#//holding her by the scruff to the dash if anyone wants her

[kennheir]

writing fucked up lil klaus daughters is good for the soul actually

[nextgensage]

First post, of course I had to do one of the main protags of this au and the ship that kinda started it all - Silvamy, aka the Rose family! (yes all the kids have amy's last name, more on that later.) Lets get into this sweet yet spicy fam. Silver T. Hedgehog

Age: 42

Occupation (Disaster Relief Specialist/ Timestone Guardian)

Extra Notes - still not fully satisfied with silver's older design, I think its because he's supposed to feel out of place amongst the present day sonic cast to really sell the futuristic aspect, i scrolled through a ton of silver au fanart to get inspo because i was stumped and didn't want to just slap some scruff on him and call it a day, especially since he joined the guardian of powerful gems club with blaze and knuckles (still working on the kinks but basically eggman nega survived his entrapment in the chaotic inferno, found out about the timestones and made little big planet the new holding ground for an infantile infrit, slowly working on "raising" it so he can subjugate the past, present and future and accomplish what his forefathers have always lacked - world domination and an another race against time to save the future ensues.) - Silver is now the guardian of the time stones and got an boost in psychic power and I wanted to give him an indicator similar to knuckle's crescent mark or blaze's forehead gem hence the teal markings. He has pulled an captain america and now safely stays in the past with his wife and kids and works similar to the zone cops of the archie comics but way more powerful and freelance. he also helps out with natural disasters like earthquakes or tsunamis thanks to his upgraded psychic powers. To end on an literal fluffy note, his wife and kids love the extra chest fur.

Amy Rose

Age: 40

Occupation: Event Planner/Fitness Trainer (Part-Time)

Extra Notes - pretty happy with amy's design, wanted to do something different from the long-haired cottagecore amys for sonamy fams, not knocking them - they work well for that dynamic but amy has an trio of very unique kids to parent, an time traveling husband and spends her days dealing with picky customers for all sorts of events and still find time to occasionally teach self-defense class and yoga to young women, she needs to be ready at all times. I wanted to go for an more casual and classic feminine nicole watterson vibe (yes, she is hiding muscles under that sweater dress :P.) - kudos to anyone who can get why she has 

glasses! I think the half-moon ones really suit her!

Zenia Rose

Age: 15 (Born May 23rd)

Powers: Enhanced durability, Enhanced senses, telekinesis, minor chaos energy manipulation, empathetic sensing/linking/inundation, minor telepathy 

My precious cinnamon roll! Zenia was the first serious sonic oc I ever made so I wanted to do her justice! She leans alot more towards her father in terms of appearance, power set and personality being a bit of an socially awkward and humble overthinker but she has her mother’s big heart and very caring and optimistic outlook on life, her parents nurtured her powers and her emotional capability in equal measures and thus she’s pretty well rounded in expressing and understanding the feelings of herself and others, though she tends to get more overbearing with those she’s close with, all round an very feminine girl next door archetype. As far as design goes, I wanted silver’s vibe but amy’s coloring and clear fashion influence with a dash of zenia’s more natural and graceful preferences, so pastels, frills and flower motifs were a go. I’m pretty proud of the idea of how to mimic her dads - lets say, “unique” quill style but make it more feminine so I took the spines at the back of silvers head and moved them to the front to be curtain-like bangs to always give her an demure look and then enlarged and curled his crown of quills and pushed them back behind an headband to give an bump it style, the rest is an homage to those long haired amy designs I mentioned earlier! She looked a lot like amy’s original design when she was an bab. Also her powers are a spring green instead of a teal like her dads because they are weaker and more emotion based. Silver personally made her energy cuffs and couldn’t say no when she asked for an flower design as the insignia. 

Auger Rose

Age: 8 (Born October 10th) Powers: Enhanced durability, enhanced senses, tarot card manipulation, minor precognitive ability (boosted when using tarot cards), minor chaos energy manipulation, acrobatics. Auggie! The quintessential middle child and only boy of the family - Auger’s family never makes him feel left out which he appreciates but he appreciates his own solitude and doing things at his own pace more. Silver initially worried that his own former solitary ventures in his once ruined timeline or even the powers hes gained from the time stones themselves has re-emergence in his son especially when auger revealed how he gets  flashes of the potential future sometimes but eventually amy and silver realizes thats just how their kiddo is, he’s not trying to be standoffish or emotionless, he just does and expresses things differently and thats okay, auger knows his family loves him and he shows the same affection in his own subdued way, plus his sisters keeps him on his toes and lets him shine when need be. Augers design is an mesh of forgotten concepts or concept arts of amy and silver, I always wanted to bring back amys tarot card abilities since thats what technically got her into the main cast plus they are an fun way to connect silver and amys dynamics and personal goals into their kid. I ripped off the hair design from my first actual sonic oc - Specs the hedgecat and tweaked it a bit to fit more inline with auger’s personality - ie tamed but not stuffy. Augers eyes are perpetually half-lidded for an myriad of reasons and he always has that waist belt with him as it carries his own special deck of tarot cards. Can’t remember how I came up with his fur color, He’s an autumnal baby with his twin sister so I just rolled with that I think.  Fun Fact - Auger is a tool with a helical bit for boring holes in wood and is an personal play on the word, Augur which is the ancient roman practice of observing birds to interpret omens! Maple Rose

Age: 8 (Born October 10th) Powers: Enhanced durability, enhanced senses, enhanced strength, piko-piko hammer, acrobatics, spindash, homing attack

The baby of the family, auger’s twin sister and probably the reason amy and silver stopped at three kids. Maple is the wild child of the trio and took all of her parents headstrong traits and cranked them up to 11, having a very strong sense of justice and action taking but oftentimes leaping before she looks. The type of child to constantly be sulking in the principal's office because she fought with another kid who was being a jerk, pouting not because she’s sorry but because she’s getting in trouble for something the bully started. An tomboy playground protector if you will with tons of energy to burn and big dreams to fill. Amy wonders semi-fondly if this is adorable karma for always wondering what a child with sonic will be like as her little girl looks up to the blue blur immensely and wants to be the next big hero of her generation. Amy severely regrets the day she let sonic teach maple how to spindash (fun fact - she’s the only one of her siblings who can do it successfully!) and both her and silver are still trying to figure out how to explain their decorated history with sonic without the girl jumping to fantastical conclusions, this coupled with the fact maple carries her mothers legacy of the piko piko hammer and well…knee pads, helmets and bandages are always running out at the rose household with maple playing hero. All in all however, Maple is an loyal friend and while she can be pushy at times, tell her to back off and she will, having two more soft spoken siblings has certainly helped tame her more out there ideas and tendencies. Design wise - maples coloring was to complement her brothers but I headcanon amy’s father as being an red hedgehog so took that and mixed it with silvers darker hue to make that maple sap color work and I takes cue from the classic rough and tumble troublemaker kids of old cartoons, tooth knocked out and everything as well as using silvers unique quill shape to have the excuse to emulate maple leaves for her hair, always has some form of bandage or dirt on her no matter how many times her mothers tries to keep her clean. 

[thethirdromana]

so I decided to fix today's Beetle Weekly

(on AO3 here because why the hell not)

An Interlude with Edwards

It is rare that I disobey the direct wishes of my master, Sydney Atherton – and especially not his wish that I avoid entering his laboratory. I don’t know what disturbing matters he toys with there, and nor do I wish to, since it is scarcely in my power to prevent his activities. All I know is that they are a danger to life and limb!

Nonetheless I must note that I have been a lifelong supporter of the RSPCA. I have never been able to abide cruelty to any innocent animal; they are all God’s creatures, and under our protection.

Equally, loyalty to my employer has always been my watchword, as I believe it should be that of anyone in service.

It was these two instincts which warred within me when I saw Mr Atherton enter his home holding a poor dear little cat by the scruff of its neck. It was scrabbling for freedom but he would not let it go. He was with a friend, one of his more mannerly friends (not that it is my place to cast judgment on Mr Atherton’s choice of company), and the friend seemed quite distressed. Neither of them noticed me, though it was by agreement with Mr Atherton that I had stayed late.

They went into the laboratory together. A row ensued, quite audible from the house, in which Mr Atherton’s companion pleaded with him to let the cat go, and Mr Atherton, I am sorry to say (for he has always had my respect, and my loyalty, as it should be), did not heed him.

It half broke my heart to hear the poor creature yowl, I nearly broke in then and there, but that I have been in service these thirty-five years, and always remembered my place.

Then I heard the back door of the laboratory open. I could resist no longer; I seized my chance. I held my handkerchief over my mouth (for who knows what miasmas might lurk inside those walls!) and dashed into the laboratory. I looked neither left nor right, I simply snatched the limp body from within its glass box (monstrous, to do such a thing!) and went out again as quickly as I could.

I feared it was too late. But though the poor dear was quite limp, its tiny heart still beat!

I had promised Mr Atherton that I would stay only until 10pm, and it had reached that late hour already. I nestled the cat within my coat, against my breast, in hopes that the warmth might revive it, and travelled home by way of the Kensington Omnibus. By the time I reached my front door, it was beginning to recover.

“What’s that you’ve brought?” my wife asked me.

“You’ve said we wanted a mouser,” I reminded her.

Bless my dear wife, she is as fond of animals as I am, and as shocked when I told her what Mr Atherton had done.

“You should look for a new position,” she said.

“Then who would keep an eye on Mr Atherton?”

“Keep an eye on him?” she scoffed. “More like drop some rat-poison in his teacup.”

I chastised her, for I felt this was no way to speak of our betters, though within these pages I will confess to having had similar thoughts.

As I write this, the cat is curled up by my side and purring loudly. It seems that Mr Atherton’s experiment, whatever it was, proved to be no more than a knock-out gas, at least in its effects on those of a feline persuasion. Nonetheless, I will allow Mr Atherton to believe that it died and that I disposed of the body.

Mrs Edwards has proven quite pleased with the cat. She has decided to call him Edward, in honour of the Prince of Wales, and has put out a saucer of cream. May the Lord protect all the innocent creatures on this good green Earth!

[biosurvive]

@croftborn -> ❝ it's not exactly a card, but lina made a list of all the dads she wanted to play with today and you made the top five. ❞ lara's barely got a hold on the scruff of her two year old before she dashes into chris' apartment, and lara calls after her in frustrated portuguese before sweeping the hair out of her own face and adjusting her strapped six-month old son to her chest, ❝ i'd get after her before she destroys the place. she takes a little bit after me. but first, i went all out for this one. ❞ lara holds up the bag of greasy goodies and flashes chris a broad grin. ❝ babies and burgers. how about it, redfield ? ❞

Chris didn't care for father's day, and it wasn't even the usual reason others disliked the holiday, the pain of losing his own father had long since faded to an almost numbness. He'd miss the man forever, but the pain of losing him was gone, only returning during moments of during drunken stupors or hard-hitting nightmares. No, he hated the holiday out of pure bitterness of his own life, a life he thought would have turned out so different by now. He thought he'd be a father by now, with a husband, and kids and a family of his own by now and yet he woke up alone with a heart that ached for the what-ifs of the world.

In his eyes, he lost his chance, his chance for happiness and a domestic life he could adore was left in the bottom of the ocean along with his heart, a part of him that he never thought he'd lose and yet it was iced over, keeping him from warming up to whatever body he had beside him. It was why he woke up disgruntled, his plans of sleeping the day away shattered as the knocking on his apartment door brought him out of his dream of hazel eyes and cowlicked hair. His gait awkward as he crosses the floorplan of his home, his stormy eyes immediately soften at the sight of Lara and her children in the doorway.

He doesn't make a move to stop Lina, who no doubt was searching for her favorite cuddle partner, Jawa the cat, but he does rub at his eyes tiredly, brown hair askew atop his head and stubble overgrown. He knew he looked like shit, and yet he nods his head, a smile peering onto his face, a surprising amount of warmth leaking into his chest over the idea of anyone viewing him as a father figure, let alone come visit him on the day. " Lara. Of course I'll spend time with 'em. " He sidesteps allowing the woman he had come to view as a sister inside. " I just... wish you would have warned me, not exactly looking my best, nor do I have much in the form of things for children to play with... But still, she's very sweet. …And so are you. "

[stormcrow513]

@lurelurk , @graveyarddirt​​ , @cardenvondraken​, @a-witch-named-crow​, @blackthornwren​, 

Wanted to let you all know that Shy lost her fight today, she started going on us yesterday couldn’t eat and had a hard time holding her head up but after i picked her up to hold her she started forcing her head up and trying to rallly herself so i laid her down and tired to leave her to rest, she continued to get worse this mouning and when she looked like she might be going i sat down and sat her in my lap but again she started pulling her head up and rallying , i’d already suspected she might not let go with me in the room, i just kept hoping i didn’t want her to go alone, but i knew then I needed to respect what she needed from me so I mademyself go take a nao, with as little sleep i got yesterday i knoced right out, and when i got up and checked on her she was gone.

I just wanted to let you all know and to thank you once more for your knidness and help, she never seemed to be in much pain, so I think our combined efforts kept her as comfortable as she could be,

Aloplogies to anyone i may have forgot to tag.

I’ll check in later for any measages in my activity but i don’t want to be on her to much I know I’m gonna see shit about the Queen for the next bit and i could not careless one way or the other about it and the drma thats likely to spriung up with the people celebrating and people getting pissed at that and yada fucking yada, i don’t think i woulda wanted to see my dash during this on a good day, and this was already a bad week, the woman who raised my ma s death aniversary was the 6th my sister who passed bday is the 7th and now today

Shy pretty baby gril you fought harder to stay with me then any animal before you and considering the absolute hell my animals give death that sure is saying somthing, I’m fairly certain deaths had to drag them all my tail or scruff while they screamed “But you don’t understand she needs me she can’t take care of herself”

Shy 2008 - September 8th 2022 you beat your brother by 3 years bet your mocking him ruthlessly for it right now

wish you could’ve seen her eyes in person the crmra always made em yellowis but she had such pretty green eyes with flecks of yellow

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Be With Me Instead

Sequel to Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, oral.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and dark!Peter Parker explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader deals with the end of her relationship and the dissemblance of her life.

Note: I wrote a sequel to a one shot. Surprise, surprise. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

To say your head hurt was an understatement. Your skull felt as if it would split in two. Your stomach was sour and your muscles ached. You smelled of sweat and something more definitive. A scent so carnal and strong it could not be mistaken.

You groaned and tenderly touched your temple as you laid on your side. There was heat behind you. It radiated beneath the covers and embraced you. You rubbed your head shakily as your dreams fizzled to nonsensical snapshots.

You hadn't been so hungover since your first year of uni. It kept you from more than two drinks on a night out since. Until last night. The memories a haze in your mind, blurred with your nocturnal fantasies.

You remembered Bucky, the bar, the first drink, the second, and the third, the shot of tequila. Then it all went static. You rolled flat onto your back and your arm rubbed against the source of warmth beside you. You looked over and gasped.

Bucky's bare chest rose and fell in the dim light. The morning sun was blotted out by the thick blinds. His metal arm was bent over the sheet and his dark hair was a mess of waves across the pillow. He was naked and so were you.

You sat up and struggled to untangle yourself from the covers. You fell onto the floor, your ass tender as it met the carpet. You remembered it then. All of it. The elevator, his arm around you, his lips on yours, calling his name as he--

The springs of the bed shifted and you looked up as he rolled over and leaned on his elbow to gaze down at you. He smirked, his eyes tired but sparkling. You stared back at him, mortified.

"What are you doing all the way down there?" He purred.

You shook your head and glanced around. You ignored him as you stood and groggily collected your clothes from the floor. Your legs were weak and your flesh buzzed. You could feel him still as visions of him fucking you replayed in your head.

"Hey, going so soon?" You looked over at him as you searched for your panties. Giving up, you pulled on your jeans and hooked your bra.

"B--Last night was...bad." You croaked and pulled your shirt over your head. "It shouldn't have happened." 

You grabbed your jacket and purse. You paused and touched your stomach as it threatened to flip. He was unfazed as he pushed the blankets aside and stretched with a yawn.

You tucked your socks into your purse and forced your feet into your boots. You stumbled and he caught you as you struggled to stand straight.

"That's not what you said last night." He chided. "Sounded to me like you enjoyed yourself."

"I was drunk," You pulled away from him. "And Peter--" Your heart dropped as you recalled Bucky holding his phone over you. Looking into the dark lens as he gloated. "Tell me you didn't send it."

He smirked and you clasped your hand over your mouth. You were gonna spew. You fought to keep your stomach calm and backed away.

"How could you do this?" You gasped.

"You guys are over. What does it matter? So you had a little fun." He reached out to you and you evaded him.

"You tricked me." You sputtered. "I was drunk, upset, and you-you--"

"Don't act so innocent. You came to the bar with me, you had three drinks--"

"You said you'd drive me home and you just dragged me back here and...and--”

A knock, then more pounding, came at the door. You froze and your eyes widened. 

"Open the fucking door!" Peter shouted from the other side. "You fucking asshole."

You stared at Bucky, silently pleading. Just wait for him to go, please. Bucky chuckled and brushed past you. You turned and grabbed his arm but he was too strong. You remembered the night before, how easily he had used your body. His metal hand around your throat.

"Please, don't. Bucky, I can't." You kept your voice low. "Just let him go."

He shrugged you off and you watched him stride to the door. He swung it open and Peter lunged at him in an instant. Bucky sidestepped and grabbed him by his scruff and tossed him to the floor. 

Still naked, he stood calmly as Peter leapt back to his feet and spun around. He raised his fist but never struck as his eyes strayed to you. He dropped his hand and stepped back as if he had been hit. You winced and clutched your bag as your head swirled.

"I'm...sorry." You rasped and dashed past Bucky to the door.

You didn't look back as you fled down the hall. You crashed through the next door and down the stairs as the world rushed past you. You ran from your mistake frantically until you were on the street.

You swept past the pedestrians intent on their own destinations and to the grimy waste bin by the curb. You hugged the rim and retched into the depths as your entire body rebelled. You could rid yourself of the bile but you could not rid yourself of your guilt.

❤

You spent your Sunday in bed, hungover and heartbroken. What had you done? You were so naive. So stupid. 

What else could Bucky have ever wanted from you but sex? You wondered however if it was more about Peter; about the odd vendetta Bucky seemed to have forged towards him in the last few weeks. To think Peter had the video, that he saw what you'd done was worse than the crime itself. 

You cried, and slept, and tried to forget. 

Monday came and your classes kept you busy but couldn't erase the blot on your soul. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The days were barely discernible. Your mind and body functioned off of sheer routine, not a thought was spared beyond your self-pity.

You ignored your phone. Peter texted until you muted his notifications. A private number kept calling but you could guess who it was. You had no reason to ever go near the compound again and less to associate with its residents.

On Friday, you only had one class at noon. You were done just after two and eager to go back to your dorm and order pizza. Stew in your new solitary mourning; for your relationship, for your dignity, for all you had drunk away in one night.

Campus was chilly. Winter greeted the students with a blanket of snow and the approach of the holidays was darkened by the imminence of finals. 

You walked along the winding path that led around the quad. The bushes were barren and prickly, the statues shrouded in hills of powder. You stopped to look up at the postmodern shapes arranged to seem as if they were floating. You tucked your hands in your pockets and shivered.

The snow crumpled behind you. As you waited for your fellow student to pass you were surprised when the footsteps stopped next to you. You frowned, confused, and glanced over.

Bucky's dark hair poked out from beneath the black beanie, he wore a thick jacket with fleece lining, and leather gloves. His eyes peered up at the statue as if he didn't even know you were there.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed.

"Well, you won't answer my calls," He spoke without looking over at you. "You do know I'm trained to find people. You can't just run away."

"Can't you take a hint?" You scowled.

"Can't you?" He countered. "Come on, we both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"

You looked down and dragged your foot through the snow. You felt a swirl in your stomach. The same you felt whenever you thought of that night. He was right but you weren't going to admit it.

"It doesn't matter." You insisted. "Look, I have exams. I have a degree to focus on. Let's just leave whatever that was as it is. Just sex. Regrettable sex."

He scoffed and nodded. You turned to watch him purse his lips as he thought. 

"I don't wanna leave it." He said. "And I won't."

"Just leave me alone," You grumbled and spun back down the path.

You weren't surprised when he followed. You knew it wouldn't be that easy. He had come all the way here, incessantly called you for days, not to mention the scheme that created this mess.

"That's not how this works." He kept stride with you. "You don't just walk away from me."

"Please, just stop," You begged as you walked faster. "I can't do this."

"Do what? You were happy enough to hang around when Peter was standing you up. And now you're just ditching me because spider-boy still won't grow up." He grabbed your arm and almost pulled you off your feet as he made you stop. "I told you things I never told anyone else. This isn't just sex to me."

"You're insane. I was so fucking drunk, you could have been Peter and I wouldn't have known." You tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

"You knew it was me. You wanted it. You wanted me. You still want me," He squeezed your arm and leaned in. "I'm everything Peter isn't and that's exactly what you need."

"Let me go," You breathed. "Please. Just let me go."

"Never." He sneered.

"I'll scream." You looked around. Students shuffled by on their way to and from class. "I will."

He grinned and shook his head. He let go and stood straight. His blue eyes narrowed and he looked down at you. Knowing, confident, dangerous.

"Fine." He squared his shoulders. "Next time, you can scream all you want."

