent a good while chatting about Winry’s plans before finishing the call. When Winry joined the others in the waiting area, Ed asked what Pinako had said.

“She called you a runt,” Winry snickered, loving to tease her boyfriend.

“She what?!” Ed looked mortified.

“Oh relax.” Winry waved it off. “She didn’t mean it like that. In fact, I think she approves of us. At least she allows me to stay with you.”

“Why wouldn’t she? It’s not like we…” Ed stammered.

“I know, Ed.” Winry sighed. “Anyway, I’m quite excited to see where you live. Although… I bet you don’t remember to clean and have sweaty clothes all over the floor.”

“Oh? I’ll prove you wrong then.” Ed smiled at his girlfriend mischievously and grabbed her from her shoulder, so she had to face him. Before he could pull her closer, though, Winry stopped him.

“Ed… There are cameras everywhere. Are you sure you want to do this?”

He looked around quickly, noticing that she was right. Clearly their group drew a lot of attention, with two Olympic figure skater medalists and two well known hockey player siblings in it. Sighing, he admitted: “Fine. Let’s save it for later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Winry ruffled his hair and turned her head to see what Al and Mei were doing. Clearly, they didn’t have any problems showing public display of affection. It looked like they had known each other much longer than the 5 days they had actually spent together. Mei was hugging Al tightly, and it wasn’t until then that it properly hit Winry that once Mei would leave to her own flight, they probably wouldn’t see each other in months. She and Ed had it easy compared to those two; at least they lived in the same country.

“So, how is it going with you two?” Ed asked when Al returned from the gate behind which Mei had disappeared. “Plans to move to Xing yet?”

“C’mon, brother, we haven’t known each other that long yet. I did promise to visit her in the summer, though. It’s not that far anymore… After that, who knows. She is from a wealthy family that is expecting her to make a name for herself… it’s not that simple for her to move to Amestris. Not that I’ve seriously considered asking her that yet,” Al blushed slightly. “It’s way too early. But I guess the summer will tell a lot…”

“I can’t wait to see dad’s expression when you just one day announce you’re going to move to Xing,” Ed teased. “Make sure to tell him when I’m there too.”

“Don’t be mean, brother. It might bite you back one day.”

“Har har. Anyway, we should go,” Ed nodded towards the gate where people had already started gathering to show their passports and tickets.

 …

“So, this is where you live?”

“Yup.”

Winry looked around with mild surprise. She didn’t know what she had expected. A mansion? A penthouse in one of the most expensive apartment buildings in Central? Wasn’t that what most rich hockey players bought? She wasn’t stupid, she knew Ed’s salary had at least one 0 more than hers, because unfortunately female athletes still didn’t receive the appreciation they deserved. But when she stepped into Ed’s apartment, it was almost like she had come back to Resembool (if you ignored the view from the window); it was surprisingly modest, with only the “necessary” furniture such as a small wooden dinner table with a couple of matching chairs and a black leather couch for two in front of a TV and a video game set. The bed in the bedroom was thankfully big enough for two to sleep, Winry noted happily. The cover on it wasn’t the most charming, though; it was black and had skulls printed on it.

“Where have you gotten that from?” Winry pointed at it, looking quite amused.

“Do I sense a Judgey McJudge raising her head?” Ed set his hands on his hips and tilted his head a bit. “Anyway, I think I got it when I first moved away from home but it’s been a few years so I don’t remember which store it was anymore. Why? Do you want to buy one too?”

“Nah, just wondering which store I should bribe to never sell anything to you again.” Winry retorted and stuck her tongue out.

“Is this it?” Ed pretended to be shocked. “Our first real fight as a couple, over my bed covers? I guess it was fun while it lasted.”

Winry pushed his shoulder lightly. “You’re such a big baby. Keep that thing if you want, but please let me bring my own pillowcase and duvet cover here so I won’t have to see nightmares.”

“Y-you’re already considering bringing your stuff here?” Ed asked, this time actually surprised.

“We agreed to be a couple, didn’t we?” Winry asked pointedly. “Couples visit each other sometimes. So yeah, I’m just meaning my visits. I’m not planning to move here any time soon. I have my career and friends in Rush Valley.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Winry softened, covering his cheek with her warm hand. “I know you don’t just magically get over your fear of commitment even if we did agree to do this. I… should also be better at remembering to not push it.”

