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maxinesgun · 1 month

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Like A Prayer | s.m

pairing: shane mccutcheon x fem!reader

contains: nsfw, alcohol consumption, slight jealousy (on reader's part), swearing, fingering (r!receiving), thigh riding, some pet names, established relationship, shane is hot AND cute

summary: shane gets home late after a night out and is eager to finally touch you after thinking about you all night.

a/n: this woman has been consuming my every waking thought lately and it has come to my attention that there definitely aren't enough fics out there for her. so here i am, y'all. enjoy!

word count: 1.8k

By the time the sound of the front door shutting roused you awake, you’d already been sleeping for a good while.

At least, you had been.

You’d sat awake for a few hours past your usual bedtime waiting for Shane to arrive home after she’d asked you to wait up for her. She’d texted you as you were getting off from work that she was going out partying with her friends that night, so you hadn’t gotten to see her all day. As much as the thought of her partying without you there, surrounded by other girls, set off a spark of jealousy in your gut, you knew it was Shane, after all, and she was going to do what she wanted. It had pissed you off when it was growing later and she hadn’t answered your text asking when she’d be home, though, and so when one a.m. rolled around with still no word, you’d tossed your phone aside in slight annoyance and resolved to go to bed.

You were still half-submerged in sleep, the faint noises of movement coming from beyond the bedroom only dimly registering in your mind, followed by a single thought popping into your head: Shane’s home.

Sleep was just beginning to pull you under again when the sound of something clattering to the floor in the other room, followed by a faint curse, yanked you back to wakefulness, fully this time. Your eyes fluttered, and you rolled onto your side, burying your face into the pillow as you tried to get comfortable again. You listened to her moving around in the kitchen, the sounds of shuffling, the fridge opening and closing, wondering what ungodly time it was.

The bedroom door creaked open, and you cracked an eye open, quietly watching Shane’s figure in the darkness as she ambled in, a hand on the wall to guide her. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, her movements loose as she reached to tug her shirt up over her head before flinging it aside, leaving her only in her black bra. Then she approached the bed, flopping down beside you unceremoniously with a sigh.

You had closed your eyes again, having resolved to go right back to sleep, when you felt a warm hand snake over your thigh over the covers. A moment later, you felt the warmth of her body heat, smelled the faint scent of cigarettes and booze on her as she leaned over you, her hair tickling your cheek as she pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder.

A tiny smile touched your lips at that, and you stirred a bit, turning your head slightly to look at her. “Hey,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

“Hey. I wake you?” she rasped against your shoulder, her voice low and husky, and the sound of it stirred heat in your core. Damn her and damn her perfect, sexy voice. You just huffed a little in response, rolling onto your back to see her better and rubbing a hand over your eyes groggily. “M’sorry,” she murmured with a grin, but you didn’t entirely believe her, judging by the way her hand continued to wander up to your hip and her head dipped down to kiss the space between your shoulder and your neck, tongue darting out against your skin.

“Had fun?” you asked, amused at the way she couldn’t keep her hands off you. You knew exactly what she wanted—that much was obvious, but you didn’t move to either encourage her or stop her, sleep still weighing on you heavily. A drunk Shane was a horny Shane.

“Mm,” she hummed in answer, drawing back to lean on her elbow, looking down at you. “Missed you, though.”

“Yeah? Missed me so much you couldn’t answer my text?” you accused, but your tone was half-joking. You couldn’t stay mad at her.

“I did. I answered it before I left,” she insisted, her words lazy. Her hand had dipped below the covers to rub absentmindedly at your hip.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, so two hours after I sent it.”

Her lips curled into a grin. She’d always found it cute when you were annoyed.

“C’mon, babe, don’t be mad. I was just busy. Didn’t see it right away.”

“Did you get too distracted by all the pretty girls there?” You raised your brows at her, trying to keep your lips from twisting into a grin. Though you were only joking, never missing a chance to tease her, the slightest hint of jealousy still managed to seep into your tone.

Shane leaned in slowly, close enough for you to feel her breath ghosting over your face as her gaze dropped to your lips. “‘M distracted by a pretty girl right now.” Her voice was hushed, and your heart skipped in your chest as her hand began to explore the skin just under the hem of your pyjama shorts, sickeningly teasing.

You reached up to pull her face down the rest of the short distance between you, and her lips met yours with fervor, no patience in it as her tongue stroked into your mouth hungrily. You already felt the ache between your legs growing more persistent; it was almost embarrassing how easily she affected you, but you didn’t even care, a sigh leaving your lips as your hand tangled in her mussed hair, holding her to you.

She broke the kiss momentarily, a pleased quirk of a grin on her lips. “Oh, you liked that?” she murmured against your mouth, noticing your reaction to her words. “Very pretty,” she breathed after another kiss on your lips, before moving to trail smaller ones slowly along your jaw. “Prettiest girl I’ve seen all night.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a smile on your face as her lips moved down to your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses there. “Shane,” you breathed on a laugh, barely-there admonishment in your tone. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Hm?” She didn’t look up, didn’t even pause from sucking at the spot where you knew there’d be a mark left tomorrow.

“It’s, like, two a.m.” Your words sounded weak even to yourself. Who were you kidding? Your focus was being pulled between what her mouth was doing and the way her palm was rubbing at your inner thigh, silently willing it to move higher.

—And then it did. Her touch brushed against you over your underwear, lightly, but it was enough to send arousal flaring through you with how sensitive you already were. The small, involuntary twitch your hips gave into her hand betrayed you.

“Mmh, but I’ve been thinking about you all night, baby.” That husky voice was right by your ear, and you felt the nip of her teeth on your neck again. “Been thinking about touching you.”

She applied more pressure now, rubbing in earnest as she cupped you through your already-damp underwear. You let out a shaky breath, already wanting more, needing more. Your hand was resting on her shoulder, and your grip tightened a little without even realizing as the pleasure ramped up.

“You want me to stop?” she purred as she palmed at you. She was gazing down at you, your eyes adjusted to the dark enough now to see the smudged eye shadow lining her eyes, the way they drank in your expression of ill-disguised pleasure. A quiet moan escaped you, your eyelids lowering as you succumbed to the feeling.

“Words, babe.” The smirk on her lips was wicked as her fingers worked you, drifting up to circle right over your clit and drawing out another moan from you like clockwork.

“No,” you managed to breathe, your pride thrown to the wind. The end of the word dissolved into a whimper. “Don’t.”

Her smirk grew, and she bent to kiss right over your collarbone, mumbling against your skin. “Alright, if you say so.” She nudged aside the crotch of your underwear then, her fingers slipping past it, and then it was her turn to let out a heavy breath as they slid into the slick wetness of your center. “Fuck,” she cursed lowly, her voice almost a whisper. “This all for me?”

You were so needy that your hips were rocking into her palm, desperate to chase the pleasure that her lazy strokes were giving you. Finally, after circling your entrance, she sunk a finger into you, quickly followed by another, and you tilted your head back further against the pillow when they curled inside you, hitting right there. “Oh my God, Shane,” you moaned, sounding utterly undone, your voice breaking. Your hand was buried in her hair, her lips biting and sucking at your skin as she continued moving her fingers with what could only be described as expertise; she knew exactly which spots to hit, which motions made you a panting mess.

And a panting mess you were, your eyes shut, mouth open, moans increasing in pitch and volume. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to recall your own name in that moment—the only sensation was her fingers deep inside of you, stroking repeatedly over that one spot that sent bolts of pleasure shooting through you.

The quiet groan that rumbled from her throat vibrated against your skin, and then she shifted to hook her leg over yours, her heat pressed right up against your thigh as she began rocking her hips, seeking friction.

You were both a mess of pleasure, tangled together, Shane panting against your neck as she moved above you. When her thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling it once, twice, then gradually faster, the familiar knot of heat in your core began to flare, building steadily.

“Feel good?” she panted, her words shaky with arousal as she both heard and felt your orgasm coming. The movement of her hips picked up speed as she drew closer to her own peak.

You writhed against each other desperately, wildly, and then you were coming with Shane’s name on your lips, the only word you were capable of. It tore from your throat in a whine, and then again, like a prayer, as your body tensed up beneath her. Her fingers prolonged the feeling, drawing out your pleasure, until moments later they stuttered in their movement as her hips jerked against you, her orgasm washing over her.

She lay draped across you as you both caught your breath, too spent to speak as you came down from your high. After your breathing had slowed, she moved her weight off of you, leaning back on her arm as her fingers slid out of you, leaving you feeling empty. Her gaze met yours steadily as she brought them to her mouth, sucking them clean of you, and you bit your lip at the dirtiness of it.

When she leaned back, falling against the pillow beside you, you leaned your head on her chest, draping yourself comfortably against her as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. “Aren’t you glad I woke you up?” Shane mumbled sleepily, a grin in her voice.

You would have rolled your eyes if they’d been open, but you settled for a chuckle instead. Really, though, you would gladly take many more nights just like this.

#shane mccutcheon x reader #shane mccutcheon #the l word x reader #the l word fic #shane mccutcheon fic #the l word shane #the l word #shane mccutcheon smut #x reader #the l word shane mccutcheon

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aliceintheworld · 3 days

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PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: more religion 😬 depression, Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi appear. Jungkook in a towel 💦👅 finally a kiss (things from here happen quickly.) ATTENTION, THIS STORY IS NOT SLOWBURN.

A/N: Guys, I took a while this time for reasons of: laziness and discouragement. I wanted more people to read what I write, but I'm introverted even on the Internet, which leaves me with few alternatives to show my writing to the world. Thinking about it, I'm in trouble. Other than that, only a few days have passed, so everything is fine. Back to the story, everything starts to pick up pace. Just to repeat, the fanfic is not slowburn, so there will be smut in the next chapter. Stay tuned.

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Chapter 3

I spend the whole week riding an emotional rollercoaster. I find myself visiting my neighbor, Mrs. Jeon, more frequently than usual, and with each visit, our friendship blossoms deeper. She shares stories of her youth, of wild adventures and carefree days when she was my age. Her openness encourages me to share my own experiences–or rather, my lack of them. I recount my first disastrous kiss, confess that I've never been in love, and reveal how my once unshakeable faith in the church has wavered since my father's passing. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders; here, I am free to be imperfect, to be vulnerable, without fear of judgment.

Yet, there's one thing I keep to myself: the incident with her son, Jungkook, and the profound effect he has on me. Throughout all my visits, I never see him again. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I casually ask Mrs. Jeon where he is. She tells me that he moved and rented an apartment to avoid being a burden. He only spent the first night at home after his trip, and I remember that night well–from my window, of course–but I don't mention it. Disappointment settles in me like a stone; I long to see him again, but I focus on his mother instead. Having her to confide in is a relief, a breath of fresh air in my otherwise stifling life.

I patiently wait for her to open up about her own struggles, her depression, but she never does. I worry that I might know something I shouldn't, that perhaps she's not comfortable sharing with me. But I promise myself I'll keep her secret safe, no matter what. Today is Sunday, and I won't visit Mrs. Jeon since I'll see her at church. I'm excited–despite my mother making unnecessary comments and disturbing my peace of mind, I'll have someone to rely on.

I smooth down my dark brown dress, fixing my messy hair. I dab a bit of lipstick on my fingertips and press it onto my lips, careful not to overdo it. The truth is, I enjoy makeup, but I've never learned how to apply it properly. I feel embarrassed drawing attention to myself with bolder colors; after all, people are used to my lack of vanity. I sigh, steeling myself as I head downstairs to meet my mother.

She hasn't stopped talking about Jungkook. Unlike me, who had a good first impression, she despises him. She criticizes everything: his eyebrow piercing, his bold style, his tattoos, even the way he carries himself. I can't help but wonder if she accepted the dinner invitation just to analyze him, searching for flaws that exist only in her mind. She's been friends with Misuk since moving to town, and I want to believe–perhaps naively–that my mother doesn't have ulterior motives.

We arrive at church early, the space quiet with only a few members milling about. My mother drifts away to chat with the older congregation, and I find a seat, taking a deep breath. I scan the room for Mrs. Jeon but I don't see her. Since it's still early, I'm not too worried. I take a moment to read the Bible, reflecting on positive thoughts when I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. I turn, and there he is–Jungkook, smiling brightly. I frown, almost convinced he's a mirage. Am I daydreaming?

"Hi Y/N, are you okay?" he asks softly, his lips brushing almost against my ear. His intense gaze locks with mine, and I'm relieved to be sitting down; my legs feel weak in his presence.

"Everything's fine," I reply, my eyes dropping to my fingers. I want to engage him, ask about his week, inquire how he's been, but the words stick in my throat. It's as though I can't act normally around him. I take a deep breath, mustering the courage to comment, "I didn't know you attended church."

"I don't," he laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes. And rightly so; considering his clothes–a heavy leather jacket, shaved sides, and a wavy fringe–it's sexy but definitely not what you'd expect at church. "I haven't been since I was a kid."

"Really? Why?" I ask, genuinely curious, my gaze drawn to his eyebrow piercing, oddly captivating.

"I didn't feel welcome," he replies simply. There's no bitterness in his voice, and I understand all too well what he means. My mother, for example, was the first to judge him based on his appearance, and I can only imagine how difficult it is to feel at home in a place where you're not embraced.

"I understand," I say, unsure of what else to add. "So, you came here to give it another shot?"

"No way," he chuckles. "Actually, my mom mentioned you two planned to meet at church today."

"That's true," I confirm.

"Unfortunately, she can't make it today. She's not feeling well."

"Is she okay?" My concern surfaces immediately.

"She's fine, don't worry. Just a headache, and she took some medicine. She'll be better soon," he assures me, his hand lightly touching my shoulder. I can't help but notice how warm and gentle his touch is. I shake my head, trying to divert my thoughts from Jungkook's hands to anything else.

"I'm relieved to hear that," I smile, noticing the church is starting to fill up.

"I'm actually inviting some friends over to my apartment, and I wanted to know if you'd like to join us," he says, brushing his fingertips against his ear, a bit shy. I'm taken aback; I didn't expect this invitation. He wants me to come over with his friends?

"And why?" I ask, surprised. It's been a while since we last saw each other, and we haven't talked much even then.

"I like you. I want you to come so we can have fun."

"If this is some kind of payment, or something like that... you really don't need to." I reply, not believing it. I don't have friends, and the thought that he wants to be with me and the people he likes seems absurd to me.

"It's not that. I'm even a bit offended." He jokes, smiling. "I really want you to come, please."

"Jungkook... I don't know."

"I swear they're nice. Every time I'm in Busan, we hang out. They're trustworthy, I promise."

"I can imagine," I reply, still hesitant. I'd have to leave church, skip the service, and ask my mother for permission to go out with him, and of course, she wouldn't allow it. No way. It's not that I don't want to; I desperately want to spend time with him. That's been on my mind all week. "I don't think it's possible; my mom..."

"I know," he interjects, as if he anticipated my response. "But what if, just this once, you say you are going to my mom's? We could say I'm taking you there when in fact, you're coming to my apartment."

"Are you asking me to lie to my mother in a church?" I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. He shrugs, grinning.

"God knows it's just once," he replies confidently, pouting slightly. "What do you say? Later, I can take you to my mom's whenever you want, or you can stay at my apartment since I have more than one room. You set the time and conditions."

"Jungkook..." I groan, covering my face with my hands. The thought of lying to my mother, especially to go to a guy's house, sends a wave of anxiety through me. If she finds out, I'll be in big trouble.

"Come on! It'll be fun. I promise," he pleads softly. I can't say no to him, at least not now. I nod, agreeing to the madness.

"Okay, but you're the one who's going to talk to my mom. And if I say I want to leave, you agree. No alcohol because I know you drive. Those are my conditions," I assert, trying to sound firm. He smiles and salutes me, like a soldier receiving orders, and I slowly get up, taking small steps toward my mother. I let Jungkook lead the way, my nerves creeping back as I prepare to tell a lie in this sacred place.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Eunji. Good afternoon, everyone," he greets my mom and the other church members. My mother looks utterly shocked, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she takes in his appearance.

"Good afternoon, Jungkook," she replies, lacking enthusiasm, her gaze scanning him from head to toe. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to do a favor for my mom," he clarifies, and if I didn't know better, I'd almost believe him. "My mom asked Y/N to keep her company since my dad will be out of town for a few days. I came to pick her up."

"Really?" my mom looks at me, and I don't say anything, just nodding.

"It's true. My dad went to Daegu this weekend, and since my mom hasn't been feeling well, she asked Y/N to spend time with her. If you allow it, of course," he smiles calmly, and I brace myself waiting for my mother's response. I watch her weigh her options, glancing between Jungkook and me for what feels like an eternity before she sighs and nods.

"Alright, that's fine. Is your mom feeling okay?"

"Yes, she's getting better. Can we go now?" he asks, a hint of urgency in his voice.

"Yes, you may go," my mom sighs, placing a hand on her forehead. "It's a shame you're missing the service today, Y/N. Next week, you'll definitely come, okay?"

"Yes, mom, for sure," I agree weakly, clearing my throat and avoiding her gaze, still stunned that she let me go to Jungkook's house. Well, not his house, but is practically the same thing.

"Shall we go, Y/N? My mom is waiting," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow. I nod, still silent, as we make our way toward the exit.

Some people stare, especially the older members, who seem shocked by Jungkook's appearance–too conservative, in my opinion. Somehow, the situation feels even funnier. Once we're sure no one can see us anymore, I burst into laughter, clutching my stomach. Jungkook chuckles too, exhaling as if he's just finished a tough exam and is finally free.

"Your mom is tough, huh?" he laughs. "I thought she was going to kill me with her eyes."

"Sorry," I say, still giggling a little. "She's like that with everyone."

"Even with you?"

"Even with me," I nod. "What do we do now?"

"Now, we go to my apartment. My friends have the key, so they're probably already there."

"Don't tell me they're all guys," I groan, suddenly anxious. I hadn't considered that he might not have any female friends, and I'd be the only girl at the apartment if that were the case.

"No, relax! I have female friends too. You'll like them," he assures me, walking toward a sleek black car parked across the street. I know nothing about cars, but I can tell this one is expensive. I feel out of place, acutely aware that Jungkook lives in a different world, one that's far removed from my own.

The tension in the car is palpable as we drive. The ride feels like it takes forever, the windows closed, and I'm intoxicated by his scent. I discreetly watch his large hands on the wheel, the way his long fingers tap rhythmically against the leather seat. I have to swallow hard to keep from drooling over him. I'm starving–not for food, but for him. All week, I've yearned to be near him, to touch him. I think I'm suffering from a Jungkook overdose, craving something I haven't even tasted yet.

I ponder whether he's aware of the effect he has on me, but I like to believe he hasn't noticed. It's easier that way. I breathe slowly, attempting to relax in my seat. It takes another ten minutes before Jungkook opens the gate to a condo with a small remote and drives in slowly. His car fits the place perfectly. Everything is stunning and upscale. I glance at my clothes and regret agreeing to come. Why did I say yes? I don't know his friends, and I don't know Jungkook that well, aside from the overwhelming attraction I feel toward him. What do I actually know about him? That he's a tattoo artist from Seoul? That he's rich and hasn't set foot in a church since childhood? I feel like I've walked into a situation that's spiraling out of control.

"Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You went quiet all of a sudden," he asks, concern etched on his face.

"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit strange," I admit.

"Why?"

"I don't know," I confess, omitting my paranoid thoughts. "I always feel like this in new places."

"I get that. I feel that way too," he tells me as we step into the parking elevator. I follow him, digesting this new revelation.

"You seem so confident and social," I comment, genuinely amazed. His big eyes meet mine as the elevator rises, floors passing by in a blur.

"I know, it seems that way. But in reality, I'm quite introverted. I have a small circle of friends and prefer it that way. I just fake it really well," he shares, and I find myself wanting to know more about the person behind the confident exterior.

"Really?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yeah," he nods, his expression earnest.

I try to respond, but the elevator stops on a floor, and Jungkook smiles at me, indicating that this is the right place. I feel one of his hands gently touch my waist, guiding me to a white door. I have to take a deep breath to keep from freaking out, my sweaty, trembling hands hidden in my pocket. I hear different music from the other side of the door before the place fully opens up to us.

"Hey, he's here! Finally, Jungkook!" I hear a male voice. It's a guy around Jungkook's age, I realize as soon as we walk in. His hair is a dark red, and his skin is pale and smooth. It's no surprise that his arms are covered in tattoos, drawings and phrases I can't read so far away. He also watches me closely, smiling warmly.

"Guys, this is YN, the one I told you about," Jungkook introduces me with a smile.

I turn red because there are at least seven people staring at me from head to toe. The apartment is well-kept, with dark wooden furniture. The living room is immaculate, with abstract paintings and photos of Jungkook and his family on the walls. I don't have much time to take everything in as my eyes focus on Jungkook's friends, who are strangers to me so far. Saying they're different from me would be an understatement.

They all have many tattoos and wear dark clothing. I sense an aura of confidence from all of them, but never hostility. It's as if they're very similar to Jungkook, with a completely different exterior from their inner selves. I relax a bit, smiling warmly and putting on my best expression.

"Nice to meet you all," I say, feeling a bit shy. They stand up and smile at me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Yoongi. That's my girlfriend, Minji," says the red-haired guy, pointing to the woman who just smiles. I offer my hand, feeling his cold skin from the beer bottle he was holding earlier.

"I'm Bora, and this is my boyfriend, Jimin," one of the dark-haired women greets me next, pointing to her boyfriend. They're a good-looking couple, the kind you see in magazines. Jimin has the brightest and most open smile.

"Nice to meet you," I nod.

"I'm Taehyung, but you can call me Tae," one of the guys says, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm Yoori, Tae's girlfriend. Nice to meet you," she winks, making me laugh.

"And I'm Hayun, the only single one in the group," one of the girls shakes my hand, pulling me into a hug. She kisses my cheek, making her presence increasingly noticeable.

"Hayun, you're only single because you want to be, come on," Bora rolls her eyes. Hayun laughs, grabbing a snack from the coffee table.

"I like being single, except when I'm surrounded by couples. Especially couples like you guys."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Y/N?" Jimin asks. Embarrassed, I shake my head.

"No," I reply. They seem surprised, making noises with their mouths.

"But Jungkook is single too, right?" The guy with dark hair says, drinking his beverage. I thinks his name is Tae, if I remember right.

"And I want to keep that way." Jungkook replys.

"Of course you do." Yoongi laughs along with his friends, rolling his eyes. I remain silent, not understanding the joke. Then Yoongi looks at me and seems to notice my confusion. "Y/N, Jungkook never dates. The only time he tried, it went so wrong that now he doesn’t want to do it again."

"It was a disaster." Yoori adds, as if telling a fictional story. Jungkook rolls his eyes, sighing, but his friend continues: "he’s been avoiding relationships like the devil avoids the cross since then."

"Really?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"It’s not true, Y/N." Jungkook smiles at me. "They’re idiots."

"That’s not a lie." Minji, who had been silent until then, clarifies. "He’s been asked out several times, and he always declines. Women go crazy for him, for some reason."

"I know what the reason is." Jimin laughs mischievously, suggesting something while raising an eyebrow. I turn red when they laugh at the joke. Jungkook doesn’t contest it, too busy eating one of the snacks on the table. "But what about you, Y/N? Have you ever dated before?"

"Never." I reply. They don't look surprised this time.

"So you're like Jungkook, who avoids relationships?" Bora asks with a laugh. I feel Jungkook's eyes on me, watching attentively for my response. I shake my head, feeling awkward.

"No, actually, it's just a lack of options," I clarify, deciding to be honest. I hold my hands together nervously.

"Now you have two options," Yoongi suggests with a chuckle. Minji hits his arm trying to stop him, but he continues: "There's Hayun, since she likes to try out a little bit of everything, like some pussy and shit."

"Oh!" I widen my eyes, shocked, as they laugh even more. It's the first time I've seen someone speak so openly like this. Embarrassed, I look at Hayun, but she doesn't seem to mind the comment, laughing with the others.

"Who would be the other option?" Taehyung asks his friend with his trademark grin.

"Our friend Jungkook, obviously," Yoongi clarifies, and I choke on the answer, coughing uncontrollably.

They laugh even more, watching me nearly suffocate from the joke. Jungkook pats my back, smiling widely. His thumb caresses the skin of my arm, waiting for me to calm down. We're so close that he inadvertently wraps one of his arms around my shoulder. I'm shocked and even more unsettled. For me, physical contact beyond my mom is rare. Hugs, affection... I'm just not used to it.

"Are you okay?" he asks amidst his friends' chatter. I nod, staring at my hands. "Sorry about Yoongi; he always makes these kinds of jokes. He doesn't mean any harm."

"It's fine," I assure him, feeling awkward, unable to look into his eyes. "I actually liked everyone."

"Really?" he asks, bringing his nose close to my hair. My whole body shivers as I realize he's smelling my perfume, giving a satisfied smile when he pulls away. "Good to know."

I stay silent, feeling his warm breath near me. Jungkook removes his arm from my shoulder, but his skin still brushes against mine when he takes off his heavy jacket, leaving him in just a T-shirt. His friends are fun and involve me in the conversation, making me feel comfortable, but the truth is that having Jungkook so close drives me crazy and I can't pay much attention. I wonder how long I'll feel this way about him. Will this strong effect never go away? This is the third time we've met, but something tells me that no matter how many times I see him-be it two times or a thousand-my heart will always race whenever he gets close and smiles at me.

I don't even notice the time passing and only realize it's late when Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung offer to take their girlfriends home, along with Hayun, who complains about not having anyone waiting for her at her apartment. Everyone leaves until only Jungkook and I remain. He promised to take me to his mother's house if I wanted, but I'm hesitant to ask as it's quite likely Mrs. Jeon is already asleep by now.