Your eyes rounded and your lips parted in shock. What did that mean? You knew it wasn't good. 

He gave a two finger salute, "see ya around," he intoned as he stepped past you. 

You turned and watched him stroll off down the path, seemingly invisible amidst the groups of overtired students and self-involved professors. You glanced around and felt your own insignificance. Your vulnerability. 

Even if you had screamed, would anyone care?

❤

You shivered as you reached your dorm. You weren’t so sure it was the cold as your run-in with Bucky replayed over and over in your head. 

When you entered the dorm, the three girls you shared it with were all closed up in their rooms. It was unusual not to find them giggling in the common room together. They were likely holed up prepping for finals.

You kicked your boots off and left them on the mat. Your bedroom was unlocked. You must’ve forgotten to lock it before class. Oh well, you were too distracted to care. 

You set your bag on your desk as the door closed behind you and turned with a yelp as a small figure greeted you from the corner.

“Jesus, Peter, how did...what are you doing here?” You touched your chest and pushed yourself against the desk. 

He glared at you as he leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “I’ve been texting you.”

“Why? What is there left for us to talk about?” You flinched as he pushed himself away from the wall.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” He sneered as he got closer. “Like you fucking him the same night we broke up. That’d be a start.”

“What can I say, Peter? It happened.” You retorted. 

“And you just had to let him record it?” His lips slanted in detest. “What? Is that what I did wrong? I didn’t treat you like a slut?”

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I didn’t know...I was drunk. Very drunk.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“We’re over. What does it matter?” You snapped. 

“Yeah, but usually when a relationship ends, you don’t just jump on the next guy you see.” He spat. “And then you ignore me? For a whole week? Two years. Did it mean nothing to you?”

“It meant everything to me, Peter,” You countered. “But we were never going to last and it has nothing to do with Bucky.”

“So…” He was so close you could feel his breath. “You fucking him now?”

“No, I...it’s not your concern anymore,” You swallowed as he backed you up to the wall. “You should go.”

“I saw you talking to him,” He said evenly. “Out on campus. You looked pretty cozy.”

“Just go--”

“Not as cozy…” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped over his screen and smiled as he held it up. “As this.”

Your veins turned to ice as you watched the video. Bucky behind you, his hand at your throat, your flesh clapped as you called his name. Your voice was wild, it barely sounded like you. But it was you.

“So is that what you want? To hurt me?” You blinked away the tears. “Because you did that long before now.”

“What I want is for you to get on the bed.” He spoke quietly but his words cut through you.

“Go, Peter. We’re over.” You tried to push him away and he caught your arm and twisted. You whined as your wrist threatened to snap.

“If I have to tell you again, I can hit send. We’ll see what everyone else thinks of your short film. Hell, maybe you’d do better in a film degree.” He taunted and waved his phone in his other hand. “It’s a big campus but these things travel fast.”

You lowered your brow. The air was knocked out of you. You’d always known him as the sweet, compassionate boy you’d met that first day on campus. You knew he had changed, that’s why you’d broke it off, but you didn’t know he was like this.

“Please don’t do this,” You pleaded. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

“Get on the fucking bed now,” He drew the words out and closed his eyes as he inhaled. “Naked.” He let go of your wrist. “We’ll see who the little boy is.”

His eyes opened and you winced at their intensity. You gulped and nodded. You tried to speak but your voice was caught in your tight throat. You carefully stepped past him. You peeked over at the door. You stopped then bolted to the door. 

Before you could grab the handle, it was covered it corded webs that sealed it to the frame. Peter sighed. “Don’t make me use them on you, too. Bed. Now.”

You turned and gave him one last look. Of disgust and desperation. He didn’t waver. 

“And if I scream?”

“I can shut you up,” His fingers bent slightly as he lifted his hand. “Do I need to?”

You looked to your feet and unzipped your jacket. Your hands were shaking. You dropped your jacket on the floor and then your sweater. Your loose tee and jeans crumpled a top the pile with your socks trapped in the denim. 

You stood in your panties and bra and peeked over at Peter. He shrugged and you knew he wasn’t going to stop.

You undid your bra and added it to the mess on the floor. You rolled your panties down and stepped up to your single bed. You climbed up and drew our knees to your chest to cover yourself. You couldn’t look at Peter again. You stared at the polka dot comforter beneath you and waited.

You listened to his footsteps, him fiddling with something unseen, the rustle of his clothing. You sensed him as he neared the bed. 

“Come here.” He pointed to the mattress in front of him. 

You turned and shoved your legs over the edge as you sat there. You ignored his naked figure and kept your eyes down. He grabbed the back of your head and pressed his cock to your lips. 

You closed your eyes and parted your lips. He slipped inside and you gagged as he forced himself down your throat. Your eyes watered and you struggled to breath around him. He didn’t wait for you. He thrust in and out of your mouth. Each was hard, decisive, as if he meant to hurt you. 

Again. His hand moved and his other came up to hold your head in a vice. He fucked your face as you slapped his thigh helplessly. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t even seem to notice as you fought him.

Finally he pulled out. Spit coated your lips as he let you go and you fell back, out of breath and coughing. You were dizzy from the sudden and rough assault. Stunned by Peter’s behaviour. Senseless.

“Turn over.” He barked and you looked down at him. You just stared at him. 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up. He spun you around and pushed you against the bed until you lifted your knees up on the mattress. He grabbed your neck and shoved you down until your head was on the mattress. He slapped your ass and you exclaimed.

“Shut up,” He snarled and you bit your lip.

His cock prodded you as he felt around for your entrance. He pushed into you slowly at first and then slammed into you all at once. You whimpered and he thrust again, harder. He bent over you and grabbed your arms. He bent them behind you and jerked his hips again. Each time he rocked into you, it was sharp and jolted your entire body.

He hissed as he was driven by his own ferocity. Everytime you made a sound, he sped up. Your body shook as he rutted into you over and over. You were embarrassed as your unexpected arousal eased the glide of his cock. 

You shuddered and held your breath but you couldn’t resist it. The burning in your core, the flare that sparked and broke the surface. You gritted your teeth as you turned your face down muffled your orgasm in the duvet.

He growled. Not groaned, growled. You’d never heard him like this. Sure, your relationship had been anything but abstinent but something in him had come unhinged. He wasn’t holding anything back. Every ounce of hunger, anger, frustration, everything, was spoken through his touch.

He slowed suddenly. He kept his strokes long and even. He was pacing himself. He sped up again only to falter. Every time he came close to finishing, he pulled the reins back. 

He released your arms and pushed you down until your legs slipped over the edge of the bed and your hips were flat to the mattress. He impaled you with decisive thrusts, his hands on the small of your back as he pinned you down. His breaths were deep and eager as he bucked against you.

When he came, he didn’t let up. He grunted and spilled inside of you but didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. His cum seeped out as he buried his cock in your over and over. He crashed into one last time, sending a pang up your spine as he did, and stayed there. 

He squeezed your ass and pushed it apart. He wiggled his hips and let out a long breath.

“Is that what you wanted?” He smacked your ass and your body tensed. “A man.” He snarled. “Huh?”

“P-Peter,” You whispered as you turned your head.

“I guess falling in love with you just wasn’t enough,” He pulled out and pinched you so hard you cried out. You were too weak to move. “Have fun with Bucky but don’t come crawling back to me when he’s done with you. I don’t like leftovers.”

You rolled over as he turned away and started to dress, bending to grab each piece of clothing from the floor. Your lip trembled as he pulled on his jacket and tucked away his phone. 

He didn’t even look at you as he left. The door slammed behind him and the tears began to flow. You had been ready for the break-up, but never for this.

❤

Finals came and went. You were numb. In a haze. For once you weren’t nervous for your exams but only because you could barely focus on them. After each, you emerged barely able to remember what you’d written. You couldn’t think about anything but Peter’s harsh goodbye and Bucky’s ominous promise.

The holiday break arrived and campus was mostly abandoned. You planned to stay on campus that year with Peter but instead you'd be alone. Your parents decided to finally take that Christmas trip to the Bahamas like they'd always dreamed of. It was too late to go home.

Christmas Eve. You ventured out to grab a few groceries for your solitary christmas dinner. Nothing special. Pasta and pinot. Last minute shoppers bustled in the small shop and you wove between them as the early winter dusk started to descend. 

You stepped out onto the street as the grey sky turned a deep blue. You looked up at the sliver of moon and frowned. This wasn't how you'd imagined your Christmas. Never overly festive but you had looked forward to a cozy holiday with Peter. Well, that was a long gone hope.

You started down the street and were startled as a car honked at you and pulled up to the curve. You recognized it and walked faster. The engine died and the door opened and closed. The footsteps neared and you tried to elude them.

"Hey," Bucky caught your arm and forced you to slow down. You almost dropped the large paper bag.

"Leave me alone." You didn't look at him.

"Hey, I was just gonna help you out," He grabbed the top of the bag and you stopped before he could tear it. "That looks heavy."

“Please.” You hugged the bag and backed away from him. “I told you before--”

“You’re all alone.” He said bluntly. “On Christmas.”

“And so are you,” You countered.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” He warned and reached for the bag again. “I could help you. Take care of you.” You wrestled with him but he easily took the groceries. He looked inside and tutted. “That’s a lot of wine for one person.”

“Fuck off.” You turned on your heel and stormed away. He could keep it all. You just wanted this all to end. The dread, the dreams, the terrible guilt that never quite left you. He followed.

“Just let me give you a ride. We can talk.” He caught up with you. “What is it? A five minute ride to campus? Just five minutes, please?”

You stopped again. You looked up at him sharply. You were tired. You just wanted to get back to your dorm and hide. 

“Five minutes and you leave me alone for good.” You declared.

“Five minutes. That’s all.” He agreed and his lips curved just slightly. 

You shrugged and gestured past him. He led you back to his car. He placed the bag behind his seat as you got in and he took the driver’s seat. 

You crossed your arms and stared out the window as he turned the engine. You were reminded of that night he’d driven you home. You’d bought his sweet little act hook, line, and sinker. How stupid.

“I...wasn’t trying to trick you. I just wanted to be close to you.” He pulled out. “I hope you know that.”

“You recorded it,” You spat. “How was that not malicious?”

“That wasn’t about you, it was about him,” Bucky said. “I wanted him to see what he’d taken for granted. What he’d lost.”

“Are you stupid? Did you really think that was right?” You looked at him. “You could’ve been normal. You could’ve waited instead of getting me drunk. You could’ve just told me you were interested.”

“Do you think that would’ve worked?” He wondered as he steered. “I’m a lot older than you. I don’t know how things work these days.”

“You don’t just feed someone drinks and call that a relationship,” You shook your head. “You don’t send a video to her ex. You don’t--You don’t know what he did.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped at the intersection.

“Nothing. I just...me and Peter could’ve ended this as friends and you took that from me. And now, you know what, you’re right, I am alone. I--” You squinted as he turned away from campus and your words tumbled to murmurs. “Bucky, what are you doing? Where--”

You felt a prick in your neck and clapped your hand against it as you looked over at him. He held a syringe as your eyes felt loose in your head and a warmth spread along your neck and through your limbs.

“B-Bucky…” You fell back against the seat. 

“I won’t let you go.” He said as your eyes closed. “I can’t. I love you.”

His voice floated around you and faded into the black as you slumped against the door. You sank into the void, entirely and blissfully numb.

❤

The shroud slowly lifted from you. Your eyes fluttered open and you groaned as the ceiling was painted in flickering light. The crackle and smell of fire tickled your senses and you looked around the unfamiliar room. You rolled onto your side and tenderly cradled your head. It felt like a pebble was bouncing around your skull.

A dark figure knelt before the artificial fireplace, the poker in hand as he stoked it. Slowly Bucky turned his head and his face came clear through the haze. He wore a pair of flannel pants and a grey tee.

You pushed yourself up and hung your legs over the side of the bed. He stood and set aside the iron poker. He neared and sat beside you, his hand on yours.

“Take it easy.” He cooed. “You��re okay.” He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it. 

“Wh-where…” Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t find the word. 

“Home.” He smiled and brought his hand up to cradle your face. He kissed your forehead as his thumb rubbed your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You grimaced, confused. He reluctantly let go and stood. He walked around as you tried to clear your head. 

There were two doors, the windows were blacked out, but otherwise it seemed like a normal room. It could’ve been any apartment nestled in the midst of the overpopulated city.

“It’s already noon. You should dress.” He placed a dress in your lap. “Then we can open our gifts.”

Your mind threatened to crack. What the fuck was going on?

“My ma never let us sleep past six, even on Christmas, but I figured you needed the rest,” He continued. “You looked so peaceful.” He smiled and you unfolded the red velvet. “You can get cleaned up just in there.” He pointed to the door on your right. “I’ll be here.”

He sat in the armchair by the fire and leaned his chin in his hand as he watched you expectantly. You stood as you tried to hide your discomfort. A man who stuck a needle in your neck was bound to do a lot worse.

You hesitated as you neared the door. It would be a place to hide for a while at least. You said nothing as you kept your eyes on him and backed through the door. You closed it, slowly. He never stopped watching and you found the lock on the door didn’t work.

You turned and held up the velvet dress. The straps were thin and the burgundy skirt was trimmed with matching fur. You hated it.

You look down at your own clothing. He’d taken your jacket and boots off. Your sweatshirt was rumpled from your induced slumber and your jeans were stained with salt along the ankles. 

If you refused to be his doll, what would he do? You weren’t stupid enough to think you could keep him out, especially with a door handle that didn’t even click into place. 

Even if you fought him, he probably had another needle at the ready. Besides he was much too strong for that. You knew that already. There were no windows in the bathroom. No way out it seemed as those in the other room were sealed. 

You only had one choice. Well, not really a choice at all.

You quaked as you undressed. You avoided looking in the mirror as you folded your clothes on the counter. You kept your bra and panties on, even though they felt grimy from your sweat. You pulled on the dress. It was too tight and too short.

You wrung your hands as you looked around the bathroom. It was nice despite being a prison. Your nerves whirled around you and threatened to choke you. You flinched as knuckles tapped softly on the door.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

You blinked and marched to the door. You opened it, slowly, and stared back at him. He looked you up and down and grabbed your hand. He had a dreamy light in his eyes as he drew you out of the bathroom into the soft glow of the other room. 

The tree in the corner had been lit up with pale string lights and you blinked away the specs they left in your eyes. He stopped you and tisked.

“No,” He pulled the strap of your bra down your shoulder. “Take this off.”

You tucked your lip under your teeth and reached back to unhook the bra. You wrestled it out from beneath the dress and he took it from you. He flung it beside the bed and turned back to you.

His hands startled you as he brushed up your skirt and along your thighs. He grabbed your panties and tugged them down. You winced at his force and the cotton dropped to your ankles. He nudged you forward and you stepped out of them before he kicked them away.

“There, perfect,” He took your hand again and drew you over to the tree. “Time for presents.” 

He let go of you and sat on the floor like a child. He took a box from the pile beneath the fir and reached up to pull on your wrist.

“Come on. Sit.” He held up the wrapped gift. “Open your presents.”

You obeyed stiffly, careful to keep the skirt from showing too much. Your hand shook as you accepted the first box from him. You ripped away the paper and crumpled it up in your fist. You set it down and stared at the box lid.

“Bucky…” You glanced up at him. “It’s not too late. You can let me go. I won’t say a word. I’ll--”

“Open it.” 

He shoved the box closer and it almost slipped from your grasp. His smile fell as his metal finger rubbed against his thumb nervously. 

You let the box settle on your lap and you slid the lid off. Inside was a golden chain with your and Bucky’s initials hanging from it. You lifted it and he was swift to take it from you. 

“Here,” He spun his finger. “I’ll help.”

You turned, rigid as he got to his knees and neared you. His fingers tickled your throat as he wrapped the gold around it and clasped it at the back of your neck. He played with the dangling links and sent a shiver through you.

You drew away and resumed your seat on the rug. He handed you another box, this one bigger. He waited, expectantly. After a moment, he nodded and raised a brow. You opened the second gift and revealed a set of sheer lingerie. You quickly covered it up and cleared your throat.

“You don’t like it?” He asked. His tone was dangerous.

“I do. Thank you. I just wasn’t expecting it.” You lied. 

His metal fist balled and unballed. You kept looking back to it as he seemed to sway between delight and anger. You shuddered and he handed you the next gift.

“Good, good,” He said. “I picked them all just for you. I really hope you love them.”

You bit your tongue anxiously and opened the next gift. A dress similar to the one you wore but made of glossy silver silk. Then there was a toiletry set and some make-up and final a small box drawn from just beside the trunk of the tree.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he bit down and turned the velvet box in his fingers. He cleared his throat and got up on his knees. You glanced around, your heart seemed to stop as you realised what he was doing. He was most assuredly out of his mind.

“Sweetheart,” He gripped it as he brought one knee up, “Will you…” He popped it open and revealed a diamond cut into a teardrop. “Marry me?”

You were light-headed. You pushed the empty box from your lap and stood. You could barely do that as you tried to wave him away. 

“Bucky….” You gulped. “Bucky…” You spun and raced for the door. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

You wrenched the door handle but it wouldn’t turn. You tried to rip the door out of its frame but it didn’t even shake, You beat on it and hollered.

“Help!”

You sensed movement behind you and before you could turn to see, Bucky’s arm came up around your waist and he dragged you back. You struggled with him but it was all too easy for him to bend you to his will.

He shoved you to the bed and you caught yourself on the mattress with a yelp. He followed quickly and turned you onto your back as he straddled you on the edge. Your legs dangled over the side and you slapped at him.

“Please, please, why are you doing this?”

He caught your hand and stilled it with his vibranium grip. He bent all your fingers but one and forced the ring onto it. You swiped at him with your other hand and he swiftly caught it.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” He snarled. “I got you all these nice things and you go and spit in my face.”

“No, no, Bucky, please,” You begged.

“Quiet,” He barked. “It’s my turn now. Time for me to open my present.”

He released your hands and grabbed the straps of your dress. You flailed out at him and he snapped the velvet easily. You wriggled weakly and wheezed. You couldn’t breath. Your chest felt like it would collapse.

“Please,” You said. “Bucky… you’re scaring me.”

“You love me,” He sneered. “I know it. I knew it that night. The way you sounded when I touched you. The way you said my name,”

“I was drunk,” You grasped his wrists as his fingers hooked around your shoulders. “Bucky, I can’t even remember that night.”

“Shut up!” He shouted and shook you. “Stop lying!”

You bit your tongue and tasted blood. Your head spun as you felt his weight shift and the velvet tickle your thigh. He tore your skirt up to your waist as he hovered over you on his knees. 

“Bucky,” Your voice cracked as you pressed your hand over his. “I still love Peter.”

“No,” He pushed himself off of you. “You don’t” He gripped his head. “You love me!”

“Bucky--”

“I already told you to shut up,” He growled. “So shut up before I make you.”

He gruffly ripped his shirt over his head. His thumbs hooked under the elastic of his pants and he pushed his shoulders back. His blue eyes were dark and sinister as he watched you sit up.

“Keep the dress on,” He shoved his pants down. 

You stood as he quickly untangled himself from the flannel. He caught you by your throat and forced you back down to the bed. You grabbed his thick forearm as he knelt over you, his fingers threatening to crush your throat.

“Say it. Say you love me.” His hissed.

“You’re hurting me.” You clung to his arm.

“Hurting you!? I’ve only ever been good to you and you--” He stuttered in rage and forced his leg between yours.

He kept his hand on your throat and lifted your other leg as he placed himself entirely between your legs. He bent your leg around him as he bent over you, almost crushing your neck with his hand.

“I never wanted to hurt you, but you insist on hurting me,” He squeezed as his hand crawled up your leg. “Say it!”

You squeaked as you slapped at his hand. His fingers crept over your thigh and down your pelvis. He pushed his fingers roughly between your legs and felt along your folds. His touch hurt as he forced two fingers inside of you, dry.

He poked in and out harshly and your eyes rolled back as your vision began to spot. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. He rescinded his fingers and pressed the head of his cock against you.

You hugged him with your legs, trying to force him away. He slid his tip inside of you and you let out a stifled moan. You hit his thick bicep as he inched into you. You whimpered and scratched at the vibranium.

“Ple-ease,” You rasped.

“Say it.” He thrust sharply and impaled you entirely. 

“Buck--”

He thurst again and your voice fizzled with a sob.

“Say you love me,” He pressed his lips to your cheek. “Say it.”

He jolted his hips, each time your whined and felt even weaker beneath him. Your head swam and as your walls clenched around him.

“B--” You could barely breath.

“Say it.” His spit trailed across your cheek as he nuzzled your neck.

He sped up, the bed trembled beneath you. You were crushed beneath his relentless pounding. Each thrust sent a reverberation up your spin and ripples along your thighs. You snaked your arm around his neck and pushed your head back into the mattress.

“Say.” He jerked roughly. “It.”

“I--I--” His hand slipped away as he nibbled at your throat and he cradled your head. “I…  love--- you!”

You exclaimed as you came suddenly. You were appalled and stunned by your bodies response to him. He was inflamed by it and rutted into you even harder.

His thick grunts stormed in your ears as his fingers stretched across the back of your head. The velvet was rough between your bodies as he moved against you. He snarled as he spasmed. Your body went limp as he emptied into you.