“You’re pretty wonderful,” Ed gave her a gentle smile, very different from his usual one that went from ear to ear and often implied mischief.

“Thanks. I’m trying my best,” Winry said happily and continued taking in the rest of Ed’s apartment.

“I have to say, I’m surprised it’s this clean here. I expected a huge mess. You know, based on your hotel room and stuff.”

“Nah, it’s only because Al was staying here before the Olympics. Don’t get too used to this.”

“I’ll try to remember to thank him the next time we see him,” Winry noted. “Hey, is it OK if I use the shower? I’m feeling quite gross after that flight.”

“Yeah, go ahead. There are clean towels in that closet there if you need any.” Ed showed her the right door.

“Thanks,” Winry said before leaving her stuff in Ed’s room, grapping a towel and disappearing from his view.

Ed remembered the similar situation from a good week ago, when he and Winry had shared their first night together. Back then his thoughts had immediately gone to the dirty track, and he had secretly wished his leg wasn’t in a cast. But something had changed in such a short time. He understood now that what he felt towards Winry wasn’t purely physical attraction anymore. He respected her, admired her skills and personality and wanted her to be happy. Preferably with him, of course.

So while he still blushed fiercely at the thought of his naked girlfriend in the shower, he could focus on the more respectable details: the content smile on her face as the warm water eased the stiffness of her muscles after a long flight, the way she hummed happily one of her favorite songs while she rinsed off the soap (not that he’d admit ever hearing her humming).

Ed started taking in his surroundings, and something caught his eyes: a picture of his family, all together before his mother had fallen ill. For a long while Ed had hated that picture because it reminded him of what he could never have, what he so deeply wanted; a full family. But suddenly his parents’ looks towards each other caught his attention; their smiles told him they must have loved each other a lot. Briefly, he wondered if he and Winry could achieve that…

Love was something Ed understood only vaguely. Apparently, when you’re in love, your brain produces certain chemicals that makes you act like an idiot (or that’s what it sounded like in Ed’s opinion). Thinking back to his recent behavior, he certainly had acted quite weirdly (even more than usual, Al’s voice said in his head). He was blushing and stuttering and sometimes even sweating for no good reason, and he wanted to do things he had never wanted to do before (simply kissing had felt a bit absurd in his head). In Ed’s opinion, it was against all the chemistry rules he had learned so far. How could simply being with another person make your brain go drugged? But now that he was falling into that “trap”, he supposed not every reaction had to make sense. If being with Winry made him feel this happy, then to hell with equivalent exchange.

Was he ready to use the big and scary L-word yet? He was worried he would freak out both her and himself if he said it out loud (after all, it had only been 3 weeks since they were reunited), but he wished his actions were clear enough that she knew how he felt even without saying it. Winry had already been honest about her feelings and he felt he owed her for it…  

Suddenly Ed remembered his letter. After Winry had asked for the break before her competition, Ed had decided to write down some of his thoughts to clear his mind, and wrote a letter for Winry that he however had never intended to give her. But with them leaving to their separate ways tomorrow, he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. He hopped to his suitcase that was yet to be unpacked and found the slightly worn piece of paper from one of its pockets. He added a couple of lines at the end of the letter before he heard the shower turning off, making him push the paper into his pocket. Soon Winry stepped out with only a towel around her, a smaller one around her wet hair. She sneaked behind Ed and wrapped her arms around his torso before leaning her head against his shoulder blade.

“That felt nice,” she mumbled. “You should probably take a shower too, though… You smell like sweat.” She let go of Ed and started drying her hair with the towel.

“Hey, it’s just my masculine scent!” Ed tried to protest but pulled his bandage protector and a folding shower chair that he had gotten from Drachma from his luggage and focused on getting the protector on. When he got up, he noticed Winry was sporting a silk robe she had gotten from Xing, only underwear under it. He may he already seen her nearly naked, but that didn’t stop his mouth from going dry as the robe didn’t really leave too much room for his imagination.

“You’re staring,” Winry pointed out suddenly, not knowing how she should react to the fact that her form seemed to cause quite some interest in her partner.

“Can you blame me? You are hot as… OK, let me rephrase that: I am one lucky bastard to have a girlfriend like you.”

