#I just get the honor of fussing around behind the scenes

[starryschoolgirl]

Family & Fame

An attempt at a Elvis x Reader drabble

Summary -> In private Elvis was your loving husband and you were his doting wife, but in public Elvis was Elvis Presley, and you were just the wife. Unfortunately, sometimes that public dynamic would follow the two of you home, making way for arguments.

Warnings -> Jealousy, marital dissatisfaction, arguments, very cute and domestic 1st scene though, if you only want some pure fluff read that first scene it's adorable, denial of sex, yelling, swearing, flirty fans, circa 1956, Elvis' confusion leads to anger, Elvis is such a cutie I can't even be mad at him in this. Elvis is also a dad in this because I felt like it.

WC -> 3.5k

Request -> "i was wondering if you could write something with elvis x reader where there's a little marital dissatisfaction? just like a little drabble, doesn't even need to be over 100 words"

"You look handsome, now stop fussing"

Elvis leaned into your hand that cupped his cheek which was smooth from being freshly shaved.

"Now,"

You reached down for the comb on the hotel suite's bathroom counter, holding it casually between two fingers. While you smiled up at him your thumb stroked his cheekbone gently as you asked,

"Would ya hold still so I can fix that mess of hair?"

Elvis laughed softly and turned his cheek slightly to press his lips on your palm, smirking sweetly as he murmured against the skin,

"Sure thing Mama…"

With a smile you stilled his head by keeping your hold on his cheek, tapping it lightly you signaled for him to get lower, which he complied with as he bent his knees slightly, lowering himself to a height that you could see the top of his hair better.

As you neatly combed the gelled mess back into place you mumbled fondly,

"See what happens when a man fusses over his appearance? Just makes it worse, you men, so reckless with your hands…"

He asked testily with a smirk,

"And when a woman fusses over her appearance?"

You simply responded with one last perfecting swoop of the comb,

"Women don't fuss."

He drawled out a sarcastic, "Mhm…"

To which he was answered with a pointed, "Mhm."

After feeling pleased with your work you placed the comb down and smiled up at him, "Perfect", you said just before kissing his cheek.

You then turned to the long bathroom mirror that covered the entire length of the long marble countertops, leaning over it ever so slightly to rub at the skin around your lipstick, making sure it wasn't off-kilter in any way.

He smoothly stepped behind you, the front of his body pressed against the back of yours as his spine bent with yours, leaning over you onto the bathroom counter as you eyed him through the mirror. His arms wrapped around your waist and his chin fell to your shoulder as he stared back at you through the mirror.

His voice was low and gruff as he suggested,

"We don't really gotta go to this little gatherin' tonight now do we? Couldn't we just enjoy the rest of our time in San Francisco? We got about 10 more hours."

Elvis punctuated each sentence with a kiss to your neck, right in that spot he knew you were ticklish. You laughed softly and gently batted him away with a few swipes of your hand which in turn made him laugh.

You spoke while trying (and failing) to keep a serious face,

"Elvis, t-the mayor-"

Your laughing made it hard to put together a proper sentence.

"He's holding this soirée tonight in honor of you coming to- Ack..!"

Elvis laughed and said sarcastically before biting your ear,

"Oh, a soirée? I'm sorry little Ms. French I didn't know it was such a big deal"

You tried your best to continue through the giggle-fest Elvis could pull from you.

"Don't you w-wanna show them all that Southern charm you used to get me to marry you?"

Elvis growled playfully as his hands wrapped around your waist tightened and he picked you up from behind, evoking a squeal of surprise from you as he mumbled into your ear,

"Ya make it sound as if I schemed on you with those charms"

You laughed loudly as he held you up and responded,

"You did scheme on me! Made me think I was marrying a John Wayne cowboy type, just to find out you're a Harpo Marx clownish type, but instead of playing a harp you play a guitar"

He growled into your ear "Oh you little-" before ravaging your neck with playful kisses.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted your fun, the both of you turning to see it soon opening after Elvis', "Come in Roberta"

As the door opened you smiled to see Roberta, the sweet old lady who'd been working for you and Elvis since a month or two after he released his first RCA record which brought in the money needed to have a personal nanny for yours and Elvis' daughter, sweet little Charlotte, who she was holding as she stood in the doorway.