He stilled and rested his weight over you. You closed your eyes, your face wet from tears and sweat. His hand fell away from your head and he laced his fingers through yours and placed with the diamond there.

“I love you, too,” He cooed and kissed your neck.

[azurethevampire]

Mando’s Lessons to Parenting Special: The Gift

A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

The Mandalorian won the vote for Christmas fic 2020 by one vote so here we are - I hope you enjoy! :)

As there isn't really Christmas in the Star Wars universe I have taken the liberty to play around with Life Day which I see as the closest equivalent to Christmas in the Star Wars universe.

Summary: Life Day is closing in and you are determined to get both The Child and Mando the perfect gifts. The little one's gift is easy enough but the closer the holiday comes the more frustrated you grow as you can't figure out a gift that would be good enough for Mando. But Din Djarin just might give you the best present yet. 

Words: 2017

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

"A hundred!?"

"Yes."

"For, for this piece of scrap?!" 

The salesperson glared at you at that. "Listen, you aren't happy with my prices-", they yanked the metallic item out of your hands with more force than necessary, "take yourself elsewhere. You're ruining my good day." 

You narrowed your eyes and grit your teeth. You had to close your eyes, take a deep breath and force yourself to turn around from the booth - which declared itself as the perfect gift shop - to stop you from entering a shouting match with the salesperson. 

How were you ever going to buy a gift for Din Djarin when it seemed every single salesperson in this town had such upscale prices for little pieces of junk?! You didn’t have that much money on you as it was and the last thing you wanted to do was borrow credits from Din. It would have been just plain wrong to use Din’s own money to buy him a gift for Life Day.

“Ugh”, you groaned and kicked a rock out of your path. Why was this so hard now? You had had no trouble finding a gift for the little green monster that you had claimed as your brother. Why was Din’s gift so difficult? It seemed that every single thing that you even considered was either too expensive for you or just wasn’t the right gift. 

 The sound of something shattering made you look up, eyes widening. Seeing that the stone you had kicked had hit a clay pot in front of a home, you halted and then groaned. 

You thought about turning around. It didn't seem like anyone had noticed you had kicked the rock. You could just turn around, run from the scene and continue your gift searching. 

But you couldn't do it; even if it weren’t for the hands that suddenly landed on your shoulders you most likely would have gone up to the house and apologized to its owner for breaking their property. 

"I hope you didn't do that on purpose, kid." 

You craned your neck backwards to look up at Cara Dune whose hands gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze. 

"I didn't", you answered honestly, although there was an underlying tone of bitterness that Cara caught on. 

The former mercenary turned sheriff frowned. "Alright, kid, we are gonna go up there and pay for the damage in a moment, but first you are going to tell me what's going on with you." 

The woman lifted a finger as you opened your mouth protest. "Ah-ah, before you tell me that 'nothing' is going on, I suggest you take into consideration that I know you kid and this is not you." 

You huffed and crossed your arms. "Fine." You said. "I can't find a gift good enough for him." 

"Who, Mando?"

"Yeah", you nodded. "Everything I even consider ends up being way too over-prized! I will never find a gift for him in time for Life Day by this rate!" 

Cara patted your head. "You take this thing way too seriously kid; have you considered that perhaps the best gift to our friend from you would be something self-made?"

"...self-made?" you repeated, seemingly dumbstruck. 

How come you hadn't thought about that? Making something to Din would indeed be a perfect gift! What else could be both affordable and show how much the man meant to you?

Suddenly you grinned and were quick to hug Cara around the waist. "Thank you! You gave me the perfect idea, Cara!" 

The former stormtrooper grabbed you by the scruff of your neck when you tried to dash away from her. "Kid, as glad as I am to help you, we had a deal, remember?"

You looked up at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I will go and apologize for breaking the vase."

•-•-•-•-•-•

The Mandalorian had never really celebrated Life Day. Never had any reason to do so. 

Now he found himself indulging his two charges and especially the older one. He barely admitted it to himself (he certainly was not going soft) but Din quite enjoyed seeing the way your face lit up when you got the permission to hang up some light strips around the Razor Crest's living area along with some other ornaments you and the kid had managed to dig up from somewhere. 

Wanting to give the kids something better on this day that so clearly meant a lot to you, Din had made an effort to buy you all a more festive meal. It was no tip-yip but it was the best substitute he could afford. Of course, he would only watch you and the kid eat and would help himself for whatever his two little troublemakers left for him after you would fall asleep. 

"Wow! This is so good!" You exclaimed once you were seated around the table on Life Day eating the meal Din had gotten for you. The child across from you made happy agreeing noises as he munched his own food. 

"I'm glad you like it, kids." 

"Are you kidding, Mando? This's gotta be the best meal I have had for a while", you said. "You gotta try this!" you insisted, pushing a plate towards the Mandalorian. 

Behind the cover of his helmet, Din Djarin grimaced. 

He knew that you had not meant anything malicious with those words but it struck him right to his heart for two reasons. One, because he was trying to do his best by both of the kids who had managed to sneak their way into his heart but initially he knew that the life he had to offer you was far from the best you and The Child could have with someone else. Two: you jested to him about his helmet most of the time but lately the jabs meant to be light had only managed to make Din feel bad. 

He knew how much he meant to you. For crying out loud, you had accidentally called him dad a while ago - not that you seemed to remember and he wasn't about to remind you even if he sort of wanted to.

You two little rascals had come to mean the world to him, so why couldn't he take his helmet off in front of you?

"Okay!" Your voice interrupted the Mandalorian's train of thought. You sounded both excited and nervous as you pushed your now empty plate away from you. "It's time for the gifts!" 

Gifts?!

Dank farrik, I forgot about the presents!

You proceeded to take out two messily wrapped boxes from under the table, one being significantly smaller in size than the other. 

The Child tilted his head curiously as you passed him the smaller one. "Happy Life Day, brother", you wished and then helped him unwrap the gift. 

It revealed a small metallic ball, much similar to the one from the cockpit that The Child loved to play with, Din noticed. And if the happy babbling noises The Child made indicated anything, he enjoyed his gift. 

"And uh… this is for you, Din", you said next, obviously nervous and pushed the larger of the gifts towards the Mandalorian. 

His hands automatically wrapped around the package but he didn't open it yet, looking at you instead. "Y/N…" he began, somewhat hesitating. What if you got mad at him for not having a gift in return? "I'm sorry but I forgot about the gifts - I don't have one for you." 

"...oh", you said, and Din didn't like the fact that he couldn't make out if it was a disappointed 'oh' or a neutral one. But then a small smile appeared on your face. "It's okay, I- you agreeing to celebrate today with us is a gift enough for me." 

No, it is not. It shouldn't be, Din thought but said nothing and only bobbed his head slowly. 

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" you asked with a frown. 

The Child also looked at the Mandalorian with a questioning, almost demanding look. Din Djarin let out a chuckle, slightly altered by his voice modulator. "Alright, kids, I'll open it,” he relented. 

What the wrapping revealed made Din Djarin’s eyes sting and his vision blurred a bit. It was not the best artwork he had seen in his life but at the same time, it definitely was the most beautiful one. 

You had excelled yourself this time. He wondered how long it had taken you to make this. 

From behind his visor, Din looked at three self-made figurines with blurry eyes. They were standing on a small round pedestal made of moss and small rocks. The tallest figure wore an armor resembling his beskar one and was holding a bundle of green with one arm as the other was wrapped around the shoulders of a figurine of a little girl.

On the bottom edge of the rock pedestal was carved one word, a word that Din didn't even know you knew; Aliit. 

Family in Mando’a. 

Was this the your way of telling him that this was how you saw Din? How you saw the three of you?

Suddenly Din realised that both of the children were looking at him. There had been a smile on your face but as the seconds dragged by and Din hadn’t said anything the smile faded. 

“I- I can make you a new one if you don’t-”

“No!” Din said, maybe a bit louder than was necessary, startling both of the kids as you jumped slightly in your seats. “No, Y/N”, he said next, in a gentler tone. “... it’s…” he tried to search for a word that would convey how much this gift had managed to move something inside him but he didn’t know such word, and he cursed himself for it. Instead he reached out and took your hand in his, squeezing it. “Thank you, kid.” 

The smile returned to your face and Din felt relief wash over him. 

This was how it was supposed to be: his kids were supposed to be happy. 

Din carefully lifted the group of figurines from the table. “I know the perfect place for it.” 

“Yeah, what is that?” you asked, now curious. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, kid”, Din said, his voice having a playful edge to it. 

•-•-•-•-•-•

“Thank you, Din.” 

The Mandalorian pushed your hair behind your ear. It was nighttime, and the Child had already fallen asleep in the middle of playing with his new toy. After all these months, Din Djarin still marvelled at how it had become a mundane routine for him to tuck you kids in your beds before laying down himself. 

“I should be thanking you, kiddo.” 

You frowned. “For what?” 

For giving me a family I didn’t know I needed, he thought, but couldn’t make himself to say it. “For showing me the meaning of Life Day.” 

“Oh”, you said. You pat his armor-covered arm a few times. “You’re welcome.” 

No, this didn’t cut it, Din thought. He should be able to give you something. Something that you would - could - hold valuable. But you would fall asleep soon and the moment would be gone. 

Then it struck him. 

He could give you the perfect Life Day gift after all. Something that you had wanted as long as you had known him. 

“Hey kiddo?” You hummed in response as you had already closed your eyes. “Don’t go to sleep yet. I have something for you.” 

“Wh-what?” you mumbled, drowsily opening your eyes again. You pushed yourself to sit and let your eyes fall on the Mandalorian. 

For a few seconds, Din Djarin hesitated but then his hands moved to the sides of his helmet. 

Your eyes widened as you understood what he was about to do. 

And Din Djarin removed his helmet for the first time in front of you, letting you see the face that you had so long been begging to see. 

“Happy Life Day, kid”, he said softly. 

You teared up and all you could do was to stare at him in the eyes you had dreamed to see on so many occasions. 

[jerkbitchidjitassbutt]

It Was You (Part Four)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

Read Part one, part two, and part three here (masterlist forthcoming)

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo​​. This chapter and others will fill the square of ‘fake dating’. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3446

Series Warnings: cursing, angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

Jensen woke to his cell buzzing on his nightstand, reaching blindly to silence the pestering noise. Lying on his back, he quickly peered through one half opened eye to see what all the fuss was about. Seeing it was Stacy, he hit the side button to reject her call, vowing he’d return it after ten more minutes of sleep. As he rested his head back on the pillow, you stretched slightly and rolled to face him as you slept, reminding him of how he’d carried you to his bed last night. You reached for him and pulled yourself under his arm to cuddle against him, throwing a leg over his as he laid on his back. He loved waking up next to you, no matter where it was. You’d shared a bed multiple times in your long friendship and he’d never felt as rested as when you were next to him, even if the vacancy was filled by someone else.

Jensen let his mind wander to what it would be like to wake up to you every morning, to take your friendship and turn it into something more. He would be lying if he said Y/n hadn’t been the first person that came to his mind when Stacy mentioned him settling down, and almost choked on his coffee when she agreed to be his pretend girlfriend. When he was young, he’d always just seen you as his best friend, but when he left for L.A. after his eighteenth birthday, the absence made him realize how much he’d loved you for so many years. It was a fondness that grew out of the shared intimacy and a longing bloomed within him, and it was no secret to him why it hadn’t worked out with anyone else. They weren’t you – they didn’t laugh like you. They didn’t touch him like you. They didn’t care for him in the way you did.

Since you’d moved to Vancouver, each time he’d get the nerve to bring his feelings up to you, you’d either be seeing someone or mention once again how much you valued his friendship. There were moments when he thought you may feel something for him to, between the lingering touches and occasional yearning gaze. When the time came, though, he’d always let his fears of losing you get in the way.

As you moved against him, trying to get closer to him in your dreaming slumber, his grip tightened around you to bring you to the spot no one else could seem to fill. You threw an arm around his waist and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your warmth seeping through him as your breath fanned across the tender skin. Jensen buried his face in your hair, inhaling a mixture of you and the floral scent of your shampoo, content to savor the moment where he could pretend that it was real, that maybe you wouldn’t scurry away when you woke to find yourself there.

You began to stir, breathing deeply and opening your eyes. You pushed against him slightly, just enough to peer up at him through your lashes.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Jensen whispered, searching your eyes for a long moment. He could have sworn he saw it, that fleeting passion that he could have sworn was intended for him. His eyes flitted to your lips, plush and full and slightly agape. It would be a dream to mold his mouth to yours and feel you let go. Your skin would feel like silk beneath his fingertips and he would savor every touch.

You seemed to study him, almost searching your brain for some sort of recognition.

You were in a blissful fantasy before you woke, wrapped in Jensen’s arms as he pinned you beneath him, nipping and licking at the exposed skin of your neck. In your hazed mind, you could still feel his delicious weight on top of you as he ground against you, and the burn of his scruff still tingled across your chest as he kissed down your body. His touch still ghosted across your skin but left no trace as your eyes opened slowly to be met with his emerald ones. It took your foggy, drowsy mind a moment to realize that you were no longer dreaming, but the fire in your core was still lit ablaze.

His eyes were filled with fondness as he looked down at you. Finding yourself in his arms as you woke still felt like a dream as your heartbeat rapidly sounded in your chest, until he began drawing patterns on your upper arm with his thumb. Your head rested against the swell of his shoulder and you could feel his stomach rising and falling with breath beneath your arm. He shifted a bit and you realized that your leg was tangled with his as your hips and body angled towards him.

“Y/n? You okay?” Jensen breathed, flitting his eyes between your eyes and lips as you stared at him, still playing catchup in your brain. He sucked in a breath when you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, still silently searching his features. He could do it – he could kiss you. He could feel every curve in his hands and feel every breath if he took the chance, and the way you were looking at him, eyes darkened with want, he began to lean forward, slowly and tentatively.

Jensen’s tongue ran across his plump lips and continued to trace small circles on your exposed skin before moving his hand to your hair. This wasn’t for show, and the weight of the intimacy bared down on you as he moved towards you, aiming for your lips.

As soon as your eyes fluttered closed, Jensen’s phone began to ring. His eyes snapped open with annoyance as he stared into yours. He didn’t want to pick up – whoever it was could go to hell right now, but when you smiled and told him to, he sighed heavily and grabbed his cell, seeing that it was Stacy once again.

She could usually take a hint, so this must’ve been important. Jensen gave you a sympathetic smile and pressed the button to answer.

“Hello?”

“Jensen? Good morning, it’s Stacy.”

“Yeah, how are you?”

“I’m great. Have you gotten the chance to check social media this morning? There’s some great stuff floating around about you and Y/n already. Apparently some paps got some photos of you two in town yesterday so gossip is buzzing.”

“Oh, that’s… good?”

“It sure is!” Stacy exclaimed, which you could hear from your spot, still tucked beneath Jensen’s shoulder as his grip on you never loosened. “Great job, you two. This is going well already. Keep up the social media stuff, but I wanted to warn you before you guys headed to the airport that there would probably some cameras around.”

Jensen’s eyes went wide, “The airport… right.”

“Yeah, I wanted to catch you before you got in. Are you about to leave? Your flight is in 3 hours.”

He snapped his head to face you as you realized what that meant, looking at him with a panicked expression. You needed to get your ass up and go.

“We’re about to leave soon. Cliff should be here in, uh,” Fuck, it’s 9:00. “20 minutes to get us.” He said, more to you than Stacy as he grabbed his watch from his nightstand when you rolled off of him.

“Alright, well you guys have a safe trip. I’ll be in touch soon!” her chipper voice echoed through his receiver before it clicked and ended the call. You were dashing around the room, gathering your sweater, shoes, keys, and phone before you had to run to your apartment to change and grab your packed suitcase, allowing Jensen to do the same. As you made your way to the door, Jensen called to you, still in his pajama pants and tight v-neck with his hair was gloriously tousled.

“We’ll continue this later?” He proposed, his voice deep and smooth.

You paused in the doorframe to respond, arms laden with your belongings. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and grinned, “I’d like that.”

He sighed a breath of relief through his smile before rushing to the adjacent bathroom to take a quick shower.

It was December 22nd, and the airport was going to be insanely packed, but between Jensen’s security needs and first-class tickets for the two of you to Austin, you were able to get priority registration and pre-checks.

You hurried quickly to your apartment, pausing momentarily when you shut your door to run your fingertips through your hair and calm your swirling thoughts. There was no question that he was going to kiss you, at least from your perspective. Could this really be happening? With a smile and a pounding heart, you ran to your bathroom to brush your teeth, freshen up, and change, opting for black leggings and a thick shawl. You threw some last-minute items in your makeup bag and slung it over your waiting suitcase, grabbing your scarf, sunglasses, and purse and you were ready to meet Jensen outside.

Cliff and Jensen met you at the waiting SUV and loaded your luggage into the trunk, Jensen sliding in beside you in the back seat. It was a short ride to the airport and was mostly spent with Cliff briefing Jensen of the security protocols he would be taking once you arrived. He was already prepared for the possibility of paparazzi being present and would be sure you had a clear path to the entrance.

With about five minutes until you arrived, Jensen leaned in to whisper, “Would you be alright with holding my hand? You know, when we go in? F-for the cameras?” he asked, his eyes hopeful and nervous.

Your smile faltered as he said the last bit, worried that maybe the arrangement was still at the forefront of his mind. Until he added, “Or, if you just wanted to.”

His features softened as the smile returned to your face and you agreed. “I mean, ya know… I’d be alright with it.” He said in a teasing fashion, puffing his chest as you giggled. Sliding his hand across the leather seat, he brushed his fingers across yours before entwining a few. Your cheeks began to tingle and your heart swelled within your chest, a feeling present that you’d never experienced before.

Jensen couldn’t get the image of you from this morning out of his head. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw you beneath him, biting your lower lip. It was driving him mad and he was more than sure you were going to kiss him back. Now, though, he was kicking himself for answering that phone call. He was kicking himself for not pulling you into his arms as soon as he hung up.

A short moment later and you were pulling up at the entrance, not entirely surprised to see a few people lingering around the pillars with cameras in their hands. It was a popular spot for folks in their profession, hoping to snap a few shots of celebrities boarding their flights and since the movie and television studios had just recently shut down production for the holidays, their odds increased of getting a good photo to sell.

“You ready?” Jensen asked, squeezing your hand as you stared out towards the building.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” he urged, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, alright? Cliff and I will be right here.”

You gave him a small smile, but deep down it wasn’t only safety you were concerned about. You knew that once photos surfaced of you and Jensen, the rumors would spread fast. Now, though, there would be some truth to them, or so it seemed.

Cliff exited the car and grabbed both yours and Jensen’s suitcase from the trunk before opening the passenger’s side rear door, allowing Jensen to step out. As soon as he did, loud clicks and a whirl of footsteps could be heard, with people surrounding the vehicle quickly. Cliff stood like an intimidating brick wall and bellowed at them, which made a few of them move back a few steps.

When Jensen turned and offered his hand, you put your sunglasses on and grabbed your bag, hearing the furry of camera shutters increase rapidly. Clearly, they were very interested in who Jensen was bringing with him.

You slid across the seat and took his extended hand in yours. When he helped you shuffle out of the vehicle, he laced a few of his fingers loosely with yours once again and made his way through the crowd of shouts and flashing lights, each of you pulling your suitcases as Cliff led the way. One reporter asked Jensen who his guest was, which made you laugh a bit. Another asked where you were headed, but those were the only few that you could make out in the chorus of questions. He waved graciously as he pushed passed them, continuously checking beside him to make sure you were alright. Jensen’s hand tightened around yours and he looked at you through his darkened glasses, giving you a grin. When you returned his smile, you realized that it may be for show, but he never dropped your hand even after the cameras were behind you.

Cliff said his goodbyes when he ensured that you made it safely to the TSA pre-check. He would be heading home soon also, but his flight was a red eye that night so he would have time to pack himself. He gave you a fleeting, knowing look as his eyes casted down to yours and Jensen’s entwined hands, the tiniest smile adorning his lips.

After going through the security check, you and Jensen explored the shops at the airport and grabbed a coffee before taking a seat at your gate with fifteen minutes to spare before they began boarding. A few fans approached him and asked for an autograph or photo and he was polite and chatted with each of them as you smiled from the sidelines. He was always so gracious with the people he met, and it made you a bit proud. It was just another way that he’d proven to stay true to who he was even now that he was recognized almost everywhere he went. It had taken a bit of getting used to when it began and now his fans were calling you by name. When he and Jared were together, there was no stopping the barrage of passersby.

The few people gave you a wave as you sat next to him and you offered to take their photo for them before they ran to their own flights that were departing soon.

Jensen beamed as he waved them goodbye before turning to you, “You know, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that.”

Laughing, you commented, “Well, I can’t blame them. They get excited seeing you in the ‘wild’.” You joked.

He sat back and stifled a yawn before taking a sip of his coffee, “You okay? Are you tired?” you questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I’m good. I’ll be fine once we get on the plane.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ll be asleep before we reach the end of the tarmac.”

You were jealous of his ability to sleep on planes, but since he began traveling so much he learned to get some shut eye where he could and now the whirl of the jet engines was a lullaby to him, almost putting him to sleep instantly.

“Well, if you snuggle with me, I’ll be a goner, for sure.”

He gave you a suggestive look and wiggled his eyebrows. Before you could respond, the attendant began to call rows for boarding, meaning you and Jensen were some of the first needed to get in line.