“You hockey players are so cheesy,” Winry said as she ran a finger on his cheek briefly. From her expression, though, Ed read that she was actually quite pleased by the compliment.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’mma take that shower now.”  He hopped into the bathroom with the chair in his hand.

Once he came out clean and refreshed some minutes later, he found Winry watching the picture of his family curiously.

“Why are you looking at it?” he asked.

“I’m just… trying to remember what it was like when we both still lived in Resembool,” Winry answered dreamily. “Do I remember correctly that you used to walk with stilts a lot? Because I was nagging about you being shorter than me.”

“I was not shorter than you!” Ed protested immediately.

“You were too!”

“Was not!”

“OK, let’s finish this before it stops being fun. I also remember your mum baking a lot of delicious pies, and my favorite part of hanging out at your house was always when she called us to get inside to taste them.”

“Yeah… it was nice,” Ed admitted, although there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

Winry sensed the change in his energy right away. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about… I mean, it must be super painful to you… I should know.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry because I sometimes forget how much you have gone through too because you are so positive and helpful and energetic most of the time.”

“I… I don’t know how I do it sometimes. Maybe I’ve gotten good at putting on a smile even when I hurt. But I’m lucky to have such supportive people around me. It’s you guys who keep me going.”

She turned embrace him and placed a soft kiss on his jaw. Ed’s face heated again when he felt the silk against his bare skin and remembered she was wearing very little under it. He had to take the situation in control before something else would happen, so he broke the hug and tried to change the topic.

“So… Would you like to see more photos? I have some from our old house. Haven’t really looked at them since we moved out, but… who knows? Maybe you are in some of them too?”

“Are you OK with that, though?” Winry asked, trying to read his expression. What if the photos triggered some bad memories in him?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Maybe it’s time for me to face the past…”

“In that case, we can do it,” Winry accepted and soon Ed pulled a photo album from one of the drawers.

They sat down on the couch and started flipping through the pages. On one of the first pages, there was a picture from Ed’s fourth birthday party, and Ed recognized a familiar blonde-haired girl among the guests.

“That’s you! I can’t believe I didn’t remember…”

“You didn’t remember me when we first met at the Olympics, right? Well, we were really small back then…”

“True… Woah, look at this! Did you… did you just throw that piece of cake on my face? What did I do to deserve that?” Ed asked, faking offended.

“You were probably the same brat as usual…” Winry said with amusement. “We had played the donkey’s tail game and you were bragging because you managed to get the tail closest to its rightful spot… because you peeked. I couldn’t accept that.”

“Sounds like something I would do,” Ed laughed and turned the page. Suddenly he exhaled sharply, and Winry didn’t have to look at the photo too long to understand why. In it, Ed was around 15 years old, and he was smiling widely at a little girl playing with her big white dog. Winry guessed Al must have taken that pic when visiting Ed, because she doubted Ed would have saved anything that Tucker took.

“That’s her, right?” Winry asked, and instinctively took Ed’s hand into hers, to comfort him.

“Yeah, she is…”

“If you want to… I would like to know more about her. Some happy memories?” Winry thought that maybe remembering the happy times could help Ed to get over the guilt he still seemed to carry.

“Well…” Ed seemed to consider it for a moment. “When it was her 4th birthday, her biggest wish was to get a birthday cake. With a bastard father like that, and mother gone, it was no wonder she hadn’t ever gotten to eat birthday cake before that. Since I had no games that day, I had plenty of time in my hands and decided to make her wish come true. Yeah, you probably guessed right that I hadn’t ever baked before that. But I decided to take it like a chemical experiment, and weirdly enough, it became edible. When Nina saw the cake, her expression… it was the happiest I had ever seen on her face. She came to me, hugged me and said: “Thank you, big brother.” It was the first time she called me that. This picture was taken that day, Al came to help us eat the cake too and he had a camera with him. I didn’t expect that picture to… I mean, Al must have put it there.” He continued to stare at the living room wall with a blank expression.

“That was very sweet of you. You look happy in that photo,” Winry noted calmly to drag Ed from his thoughts. “You must have really cared about her a lot…”

“Yeah… Ugh, dammit!” He slammed his fist on the couch suddenly. “Even now when I see this… it makes me so fucking angry… It makes me wish there was something I could do, but…”

“Hey, what if I told you maybe there IS something you can do for her?” Ed threw Winry a suspicious look, so she continued: “I mean, I know they both are long gone, but… I’ve been thinking… we can still help to prevent other kids from suffering the same kind of fate.”