Roberta smiled as she saw her two employers as in love as ever in each other's arms, the both of you looking like a million bucks in your outfits for tonight.

"Well kids, I just wanted to let the two of ya know Charlotte is all dressed and ready to go, and that the bellboy said the car's out front and ready.

She was much older so even though you and Elvis were adults, she still referred to the both of you as kids, because the two of you in life experience were like kittens compared to a sweet old cat like her.

You smiled and quickly made your way to take your daughter out of her nanny's arms, cooing over how darling she looked in her little dress and coat before saying with a smile, "Thank you, Roberta."

You looked back at Elvis as you bounced Charlotte in your arms, asking with a soft smile,

"Could you grab my purse over by the sink Honey?"

-----

Sometimes you forget how Elvis' emotions could flip like a switch.

One moment before walking into the big building as Elvis held Charlotte and nervously stared at the doors, you'd cup his cheeks gently and whisper reassuringly, "Hey, everybody here is here for you, to just be around you. You're the man of the evening, they're the ones who should be nervous right now, and I bet you they are"

And then the next, you're holding your sweet daughter in your arms while Elvis is holding some random girls (who you're sure are somebody's sweet daughters) in his arms as he's telling them what "overcomes" him to make him move on stage.

You could vomit, you really could, at the way they all put their hands mindlessly on his chest, and 'ooh' and 'ah' over him explaining what it was like for him to film his upcoming debut film "Love Me Tender"

You got along well with the mayor's wife and a few of San Francisco's socialites who were older women which meant they weren't here for Elvis they were here because their husbands who were close friends of the mayor were here. Due to their disinterest in Elvis, they were easy to make casual conversation with.

The younger women, however, were a different matter. Most of them clung to Elvis or waited their turn to do so. And as you watched from afar you were well aware you could go over there to claim what was yours, but you didn't feel the need to. The ring was on your finger, and his child was in your arms. Sure, he didn't often make eye contact with you through the night like he always used to, but that was just because he was surrounded by so many fans. Right?

Sometimes through the night, he'd shifted through the room to you, with a group of girls in his arms, only now it was a different set, and of course, the merry mayor following him closely, buttering up to America's icon. You shifted Charlotte to your hip as Elvis introduced you to the short, tubby man.

"This is my wife, and right there is our little girl, Charlotte."

The mayor tipped his head to baby Charlotte in your arms, "It's nice to meet you little miss, and," he then turned his head to you and held his hand out, "It's nice to meet you as well Mrs. Presley"

You laughed softly at the title and politely urged him to just call you by your first name.

The night went on like that, now and then a new important man would shuffle his way into the circle of girls that surrounded Elvis and the two of you would do introductions, eventually, Elvis had offered to hold Charlotte for you, and as he picked her up he smiled at her saying, "There's my little girl", making those big fish eyes that often entertained the little girl.

The women that surrounded him would coo at how sweet of a father he seemed to be. You only watched with an unimpressed look as one of the girls chimed in,

"She's blonde? I thought you said under that mop of shoe polish dyed hair was a light brown color, or are you just trying to fool me, Mr. Presley?"

The girl giggled and obnoxiously leaned her head against Elvis' shoulder and made a playful face at your daughter as she did so, clearly infatuated by the adorable baby, but not as much as she was with the man who had fathered the baby.

Elvis laughed softly at her jest, and responded simply,

"Well Hon, it's true that I have light brown hair now, but when I was a baby I had blond hair, it just turned brown as I got older, happens with a lotta babies"

The girl giggled once more and took an almost mournful sigh as she stared up at Elvis through her batting eyelashes (you were surprised she didn't fly away with how fast those things were flapping), and crawled her hand that rested on his chest a little higher as she spoke,

"I think I'd have to see that to believe it…"

Oh, brother.

You sighed softly at the ridiculousness of these girls, and the added ridiculousness of Elvis actually laughing and smiling along. He would get a little bit of nagging later. Thankfully you didn't have to stomach the situation too much longer as Charlotte began to cry. As Elvis tried to hush her and bounce her in his arms you smiled politely at the girls and made your way closer to Elvis.