He stowed both of your bags in the compartments when you found your seats, opting to give you the window and asking for an extra pillow or two from the attendant. When you sat, Jensen leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Two o’clock.”

You turned to view what he was talking about, knowing that he was signaling you to look in a specific direction. Sure enough, in the row directly behind you to the left, there was someone with a phone pointed in your direction, seemingly hoping to get a photo of Jensen. This meant the two of you couldn’t necessarily talk freely during the flight, especially about what happened that morning, as many people were in earshot.

Giving you a small smile, he reached for your hand after he’d buckled in, clasping it in his as the plane roared down the freeway and took off towards Austin.

Sure enough, Jensen fell asleep against your shoulder about a half an hour into the flight, so you quietly ordered a drink and a snack and caught up on some Netflix on your phone, gently plugging your headphones in your ears so that you wouldn’t wake him.

You were lucky to have a direct flight into Austin, and Jensen woke up about an hour before you landed. You laughed and chatted about random things, just passing the time until the wheels touched down. He held your hand once again as you exited the airport, his fingers searching out yours expectantly and gripping them tight. He began to scan the crowd for Jared, who smiled widely and waved frantically when he caught sight of you as he towered above everyone else in his surroundings.

As he drove you through the streets of Austin to his home, he caught you up on the details of the party tonight, “Gen decided she wanted to do an ugly Christmas sweater themed party, so she grabbed you both one to wear. Don’t blame me, she and the boys picked them out.”

“Oh goodness…” you commented. “I hope Gen looked out for me a little.”

Jared threw his head back in laughter as Jensen looked at you from the passenger’s seat, turning his head to shoot you a look of yeah right as you sat in the back.

You were met with hugs from the Gen and the littlest Padaleckis as soon as the car pulled in the driveway and Tom whisked you away to show you the drawings he’d made for you and Uncle Jensen.

“Hi to you too!” Jensen shouted as they ran inside, pulling you by your hands to follow as you turned to stick your tongue out at him. They loved him, truly, but he was all but forgotten when you were there with him. He waved you off and rounded the car to grab your bags, Jared popping the trunk and helping.

Jared clicked his tongue and pressed, “So… Things are… different?”

“What do you mean, man?” Jensen retorted, feigning innocence.

“You and Y/n. There’s something there that wasn’t there before.”

Jensen sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that bloomed against his cheeks as he ran his hand along the scruff of his jaw.

“Or,” Jared interjected. “Or maybe it’s something that’s always been there?”

Jensen looked at his best friend with a bit of worry in his eyes, feeling as though he’d just been caught. Jared had always known how much you cared about each other and had his suspicions that you each had more feelings than you were letting on, but Jensen had never confessed it to him in all the years he’d known him. It was the one thing they didn’t share, partially because Jensen knew he’d never hear the end of it and Jared would try some sort of scheme to get them together. If it happened, he wanted it to happen organically, not because of the meddling of his 6’4 goofy-puppy co-star. The truth was, though, Jensen was still afraid of ruining your friendship. He never wanted to lose you, ever.

Jared noticed the energy his friend was giving off and tried to offer him a bit of solace, “Hey, man. Not to worry. You two have always been together, just not together. This may have started as an arrangement, but maybe it’s just the open door you both need to explore your feelings? Maybe this is the way you two stop dancing around each other. Maybe this is the push you needed.” He clasped his hand on Jensen’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, his lips curling on one side before he shut the door to the garage.

Jensen thought about his friend’s words, a new sense of courage blossoming within him and making his heart stammer and swell.

“Yeah, maybe.”

To be continued...

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It was you

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Jensen Only

@mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​​

[nanagoswife]

Please Don't Go. - Chapter 15

Summary: Obi-Wan finally meets Aldoken.

W/C: 4.2k

Warnings: angst

A/N: we have reached the chapter where I mention something from Master and Apprentice by Claudia Gray. It isn't really huge, but it's there.

- - -

“How was that to start this off?” you asked with a sweet smile.

“It actually gave me more confidence. Even though I know you hadn’t planned that, thank you.” His smile was genuine as he looked down at you.

“Time to meet your son,” you say quietly, slowly leaning towards his lips. “Our son,” you finished before briefly pressing your lips to his.

All he did was nod, slightly afraid to speak now that this was really happening. Never in his life did he think he would ever have a family, a child. Until he met you, he never dreamed of things like that. For the first twenty-four years of his life, he thought the closest he would ever get was having a padawan of his own.

That thought was quickly dashed when he met you nearly fourteen years ago. Since then, he wished to bring that, not only for himself, but for you. As he stands here now, looking at you as you say your farewell to Cody, he’s mad at himself.

There was no way to tell how much pain he caused you over these years. And on top of that, he left you to raise their child alone. In a way, it wasn’t his fault, but it really was. Had he kept the promise he made to you, this wouldn’t have been happening. Instead, he would’ve been by your side and greeting Aldoken with warmth instead of hesitance. He would’ve been there, holding your hand as you had given birth to him. The years would’ve been happier with all of you as a family. Together.

Obi-Wan didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you or the right to be introduced to his son. He didn’t deserve your unending kindness and love that never faltered. Why, after all he’s done, did anyone take him back?

His thoughts were pushed away when he heard you calling out to Aldoken after having a brief chat with Padmé. He watched as the boy easily came running into your arms when you knelt down onto the floor. As he hugged you, Padmé had said her goodbye.

“Guess what?” you say, pulling away so that you could look at your little boy.

“What?” he replied with his usual happy tone. He giggled when you brought a hand up to brush his fringe back.

As he watched, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think how overwhelmingly Aldoken looked like him. He could see as many of your features in him as he could see his, but there’s no mistaking who the father is. Even if people like Cody, Padmé and Anakin had not known about the two of you, they would be able to figure it out in a heartbeat.

Playfully, you pinched Aldoken’s cheek which caused more giggles to erupt in the silent room.

“I have a little surprise. Can you do what Anakin taught you and find out?” Like you did with Cody, you angled your son just enough that, unless he took his attention away from you, he could easily see Obi-Wan standing not far away.

Aldoken’s expression became serious when he nodded. Closing his eyes, he reached out through the force so that he could determine what you meant.

For a moment, you let your gaze fall on Obi-Wan. There was a look of wonderment across his face. It was almost like he hadn’t realized that his son would also be force sensitive. There was a small smirk that was pulling at the corner of his lips as he must’ve felt Aldoken’s energy brush against his.

The boy’s eyes shot open and he immediately turned his head to look at Obi-Wan. This is where Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh in pure joy, or burst into tears at possible rejection. It didn’t get any better as his son only looked at him for a few moments.

The uncertainty started to build as Aldoken walked away from you and, almost cautiously, walked towards Obi-Wan. He could tell that the boy was piecing something together, like he couldn’t believe that he was no longer only looking at a holo.

Then, his expression changed as the realization hit him. He was no longer looking at a holo.

“Daddy?” he said, in the softest, most innocent questioning voice Obi-Wan had ever heard.

Tears of joy were building up as he trembled and, in a breath, replied, “Yes.”

Aldoken smiled, large, and ran the last few meters to his father. Obi-Wan bent down and lifted the boy into his arms. He gripped him tight as he felt as the boy’s legs did their best to wrap around him.

As he exhaled, his breath shuddered as so much was running through his mind. You looked on at the pair and started to tear up. This was a moment that was long overdue; a moment that, for a while, you thought would never happen.

Obi-Wan caught your gaze and smiled. Maybe now he could set things right. Provide you with the life that he cruelly ripped away. Maybe, you would have him back the way it was the day he proposed.

When he thought of that, it was only then that he realized that you still wore the necklace. Had you been wearing it the whole time? Or had you only just recently put it back on?

None of that mattered, though. Not when he was holding his son who seemed to be grappling to him with as much emotion as he was. His small head was pressed into the crook of his neck, fluttering eyelashes gently tickling the skin there.

Usually, he’d chuckle at the sensation. Right now, it was something he never wanted to part with. Obi-Wan basked in the feeling.

Aldoken suddenly bolted up to look at Obi-Wan, a giant smile on his face as his own bright blue eyes couldn’t decide which one of Obi-Wan’s to settle on. His tiny hands were planted on top of both sides of his collarbone.

Carefully, Aldoken brought one hand up to rest a hand on Obi-Wan’s cheek. It was something he was doing to both help make the final tie of the bond with his father, but it was also to feel the coarse hairs there. He had always been fascinated with facial hair, but hardly any of the clones he knew well had it. Cody would always let him play with his hair, but that wasn’t the same.

He giggled lightly, just like you had when you first ran your fingers through his scruff. It warmed his heart as he felt the small hand. Aldoken brought it up so that he could feel the hair on top of his head. When he lightly stroked the strands, his eyes glowed with an idea.

“May I show you something?” Obi-Wan now saw what you meant about him being mature for his age. Even the younglings at the temple his age acted this politely and maturely. He knew it well as he was often a favourite among all of the masters that would give them lessons and they would always come to him with questions.

It was something that you had witnessed a few times on rare visits to the Temple when an issue with the Sith arose. They would absolutely swarm him as he escorted you through the halls. He always said you were good with kids, but he was exceptional.

Never being able to refuse, Obi-Wan would always accept, just as he did now. Aldoken slightly wriggled, asking silently to be let down. When his feet touched the ground, he tugged at the sleeve of Obi-Wan’s tunic. Usually it would be his cloak, but he had taken that off some time ago.

Intrigued, Obi-Wan followed as Aldoken was leading him to his room. When he looked around, it oddly reminded him of his own room that he had gotten when he was still young. There were even a few items that used to be his that lined the nearly empty shelves. Other than that, there were toys of clone troopers, a stuffed varactyl toy, and lots of books. The books must’ve been from your home planet, as yours was one of the few that still actively produced things with flimsiplast.

The varactyl caught his attention as well. Obi-Wan had fond memories of the creature. He only wondered if you had passed on those stories to their son and he caught on. Well, he is your son, he mused.

Lastly, what really surprised him, was the multiple holos of him. One holo that you and him had taken the day he proposed was sitting on a table beside the bed. There were a couple of others. One of him and Cody, another with both Anakin and Ahsoka, and lastly, one of him and Qui-Gon on the day that Qui-Gon was well enough to stand again.

You weren’t lying. You didn’t keep Aldoken away from knowing who he was. If anything, you gave him almost every detail that you knew. He wondered how much Anakin and Cody may have said as well.

“Daddy,” Aldoken’s slightly concerned tone cut into his thoughts.

You came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “If this is too much, just let me know,” you say softly. He shook his head. Sure, there were a lot of emotions running through him as old memories flooded with the present, but he didn’t want to leave now. He wanted to know more, see more.

Bringing his attention back to his son, he now held an elegantly engraved box. In the center was the Jedi Order logo. Accompanying it were some intricate details that gave a sense of beauty to it. There was something familiar about it for Obi-Wan…

“Momma and Uncle Ani gave this to me. They said if you ever came back, that I should give it to you,” Aldoken said proudly. He looked to you who was giving him a rewarding smile.

Almost cautiously, he knelt down in front of Aldoken. Now that he was closer, and aid from feeling through the force, he now knew why it looked familiar. This was a box that Qui-Gon had kept for many years. As a padawan, he never knew why the box was so long, and his master never told him.

“You must be patient, Obi-Wan,” he’d say whenever Obi-Wan asked what it was. “In time, you will learn what this box is for. For now, it remains my personal secret.”

As he looked on, he was almost hesitant to even touch it. He had no idea what he was about to see.

Obi-Wan stared at the box for a few moments, only distracted when you came to kneel beside him. Taking a quick glance at you, he gave a small smile as he also felt your hand fall upon his back, rubbing ever so gently.

Diligently, Aldoken held the box, waiting until his father either took it or opened it. Finally, Obi-Wan took a deep breath before relieving his son of the box. Carefully placing it on the floor, his fingers moved to the latch which easily was undone. Slowly, he lifted the top open and was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

Inside held only three things. Each item was a mark of some sort of milestone Obi-Wan had reached throughout his life.

The first was a feather from the varactyl he had ridden so long ago on Pijal. That had been the first animal he had ever had such a strong bond with. He had stolen a moment with the varactyl in the stable the day they had to leave. Whether Qui-Gon picked up the feather as they walked out of the stable or some other time, Obi-Wan didn’t know.

Second was his padawan braid. There were so many different milestones woven into these strands of hair. Most of all, it signified the time they spent together as master and padawan. They may have had some rough patches, but the friendship had always lasted.

Lastly, sitting right in the middle, giving Obi-Wan the answer to a lifelong question, was Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. This was the item that finally brought tears to Obi-Wan’s eyes. When he had left in his dark place, he had at some point dropped his master’s saber. Believing you had been killed, he thought it was forever lost on Alderaan’s moon. But, you had brought it back and completed his master’s collection.

Seeing that he was upset, Aldoken moved and hugged around Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan accepted it quickly and moved his arms around his son. In the process, he pulled him a little closer, still making sure he didn’t squeeze too hard.

The tears didn’t fall, but Obi-Wan did take several shuddering breaths as he composed himself. He suddenly felt calming energy pressing into him through the force. It shocked him, but he knew it was Aldoken. Anakin must’ve taught him that. Especially if it was related to how you were feeling on days through these years.

“Thank you, my little one,” Obi-Wan said before pressing a kiss to the top of the boy’s head.

When he pulled back, Aldoken was beaming. Not only was he proud of his success, but he loved the endearment that his father gave him. There was nothing that he didn’t love about this boy, and he had only just met him not long ago.

“Aldoken, have you ever seen a real varactyl?”

The boy shook his head, “Only on holos.” The disappointed tone made him feel like either laughing, as he knew you would’ve answered like that, or actually feel like his heart should drop at hearing the way he said that.

Obi-Wan elected to give him a smirk, “Here.” He grabbed the varactyl feather and gently took Aldoken’s hand in the other. “This feather was from the first varactyl I had ever ridden.”

Aldoken’s eyes flew wide open in disbelief. Obi-Wan chuckled at the reaction as he brought the feather into better view. The scarlet was beautiful, as it always was. It had always been something that fascinated Obi-Wan. Clearly, even without seeing them firsthand, his son felt the same way.

“Now, when you touch it, make sure to be gentle. The barbs are delicate, but soft,” Obi-Wan said, bringing Aldoken’s hand to the feather. He let it go so that the young boy could do it on his own.

Aldoken’s smile only grew as he gently stroked the scarlet feather that was from an actual varactyl. It was nothing like the ones on his toy. This was real.

Watching the boy’s fascination, he couldn’t help but think, Was that what Qui-Gon always saw? It had always been a wonder that his master put up with him. Especially when it came to those days surrounding and during his time on Pijal.

Now, it’s time to pass on the favour.

After letting his son have a few more moments, he put the feather back into the box with the other items. With a quick glance, he could see Aldoken was dying to ask what the other items were. He silently chuckled to himself. He would tell him the rest soon enough.

“Now, you know how you said that this was mine,” Obi-Wan started, one of his hands resting on his son’s shoulder.

He nodded quickly in response, head tilted in a curious way, wondering why he was bringing this up.

Obi-Wan gave a soft smile, “It isn’t anymore. Do you know why?” Aldoken shook his head. “Because, I’m putting you in charge of taking care of it. It’s now yours.”

Not only was Aldoken shocked, but he felt a wave of it come off of you in the force. Although your face was painted with a grin, you could never truly hide your emotions from Obi-Wan.

The boy started to sputter, trying to say something that Obi-Wan knew would be to politely refuse, but he held up a hand. The sputtering stopped.

“This way, you can have a varactyl with you at all times. Not only that, but you have me and my master along with you. No matter what, we’ll always be with you in this box.” Closing the lid and putting the latch back in place, he handed it over to his son.

Hesitantly, he took it in his hands. Looking at it, he traced over the Jedi emblem with a little finger, quietly saying a shy, “Thank you, daddy.”

Glancing at the chrono on the wall, Obi-Wan realized that he needed to leave. Even though he needed to, he didn’t want to.

You had noticed the sudden shift in Obi-Wan. Catching his eyes when he looked at the chrono, you knew what he was about to say. At the same time, though, it looked like he was truly fighting his decision to leave.

He didn’t want to suffer anymore. The pain that he had to go through to disguise all of this was absolute agony. It was like a candle had to make its flame small so that the dark would have a harder time finding it. And he had to do it every second of the day until he came to see you.

But, he had to do it. He wasn’t able to stay if he was to keep up the act.

Before standing, he caught your eye for a moment. Obi-Wan saw your dejected look, telling him you knew that he had to leave.

He knew you wanted to ask him to stay. You wouldn’t, though. It was almost like the day he said he would leave The Order for you if you wanted him to. You didn’t want him to, as you didn’t want him to leave the life he knew.

Now, you didn’t want him to risk his safety for you. Obi-Wan hasn’t been able to gather enough courage to tell you the torture he’s been through, but he didn’t have to. The day you saw one of his scars peeking out from his collar had told you enough.

It’s not that he didn’t have scars before, but the one you saw was new. Not only that, but it was really new. Before you were able to fret over it, he assured you that he was alright. Even though you didn’t entirely believe him, you let it go. You knew he’d tell you when he was ready.

“I have to go,” he said, keeping his voice from showing his true unwillingness. He knew he didn’t have to voice it, but he did anyway.

“I know,” you said, letting your disappointment be heard.

Turning to Aldoken, he looked just as upset as you. The way his lips pulled down in his frown even looked the exact same as yours. This was the first time tonight that Aldoken had anything less than a neutral expression.

The boy’s eyes were fixed on the floor. It was like he didn’t want to watch him leave. Like he didn’t want to watch his eyes as they turned back. It was just like how you always looked away, not wanting to see his pain.

“Please, daddy,” Aldoken said quietly, still looking at the floor. For a moment longer, he stayed silent until his eyes came back up to meet his. “Please, don’t go.”

Those words rang in his head. It brought Obi-Wan back to that day. The day you had said those exact words, but he didn’t listen. He had turned around, but he never actually listened.

Now, as he looks at the one who he thought he would never meet, he can’t bring himself to do the same. He would never turn away again, whether it meant his life was on the line or not. Never again will he leave you and his family behind. Even with as small of a statement as this.

Obi-Wan looked up at you. Even though he knew you were trying to hide it, he could see that you also wanted him to stay. You always did.

Slowly, he nodded. A smile grew on his face as, with each nod, he was more and more certain about his decision. If both you and Aldoken wanted him here, he would stay. He wanted to stay. Obi-Wan wanted to be loved by you and Aldoken as if these last four years never happened.

Then, he looked back at his son. “Alright,” he said quietly. “I won’t go.” To Obi-Wan, those words held more meaning to you and him than it did to Aldoken. It was an indirect way of making the same promise he had made many years ago. This time, there was a certainty in this promise that he never had before. He would never again turn away from the light, from you.

Aldoken’s smile once again was plastered on his face. Without any more hesitation, he ran up and hugged Obi-Wan before pulling away and running into the sitting room again, cheers of joy loud in the near silent apartment.

Obi-Wan stood back up and turned to face you now that you were alone for a moment. After a few silent moments, you closed the distance and practically fell into his arms. He pulled you close and kissed the top of your head as he felt your breathing hitch, telling him that you were crying.

This had been what he wanted for so long. All he had wanted to do was hold you. Whether it was to comfort you or just for the sake of doing it, he didn’t care. Now he had that, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“I can sleep on the-”

“You will do no such thing,” you said, whipping your head up from its place on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I miss having you to hold me at night.”

“I missed it too,” he replied, looking down as a small feeling of shame creeped in.

“Hey,” you said, using a hand to bring his face back up. “It’s over now. The past is the past, and we can’t change that, but I still love you. After all this time, I never stopped loving you,” you said softly, leaving your hand on his cheek.

Leaning into it, he closed his eyes. He wanted to feel every little bit of warmth and comfort your palm granted him.

Then, he felt as your soft lips pressed to his. The hand on his cheek gently made its way to the back of his head as he kissed you back. He held you close and relished this small moment with you. His decision to stay was already making him the happiest he had ever been since the day the two of you found out you were pregnant and then he proposed.

“Momma! Daddy!” Aldoken called out from the sitting room. “Are you coming?” he asked. The two of you burst into laughter. Now the two of you will learn that moments like this don’t last long with a toddler present.

With a smile, the two of you made your way out to your son. The rest of this night will be one to remember.

-

Obi-Wan woke up to a light shaking at his shoulder. Until this point, this was the first night in years that he hadn’t had a nightmare. He was glad, otherwise he would’ve possibly woken up a lot more violently.

“Daddy,” Aldoken whispered while continuing to gently shake Obi-Wan until his eyes opened.

When his eye laid upon the young boy, concern swept through him. Aldoken was hugging himself and was shaking where he stood.

Turning on his side, he asked, “What’s wrong, little one?”

“I had a nightmare,” Aldoken replied. His voice sounded shaky, like he had, or was about to, cry.

“Oh, buddy, come here,” Obi-Wan said while opening his arms.

His son didn’t waste any time going into his father’s arms. Aldoken mushed his face into Obi-Wan’s neck as he wrapped his arms around the boy. He could feel as the once shaky breaths started to even out and become steady. The boy’s pounding heart had even slowed to a more steady and calm rhythm as well.

“May I sleep with you and momma? So the scary dreams don’t come back,” Aldoken said, muffled from his place still in Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Of course, little one.”