“How?” Ed asked curiously.

“Well, I was thinking of giving some of my prize money to this organization that helps kids of abusive parents… They search for kids who might be in need of help, offer therapy and just talking company, a safe place to be… and so on… What do you think?”

“I think that sounds amazing… So, can I ask you how much exactly you are planning to give away?”

“Well…” she blushed. “Most of it… I mean, it’s not like I need…”

That was all she managed to say before he crashed his lips against hers. This kiss was more passionate than any of the ones they had shared before that, stirring a brand-new feeling inside them. At some point the album fell on the floor because the couple’s attention was elsewhere. They leaned against the arm of the couch, Winry sitting between Ed’s legs trying to avoid touching the cast, her upper body pressed against his. As Ed deepened the kiss, his hands started traveling on her robe, going from the waist towards her chest. Before reaching her breasts, he stopped to meet her gaze.

“Yes, Ed, you can touch them,” Winry confirmed even though Ed hadn’t voiced the question. She raised herself from her spot to give him a better access.

At first he just felt them through the fabric, but the small gasp Winry made encouraged him to inch his fingers under the garment. He seemed a little too proud of himself when he noticed how much Winry seemed to enjoy the automail hand, but suddenly he stopped and put his hands down.

“Not this chivalry again,” Winry sighed. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Then how about you let me take the charge? We don’t have to go all the way, but a little exploration won’t hurt, right?”

The eagerness from before returned to Ed’s face. “You’re right.”

Winry stood up from the couch and offered her hand to him. “Should we go to continue in your bedroom? This couch is kinda small and uncomfy…”

Ed agreed, letting her help him up. She gave him his crutches, and he hopped into the bedroom after her.

They didn’t sleep for quite a while.

…

The next day, Winry, Ed, Paninya and Rosé all gathered to the Central Station, where the train to Rush Valley was waiting for the figure skaters. Ed was planning to travel to Resembool once he had gotten his leg rechecked at the Central hospital. Paninya and Rosé were already looking forward to the next Grand Prix that would be held in North City, Amestris in a few weeks and they wondered if Garfiel would give them any time to recover from the jet lag before they would be forced to return to the ice. Winry just shook her head at their attitude; while she admitted she was pretty tired too (the reason for which was probably something entirely different than jet lag, though. She blushed as remembered what had happened last night. They hadn’t gone “all the way”, but their physical relationship had still taken a step forward), she was also excited to return back to the regular life, with the familiar people and tasks around her.

Suddenly, she felt Ed tap a finger against her arm and saw him nod to the side, trying to tell her he wanted to say something without the others listening.

However, the words seemed to have a hard time coming out. Ed just stared at his feet for a long while, so Winry finally decided to break the silence:

“I know I’m not your mechanic yet but remember to take care of your arm! It frustrates me to no end when people don’t…”

“Automail geek… just listen to what I have to say, OK?”

“Ugh, Ed, I’m listening the whole time, it’s you who doesn’t say what’s on your mind…”

Ed shifted in his spot uncomfortably. “You’re not making this easy, are you?”

“When have I ever done that?” Winry asked sarcastically.

“I wrote you a letter,” Ed pushed an envelope into her hand, ignoring her question. “I didn’t know if I should give it to you or not, but… I think it might open my mindset during… this all… a bit. I wrote it before your competition. But I also added something new into it.”

“Oh… thank you…” Winry started opening the letter, but Ed stopped her.

“No, not now. On the train. Or whenever you have a peaceful moment.” Ed glanced at Winry’s two friends briefly. They had started gossiping about Garfiel’s new boyfriend and if Ed had to guess, that chatting wouldn’t end in quite a while.

“OK. Will do.” Winry put the letter into her bag , wondering what exactly Ed told in that letter that he couldn’t say aloud…

It was quiet again for a while. Suddenly Winry realized she hadn’t told Ed about her plan yet.

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmm?”

“My parents, they always put helping other people ahead of anything else. I want to do the same. That’s why I’m thinking I’m taking sort of a break from figure skating once this season is finished.”