"Y/N, do you want me to get a towel for you?" Jungkook asks, tidying up the living room. I'm confused, picking up some empty soju bottles his friends drank to throw away.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not going to stay here?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"Not really?" I laugh, then realize I might have been a bit rude, so I rephrase my response. "I mean, I don't think so. I don't want to be a bother."

"It's no bother. If you want, you can take a shower in my bathroom and sleep in the guest room." He offers with a smile. I bite my lower lip, unsure what to decide. I want to stay here, but it's just him and me now; is it really the right thing to do? It doesn't matter, Y/N. Just for one night.

"Okay then. Do you have a toothbrush, please?"

"Of course I do. Come with me, I'll get the stuff for you to use the bathroom." He calls me with a smile and walks down the long hallway. We pass by a few doors until we reach his room. My throat goes dry as my eyes scan the new space. His bed is large and covered with a dark gray blanket. The walls are white and everything is very organized, with a laptop next to the wardrobe and a fluffy black rug on the floor. His scent is everywhere, almost as if I'm breathing him. I clutch my hands together nervously about being alone with Jungkook in such an intimate space. He reappears after going to the closet, holding a white towel and some cotton clothes.

"You can take a shower in my bathroom while I use the guest one," he says, placing the items in my hands.

"Jungkook, that's not necessary..."

"Don't worry. I want you to be comfortable." He says before I can argue. His satisfied smile makes me not deny it again, happy to receive so much care from him. I just nod, agreeing. "The toothbrush is in the cabinet by the sink, in the package. You can open it, okay?"

"Okay, thank you very much." I smile before he walks down the hallway. I head to the door leading to the bathroom and sneak into the new space. I start thinking Jungkook has no flaws.

The place is as clean as the rest of the apartment, which makes me curious; does he clean everything himself, or does he hire someone to keep it tidy? I slowly take off my dress, grabbing my phone to text my mom and let her know I'm okay. I feel bad for lying, but the night was so good that I can't truly regret it. If I had to lie, to meet these same people, I would do it again. Thinking this surprises me, because just a few hours ago, I didn't think this way. The shower has a strong hot jet of water that massages my whole body, and it's so good that I have to convince myself to finish the shower and put on the clothes, trying to be done before Jungkook.

I brush my teeth quickly, smelling my skin that's still male fragrant with the liquid soap. I smile at myself in the mirror, brushing my hair with my fingers, trying to manage the unwashed strands. I open the bathroom door carefully, trying not to make too much noise and disturb the neighbors at this hour, when I see Jungkook again, this time only in a towel. I hold onto the doorframe, barely able to stand. A voice in my head tells me I shouldn't be watching him naked again and that I should turn around, go back into the bathroom, and pretend nothing happened, but I can't. I simply can't anymore. His muscular, wet back is in my field of vision as he searches for clothes. At that moment, my brain turns to mush and I decide to say what's been stuck in my throat.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" I muster the courage to ask him but I regret it immediately. What the hell am I doing? Jungkook turns slowly and the view from the front is a thousand times better than from the back. His whole body glistens in the light of the room, and his tattoos have never been so vivid. His body is muscular, virile and strong. I gonna lose my mind! Feeling new sensations I've never experienced for anyone before.

"Y/N?" He whispers my name with that soft voice he used when we first met. He doesn't seem surprised or embarrassed, which makes me even more unsettled.

"You're doing this on purpose, Jungkook?" I ask again. I have no idea where I got such courage and I don't know how long it will last. My heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest. My whole body is on edge and sweating. I feel my hands trembling as I swallow hard. "You're trying something? I mean... you're not wearing clothes again and..."

"What do you think, Y/N?" he retorts suddenly, with a hoarse, deep voice. His eyes wander from my head to toes, as he raises an eyebrow along with his piercing, with a smirk at the corner of his mouth. My legs turn to weak twigs immediately, ready to collapse.

"I-I don't know." I stammer as he takes one step, then two and three, getting closer and closer to me.

"When I arrived from my trip to Busan, on the first day, I was tired and exhausted," he tells me, taking another step. I start to run out of breath, anxious and aroused. My cheeks flush as he speaks more slowly. "All I wanted was to rest and sleep the whole night, but that night I couldn't, not for an hour. Do you know why?"

"N-no..." I moan softly as his chest presses against mine. His warm, wet skin makes contact with mine, and I no longer know where I begin or end, pressed against his body. His pink lips curl into a wicked smile, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to me and it's all intentional. I shiver as his free hand moves up my wrist and grips the back of my neck firmly, making my eyes focus on his mouth and then his dark, deep eyes.

"A woman, next window, taking off all her damn clothes, completely shameless," he growls, pulling my neck closer to his face and pressing his lips to my ear. My spine tingles as I feel his teeth on my earlobe, in a bite that doesn't hurt but damn, it makes me shiver. My body contracts once and twice, and I know exactly what I'm feeling now: desire. The kind I feel occasionally when I try to touch myself alone and can't reach climax. The feeling I only have when I'm alone and confortable in my bed, trying to use my imagination even with the lack of real experience, but this is real, and it is infinitely better than what my mind could create.

"It was an accident, Jung..." I try to say, but my voice doesn't come out. The tip of his nose travels along a sensitive spot behind my ear, one I didn't even know existed, slowly moving down my jawline, discovering new paths. His hand tightens around my waist, keeping me in place, immobile.

"It may be that you didn't notice, Y/N, but I know you were watching me, even while I was undressing, even when you had every opportunity to stop." He argues with a smile, as someone who knows what they're doing and enjoys seeing the result. "And you know what's worse...? The worst thing is knowing the effect you have on me. From the first time I saw you in my house, with your innocent and curious eyes. I can't get you out of my damn head. Your mouth, your scent..."

"J-Jungkook... please." I beg, closing my eyes tightly. And I know what I want. I want him, since the first time I saw him. Since my eyes met his, I desired him so strongly that I couldn't think straight. He pulls away just a little, and I almost moan in a plea for him not to go. He sighs, pressing his forehead to mine.

"Can I kiss you, Y/N?" he asks in a very soft voice, and I nod because, despite all the things I believe in–God, hell, heaven and even my mother–nothing has ever been as adored as Jungkook. Since I met him, inexplicably, I only think about him, like a spell unable to contemplate of any other answer besides yes. I look at his eyes as they travel to my mouth, and I lower mine to his, exhilarated by that pink that only exists in him.

I move closer, my lips almost touching his, feeling the warmth of his breath. "Just kiss me, please." I murmur scared of what I'm doing; temptation clear in every word. And then he does.

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

@ane102 @ttipa @joonwater

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queenstarlight2 · 2 months

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Please do an imagine for Feren; if you need an idea how about the reader being a nymph and helps heal Greenwood so he so yandere because they are perfect in his eyes. btw I love your writing! and I'm so happy your back!! 💕

What a creature (2K)

Feren the military captain, departed with a group of his trust-elven warriors group to investigate a disturbance at the edge of his king’s kingdom.

Upon arrival at the scene, Feren the leader encouraged his trusted elven warrior's group to tread lightly until they figured out what was going on.

As the group approached cautiously, Feren’s elf eyes could make out someone in the distance. Feren signaled for his soldiers to stop while carefully moving ahead toward the stranger alone. As he approached, he was struck by the stranger’s striking beauty seemingly young, delicate appearance.

Feren was taken aback by the stranger's ethereal and otherworldliness, he was captivated by her presence. He couldn't help but approach her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He came to a halt a few feet in front of her before speaking with a soft and gentle tone.

"Who are you?"

As Feren observed the stranger more closely, he noticed a faint aura of otherworldliness surrounding her, and as he turned to his surroundings, he realized she was using magic of some kind to heal the damaged and infected areas of Mirkwood forest. Taken aback by this, Feren couldn't help but take another step back before he spoke again.

"What… What are you doing to my king's forest?"

Feren's expression shifted between caution and awe as he observed the woman's actions. He didn't know if she was friend or foe, but something about her didn't seem threatening, and he was intrigued. He studied her further and noticed that she was much younger than he had first thought, perhaps even younger than he was, but her magic held a certain undeniable power.

As Feren stood before the young girl, his initial caution slowly melted away, replaced by a growing curiosity and fascination. Seeing the magic that she wielded, even to undo some of the damage to his king's precious forest, he also felt a strange sense of attraction towards the girl.

The more he thought about it, the more he found himself entranced by her. He could feel an unfamiliar fluttering in the pit of his stomach and butterflies in his chest as he looked at her.

After a few moments of awkwardly standing there staring at each other, the girl finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, and there was a tinge of nervousness in it. The girl nervously played with a strand of her ethereal hair, trying to avoid eye contact with Feren. "I-I'm sorry," she said, her tone gentle. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just trying to heal some of the damage here in the forest."

Feren's initial stiffness melted away as the girl spoke up. He noticed her nervous mannerisms, the way she avoided eye contact and the gentle tone of her voice. Rather than feeling threatened, he found himself oddly enamored. He took a step closer to her, his expression softer and more attentive.

He held up a hand to stop his soldiers from interfering and gestured for them to stay back. He then turned his focus back to the girl. "It's alright," he assured her gently. "You didn't frighten me. I was just… surprised."

He took another step forward, standing directly in front of her now. He couldn't help but find himself captivated by her ethereal beauty. Her gorgeous hair, her delicate features, and the aura of magic surrounding her all seemed to draw him in. Despite her youth, she radiated a power that intrigued him. He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving her face. "You're just a young girl. Where did you come from? And how do you have such magic at your disposal?"

The girl's nervousness seemed to slightly ease as Feren spoke to her with a gentle, non-threatening tone. She mustered up the courage to answer his questions, but her voice still held a hint of shyness.

"I-I'm not just a young girl," she replied, her voice soft and delicate. "I'm a nymph. We are… magical beings, connected with nature. My magic allows me to heal and maintain the balance of the forest."

Feren's eyes widened in surprise at her revelation. Nymphs were elusive creatures, living in harmony with nature and possessing powerful magic. For one to be in Mirkwood forest was both intriguing and unexpected. He took another step forward, his tall, muscular frame towering slightly over her petite form. There was a mix of fascination and caution in his expression, as if suddenly aware of the potential power she held. "A nymph…" he repeated, almost incredulously. "I've never met one before."

He took a moment to study her more closely, his gaze roaming over her slight form, the soft features of her face, and the strange markings on her arms. Seeing the magic aura surrounding her, he realized he was in the presence of something extraordinary. Involuntarily, he found himself taking yet another step closer to her. He was now standing mere inches away from her, almost as if pulled by an invisible force. He tried to maintain his composure, but there was something about her that was irresistibly attractive to him…

Feeling drawn to the nymph, Feren couldn't help but find himself wanting her to stay nearby. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he offered a proposition to her, his voice gentle yet firm. "You seem to have a unique power, a connection to the forest itself," he said, his eyes never leaving her face. "Perhaps you could… come back with us? We could provide you with food and lodging in the kingdom of Mirkwood."

As Feren gazed at the nymph before him, he felt his heart skip a beat. The way she stood there, her slight frame and delicate features, the soft magic aura surrounding her… all of it was irresistibly charming to him. Against his will, his eyes involuntarily softened and his expression turned somewhat sentimental as he looked at her. He took in a breath, his heart fluttering in his chest, and fought the urge to reach out and touch her.

As the nymph smiled gently, Feren found himself completely and utterly smitten with her. Her sweet smile and shy demeanor only served to fuel his growing attraction to her. His thoughts began to spin with possessive thoughts, and a hint of obsession started to grow inside of him. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving her face as he spoke in a soft, somewhat desperate tone. "Please… will you come with us? I'll make sure you have everything you need, a safe place to stay, anything…"

He took a step closer, closing the remaining distance between them. His eyes searched her face, taking in every delicate feature. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and keep her safe and nearby, where he could protect her and indulge in her presence. His mind was filled with protective and possessive thoughts, a need to have her close and keep her for himself. But he did his best to keep it hidden, maintaining a facade of politeness and restraint.

The moment the nymph agreed to come back to Mirkwood with Feren and his patrol group, his heart practically leaped out of his chest. He couldn't believe his luck, that this incredible creature would now be staying nearby where he could see her every day. As he silently celebrated, his thoughts spiraled into admiration and fixation. He couldn't help but think that she was perfect, a being who could heal Mirkwood forest and his own soul with her mere presence.

As they began the journey back to Mirkwood's kingdom entrance, Feren found himself walking beside the nymph, his eyes often sneaking glances toward her. He couldn't help but be acutely aware of her every move, every sound she made, and every word she said. They walked in silence for a moment before Feren finally spoke up, his voice soft and filled with admiration. "So… um, can I ask your name, little nymph?

She smiled, and spoke kindly to him"I'm afraid my name is a very intimate matter, only for lovers"

The nymph's response left Feren's heart racing. It was a custom that nymphs only give their names to their lovers, a sign of deep intimacy and intimacy. An intimate secret. Feren couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions at that revelation. A part of him wanted to earn the privilege of having her name, to earn her trust and affection. He fought to keep his composure, trying to remain polite as he replied. "I understand… But how shall I address you then?"

The nymph shrugged slightly, her reply both teasing and soft. "You can call me whatever you like," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Feren's mind instantly began to race with possibilities, different pet names and affectionate terms swirling in his head. Each one felt so intimate, so personal… It took all his restraint not to blurt one of them out right then and there.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice as he spoke again. "How about… sweetheart?" he suggested, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue. He glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, hope and anticipation in his eyes.

The nymph chuckled softly, a hint of bashfulness in her voice. "Sweetheart, is it?" she teased, a small smile on her lips. "I suppose it will do, for now at least." Feren let out a quiet exhale, relief and excitement flooding him. As they continued their journey and finally reached the halls of Mirkwood, he couldn't stop stealing glances at her, her every word and gesture sending a thrill through his body.

As time passed, the nymph's magic worked its wonders, slowly healing the infected areas of Mirkwood forest. Feren couldn't help but witness her incredible abilities, further fueling his admiration and fascination for her. With each passing day, Feren found himself falling more and more in love with the nymph. His thoughts were increasingly consumed by her, his heart swelling with an irrational yet intense affection. He yearned for her presence, for her smile, for her touch… For her to be his and his alone.

He began to make subtle changes to ensure her safety and comfort. He assigned his most trusted guards to discreetly watch over her and keep her from harm. He also made sure to frequently check in on her, his presence never far away. He took every opportunity to talk to her, to listen to her, to soak in her presence. His thoughts became increasingly possessive, his infatuation spiraling into an obsessive need to keep her close. The thought of her being with someone else, of her leaving Mirkwood… was unbearable to him.

As his infatuation continued to grow, Feren knew that he wanted to make the nymph's heart his. He began to slowly court her, using any opportunity he had to impress her and show her his affection. He would take her on secret walks through a part of the forest that was especially beautiful at night, he would bring her gifts like rare flowers and shiny stones, and he would engage in long conversations with her, learning everything there was to know about her.

He was never pushy or demanding, though. He knew that winning her affection would take time, and he was patient with her. He was happy just being around her, observing her, listening to her soft voice. But he was also acutely aware of his desires, of the possessive need that burned within him to claim her as his own.

As the days passed, Feren's patience was rewarded one evening when the nymph finally told him her name. The act was a sacred one, signifying her acceptance of him as a lover. Hearing her name, a feeling of utter elation and triumph washed over him. He repeated her name quietly, as if committing it to memory. He didn't want to forget it, ever. He knew now that he was one step closer to having her heart completely.

As the days turned into weeks and months, Feren and the nymph grew increasingly closer. Their love blossomed, becoming a beautiful bond that only grew stronger with time. Feren had always been protective and possessive of the nymph, but now that she had accepted him as her lover, his feelings only deepened. He vowed to always keep her happy, safe, and by his side. Their love story continued a tale of affection and devotion amidst the lush forests of Mirkwood.

#the hobbit #lotr imagine #lord of the rings #the hobbit headcanon #the hobbit x reader #lotr x reader #lotr elves #the hobbit headcanons #lotr headcanons #the lord of the rings #feren x reader #mirkwood

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swayziiwriter · 1 year

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Embrace | Kylian Mbappé

summary: Kylian’s return from international duty meant that he was not only home but all yours until the league continued, and you were going to make the most of it.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: imagine the cold nights in Paris spent in bed with Kylian

You cuddled nearer to Kylian He was like a natural heater when it was cold outside. Missing the manner in which his body felt against yours as he had been abroad for international duty. The fragrance of vanilla from your shower perfumed the room and the chimney brought warmth and the sensitive breaking of consuming wood. So there you were with a leg thrown over his hip and your head on his chest while his arm folded over your midsection. Bringing a soft hand you ran your fingers down his broad chest, soaking in his presence.

"Bébé” baby he said lowly. You didn't reply however rather kissed his lips. Kylian pushed hair from your face as you kissed along his smooth skin. Kylian brought his hands over to your butt and pulled you up to kiss better while kneading the tissue. As you slung your leg over his hips, your tongues intertwined. “Missed me huh?” Kylian teased in a soft voice as you snacked along his ears and your hands meandered down his body. You nipped at the muscle in his neck sure to leave a mark. “Missed you so badly” you responded.

You pulled your shirt off your head and Kylian twisted down to kiss between your shoulder bones. You could feel his hardness press against your butt as he groveled your neck prior to tracking down your lips. Pushing your silky pants down your butt and thighs. One hand arrived at down to knead your ass while the other established close to your head, confining you in.

Kylain scoured his now uncovered cock against your butt before running his hand up between your legs to play with your pussy. He grabbed your hip with one hand and pulled your ass up a little. Kylian shifted his elbow and his arm moved under your upper chest to nearly embrace you with his one arm as his other fingered you. You let out soft moans while driving your ass into his hand. "Kylian” you relaxed. “I need more.”

He gestured against your skin prior to moving to supplant his fingers with his member. Kylian held your hip while pushing in. You panted and rested your head up against his arm embracing you. Kylian began a soft yet agonizing speed, pulling moans from you with the drag of his cock. You pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts, encouraging his movements. You were becoming restless and cried while putting in to push back more effort to get more contact.

“Faster please” you managed to breathe out, panting heavily. Kylian immediately pushed with greater force and depth than before. You inhaled harshly as he drilled into you. The sound of skin on skin and raspy moans occupied the room. You brought a hand to cup his head as Kylian kissed and nipped at your neck. He was just about falling apart at the manner in which he embraced you and squeezed against you.

“Don’t stop, so good” you whimpered, snatching his arm as you felt yourself drawing near. You pressed your lips to his forearm before cumming around his cock as you heard yourself moan much louder than you intended. You bit at his skin to hold back from shouting out. Kylian pierced your high with a rough thrust. Before finishing on your ass, he jerked himself a few times as you felt the warm liquid coat you.

You laughed softly, turning around to be face to face with him. “I missed you baby” you spoke, leaving hazily kisses upon his toned chest. “I can tell” he said , earning a playful groan from you as you let your hand connect with his chest. Shifting your body to be over his Kylian mirrored your actions with a smile. Bringing your body down to connect your lips once again, smiling into the deep kiss.

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rambleonwaywardson · 2 months

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Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 11

Masterpost Read on AO3

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's note: Issuing an apology for making people panic earlier this afternoon. Sorry y'all. It was kinda fun though. I promise if an MCD tag was needed it would be there (spoiler: It's not needed)

---

November 19 Nassau Bay, TX

“Buck?”

“Gale? We don’t have to go. Helen’s on console. We can stay here.”

“Maybe you should sit back down, take a minute.”

“Gale? Can you hear me?”

“I need you to breathe, Gale. Please.”

“Look at me.”

Hey doll, look at me.

Gale’s eyes snap to Benny, who is watching him with the same wariness with which you’d regard a spooked animal. His hands are up, placating, as he sits on the edge of Gale’s mattress. Gale realizes that, at some point in the course of this conversation, he threw the blankets to the floor and scrambled out of bed. He’s on his feet, sheets wrapped around his ankles, and he’s stopped breathing again. Pepper and Meatball are standing beside him, whining. They know something’s wrong. He feels like he might throw up. His chest burns from holding his breath.

He wants it to burn.

“I need you to breathe for me, Gale,” Benny instructs. He stands and reaches out to put his hands on Gale’s shoulders, but Gale stumbles backward, pressing his back to the wall. The only person he wants to touch him right now is his husband, and his husband is on the moon, unconscious and dying. He doesn’t know why he can’t stand the idea of someone else’s hands on him. His brain isn’t working right. His eyes dart from Benny to the dogs to his own bare feet and back.

Hell, he feels like a spooked animal.

“Okay, okay.” Benny yields, stopping with his hands up in surrender. He’s acting calm, but Gale knows him. He can tell Benny is starting to panic, and it’s because of Gale. “Just take a breath for me, okay Buck? Breathe with me.”

Benny takes a deep breath in, watching Gale carefully. Then he breathes out. In. Out. In. Out. Gale is staring back at him, completely still. He watches the exaggerated motion of Benny’s chest expanding and contracting, and he knows he’s supposed to do it, too.

His chest burns.

He flexes his hand and feels the metal of his wedding band dig into the skin.

Breathe, he tells himself. Or, more accurately, he hears Bucky’s voice in his head. Breathe, angel.

So Gale takes a breath. Benny sighs in relief, nodding his encouragement. Gale exhales. He forces the mechanical motion of his lungs, drawing in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. He forces himself to keep doing it, even though he doesn’t know if his other half can do the same.

“We… we aren’t sure he’ll survive the trip back to the lander.” That’s what Benny just said a moment ago, sending Gale spiraling. The words ring in his head, back and forth and back and forth like a ping-pong ball trying to break out of his skull.

We aren’t sure he’ll survive the trip back… he won’t survive.

We aren’t sure he’ll survive,

Back to the lander…

the lander,

The lander.

Aren’t sure

we aren’t sure… aren’t sure he’ll survive survive survive survive survive.

Survive.

Won’t survive. He won’t survive.

Benny handed the console over to Helen the moment she arrived, right as Curt was getting Bucky’s body back onto the rover. It was a hell of a bad time to change CAPCOMs, but it was understood among flight controllers and crew alike: Benny had to get to Gale

Benny sighs, sitting helplessly back down on the bed. “Gale, we don’t expect him to… it would be nothing short of a miracle if he…” He can’t finish the sentences. Doesn’t want to. Can’t bear delivering this news to his friend. But it doesn’t matter. Gale knows, and the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, too loud in his ears.

We aren’t sure he’ll survive. We don’t expect him to survive.

“I’m so sorry.”

Bucky was alive when Benny ran out of Mission Control. But the seemingly infinite time between catastrophe and salvation is a no-man’s land, and no one can be sure what injuries and suit damage Bucky sustained until Curt gets him back through the airlock. All they know now is he’s unconscious, his suit pressure dropped far too much far too fast, and his vitals are too weak.

And now Gale has to fight to breathe, too.

What would you say differently, if you knew the last time you talked to someone might be just that – the last time? What would you tell them? Would you say things a little differently, use different words, speak in a different tone, express different thoughts? Would you try your best to shove every ounce of love you feel for them into every single syllable?

What words can there possibly be for an eternal goodbye?

Or is it not about the words at all? Maybe it’s about looking, touching, listening. So that when you let go, when they finally drift away, you can remember every trivial and yet crucial piece of them. Everything you loved and everything you hated and everything you wish you could hold close to your chest for just one more minute. One more day. One more lifetime.

How do you let go, though, when you know you’ll never hold on again? Do you let yourself drown in the sound of their voice, in hopes you never forget the exact resonance, the exact cadence, the exact rise and fall of their laugh and the way their smile twines through every word – the sound of how much they love you? Would you pay just a little more attention? Would you stare at them just a little longer, lingering on every feature that you want to etch into the canvas of your brain even though you know the picture will fade, leaving a hole in your heart and a pit in your stomach as you sob into their pillow and wonder why you’re not strong enough to carry the mantle of their memory for the rest of time.

The human consciousness is not built to know which goodbye will be the last. Because that goodbye will burn you alive. It will pin you under the weight of grief until someone has to tear you away, kicking and screaming, because if you knew you were never going to hold the love of your life again, you wouldn’t ever let go.

I love you.

Those are the last words Gale said to Bucky yesterday, when their goodbye was a when you come home, not an if you come home. How can there be anything more profound to say? If that goodbye had to be their last, what else is there? And yet here Gale is, wondering, obsessing, insisting that he should’ve said it better, said it more, said it differently. That he shouldn’t have let go.

His husband. His best friend. The love of his life.

Gale thinks there should’ve been something else to say. But he can’t think of it. He can’t think of anything. His brain is stuck. His body is stuck.

John.

“Gale?”

Gale is leaning with almost all of his weight pressed against the wall now, fists clenched tight at his sides beneath the cuffs of the too-big sweatshirt that smells, wrongly, like himself. No longer like John. He takes a deep breath in, and Pepper scoots closer to his side, nudging at his hand. Gale exhales and uncurls his fist so he can idly run his hand over the dog’s soft ears. She whines and pushes into the touch, eyes not leaving her person’s face. A good dog. A very good dog.

“Gale?” Benny says again. “Are you with me?”

Gale nods slowly, but his eyes look right past Benny, out the window across the room, unseeing. It’s still raining.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Benny repeats.

Gale doesn’t move, save for lips that he’s shocked are capable of forming coherent words. “I need to get to JSC.”

Benny shakes his head, reaching a hand out only to remember what happened just moments ago, and he leans down to scratch Meatball instead. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Buck. They’ll let us know when they know anything. I think you need-“

“I need to be there for my husband,” Gale bites out. “That’s my job. It’s my job.”