Once Aldoken was calm enough, Obi-Wan helped him climb onto the bed. He adjusted just enough so that their son could lay in between the two of you.

His heart warmed when his son curled under his arm, using his shoulder as a pillow. Breathing a contented sigh, he looked over at you before closing his eyes again. You were facing him and had a small grin spreading your lips.

After Aldoken made one more adjustment in comfort, Obi-Wan let his eyes close once again with a smile. This was a moment that he wished would never end.

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05

[fluffy-lee]

Anesthesia

Part 8 of the series "Keeping Her"

This is a TICKLE series. If you're not into that, you don't have to read.

PLATONIC Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: Not really a warning but prepare to use Google translate to understand some lines.

Summary: After about a year of living with the Avengers, Y/n has to have anesthesia. She wakes up loopy and tells Steve a secret of hers.

   “Don’t forget your coat!” Steve said, grabbing your coat as he followed you to the garage. 

   “Oh thanks!” You said, slipping on your coat as you made your way to Steve’s car. 

 You were a little nervous. Today you were having a minor surgery at the dentist. You were going to be put under anesthesia, and you hadn’t been in a really long time. Steve was the only one available to take you today, but you were glad it was him. You had been living with the Avengers for a little over a year now, and you and Steve were the closest. He is what you expected a parent to be like. Steve had really stepped up to the plate as soon as he found you, even before he found out you were Bucky’s daughter. He just knew there was something about you, but Steve wasn’t your dad. Steve didn’t want to be your dad. He wasn’t ready for that, but what he wanted more than anything was for you to have Bucky. He knew that you needed Bucky, and Bucky needed you even more. You had never met your father, but Steve told you everything he could about him. 

  You and Steve had a special relationship. Everyone knew it. You never understood why Steve wouldn't just be your father, but you didn’t know what it was like to have one. You understood when you finally met Bucky. Steve was different. 

Steve spent many days stressed with the responsibilities he had as Captain America, and hunting down the “Winter Soldier,” but at the end of the day, you would always be the one to cheer him up and remind him of what he was fighting for. 

  Steve pulled out of the garage into the cold, rainy weather. You nervously played with your hands. 

  “Hey kid, you are going to be juuust fine.” Steve said with a reassuring smile. 

  “Thank you… I’m just agitat. Oh. I mean-” 

  “Nervous.” Steve smirked. Steve knew many different languages.

You giggled. “Sometimes I speak Romanian when I’m nervous.”

  “Putem vorbi românește, dacă doriți.” Steve said in Romanian, giving your side a squeeze. 

  “Mi-ar place asta!” You replied, giggling and trying to pry his hand off your ticklish side, but his super strength made him unmoveable. 

  “Poate că nu vei fi atât de nervos dacă te gâdil.” Steve said with an evil smirk.

  “STEVE!” You squealed.

He finally let go and you blushed the rest of the car ride. 

  When you arrived at the dentist, they made you feel comfortable and your fear eased. They put you under and did the surgery while Steve waited out in the waiting room. The surgery went well and you were going to recover rather quickly. You don’t remember waking up. Here is what happened. 

Steve’s POV:

   The assistant called me back to Y/n’s room after her surgery was complete. 

    “Now, she’s just woken up, and she will be a little out of it for a while. It’s completely normal, and sometimes it can be pretty funny!” The lady explained as we made it to the room. 

  I smiled to myself at the thought of Y/n being in “la la land.” She was silly enough in her normal state. 

   “I’ll be right with you. You can go ahead and wait with her.” The lady said.  

I entered the room and saw Y/n sitting there looking tired and sad with her hands folded in her lap. 

  “Hey Y/n! Are you feeling okay?” I asked her gently. 

Her eyes lit up and she smiled when she saw me. That warmed my heart. 

   “Steve! You came back!” She gasped, reaching up for me. I assumed it was for me to pick her up. 

   “No honey, I can’t hold you yet. The nice lady is going to come take care of you, okay?” I said, trying my best to be comforting. 

Y/n frowned and I couldn’t help but feel guilty. 

   “How else can I help you feel better?”

Y/n thought for a moment, and it looked as if a smile of realization spread across her face. 

 She sat up and began reaching for what looked like my hand. She was really wobbly, so I quickly gave her my hands, helping her to lean back against the chair. She pulled on my right wrist, and placed my hand on her belly. She smiled at me expectantly, but I had no idea what this meant or what she wanted. I moved my hand back into hers, and she did it again. She placed my right hand on her belly. I still didn’t understand. 

  “What are you doing?” I asked her. 

  “You make me feel better!” She attempted to explain. 

  “How?” I chuckled. 

  “The tickles!”

  “You want me to tickle you?” I asked, surprised. 

I mean, she’d normally run whenever I tried to tickle her… Well sometimes she’d run. But she wouldn’t run very far… or fast.  She normally wants me to stop when I tickle her. Well, she actually never says “stop.” 

  “Yes! I love to be tickled! Don’t you know?” Y/n stressed. 

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Y/n, you do not love to be tickled!” 

Does she? I really only tickle her when she is being sassy or when she is being playful. Wait. Now that I think about it, she normally is the one who starts it. 

  “Yes I do, silly! I like to try to get tickled. It’s my favorite thing!” Y/n explained.

I couldn’t believe this. How did I not notice this? How did I not know? Of course she likes to be tickled. This explains so much. But why? Why does she like to be tickled so much?

  “Y/n? Haha why do you like to be tickled? I thought you couldn’t stand it, because you’re so ticklish.” I asked, a smile on my face. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking her so much. She’s basically on drugs. She doesn’t know what she is saying. She is unknowingly outing a secret of hers. 

  “I don’t know!” She shrugged. “It makes the butterflies in my tummy go WHOOSH!” She started giggling uncontrollably. 

 I was really surprised, and I couldn’t help but giggle. This was the cutest thing I had ever heard. 

  “Oh, but make sure you don’t tell Steve. I would just die if he knew.” She said as she rested her eyes. She seemed really tired and out of it.

  Aww... Poor kid. She didn’t want me to know. I should probably just keep this to myself. But I really don’t want her to think she has to hide anything from me. I think it’s very sweet. 

End of Steve’s POV

On the drive home, you sat in the passenger’s seat asleep. You eventually woke up and saw Steve focusing on the road. He seemed to be in deep thought but he had a small smile on his face. You barely remembered waking up at the dentist, but you felt much more aware now. 

  “Did I say something stupid, or embarrassing?” You asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

  “Oh hey you’re awake! And no. You didn’t. You might think some things are embarrassing, but they really aren’t.”

  “...What did I say?” You asked nervously. 

  “Not much. You just giggled a lot.” Steve fibbed. He didn’t want you to be embarrassed. 

You nodded, but you didn’t know if you fully believed him. You looked out the window at the dark, cloudy sky and watched the rain hit the window. 

A few days later, you had fully recovered and were feeling normal again. You dashed through the halls of the compound searching for Steve. You were definitely in a playful mood and wanted to “bother” him. You found him in the living room, sitting on the couch working on his laptop. Steve saw you walk in and smirked. 

  “How are you feeling, Y/n/n?” He asked.

  “Great!” You chirped, flopping down next to him.

Steve had remembered what you had unknowingly told him at the dentist, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, until he started picking up on your playful mood. He set his laptop down on the coffee table. 

   “Hey Cap, hey Y/n/n! Feeling better?” Tony asked you as he walked through the living room to the attached kitchen to join Wanda and Vision, who were making dinner.

  “Much better!” You exclaimed as you rolled onto Steve’s lap, poking at his chest.

Steve just smirked.

  “Good to hear!” Tony smiled. He started to help cook and you could hear Wanda and Tony’s loud chatter in the background, but your focus was on Steve. 

Steve smiled as he pulled your hands away from his chest and held them. 

  “Now why are you bothering me, Y/n/n?” Steve questioned, already knowing the answer. 

  “Um because I like to?”

  “And why is that?” 

  “I don’t know!” You lied.

  “I do!” Steve smirked. 

  “What do you know?” You asked hesitantly. 

  Steve raised his eyebrow. “You like it when I tickle you.”

You went pale. “What?” 

Steve started to giggle. “Why are you so embarrassed?!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You shrugged with a shy smirk. 

Steve chuckled and pulled you to him, kissing the side of your head. 

 “You told me all about it when you woke up from the anesthesia.” Steve explained with an apologetic smile. 

You collapsed on the couch and buried your face in a pillow. You were so embarrassed. 

  “Don’t tell anyone please!” You begged, your voice muffled from the pillow.

  “I’m not! But why didn’t you tell me?!” Steve asked, still giggling.

  “It’s so embarrassing!” You whined, refusing to come up from the pillow. 

  “Nohohoho! It’s so cuuuute!” Steve teased, slowly beginning to tickle your back. 

You had never been more flustered.

  “That’s enough outta you!” Steve growled, flipping you over and digging into your tummy causing you to let out your belly laughter. It tickled so much that you couldn’t help but push at his hands.

  “Why are you fighting me? I thought you liked this!” Steve teased some more. 

You blushed so bad that you covered your face with your hands, but all that did was give Steve perfect access to your underarms. You squealed and shot your arms to your sides, laughing hysterically. Steve then buried his face in your neck, allowing his scruff to tickle your neck. Your laughter fell silent and you tried to catch your breath. Eventually, Steve let up so you could breathe and he looked down at you with a big squinty smile on his face. 

  “I’m not done with you yet!” He chuckled as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand and tickled your left rib cage with his other. You started to squirm away to the right, but Steve used his leg to push your body back to the left, trapping you to be tickled on your left ribs, side, and underarm. It tickled so much that you couldn’t help but scream before falling into laughter. 

Steve laughed evilly before giving you raspberries all over your tummy and sides while you went limp from laughter. Then, he finally let your wrists go and he gave you gentle feather-like tickles all over your belly and belly button as you giggled cutely, pushing at his shoulders. 

  “Hahaha you are SO cute.” Steve said, smiling sweetly, gently scritching around your belly button. 

 “Nohohooo!” You blushed, shaking your head. 

 “Yeeees!” He countered, latching onto your thighs, giving you deadly ticklish squeezes. 

You went back into hysterical laughter as you thrashed around, trying to squirm away to no avail. 

  “Why are you such a squirmy wormy hmm? Does that tickle?” Steve giggled. 

  “NOHOHOHO!” You laughed, lying.

  “Oh it doesn’t? I guess I should try harder then!” Steve exclaimed, shaking your ribs. “Now does it tickle?”

  “Yehehes YEHES! Yehehes!” You shouted through your laughter. You couldn’t take much more. 

  “Oh that must mean you like it then?” Steve teased so ruthlessly. 

  “Mahahahaybe!” You grinned flustered. 

Steve chuckled and ceased his tickling while you caught your breath. You were red faced and your hair was messy, yet, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face and neither could Steve. 

 Steve scooped you up in his arms and kissed your cheek a bunch, making you giggle some more. 

  “Don’t. Tell. Anyone!” You demanded. 

  “I won’t.” Steve sighed, snuggling you to his chest. “I love you, sweetheart.”

"I love you, Steve!"

[teamhook]

The song in your heart... Burlesque :|:CSMM

This is my second submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Thanks to everyone in the Discord for letting me bounce ideas and for all the help.

Thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for Beta services :)

The story is loosely inspired by Burlesque, it will not be a retell of the movie. I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Art by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

Summary: Small town girl Emma Swan moves to L.A. to follow her dreams. The best view on the Sunset Strip becomes her home. But is she bound to find true love in a dashing bartender? 

AO3

FFN

The bright sunlight is the first thing the blonde sees as she exits the bus station. This is what she had saved for. Hours of tedious work at that hole in the wall diner. Sure she didn't plan beyond the trip, but she couldn't help the smile that engulfed her face. This was her first step in making her dreams come true.

She secures her duffel bag after checking her money stash. First, she needs to find a place to sleep.

She really should have done some research before leaving Storybrooke. She pulls out her phone and does a quick search for cheap hotels. The thought of being in such a big city for a small-town girl should be scary, but there was no time for fear. I am not nothing, I was never nothing.

She can't believe she is riding in a taxi. Sure, she's from Maine, but even they've heard of Uber. The car stops suddenly. "Miss, we've arrived."

She looks out the window and smiles at the man. She hands him his fare. "Thank you." She grabs her bag and leaps out.

The hotel is the least expensive one she can find, and she pays for a week in advance. She's tired, so tomorrow her search for a job will start.

The next day, the blonde, Emma, is full of energy. She has been applying online but decides the old way can still work. First, she needs to get something to eat. She enters a small diner that reminds her of home and circles a few printed ads while she has her lunch.

She walks the Sunset Strip, trying her luck at a few bars looking for new talent with no luck. She sighs and makes her way to the next one. The day ended quickly as her feet clicked on the pavement.

The darkened street is lit by a lounge's marquee with inviting lights. On the balcony, a woman smiles. The blonde crosses the street hurriedly and her eyes fall onto the enticing poster calling for her to enter the lounge. The entrance walls are filled with images of old-timey beauties of the past along with great singers and dancers, and the music caught her attention, drawing her further in.

"We don't have windows but we do have the best view on the Sunset Strip. Twenty dollars, come on honey. Help a man out."

"Excuse me?" she replies as she was taken out of the enchantment of the music.

"Fill out this fine establishment," he smiles hopefully.

She looks around the jammed room and asks, "Is this a stripper club?"

"No, no. Darling, I should wash your mouth. You haven't seen anything like this before. You won't find a pole inside unless you count the waitress. Come on." He extended his hand out for the fee.

Emma bites her bottom lip. She digs into her jeans pocket, pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, and hesitantly hands it to him.

He smiles brightly and invitingly points to the lounge. "Enjoy!"

She's hesitant as she makes her way through the tables to the bar. The smile was instant; she loves music, it's her escape. She finds a stage with a group of beautiful women dancing and singing.

Show a little more

Show a little less

Add a little smoke

Welcome to Burlesque

The bar is full but what she really needs is a drink.

"Lass, can I get you something to drink?" an accented voice calls for her attention. Her green eyes meet dazzling blue ones surrounded by kohl that enhance the color; the auburn-highlighted, dark-haired scruff unable to hide the square jaw surrounding luscious lips.

She smiles. "Only if you're buying."

"Welcome to L.A. and the Burlesque Lounge." He smiles brightly as he hands her the drink.

"Uhm, thanks." She smiles and turns her eyes back to the stage.

"So where are you from?"

"Oh, from a small town in Maine. How about you?"

"Ah, from Boston."

"Boston, you don't sound like you're from there."

He laughs, "Aye, originally from London but moved to Boston years ago. I still can't rid myself of my accent, I'm afraid. Killian Jones, at your service."

"Emma Swan. So tell me, who do I have to flirt with to get up there?" she says as she points to the stage.

Killian scratches behind his ear as his attention is turned temporarily towards the waitress. "Sweetheart, how about doing your job?"

The girl giggles. "Yes, Captain," turning to go to the nearest table.

"Sorry about that, Emma Swan, and if that's you flirting, you are in dire need of lessons," he smirks.

"I'm sorry. I'm not about to waste my talents on someone who wears more eyeliner than me," she smirks back.

He laughs. "Fair enough. Through that door over there, flirt away, Swan. Ask for Cora."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and Swan? Use my name." Killian smiles and starts pouring some liquor into a glass.

"Thank you." She follows his directions.

Behind the doors, it's complete chaos; girls running around half-dressed, rushing to get ready for the next act, all talking at once.

"We're on in five minutes, five minutes, ladies. Come on..." a deep voice comes through the speakers.

"I'm almost done!" one of the girls yells.

"Ladies, tick-tock, time is almost up," Henry says.

"Does anyone know where Zee is?" Cora asks, annoyed.

"All spotlights are supposed to pull in!" Henry screams.

"Ashley, your boyfriend is so hot!" another dancer says.

Cora sighs. "Tonight, Netflix and Chinese?" she asks Henry.

"Yes, I wouldn't miss it." Henry smiles fondly.

"Cora, I lost a contact lens on stage," Rory says.

"Alright, if you fall off the stage just remember you're still a princess," Cora says.

"You're a goddess," Henry reminds her.

"Thank you, Henryyyy!" Rory says with a bright smile, while Cora rolls her eyes.

"Jonathan, the sink is broken, again."

"I'm not calling a plumber, Tiana," Jonathan declares. "Cora, we need to talk about this letter."

Cora sighs dramatically. "Jonathan, how many times do I have to say it? I don't want to discuss this while I'm working."

"Cora, Graham Humbert is coming tonight."

"And what do you want me to do?" Cora asks.

"This isn't going away, Cora. You never want to discuss this. You avoid me like the plague," Jonathan says, holding a paper.

"I didn't divorce you so I could spend more time with you."

"I still own half of this place," he says and walks away.

Emma timidly walks up to the woman she saw on stage earlier. She is sitting regally in front of her mirror putting make-up on.

"Why are you in my mirror?" Cora asks with a raised brow.

"Excuse me, are you Cora? I'm looking for her. I'm friends with Killian and I'm looking for work."

Cora continues to refresh her make-up. "Where have you danced?"

"In front of my mirror at home, but I can dance."

Cora sighs. "Leave your information with Henry. He will let you know when we're having our next audition." Cora points to Henry.

"Uhm, do you know when I should expect the call?" Emma asks.

"Henry?" Cora calls out.

"Where the hell is Zee? She is really late!" Henry says, annoyed.

Emma quickly says, "I'm never late."

"That's good to know," Henry says. "Sweetheart, leave your details with Killian, your friend, and we'll be in touch. We are currently trying to run a show here."

Emma smiles. "I have never seen anything like that before. I need a job and I really want to work here."

"Sweetheart, I love the enthusiasm, but it's really bad timing. We'll be in touch. Promise," Henry says with a warm smile.

"Let's move, ladies!" Henry turns to the dancers, finally in their costumes.

Emma starts to walk out deflated when the door bursts open and a fiery red-head enters.

Cora and Henry both turn to her, matching mock smiles on their faces. "We are so happy you could make it. You missed the opening act and we were saying how amazing it would be if you made it to the next one."

"Sorry, I'm late, but beauty like mine takes time," she smirked as she started getting ready for her number.

"You know what else takes time, Zee? Finding a new job," Cora says with a deadly glare.

Zee laughed. "Yeah, right! You wouldn't have a show without me and you know it." Looking towards Emma, she orders, "Hey you, waitress. Get me a sour-apple martini A.S.A.P." She snaps her fingers as if by magic the drink would appear in her hand.

"Zee, she doesn't work here," Ashley said, smiling.

"Then she isn't busy, is she?" The redhead turns her attention to her mirror.

Emma stares back at the rude woman.

"Didn't your mama teach you it wasn't polite to stare?" Zee said mockingly.

Emma gasps, "I just can't help myself. You are so breathtaking."

Zee laughs, "Well, at least you have good taste. Stare away."

"You know, no one would ever guess." Emma smiles.

"Guess what?" Zee glares.

"That you're a man. Not that there's something wrong with that." Emma shrugs as she walks away.

Zee shrieks. "You little-"

Henry and Cora interrupt, "Zee, the show must go on."

Emma's on her way back to the bar as she notices the waitress from earlier flirting with a customer and ignoring the other patrons calling for her.

After a few stops, Emma finds her way to the bar. "I'll have a vodka and a cosmo for the big guy over there."

"Swan, what are you doing?" Killian asks.

"Killian, give me a chance and I'll show you I'm way better than her. She is too busy flirting to do her job. If I'm not better, you don't have to pay me," Emma pleads.

Killian sighs, "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

The next day, as Ashley starts the routine to 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend', Cora and Henry look on. The lounge is busy and the patrons are enthralled by the act on stage.

A kiss on the hand

may be quite continental

But diamonds are a girl's best friend

"Henry, isn't that girl the one that was backstage yesterday?"

Henry smiles, "I believe so."

Cora turns her attention to Killian. "Why is she tending to the customers?"

"She really needed the job and now she is our new waitress," Killian says.

Cora looks at the bartender. "Killian, darling. When did I make you, head of Personnel?"

"She just picked up a tray and started taking orders," he says as he scratches behind his ear.

Henry mutters, amazed. "Really?"

"Her name is Emma," Killian says with a hint of a smile.

Cora calls out, "Emma, hey Emma." She waves the young girl over.

Emma walks with purpose as if she's ready to fight to keep her newfound job.

Cora stands up and looks Emma up and down. She sighs. "You need to maximize your assets; you got them, show them. Work them to your advantage. Oh, and Emma, don't ever go behind my back again." The warning was evident in the older woman's voice.

Emma smiled, "Yes, ma'am."

"Emma, don't ever call me ma'am again," Cora hissed.

A flustered Emma replies, "Yes, sir. No, I mean your Highness. Cora."

Cora shakes her head. "Get on the floor, and remember to work it."

Tiffany's!

Cartier!

Black, Starr, Frost Gorham!

"Excuse me," a masculine voice calls to Emma.

Emma smiles. "Yeah, what can I get you?"

"Dewar's 18 on the rocks and a bottle of Dom for the table, and keep them coming. Oh, and will you let Zee know I'm here?"

"I'm sorry and you are…?" Emma asks.

"A Platinum member, Graham Humbert. And you are?"

"Emma," she replies.

"Emma," he repeats as she walks away.