“What? But I thought you love skating?” Ed asked with disbelief.

“I do!”

“What about all those people who come to see figure skating shows because they want to see you?”

“Just because I want to have a break from competing, doesn’t mean I’ll completely stop skating,” Winry pointed out. “No, I’ll still make sure to stay fit, and if someone asks me to take part in their exhibition, I might do it if it fits my schedule. There’s also a good chance I will continue competing after that year is over, only time will tell. But after hearing your story, I feel I want to do something more than just performing. I want to learn to make the best automail there is, to help the people who need them to smile again. Besides… Since I won’t have to travel that much… Maybe I can visit Central City more often.”

“I won’t complain about that.” Ed grinned.

“So… what do you think of my plan?” Winry asked cautiously.

“I think if that’s what you want to do, then I think it’s great!” Ed reassured her.

“Thank you.” Winry gave him a relieved smile.

“Now that we are on the topic… I have some plans too.” Ed noted suddenly.

“Oh? Tell me more.”

Ed started explaining his plan, and Winry had to brush a few tears away when she understood what the plan meant for him.

“So… will you be a part of it?” Ed asked finally.

“Gladly,” she answered before burying her face into his collar, smelling the earthy scent that she would sure miss while they were apart from each other.

It was so comfortable in that spot that Winry didn’t want to move for a while, until she heard Paninya and Rosé talking about the train leaving soon. She disentangled herself from Ed and took a few steps back so she could look at him in the eyes.

“I guess this is it…”

“I guess so…”

“Uh… you know… I had an amazing time at the Olympics… lots of it thanks to you… I know your tournament was a…”

“Disaster,” Ed helped. “No need to deny it.”

“But I selfishly hope I managed to make you feel a bit better.”

“You did. More than you know. And you taught me something important. I explain it in that letter.”

“Ok,” Winry said quietly, on the verge of tears again. “I’ll… I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. But hey, didn’t someone say phones exist? I think I managed to figure out how to use it… Maybe.” Ed gave her a crooked grin, trying to comfort her.

“Idiot.”

That was all that was said before Winry closed the space between them again and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. It was entirely different from the kiss the previous night, which had been needy and passionate. Instead, with the kiss she was trying to tell him how happy she was to have met him. With the way he reciprocated, she realized he was probably trying to tell her the same thing. When she tried to pull away, he grabbed her arm, making her stop in her spot.

“Thanks. For everything. Let’s not say goodbye, let’s say ‘I’ll see you soon’ instead.”

“That does sound better,” Winry agreed and started fiddling with her bag to find her wallet. When she finally found it, she let out a small yelp.

“What’s wrong?” Ed asked.

“I think… I think I forgot to get cash before coming here… I was so sure I had some… How will I get my ticket now? They only accept cash…”

“I may have some…” Ed said slyly as he withdrew his wallet from his pocket. “But you will have to pay me back one day. Actually, I’m gonna make you buy me a ticket to Rush Valley at some point.”

“Huh?” Winry stared at him with confusion for a moment before she realized it was his way to promise her he’d visit her soon enough. “Oh! Right. You and your equivalent exchange…” she pretended to be annoyed as she accepted the money, even though she was happy to buy him that ticket. “Thank you. I really need to go now, though, so… see you soon.” She gave him one last kiss on his cheek before climbing into the train and turning to wave at him.

“See you!”

Ed was already about to leave the platform when he saw Winry looking at him from the window, and some weird urge made him yell: “Don’t you forget that promise! And read that letter!”

Winry just waved at him until the train started moving, and soon she didn’t see him again. She pulled the piece of paper from her bag and started reading.

“… I could continue longer, but Al is waiting, so I should stop writing. Just know that somehow, you have managed to break my shell even though I’ve tried to rebuild it so hard. But I’m not gonna do that anymore. It’s still too early, and besides, you need to focus on your competition, but one day, I hope I’ll be able to be brave enough to tell you this: I’m falling for you too.

Edited 23.3.: I realized I never said those words back to you, so here we go. You deserve them. And more.

To quote Mr. Magpie: “It’s funny how sometimes you have to fly away, so you can find your real home.” I think you know what I mean there.”

Winry pulled her phone from her bag quickly, and typed:

“I do know.

♥”

A/N: Here we are! What is Ed’s plan though? Find out in the epilogue!