Benny averts his eyes, closing them tight. It’s a losing battle. Any other loved one, Flight would bar from being there. Any other loved one would have to wait for news. Any other loved one would only ever know exactly what NASA chose to tell them, no more, no less. But Gale isn’t any other loved one, and they don’t have a protocol for this, for an astronaut facing death while their spouse is working in Mission Control. He knows there was a long debate over whether or not to allow Gale to stay on CAPCOM for Artemis 3, but he insisted he could handle it, and Harding believed him.

So Benny nods. “Okay. We’ll go. You gonna wear that?”

–

Gale looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the harsh light highlighting every sign of exhaustion. His hair is messy, hanging limp and shaggy over his forehead. His eyes are red and swollen, dark bags beneath them. The sweatshirt had been discarded in favor of a fresh white button-up and a black tie that Benny had nearly had to tie for him. But Gale had swatted his hand away and forced his own fingers to quit disobeying him long enough to finish getting dressed. He looks at himself now, and he can’t reconcile his own reflection with that of a man who was just told his husband may or may not be dead by the end of the day. It’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

He forces himself to stand up straight, shoulders back, like a good soldier, and he stares at himself hard in the mirror. He reaches for his comb, for his hair gel, and his cold fingers freeze in the air above them. He envisions himself styling his hair, brushing it back in a neat coif. It’s what he does every day, even though he runs his hand through it about twenty times an hour so that it’s pointless by noon. It’s what he does every single day, so why won’t his hand move?

Bucky always liked Gale’s hair in the morning, when it was messy and unstyled. He said it was cute, sexy, perfect – that it was special because Bucky was one of the only people that got to see Gale soft. “No just leave it like that,” he would plead, grinning as he wrapped his arms around Gale from behind, trying to wrestle the hair gel out of his hand. Gale would roll his eyes and snatch it back, slicking the gel through his hair before Bucky could stop him. They’d stare at each other in the mirror, and Bucky would slowly reach a hand up towards Gale’s hair, threatening to mess it up again. But Gale would snatch his fingers in his own, shaking his head, and Bucky would pull Gale’s hand back to press a kiss to his knuckles.

Gale feels phantom lips on the back of his hand, and he considers not styling his hair after all. It doesn’t feel right, all of a sudden. He wonders if he really has to style it ever again, and he only has half a second to think about how that question is just absurd before an unwelcome answer smacks him in the face.

For the funeral. Have to look nice for the funeral.

Gale about stops breathing again. And for a moment, it’s real. For a moment, he sees in the mirror a grieving man. For a moment, it’s not early in the morning of mission day 13; instead, it’s the day his husband will be laid to rest, a mile marker for the rest of Gale’s life without the love of his life.

For a moment, Bucky is gone, no doubt about it, and Gale is an island, alone in this world, lost without his other half to hold him above water or tether his feet to the ground. He’ll be forever in limbo as a newlywed, because they never got a chance to be anything more.

He’ll have to fly to Virginia, where Bucky will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery as per his wishes. “If I die, make sure I get the whole nine yards,” Bucky had said to him once, long ago. Gale can’t even remember when; they were just boys, really, the first time he said those words. The first time Bucky looked at him with the knowledge that wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, there was a decent chance he wouldn’t come back alive.

Even then, Bucky knew that the kind of life he intended to live may not be a long one. It’s a risk he took with no hesitation, sacrificing time for living exactly the way he wanted to. Gale fell in love with him anyway, followed him to the ends of the Earth, because they were two halves of the same whole.

“If I die, make sure I get the whole nine yards,” Bucky had said to him again, just months ago. Gale can remember exactly when; they were engaged, their wedding soon, the mission looming over them, and Bucky was rewriting his will to reflect his new and rightful next of kin.

Gale hadn’t wanted to discuss it, even though he knew they had to. A little-mentioned and not at all glamorized consideration of diving headfirst into the unknown – the what-ifs, the contingencies, the acknowledgement of putting your life on the line and what that will mean for the people who love you most.

“I know it’ll hurt,” John told him that day. “But if-“

“Bucky-“

“If things go south, Gale. I need you to know-“

“Don’t.”

“Buck,” Bucky sighed.

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Gale may never know what Bucky had been trying to tell him that day, and that thought claws at his throat. Why hadn’t he just let him say what he wanted to say? Why couldn’t he give him that peace of mind? Why had Gale been so selfish, in that moment?

If nothing else, he’ll give Bucky the whole damn nine yards, everything he deserves.

He’ll have to request a flyover. The request will be granted, he’s sure. The Department of Defense will spare no expense; Major John Egan, U.S. Air Force, the first man to die while stationed on the moon, will receive any honor Gale asks of them. Bucky would like that. He would be proud of that.

Four jets will soar over his funeral right before the sun sets, friends and family looking on as they approach, the buzz of the engines rising with their love and grief. One aircraft will lift up and away towards the heavens, a missing man leaving the others to continue on without him, a gaping hole in the formation to match that which has been left in the lives of Bucky’s family. A symbol of the fallen, a symbol of the future he sacrificed, a symbol of a life lived and taken away.

As an Air Force Major, Bucky will receive full military funeral honors. Lines of airmen will march behind his casket, escorting him to the next unknown. A color guard will carry the flags, rising and falling in the breeze as if they, too, are offering a final salute. A military band will wail down the hallowed paths between rows of gravestones. Seven riflemen will fire a three volley salute, and with measured steps and trained precision, the pallbearers will transport the casket to its grave. It will be draped with a flag, to be folded and given to the deceased airman’s next of kin.

How many times has Gale been one of those pallbearers? One of those unsmiling men charged with delivering an American hero to their final resting place. More than he cares to count, in any case. That’s just how being an Air Force pilot goes sometimes; a lot of good men and women are lost too soon.

He never expected to be on the other side. Never expected to be the devastated loved one looking on, trying to decide if he can allow himself to cry, or if he should breathe through gritted teeth and act like a good soldier, as expressionless as the pallbearers carrying Bucky’s body in hands that never knew him the way Gale’s did. It comes so easily, playing the part of Major Buck Cleven, keeping the walls up and sandbagged against the flood threatening to drown him.

Is he an airman, or is he a husband?

Or is he a widower?

Is it an affront to John’s legacy if Gale doesn’t cry for him as his body is returned to the earth, nothing but stardust and a memory carved into Gale’s soul? Gale can imagine him saying “don’t cry for me, angel” just as easily as he can imagine him saying “you better cry for me, babe,” and Gale is struck by the paralyzing panic of not knowing. He doesn’t know what Bucky would want. How can he not know? Shouldn’t he know?

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t know what his husband would want him to do. He doesn’t know how to keep going. He doesn’t even know who he is without John Egan at his side.

He doesn’t know…

He never expected…

He’s not sure what, exactly, he did expect. For him and John to go down together or not at all? That’s the way they’ve lived their lives for so many years, to the point that Gale is hardly sure where he ends and Bucky begins. They’re tied to one another, an invisible string in the form of a name, a silent and resounding commitment engrained deep in the blueprint of their life, as if their mutual coexistence is written into the laws of their universe.

One cannot exist without the other. Buck and Bucky, it’s just how the world is meant to be.

Gale never expected to be forced to sit in the front row of a military funeral, clothed in the exact same dress uniform as the casket team committing his dead husband’s body to the Earth. He’ll sit, straight-backed and composed, in those uncomfortable chairs. He’ll stand and salute, Benny and Marge on either side, as other men hold the flag aloft over his husband’s casket, quiet and somber as the bugler plays Taps into a descending dusk that promises to surrender the fallen flyboy to a peaceful rest. The mournful, haunting notes will ring out over white marble headstones, calling home an extinguished soul, and Gale will have to use every last ounce of composure he has not to scream. He will watch, unblinking, as the flag is folded into a neat triangle, the crisp white stars facing the open sky like a final reminder that among the stars is where Bucky died.

Gale will sit silently, unable to say a thing over the painful lump in his throat, and he will wonder if he’ll ever breathe easily again. He’ll wonder if the hands of grief will ever unwrap their chokehold on his lungs, or if that’s the price he has to pay for living when John couldn’t be afforded such luxury. He will resent the prospect of living this life without John’s hand on his, holding him close, kissing his cheek. He will fear the day he can no longer recall his smile from memory alone, his laugh, the feeling of his arms wrapped tight around him. He will grieve, and he will wonder if the grieving will ever end.

How can it possibly end when a piece of you will be missing forever?

Gale will feel his heart break for the millionth time, a plummeting, debilitating feeling that will assault his entire being on repeat every single day. He will feel sick, tired, angry, alone. He will feel like he died in the same breath that his husband did, and he will have to force his lungs to keep working because if he doesn’t, he fears his body will simply give up altogether. He will bite his cheek until he tastes blood on his tongue to keep the agonized cry from tearing out of his chest.

He will wish he’d gone down at Bucky’s side.

And yet he will stare straight ahead as an officer kneels before him. They’ll hand the flag to him, unsmiling, eyes filled with an odd comfort and a shared sorrow that can never truly match the sorrow that is threatening to bury Gale alive. But Gale will take the folded flag in his hands, shaking fingers gripping the fabric far too tight because it’s the closest he’ll ever get to holding John’s hand one last time. The only reason Gale will remember what the officer says to him in that moment will be because it’s standard, because he’s heard these words time and again said to the distraught loved ones of other soldiers.

He’s one of them now.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Air Force, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”

So scripted. So simple. And yet it will twist like a knife into what’s left of Gale’s heart. A finality. Those are the words that Bucky would want Gale to hear, if nothing else because they’re what Gale is prepared to hear. If nothing else, because they are the words that have been slated for his death since the moment of his birth, since the moment the universe put forth such an uncontainable force as John Clarence Egan.

Gale will sit there, his hands clutching a tri-folded flag that he’ll have to find somewhere to display in a too-empty home as a final remembrance. Friends, family, fellow airmen will look on as he cradles it to his chest, bearing witness to a pain that they can only just barely begin to comprehend.

And Gale will no longer be able to stop the quiet, anguished sob that rises from his constricted lungs and finally breaks through the facade of Major Buck Cleven. Because Buck Cleven can’t exist without the man who gave him his name in the first place.

–

“Buck? Are you okay in there?”

Gale blinks, and his head clears. Benny is knocking at the bathroom door.

It’s November 19, 2025. Mission day 13.

Bucky isn’t dead. Not yet.

As long as that remains true, Gale has no choice but to assume that he will survive this, because if he doesn’t… well, Gale doesn’t know what he’ll do. Bucky has kept him steady for so long that he isn’t sure he can relearn how to keep himself afloat in time to come out the other side.

He has to believe that Bucky will make it, that he won’t abandon Gale here on this beautiful, terrible planet. That he’ll find a way, somehow, because that’s what Bucky Egan has always done. No matter the damage, no matter the stakes, he’s always, always come home.

So what the hell is Gale doing standing here imagining his husband’s funeral?

We don’t expect…

Staring into his bathroom mirror, Gale bites down hard on the inside of his cheek until he can taste the blood, and he locks eyes with his reflection. He watches the expression of grief and fear on his face twist into an ugly disgust and self-loathing, eyes dark with an abject ferocity that threatens to tear this world apart.

How could he, even for a moment, imagine his life without Bucky in it? How could he so easily give up hope? John deserves better than that.

Gale doesn’t really know how it happens, but he’s winding his right arm back, hand clenched in a tight fist, and before he can even blink, before he can even process the course of his own anger, his knuckles collide with the mirror. He doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t feel it. His ears are ringing and he can still see the reflection of his narrowed eyes and his set jaw in the shattered glass, now stained with blood.

“Gale?” Benny calls out in alarm. He’s pounding at the door. Gale looks down at his hand, torn and bloodied, red dripping onto the tile floor by his feet. He wonders why he can’t feel it. “That’s it, I’m coming in.”

The door slams open, and Gale looks into the shattered mirror, spiderweb lines breaking the image into jagged puzzle pieces that just don’t quite fit. He watches the sadness and pain and shock flash across Benny’s face behind him in a stop-motion of emotion. “Fuck,” Benny mutters.

Gale raises his hand slowly, so he can inspect the cut flesh, and he thinks that, surely, he should be able to feel this right now. Surely, it should sting and burn. He tilts his hand back and forth and watches the blood trickle down, but Benny grabs him by the wrist. “Come here you idiot.”

Gale doesn’t protest this time. He lets Benny shove his hand under the faucet to rinse out the blood, lets him painstakingly remove the shards of glass with tweezers from the medicine cabinet, lets him dab the mosaic of cuts with rubbing alcohol. Slowly, he becomes aware of the pain, of the fact that his hand is throbbing as his body tries to mend itself. He wonders how it can do that, when he feels like there’s nothing left to mend.

When Benny places gauze over his hand and starts wrapping it with a bandage, Gale finally has the sense to do something. He grabs the bandage from Benny’s hands and starts winding it around and around his own fingers, securing it over his wrist. When he looks up at his friend, Benny is staring right at him, assessing him. “I’m fine,” Gale mumbles.

Benny shakes his head, eyeing Gale’s liberally wrapped hand, blood still staining his fingertips. “Yeah, you look so fine.”

Gale grits his teeth and looks down at the floor. “I have to be fine. It’s my job to be fine.”

“As a flight controller or as a husband?”

“Both.”

“I think you should stay here this morning.”

Gale looks up, and Benny tries not to take the furious glare being leveled at him personally. “Like hell.”

“Buck-”

“I’m going.”

Benny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Fine. I’m driving you.”

“You’re off shift.”

Benny tilts his head, giving Gale an unimpressed look. “I don’t give a damn. I don’t trust you right now.” Gale supposes that’s fair. “And I’m scared as hell, too.”

“Someone’s gotta let the dogs out.” Gale has half a mind just to take them, walk right on into Mission Control flanked by two huskies. Who would stop him?

Benny sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Then he turns to leave the bathroom. “I’ll ask one of the neighbors.”

Gale nods. “Ask Jane, across the street. Her little girl loves Pepper and Meatball.” What he doesn’t say is that Jane has a husband in the Navy, currently stationed overseas. If anyone is going to understand this situation without being overbearing with their sympathy, it’s her. “Tell her what happened. She deserves an explanation for being woken up this early.”

Then Benny is gone, leaving Gale alone with a bloody hand, a bloody floor, and a bloody mirror. He flexes his injured fist as much as he can with the bandage on, feeling the sting. Then he takes a deep breath and turns off the light. He doesn’t put any gel in his hair.

–

Mission Control goes utterly silent when the door at the back opens and Major Buck Cleven walks in. Major Buck Cleven, dressed in his usual slacks, white button down, and a black tie, ever the professional. His jaw is set, his back straight, his eyes hard. There’s little to give away the fact that he’s living his worst nightmare, save for the lack of product in his hair. Instead, his hair hangs messily over his forehead in a soft and unkempt way that few in this room have ever seen, and they don’t know what to make of it. The strangeness of it is menacing in its own way, a symbol that something terrible has happened, and yet it makes each and every one of them want to hug Gale tight and protect their CAPCOM at all costs.

And then there’s the fact that there’s a thick bandage wrapped tightly around his right hand, the edge stained with blood. For those who can see him up close, there’s tell-tale redness around his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. Anyone who dares to look at him, he looks straight in the eye.

Marge shoots to her feet at the front of the room, an unreadable mess of surprise and empathy and sadness and fear plain as day all over her face. The other flight controllers follow her lead, rising slowly, solemnly.

Harding, who had been alerted of the situation immediately and arrived at JSC not long ago, steps in front of Gale. He reaches a hand out, and Gale stares at him, daring him to hold him back.

“Chick.”

Harding’s eyes are sad – which Gale hates – and he takes a deep breath. Some of these younger astronauts are like sons to him. John Egan and Gale Cleven, especially. The dynamic duo. The partners in crime. The newlyweds. Some of the best pilots – some of the best men – he’s ever known. His fear for John and his empathy for Gale clash uncomfortably, almost unbearably, with his commitment to this program. “You shouldn’t be here right now, Gale,” he says, as gently as he can.

Gale clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “It’s my shift.”

“Helen’s doing a fine job.”

“She’s damn good at her job,” Gale agrees. “But you need three of us.”

“We’ll put Macon on.”

“Macon doesn’t know this mission like I do.”

“He can learn.” Harding matches Gale’s insistent gaze, and he watches the expression on Gale’s face twist into resentment. It breaks his heart, having one of his boys look at him like that. But he knows that grief is no state in which to work through a life or death situation, and he can’t in good conscience put Gale through that or sacrifice the well-being of the rest of the crew. Gale doesn’t speak. Harding sighs again, softening his features. “Go home, Gale. There’s nothing you can do for him here. We just have to wait.”

Gale feels the rage fill his body. He hardly even knows what happened, hardly even knows what the fuck he’s supposed to be waiting for. For his husband to either die or not?

“He’s alive, then,” Gale says simply.

Harding doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then, “We’ll let you know when-“

“Bullshit,” Gale sneers and shakes his head. “No. No. You are not treating me like some astronaut wife with no choice but to wait around in the dark until you decide to tell me what you think I should know. No.”

“I’m not trying to do that, Gale. I’ll make sure you’re updated on anything that happens. But I can’t put you on coms. I can’t risk the mission.”

“The mission?” Gale scoffs. “The mission!” How about Bucky’s goddamn life?

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Harding insists. Gale can see the pain on Harding’s face, and he knows very well what he’s trying to say: that Gale isn’t capable of doing his job right now. That he isn’t stable or focused. That they need someone with less investment to make sure his husband keeps breathing and the mission keeps going and nothing else gets fucked up.

Harding puts a hand on Gale’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s the right choice to put you-“

“I am fully capable- get your hands off me.” Gale shakes Harding’s hand away and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he levels a hard, decisive stare at his boss. His voice is low and angry, carefully controlled. “I am fully capable of taking over CAPCOM. Don’t you dare act like I’m not. You know me, Chick. You fucking know me.”

Harding doesn’t say a thing, just watches Gale, evaluating the pilot and astronaut he knows Buck Cleven to be at the same time that he’s wishing he could make this better, take away the pain, save both of these boys from the unfairness of the universe.

But these were discussions that were already had, months ago. They always knew this was a possibility, and Harding let Gale into Mission Control anyways. Granted, he hoped it would never come to this, but it was a judgment that he himself made. He decided that, in the event Bucky faced the worst, Buck would still be a reliable flight controller.

Gale watches as these thoughts swarm through Harding’s head. “Let me do my job, Chick.”

“As a flight controller or as a husband?”

That damn question.

Gale feels his heart pounding, and he’s shocked to realize that his lungs are working of their own accord. Bucky is alive. So now Gale has to get to work. “Both.”

“Fine,” Harding agrees. “But I’m bringing Macon in to be briefed so he can take over if needed.”

Gale nods in silent agreement, and Harding squeezes his shoulder before motioning for him to go ahead.

He looks out at the Red Shift flight controllers around the room, and he is keenly aware that most of them witnessed this entire exchange. They’re watching him warily, with varying levels of pity and empathy, but he just nods to them, too, and they track his motion as he walks past console after console towards the front of the room. The only people who don’t turn to look at him are Helen and Dr. Huston, who are laser-focused on working the crew through this.

Gale stops beside Albert Clark’s console, and the Flight Director reaches out to put a hand on Gale’s shoulder. He leans in close. “He’s sticking with us. Determined bastard.”

Bucky is still unconscious and relatively unstable, but Curt managed to get him inside the lander. Best they can figure from Curt’s account and the suit telemetry, the rover’s wheel broke going down the slope of Shackleton, and Bucky got stuck beneath the rover when it tumbled down. He hit his head pretty hard, and the oxygen regulator in his suit was damaged, causing both the pressure sensor and the mechanism that slowly decreases the pressure over a set period of time to malfunction.

His suit depressurized from over 8psi to less than the minimum anticipated 4psi, which not only makes it hard for the body to take in enough oxygen, but the rapid depressurization can cause decompression sickness symptoms that vary in severity depending on how much nitrogen was left in Bucky’s body. He lost consciousness due to head trauma, but they remain concerned about the effects of hypoxia on the brain after being in low pressure for so long.

Since getting back to the lander, Dr. Huston, Helen, and Rosie have been in constant communication, monitoring Bucky’s vitals and guiding Curt through every step. He managed to get Bucky out of his busted suit, which he’ll inspect for damage later. He has Bucky breathing pure oxygen again, trying to get enough of it to his brain. EECOM increased the cabin pressure to nearly double the standard atmospheric pressure in an approximation of a hyperbaric chamber. Ideally, this will mitigate decompression sickness and assist with oxygen uptake in Bucky’s body. The external head wound itself was not serious, no doubt thanks to Bucky’s com cap softening the blow, but it did lead to a decent amount of blood loss. After cleaning away the blood to inspect the injury, Curt had to wrap Bucky’s head. He has no way of checking for brain damage on Starship as long as Bucky is unconscious.

They’ve been running through abort scenarios, but with Orion at the furthest point in its orbit, it would take Starship almost as long to reach the crew capsule if they aborted now as it will for Orion to reach them on schedule. With Bucky unstable, they don’t think it’s a good idea to strap him into a launch vehicle until they know more about his condition, so he and Curt are staying put.

After thanking Clark, Gale walks over to Marge’s PAO desk in the front corner of the room. He wraps his arms around her, and he can feel her trying not to tremble in his embrace. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, hugging him tightly back. “You should be here.”

Gale squeezes her a little harder, and she squeezes back, before they both let go. She reaches across her desk and picks up a cup of coffee, extending it towards him. “I picked this up for you. Benny told me you were refusing to stay put. What’d you do to your hand?”

Gale takes the cup in his good hand and glances at his bad one. He bites his lip in embarrassment. “Punched a mirror.”

Marge scrunches her brow and tries not to laugh or cry or say much of anything. “They’re trying their best for him.”

“I know,” Gale whispers back. He takes a sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste burn his tongue. Then he walks to his own console, patting Croz on the shoulder as he passes, and he and Benny flank Helen on either side.

She looks up at them both, and Gale sees exhaustion on her face that mirrors his own. “Curt’s checking for other injuries, now that we’ve got the recompression and the head wound under control. He’s got a lot of swelling in his right lower leg,” she tells them, straight to the point. Gale appreciates that; he doesn’t need another person’s pity right now. “Curt was able to x-ray it. He’s got a non-displaced tibial fracture.” She points to an image on her computer monitor that Curt no doubt sent through moments ago. They’d tested the capabilities of Starship’s med bay their first night on the surface. They just never expected to have to use it like this.

The image shows Bucky’s tibia, a crisp line right through the middle. The separated pieces of the bone are perhaps just millimeters out of place. Helen hands Gale the second headset. Once it’s turned on, he finds that he’s tuned in to chatter between Curt and Rosie, who is trying to aid from Orion, thousands of miles away from the moon. “I need you to do this, Curt,” Rosie is saying.

Curt: “You have to be kidding.”

Rosie: “It’s not hard. Just tap it in.”

Curt: “I’m gonna make it worse.”

Gale looks at Helen, eyebrow raised. “Gotta set it,” she whispers.

Well, shit.

Rosie: “You did it in training. You’re gonna have to do it now.”

Curt: “In training it was on a dummy.”

Rosie: “Think of it this way, it’s still on a dummy.”

Gale snorts, and he’s startled by the fact that laughter is possible right now. Helen smiles beside him.

Curt: “Fuck.”

Rosie: “Come on Curt. Just one little push. He’ll be pissed if he wakes up and learns I have to re-break his fucking leg to make it heal right.”

Curt: “Fuck, okay. Okay. One, two…”

Gale can hear Curt gagging as he presumably crunches the bone back into place, and he makes a disgusted face of his own as he nervously twists his wedding ring around his finger. The visual of Bucky’s leg, of all things, being unprofessionally set by Curtis Biddick, of all people, on the moon, of all places, makes him squirm.

Curt: “Okay, I think I got it.”

By the time Curt gets Bucky’s leg splinted and wrapped, Macon is there, making four CAPCOMs in Mission Control. Curt hasn’t identified any further injuries other than a mottled bruise-like rash on Bucky’s upper arms and abdomen, a symptom of decompression sickness that indicates Bucky still had some nitrogen in his blood when his suit depressurized. Rosie instructs Curt to monitor the rash closely for swelling and see if the recompression therapy alleviates it.

Helen then alerts Curt that she’s handing the console over to Gale so she can find a nice cot somewhere in JSC and get some unrestful sleep before her actual shift starts later in the afternoon.

Benny decides to stick around a while longer, and the following couple of hours fall into a quiet and tense waiting game. Gale talks with Curt about his condition, Bucky’s condition, the lander’s condition, and EVA findings (which feel trivial now and yet remain necessary). He talks with Rosie and Alex about various observations and experiment results, including the behavior of certain medical devices and procedures in deep space (somewhat ironic).

Around 7:00 GMT (3pm Houston time), Mission Control is uncharacteristically somber. A group of flight controllers that is usually focused yet friendly, collected yet outspoken, doesn’t feel much like talking at all. Benny left an hour or so ago to try and get some shut eye before Blue Shift takes over at midnight. At the end of their workday, Alex, Rosie, and Curt are all eating dinner, their coms off. EECOM had eased the pressure in Starship back down to normal, though if Bucky starts showing more decompression symptoms they’ll have to increase it again. For now, he’s as stable as he’ll get.

Gale, Macon, and Croz are eating takeout sandwiches and playing I Spy, like children, in order to avoid thinking too much about the situation at hand.

“Buck?” Curt’s voice sounds tired when he switches his coms on, a little wobbly with nerves. Gale has been through Hell today, and he can barely imagine what it’s been like for Curt.