Zee rushes backstage as she struggles to finish getting into her costume. She finds Henry looking on. "I know I'm late, but better late than never. What is that waitress doing here? I want her gone!"

"What did she ever do to you?" Henry asks.

"She said I looked like a man!" she scoffs.

Henry smiles. "Well, that can't be the first time you've heard that. Zee, go get dressed for the next act. Ashley had to go on in your place."

Zee shrieks, "Merlin, my spotlight!" She goes on stage and once there, pushes Ashley out of the way as she dances and lip-syncs.

"Damn it, Zelena!" Henry yells, frustrated. That girl is going to give him a heart attack.

I've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic

But diamonds are a girl's best friend…

"Emma!" Killian calls out. "Swan, what do you need?"

Emma snaps out of her singing daydream. "Dewar's 18 on the rocks and a bottle of Dom-"

"And keep them coming?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, so he is a regular then," Emma confirms.

"Graham Humbert, real estate tycoon and currently dating Zee," Killian says.

Emma sighs as her attention lands on the stage, "I wanna be up there."

He smiles as he finishes getting the order ready. "And do you have the talent?"

She nods, "Yes, I do."

"Good, you're up." He pushes the tray to her.

She rolls her eyes as she takes the tray.

He simply laughs.

Meanwhile, inside Cora's office in the back, Jonathan, Cora, and Graham are in conversation.

"Cora, the way I see it is simple. I assume all your financial obligations, and I pay you each five hundred thousand."

"Where is the partnership in that?" Cora turns to Jonathan.

"How about a partnership?" Jonathan asks Graham.

"Sorry, I'm not partner material. The deal is very generous. I leave with my final offer."

"Graham, tell me why is it that you want my club so badly?" Cora asks.

Graham shrugs. "I just like it, and when I see something I like, I have to have it."

"That must have made you very popular growing up as a kid," Cora snarks.

"I did okay."

"Cora, just think of what you could do with that money!" Jonathan says.

"You know what you can do with that money, Jonathan?"

"The way I see it is simple, you're in trouble and I'm in the position to help. We can all come out winners. Remember, you got that balloon payment due at the beginning of next month."

Cora turns angrily to Jonathan. "Seriously? Did you also tell him about the queen-of-hearts tattoo on my ass?"

"Of course not. This is just business."

"I don't think you will get another offer. At least not as generous as this one," Graham insists.

"Graham, I'm not interested. My club is not for sale," Cora says with finality.

"Think about it, the offer is on the table," Graham states before he leaves.

Zee has just returned backstage to get ready for the next number. as Emma arrives with drinks. "Ladies, here are your drinks!"

The girls stampede to get their drinks.

Cora makes her way through. "Wait one-second girls, which one of the drinks is Zee's?"

"Tom Collins and the shot," Emma replies.

Zee tries to grab the drink, but Cora beats her to it and drinks it with a smile on her face. "Here's mud in your eye, Zee.

Now I got a buzz, and you gotta change, you're on," Cora says.

"Just because you're my mother doesn't mean you can tell me what to do." Zee crosses her arms.

"Zee just go get ready," Cora demands with a look that could stop a beating heart.

Zee leaves in a huff.

Henry approaches Cora. "Honey, I don't know if you noticed, but was Jonathan talking to Graham Humbert?"

Cora sighs. "That would be because Graham wants to buy my club."

"Are you serious?" Henry replies.

Meanwhile, Emma hesitantly approaches the duo after hyping herself by the door.

"Cora, I was hoping I could run an idea by you," she stammers, "on how to make the show better. I know you are really busy but-"

"Speaking of the show, have you talked to Dave about the new vocals?" Henry asked Cora as he looked over the costumes.

"Vocals, that's exactly what I was trying to talk to you about." Emma smiles. "None of the girls sing, they lip-sync."

"Except for Cora," Henry states as he turns all his attention to Emma.

Emma lets out a nervous laugh. "Right, except for Cora. I just think the audience would really love it if the girls would sing and dance."

Cora stands in front of Emma. "No, they wouldn't."

"Honey, the people come here to watch the dancers dance and lip-sync to the greats." Henry grabs Emma and guides her to the door.

Emma tries for one last attempt to make her case. "I just think this would work, I don't understand why we can't try something new."

"Because it's above your paygrade," Cora says. "Henry, please remove her."

"Emma, honey, I think your friend Killian needs you back," Henry says as he gives her the final push outside the door.

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713  @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan​ @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @bethacaciakay​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @jonirobinson64​ @klynn-stormz​ @mariakov81​

[spartanguard]

two doors down

Summary: Emma's just had her heart broken—again. But she's going to distract herself by finally going to her friends' party, two doors down from her apartment. The party—and the dashing gentleman she meets at it—prove to be just what she needed.

3.2k words | rated light M | AO3

A/N: Here I go again...back on my Dolly Parton bs. But I make no apologies because Dolly in an inspirational queen. I’ve wanted to write a one-shot based on Two Doors Down pretty much ever since I heard the song, and the @csconcertseries​ seemed like the right opportunity to scratch that itch. (and then Dumb Blonde demanded to be included as well because it’s a bop.) so...have fun!

“Really, Emma?” Walsh sneered when she confronted him. “You thought I was serious about you? I guess you really are a dumb blonde.”

In case anyone was wondering why Emma was crying, it was that. She shouldn’t be—it was dumb, he was dumb, not her—but that didn’t seem to matter, apparently. The asshole had somehow managed to find a crack in the walls around her beat-up, bargain store heart and, once inside, found an old bruise and punched it. Or something like that. She wasn’t great with words.

Or emotions, apparently, or men—though she was already aware of that one (thus: the walls). (Well, okay, and being abandoned by her parents and growing up in the shittier parts of the foster system. But that’s besides the point.) Anyways. She had thought that maybe, finally, she’d found one guy who wouldn’t hurt her—who was safe enough to consider giving her heart to. 

And then she’d caught him sleeping with a coworker. On a mattress in his furniture store. On their anniversary. 

And he apparently had the gall to call her dumb. What a dick.

After giving him the rightful slap he was due, she stormed out and ran home. Then she grabbed the wine she’d been saving for tonight, popped the cork, and drank right out of the bottle.

What a fucking loser.

(She wasn’t sure if that applied more to her, or to him.

Because, at the end of the night, she was the one drinking alone while he was probably still having too much fun on his own merchandise.) 

With about half the bottle gone, she finally hit the point where all her tears were gone and she was probably some level of dehydrated. Her apartment was eerily quiet without the sound of her sobs, it seemed, but she could hear loud music coming from down the hall. 

Oh yeah—Dave and Snow’s party.

They were her neighbors—well, they lived two doors down, but she definitely talked to them more than the grumpy dude who lived between them. They were easily the nicest, most outgoing people on the planet, and had been trying for as long as Emma had lived there to come over to one of their parties. 

Usually, Emma was able to use work as an excuse, or a date (like she was supposed to have had tonight), to explain why she couldn’t go. But it was really fear—fear of rejection, of not measuring up, of plain old awkwardness—that kept her away.

It always sounded like a good time, though, and she could hear the music pumping and people laughing whenever they hosted these get-togethers. Apparently, they were at the drunk-enough-to-sing-loudly part of the night, because she heard the lyrics perfectly as the crowd shouted them:

Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb ‘Cause this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool

She laughed, albeit watery, at that, considering Dave was the blond of the two of them. But then she thought about it again, and what her ass of a now-ex had said: there was nothing dumb or foolish about Emma. Maybe she should have listened to that voice that had told her she was out of his league when he’d first asked her out, but right now, she just needed to tune out his grating words and focus on Dolly’s—about kicking trash to the curb and moving on.

And, you know what? She was gonna go to that party.

She blew her nose (rather noisily), then quickly washed her face and changed into something a little more presentable than her pajamas. She probably should be bringing something over, but her wine was gone and Walsh had drank the last of her beer the other night. She briefly considered the half-empty box of Pop-Tarts in her cupboard, but that was breakfast.

So, empty-handed as she was, she headed out the door, locked it, and wandered down the bit of hallway to the Nolan’s place. She could hear the sounds of revelry and pounding bass on the other side of the door, and was nervous—would they think she was intruding? Her knock was equally timid, and probably not even heard by the crowd inside. 

To her shock, though, the door was thrown open a few seconds later. “Emma! You came!” Snow shouted, then launched herself at Emma in an inebriated hug. “Oh, I’m so glad you finally made it! Where’s Walsh?”

Emma cringed, and not just from Snow’s alcohol-elevated volume. “He’s fucking his floor manager. So he’s busy. But I’m not now!” she added, trying to make it sound not terrible.

But Snow gasped anyways, covering her mouth in shock. She ushered Emma in, closing the door behind her, and then dragged her to the living room. “You need wine.”

“I had, like, half a bottle already.”

“Okay, well, you need more.”

“I won’t disagree.”

Snow left her in the middle of a throng of people that thankfully included David, who wrapped her into a bear hug (that only slightly smelled like beer—beer hug?) and made some introductions. Snow returned shortly with a pint glass full of pinot, and the next hour became a blur of booze and dancing. 

She quickly made friends with girls named Ruby and Belle who, once they heard about what had happened to Emma that day, got some shots involved. The music was a solid mix of girl power anthems (there may have been more screaming to “Since U Been Gone” and “Wannabe” from partygoers of all genders) and Emma found herself seriously wondering just what the hell she’d been doing the past few months—both with Walsh and in her avoidance of these parties; she was having way more fun here than she ever had with that douche.

Eventually, she did have to take a respite to visit the restroom and get some water—she wasn’t about to blackout over a breakup—but when she left the bathroom, she wasn’t watching where she was going and slammed into someone else.

“Woah—you alright, love?” the lilting voice attached to the firm body asked. She could feel his hand squeezing her shoulder, but given her very recent track record, was scared to look this guy in the eyes. The last thing she needed was a face as pretty as that accent, or as enticing as the bit of chest hair peeking out through his button-up, or as alluring as the scent of his cologne (which she got a good whiff of when her face collided with his chest).

“Seriously—are you okay?” He sounded so concerned—her head was moving before she could think otherwise.

And that was either the best thing she’d ever done, or the worst.

Dark, messy hair hung over his forehead, where thick brows were furrowed with worry. A strong nose pointed to full lips, surrounded by gingery scruff that led her mind other places. But his eyes—holy crap; even in the dimness of the hallway, they were a bright blue, and she’d had just enough to drink that she thought she just might be swaying along with the waves in their oceanic depths.

(She got poetic when she got drunk; this was a well-established fact.)

“Lass?” Oh god--she’d been staring, hadn’t she? 

“Fine! I’m fine. Sorry. Are you?”

“‘Fine’ is definitely something I’ve been called,” he quipped back, concern melting into cockiness with a wink.

Ugh, she didn’t need any more of that in her life. She rolled her eyes and stepped back, putting enough distance between them to not feel the warmth coming off of him (she was producing enough of that herself--or, at least, the shots of vodka were). “Good to know. I’m just gonna get back out there, then.” Avoiding his gaze, she did her best to slip around him in the narrow hallway.

“Wait,” he called out, and grabbed her wrist as she slipped by. “Sorry; that wasn’t very gentleman-like.” He was definitely being sincere, she could tell. “I, uh, I’m rusty at all this. Let me back up: I’m Killian; I’m a friend of Dave’s from college.”

Of course his name was sexy, too. He’d stuck his hand out amiably; she’d be the asshole not to take it. So she did. “Emma; I live a couple doors down.”

“Ahh, yes--I’ve heard of you: the mysterious neighbor,” he said, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

Who was this guy? And why did he talk like he had stepped out of a Jane Austen novel? “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

He shrugged. “There haven’t been any of those lately.”

“Guys, then?”

He laughed—a deep chuckle that she wouldn’t complain about hearing again. “No, none of those, either.”

“Good. They suck.”

“What, all of them?”

“Most of them.”

“Well, hopefully I find myself in the minority.” He was still holding her hand, and brought it to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it. Were it not for the slight shiver that went through her at that, she’d be running for the hills (or at least her own apartment); but she was usually good at spotting a lie, Walsh notwithstanding, and she could tell he meant it. 

“Wanna get a drink?” she asked, a bit breathless.

“Absolutely.”

They grabbed another round of wine and took a seat on the couch, which was somehow unoccupied—everyone was still busy dancing and drinking and socializing. Honestly, Emma was a little surprised that so many people fit in a two-bedroom apartment (but it wasn’t like she’d ever tried to have more than a couple people in hers). 

“So, what’s your story?” Killian leaned in close to ask. They were practically nose-to-nose in order to be heard over the music, but she didn’t mind it. And, for some reason, she found her entire life story spilling out to him; not even Walsh had learned everything: about growing up in the foster system, her first heartbreak and the baby she gave up, the reason she’d gone into bailbonds work (so people like Neal couldn’t continue to break hearts). Even the sordid tale of her very-recent breakup.

“He’s a right arse,” Killian said, clinking his glass with hers. “But I’m glad his absence has brought you into my presence.”

“Me too,” she said.

His past was equally tragic: mom died, dad left, then brother died; lost his hand, his girlfriend, and his naval career in the same accident; but he still got to work as an engineer, and still got to go sailing on the weekends.

“God, Killian...you poor thing,” was all she could say.

He averted his gaze—and was either blushing, or flushed from the alcohol and heat of the room—and just said, “It’s in the past, where it belongs. And, honestly, the future is looking pretty good right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, I hope so.”

She wasn’t bold enough to say it—or confident, given that she was just coming out of a relationship—but she was thinking that, too.

The music switched from girl pop to Disney tunes—it was only a matter of time, considering that Snow was only a few steps away from being an IRL Disney princess—which prompted a conversation about their favorite Disney films, then movies in general, then books and music and all sorts of things. It was casual and easy and, honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever connected with someone so quickly; not since she was a kid and still had some innocence about her.

A slow song came on, and Killian set down his empty glass. “Would you care to dance?”

She gaped a bit; no one had ever asked her that. “What—for real? To this?”

“You just told me you’d seen Enchanted, and I believe that’s what they did to this song. So yes: will you, Emma Swan, dance with me?”

Somewhere, lonely teenage Emma was yelling at her to say yes and fulfill all her wildest prom dreams. Oh, who was she kidding—grown-up Emma still had those dreams. “Yeah, I will.”

He stood and offered her his prosthetic hand; she set her empty glass aside and took it, then followed him up. Gently, he guided her to an empty spot in the room—about 2 feet away—and then put his hand on her waist; she was probably supposed to put hers on his shoulder or something, but she did the same (and definitely noticed the firmness of his core).

They didn’t have much room to move—Dave and Snow were making out a few feet away, as were Ruby and Belle, and another couple—but Killian somehow managed to perform some actual dance steps. 

“What the heck is that, and how do you know it?” she wondered aloud, trying to keep up.

“It’s called a waltz, and there’s only one rule,” he explained, then leaned in to whisper in her ear: “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She’d definitely had a bit too much to actually memorize the steps, but she managed to keep up for a bit, until she lost her balance a bit after hitting the edge of the coffee table. Once again, she fell into his chest, but this time, he wrapped his arms tight around her to stabilize her—and she did the same.

“Is this a habit of yours?” he joked, but the twinkle in his eye told her that he wasn’t complaining.

“Just with you,” she tossed back.

“And what makes me so special?”

“You get it.”

He gave her a shy smirk that cut an adorable dimple into his scruff. 

And she couldn’t help it: she kissed it.

The wide-eyed stare he wore when she pulled back told her that it was as much a shock to him as it was to her; she never made the first move. But there was just something about him that made her want to throw caution to the wind—or maybe she just knew it was okay to do that with him. 

Feeling even bolder, she grabbed his shirt and pulled his lips down to hers. He didn’t hesitate to respond in kind and god, he was good: the right amount of pressure, the scratch of his beard, the feel of his hand on her back...oh man.

She normally wouldn’t have done what she did next—not when there were feelings involved, at least—but hey, it was a night for doing new things, right?

“Do you want to take this somewhere else?” she murmured when they eventually broke apart for air.

“Where did you have in mind?”

“My place.”

“Lead the way, love.”

It didn’t seem like anyone noticed as they slipped out, and she’d never managed to get her door open faster. It had just clicked shut before she was on him, pressing him back against it, her hands wandering over his upper body while her tongue picked up where their earlier dance had left off.

Her fingers found themselves near his belt, and before they went too far, his warm hand gently stilled hers. “Are you sure, love?” he asked, panting. “I...I don’t just want to be a rebound,” he confessed.

God, she hadn’t even thought of that. Walsh was already a distant memory. “I don’t want that, either.”

“Alright, then. Proceed.”

“God, you’re a dork.”

“Guilty.”

“Good thing I like it.”

Her lips found his again as her fingers danced over him, and his over her; a trail of clothing marked their path to her bedroom (with only a brief stop against the back of her couch), and they landed naked on her unmade bed.

His large hand and deft fingers found their way to her entrance and were lightly teasing it--the gentlest of brushes that nearly had her seeing stars, and definitely distracted her from fishing the condoms out of her bedside table.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not; might need an extra hand, though.”

She almost came back down to earth just to glare at him, but the cheesy grin he wore just made her laugh. It wasn't like she minded, anyway.

She used the opportunity to do a bit of foreplay herself, stroking his considerable length before, during, and after gliding the sheath on. The guttural groan he let out went straight through her.

Enough foreplay—she needed him. She grabbed his shoulders and pressed her chest against his; the brush of his chest hair against her nipples had her arching into him, and his hard cock was pressing right where she wanted him. “You ready?”

“Gods, yes,” he breathed.

And when they came together, she couldn’t remember anyone she’d ever been with before. She was completely aware of the hyperbole but honestly, he just felt so good inside her.

Then he moved, and she forgot her own name, and his, and anyone else’s.

She’d had the kind of sex before where time seemed to stop, but with Killian, it seemed to stop even longer, if that was possible; once they found their rhythm, every press of their hips brought her nearer and nearer to the edge of oblivion, but not so fast that she couldn’t enjoy it.

When she finally fell off, she hadn’t even realized she’d been that close—and let the waves of pleasure wash over her with abandon.

Killian wasn’t far behind her; she felt him still within her as he came with a shout. Normally, she’d be worried about how much noise they made, but she could still hear music coming from the Nolan’s; they were safe.

He collapsed beside her just long enough to catch his breath, then excused himself to clean up. God, he really was a gentleman; a lot of the guys she’d been with hadn’t been so polite about that. He came back a couple minutes later with a washcloth for her to use--seriously, no guy had ever done that. Then he flopped back on her creaky mattress and wrapped his left arm around her.

“You’re bloody incredible, love...and bloody gorgeous,” he said softly, then pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder.

“You’re no slouch, either,” she replied, and hoped the light was dim enough that he couldn’t see how furiously she was blushing. 

“You know...I almost didn’t go to the party tonight,” he said. “It was a long day and I wasn’t sure I felt up to people.”

“Yeah?” Logically, she knew other people had had shitty days, but it was easy to forget about in the face of her own. 

“I’m very glad I did, though,” he continued.

“So am I.”

He pressed a gentle kiss against her lips then, and pulled her a bit closer with his prosthesis. “Think we should head back?” he proposed.

“Mm, nah,” she answered. “They’ll have more parties.”

“Aye, they probably will.”

“And I like the one we’re having right now.”

“Mm, as do I.”

The other party continued into the wee hours of the morning, but Emma and Killian’s went even longer: all through the night, through part of the next day, and for a very, very long time thereafter.

Some time later, she heard that Dolly song again, and another set of lyrics stood out to her:

And you know if there's one thing this blonde has learned Blondes have more fun

She looked over at Killian and smiled; damn right they do.

-------------------------------------------------

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[rafivadafreddy]

Pretty Little Psycho.

A Nevada Ramirez and Nettie Perez Story. Part Three.

Part One - Part Two

Summery: Nettie isn’t amused with Nevada’s men following her around. It seems like she can never get away from King Asshole. Some trouble from her past comes back and her life get’s messy.

Word Count: 2,181 Warnings: Cursing. Nettie gets aggressive. Gun Use, Blood. Shooting. Stabbing. Spanish! Death. Lovely ending (not really. this is sarcasm. don’t use my words against me! lol.)

She tried, honestly Nettie tried to find Nevada again to return the money to him. But whenever she believed she knew where he was. It was almost like he had people following her.

Huffing when she noticed a car a few days later. Nettie couldn’t believe this asshole had the decency to follow her. Who the FUCK did he think he is? Following her like she belonged to him. If anything, that asshole belonged to her. It was his guy that stole from her. Sure, he got her purse back and paid her back, paid her back a few thousand more than she was missing…

But that wasn’t the point!

The point was, since he appeared at that café that night. Her life went from eh, too bad to Worse. All thanks to this bitch who thinks he’s the shit.

So obviously when Nettie noticed the car following her, she started walking back-ways and going through the alley ways. Doing everything she could to make sure the car couldn’t follow her.

One afternoon when she was walking home, Nettie noticed one of Nevada’s men following her. So, turning a corner and grabbing her gun. She held it out in front of her. Finger on the trigger and as soon as the guy turned the corner he froze.

“Look, I don’t know you and I could care less if the fucking Papa asked you to follow me.” She said, moving her finger to turn the safety off. Showing him that she was not joking around. “Tell Nevada he owes me nothing and I definitely don’t owe him shit… tú entiendes?” she hissed out and clicked the safety back on before turning around and walking away.