As you took Charlotte from his arms you spoke softly,

"I think she's just a bit tired Elvis, I'll calm her in the car for a bit"

Elvis mumbled a soft 'Alright Hon', and caressed Charlotte's cheek gently with his index finger before leaning your way to kiss you. But, feeling as annoyed as you felt now, at the last second you'd turned your head, his lips landing on your cheek rather than your lips, his original target.

But he couldn't say anything as you'd already begun to walk off.

As soon as you slid into the backseat of the car, the driver asked where Elvis was. You explained that you and the little one were just resting up for a bit and that you weren't sure when Elvis would be through. Charlotte had calmed down and quite quickly fell asleep in your arms, the closing of her pretty little eyelids had marked the end of the party for you. You wouldn't leave your baby to sleep in the car alone, and you wouldn't force her to be awake for the rest of the party.

You didn't mind though as you felt all partied out yourself. As much as you hated to admit it, you don't think you ever could get used to seeing Elvis surrounded by girls and entertaining girls the way he'd been since his launch to fame.

You didn't think it was unfair of you to feel this way. It wasn't as if this was something planned when the two of you got together a few years ago. It was only recently that you'd had to start enduring Elvis Presley, the rock and roll heartthrob, and not just Elvis, the dorky boy who drove a truck and had a hard time putting together a neighborhood team to play football with him.

You closed your eyes with a sigh, resting a gentle hand upon your daughter's hair. You leaned your head against the car window, it was cold as the nights were beginning to have a little chill to them. The seasons were changing, and with them, so was Elvis.

Oh well, such is life.

-----

"…Just to the hotel Frank…"

You hummed softly at the familiar voice, pressing your head impossibly closer to the window as you tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Just as you had settled comfortably back into the window a warm weight in the form of a hand pulled your head elsewhere. You were too tired to care, so you let it, your head soon resting comfortably on familiar broad shoulders.

That voice spoke again, but it seemed that in your half-asleep state, his voice kept coming in and out.

"…took me awhile, but… sorry… gotta entertain the fans…"

You felt annoyed by the voice interrupting your slumber, but you tried your best to ignore it after letting out a disgruntled hum.

It felt as though only a minute had passed since you'd gotten peace again before you heard that familiar voice, your husband's voice, whisper as his hand gently kneaded your shoulder, only now it was coming from the other side.

As you opened your eyes you saw the soft lighting of the hotel's sign lights spilling into the open door of the car along with Elvis' figure outside the car. Now it seemed he was holding a sleeping Charlotte in one arm as his hand tried to soothe you awake.

"C'mon Honey, we gotta get some sleep 'fore the flight"

You hummed softly and after mumbling a 'thank you' to your driver you got out of the car with the help of Elvis' steadying hand which naturally shifted to your hip after you were standing upright.

Elvis unlocked the room and kissed your cheek, mumbling something about the baby and Roberta, you were too busy on a mission to get out of this uncomfortable dress and still miffed at him, to care to process what he was saying. Your mission was to get to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as you made your way there you stopped by your suitcase to grab a short silk nightgown and your robe.

As soon as you stepped into the hotel's bathroom, and Elvis disappeared off to who knows where you could finally let out a breath. You were exhausted but you couldn't go to sleep just yet in your state. You tiredly shuffled over to the sink and began to take apart your pretty party appearance piece by piece. The hair clips that tugged at your scalp now rested on the sink, and the makeup that caked your face now caked a rag.

You struggled to reach the zipper of your dress, and for a moment your body went limp and you debated just going to bed in it. With your head hung tiredly and your eyes closed, you could've fallen asleep standing there had a set of familiar hands not graced your bare shoulders. Elvis' voice close to your ear as he asked through a smirk,

"Ya need help?"

You opened your eyes and looked at him through the mirror, you finally got a good look at him, his hair had been fussed with, could've been from him carding his hands through it throughout the night, or from one of those girls carding their hands through it. You nodded with a sigh, upset with him, but definitely in need of assistance.

As his rough fingers glided along your bare back before working at the zipper, Elvis' lips quickly fell to your neck, placing soft little pecks along the skin. You stared at him through the mirror blankly, and shook your head as you mumbled,

"Not tonight Elvis, I'm too tired…"

He hummed softly as the sound of the undoing of the zipper and the feeling of the dress loosening around your body filled your tired senses.