“I’m here, Curt,” he says. There’s a long silence. “Curt?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t-” Curt cuts off, like he doesn’t know what to even say. Couldn’t what? Prevent this? Stop this? Do better? Do more? Fix it?

Gale doesn’t want to hear any of it. “It’s not your fault.”

“It was that wheel,” Curt insists. “If I had… I dunno. Done a better job fixin’ it? Told him not to drive it up that incline? If I’d gone with him?”

Gale closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair. Macon and Croz sit quietly beside him, eyes downcast. “It’s not your fault, Curt. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

When Curt is quiet, Gale turns off his mic so he can address Clark and Dr. Huston. “Fellas, where are we at?”

Dr. Huston studies his console, no doubt analyzing Bucky and Curt’s vitals. He looks up at Gale. “Tell him to rest. He should check on Bucky every hour, and we’ll wake him up if there’s a change before then. There’s nothing else he can do now.”

Gale relays the message to Curt, who predictably puts up a fight about it. “You’re no good to him or to us without some rest,” Gale argues. Curt finally, grudgingly, agrees. “And Curt?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Thank you.”

–

At 6pm, two hours after Gale was supposed to end his shift, Harding finally convinces him to go home. “No, Gale. Home. You’re not sleeping on a cot here. You’re going home.”

Since Benny left hours ago, Marge is tasked with making sure Gale gets home in one piece. He tries to tell her that she, too, should go home, but she insists on staying the night with him. No one trusts him to be alone right now, and he doesn’t really know what they’re so afraid of. As Marge pulls her car into his driveway, though, he looks down at his bandaged hand. With a frown, he realizes that maybe he doesn’t trust himself to be alone either. It’s dark, and he feels a loneliness and a fear creeping back into his head now that he’s not on shift, now that he doesn’t have any purpose other than to worry about John.

He doesn’t want to be alone. So he tells her to go on in while he grabs the mail.

As he closes the mailbox and glances through the flyers and envelopes in his hand – no threats, thankfully; that would probably about do him in – the front door of the house across the street flies open. He squints through the light of the streetlamps as Maggie, the little girl that lives there, comes tumbling out, red curls bouncing as she runs down the front walk. As if she only remembers at the last second, she skids to a stop at the edge of the road and checks both ways three times, even though their sleepy neighborhood street rarely has any cars going up or down its length. Like a game of red light green light, she goes from a halt to a dead run across the road, right towards Gale.

“Mr. Cleven?” she says as she stops at his feet. There’s something pure and innocent about her voice that feels out of place in the dark turmoil of Gale’s mind, but it breaks through like the smallest ray of sunshine. He looks down at her. She hardly reaches his waist, and she’s grinning up at him, freckles dotting her little face like constellations. She told him once, when he babysat a few months ago, that sometimes other kids say mean things about her freckles. He shook his head and stood her right in front of her bedroom mirror. Kneeling down beside her, he pointed to a few of the freckles on her face, and he told her that she carries the stars with her everywhere she goes.

“Space obsessed,” her mother, Jane, told Gale once. “Says she wants to be just like you.”

Now Maggie’s smile turns to a frown, and she looks at her shoes before slowly looking back up at him, as if she’s not sure that she’s allowed to. So instead he kneels down to her level, so she can look him in the eye. He motions to the piece of paper that she’s gripping in her hand, so tightly that there’s tiny, wrinkled, finger-shaped imprints on it. “What’s that you got there, Mags?”

He knows the smile he tries to give her doesn’t reach his eyes; it barely even reaches his mouth. But it’s the best he can give her, now. She juts the piece of paper towards his chest, turning it so he can see the drawing on the front, scribbled in colorful crayon. It’s an astronaut, no doubt, wearing a white EVA suit with a big helmet and the American flag across the chest. They’re standing next to a tall white triangle that Gale knows is a spaceship, and the ground – drawn as a straight line directly beneath the astronaut’s feet – is pockmarked with circles that he assumes are supposed to be craters. There’s stars in the messy blue sky. In what is unmistakably a child’s handwriting, the words “Feel Better Jon” are scrawled across the top in red crayon. The J is backwards and the h is missing, but there’s a little heart drawn at the end of his name.

Jane must have told her that John got hurt up there – the reason they had to take care of the dogs today.

Gale feels his eyes threaten to well up, and he bites down hard on his lip as he takes the drawing from Maggie, willing his hands not to shake as he stares down at it.

“It’s John,” Maggie explains. She rocks back and forth on her heels, watching Gale shyly. “He’s on the moon. And that’s his rocket, right there.” She points to the oblong tower that is Starship.

“So it is,” Gale says. He’s surprised by the small chuckle that erupts from his chest, and he’s even more shocked to see a drop of water fall onto the drawing, leaving a wet spot in the corner. He tries to wipe it away with his thumb. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he tells her, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, trying to compose himself. When he opens them again, though, Maggie reaches out with her small hand, and she wipes another tear off Gale’s cheek.

“I know he’s not here,” she says, pulling her hand slowly away. “But I thought you could give it to him when he comes home.”

Gale looks at her, and he feels like his heart has been shredded to pieces for the hundredth time today, simply unable to beat anymore. Maggie watches him sadly, and Gale hates himself just that little bit more. He’s the adult here. He shouldn’t be making this kid sad. He shouldn’t-

But then Maggie throws her arms around his neck, nearly toppling him over. “He’ll come home,” she says, not a single doubt in her voice. “He has to. He promised he’d teach me how to ride a bike.”

Gale can barely stop the gasping sob that tries to primally tear its way out of his mouth, but he winds his arms around the little girl and holds her close, clutching the drawing so tight behind her back that he makes bigger finger-shaped imprints right next to hers. “Thank you,” he whispers.

He looks up, over Maggie’s shoulder, and sees Jane standing on the front porch. She lifts a hand in a wave. When Maggie lets go, Gale takes her hand in his and leads her back across the road, stopping to check each way. On the porch, Jane sends her daughter into the house.

“Thank you,” Gale says to her. “For watching the dogs. And for this.”

“That was all her idea,” Jane says with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes any more than Gale’s reached his. “I’m sorry to hear about John.”

With little left to say, Gale thanks her again, promising to update her, before heading back across the street. Inside his own house, Marge has the news playing on TV. Harding is standing at a podium in one of JSC’s newsrooms, explaining to the whole world that Mission Commander Major John Egan has suffered a near-fatal accident and is in unstable condition.

Gale stares at the television, his vision tunneling, as he stumbles backward until the backs of his legs hit the front of the couch.

Near-fatal.

Unstable.

If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.

Might not survive.

Nothing short of a miracle.

After Harding answers a small handful of questions from disgustingly over-eager reporters and walks out of frame, the screen shifts to a news anchor, who highlights what the director of the Human Spaceflight Program just said. As the broadcast ends, she looks gravely into the camera, and her words add to those that have been ringing in Gale’s ears on repeat all day.

“Our hearts go out to Major Gale Cleven and the entire NASA community at this time.”

Gale doesn’t know if it’s those final words or the child’s drawing gripped between his fingers or the fact that the whole world now knows about Bucky’s accident or the horrifying realization that all of the hateful skeptics who prayed for his husband to die just might see their wishes come true… but that’s the moment his body gives out.

The room spins in slow motion, walls closing in. His throat closes up. The breath rushes from his lungs. His head is pounding, his fingers grasping for something, anything to keep him above water.

John.

“Gale?”

“Gale, honey, are you okay?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Gale, look at me.”

Gale barely comprehends the fact that, somehow, he ended up crumpled on the floor in front of the couch, his bad hand pressed to the floor and the other clutching the drawing to his chest like that damn tri-folded flag at an airman’s funeral. He barely comprehends Marge sitting beside him, but she pulls him into her arms. He turns to her, and she puts her hand on the back of his head, guiding him to rest against her so he can hide in the crook of her neck. He cries into the fabric of her blouse, and he has half a mind to feel bad about it, but his entire world is falling away too fast. Hiccupping sobs fill the silent living room and wrack his entire body as every tear he refused to shed, every emotion he refused to feel over the course of this entire mission, finally bursts out of him in an onslaught of all-consuming anguish.

Marge shushes him and holds him tight, the only thing keeping him in one piece, telling him that Bucky's strong, that he'll find a way through. She rocks him back and forth like a child, and he just can’t seem to stop or to catch his breath.

His chest burns.

“I need you to breathe, sweetheart,” Marge says to him as she strokes his hair. “Breathe for me.”

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

He can’t breathe. He can’t stop. He can’t keep going.

He can’t.

His hands scrabble at Marge’s back, holding on for dear life.

He needs his husband. He needs John. He needs-

“Take a breath, Gale. Please.”

Don’t cry for me, angel. Just breathe.

---

Part 12

#“Don't cry for me angel”#Gale “I'm Fine” Cleven #Spoiler: Gale is not fine #No one's dead!#clegan astronaut au #clegan #clegan fic #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #bucky egan #buck cleven

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aclowntiny · 1 year

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Hello 👋 I really love your writing like very very much 😊 ❤ 💖 if I can request can I ask for Ateez first "I love you " moment?? Like who said it first and the reaction ?? It's okay if you didn't though , i just want to tell you that you're amazing 🤗

Absolutely you can! Thank you so much love, that literally means the world to me 🥰🥰🥰 making things that people enjoy is my number one goal & hearing this is why I keep going 🥹 (also, I want one of those pearl teddy bears so bad 🥺 where's my man at)

First 'I Love You' With Ateez (Gender Neutral)

Hongjoong

It was date night. Nothing fancy, just a night in, but with a boyfriend like Hongjoong, even that was one of the most beautiful evenings you could imagine.

He squared off one of his building's balconies, draping the whole thing in fairy lights. He gathered an assortment of the most delicious hors d'oeuvres he could find, laid them out like art on a little table for you too, and finished it off with some of your favorite dessert from a little corner bakery you two had been dying to try.

You ate, you talked, just catching up on your days and your goals, Hongjoong’s free hand occasionally traveling across the table to run affectionately over the arm you had rested there. It brought a shy smile to your face each time, which brought a proud one to his in turn.

When your meal was finished and your conversation had lightened, Hongjoong rose from his chair, crossing your little paradise to a speaker, which he turned on to play some music. He made his way back to where you sat, stopping right next to your chair and extending his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

How did you get so lucky? “Of course,” you breathe, placing your hand in his.

He pulls you up, steadying you by the small of your back as his other hand slides out to hold yours. The music is soft, intimate as you sway together and gaze into each other’s eyes. Several songs pass like that, each blending into the other as Hongjoong draws your focus, expertly turning and dipping you, even stealing a kiss on one of them.

Finally, as one song ends, he speaks again. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Of course,” you whisper, daring not to break the fairy-lit magic of the night.

“I’m so glad you’re mine,” he says, and that’s when you know the magic will never break, not when you’re here with the man of your dreams, “you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. My hear, my muse. I love you, (y/n).”

Not a thought is needed before you reply that you feel the same, that you truly are his and only his. If you had any doubts, the smile he gives you shatters them completely, replacing them with the same butterflies he’s always made you feel as he pulls you flush against him. You’re barely dancing now, but neither of you care.

“What a beautiful night,” you gush.

Hongjoong turns, a hand tilting your chin towards him as he leans in all the way. “It’s trying to compete with you.”

Seonghwa

What did Seonghwa do to deserve someone like you? Someone who made him tea, sat with him while he built legos and recorded his ASMR, someone who gifted him with the greatest, most natural and unadulterated laughter accidentally recorded into said ASMR mic, someone who sent him the cutest pictures with encouraging words every day just because he was on your beautiful mind. How lucky.

With you, he felt...light. Euphoric. Like he was shown more and more sides of a big heart every day that you took care of him. And darn it if he wasn't going to be the one to take care of you, too.

He claimed the dorm kitchen, shooed any potential intruders out. Googled all your favorite things, made sure he wasn't missing a single bit of it. Called you and told you to be over for a surprise, that he couldn't wait to see you.

And tell you how much I love you, he wanted to say, but that was to come later. For now, he had work to do.

You arrived just as he finished, making the way toward the kitchen with widening eyes, first at the smell, then at the sight of Seonghwa laying out your favorite meal at the table, which was centered by a vase of your favorite flowers. With an exclamation of endearment you shuffled across the kitchen, jumping into his arms for a big hug.

"I know today was a long day," he told you, "so I wanted to surprise you. Make sure you didn't have to lift a finger for dinner after it all."

"Seonghwa, this is amazing," you breathed, making him smile with the way your body visibly relaxed, "I- I-"

"I love you," both of you said at the same time.

You felt your eyes widen, saw Seonghwa's do the same. Your hands shot up to your face in surprise, fell to reveal the big, gorgeous smile he loved being the cause of. Reaching out his arms once more, he pulled you into his chest, holding you gently there against his beating heart.

"Thank you."

"You're the one who did all this, I should be thanking you," you protested, though you made no effort to leave his embrace.

You feel his head shake on top of yours, the motion ruffling your hair a bit. "No, thank you," he insists, "you've just given me a much better gift. Now, what say we enjoy some dinner, hm?"

Yunho

Yunho knows he loves you when even a text from you changes the trajectory of his day. He knows he loves you by the way you know him so well, remembering every little thing about him. He knows he loves you by the way your smile is the first and last thing he wishes he could see every day.

He knows he loves you, now all that's left is to tell you. He asks you out to a nice dinner, and beyond your pleasant surprise at the proposed fancy outing, you don't seem to catch on to anything special. Yunho's just glad you can't feel how rapidly his heart is beating, even though he knows it's all anticipation. After all, once the decision came to his head, it was as natural as breathing, one of the easiest he's made- it feels right.

You walk into the restaurant dressed to the nines and the sight takes his breath away. It seems to show, and he's glad, because as his eyes land on you you give him the biggest smile, fondness and gratitude already present in your eyes. Yunho wants those things to always stay there when you look at him.

When he tells you he already ordered your favorite appetizer, you clap adorably. When he presents you with the bouquet and the pearl teddy bear, you light up even more, shining brighter than the crystal chandeliers adorning the ceiling.

"Yunho, this is all so wonderful- what is it for?" You finally ask.

He was going to wait until after dessert, maybe even until your goodnight kiss, but he's swimming in the highlights of your eyes and the opulent walls of the restaurant have faded out completely and he can't help himself. The moment is right.

"Because I love you," he replies simply, "no other reason than that."

You take his breath away again, this time by launching yourself half out of your seat and into his arms, crushing him in a hug he's happy to reciprocate. You're both warm, you're both giggling, and your scents are pleasantly mingled as you speak again.

"I love you, too."

Yeosang

Yeosang wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he was sure why he was doing it. Shifting the box in his hands, he reached one up to ring your doorbell.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him standing at your door, but your lips immediately curled into a smile that went straight to Yeosang’s heart. If he had needed any more encouragement, he’d just gotten it. “Surprise!” He exclaimed sheepishly.

Your eyes travelled from his down to the white box he was holding. “What’s this?”

“It’s a surprise,” he teased, “you have to let me in to find out~”

“Oh, right,” you chuckled, stepping out of the way, “I’m sorry. Please, come in, go set it down! I hope it wasn’t heavy.”

Even if it had been, it would have been well worth it. Your adorable look of surprise, the way your home smelled just like you- even if that was weird to say, it was true and Yeosang loved it. Resting the box on your table, he swiveled to face you, to reach for your hands at your sides.

“I wanted to share this with you,” he told you, nodding at the box when you gave him a confused slight frown.

“Alright,” you nodded back, eyes not leaving his, “what is it?”

Fumbling toward the table, his hands found the top of the box. “I hope you love it!” With a proud smile, he unveiled the most beautiful cake you’d ever seen. Pink and white ombré frosting was piped along the top and bottom and dotted with heart-shaped sprinkle. Edible glitter dusted the white top, which had gorgeous calligraphy swirled on top. I love you, the words read.

Your hands just shot up in surprise. “Yeosang, I… this is beautiful. It’s really for me?”

“Well, as long as I get a piece too,” he replied, giggling as he pulled you in closer by your hands, feeling his heartbeat pick up the longer you went without addressing the words, “what do you think?”

You finally peeled your eyes off the cake, and when they fell on him it gave him all the answer he needed, the dull thud within him crescendoing into a soar. Your gaze darted between the loving stare he’s giving you and a bit lower, sliding along his profile eagerly.

“Well, I didn’t prepare a cake, but hopefully this’ll do as an ‘I love you’,” you answered, one of your hands leaving his to find the small of his back, bringing him as close as you could get him as passionately kissed him.

He giggled again when you separated, one of his hands gently playing with your hair.

“You’re sweet,” you whisper, doe-eyed at Yeosang’s affection.

He leans in to press his lips to your cheek. “Speaking of sweet…”

“Yes, we can cut the cake now.”

San

Complete and utterly lost in you- that's the only way to describe how San feels. There are city lights and a gorgeous breeze and the smell of the sea all on different horizons of his little orbit, but they're barely perceptible in the face of your laugh, those eyes that San doesn't know what he did to earn such looks from. All he knows is that he wants to do it again and again in this life and the next.

You're warm at his side, an arm tucked in his as you stroll along the beach, another successful date in the books. You're telling him everything you love about the sea, how powerful it feels to you, how close to the very forces of nature themselves, and all San can think of is how you're describing is how his heart feels in the presence of yours. He can't keep this to himself.

"I know that feeling," he says.

You smile and his heart bursts all over again, his arm tightening just so around yours. Just enough to pull you a little closer.

"Right? The ocean is such a magnificent creation, it's just-"

"No," he shakes his head, "it's something far more beautiful."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Oh? What's that?"

"You. You're far more magnificent than the sea could ever hope to be, and my heart feels just as drawn to the waves of yours."

Your free hand rises to your chest. "Wow. Is that from a book?"

He shakes his head again. "Just from me to you. Too much?"

"Oh, uh, no," you stutter, an adorable, just-barely-visible in the night's dim light flush dusting your cheeks, "I just wasn't expecting you to get so poetic."

"Neither was I," San laughs, reaching up to pinch your warming cheek, "but being in love makes us do funny things."

"It sure does," you agree, "like this."

Your free hand rises again, this time to smooth his hand over your cheek, holding it there as you kiss him. San releases his grip on your arm to pull you in closer by the waist, wasting no time in returning the passionate seaside kiss.

"No, seriously," he tells you as you pull apart, forehead resting on his, "I really love you."

Your gaze falters a little, but you smile wider and echo his sentiments as his hand finds yours, pressing them in their joined state over his heart.

Mingi

"Don't you want to finish the movie?"

Your whispered words tickle Mingi's cheek and the side of his neck as you lean down to his horizontal form. You two have a love seat to yourselves as Ateez hold their movie night, the film about halfway through now. Mingi, though, has just laid down, his head having drooped against you a few times before he stopped fighting it.

"Mm-mm," he shakes his head against the love seat cushions, snaking his arms against your waist to pull you closer into him, "you're comfortable. Better than the movie."

Having already been half laying down, you surrender, dropping completely to your side to assume the position as Mingi's little spoon. As soon as you've done that, though, he turns you around in his arms to face him, nestling his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder. Warmth rises to your cheeks at the feeling of his breath, leading you to exhale in a little chuckle as you reach around to hold Mingi, too.

"Well, good night, then," you tease, tilting your head to close your very tiny gap with a peck on his lips.

"Good night. I love you."

You briefly stiffen in his hold, leaning back to see if he's fallen asleep already, just saying whatever in his stupor. The moment you scan him, though, his eyes open wide, one falling shut in a wink. Suppressing a giddy laugh, you just smile, settling back down and snuggling even closer to him.

"I love you, too, Mingi."

Wooyoung

The stars hang high in the sky and everyone is fading fast save for Wooyoung and you, his other half. His better half, if you ask the rest of Ateez. The one who manages to simultaneously pump him up and calm him down.

Except right now, there's no calming him down-it's the last song of the night, but despite its many predecessors, your boyfriend is as hyped as if he'd just picked up the microphone. Grinning, you glance at the screen, expecting a party song, so surprise flits across your face when you see Wooyoung choose a song from a musical. He points at you with a wide smile, beginning an ostentatious, goofy comedic love song that has the other seven guys cringing and groaning.

You for your part just pick up a microphone and give it right back to your boyfriend, matching every sweep of his arm, finger heart, and ridiculous miming gesture as if you two had coordinated. He turns it into a skit, your singing melting into a very corny sung conversation that has your audience shaking their heads in amused exasperation. Only those two, you see their mouths saying, and that gives you a rush of joy. They may be embarrassed, but to you, it shows you that there's something special about you and Wooyoung.

He feels it too, clearly, as he grabs you and dips you the moment you finish your thought, sending a chorus of cheers soaring over you two.

"That was so much fun," he leans down toward you.

"It was," you agree with a big smile, gazing into his eyes.

"We play so well together," he continues, leaning even further.

"We do," you all but sigh, anticipation fluttering in your eyelashes.

"I love you." Your noses are almost touching now.

A fiery wave of joy crashes over you and you can't help yourself any longer, your hand finding the back of his head to tangle in his black locks and pull him all the way into you. Even more tired exasperation and mock-disgust sounds off around you, but beneath the dim purple light of the room and the dreamy red haze cresting your heart, you can't care less. They get a show.

"I love you, too," you whisper as your lips separate, Wooyoung's hand on your back gently raising you to your feet, where he wraps both arms around you.

Jongho

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Jongho says, turning to face you, to get a look into your eyes.

"Agree to this?" You snort. "You make it sound like some sort of procedure, not a date."

A smile rises to his lips. Alright, he'll give you that one. It did sound a little funny. "Well, not everyone enjoys going on hikes."

"With you, someone could sit us down and read us the phone book and I'd still have a good time."

Jesting as they are, something about your words strikes a cord deep within Jongho's fluttering chest. They're playful, but they boil down to a very specific essence what your presence is to him: comforting, the highlight of his day, easy, the joy of being in his element no matter what the situation, what went wrong, simply because it was you.

Should he say something?

"Well, come on!" Before he can, your fingers are intertwining with his, pulling him forward along the trail. Laughing, he picks up the pace behind you, stopping just as suddenly when you reach the trail sign and take a selfie with him.

Life with you is an adventure. Ugh, that sounds corny, Jongho thinks, but it's so true and he has to admit he loves it. No, not it. You. He loves you.

The hike is quiet, peaceful for the most part. Every now and again, one of you will point out a butterfly or a bent tree, stop to take a picture, crack a joke. No pretense, just the bracing air, the sunshine, and your hand in his. Jongho's heart is beating a little faster, but you aren't on a strenuous enough trail for him to play that off as exertion.

Soon enough, you reach the top, the trail bottoming out into a meadow of waving grasses dotted with adorable little wildflowers. Jongho stops to take it all in, but you run headfirst in, frolicking like a deer set free, and he can't help but smile and give a fond shake of his head as he follows you. When he reaches you, you've picked a mini bouquet of the tiny pink and yellow flowers, holding it so gingerly, clearly having the time of your life if your expression of pure joy is anything to go off of. Once again, it's like cupid's arrow is shooting straight into his heart.

"Isn't it cute? ...Jongho?"

He'd been staring off into space. Heck, he still is. You're not used to the dreamy look in his eyes, and it still feels new to him, but it takes him over anyway. "I love you."

Your jaw drops. "What?"

He blinks, snaps out of his love-drunk state a little, but all that does is return the words to his chest with a new fire. "I love you," he says, this time more loudly, firmly. Proudly.

You giggle, clutching your flowers a little tighter, still a bit giddy yourself. "And somewhere so beautiful, too?" Your eyes are shining more than ever, full of more love than Jongho had ever seen them shoot his was. "I love you, too. So much!"

The moment you turn around, he's ready to catch you, pulling you up from your hug until your feet lift off the ground and you give a little squeak of surprise. It's all a little corny, a little sappy, and yet as your foreheads, and then your lips, meet, all Jongho can think is how perfect it all is, how all he wants is to feel you in his arms.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #gender neutral reader #fluff #requested #hope you love it sweetie 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻#I'M amazing??? UNO REVERSE CARD NO YOU

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winxanity-ii · 2 months

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 27 Chapter 27 | eclipsed victories⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ��

Flames roared and ice shattered as Bakugo and Todoroki clashed in the center of the stadium. Sweat dripped from their brows, determination etched into every line of their faces. The sheer intensity of their fight left the crowd breathless on the edge of their seats, every explosion and ice attack drawing gasps and cheers.

Bakugo's voice cut through the chaos, a mix of determination and excitement. "Come on, Half-n-Half Bastard! Fight me with everything you've got! Don't hold back!" His explosions crackled like fireworks, lighting up the arena.

Todoroki's eyes were cold, his expression focused. "What, you think you've got something to prove?" he shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm. "To Akuma-san, perhaps?"

Bakugo's eyes blazed with fury. "Shut up! This isn't about her!" He lunged forward, the ground beneath him scorched from his relentless blasts. "This is between you and me!"

Todoroki responded with a massive wave of ice, which Bakugo countered by destroying the ice with a flurry of quick explosions, the collision sending shockwaves through the stadium. He tunneled his way out of the mass of ice, using his explosions to blast through. As he emerged, he commended Todoroki for his powerful attacks. "Not bad, Icy-Hot! But your aim is pathetic!"

Todoroki ran at Bakugo, reaching out to grab him, but the blonde evaded with an explosion, grabbing onto Todoroki's left side. "Don't underestimate me!" he warned, throwing Todoroki toward the edge of the arena with an explosive blast.

Todoroki swiftly recovered by creating and surfing an ice wave, avoiding falling out of bounds. Bakugo dodged the ice and attacked again, but Todoroki grabbed him with his left arm and simply tossed him away, refusing to use his fire. Annoyed, Bakugo shouted, "Am I not worthy of your fire?!"