‘honestly, who did this guy think he was? As if I couldn’t take care of myself. I’ve proved I can. Fuck him.’ Nettie kept thinking to herself. Only to let out a gasp when a hand gripped her upper arm and pulled her back as a car rushed by.

“Now mami this is how you show you can take care of yourself?” a very familiar voice said, and Nettie had to clench her teeth together.

“Ah, King Asshole. Just the guy I wanted to see!” she shook his hand off her arm and opened her purse. Pulling out the wad of money. Nettie handed it over. “This right here? Yeah, not fucking mine.” She told him and still held the money.

Nevada making no movement to grab it, irritating Nettie to no end.

“No.” was all he replied. Making Nettie gasp.

“No? What the hell do you mean, no?” she demanded. Her fingers wrapping around the money. Crushing some of the bills. Not that she cared.

“I mean, No. do you wanna hear it in Spanish? ¡No!” he smirked and tilted his head to the side.

Tensing up as Nevada stepped closer to her, Nettie didn’t notice the people around them. How they would cross the street to not pass them or turn the other way and find another way to pass. So, when one of his men stepped behind her and slid something into her purse, Nettie never noticed it.

“I told you mami get something nice for yourself with that money. Think of it as a… gift.” Nevada chuckled and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

He was so close she could see how green his eyes are, surprising her. ‘Wow… he has some really gorgeous ey- NO NETTIE. Do NOT finish that thought!’

Watching him wink before turning around and leaving. Nettie just watched him walk away honestly confused and with a frown on her face. “Puto loco…” she mumbled before calling out. “Tell your men to not follow me anymore by the way! Or you’re gonna find yourself one guy short.” She smirked and turned around as well. Walking away.

Ignoring the looks she was getting. Nettie went home where she started to clean up. “Let it go! Let it go…. Can’t hold it back anymore! Let it go, let it gooooo turn away and slam the door!” she was singing around her place as she cleaned up the downstairs.

The money that Nevada had refused to take back was in a safe in one of the cupboard in the living room. Come one day she’ll need it, at least she knows where it is.

As Nettie cleaned her home, singing a lot of different Disney songs. Dancing around and never knew that just inside her purse was a little device, allowing Nevada to listen to everything going on around Nettie.

As she went about her day, singing and doing what she needed. Getting her chores out of the way. Grocery and pharmacy mainly before washing clothes. Nettie had a relaxing day, the little run in with Nevada didn’t count.

¬_¬

It wasn’t until later that night did, she leave her home in some black pants that were tucked into knee high boots. A black t-shirt and a jacket over it. Nettie decided to just throw her hair in a ponytail and not bother with touching up her makeup. The mascara and pink lipstick were enough for her. Walking around with her headphones in and music on. Nettie walked to a cute little Italian place for dinner.

Once seated, a glass of wine in front of her. She played on her phone before looking around. Was it sad that she was having dinner alone? Hell no. Fuck what people think.

Yet, as she looked around. Nettie wanted to cry when she saw who entered the restaurant. Of course, he had his minions with him. But this time, Nevada was walking with some women and a kid.

“Hermana… please. Just sit the hell down.” She heard him speak and had to roll her eyes.

‘Of course, I decide to treat myself to a night out and this asshole chooses this place to eat.”

Instead of acknowledging the man and what seemed like his family. Nettie went back to her wine and played on her phone. Though something did surprise the girl. She watched his sister walk to the bathroom and Nettie listened as Nevada started to him ‘Let It Go’ and she turned her head slightly. Seeing he had a nephew.

‘Either he secretly loves Frozen, which I doubt since he wouldn’t hum the song out in public like this… or.’

Gasping, Nettie grabbed her purse and searched through it. Pulling out a Little device. Her eyes narrowed. Asking for her food to go, Nettie paid for it and drank the rest of her wine. Standing up once she paid for everything, Nettie walked over to Nevada`s table. Dropping the small device on his lap, Nettie leaned forward. Ignoring the look, she was getting from those at the table.

One hand softly brushing his cheek that was covered in scruff from not shaving in a few days. A look she learned he liked since his beard never changes. Her other hand dropped to his thigh, where her nails were grasping in a tight grip. Her nails digging into his jean covered thigh.

“Nevada…” Nettie softly breathed out as she whispered in his ear. The hand on his cheek moving to the back of his neck and toying with the hair there. “If you ever… plant something to spy on me again. I’ll take that promise I made to Jose and do to you.” She planted a small kiss to his cheek. “So… forget me and Let it Go.” Nettie tightened her grip on his thigh and was satisfied when she heard him hiss.

By the look on his face, Nettie couldn’t tell if Nevada was shocked, aroused or angry. Hell, he was probably feeling a little mixture of all three. Standing up, Nettie winked at Nevada and nodded to the company he had at the table before turning around and walking out.

By the time she made it home, Nettie took precaution and looked around the street. The lights in her home were turned on and Nettie was certain she turned everything off. Going up the steps, gun in hand. She pushed the door, allowing it to swing open. Something it should not have done, seeing as she locked the door. Nettie slowly stepped inside with her arms up and gun pointed in front of her.

Seeing the house trashed, Nettie grabbed her phone from her back pocket and speed dialed the police. Sadly, a few seconds later, hearing a crunching sound. Like someone stepping on broken glass. Nettie spun around on heel of her foot and glared at the stranger. It wasn’t anyone she knew, heck it wasn’t even one of Nevada’s goons.

“Ah, Miss. Perez. I see we finally found you.” The man chuckled, a sound so cold and heartless it sent chills down her spin.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint. But your finding people skills, they are shit.” She snarled and quickly shot at the stranger before dashing out of the house. Cursing as a bullet went past her head. ‘Shit… shit!’ she kept screaming to herself and didn’t make it far before someone grabbed her by the hair.

Next thing Nettie knew she was screaming out in pain as something stabbed her in the stomach. Being dropped to the floor, Nettie was kicked in the head and was falling into unconsciousness. Blacking out as a car was heard pulling up and people were yelling.

Allowing the darkness to consume her, a darkness where she didn’t feel the pain anymore. Nettie felt nothing as memories of her childhood played in her mind.

Running around in a white sundress, 6-year-old Nettie was laughing and twirling around. Her father watching her from the bench. Reminding her to not go too far.

Watching the girl twirl and play, without a care in the world. Not knowing the heartache and pain she was going to feel in just a few years when her life would change. When slowly, one by one her family would be dying leaving her alone. Nettie was shocked to see the small 6-year-old stop and stare at the older Nettie.

“It isn’t your time yet… you need to wake up Nettie” the small girl said, and the older version was taken back.

“What?” she asked and blinked a few times.

“It isn’t your time to leave the earth…”

“She’s losing a lot of blood! We need to hurry her to surgery!”

“No… no! She’s flat-lining! We’re losing her! Bring the paddles!”

As the defibrillator charges the paddles, they are placed on the girls naked chest and after a second, it goes off. Giving the young girl a huge dose of electricity. Her back arches and her limp body lifts up off the bed. Yet the monitor stays the same, the straight line never showing signs of a heartbeat.

“Come on Nettie! You need to continue. We can’t let our life end like this!”

The older female frowns and looks around. Two ways she can go. Right, towards the light and left, towards the yelling she can faintly hear. With a deep breath. Nettie makes her decision. Stepping forward. Nettie knew what she had to do.

Nevada:

If asked what made him go after the girl, Nevada wouldn’t have an answer to that question. He himself didn’t exactly know. He just had to go and give her a piece of his mind. Telling his sister and nephew he would be back soon. Nevada got into his escalade with Miguel and Manny. Leaving three men with his sister to look after her. Miguel drove to Nettie’s house.

But as the car turned on the street, the car came to an immediate stop. Causing Nevada to almost fly forward from his seat. Though before he could ask, an ear-piercing scream was heard, the three men rushed out of the car. Each with a gun in their hand.

While Miguel went after the man, Manny went to bring the car closer and Nevada. He ran over to Nettie. Placing a hand over the huge gash on her stomach.

“Don’t worry Mami… you’re gonna be alright.” He whispered to her. Hearing a gunshot, Nevada looked up in time to see Miguel return. Nodding to Nevada who nodded back. Knowing that the man was taken care of. They soon got Nettie in the car and Manny broke every traffic law known to get them to the hospital.

As soon as they entered the hospital, Nettie was taken away on a gurney with a doctor and nurses. Nevada answered as many questions as he could before finally losing his patients and telling them all to fuck off. Telling Miguel to stick around, make sure no one suspicious got in and went after the girl, Nevada left and sent his sister a text. Canceling the rest of their dinner. He couldn’t exactly show up covered in blood.

One thing Nevada was certain of, he was going to get to the bottom of this. No one comes to HIS neighborhood. Tries to kill someone he took interest in and gets away with it. Oh no. Nevada wanted blood.

Tagging: @the-baby-bookworm​ @garturbo​ @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ Anyone else who would like to be tagged, just message me! Woo this one was fun to write! What did you think of the ending!?  Please heart and Reblog!  Masterlist found here

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KYLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of RICHARD III. Admin Cas: You put it best, Kylie—Ronan is a Machiavel through and through, but he’s also far more than that. He’s known suffering, more intimately than most, yet rather than allow it to shape him, wear him down, he sharpened it into a weapon. Yet again, you captured everything critical to Ronan’s character, from his scorn and ambition to his insatiability, his pride, his precision. Your writing itself is just enchanting to read, and we’re so thrilled that you’ve returned to us. We cannot wait to have you grace our dashes with your deliciously scheming and delightfully avid Ronan once more! Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kylie

Age | 26

Preferred Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | 5-6. I like to be on at least once every day, and manage some type of content.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp?  | i missed it :)

Current/Past RP Accounts | ronanivarsson.tumblr.com

IN CHARACTER

Character | Richard III, Ronan Ivarsson

What drew you to this character? |

ableism tw

there is something that will always be intriguing about the machinations of a machiavel, that will always be attractive, always be intriguing, which is what first drew me to ronan. however, i think it’s difficult, and dangerous, to label him as simply a manipulator, a prince in search of power and a throne–to me, he’s far deeper, far more layered than that. from the moment he was born, life put ronan ivarsson in a position to know nothing apart from weakness–he was born a pawn for his parents to play against one another, only for his father to stroll past the room where the board sat, to overturn the table and cast the pieces to the floor. he would remain forever trapped in the ivarsson villa, unwanted and loathed, never strong enough to fight for himself, to run from the horrible cesspool that made him, that twisted the hearts of the people that lived there–he should have been no better than the monster that frankenstein abandoned, the wife that wailed and gnashed, locked in the attic of the victorian manor house, a creature doomed to shadows for the whole of his life.

but ronan refused that life–and that’s the endlessly fascinating thing about him. he is a machiavel that should have never come into being, that tore the pages from the book and cut out only the passages that were useful to him. god reached down to him and showed him the path, the divine right of kings, and ronan, with his halting steps, with the black and poisonous blood that runs through his veins, walks it with precision, with the intent to wrestle the crown from the hand of the divine himself.

ronan took his emptiness and weaponized it, refused the shadows and instead forged them by his own hands into a kind of armor–look upon that which you would scorn, he says as he strides through verona a kind of caesar, a kind of richard, a lurching colossus, and kneel. i love that about him, but the thing that really got me in the end, is that he cannot successfully hide the weaknesses which still plague him–he ignored machiavelli’s greatest advice, that to be feared would better serve the prince than to be loved. he fell in love, with a beautiful mystery of a man. he still feels his pulse race when the cameras all come to train on his face, when he has every citizen of verona eating like lambs out of the palm of his hand. he looks at the only surviving gallo twin, and he feels something gentle curl around the corners of his mouth like perfumed smoke. he is cold, but he is not yet corpse.

it remains to be seen if that will be his downfall, in a place that so easily tears the heart from the chest cavity, if it takes a man or a monster to wear the crown, when the battles are finished.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

KINGS IT MAKES GODS, AND MEANER CREATURES KINGS

So far the path to the Montagues has been messy and bloody for Ronan, has left a trail of bodies behind him. Since he is now nothing more than a soldier, where such behavior, such wanton ambition won’t be tolerated, I want to see how he adapts his methods. Will he continue to kill whoever stands in his way, because such is the divine right every king should possess? Or will he learn to temper himself, to hide such business in the shadows? In the same vein, I would love to explore how much he’s capable of tolerating such a thing being asked of him–how long will it be before he bites the hand that feeds him? Until his patience for following orders starts to wear thin, and the divinity that guides him becomes impatient, insatiable?

A WORD THAT COWARDS USE

Love is an indulgence that Ronan knows he should cast aside, and yet he finds himself locked in a kind of constant craving. It’s the one thing in his life he’s never been able to buy for himself, never been able to take from the hands of someone else–so how does a man who so easily casts aside life’s gentler aspects, learn such an art? Is it part of his need for validation, for recognition from the public that would so easily cast him aside and speak vitriol towards him if he were anyone else? Or is it something deeper, something that would actually salve some of the wounds he’s carried his entire life? So far, he’s only known it as mistake, a wound that despite being stitched closed continues to hemorrhage blood–but then he looks at a man like Santino Gallo, and sees the potential for something that almost feels gentle. If such a thing were to make itself available to him, would he open himself up to it? Or would he make the decision once and for all to remove the cursed organ that beats in his chest?

EVERY TALE CONDEMNS ME FOR VILLAIN

Ronan holds no particular loyalty to the Montagues–he could have easily bent the knee to Cosimo Capulet, had the man approached him first. The Montagues are simply a means to an end, and I could see him being willing to sell them out if the right prize were offered to him. I want to see him be treacherous, silver tongued, the consummate politician, and flirt with the temptation of easy success. Would his pride keep him from taking such a way to a promotion, to an accolade? Would he really be willing to betray those few who he deems worthy enough for his time or glance? I could also see it working in the reverse–that perhaps he could use his talents to win recruits or information for the Montagues.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course! It’s probably what he deserves!

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

ONE.

It begins with a question, posed by a handsome mouth, sealed with fingertips that come to gently lift the hem of ronan’s shirt, to curl themselves around the curve of ronan’s hipbone.

“Tell me your favorite place, in all of Verona, and take me there right now.”

He grins, like a knife slowly being pulled from its soft leather sheath–all glint and sharp edge. He wraps his fingers around the young man’s neck, digs his nails into the short hairs there, until he gets a hiss that could either indicate pleasure, or pain, for his efforts. He coos, clicks his tongue and placates his plaything with the tender caress of lips against well muscled shoulder, neck. The young man makes another noise, something guttural and unprompted from the back of his throat, and ronan laughs.

It’s almost too easy–like digging his fingers into the scruff of a wild cat, expecting teeth and claws, only to have it purr in response. He contemplates disposing of him then and there with a clean cut across the throat that bares for him–but to leave empty handed, simply because there was no challenge in it, no cunning required, would surely be wasteful, return him to a state of excruciating boredom and restlessness.

So he hums in mock thoughtfulness, sinks his teeth into skin and licks over his mark, before he speaks. “As beautiful as you would look, pressed up against the brick of the arena, all of the blood and bravado of a gladiator roaring through you, I hardly see the need to travel so far away. Perhaps the library, would be a better location for such things as you desire?”

There it is, he thinks to himself, as the muscle pressed up against him comes to fall still for no more than a fraction of a second. All of the confirmation he needs, so unwittingly given. He hopes the rest of the Montague stock aren’t so impossibly dimwitted, or easily swayed by the promise of a more carnal method of persuasion. Where would the fun in that be?

He takes squared off chin in hand and kisses the soldato one last time, before the blood spills onto Ronan’s chest and subsequently the ground underneath his feet. He becomes the first of them to kneel.

TWO.

Lucien rolls off of the top of him, and Ronan immediately feels the muscles in his hands twitch, send the command to his shoulders to reach out, keep the seemingly endless expanse of pale skin from ever travelling where he cannot touch. Unfortunately for the memory of meat and tendon that has never properly obeyed his command anyway, ronan shuts the notion down in favor of watching–it’s all he feels he can do, when it comes to the man who now leans against the railing of the yacht. Watch, in the hopes that an answer of some sort may reveal itself–or perhaps even the question, that Ronan knows he should ask and yet cannot find the language to form. Strange, to be so willingly robbed of his best weapon.

He suspects Lucien is aware of where Ronan’s eyes come to rest, most of the time, and chooses not to comment. Perhaps he even enjoys it–being caught but not captured in the jaws of the predator, having the power to command him to wait, to stay until he is willing to give. If Ronan were to be honest with himself, in a way that has never been his policy, he would have to admit that he enjoys it as well–being compelled, by force of nothing more than want, wrapped in the candy coating of desire and attraction.

The man turns, and the breeze rustles his dark hair across his forehead. his eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but Ronan can imagine the familiar spark of heat, of mischief, that flickers there like a matchstick flame. “You live like this every day, Councilman?” He drawls, one corner of his mouth drawn up into a smirk.

Ronan grins and leans his head back with a pleased sigh, crooks a finger to indicate that Lucien should come close again, should let Ronan show him just how decadent things can truly get, and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Occasionally there is work involved, but given the right incentive i’d be willing to throw the whole thing away. Perhaps you have an offer you’d like to make towards that end, Doctor?”

He doesn’t open his eyes when the deck chair bends with the weight of another, when lips are pressed against his own. He just slides his hands down each delicate rib bone, digs his fingers into flesh already marked with purple and blue blossoms that Ronan had planted there the night before, and tries to communicate without ever speaking, that this is only the beginning for the two of them. That when he’s finished with the work, he’ll ravish this man on a throne made of gold, decorated with jewels and the head of any who would dare oppose them.

THREE.

His sponsor is a weak-willed man, that reminds Ronan far too much of his own father–or at the very least, the passing glimpses and vitriol laced stories of his father that had fallen carelessly from his mother’s lips, after one too many glasses of wine. He comes upon ronan walking through the hallways of the library, wraps an arm around his shoulders as if to prove he is unafraid of touching a thing so malformed, so clearly repulsive to the eyes of others, and he smiles. “You have done well so far, Ronan.” he says, personably, as such men who would describe themselves as such always are. “Tell me, no big mistakes to report of? I won’t hold them against you too harshly–there is always room to grow, to learn, in a business such as this.”

He resists the urge to speak through gritted teeth that he is in the middle of running for office, and not some schoolboy in need of guidance and direction–instead his eyes catch on the silver band that sits, gleaming as the day it was put there, on his left hand. “I don’t believe in mistakes, signore.” He says, more quietly than he had intended. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, before schooling his expression into something more neutral, that feels less to him like exposing an open wound to the particles of a dust storm. “I make choices, and I live with their consequences–for better, or for worse.”

FOUR.

He stabs the man a month later, sinks his blade into the heart up to the hilt.

Someone Ronan thinks might be the capobastone comes to stand next to him, after the news of the dead Montague being found on the steps of the cathedral begins to circulate, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He resolutely does not think about breaking the bones in each of his fingers, one by one, for such a presumption. “You’ve handled yourself admirably, in the wake of such a personal blow.” He says, with an exhale of breath that causes the skin on Ronan’s neck to crawl. “It is the most difficult thing asked of us, to continue to live after another is gone.”

Ronan bites down hard on his bottom lip, by all appearances to staunch the overwhelming feelings of grief that must clearly threaten to spill forth from him, but in reality to stifle the laugh that threatens to give him away at such a ridiculous statement. He forces a slight tremble in his hands, as he brings them to scrub at the back of his eyes. “He taught me so much in such a short time–made me a better soldato.” A sharp inhale, shake of his head. “It is hard to believe, that I will never get the chance to thank him for such a kindness.”

The man nods his head in understanding, and squeezes, despite the pain that radiates all the way to the tips of Ronan’s fingers. He clenches his teeth. “We have watched you, the work you have done. And while it has at times been sloppy, and reckless, Don Montague believes that in the wake of Richard’s unfortunate demise, you should step up to take his place.”

He can taste it, in the back of his throat then. Blood, mixed with saliva, something distinctly more honeyed. Divinity, in all of its raw form–he half expects to open his mouth and see it spool out before him like ribbon, blinding everyone else in the room, rendering them nothing more than ash for him to step over as he walks towards the crown, the throne, the destiny that has been planned for him since he was nothing more than a young boy. He touches the hand on his shoulder and half expects it to be pulled away and burned. “I would be honored, signore, to serve the Don in such a way.”

FIVE.

“Tell me councilman,” the reporter shouts from the crowd, phone recorder thrust into the air like some sort of trophy or other holy object. “What are your thoughts concerning the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

He shakes his head, schools his face into an expression that is solemn, serious–the grim line of an Alexander or a Caesar, his heart bleeding into the streets of the city he has built, for the people who populate it and offer him devotions for their continued success and survival. “I think there will be no winners, in this conflict. And that whoever remains standing, will prove himself to be the more cruel, the more bloodthirsty, the more willing to do unspeakable acts in order to secure his own power–an honor i do not wish on even my worst enemy.”

And why would he? It is an honor he wishes for himself alone.

Extras: N/A

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 2

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

The bang of Crowley’s gavel makes you jump, and you’re quickly guided off the stage and through a separate door, which is quickly closed and locked behind you. You wait in silence, cowering in the corner, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes sting with tears. After a few minutes, the side door bursts open, and two men enter the room, led by Crowley. 