Bakugo's frustration was palpable. He angrily told Todoroki that he needed to stop holding back because Bakugo needed to beat him at full power to prove he was the strongest student at the festival. "Why do you even fight if you're not trying to win?" he demanded.

Bakugo's fingers began aching as his limit neared, but still he raged on. The fact that Todoroki wasn't taking it seriously was beginning to seriously tick him off. Here he was, putting his all into gaining the opportunity to have you by his side, and here this bastard was, jeopardizing it with a half-assed performance. Yet, he used his fire for Deku.

Todoroki silently gazed at Bakugo—as if apologizing—until Midoriya's voice rang out from the stands. "Todoroki-kun! Don't hold back! Use your fire!"

Impassioned by Midoriya's encouragement, Todoroki ignited his flames, the heat radiating through the stadium. Bakugo took to the sky, using his explosions to propel himself into a circular motion, encasing himself in a twister-like wind.

Just as Todoroki aimed his flames at Bakugo and their Quirks were about to clash and create the most spectacular display of power, everything paused, the video suddenly buffering.

The spinning icon on your phone's screen momentarily broke the immersion, pulling you back to reality.

You blinked, feeling the immersion of the roaring stadium abruptly dissolve as the soft hum of the train engine and the quiet chatter of morning commuters filled the air. A notification flashed on your phone, signaling the upcoming arrival of your next stop.

With a sigh, you paused the video, your thoughts lingering on the intensity of the fight. Bakugo's relentless drive and Todoroki's internal struggle played out in your mind. You felt a mix of emotions—impressed by Bakugo's raw power yet slightly annoyed by his obsession with proving himself. His determination was admirable, but his fixation on winning seemed almost desperate.

Just as you were about to resume the video, you looked up, you making eye contact with a small child siting across from you. She had bright, curious eyes and small antennae protruding from her head, her features hinting at a bug-like quirk. Next to her, a woman with similar antennas, presumably her mother, softly encouraged the girl. "Go on, sweetheart," the mother urged gently. "It's okay."

Blushing, the little girl hesitated for a moment before hopping down from her seat and pushing forward a small book, asking shyly, "Can I have your autograph, please?"

You stared at the book for a moment, hearing the whispers surrounding you, people recognizing you from the tournament.

"Look, it's the girl from the festival!"

"Akuma Y/N, right? She was amazing!"

"Did you see how she controlled that giant robot?"

"I can't believe we're on the same train as her!"

"She took on Tokoyami and almost went to the finals!"

Blinking, you forced a sweet smile onto your lips, grasping the book and pen from the little girl's trembling hands. As you signed your name, your mind briefly wandered back to the events after your fight with Tokoyami.

You had feigned being ill and injured, prompting your mother to quickly take you home. She had smothered you with over-care for the remainder of the night, fussing over every little thing. You had done this partly because you found no reason to linger, knowing you would only become bored pretending to be a good comrade and cheering for your peers.

Another reason was that you knew your absence would make Bakugo even more determined to win. Sure enough, later that night, you received a flurry of texts from Bakugo, repeatedly telling you to hold up your end of the bargain and how you were his.

Returning to the present, you handed the book back to the little girl, who beamed up at you with wide, grateful eyes. "Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, her voice full of awe.

You nodded, the sweet smile still plastered on your face. The little girl and her mother moved away, and you reached into your bag, pulling out your earbuds. Plugging them in, you hoped the gesture would deter anyone else from approaching you.

As the noise of the train faded into the background, you hit play on your phone, and Present Mic's enthusiastic voice filled your ears, providing a recap of the intense battle.

"[And there you have it, folks! Bakugo Katsuki is the first-place winner of the U.A. Sports Festival!]" Present Mic announced, his excitement palpable.

The video shifted to the award ceremony, where Bakugo lay unconscious, his body restrained by chains. He woke up with a start, his eyes wide with fury, and began thrashing against his restraints. The officials struggled to keep him under control, chaining him up even more tightly as he roared in anger.

"LET ME GO! I AIN'T WON SHIT FAIR AND SQUARE! THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Bakugo's voice echoed through the stadium, his rage directed at Todoroki. "REDO! I NEED A FUCKING REDO, HALF-N-HALF"

All Might stepped forward, trying to calm the situation. "Young Bakugo, please, this is a moment of honor—"

"SHOVE YOUR HONOR! I WANNA REDO, DAMMIT!"

All Might sighed, moving on to Todoroki, who stood quietly with a silver medal in his hand. "Young Todoroki, you fought bravely. Congratulations on second place," All Might said, presenting him with the silver medal.

Todoroki accepted it with a nod, his expression unreadable. All Might then turned to Bakugo, who was still restrained and snarling. He removed the restraint from Bakugo's mouth, but the boy's fury hadn't subsided.

"THIS DOESN'T PROVE ANYTHING!" Bakugo shouted, his eyes blazing, searching the crowd, possibly looking for you. "I'M NOT THE BEST UNLESS I BEAT EVERYONE AT THEIR BEST!"

All Might, with a resigned look, placed the gold medal between Bakugo's teeth. "You've earned this, Young Bakugo. Accept it with pride."

The camera zoomed in on Bakugo's face, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and frustration, the gold medal swinging from his lips. You paused the video at this moment, a close-up of Bakugo's snarling face filling the screen. Your lips pulled up into a smirk as you took in the sight of the No. 1 medal swinging from his lips.

"Good job, puppy," you murmured to yourself, a sense of satisfaction washing over you.

Leaning back in your seat, you let the scene replay in your mind, the thrill of Bakugo's relentless determination and raw emotion contrasting sharply with the mundane hum of the train around you. For a moment, you reveled in the power dynamics at play, the tension between victory and frustration, and the knowledge that Bakugo's drive was fueled in part by your own influence.

The train continued its journey, the scenery outside a blur, but your thoughts remained fixed on the events of the festival and future possibilities that awaited you.

☆

You're seated in class as Ectoplasm finishes up the mathematics lesson, his monotone voice a stark contrast to the bubbling excitement brewing within your classmates. The moment he leaves, the room erupts into animated chatter. Conversations bounce off the walls, each louder than the last as everyone takes advantage of the free time until the next teacher's arrival.

As always, you find yourself surrounded by Monoma and Tetsutetsu. The two are talking your ear off about the remaining events of the sports festival. Tetsutetsu's enthusiasm is contagious, his voice rising with excitement. "Yes, Akuma-san, it was super manly! Everything went like boom! And then—"

Monoma snorts, cutting him off with a dismissive wave. "Oh, Tetsutetsu, honestly. Akuma-san doesn't need to be subjected to such childish explanations." He adjusts his collar, adopting a more sophisticated tone. "Allow me to provide a proper account. You see, the battle between the brute-Bakugo and stotic-Todoroki was simply an epic fight, especially astonishing considering those 1-A brats can't even manage to tie their shoes without assistance."

Tetsutetsu's brow furrows, but he quickly recovers, joining in with Monoma's theatrical reenactment, despite the insults flying toward their 1-A counterparts. The back-and-forth banter continues, with Monoma's overly detailed analysis bordering on the absurd.

Just as you feel your patience wearing thin, the classroom door bursts open, and Midnight strides in, her presence immediately commanding attention. Her risque attire sends the male students into a stupor, faces flushing red as they gape at her in stunned silence.

"I-I thought we were learning literature," a boy stutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

Midnight smirks, her lips curling into an amused grin. She comically smacks her portable pointer against the board, pulling up a roll-up sheet with a flourish to reveal the words "Hero Names" in bold letters. The majority of the class gasps in surprise.

"Today, we'll be focusing on choosing your hero names," she announces, her voice sultry yet authoritative. "It's important to select a name that not only reflects your quirk but also your identity as a hero."

Excitement buzzes through the room as Midnight explains the importance of choosing a good hero name. A few students are called up to share their choices, and the atmosphere becomes a mix of anticipation and amusement.

Monoma steps up confidently, his chest puffed out as he shot you a glance, eyes gleaming with pride and determination. "I shall be known as 'Take-ses!' due to my ability to copy other quirks," he explained to the class. "And therefore take it from the undeserving."

Midnight raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Rejected."

Monoma's face falls as the class bursts into laughter, and he returns to his seat, muttering to himself.

Tetsutetsu proudly announces his name as "Real Steel," which Midnight accepts with a nod, earning him a pat on the back from his classmates.

Another student, Kendo, chooses "Battle Fist," and Midnight gives her an approving smile.

As your classmates went up and gave their names, you found yourself thinking over your own performance at the sports festival. Despite your efforts to remain under the radar, you were constantly thrust into the spotlight. The overall experience had been insufferable, with every move you made scrutinized and commented on.

You recalled the fights, the cheers, and the constant barrage of questions about your quirk. The spotlight had been relentless, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of annoyance at how hard you had tried to remain unnoticed, only to fail spectacularly.

When Midnight called your name, you got up and stood in front of the class. For a split second, you considered actually putting thought into the name until you realized you could care less about achieving an actual career as a hero. You were here for your own reasons, and they had nothing to do with fame or recognition.

After taking a moment to stare at the board, you wrote down the name and stood before the class to showcase it. "The Master of Strings Hero: Marionette," you declared confidently.

Midnight looked at you with curiosity. "Interesting choice. Why did you decide to mirror your quirk name?"

Internally, you could care less about cementing yourself to something so trivial, but on the outside, you maintained your composed demeanor. "I felt that by having such an ambiguous quirk as my name, it will force those who deem it evil to see it in another light. It will be used whenever I'm saving someone or doing something positive," you explained.

Midnight snapped her whip with a smirk. "Accepted."

The class erupted in applause, and you returned to your seat, your mind already wandering back to your thoughts. As the excitement continued around you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from it all. You were playing a part, but your true motivations were far from the heroic ideals that others around you seemed to embrace so fervently.

☆

Walking down the hall after taking a bathroom break, your footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor. Just as you were about to turn the corner, a hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a dark space. A second later, light filled the cramped area, and after a few moments of allowing your eyes to adjust, you saw Bakugo scowling at you. Looking around, you realized you both were stuffed inside a cramped cleaning supply closet.

You blinked, head tilting slightly. "What do you think you're doing, Bakugo?"

Bakugo's scowl dropped, and he looked off to the side, his shoulders slumping a bit before he regained his confidence. Holding his head high, his eyes narrowed as he stood before you, a mix of frustration and determination flickering in his gaze. "I won the sports festival. First place."

You raised a brow, your expression unimpressed. "Yes, I've seen that, Bakugo. Is there a reason you found it reasonably sane to yank me into a dark closet in the middle of classes?"

Bakugo's mouth opened and closed for a second before he shook his head, seemingly unable to find the right words. He took a step towards you, prompting you to take one back. He took another step, and your next step left your back against the wall.

"You said if I win, that you'll find a way to join me... that you'll be by my side," he said, his voice lowering with a mixture of urgency and vulnerability. Bakugo leaned over and cornered you against the door, caging you with his arms. "A deal's a deal."

You just stared at him for a second before your lips pulled up into a smirk. Pushing yourself off the door, you took a step towards Bakugo, momentarily shocking him as he lost his balance slightly but quickly fixed it. Reaching up, you grabbed a fistful of his blond locks, yanking his head backward, revealing his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Has your win at the sports festival made you forget your place?" you asked condescendingly, your tone laced with a mocking sweetness. You yanked on his hair for emphasis.

You used your other hand to reach up his neck, trailing your fingers up until you cupped the junction where his head met his neck. For a moment, you relished in the feeling of your hand wrapped around his throat, the sensation of his thumping pulse beneath your fingertips.

Almost like a dog collar, you thought mindlessly.

When Bakugo didn't answer immediately, you tightened your grip and repeated, "Well? Have you?"

"No," Bakugo muttered, his voice soft and reluctant, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his tone.

Giving his neck one more squeeze, you trailed your hands up to cup his face and pull it down to stare into your eyes. The moment they met, you found a harsh blush coating his cheeks, eyes glazed, panting a bit as his dilated pupils followed your every movement.

Mindlessly, your fingers caressed Bakugo's cheek as you reminded him, "Mind your tongue as well as your patience. I never back down on my words. I had more faith in you to know that, puppy."

For a moment, the tension hung thick in the air. You leaned on your toes, your lips brushing against the blonde's as you whispered, "Tell me, have I lost your faith?" Your eyes were low as you studied his trembling form.

Bakugo's hands fumbled to grasp your arms, almost as if to keep himself from falling to his knees. "Never," he huffed, his breath warm against your skin as his eyes gazed down at you as if you were the goddess Aphrodite herself.

Satisfied, you released his hair and took a step back, your smirk widening. "Good. Now remember that, then everything should continue on just fine."

Bakugo's intense gaze followed you as you exited the cramped closet, his breath still ragged from the encounter. As you stepped out of the closet, you barely took a step around the corner before bumping into Monoma.

Begrudgingly, you couldn't help but curse at the number of times you had bumped into people at this damn school. Just as you had the dark thought of making the next pest that bumped into you pay, Monoma called out your name, his hands grasping your shoulders. With a boyish grin, he revealed that he was sent out by Kendo to come find you after you were gone for a bit longer than normal.

"Where were you, Akuma-san? Hooking up with someone or something?" he asked sarcastically, his tone teasing.

Before you could respond, a harsh thump echoed from the closet you had just left. Both of you paused, Monoma blinking in surprise before going on high alert. Ever since the USJ attack and the revelation that it was caused by a villain supposedly sneaking onto campus, everyone was on edge.

"Get behind me," Monoma instructed with a clear voice, his protective instincts kicking in.

Your mind raced, quickly understanding that if Monoma were to find Bakugo in that closet, it would cause more issues. Even though you and Bakugo weren't doing anything, the fact alone that it was with a 1-A student would be enough for Monoma to cause a scene.

Before he could move to investigate, you quickly intervened, grasping his hands and causing him to short-circuit for a second.

"Monoma-kun, wait," you said, flashing the most persuasive and seductive smile you could muster. "I'm sure it's nothing. Thank you for volunteering to come find me," you said, your tone soft and grateful as you stepped closer, encircling your arm around his and cuddling close to him, effectively distracting him.

Monoma's face flushed a deep shade of red, and he stuttered out, "N-no problem, Akuma-san." He looked away, clearly flustered by your sudden closeness.

Ensuring that he wouldn't investigate further, you interlocked your fingers with his, cuddling closer before leading him back towards the classroom. "We should get back to class," you said, your tone light and casual, hoping to pivot the conversation. "If I recall, we'll be choosing hero agencies soon, and I don't want us to miss any important information," you added, your voice a soft purr.

Monoma's blush deepened, but he nodded, allowing you to guide him. "Y-yeah, you're right," he agreed, his voice still a bit shaky. "I-it's important we chose a good agency."

As you walked, you stayed close to Monoma, your body pressed against his. He was stiff at first, but slowly, he seemed to relax a bit, although his blush remained prominent. You could feel his pulse quicken under your touch, a small smile tugging at your lips as you thought about how easy it was to distract him.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Bakugo peeking from around the corner, his eyes dark with a brooding expression as he watched you and Monoma together. The sight seemed to fuel the intensity in his gaze, the dark look in his eyes burning with a mixture of emotions.

As you reached the classroom door, the image of Bakugo's intense stare stayed with you, a reminder of the intricate web of relationships and rivalries you were navigating in this school, each step carefully calculated to maintain your position and control.

A/N: okay, before you all jump me i can explain why i haven't updated in like a month...✨my life is trash✨ the way i could literally create a fanfic about it and y'all wouldn't even know cuz that's how much drama is in it rn, from narcaisstic family memebers to overworking jobs that's literally ghettio asf in reality but nice on paper....WHEEWWW! Anywho, i missed my lil puppy boy bakugo so i had to squeeze out a scene of him being whipped for us 😍 once again, sorry for the lack of updates but honeslty the way life is lifeing, i fear I may not get back on the weekly updates until i get back on campus 💔 until next update, lovelies...

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tiny-maus-boots · 4 months

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Darkest of Nights pt 22

A/N: thank you thank you thank you @chloes-yellow-cup and @kimmania None of this would still be happening if not for your encouragement and support. I love you awesome nerds.

Chloe

She had wanted to drag Beca off to their room for a little more alone time but knew the second she shut the door that she would also shut out anything else and just drown herself in everything Beca Mitchell. And that wasn't an option right now. So she settled for pressing the other woman against the wall of the elevator for a hungry kiss as soon as the doors closed.

Beca’s hands came up and slid under the hem of her shirt. Power trailed like electricity everywhere the necromancer's fingers caressed against her bare skin. She could never get enough of the feel of Beca in her arms or the taste of her on her lips. She could devour and be devoured in an endless cycle and need nothing else.

And just that thought gave her pause. Without Aubrey there to temper their desire she might forget herself and make a mistake. Beca’s leg rose to hook around her waist, drawing her in closer before she could start to pull away. A low possessive growl trickled out and she reached back to grip the necromancer’s wrists and pin them above her head. Fangs lengthened and she grazed them lightly over Beca’s lip teasingly as she pulled back.

“So we’re going back to bed right?”

“Sadly no, we have work to do, remember? You’ll have to let me ravage you later.”

“Work?”

Chloe grinned and gently extricated herself from Beca’s leg and let her down before stepping back to tug her clothes into place.

“Yes. We have guests arriving soon.”

Beca frowned adorably as she searched her memory. “Oh. Right. Guests. Do we know who they are yet?”

“Yep, c’mon. I’ll show you.”

The vampire held out a hand and was pleased when Beca took it immediately. The doors slid open with a soft voiced ‘Security Level One’ as an indicator. They stepped out but Beca paused and gave the elevator a thoughtful look.

“Manners matter. Thanks, Elevator.”

Aubrey would be so proud. Chloe chuckled and guided them right into the heart of the security terminal. It was only the first of many and the smallest by far. It was only really meant as a monitoring station for the perimeter of the innocent seeming parking structure above it. At least it had been when she’d last been there, they’d made improvements since.

The few vampires that were sitting in front of large screens barely averted their gazes from them to note their presence. The redhead stopped in front of a station and pulled up the images she and Aubrey had captured earlier. Several windows popped open and Beca eased onto a stool and leaned forward to inspect them.

“What am I looking at?”

“Our security team pulled footage from public transit stations that lead directly toward the heart of the city. Conveniently just above our heads give or take a few city blocks. Look here, see the way these images here blur?”

“Fae.”

Chloe nodded and pointed to another window. The blurring was all any electronic equipment could make of strong glamor magic. To the naked eye the Fae could appear as anyone or no one at all.

“So what though? You know how many Fae folk are running around out there? You’re bound to catch a few right?”

“True. But these are just the feeds from the past day, from every station. There have never been that many this deep in the city. Too much iron and pollution, they usually stick to colonies in forests, parks if they absolutely must be in the city. And not just them. Red eyes here. Here. Aaand here. Not that we needed to see their eyes to identify them. We’ve kept track of the Alphas of most of the wolf clans.”

“So what are you saying? Wolves and Fae are converging on us?”

“Pretty sure they aren't the only ones. These are just the ones taking public transit, the ones we can see. What about people coming in their own vehicles in caravans? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Great Clans were assembling again.”

“And they’re headed here?”

Chloe clicked to open another window that showed traffic cam footage of Beca’s own long abandoned truck leading a caravan of vans, wagons, and trailers. “Oh shit, that’s my rig.”

“Not just yours. It looks like your whole carnival is leading the charge. My guess is to rescue their princess from the evil demons that stole her in the dark of night.”

It was hard to miss the irritation in Chloe’s voice and Beca gave her a long slow blink.

“Okay but you DID kidnap me in the dark of night.”

“Yeah but you like it now.”

Beca’s mouth opened slightly as she processed how she should respond to that.

“To be clear, we don’t just kidnap people and justify it with crazy hot sex after they’ve fallen in love with you and taken up your rebellious cause. Honestly, the more I talk the more I feel like I’m in a Lifetime movie adaptation of the Patty Hearst story.”

Chloe acknowledged that with a nonchalant half shrug. They were meant to be, she didn’t question that. Of course she hadn’t known they were meant to be when she’d kidnapped Beca.

Okay maybe she could see where that was a little creepy.

“Anyway. It's not like you want to go back with them. Right?”

Beca frowned at the screens again before turning to meet Chloe’s questioning gaze.

“You mean leave you and Aubrey?” She snorted at that and shook her head. “No, I'm already frighteningly comfortable in your giant bed with your fancy sheets and high pressure shower. Plus you guys have boobs. So yeah I'm good where I'm at.”

“So…then you're not going to run back to a lover?”

She wasn't usually this insecure. But Beca's old life and her new one were about to collide in a potentially messy affair. Messy in the bloody sense because she was feeling more than a little possessive.

“Wait, are you actually jealous right now?”

“Beca, I've spent more years as second best to the memory of a dead man than I care to admit. I don't think my heart can take being second to anyone else.”

It was heartbreaking to finally say out loud. It wasn’t as if she had been celibate all that time but relationships…

Her heart was already Aubrey’s to command. There was no room in it for anyone else. And truthfully her vow to the Bloodguard forbade anything else.

Chloe averted her attention from Beca’s searching gaze. The weight of it was almost too much to bear. She changed the subject before Beca could respond, hoping that the necromancer would let sleeping dogs lie.

“So what did you think of Athan?”

Beca opened her mouth then closed it and shook her head slowly. Whatever she had been about to say she decided better of it and shrugged.

“He's old as hell. And strong. I could feel it but it wasn't like most vampires. You guys bleed power all over on purpose even. It's your flex. Him…it was like he was sucking it all in.”

Chloe nodded at that and fiddled with a pen on the desk. The Council had wronged many people, not just Aubrey.

“He has to keep tight control of himself or his mind and body will completely deteriorate.”

A few of the vampires shifted uncomfortably in their seats. She didn't blame them, Athan's curse was horrific. Beca glanced around and the vampires quickly looked away.

“So what's his deal?”

Chloe hesitated and cast a glance at the other vampires. They all seemed very intent on their screens but she knew they were listening to every word.

“Athan made an enemy of the Council by choosing to live among wolves. Even going so far as to protect them from other vampires. They thought it was improper, nearly as scandalous as a vampire running off with a necromancer.”

Beca snorted at that and settled into Chloe's lap comfortably. The vampire’s arms slid around the smaller woman's waist comfortably and she smiled when the necromancer sighed happily at the contact.

“You know for soulless immoral demons vampires sure are all about the kink shaming.”

“Hm, you're not entirely wrong. The Council will use anything against you to control you and break your spirit. Your fears, your desires, and all that you hold dear.”

“Which did they use on Athan?”

Chloe's shoulders sagged, her voice went soft with pity. “All of them. They used a necromancer to curse him then slaughtered her to prevent the curse from ever being removed. And his wolves…his family…enslaved and given to Hauer.”

“I hate him already. Who the fuck is Hauer and what the fuck did he do to those wolves?”

“Our enemy. What he does to them is…it's awful Beca. He tortures them into shifting and binds them with silver bits and collars. The pain, being constantly shifted, it drives them insane. They are vicious, feral beasts and he uses his kampfhunds to do unspeakable evil.”

Beca remained silent, her face was impassive but she could feel the roiling turmoil brewing under the faćade.

“He's the guy. Right? The one behind everything?”

“I suspect, yes. What he did to Aubrey, to Athan, and so many others, must be answered for.”

Anger flared through their connection causing them both to gasp and turn toward the door just as Aubrey pushed through it. The blonde scanned the room briefly before making her way toward them at a purposeful clip.

“Uh oh someone pissed off our girl.”

Chloe smiled at the sing song statement and nodded in agreement. She loved hearing Beca claim them as her own. It helped ease the thread of uncertainty over her place in their lives. An uncertainty that melted away under the soft brush of Aubrey’s lips against her own.

The unexpected gentle affection robbed her of rational thought for a moment and she whimpered softly when Aubrey pulled away. Beca fanned herself with a hand and nodded.

“Yep that gets the heartbeat up. Okay now me.” She didn't wait for Aubrey to turn and lean in. Beca grabbed the front of the vampire’s jacket and pulled her in for a deep kiss. “That's the stuff. So what's up Horny? Who got you mad?”

“Some of our people are reluctant to face the clans.”

Beca frowned and glanced between the two vampires. “Huh, I thought I had made progress. Got Athan's approval and everything.”

Chloe winced at that. She loved the people here but they were sometimes stuck in their ways.

“That is the root of their reluctance. Athan has grown weaker, they question his sanity in the face of his condition.”

“That is ridiculous, Athan has been with us from the beginning. There is nothing wrong with his mind!”

Aubrey gave Chloe a quietly assessing look as if she too doubted his sanity, then nodded.

“If his mind is yet whole, they must fear the ravages of his curse on his body. They are afraid of what the Council will do to them for siding with the Great Clans and a necromancer. His state is a very handy reminder for them.”

Beca shifted uncomfortably and Aubrey’s direct gaze landed on her. The necromancer bit her lip as she pondered something well beyond Chloe’s understanding.

“So all this working hinges on Athan being healed of a curse no one can lift? Like if he was good they would be good?”

It only took Chloe a moment to see past the questions to understand what Beca intended.

“Beca it's impossible. So many have tried over the years, the strongest witches I have ever known, good or bad, have never been able to break this curse. You can't uncurse what he has.”

Beca crossed her arms over her chest and stared Chloe down until the redhead blew out a breath and nodded.

“Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I'm not sure how to do it yet but I know I can help him, Chlo. You just have to believe in me.”

There were only two people she believed in with her whole heart and they were both here with her now. Chloe didn't hesitate in her response because there was no doubt in her mind that Beca could do anything she set her mind to.

“Okay. How do we do it?”

Aubrey stated the obvious that seemed to elude Chloe. “She's already done it once. But it will require more power than the three of us alone can generate.”

“That's a big ask Beca.”

Chloe would have liked to believe they would all agree but she knew that was more wishful thinking than actual reality.

“I will make them submit.”

Beca started at that and shook her head rapidly.

“No. We don't just take. You can't hope to lead the new gathering of clans like that. Last time was an emergency, this time they should have a say. If they truly believe in Athan and care about him and this fight more than themselves they'll agree to it.”

Chloe watched Aubrey struggle to accept the decision before she nodded her agreement. She didn't like it but she was trying to change and it showed. Beca relaxed and reached out to tangle fingers with Aubrey.

“Thank you.”

Aubrey brought the necromancer's hand to her lips and kissed the scarred knuckles.

“We will lead this newly unified Great Clan. The three of us together.”

Chloe blinked and looked up at them. “Wait. Who we? Us we? No I don't think…”

“Chlo, look at what you built. This place? Bringing these people together? Why not we? We believe in you as much as you believe in us. More. You're our heart, me and Aubrey are just following your beat.”

“Beca is right. You make me better, Chloe. You always have. And we can make a new way, one where you are at my side the way it should have always been.”

At their side. Where she belonged. Who could say no to that?

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #aubrey posen #pitch perfect au #pitch perfect #triple treble #vampires #necromancer #maus writes

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siancore · 8 months

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Second part to this fic.

A/N: This is from Bucky’s POV and takes place in the 1940s while Bucky is at war. Written in the form of V-Mail letters from Bucky to Steve. He wants to tell his best friend about meeting Sam and being smitten, but V-Mail was read and censored by military postal workers. Bucky could be dishonourably discharged and receive a court martial for being homosexual in the army. LGBT+ soldiers were given ‘blue tickets’ to discharge them from service because their ‘character was deemed undesirable’ — around 9,000 soldiers received a blue discharge during war times in the 40s. I hope this gives context to his correspondence. Thanks so much for continuing this journey with me. Enjoy!

Dear Steve,

They said these letters would get to their destination quicker and without much fuss. Better than regular old mail. I hope this finds you well. Hope you’re keeping out of trouble. It’s cold over here, but I don’t want to waste time talking about the weather. Stevie, I’m smitten, Pal. Just my luck to meet the sweetest Buttercup before I had to ship out. My Sweetheart has the prettiest brown eyes I ever did see, and a smile that’s as bright as the sun. Why can’t this world be a better place? Why can’t me and my Sweetheart settle down somewhere and live a nice life? I know there’s a war to be won, and things ain’t as simple as I would like them to be, but sometimes I just want something for myself. Sorry for going on and on. I’m maybe a little homesick. I wish you got to meet my Sweetheart before I left. You two would get on real swell. I miss you, buddy. Take care of yourself.

Yours truly,

J B Barnes.

Dear Steve,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. Thank you for sending a letter back. I hope you had a nice time at dinner with my folks. My Ma sure does love feeding you. Thinks you’re too skinny, and I think she might be right.

We’re shipping out to the front in Italy tomorrow. My Ma is worried, and she has every right to be. From what the other fellows have said, we’re likely to see combat action real soon. Truth be told, I will be happy to join the fight. As you know, I’m not good sitting on my hands.

How is it being the most eligible bachelor in New York, New York? I bet the dames are lined up around the block for you. Just be yourself, Pal. You will find that special someone. I’m lucky to have found my Buttercup. Wish I had an address to write my Sweetheart. I only know the name of the locality: Delacroix, Louisiana. V-Mail must reach down South. All of the Southern boys are writing to their loved ones. I should at least try, don’t you think? I’m endlessly charmed by a Southern Beauty. Like I said before, Buddy: I am smitten. You will grow tired of my ramblings I’m sure.

Take good care of yourself. I’ll write again when we arrive.

Your Pal,

J B Barnes.

Dear Steve,

Thank you for the drawing pencils. I’ve been using them while waiting for directives. I’m sorry for not writing sooner. Camp life is tough. Feels like the rain ain’t stopped since we put boots on the ground. Some of the fellows in the 107th have fought some skirmishes, I am still waiting to see action. I know you said you found a way to be of service, I just want you to promise me you will be smart about it. Every little bit helps our cause, I just want you to be safe. I am proud of you no matter what you do. You have a good heart, my friend.

I appreciate your encouragement. I thought about writing my Buttercup, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Different sensibilities down South, you see. My Sweetheart’s folks probably would not appreciate letters from a sergeant in our armed forces sending unsolicited letters to their unwed offspring. It is a different world in the Southern states I’ve been told, and I don’t want to cause my Sweetheart any grief. Dreams of pretty brown eyes and sunshine smiles will have to sustain me for now. At least I can write you and go on and on about my heart’s yearnings for a certain Southern Beauty. You are a good friend to me, Stevie. Thank you for never judging me. I will write again soon. Give my Ma a cuddle from me when you see her next.

Your friend and brother,

J B Barnes

Dear Steve,

Thank you for TWO letters and drawings. Your comic renditions made me smile. I’m sorry for the long wait in between letters. I have finally seen combat action. I am well. Did not get hurt. My Ma was so worried. Rebecca wrote me as well. All of your letters make me less homesick. It’s a different world over here, but I will not waste time retelling the horrors I’ve seen.

I hope your mission is going well. I am proud of you. I hope your date book is full and you are having a marvellous time.

My heart feels heavy. Would it be such a terrible thing for me to write my Sweetheart? Maybe my Sweetheart’s parents wouldn’t mind a soldier writing to their unwed s — child. I don’t want to cause a stir. I wish I at least had a photograph, though I probably don’t need one. My dreams are filled with brown eyes and high cheekbones. Pretty smiles and soft skin. You must think I’m a love struck fool, Stevie. HaHa! Maybe I am. But when two people have a connection like me and my Buttercup do, it reaches beyond the borders of nations. It stretches through time. I don’t have words to explain. Just know that your best friend is love sick and not any less of a man for admitting so.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. Be sure to keep up with your medicines and treatments. Be safe and well.

Your Friend,

J B Barnes

P.S. Maybe when I return home, you might draw a rendition of my Sweetheart for me. I will pay you all of my hard earned money.

Dear Stevie,

I had to write this soon after my last letter, so you will probably get them around the same time.

I got new directives. We’re in the fight now. I just wanted to let you know not to worry too much about me if you don’t hear from me soon. I’ll be busy doing my part.

I won’t win the war until you get here, Pal. That’s a promise.

Signing off for now.

Your Brother in Arms,

Bucky Barnes

#sambucky #sambucky fanfic

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gepardling · 1 year

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ok FLUFF REQUEST TIME!! Gepard in a relationship with an actor(ess)!reader. I can imagine him trying his best to see every play and if he doesn't, he'll at least send flowers and whatnot. In regards to the reader, I believe they would understand and knows that he can't go to every single one of their plays. In short, I wanna see cute fluffy relationship scenarios or headcanons with these two on and off of work. Maybe a lil bonus if the two live together :3

on the stage, behind the stage w/ gepard.

desc. : unironically i think u can tell i read oshi no ko b4 writing dis, n im so happy i did bc i feel it gave me a new perspective on dis topic !! i didnt go angsty on it tho bc we need fluff in dis household. i wrote headcanons nd a short lil bonus fic 4 u dis time :) ( wc : 1k )

tags / cw : sfw, just fluff, gn!reader, reader is part of an acting troupe, just casual relationship things, not proofread

○ Gepard makes it his top priority to see most, if not all, of your shows. There have been many nights where he’s had to cut it close with his frontline duties, showing up just in time to witness the closing act. He always makes sure to bring flowers, your favorite kind, of course, and it’s always a HUGE bunch of them. Bonus points if he grew them himself!

○ There were times when you'd perform consecutive nights in a row, and your house would soon run out of space to keep all the bouquets Gepard delivered. But don’t worry, you would talk to him about it if you move in together. There really is no need for him to spend this much money on you! Yet he always insists, and one way or another, your house will be filled with flowers again.

○ Every one of his soldiers would know if you ever did a musical play because Gepard will not stop humming your solo after he heard it the first time. He also diligently memorizes the lines of your duets after you accidentally sang one together while cooking, and now he can't get enough of singing with you. You both get good practice too! It's a win-win.

○ Naturally, your acting career can be demanding. This makes both you and Gepard busy people who are rarely at home. It only makes those moments you get to spend some private time together all the more special, seeking solace in each other’s embrace as you momentarily escape your responsibilities.

○ Gepard understands how overwhelming your work can be, constantly dealing with other people, their opinions, and expectations of you. That being said, he doesn’t "abuse" his position as captain, per se. He may be a little biased when he’s quick to shut down any negative commentary people make about you, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

○ You don’t appreciate it when he hides those opinionated thoughts from you, but he's undeniably looking out for your mental health. Arguably, it’s slightly better this way too, and if you ever feel down or doubt yourself, he provides you with unwavering love and dedication.

○ He ensures you know that he’s not in love with you because of your talents or performance, but because he loves you for who you are. He greatly admires the passion you have and all the hours of hard work you put into acting, one of the many things that draw him to you.

○ Of course, life isn’t always perfect, and there are times when your schedules don’t align. If he has to leave for the frontlines before one of your concerts, he leaves you a letter of encouragement and a big bouquet on your dresser. He tries to see you before he has to leave as often as he can, but if you’re in dress rehearsals or learning a new script, there isn’t much he can do :((

○ On those rare occasions when he misses your performance before coming back home, there will always be a plate of warm food waiting for you, along with flowers or gifts that he personally gives you when you arrive or he picks you up from the theater, whichever comes first. He’s right by your side, listening intently as you recount the performance to him while you remove any remaining stage makeup.

○ This next one is purely food for thought, but if the acting troupe you’re with is relatively small and self-sufficient, Gepard would do his best to take up sewing to help you prepare or fix any costumes for performances. Sure, he breaks a ton of needles, and he’s probably not the best at it, but it’s cute that he tries so hard to lighten your workload while he’s just as busy himself...

You couldn’t help but nervously peak beyond the curtains, possibly the fifth time that night. The lights that shone on the stage glared so bright that everything beyond it seemed to melt into a sea of darkness, the faces of the audience obscured by the void. The final act of the show was about to come to a close, possibly the pinnacle of your acting career, but Gepard was still nowhere to be seen.

Tonight was the last performance of this play, and Gepard, despite promising to be there for the first show, was still missing. A stagehand tapping on your shoulder brought your mind back from the shadows, and you realized you had been biting your nails unconsciously. With only two more minutes before stepping on stage, you needed to clear your mind for a good performance.

You pushed aside negative thoughts and swallowed your doubts, preparing yourself to step onto the stage. The scene required you to portray relief and joy as the protagonist reunites with their estranged lover after a challenging journey. However, an emptiness lingered in your heart, making it harder to wear the mask.

As the curtains rose, you squinted slightly against the blinding lights. The deafening roar of the audience rang painfully in your ears. Yet, as a professional, you knew you had to play the part. With one last gulp, you forced yourself into character, banishing any wavering nerves from your voice.

Just moments before the climax of the scene, a distant shuffling in the back of the theater caught your attention. Through the haze of darkness, you could vaguely make out the figure of a person who had just arrived. Your heart surged with relief when you realized it was none other than Gepard. His disheveled hair and slightly worn uniform were evidence of his haste.

When his eyes met yours, the light returned to your gaze, and your heart soared. If not for the arrival of your fellow actor on set, you might have forgotten your lines. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, and your genuine excitement upon seeing Gepard seamlessly merged with your character's emotions. You delivered a flawless performance, wrapping up the night with an encore.

You couldn't wait to find Gepard backstage, and you rushed to the lobby, barely out of your costume. The force and speed of your hug nearly threw him off balance, and he had to hold the bouquet at a distance to protect it. You scolded him for making you worry, and he simply nodded apologetically, soothingly rubbing your back. When you finally pulled away, he handed you the bouquet and planted a sweet kiss on your lips.

"I told you I'd be here," he whispered, intertwining his free hand with yours. Gepard always followed through on his promises, no matter what.

unfortunately the title is the name of a genshin quest (lol !!) never quite felt a piece come 2 me as easy as dis 1. absolutely in love w/ the request !! the dark part of my mind kept screaming "what if geppie doesn't arrive" but of course he would !!! he wouldn't miss it 4 the world...

#gepard fluff #gepard x reader #gepard x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #gepard landau #gepard hsr #♥︎ | milky writes #♥︎ | request

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springdandelixn · 2 years

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I'm sooo excited you're taking requests, love! 🖤

This Jonathan Pine gif just makes me feral...

so, maybe reader has done something stupid on a mission and now she's in a greater danger. Can be as dark/smutty (or both 😏) as you feel it. I hope this works for you and there's absolutely 0 pressure (;

Radio Silence

Summary: Your mission to capture Jonathan Pine goes sideways in the most unexpected way.

Warnings: implied noncon, kidnapping, gunplay, bondage & death threats. There may be more but be aware that this is a dark fic. Read at your own discretion.

Characters: Jonathan Pine x Agent!Reader

A/N: This fic was pretty much inspired by watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Thank you, @coldnique for this request though I do apologize if it's a bit sloppy. It's Monday again.

Your feedback is highly appreciated and encouraged. Reblogs would be really amazing. Enjoy! ❤️

“I got eyes on the target.”

“Remember, don’t spook him or we will lose him again,” Hank calls through the earpiece.

“Copy that.” You say with finality before fixing your scarf to tuck your chin deep within the wool. You shove your hands in the pockets of your coat and reel into the act of a shivering civilian before looking both ways and crossing the street, heading towards the building your mark entered.

For three long years, the British Intelligence has been hunting down Jonathan Pine after going rogue and started causing havoc by selling sensitive information to interested buyers across the globe. You worked closely on the case, tracking him down and going after every lead that presented itself. But each time you think you’re a step closer to catching him, the trail quickly goes cold and you’re once more back on the drawing board.

Until one day, when an anonymous tip came of Jonathan resurfacing, that he was spotted on several occasions in a small neighborhood in Brooklyn, Hank immediately had you shipped off to New York in hopes of finally bringing him in.

You’re the most qualified for the job, Hank told you when you asked why you were going in alone and you didn’t doubt his judgment for you believed it to be true. With Jonathan gone, you were the top agent of the organization, and you’ve proven countless times your credibility in bringing down some of the most dangerous beings on the planet. But you know that wasn’t the sole reason he chose you, rather the fact that you were once mentored by the rogue agent himself.

For years, you��ve worked closely alongside him, digesting every fact and feat he would demonstrate in order for you to do your work the best that you can. All the skills he possessed were passed on that you were ranked second to him. And it secretly brought a smile to your face and had you feeling slightly cocky and confident, how the irony that his own pupil would be the one to turn him in and bring him to justice.

It still pained you though, that it had to come to this point in your career. How much you pitied your former mentor that he’s chosen to use his expertise to harm instead of continuing to protect the greater good. Either way, you won’t let your sentiments muddle your judgment. He’s done bad things and it’s your job to stop him no matter what it takes.

Leaning against the concrete wall of the building—a library, you wait a few seconds before walking in. You pat your hip through your coat pocket, making sure that your weapon is within reach. You didn’t see them upon arriving at the borough yet you’re confident that backup has been prepared and is on the ready in case the situation gets hairy.

It’s not as crowded as you expected as you walk towards the shelves of books and you don’t quite know if you should see it as a positive; giving you more visual of your surroundings, or a negative; making it slightly harder to blend in, making it easy for Joanthan to recognize you amongst the civilians. But you keep your composure, making the best of the situation and remain at the sidelines, running a hand through the spines of the hardcover while looking for a spot for you to wait.

With vigilant eyes and light feet, you peruse every aisle, keeping up the act of a college student looking for resource materials. You grab a random book from its hold and flip it open, opting to take a seat on one of the singular armchairs at the corner of the library that give you a good view of the exit as well as the round help desk at the center of the vicinity.

You whisper an update through your comms but frown when faint static plays into your ears before going radio silent on the other end. You repeat your words, hoping for any response of acknowledgment but still get none. The building must be interfering with the frequency, you think, but don’t dwell too much on the fact, choosing to focus instead on the task at hand.

People pass by in front of you and give extra attention to each dark blond you see. Yet some minutes pass and you can’t help the groan of frustration you breathe out when he’s still yet to be seen. He couldn’t have gotten far, and he wouldn’t think of using any back exits for you’re positive he hasn’t picked up your scent. Still, you remain seated and discard the thought of searching the entire library. You keep your senses on high alert for any telltale signs of his presence while flipping through the pages of the book on your lap.

“I’m terribly sorry.” You know that voice. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Your head snaps to the side, your heart rate spiking when you see him by the entrance with a book in his hand which he hands to the elderly woman clutching a cane standing in front of him. You take note of his appearance; a grey hoodie hidden underneath a leather jacket. You scoff in amusement when you see no effort into hiding his face. Rookie mistake.

As soon as his interaction with the woman ends, you stand from your seat and casually return the book to the shelf. You feign choosing a new read, counting down to ten before slowly making your way out of the building when he finally leaves.

“He’s on foot. I’m tailing him.” You call into your comms yet still, the line remains silent.

You maintain your distance while keeping your eyes locked on the back of his head and follow him down the street. You’re positive that he’s heading back to where he’s been holing up, leading you right to him. The image of him taken by shock burns into your mind and you can’t help but smile once he realizes it’s you that’s cornered him like a rat.

Blood pumps into your ears as your body sings with excitement, keeping your pursuit and grinning when he turns into an alley. Like a rat. You echo in your head and immediately reach for your weapon as you sprint down the path. Once you reach the corner, you keep to the crowd and take a deep breath before pushing into the alley.

You stand stunned in confusion when nothing but an empty backstreet greets you. You don’t understand, you just saw him come in here and yet there are no signs that giveaway any soul coming by. The wired fence up ahead is too tall to scale up fast, the fire escape ladders remain untouched. You jiggle the handle of a lone door at the side of the brick wall but it’s locked and you’re certain he wouldn’t have jimmied it open for you would have, for sure, caught him in the act.

You tuck your gun back into your holster and huff out a breath as the thought that he’s once more slipped from your grasp fills you. This can’t be! You almost had him! And yet, you are once more met with a dead end, one you don’t understand how it came to be.

Defeated, you decide to regroup back at your hideout to figure out the next steps to catching him. He couldn’t have gotten far and if you call for the local police force to cord out Brooklyn, it’s no question that he’d be apprehended just in time.

All of a sudden, you gasp in surprise when an arm wraps tightly around your neck from behind, a solid surface pressed against your back as you struggle to set yourself free from your assailant. Your hands grab the arm that entraps you when it tightens further, the muscle digging into your throat, preventing you from making a sound.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?” The deep baritone that fills your ears is all too familiar. No!

A stinging pain then blooms at the back of your neck, your breath hitching as you feel a cool, alien liquid quickly run through your veins. You’re then released, a hand pressing at your back and shoving you forward, making you drop down to your knees before you could even catch yourself.

Your breathing is suddenly labored, your skin tingling and body growing heavy that you slump face first onto the dirtied concrete floor. You fight to push yourself up except a hand grabs you by the shoulder and you’re flipped onto your back, your head cracking against the pavement. A pained groan slithers from your lips and when you open your eyes, your vision is skewed. What’s happening to me? You want to voice out but your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.

Jonathan’s face comes into view, a wicked grin playing on his lips. You try to stand but it’s no use. Your body feels so heavy that you don’t think you can even move. He says your name, once, twice, you don’t know. Then his face blurs, mixing with the colors of the alley and the stone walls that surround you, his deep chuckle the last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you whole.

Your mind feels all too convoluted when you open your eyes, blinking several times before the world gradually comes into clarity. It’s like you wrestled with a bear with how your body aches, feeling it deep within your bones, making you groan. You try to move, to get off the soft surface you’re laid on but panic quickly runs through your veins when the realization that you’re naked, wrists bound together dawns on you.

Looking around frantically, you try to take in your surroundings, assessing the situation you were thrust into. You’re on a bed, plain sheets rumpled atop with a lone pillow hanging by the edge. The room is bare of any furniture leave for the singular bedside table with a lamp emanating a muted yellow hue and a singular table at the far end corner. Although, what you notice next makes the hair on your skin stand in fear, the lone dark figure sitting by the desk, a light tapping coming from its direction.

You’re certain that your captor is Jonathan, that despite your disorientation, he’s the last person you saw before you blacked out. You blink as you fight to steady your vision, your throat tightening as the fear that once took over your senses is replaced by anger. He stands and you groan as you tug on your restraints, bending your knees as you prepare yourself to fight back.

“What did you do to me?!” You snarl, swiping your legs immediately when he comes closer. “Let me go, you psycho!” Another groan pulls free from your lips when the restraints dig deep into your skin. “I’m going to kill you once I’m free! And I don’t give a fuck about what Hank says!”

A deep chuckle echoes through the room and you narrow your eyes, baring your teeth when his face comes into view. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere anytime soon, sweetheart.” He scoffs, a grin of amusement playing on his lips before he leans closer. He reaches over to caress your cheek and you quickly snap your teeth at him, barely missing his fingers when he retracts his hand. “Ohh, you’ve certainly gotten tougher since we last saw each other.”

“Better too!” You snipe and thrash against the bed when he nears you once more. “Hank knows where I am, Pine! And once backup comes, you’ll be sorry you ever—”

“Backup?” The mirth in his voice takes you aback, trepidation lacing your nerves as the grin on his face broadens. “You think backup is coming?” He emits a sinister laugh, something you didn’t expect. In an instant, a thought clicks into your head, that something has gone terribly wrong and you’re to receive the brunt of it.

His shadow leaves you as he strides back to the table he previously occupied, a patch of light illuminating his face in the darkness that shrouds him. The smile is ever-present on his face, a sickening sight and you hear him punch through the plastic keys of the device. A beep interrupts the silence, tension thickening in the air, and once more, he walks back to you, your eyes following his hand, staring down at the flip phone that he places on top of your chest.

“We got the drive, Pine.” Your blood turns cold when you hear Hank’s voice in the recording. And you don’t understand why he’s calling a fugitive. “We sent her alone so you don’t have to worry about running into trouble. Though we do expect you to uphold your end of the bargain and we will keep ours.” Your ears pique at the words your boss utters. What bargain? What does he mean by all this? “Both your files will be eradicated from the system and you shall never be bothered again.”

That can’t be! This is all a lie! It has to be!

“Oh but it isn’t a lie.” Jonathan chuckles, plucking the burner phone from your sternum, his response making you realize that you’ve voiced your thoughts out loud. “What you just heard is the cold hard truth. This whole,” he pauses, waving his hand animatedly in the air before he continues. “..operation of yours was a setup. You weren’t sent to capture me. You were simply sent as a means to an end.”

“What are you saying?! That the British Intelligence sold me for your cooperation?!” You spit, gritting your teeth in rage and disbelief, tears welling in your eyes. “They’d be fucking stupid to trust you!”

“Oh, I know. That’s why it was so easy to manipulate them.” The snap of the phone catches you by surprise, seeing the device drop to the floor, broken in half. “But it’ll be too late once they realize that they’ve made a grave mistake.” His cockiness bleeds into his words and you feel even more afraid of what he’s truly capable of. “In the end, they think they got what they wanted and I got mine.”

“Me?” You ask in disbelief and he simply laughs. “Why me?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, your body going rigid when he comes closer. “I have wanted to break you since you walked that ass of yours into the briefing room.” The bed dips from his weight when he climbs atop it. You kick your legs when he grabs them, wince when his fingers dig painfully into your flesh, your legs going slack and easily allowing him to wrap them around his waist.

Your body shivers when he presses a hand against your abdomen, fingers tickling your skin as he trails them up your torso and cups the underside of your breast. You cringe at the sight of his face, how his teeth catch his bottom lip and his sapphire eyes turn a shade darker when he gives your tit a rough squeeze.

You turn your head away when he leans closer, whimpering at how he buries his nose in the crook of your neck and deeply inhales your scent.

Tears slowly fall down your face as you gravity of the situation finally sinks in. You were sold, like a slave by the man you trusted with your life. You don’t understand why they would do this to you, why they would throw you in abandon. You did your best in every mission thrown at you, abiding by the rules and following the law, always giving your all. Even if that meant you had to exchange your life for the safety of masses.

But now, with how everything is crumbling right before your eyes, you start to think if everything you once believed in, about Hank, the organization, was a lie.

Your breath hitches when Jonathan bucks his hips against yours, the tent growing in his pants pressing roughly against your bare cunt. You cringe, disgust rolling deep in your belly, that he would have such lascivious desires towards you. He growls, his clothed pelvis rubbing further against your clit that you bite your tongue to fight a moan from escaping, cursing your anatomy and how it responds despite your internal protests.

“You don’t have to be shy around me, sweetheart.” He drawls, pulling away from your neck while his hand runs down to your side, stopping at your hip only to grab it and press you down against his erection. “See what you do to me? I had to hold myself back every time when we would wrestle around.” A salacious hum spills from his lips, a smirk forming on his face that is only inches away.

You scowl at him, eyes burning with rage. You push your head back as he attempts to close the distance, but before he could even succeed, you gather up that saliva in your mouth and spit at his face, your nostrils flaring and a smile kissing your face when he wipes his face and looks back at you with equal fury.

“You shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart.” He sneers, anger evident on his face yet you don’t let it deter you from your plans to escape. You just have to catch him off guard and you’ll have the upper hand, his training slowly filling your head.