One is tall, well over six feet. Brown hair curls around the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkle with an untamed fire. He smells like warm honey and coffee, something that automatically relaxes you. He’s young, in his mid-twenties, you guess, and judging by the nice suit and shiny shoes, well-off. He’s looking at you like you’re not what he expected, and you lower your head in shame, aware of the tear tracks that stain your cheeks. The older man has to be his father, black hair with dashes of silver, and a graying beard to match.

Before you can move or say a word, Crowley grabs you by the arm and hauls you up so that you’re standing straight. “You have a brand, yes?”

The older man holds up a long metal rod with a flat end. You can barely make out the engraving, but you know exactly what’s coming. They’re going to brand you; it’s an Alpha’s way of making sure that if an Omega runs from them, they’re easily identifiable.

“Come here,” the younger man commands. You obediently shuffle forward, trying to appear brave as he takes you by the hand. His palm is smooth and warm on your skin. “What’s your name?”

You stutter through your name, barely able to make eye contact. He smiles with approval. “I’m Sam,” he replies. “This is my father, John. You’re coming home with me, do you understand that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.” He grips your hand a little harder as Crowley opens the door that leads to the outside and pulls you along behind him. It’s chilly out, and you shiver as the cold air blows over your almost bare skin. There’s a fire burning in an empty metal bin, and you shudder as John shoves the end of their branding stick into the embers. 

“Sign here,” Crowley holds up a sheet of paper and a feather quill. “While we wait, might as well dispense with all the formalities.”

Sam scrawls a sloppy signature on one line and holds the quill out to you. You know what this is; it’s a contract signing yourself, body, mind, and soul, to your Alpha. If you don’t sign, you’ll be made to, and probably suffer more than just a forced signature. Accepting the quill with shaking fingers, you sign your name as best you can, keeping your jaw clenched so as to hold back more tears. Crowley slides the completed contract into the leather folder under his arm and watches as the older man pulls the now glowing brand from the flames. 

Sam takes it, gripping your upper arm with one hand. “Hold still,” he says flatly. 

Instinct takes over, and you wiggle free, letting out a loud cry as he reaches for you again. Your minimal efforts are not naught; John grabs you by the scruff of the neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. “We don’t have time for this,” he snarls, “do it now, Sam.”

Sam looks taken aback by your fear, as if he’s just now registering how scared you are. He reaches for your arm, and you let out another cry, jerking away from him. “Omega, hold still,” he mutters to no avail.

“For God’s sake.” John shoves you forward, pulling the brand from Sam’s grip. “Hold her, I’ll do it myself.”

Sam wraps his powerful arms around you from behind, one hand muffling your sobs and whimpers. John yanks on your upper arm and presses the brand to your skin, just below your shoulder. The pain is almost blinding, and you taste bile in your throat as you scream. It’s over in a matter of seconds, but the burning throb remains. Sam’s holding you upright—your legs have given out—and when he removes his hand from over your mouth, he trails the same fingers through your hair, as if he’s trying to comfort you.

“There,” John spits almost angrily, “let’s go.”

After waiting for an attendant to bring your things down from your private room, you’re escorted into a horse-drawn carriage, where Sam instructs you to sit next to him, opposite his father. The ride passes in a blur, and by the time you reach your destination, the moon is high in the sky. 

The Winchester house is a Victorian monstrosity, two stories high, with steep, gabled roofs, windows glowing eerily with a golden light. You don’t get long to ogle before Sam’s dragging your small suitcase from the floor of the carriage and ushering you up the front stairs. It’s warm inside, and you shudder gratefully. 

“Get her upstairs,” John instructs, “we don’t need your brother sniffin’ around when there’s an unclaimed Omega, he can barely keep his goddamn knot in his pants.”

“I’m very aware of that.” Sam puts his arm around you and makes to leave.

“I mean it.” John’s tone is harsh. “She belongs to you now, boy, better to make her yours before anyone else can.”

Sam lets out a low growl and ushers you through an ornately decorated living room and up two flights of stairs. Your heart accelerates when he pushes you in front of him down a short hallway until he reaches a heavy wooden door. Opening it, he shoves you inside and closes it, locking it behind him. 

Sam’s bedroom is large and sparsely furnished. A large bed sits against one wall, covered in a dark red comforter embroidered with gold. Several matching pillows sit up against the tall wooden headboard. The only other furniture pieces are a wardrobe, chest of drawers, and a round table perched next to a long row of windows. A large fireplace sits opposite the bed, empty of charcoal or ashes. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

Sam’s words cause you to turn, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He approaches you gingerly, as if afraid of scaring you further. “My father, he’s… well, he’s got his own way of doing things, and—”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Tears sting your eyes, and you back up against the bed as Sam advances. “Don’t… please, don’t, I’ll do anything, I swear.”

Sam’s eyes soften, and he holds up both hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. Let me see your arm.” His fingertips graze your shoulder, and you tremble under his touch. He examines the burn on your skin, his brow furrowed. “Wait here,” he instructs calmly, “I’m going to make you a bath, you should clean up.”

You shiver as he leaves through a door on the opposite wall. It’s a washroom, and you hear the sound of water running. The Winchesters must be loaded to have a house like this with running water; you’ve never had a bath outside of a metal washtub before. 

After several minutes, he steps out, beckoning to you. You step into the small room, eyeing the ceramic basin nervously. If you’re to bathe, you’ll need to take your dress off, and you’ve never been naked in front of an Alpha before. Sam’s easily twice your size with over a hundred pounds on you. If he wants to mate and claim you, there’s nothing you can do to fight him off.

“Dress,” Sam says, pulling at the bow at the back of your gown. “Lift your arms.”

Trembling, you raise your arms over your head, wincing as the reddened skin of your burn pulls. Sam drops the fabric to the floor and inhales deeply at the sight of your naked body. You’re not like the other Omegas, no full hips and thighs, no round breasts, nothing that an Alpha might take pleasure in. You’re small and stick-thin from living on the streets for so long and not being properly fed at Crowley’s.

“Look at me.” Sam waits for you to turn to face him, and you raise your forearms to cover your pitifully small breasts. “Don’t hide,” he says, offering a kind smile. “I said I won’t hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.”

“I—” you swallow thickly, trying to stop more tears from flooding your eyes, “I’ve never been… l-like this in front of an Alpha…”

“I can tell.” Sam’s jaw tenses as his eyes flicker over your body. You get the feeling that he can see right into your soul. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You step into the tub, fully aware of the fact that Sam’s eyes are fixed on the space between your thighs before you sink into the warm water. He strips his jacket off and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling behind you and reaching for a metal cup. He scoops up cupfuls of water and pours it through your hair. When you feel his hand on your forehead, you obediently tip your head back and let him wet the rest. There’s a white bar of soap on the edge of the tub and he swirls it in his hands, working the lavender-scented suds into the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

You take a deep, slightly shaky breath. “Yes.”

Sam doesn’t reply, only reaches for the cup again and begins rinsing your hair. When he’s finished, he stands up, drying his hands on a small towel. “I’m going to get you something to sleep in,” he says, “come into the bedroom when you’re done.”

You finish washing quickly. The lavender scented soap soothes your skin, and when you finally stand up and pull one of the towels from the brass rack, you feel cleaner than ever. Your arm, however, hasn’t stopped burning, and the new tears that fill your eyes aren’t from fear or exhaustion.

Sam’s sitting on the bed, a small basket of bandages and an amber glass bottle of salve by his side. Your suitcase is open on the floor; he’s gone through what little garments you have to see if you have a nightdress to no avail. He’s holding a white nightshirt that looks like it might be his, and when he hands it to you, the size confirms your suspicions. 

“I’ll buy you something that fits tomorrow,” he clarifies, “and you’ll need better clothing than this.” He casts a disdainful eye at the open suitcase. “I brought you some food as well. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

You shrug the nightshirt over your head before dropping the towel. It falls almost to just above your knees, and you hand to pull one shoulder up to stop it from falling down. When you attempt to head towards the tray of food, Sam snaps his fingers, and you flinch. “Come here,” he says, patting the bed beside him. “Let me take a look at your arm before you eat.”

Eager to get this part over with, you allow Sam to push the sleeve of your nightshirt up. His hand’s large enough to wrap easily around your upper arm. You wince and squirm when he presses a fingerful of salve to the wound, but he holds you firmly. “Stop moving,” he commands, evidently irritated at your lack of obedience. You fight to remain still as he covers the skin around the brand mark with the sweet-smelling mixture.

“It’ll stop infection,” he explains, finally letting you go to unwrap a length of bandage. He wraps it several times around your arm, checking to make sure it doesn’t cut off your circulation before tying it. With a nod of his head, he gives you permission to finally eat.

The smell of soup fills your nostrils as you sit down, and you spoon a mouthful of broth, meat, and vegetables into your mouth. It’s delicious, and you eagerly down most of the bowl in less than five minutes, finishing it off with the chunk of bread lying beside it. The cup of tea is the last thing you touch, and you breathe in the sweet fragrance before taking a long sip.

Sam’s been watching you eat with an amused, if slightly pitiful, expression. “Are you still hungry?”

You shake your head. Truthfully, you feel almost too full. It’s been quite a while since you’ve had this much to eat in one sitting. “No,” you answer, still sipping at your tea. “Just tired.”

Sam checks the small clock on the nightstand. “It is late,” he says, as if agreeing with you. “We should sleep.”

You watch, slightly caught off guard, as he pulls his white button-up off and tosses it to the floor. His pants go next, and you stiffen in surprise when he straightens up, fully naked. He’s glorious, every inch of his body suntanned and lean. There’s a sigil inked into his skin, just below his left collarbone, a type of star enclosed in a circle. He smirks at your expression when you tear your eyes from traveling lower than his waist and turns, striding confidently towards the chest of drawers. 

“Scared?” he asks, his tone ever so slightly mocking. “It’s just a body, Omega, I’ve just seen yours.”

“I’ve n-never seen a… a man… naked.” you choke on your words as he pulls a nightshirt out of the top drawer. 

He chuckles, sliding the loose fabric over his head and letting it fall to cover his thighs. “You’ll get used to it. I normally don’t wear anything to bed, but since you’re here…”

You bow your head in shame.  “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I… I know you don’t want me. Your father made you—”

“My father didn’t make me do anything,” Sam replies, his tone a little colder. “Like I said, he has his own way of running things, and last month…” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I went through a rut and nearly killed someone. I was angry, got in a fight, and my father drew the line. I had a choice to make, and I made the easy one.”

You give a short nod and stand up. Your eyes burn, and you know that the longer you cry, the worse you’re going to feel the next morning. “I think I’d like to sleep,” you say quietly.

Wordlessly, he pulls back the heavy coverlet, allowing you to climb underneath before pacing around to get in on the other side, turning out the oil lamp and shrouding you both in darkness. He’s silent for several long seconds before you hear him speak.

“Good night, Omega,” he whispers.

You turn onto your back, staring up at the dark ceiling. “Good night… Alpha.”

[thistleclaws-hatred]

Ashfur’s Revenge - Novella - Chapter Five

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This novella is inspired by @dark-rose-designs ’s post. 

“Squirrelflight, you’re back!”

“With kits? I didn’t even know you were expecting!”

“Thank StarClan Leafpool was with you! Are you all well? They look fine!”

“Brambleclaw, look! You’re a father!”

Ashfur walked out of the warriors’ den, seeing Squirrelflight walk into camp with three little kits at her paws. He blinked, surprised. Kits? Brambleclaw’s kits?

Brambleclaw ran over to his mate, licking her in between the ears, “Why didn’t you tell me you were expecting?”

“I knew that you would’ve taken me off of patrols,” Squirrelflight flicked his ears with her tail. “But they’re all strong and healthy.”

“No complications?” Ferncloud asked, looking down at the kits.

“Her milk has already stopped coming,” Leafpool meowed as she entered the camp, “No herb will make it come.”

Ferncloud gasped. “I hate to ask Ferncloud, but can you help me nurse them until they’re fully weaned?”

The gray queen nodded furiously. “Of course!” She bent her head and purred as the black kit batted at her muzzle, green eyes filled with wonder.

“Did you name them?” Brambleclaw asked, he looked like he might burst with pride.

“The black one is Hollykit,” Squirrelflight pushed her towards her father with her white paw. “The golden one is Lionkit, and the gray one is Jaykit.” She bent down and looked at her three kits, “Guys, this is Brambleclaw, your father.”

“You're our father?” Lionkit asked, staring up at the large tabby tom. Brambleclaw bent over, licking his son gently.

“Yes, I am,” Brambleclaw purred loudly. Ashfur could basically hear his purring from where he sat. He was happy the clan had three new, healthy kits, but he felt the same disgust he felt when he looked at Squirrelflight, the moment he looked at the kits.

“Just one thing Brambleclaw,” Squirrelflight meowed, moving closer to her mate and lowering her voice, “Jaykit is blind.”

Brambleclaw sat back and blinked, then shrugged. “He’s still my son!”

From the gorse tunnel came Firestar and Sandstorm, both of them holding prey in the jaws. “Squirrelflight, you’re back!” Firestar meowed happily around his squirrel.

“And, she has kits!” Brambleclaw puffed up his chest, directing the leader’s attention towards the three playful kits.

Firestar dropped his prey and dashed forward, looking over the three kits and curling his tail high over his back. Sandstorm was checking over Squirrelflight and then purred, “Grandkits!”

“Welcome to fatherhood,” Dustpelt shoved Brambleclaw with a shoulder. Brambleclaw nodded and twitched his whiskers.

“I’m going to make sure our kits,” he pressed closer to Squirrelflight, “And you, all have the best piece of fresh-kill everyday.”

Leafpool told Firestar their names and Firestar instantly bounded up the highrock and called for a clan meeting. Anyone that had slept through their arrival made their ways into the clearing. “Today, I have the wonderful honor of welcoming three new kits to ThunderClan!” He yowled as the clan assembled below him.

Ashfur glared up at his leader, then shot a furious glance over at Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw, both of whom were pressed up against one another, keeping their tails around their kits.

“Today we welcome Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight’s kits! We welcome to ThunderClan Hollykit, Jaykit, and Lionkit!” Firestar’s voice echoed around the clearing. The clan below erupted into meows of congratulations and cheer.

Only Ashfur didn’t engage in the cheering. He watched as Brambleclaw began to play with his kits, his own eyes dark. Those should’ve been my kits. I would’ve been a much better father! He thought angrily.

           Nearly six moons had passed. The kits had become a nuisance to the clan, as all older kits did. Ashfur took a lot of time to observe them. He never played with them and almost refused to bring them prey, but he liked to watch them. Hollykit was the curious one, always asking questions and generally being annoying. Lionkit was the largest of the three, his broad shoulders resembling Brambleclaw’s stature, he was also the biggest troublemaker. Jaykit with lithe and lanky, his fur not thick nor thin. Everyone let Jaykit get away with everything because he was blind. 

Ashfur walked out of the warriors’ den, feeling the warmth spread across his spotted pelt. “Ashfur, I want you to go on the fox patrol with Spiderleg, Mousepaw, and Whitewing.” Brambleclaw called to the gray tom from where he sat. “We need to drive that fox out of our territory as soon as possible. Her and her pups.”

Ashfur nodded and walked over to where the other three were. He still wasn’t a fan of Brambleclaw, but the deputy was the deputy so he had no choice but to obey. Spiderleg said they were going to investigate near ShadowClan and the patrol set out. Ashfur noticed Thornclaw also leading a patrol to chase out the foxes.

Ashfur brought up the back of the group, looking behind them every few seconds to check for any sign of the fox. He saw movement in a bush and froze, narrowing his eyes and tasting the air. Lionkit? He looked closer and saw a flash of gray fur. All three of them...

He shrugged. Wasn’t his problem. He bounded ahead to catch up with his patrol, sniffing around for the foxes. “No sign of them here,” Whitewing meowed. Mousepaw sighed, he had been looking forward to helping fight off the foxes.

“We might as well hunt,” Spiderleg said, “But if anyone scents the fox, yell for the rest of us.”

Ashfur nodded and went back to where he saw the three kits. As he got closer he heard the yowling of kits. They’re in danger! He looked around for them. It wasn’t very hard to find them almost being buried alive inside of an old rabbit hole. I should help them. He moved forward but stopped. No I shouldn’t. Those are Squirrelflight’s kits, not mine. That’s her own mistake. She should be watching her kits.

He dashed off, looking over his shoulder just as a russet flash moved towards the kits. The fox had found them. Before the fox could attack them though, Thornclaw’s patrol burst from the undergrowth, attacking the fox viciously. Seeing Thornclaw make eye contact with him, he leaped out and helped the patrol. “I heard the sounds of battle and came to help!” He defended himself, hoping Thornclaw wouldn’t see through his lie.

The patrol drove the fox away and reached in to save the kits. Jaykit had soil covering his entire face. Poppypaw began to dig out clumps of dirt from his mouth before they carried the three kits to the camp. Why did you have to save them? You should’ve left them to die. Ashfur thought angrily, feeling a stinging sensation in his flank from where the fox had thrown him into a bramble bush.

Ashfur glared at Lionkit, rolling his eyes when the kit tried to look at him for help. “You dug this hole, now sit in it.” All Ashfur could see was Brambleclaw’s amber eyes whenever Lionkit looked at him. It filled him with a fuming hatred. None of you should have ever been born. You’re lucky these guys came to save you.

          “From this day forward, until you earn your warrior name, you shall be called Lionpaw.” Firestar meowed, looking down at his clan, “Ashfur,” he beckoned forward the gray warrior, “I hope you pass on your bravery and strength to Lionpaw.”

Ashfur nodded and touched Lionpaw’s head, while the apprentice brushed his shoulder with his muzzle. Lionpaw was brimming with excitement, his pelt fluffed up. From the corner of his eyes Ashfur saw Squirrelflight brush under Brambleclaw’s jaw happily. The two nuzzled one another.

Ashfur also caught the look Brambleclaw gave him. “Don’t hurt my son.” Ashfur flicked his ear and faced Firestar as the ThunderClan leader finished the ceremony with Jaypaw. I’ll train your son however I want. Ashfur thought bitterly.

Ashfur flicked his tail for Lionpaw to follow him, “I’ll show you the borders today and the best places to collect moss for the elders’.”

Lionpaw followed eagerly, “Okay!” His voice squeaked. Ashfur looked back at him and for a moment, blue eyes met amber ones. Ashfur thought of Brambleclaw the moment he saw those amber eyes and looked away from his apprentice, hatred fueling his steps as he picked up the pace.

             “Today we’re doing some battle training,” Ashfur began. “So, attack me.”

Lionpaw tilted his head, “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Ashfur meowed cooly. “And remember to keep your claws sheathed.” 

Berrypaw and Brambleclaw sat off to the side. Berrypaw was a few days from his warrior ceremony, but Brambleclaw had insisted that they tag along with Ashfur and Lionpaw’s training session.

Lionpaw looked his mentor up and down, usually during battle training Ashfur gave him tips, but now he wasn’t sure what to do. Ashfur waited for Lionpaw to attack, flicking his tail impatentialy. Lionpaw leaped up, aiming for Ashfur’s shoulders. Ashfur whipped around to one side, striking Lionpaw as soon as he landed.

Lionpaw growled and spun around, knocking Ashfur’s front legs out front under him. When Ashfur crashed to the ground, Lionpaw battered his ribs with quick blows. Ashfur looked up, seeing those stupid amber eyes. Brambleclaw! He spat and lurched upward, rearing onto his hind-legs and slashing Lionpaw’s ears with claws unsheathed.

Lionpaw ducked and swiped his claws along the back of Ashfur’s hind-legs. Ashfur fell onto all fours with a hiss of pain and kicked out, landing a solid strike on Lionpaw’s skull. Lionpaw crashed to the ground and struggled to scramble to his paws. When he did, he dodged Ashfur’s next attack and bit down on Ashfur’s paw, feeling drops of blood flow into his jaws.

“Enough!” Brambleclaw grabbed Ashfur by the scruff and threw him to the side, while Berrypaw did the same with Lionpaw.

Oh StarClan, that wasn’t Brambleclaw...That was Lionpaw. Mentor and apprentice locked eyes, panting. “Good battle,” Ashfur praised.

“That wasn’t training,” Brambleclaw thrust his muzzle into Ashfur’s face, “If you have a problem, take it up with me.”

Ashfur spat. I do have a problem. It’s with you and Squirrelflight. She broke my heart, I’ll destroy the two of you. Not today, but one day. He turned around and headed back towards camp. “Are you okay Lionpaw?”

“That was the most fun I’ve had training in moons!” Lionpaw was basically bouncing back to camp. “We should do that again.”

“Maybe when your father isn’t watching,” Ashfur whispered in his ear. He’s grown. He’s almost as tall as me now. A few more moons and he’ll be bigger than me! He really is Brambleclaw’s son...

Squirrelflight was less than happy with Ashfur when they entered the camp. She ran over and began licking Lionpaw furiously, glaring daggers at Ashfur, “What is your problem?”

Ashfur flinched back.

“Don’t tell me this was training gone wrong! If you have a problem with Lionpaw, you can take it up with me,” She spat, lashing her tail. Ashfur blinked in surprise. He had never seen her this angry. Not since Hawkfrost...

Ashfur’s heart lurched. It had been several moons since he had thought of the tabby and white tom. He felt his heart ache at the memory. Ashfur locked eyes with Squirrelflight and folded his ears back, “I know how to train my apprentice.”