He moves to sit up from the bed but you stop him from doing so, locking your legs around his waist tight and groaning loudly as you lean all your weight to the side to topple him over. The loud thud has you grinning in glee, making you pull your leg back to prepare for your next attack. Yet, before you could even launch your foot to kick him, a hand grabs you by the ankle, Jonathan towering over you once again and you freeze on the bed, eyes wide as your breath catching in your throat when the muzzle of a gun is pressed between your eyes.

“After years of working together, I’d expected you to know me better.” He tuts, cheek twitching when he pulls his thumb back and releases the safety. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you.”

“You and me both, asshole.” You hiss.

“You know, I could simply kill you and no one will ever care that you’re dead.”

“Then do it!” The wrath in you bursts in flames and you lean forward, having the metal cylinder press harder against your forehead. “Fucking kill me, you coward!”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I will.” He chuckles darkly. “But not now. Not when I haven’t even had my fun.”

It’s as if the anger in him dissipates as a sinister smile forms on his face. You shiver when he slowly slides the gun down your cheek, digging it on your chin before running it down the valley of your breasts. He stops at your stomach when he kneels back on the bed, your eyes following the movement of the firearm. You inhale sharply, feeling your heart pound against your chest when he rests the gun against your cunt, rolling the muzzle slowly around your clit.

You whimper when your body sings in fear, Jonathan adding pressure on your clit as he keeps his torturous act. Then he pulls the gun away, a soft sigh of relief leaving your lips but is soon replaced by a strangled cry when he angles it against your core and pushes the barrel past your folds.

Your thighs squirm at the sudden intrusion, your pussy walls clamping down on the dangerous weapon on instinct. You try to kick him away but he only pushes the barrel deeper into you, making you halt all your limbs go stiff in fear that he would pull the trigger.

“Good girl. Stay still.” He mocks praise, pulling back the gun from your cunt only to push it once again, whimpering in horror as he fucks you with it. “I wouldn’t want to ruin this beautiful pussy. At least—not yet.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

#jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #dark fic #radio silence #jonathan pine au #request fic #requested by coldnique #the night manager au #tom hiddleston characters #coconut bun stories

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i-did-not-mean-to · 5 months

Text

Snow Day

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to @maglor-my-beloved for having submitted that beautiful drawing (please share it!!!) for me to get out of my writer's block.

It's my joy and honour to share the result of my toiling with you! <3

Characters: Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindel

Words: 1550

Warnings: It's pretty cold, there's a sword, a bit of sadness, use of the M-slur for Melkor 😂

“Morgoth be cursed,” Erestor muttered, looking out of the window with boundless annoyance that made his face look drawn and pale. “It’s snowing.”

“It’s actually not,” Glorfindel contradicted, strolling into the study with a sunny grin. “It has just stopped. We could steal a few shields and slide down a hillside? Make the best out of it?”

At that uncautious suggestion, no matter how enthusiastically it was presented, Elrond lifted his head sharply from the letter he’d been perusing, hitherto having desperately tried to shut out the ongoing discussion between his friends.

He now realised that this had been a grievous mistake!

Neither one took well to being cooped up inside—the reasons for their mounting cabin fever might have been opposed, but the nerve-wracking effect of their continuous arguing was unfortunately much the same.

“I have too much work as it is,” Elrond finally interrupted the ensuing squabbling patiently. “I’d much rather you don’t add to it by wilfully engaging in dangerously reckless behaviour.”

Erestor nodded smugly, but his eyes returned to the icy desert outside longingly again and again as if he was earnestly considering Glorfindel’s proposal.

Shrugging, Glorfindel meanwhile leaned against the wall, crossing his long legs and smirking deviously at the much put-upon Lord of Imladris. “If you’re so opposed to a bit of innocent fun,” he drawled seductively, “I guess you’ll have to set aside your boring paperwork and come with us. Just to make sure that we won’t do anything you deem too foolhardy.”

“Can’t you just build snowpeople?” Elrond asked tersely, exasperation colouring his fatigue-laden voice. “That should keep you out of trouble.”

As he returned his attention to his correspondence, he missed the exchange of meaningful glances between the other two who’d instantly recognised the minute crack in Elrond’s usually so impervious mask of calm efficiency.

"Glorfindel is right," Erestor declared slowly.

Elrond’s head snapped up again in wordless shock—clearly, the bad weather had driven them stark raving mad if Erestor had taken to agreeing with Glorfindel.

“You should rest a little. Why don’t you come with us? Not everyone has had the chance of being parented by a hundred different people,” Erestor continued with that corrupting mix of petulant aggression and wide-eyed vulnerability that made him so wickedly convincing. “You could show us how it’s done.”

Before Glorfindel could snigger that there was but little mystery to the matter, Erestor had firmly kicked him in the shin to keep him from destroying their joint efforts by innocent bluster and ill-advised encouragement.

“There were hardly a hundred,” Elrond muttered, his resolve and interest in the dry reports about taxes and weather changes already waning inexorably. “And I would think that the two of you can figure it out on your own.”

Two mouths, pouty and rosy, opened to protest, and he lifted his hands to placate the storm of remonstrances and well-meant sermons before it could arise.

“As you wish. Please make sure that you’re wearing appropriate apparel—the wind can be quite chilling—and meet me by the Eastern gate. I’ve got to drop these off and retrieve my winter cloak and mittens before I even think of venturing outside.”

Watching them scamper away hastily before he could change his mind, Elrond wrenched his thoughts away from the duties he’d have to postpone until his return and, with an indulgent shake of his head, swiftly made his way to his own chambers.

When he finally arrived at the appointed meeting point, swaddled in several layers of insulating fabric, Glorfindel and Erestor were already waiting for him—they were also already viciously fighting about something the late-comer could not yet discern.

Elrond sighed and joined the fray fearlessly.

“I can’t believe you’d double-cross me like that!” Glorfindel muttered, visibly vexed, while eyeing the short sword in the other’s hand. “When I propose we take a detour to the armoury, I am an imprudent fool, but when you simply sneak in and out, you’re a genius!”

“Your words, not mine,” Erestor laughed and danced away when his colleague lunged forward to pluck the weapon from his grasp in a petulant attempt at checking the other’s glaring aura of petty triumph.

“Let’s go!” Elrond, growing uncomfortably hot as he helplessly watched them chase one another through the deserted hallway, exclaimed.

He sincerely hoped that the bracing cold and the creative endeavour would distract them sufficiently from their spat so their little outing would not end in the kind of grievous injury he had so adamantly wanted to prevent from the beginning.

In sullen, determined silence, they trudged up the snow-packed path leading away from the sheltered, cloistered paradise of Imladris until they reached a small hill, covered in fluffy, white powder and cruelly exposed to the presently dormant violence of the weather.

“So,” Elrond said quietly. “As Erestor has previously remarked upon so brazenly, this snowstorm might well be one of Morgoth’s curses which linger still within the darkness plaguing our world. When I was…young, we’d craft effigies to dismay and mock him so we’d be less afraid...”

Struck by the incandescent intensity of his friends’ regard, he fell silent for a moment, kneading the strap of his bag nervously for fear of having already said too much.

“I like this,” Glorfindel finally cheered after having given the idea some thought. “Let’s create cool guardians for Imladris. How about that?”

Thus, it was decided. Snow was progressively heaped, rolled, and pressed into the approximate shape of three lumpy Elven bodies under much grunting and giggling until they were satisfied with the raw building blocks they had assembled.

“Oh, come on, that’s not fair!” Glorfindel thundered as he watched Elrond reach into his trusty satchel and extricate a handful of sturdy chiselling tools from an old leather cover. “Erestor! Come look at that—our Lord Elrond, who claims to be blessedly free of the curse of ambition, has dragged scalpels and tiny hammers along.”

“Didn’t expect anything less,” Erestor mumbled, entirely enthralled by his own project—he envisioned a fierce warrior, armed and armoured, who’d stand stolidly atop the knoll and keep a cold, watchful eye on the landscape, ever-vigilant to the enemy’s scouts growing bolder and roaming closer to Imladris with every passing day.

Miffed by the others’ clear attempt at cheating, Glorfindel rushed down the hill and into a nearby grove of tall trees to countervail his evident disadvantage by gathering supplies and aids that were readily available by nature’s grace.

As he emerged once more and clawed his way back to his snowy canvas, though, both Elrond and Erestor had nearly finished their snow elves.

Uttering a snorting noise of dismay, Glorfindel stuck the two perfectly beautiful branches he’d found into the slender, shapely body of his creation and took a step back to let his appreciative gaze drink in the unexpected success of his opus.

Indeed, he was inordinately pleased with the ferocious, aggressive look of his crookedly grinning gelid sentinel, and so he beamed with pride as he turned back to his friends.

Of course, Elrond’s snow statue had expertly chiselled features and wore a thick, blue scarf that blew like a banner of a House long-fallen in the icy wind, and Erestor’s piece was bestowed with a sharp blade, glittering in the sallow sun, but it simply wasn’t in Glorfindel’s nature to become truly enraged with envy.

“Foresight, caution, and good health shall keep Imladris safe,” Elrond said ponderously, patting the sharp, high cheek of his snow sage, who was unnecessarily well-dressed to withstand the freezing temperatures. He truly had been made in the image of his creator, one had to admit, as Elrond now cleaned his thick gloves of the last remnants of sticky, melting snow before dutifully preparing and packing his tools.

Diligent to a fault, he certainly yearned to return to his study and letters before the weather could turn on them and make them regret ever having considered so foolish a plan as to leave the safety of Imladris in these meteorological conditions.

Scoffing, Erestor nodded at his own fearsome, sword-wielding oeuvre with grim satisfaction. “Sharp blades and unwavering vigilance shall serve us better, methinks,” he hummed gently as he further imbued it with stern tenacity.

Both turned to Glorfindel who grinned sheepishly. “I’m with Erestor on this,” he admitted. “Thus, I…made him. Erestor will keep us safe.”

For a seemingly endless moment, Elrond—who’d undeniably gone somewhat overboard in the execution of his planned distraction—merely blinked as the wind was picking up again and now buffeted them with glacial needles.

“I can agree with that,” he finally said, mellowing. “Let’s leave our brave companions to guard the Realm—each in their own way and as best they see fit—and return to our lit fireplaces and comfortable chairs.”

It looked as if the other two would demur, so he quickly swore that there would be no more work of any kind upon their return.

“Let’s merely sit together, have a cup of warm tea, and talk about our childhood traditions as if they were not lost forevermore yet!”

With a last solemn, laughably superstitious salute to the resplendent results of carefree fun and amicable competition, they threw themselves against the near-solid wall of snow-laden squalls and fought their way back to Imladris.

There are no Masterlists nor tags this time.

It's just a random art/fic exchange as we're gearing up for TRSB!

Lots of love!

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #Snow day #Art not yet posted #Elrond #Erestor #Glorfindel #Snow elves #blades #sadness #traditions #maglor-my-beloved

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cdragons · 7 months

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The Eastern Wind & Moon Sail to Winterfell

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Previous Part

Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) and 明阴 (Míng Yīn) visit House Stark after news of Jon Arryn's death and murder arrives at Winterfell. Ned Stark senses a trouble brewing in the air. Are the vultures from King's Landing circling to soon feast on his family's flesh? Is there any way to stop it? Meanwhile, the Young Wolf begins to battle his desires for the heart and affections of one tempestuous YiTish Sea Captain.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Canon doesn't exist here *shhhhhhhh*, Ned is having a crisis, Stannis may be OOC; Robb Stark wants to Dom the hot sea captain when he's clearly a Sub; Catelyn Stark is kind of a bitch; GOT is GOT (shit's gonna go down); Yi Tish dialogue is Bold, Italicized, and Green

Author's Note: Author hasn't seen Game of Thrones in a long-ass time, so if the characters are OOC...my bad 🤷🏻‍♀️. I used Mandarin for YiTish, and translations are at the bottom. Game of Thrones belong to GRR Martin, and the regions of Yi Ti are all credited to @anya-snow. If you liked reading this, please check out the masterlist!

Arya continually stabbed her needle in the fabric as Septa Mordane gushed over Sansa’s pretty embroidery. She looked beside her and met eyes with his youngest brother’s betrothed, Shireen Baratheon. The young girl gave an encouraging smile as she also struggled with stitching and embroidery. The young Baratheon heiress preferred to lose herself in the ancient library in Winterfell or with Maester Luwin as they discussed the history of House Targaryen.

The Stark girl smiled back at the young Baratheon. She liked Shireen very much, and thought her excellent company. At night, she would recount tales and stories her sister, Minna, shared from her travels in letters or from herself. Arya felt her mood drop again as he looked at Sansa. Shireen was so lucky to have an older sister as exciting and fun as Minna—someone who would fight and travel the world. The girls were only sisters through marriage. Shireen was from Stannis Baratheon’s first marriage, as Minna was the daughter of her mother’s first in Yi Ti, but they loved each other so fiercely that blood hardly mattered.

Minna didn’t care that Shireen was scarred from Greyscale, nor did she treat her as a pitiful creature to grow with her face. Minna and her mother, Lady Mei, loved the girl to the seven hells and back. The woman loved Shireen so much that she demanded her new husband swear that Shireen’s place as his heir would not be changed if they ever had a son. Arya still remembered the night she overheard Shireen tell Rickon how Minna told her that the gods gave Shireen her scars to prevent the Maiden from cursing her.

“Minnie told me I have the most beautiful soul,” she whispered just loud enough for Arya to hear her from outside an open door. “If I were beautiful both inside and out, the Gods would have cursed me for having too much, like Aphrodite had done to Marcaria.”

Arya bitterly continued with her stitching as a dull thud entered her ears, and she turned her head in the direction of laughter outside in the courtyard.

Bran struggled as he pulled his arm to draw out the bowstring. His older brothers, Jon and Robb, stood beside him in observation to guide his lessons while his younger brother, Rickon, sat above them on a mounted saddle. When he released the bowstring, the arrow shot up and over the target and outside the wall. He looked down in dejection as his brothers began to laugh even harder.

“And which one of you was a mark smith at ten?” his father, Lord Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark, called out above them. He and Lady Catelyn Stark, nee Tully, watched him practice. Ned Stark looked at his young son and encouraged him. “Keep practicing, Bran. Go on.”

Jon Snow lowered to whisper in Bran’s ear. “Don’t think too much about it, Bran.”

“Relax your bow arm,” remarked Robb.

Just when Bran was about to release his draw, an arrow shot past him and pierced the red center of the target. Whipping his head behind him, Bran saw it was Arya with a bow about twice her height. She curtsied with a smile before Bran went after her. She let him chase after her, and soon, they were running around the courtyard.

“Quick, Bran! Faster!” called out Jon as he and Robb watched their two siblings joyfully play.

Rickon remained seated on the mounted saddle. He looked up at the window where Sansa and Shireen should be. When his mother and father told him he would marry Stannis Baratheon’s daughter last year, his mother was enraged. He overheard Mother plead with his father to reconsider the match. She did not want her youngest boy to be with someone deformed by the gods. But Father dismissed her claims.

“Shireen Baratheon is Mei’s daughter now, and she confirmed that the girl’s illness is no longer contagious.” Ned Stark firmly stated.

“You would risk our family’s health over some foreign woman’s ‘confirmation?’’ Catelyn Stark exclaimed. “How is she to know? How can you possibly trust her words so much? A woman from a land as far as hers has no way of knowing such remedies. What if she and that girl–”

Her husband cut her off. “That’s enough, Cat. I understand your worries. I do. But I will not allow you to besmirch Mei’s and her daughter’s good names. She has been a long friend of Stannis Baratheon, and now she is his wife. She would never harm children. Never.”

He noticed his words frustrated his wife, and he placed a gentle hand on her arm before laying a soft kiss on her brow. “Mei is probably the wisest woman I have ever known. And sending Shireen with her daughter isn’t so much for an engagement – but to make her comfortable around others. The boys are long used to her sister’s presence; they will take up nicely with Shireen’s.”

And the matter was settled. Rickon remembered how Mother and Sansa kept their distance from the girl when she first arrived with Minna. Minna would only stay for the first month before leaving to travel to the Reach and then Dorne. When Shireen first approached him during Luwin’s lessons, he was amazed by the book size she was carrying. The moment she opened her mouth about things like Jin and huakaʻi pō, Rickon decided that it would make him extremely happy if he spent the rest of his life with Shireen. His mother was less than pleased and stormed off to lock herself in Winterfell’s Sept. But Father only gave Rickon a proud smile and gave his hair a good tousle.

As Ned Stark and his wife laughed at the scene, they were interrupted by the small pattering of a child’s footsteps running towards them. They turned and saw Shireen Baratheon escorted by Theon Greyjoy, the Ironborn ward. The odd pair first bowed respectfully and greeted Lord and Lady Stark with their titles before Theon stepped aside for Shireen. The young girl was beaming so widely that it warmed the old Lord’s heart. He couldn’t help but pity the child for the hand life dealt her, but it filled his heart to know that she would at least experience some kindness outside her own family.

“Ah, Lady Shireen,” he greeted the girl. “What brings you here? Come to watch Bran practice?”

Shireen shook her head. “No, my lord. I just received news from Shadow. My sister is currently docked at Dragonstone, and she, Mother, and Steffard will be arriving in White Harbor in a week’s time from tomorrow!”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. “A week? From Dragonstone to White Harbor? How will they make it so fast with her crew and that giant ship of hers?”

“They won’t be coming with her,” Shireen answered. “She’s traveled to after stopping at King’s Landing. Father is Dragonstone to take care of some things while she sails alone. My sister is a very accomplished sailor blessed with the winds’ favor, my lord. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arrived here in just five days or less.”

Ned gave a loud laugh. “Knowing she’s your mother’s daughter, it wouldn’t surprise me either. Thank you for telling me.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare a guest room for them,” Lady Catelyn informed her husband before turning to Shireen. “Will your sister and Lady Baratheon bring their own handmaidens, or will they need one provided? Will your brother need a wet nurse?”

Shireen shook her head. “Oh no, my lady! My sister greatly dislikes the idea of handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting! But Minnie said that she would be bringing Wu! And my mother prefers to nurse my brother.”

Lady Catelyn Stark’s smile faltered slightly while Ned’s widened at the mention of Lady Minna’s ‘pets.’ The beasts resembled more killers than travel companions. Catelyn Stark almost preferred the ruffians that made up her crew to the animals.

Shireen turned to Theon. “Do you think Ari will enjoy spending time with another bird? I would feel awful if he became lonely from Shadow’s arrival.”

Theon gave a sincere smile to the young girl before tousling her hair. “I think nothing would make him happier, my lady. He was bored out of his mind being alone with the ravens before Baleor’s arrival. What’s one more?”

Rodrick walked up to his lord and lady to inform them that they had captured a deserter of the Wall, and they were ready to give his execution. Ned Stark’s expression became somber hearing the news as his eyes darted to the young Shireen. He ordered Theon to escort her and Rickon to Maester Luwin for their lessons before telling Robb and Jon to saddle their horses. When the Greyjoy ward left, he informed Rodrick that Bran would join them. This gave concern to his wife.

“Ned,” she pleaded. “Ten is too young to see such things.”

“He won’t be a boy forever,” her husband replied. “And winter is coming.”

Bran kept thinking about the words his father had imparted to him after he had taken off the deserter’s head with Ice.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

It still confused him. He wanted to ask Robb when Father stopped in the middle of the road. He made a right turn toward the river. Jon was right behind Father while Bran followed. It was a direwolf! But…it was dead, and it had pups! But as excited as Bran was, he made no sound. Everyone around him was silent as they all stood in awe at the dead symbol of their house.

“It’s a freak,’ remarked Theon.

Father corrected him. ‘It’s a direwolf–” he looked at Rodrick for a moment in shock before grabbing the antler lodged in its throat “–tough old beast.”

“There are no direwolves South of the Wall,” commented Robb.

“Now there are five,” remarked Jon, picking one pup in his arms and handing it to Bran. “You want to hold it?”

The pup’s fur was white with speckles of grey across its body. Its body squirmed as it whined and whimpered at the change of its surroundings – and for the death of its mother.

Bran looked up at his brother. “Where will they go? Their mother’s dead.”

With a heavy heart, Rodrick answered the young lordling’s question. “They don’t belong down here.”

Ned Stark stood with his sword in hand. “Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother.”

“Right,” Theon unsheathed his blade and reached for the pup in Bran’s arms. “Give it here.”

“No!” Bran cried as Theon looked mildly distressed at the boy’s plea.

“Put away your blade,” Robb commanded his friend. He didn’t like to give Theon orders – especially since the boy was more like a brother to him than just a ward his father brought from the Iron Islands, but he didn’t want to spill the direwolf pup’s blood.

Nonetheless, Robb’s words irked Theon. “I take orders from your father, not you.”

But Bran couldn’t allow the pups to die. He continued to plead with his father. “Please, Father!”

“I’m sorry, Bran.” The lord didn’t like seeing his young so upset, but he needed to understand the way of the world. It would be cruel to let the pups live – only to struggle to live and die before winter comes.

“Lord Stark–” Ned turned around to his son’s voice “–there are five pups—one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.”

“And what about you?” thought Ned. “Are you not my child? Why should you be denied the right to wear and own the sigil of my house – your house? Even if you carry neither mine nor your mother’s name- are you still not of my blood?”

He looked at his son with sad and hurt eyes as if reliving a memory from another lifetime ago. When everyone turned to him, waiting for an answer, he replied sternly and somberly.

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves.” And with bitter anger on his tongue, he spat out. “And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

As Jon handed two more direwolf pups in Robb’s arms, Bran turned to his brother. “What about you?”

Jon hesitated before answering. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.”

But as they began to leave, Jon heard small and faint whimpers from below. He walked down to try and locate it. Robb and Theon stopped to ask if there was a problem. For his answer. He held up a sixth direwolf pup – one with stark white fur like snow and piercing blood-red eyes.

“Ah, the runt of the litter,” Theon quipped with a smug smirk. “That one’s yours, Snow.”

Jon looked at Greyjoy with exasperation, while Robb looked pleased and grateful for the albino pup’s existence. At the very least, his favorite brother also had a direwolf. He was a Stark – whether his mother liked it or not.

The ride back to Winterfell was quiet in the front, with the grown men still somber and sullen from the execution. But the boys were speaking with one another with great excitement for bringing home new members of their family. Robb and Theon were riding in front of Jon and Bran. Bran was still thinking about what the deserter said about the white walkers. Was he lying? Was Father right about mad men seeing what they want to see? But…he didn’t look mad.

“Quite the day for the lad. Eh, Bran?” Theon called out to him as Bran broke from his thoughts. “First, your first deserter execution. Next, you and your siblings are getting a direwolf each. And to think, I thought Shireen’s sister’s arrival would be the most exciting news of the day.”

“What?” thought Bran. His thoughts about white walkers and deserters were quickly replaced by news of his friend's arrival.

“Minnie’s coming?” he excitedly asked with a broad smile and bright eyes. “Did she say when? Is she bringing Wu with her?”

Theon’s news also caught Jon’s and Robb’s attention. Jon was lost in his thoughts since finding the albino wolf pup. Robb was thinking about Arya’s and Rickon’s reactions to receiving the privilege of caring for their house’s sigil. But now, something of greater import came to their attention.

“Ming’s coming?” asked Jon. “Are you sure?”

Theon smirked at the bastard’s excitement. “I was with her when Shadow flew up to her with a message tied on its leg – escorted the Lady Shireen myself when she told Lord and Lady Stark. Lass was practically jumping off the walls after reading it.”

“Did she say when she would be arriving? Are Lord Stannis and his lady wife coming with her?” asked Robb.

Theon shook his head. “She says she’s in Dragonstone to prepare for her stay. She’ll be at White Harbor in a week. She’s bringing their mother and brother, too. But Lord Stannis won’t be joining them this time.”

This greatly confused Bran and his brothers. Lord Stannis was infamous for his sour expressions and austereness – but anyone who had the privilege of meeting him now would see how much the company of his second wife softened his hard nature. Stannis Baratheon was a man who showed no love for his brothers, but he adored the women and girls in his life. An adoration now extended to his youngest child, his only son.

For such a man to not travel with his wife was a strange and unusual occurrence.

“Why is Lord Stannis not traveling with Minnie and Lady Mei?” asked Bran. His brows furrowed before worry took hold of him. “Did he and Lady Mei fight, and she’s running away with their son?”

“Bran, that’s enough,” ordered Jon. “Everyone knows how much Lord Stannis respects Lady Mei’s advice. I’m sure he's not joining them because there’s too much to do at King’s Landing. Being King Robert’s brother gives him a great number of duties.”

Theon turned to Jon with a wide smirk. “Awfully defensive of Lady Mei’s honor – aren’t you, Snow? Think that’ll grant you any favors from her daughter, ‘Minion’?”

“Don’t call her that!” Bran called out.

Jon sputtered his response with red-tipped ears. “You know how much she hates being called that. Or do you want a repeat of what happened in the courtyard when you and Robb first called her that? And, of course, I care about Minna’s mother – I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t.”

Jon shouldn’t be as excited as he was at that moment. But he couldn’t help himself. Ming – his Ming – was coming to Winterfell. She was everything Jon wanted in an older sibling. She was invincible and told him as such. She and her mother had never once treated him differently from the rest of the Stark Children after learning of his bastard status. Whenever he got in over his head about his birth, she would always manage to ground him in some way. Once, he asked her if she was trying to trick him. She stared at him briefly before rolling up a piece of paper and swatting his head.

He still remembered her scowl with fondness.

“Do I look as stupid as Catelyn Stark to you?” she interrogated. “Who cares if you’re a bastard? You care about your siblings and work hard to be a worthy son despite the world giving you an excuse not to. I’ve given you some of my favorite fruits from my homeland, and you dare ask me if my friendship towards you was a ruse?! Don’t be stupid, Jon.”

He wept like a baby. He had never felt so happy in his life, and all he could do was thank his friend while weeping for joy. And to make him stop crying, she let him cry on her shoulder as she softly stroked his hair.

“Yeah,” snorted Theon. “Friend – sure.”

“That’s enough,” Robb cut in. “All of you. You want Father to scold us?”

Robb could tell his brothers were ecstatic about Ming’s arrival, but he had conflicting emotions about the news. Ming Yin Baratheon was a woman grown who was older than him by two years, the same age as Theon. Ming always had a wicked and brash tongue on her. When they first met, she was his height but so skinny and dressed so plainly with dirt streaks on her face.

Was it really so bad if he assumed she was smallfolk?

Then Theon dared him to tug on her braid while she was reading a book in the courtyard. A stupid dare between stupid boys resulted in them running for their lives with tears down their cheeks as a short and bookish girl chased them with a broom twice her height. She shouted out curses and promises of all the vile things she would do to them as she violently swung the broom through the air with fire in her eyes and poison on her tongue.

It took the combined efforts of Stannis, his father, Rodrick, and Jory to pry her off when she caught up to them. In the end, Robb’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Luwin treated his bleeding nose, black eye, and bruises across his body while he and Father occasionally snickered to themselves. His mother nearly had a heart attack at the state of her eldest child. When she heard what had happened and tried to scold the girl, Ming only responded by blowing her tongue and spraying her spittle at the Tully woman. Even with more dirt on her cheeks than before and her braid ruined, she carried herself in such an unrelenting dignified manner that Robb couldn’t help but envy it.

At the very least, Theon was in no better state than him.

How in the Seven Hells could a girl of nine years manage to fight off four grown men? The memory stumped Robb then and still stumped him now.

“Scared of meeting the Demoness from Dragonstone?” Theon smugly asked when he saw his friend staring in the distance. “Or are you worried she won’t be impressed with your new height and strength when she sees you haven’t improved your writing?”

Robb scoffed at Theon’s words. “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

He refused to believe that he cared so much for some quick-tempered girl who always teased him– even if she had shiny black hair that ended at her waist and sharp, expressive dark eyes with full lips. It didn’t matter that she haunted his dreams every night since she was in Winterfell when she turned fourteen. It didn’t matter to Robb that Minna was the epitome of an exotic beauty with enough fire in her soul for any Northern winter to freeze her. It didn’t matter to Robb that she was closer to Jon than to him.

“I’ll kiss you when you finally beat me.”

It didn’t matter to Robb – none of it.

“I’m not scared of Minna, Theon – so stop trying to bait me.” Robb let that be the final word before riding ahead just behind his father.

Meanwhile, Ned had heard everything passed between the boys while riding in the front. He chuckled at Bran’s excitement. He was sure he would be climbing the gates of Winterfell every day to wait for Minna’s arrival. It was no secret to anyone in the Stark family or those working in Winterfell that Bran had a bit of a crush on the tempestuous sailor. While his wife disliked the girl, Ned was very fond of her. Her temper and sharp tongue reminded him of Mei when he first met her. Not to mention that she was the spitting image of Mei at that age.

He wasn’t too old to be oblivious to how his sons acted around pretty girls – especially girls like her. Northern women were one thing, but Mei and Minna were an entire league of women. There had never been two women who would turn Westeros upside down and inside out as much as them. Mei had turned the forever stoic Stannis Baratheon into a feeling human, became the most respected woman in the Keep, and opened trade opportunities for Westeros. At the same time, Minna tore down every obstacle in her path to pursue knowledge and made Dragonstone one of the richest keeps in the Seven Kingdoms – not that Robert or his queen will ever get a hold of a single coin from her.

When Ned and his sons returned to Winterfell, he was immediately bombarded with questions from the rest of his children about whether Minnie was really coming to Winterfell. They asked if he knew about whether he knew she was bringing gifts from her travels. Arya wanted to know if she would give her a dagger forged by the Master blacksmiths from Qohor. Rickon hoped she would bring any sweets and candied fruits.

Even Sansa couldn’t hide her excitement. Despite the girls' differences, Minna would bring Sansa the most exquisite fabrics, accessories, and books. The gifts were more often than not used as a way to distract her from any pranks or tricks pulled on her. Thankfully, Mei would be here as well. Sansa held Lady Mei Baratheon on nearly the same high pedestal as her mother. She would tell how beautiful Sansa was growing and how her grace and charm rivaled the most beautiful empresses from her homeland. She would sing praises of how her stitching looked more impressive than the last time she’d seen it while sharing news of the latest trends worn among noble women worldwide.

Excitement filled the halls of Winterfell at the news of their guests. Preparations were underway for their arrival. Ned went to the Godswood and shone his sword under the branches of the Old Weirwood tree for some peace. He was grateful for the life the Old Gods blessed him with. This was not the life he was meant to have. Everything of his should have been Brandon’s – his wife, his title, his responsibilities – but he wouldn’t change any of it, not for all of the power and gold in the world.

But his world would be crashing down around him when his wife arrived with a message from King’s Landing.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Catelyn told him with sympathetic eyes. Then she told him Jon Arryn had died, and Robert and his wife would travel to Winterfell with their children and the Queen’s brothers.

Ned looked down at his feet. “If he’s traveling this far North, it’s for one thing.” He looked at his wife in hidden fear. “He wants to make me his Hand.”

“First Mei, now Robert,” thought Ned when he shared the news to his children. “May the Old Gods and New protect my family for what’s to come.”

Bran watched the road to his father’s keep from the top of the gates. He saw a single dot moving closer and closer until the dot became a wheelhouse. His eyes widened in excitement as his smile broadened in anticipation for his friend in the horse-drawn carriage that carried House Baratheon’s banner. He stood up and ran across the edge or beginning to climb down the tower. He reached the ground to run to his father at the stables.

“They’re here! They’re here!” he exclaimed when he reached him. The boy was practically bouncing on his heels for barely containing his elation.

Ned chuckled at the sight of his son. “Who, Bran?”

“Minnie! There’s a wheelhouse coming! It carries the sigil of House Baratheon!”

“Was anyone carrying the banner?” his father asked with a quizzical brow raised.

Bran shook his head. “No, but I saw it painted on the top of it.”

“Alright, then,” nodded Ned as he gave his son instructions. “Gather your brothers, sisters, and Shireen. I’ll prepare your mother. Tell them to gather in the courtyard to greet them.”

Bran nodded before doing as his father instructed. He swiftly ran through the familiar halls of the Winterfell keep that was his home. He found Sansa, Arya, and Shireen with Septa Morgane. They were learning their sums when Bran burst into the room. Septa Morgane scolded him for acting so brashly, but her words were quickly ignored when Bran told the girls that Minnie and her mother would soon arrive. As soon as the news left his mouth, Shireen dashed right past him, followed by his sisters.

Jon, Robb, and Theon were already in the courtyard, sparring with wooden swords, when Bran found them. They immediately put away their wooden swords and met their father with Rodrick right behind them. Father and Mother stood side-by-side when Robb stood to Father’s left. Rickon stood next to their mother, and Shireen stood next to him with an eager smile beaming on her face. Sansa stood to Robb’s left, Arya on her right, and Bran was on hers. Jon and Theon were behind them – Theon was a Greyjoy, but Ned Stark’s ward. Jon was a Stark by blood…but not by name.

Shireen was bouncing on the tips of her toes in hopes that time would move faster. The days since her sister’s letter of her arrival moved so slowly, and she could hardly sleep a wink last night for this moment.

“Do you think she missed me?” she whispered to Rickon.

“Of course! Minnie loves you more than anything!” Rickon replied. “Even more than her own ship, I think.”

The loud creaks and groans of the aged wood crept closer and closer until the wheelhouse stopped in the courtyard’s center. The driver ensured the horses were calm and stable before leaping from his seat and opening the doors. A vision in a marigold silk tunic with trumpet sleeves and gold floral patterns paired with a gold belt around her waist. It was a shame that such finery was hidden underneath a thick wool cloak with a thick fur mantle. Her lustrous, flowing, jet-black tresses were bound with a green ribbon and golden stitching in a single braid trailing down her back. The pendant of her husband’s sigil hung down from a simple gold chain over her bosom.

Lady Měilíng Baratheon was the second wife of Stannis Baratheon and the mother of his only son. As she stepped down from the wheelhouse, she stepped on the dirt with such grace and poise that it seemed the Mother of the Seven had come instead of a highborn lord’s wife. A woman over forty years of age who still managed to get pregnant and carry a son to term – she looked far too young to be her age.

A small boy who could not have been taller than Ned Stark’s knee shuffled behind her. It was the little lording, Steffard Baratheon, the only son of his father and second-in-line to inherit Dragonstone after his older sister, Shireen. He wore a fine coat from a stag’s hide and little shoes to protect his feet. Like his mother, he too wore a gold pendant of his father’s sigil hung from a simple chain. Despite being blessed with most of his mother’s soft features, he certainly inherited his father’s bright blue Baratheon eyes and inky-black curls.

Seeing the boy standing next to his mother, Ned felt a hundred years older than he was. Where had the time gone? He, Mei, and Robert were all children once – children involved in a war to decide the fate of a country for its future years. Ned had once pitied the YiTish girl for the hand she was dealt in life. As a foreigner, she should have had no part in Robert’s Rebellion, but she experienced loss and grief like the rest of them nonetheless.

And now, all three of them were leaders with their own children and carrying burdens on their shoulders that their children would inherit – how the years escaped them.

Měilíng searched for her young daughter and beamed when she found her. She nudged her little son and guided his eyes to his sister. His eyes lit up as he toddled to her, warming her heart. “希希 (XīXī)!” he exclaimed as Shireen ran towards him. Her arms were spread open as Steffard leaped into her arms and wrapped his arms around her neck. “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”

“I missed you too!” Shireen giggled as her body was flooded with her baby brother’s warmth.

Still locked in their reunion, the two young siblings spun in circles before falling on the ground in laughter. The scene loosened the tension as House Stark looked at the pair warmly.

When they stopped laughing, Shireen helped her brother as she looked at their mother. Mei’s smile shined as she squatted on the ground, balanced her body with her feet, and spread her arms wide open to greet her daughter. Shireen needed no instructions to race into her mother’s arms. A cocoon of love and happiness blanketed the young Baratheon girl as her face was dotted with pecks and kisses. She buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and breathed in her scent – her mother always smelled like the salty sea breeze of Dragonstone and peonies. To Shireen, it was as if she was transported home, and if she closed her eyes, she was back on the shores of the Dragonstone beaches, walking alongside Minnie.

“How are you, my little doe?” her mother asked as she tenderly stroked the back of her head. “Did you enjoy the books your sister and I sent you? Did you enjoy your lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Morgane?”

Shireen answered her mother with a broad smile and starry eyes. “I am well, mother. I loved the books! But–” Shireen looked behind her mother to try to find her sister “–where is Minnie? Was she not in the wheelhouse with you and Steffard?”

Meiling shook her head as she laughed to herself. “Do not worry, little doe, your sister is here. But she is a little worse for wear after days in the wheelhouse.”

Their mother rose from her feet as her hands remained grasped with Shireen’s. She turned to the wheelhouse behind her and called out her daughter in the language of their homeland. “明阴 (Míng Yīn)! How long do you intend to keep your sister waiting?”

A weary and pained groan exited the horse-drawn transport in response. “Would you give me a minute? I’m a little busy trying not to die here!”

“You are not dying!” Měilíng scoffed. “How long do you want to keep Ned and his family waiting?”

“As soon as I’m done making sure I won’t shit or vomit my guts out! I don’t want to have to pay any additional fees for this torture device on wheels!”

“Do you need a brush for your hair?”

“NO!” A few moments passed. “OKAY! I’m good!”

The giant wooden box creaked as Shireen’s sister finally exited the wheelhouse, and she immediately breathed in the fresh air only found in the North. A young woman an entire head taller than Měilíng stepped into the light – despite the bags under her eyes and the slightly tired look on her face, she was every bit as beautiful and poised as her mother.

Míng Yīn was exactly how Ned Stark imagined her mother would have looked if Mei trained herself in combat and fighting as a child. Her dark almond-shaped eyes could either enchant a man enough to willingly give her his life or scare the souls of all her enemies. Her muscles grew and hardened after years of training under her biological father in Yi Ti before traveling around the world on open seas – fighting anyone who dared cross blades with her and leaving a trail of blood and corpses for fish to nibble on. Ned did not doubt that she would bankrupt his boys if they even dared to try and bet against her in combat.

Míng Yīn wore her hair in a half-up-down style with a part of her hair bound in a simple braid on the back of her head. Her outfit was more fitting of a sailor than a highborn noblewoman. She wore a mid-length dark blue wool robe with a silver border stitched on the hem and long sleeves. The robe was wrapped around her body in a way that left her neck, collarbones, and the slightest hint of her cleavage out in the open. The dark linen sash that held her sword and dagger further emphasized the curve of her hips and waist. The black leather breeches hugged her lower body, and the tall black leather boots highlighted the muscles of her calves.

A large black jaguar had quickly come outside the wheelhouse as well. Its pristine and shiny coat shone in the faint sunlight that bathed Winterfell. Without missing a beat, it promptly stood beside its mistress, scanning the new environment for any dangers that would risk his beloved mistress’ safety and well-being.

So, Míng had indeed brought Wu. Robb’s mother wouldn’t like that.

But unlike her mother and brother, Míng Yīn did not wear the sigil of her mother’s second husband’s house. On her neck and sitting on her breasts was a black jade pendant with a small dragon with a white eye carved into it hung from a red string. On each side of the pendant was a tiny Dragon’s Bloodstone bead.

Robb unconsciously straightened his posture at the sight of her. He felt himself release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding until Ming came into view. Years’ worth of memories flooded his mind as she reached for her younger sister.

The young Baratheon girl launched herself in her sister’s arms. “Minnie! You’re here!”

Robb watched on the sidelines as Ming greeted Shireen with a dozen kisses for each month since they last saw one another. He wondered if she still smelled as cool and crisp as the ocean’s wind that blew through her hair. Or if her skin would taste as warm and bright as the sunshine soaking her skin while she stood on her ship’s dock on cloudless days.

He longed for a sample – anything would be enough.

When the two sisters parted, Wu gently lowered himself to nudge his head against Shireen. Loud purrs came from his throat as the young girl scratched that spot under his chin and stroked his back.

“Oh, Wu! You’ve become even more beautiful! Thank you for protecting Minnie!”

The beast preened at the attention. Míng Yīn was his mistress and savior and, therefore, his favorite. His eternal loyalty and love would forever belong to her. But if he had to choose a second favorite, it would belong to Shireen Baratheon – for she had the purest soul and kindest heart in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Rickon could also not contain himself and joined his betrothed to embrace her sister. The sight of two small children clinging to the person who brought fear and awe to every sailor, sea merchant, and trading company from Westeros to Essos was both comical and heartwarming. A scene that became more comical was when Míng Yīn grabbed one child each and flung them on her shoulders as if they were small sacks of flour. Wu jumped on his hind legs to play as he licked their tiny hands.

Finally, Lady Měilíng of House Baratheon and her children brought themselves to stand before the Lord of the Winterfell and knelt with one knee on the ground in a show of respect. Ned told them to raise before bringing his old friend in a tight embrace.

When they parted, he gave her a look-down to take the sight of her in fully. “Gods, look at you. How many years has it been?"

Měilíng gave a kind smile in response. “I’d say almost two years – far shorter compared to when you’ve last seen Robert.”

“How is Robert in King’s Landing? Is he working Stannis to the ground?”

Měilíng huffed in annoyance at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name. “Oh, of course. The man’s too stupid and fat to do anything else but order his brother, my husband, and his Hand to run his kingdom while he eats, drinks, and whores himself to ruin.”

Everyone apart from Ned widened their eyes in shock at the woman’s words. Did she not fear for her head? Was it alright if the wife of the King’s brother said such things of him? But Mei only turned to Ned’s wife as she bowed in respect for Lady Stark.

“Lady Stark,” she spoke in a clear and calm voice. “On behalf of my husband and House Baratheon, I humbly thank you for opening your home to allow my daughter to stay with your children this past year. Your generosity was further extended to allow room for my family’s visit. I cannot imagine the stress my eldest daughter gave you when her letter stated that we would be here in less than two weeks.”

Catelyn bowed her head in response. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Lady Shireen Baratheon had been our home's most polite and wonderful guest. I am grateful you and your husband sent her to my family’s home to host her. She had quickly become my youngest son’s most favorite playmate.”

Měilíng smiled at the woman’s words. She then turned to the Stark children before greeting each and every one of them. She marveled at how tall and handsome Robb had become since childhood. She softly whispered in his ear if he were hopeful that his sparring skills improved enough to beat her daughter. Seeing him sputtering and pale skin blushing made a very amusing scene. When she came across Sansa, she gasped and held the girl’s hands in her own.

“Oh, Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Look at you! You’ve grown so beautiful and tall since I last saw you. I thought you were a princess! And your cloak – tell me, did you do the stitching?”

Sansa softly giggled as she blushed from the praise. “Yes, Lady Baratheon. I’ve improved a lot in my stitching and needlework since you last saw me – I’m sure I could even make you something, if you’d like.”

Měilíng put a gentle palm on the girl’s cheek. “I would love nothing more. Perhaps you would even convince my eldest to practice her needlework. Or even try to persuade her to stop wearing breeches and trousers when she’s not at sea.”

“Never going to happen, Mother,” interjected Míng Yīn, who had finally put Shireen and Rickon on the ground after greeting Lord and Lady Stark. “I do enough needlework on my own. Thank you very much.”

Míng Yīn’s mother turned to her daughter in exasperation. “The only time you practiced as a child for needlework was to sew wounds close after training with your father.”

“…Yeah, exactly,” Míng Yīn nodded with a slight shrug and a blank expression. “What more needlework skills are necessary after that?”

“Minnie!” shouted Arya and Bran as they both made their way to crowd the woman. After exchanging warm greetings and kind words, the most essential questions came from the younger Stark daughter’s mouth.

“Did you bring gifts?” she asked in an eager tone.

“Arya!” exclaimed her sister and mother. Both women’s faces turned red at Arya’s impoliteness as Ned and his friend only laughed at the girl’s bluntness.

Míng Yīn stroked her chin as if deep in thought. “Did I bring gifts? Huh…I wonder…that doesn’t sound like something I’d do. Is it?”

Bran jumped like a child of four after eating too much sugar. “You did! Can we see them? Please?” He turned to his father with pleading eyes.

Ned slightly shook his head. “Come on now, Bran. Let our guests first get settled in their rooms. Judging from Lady Minna’s expression, she could do for a bit of rest.”

“But after they get settled, can they give us the presents?” Rickon sweetly asked while holding Steffard’s hand on one side while Shireen held the other as they placed the baby on Wu’s back.

His mother answered as she softly stroked his head. “After they rest for a bit, then we will have supper. The cooks prepared a feast for our guests’ arrival. There will be plenty of time tomorrow.”

Even Sansa deflated a bit with her younger siblings that they couldn’t receive their presents sooner rather than later.

Míng Yīn grabbed Shireen by the back of her cloak before placing her sister on her back. Shireen was a bit shocked before she giggled at the display of her sister’s open affection and wrapped her arms around her neck as Míng Yīn looped her arms around her little legs.

“Anyone been doing this for you while I’ve been gone?” she smirked.

Shireen responded with glee. “No! I only like you doing these!”

As Robb watched his parents and sister walk off with Lady Meiling and Steffard, he figured now was as good a time as any to approach Ming. Shireen jumped off her back to her mother’s side to try and hold her brother the rest of the way to their rooms.

“Ming!” he called out. He felt his palms grow sweaty when she turned around in his direction.

He walked towards her with long, confident strides. He thought he looked intimidating, but he realized that wasn’t the case when she burst out laughing. The young lord’s ears burned at her reaction, and they only grew hotter when he heard Theon and Jon snickering behind him.

She only stopped laughing long enough to gasp out a response. “What’s with that face? You look like you swallowed a lemon!”

…Fuck, what was Robb to say in response to that? He had to be smart about this. He would not make a fool of himself. He tried his best not to stare at the jaguar staring at him with hollow eyes.

“…I’m finally taller than you,” he dumbly stated.

“Shit,” was the only echoing in Robb’s mind as he heard Jon and Theon loudly guffawed as they heard him.

He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the bastards collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.

But Míng Yīn only walked toward him while Wu did not come any closer before stopping a few feet away as she traced her eyes over his face and down his form. He saw her dark eyes crinkle with appreciation as a sweet smile spread. She snorted out through her nose as she stepped even closer until only a few inches of air were between them. Wu still hadn’t moved, but he was staring more intensely than before, and Robb wondered if his death would be from a jaguar clawing out his throat.

“Yes,” she whispered as her eyes darted to his lips. “You’re much taller now.”

Blue met black as only the noises came from their parents walking farther and farther away. Their growing distance made the space between them seem more like a separate reality. One where it was only the two of them and no one else. Robb’s eyes quickly glanced down to Ming’s lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed at the thought of them around his cock.

But that bubble burst when Míng Yīn bumped her fist into Robb’s chest and backed away with a cheeky grin and mischievous eyes.

“笨蛋 (Bèndàn), I’m still going to kick your ass in the courtyard, though.” She turned to Wu before walking. “Come on, 无牙 (Wú yá)! Let’s catch up to 小希 (Xiǎo xī )! I want to take a bath before dinner.” She turned to walk back to her family and called out to him without looking back. “You’ll always be a hundred years too early to beat me in a fight!”

Robb only stood in a daze as he watched her walk away. When Theon slapped his back, he finally came to and saw that Jon was beside him.

Theon snickered at the glare his friend gave him. “Stare at her ass any longer, and I’ll think you’ve become more scarecrow than wolf. Plus, I think the cat can sense your eyes.”

Robb only shrugged. “It’s a good ass to stare at.”

“It’s a great ass to stare at. That doesn’t make you look less stupid.”

“Can we stop talking about Ming’s backside?” Jon begged. He didn’t like talking about their friend in such a disrespectful manner, and he liked the idea of Wu tearing out their throats even less. “Let’s get back to sparring with Rodrick before the feast.”

Another reason to adore Míng Yīn – she hated it when Jon wasn’t included in the feasts while she was staying at Winterfell. The feast of her first coming to Winterfell with her mother was marked mainly by how she walked out of the Great Hall and returned with Jon. She dragged him by the wrist before seating him right next to her at the table.

Jon was terrified Lady Stark would berate his new friend for deliberately bringing the bastard to the feast. But all that came was a stare-down between the Lady Stark and Ming Yin. Lady Stark’s face was red with embarrassment, and she stared down at the girl with the most terrifying look Jon had ever seen. Just remembering the expression gave chills down his spine.

But Ming refused to back down. She unblinkingly returned the lady’s stare with her own, and it was as if a silent war had broken out. Ming wasn’t afraid of the red-haired fish with crow’s feet under her eyes. A wolf by marriage was hardly a wolf at all. She wasn’t going to be beaten in a battle of wills – not then, not ever.

Ned sat by his wife, wondering if Mei would bring war to his feet if his wife killed her beloved daughter. Meiling sat beside Lady Stark in rapt interest for the events unfolding. She always loved it when her little goblin decided to enact her idea of justice. She loved it even more when she took charge.

After what seemed like hours, Lady Stark conceded to the girl as she returned to her meal. Ming turned to Jon with bright stars in her clever eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked with a broad smile. “I’m invincible.”

Since then, Jon has always included every time a feast was held for the YiTish women. An act of genuine kindness that was appreciated by all of Jon’s siblings and his father.

An act that only deepened the infatuation of a confident young wolf with dark auburn curls and bright blue eyes.

An infatuation that the Gods saw morph into obsession as they felt shivers course through their divine forms in anticipation of the future ahead.

*Additional Notes:

The characters from Yi Ti and other countries in this stories will different ways of how they are referred

Míng Yīn's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Ming - Robb, Theon, Jon, Sansa, and Catelyn Stark

Minna - Ned (he is the only one allowed)

Míng Yīn - Luwin

Minnie - Shireen, Rickon, Arya, Bran

Měilíng's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Mei - Robert, Ned, Renly, and Stannis

Translations:

希希 (XīXī) - Hope Hope; 希 means "hope"; Shireen's name in Chinese is written as 希琳 (Xī lín), in which 希 means "hope," and 琳 means "forest." Because Steffard is a baby who grew up hearing Yi Tish and Westerosi Common, it makes sense he would refer to Shireen with a nickname.

小希 (Xiǎo xī ) - Little Hope; another nickname for Shireen, but specifically from her older sister. Míng Yīn is a girl who is thousands of miles away from her hometown, Wan, in Yi Ti. When her mother married Stannis, she had to leave everyone she ever loved, including her older brother. But seeing baby Shireen have her hope that everything would turn out for the better.

明阴 (Míng Yīn) - 明 means "bright," and 阴 is the character used for "yin" in the Chinese philosophy of "yin and yang". The character's direct translation is "negative," but it is also used to describe "femininity, moon, water, and earth" as it represents the female principle of the universe

笨蛋 (Bèndàn) - Fool or dumbass; 笨 means "fool," while 蛋 means "egg." Technically, the direct translation is "foolish egg," but most people will use it to call someone an idiot.

无牙 (Wú yá) - toothless; 无 means "none," while 牙 means "tooth"; Míng Yīn named him this because when she first found him as a cub, he didn't have any teeth.

杀手 (Shāshǒu) - killer; this is Shadow's actual name; Shadow is a Peregrine Falcon

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