"Who says ya gotta put in effort Honey? I can handle ya the way I always do,"

You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he murmured,

"I know how ya like it when you're tired…"

You sighed and tried pulling your neck away but his lips followed, and his hands began to explore you thoroughly as the only thing holding that dress on your body was his pressed so close against yours. You quickly stepped to the side, leaving him to shuffle forward as you were no longer there for him to lean his body against.

You kept a hand on your dress to hold it up on your body as he watched with furrowed brows.

"Elvis, I'm not in the mood for it tonight alright? We have a flight in a few hours, I want to get some sleep."

"Baby-"

Elvis reached his hand out to you but you took a step back and shook your head, a firm, "No, Elvis." leaving your lips as you walked to where you placed your nightwear with a hand still holding up your dress. Just as you began to head for the closed bathroom door he followed and asked,

"What's wrong Hon? W-what did I do to ya?"

His voice got louder as the confusion he felt was beginning to get him worked up,

"Seriously Baby, I took ya out to this nice party or fuckin' soirée or whatever pretentious bullshit you called it and this is the thanks I get?!"

You shoved him by the chest as you whisper-yelled, "You're gonna wake the baby..!"

Elvis scoffed as he took a step closer to you, practically caging you against the bathroom's door, his teeth were grit as he stared at you incredulously,

"You've been in a bad mood with me all night, seems like ya haven't even been listening… I told ya I was puttin' her with Roberta tonight! You would know if ya didn't have a stick shoved so far up your ass."

You stared up at him, feeling a pang of hurt at his words. He continued,

"Actin' like you're too good to talk to any of the fans. Spendin' all ya time schmoozin' with the rich old hags who don't give a rat's ass about me or my music"

You abruptly yelled back at him, staring daggers up at him through your teary eyes,

"That's why I was with those women Elvis! Because when I'm hanging out with them I don't gotta watch as they make goo-goo eyes at my fucking husband! I don't need to watch them paw and grab at the father of my child!!"

Elvis shook his head with a scoff and looked away from you, still keeping his hands pressed against the door, caging you in one spot. He mumbled something along the lines of "naggin' me like a jealous old wife…", a term that had only become a thing said in your arguments since Elvis' rise to fame.

You cupped his cheeks in your hand and pulled him to look at you, your voice shook as you affirmed,

"That's cause I am a jealous old wife Elvis… And had I known I would've turned out this way when I married you a few years ago… I…"

Your voice had dissipated before you could finish your sentence. You stared down at the tiled floor of the bathroom. Elvis was still wearing his shoes, whereas yours had been off the moment you stepped into the room. You could see the creases in the shoe of the foot that he was tapping nervously, and you could see the way your toes scrunched tensely.

The bathroom was quiet, and Elvis' voice which was once full of defense was now softened as he spoke quietly,

"Now, ya don't mean that Baby. You're just tired is all…"

He looked down at his shoes nervously and then at himself through the mirror on the other side of the bathroom. His hands that once caged you in landed ever so gently on your arms, his words came out through nervous stutters,

"You were right, we-we gotta catch a-a flight. Better head to bed,"

There he goes. When things get just a little too real, when the words are just a little too honest, and when reality is a little too close to crashing into the both of you, he expertly redirects it all for another time. Wanting to keep his schoolboy fantasy of having a little family of his own intact.

The little fantasy that he would whisper in your ear late at night in high school as the two of you squeezed into his twin-size bed, knowing if he talked at a normal volume the very thin walls of his house would give way to his voice waking his parents in the small room on the other side of the wall.

The little fantasy that he assured your Daddy would come to fruition if he got your parent's blessing. And it seemed so as you soon gave birth to sweet Charlotte, but just months after she was born you saw the first few strands of that fantasy being shot to hell as Elvis' talent had started being recognized.

And though it had only been maybe a year or two since then, you felt as though the boy you married straight out of high school was becoming a man you didn't recognize. And while you could keep the fantasy with Elvis going when the two of you were alone such as during the time you spent getting ready with him, it all crumbled bit by bit as his love affair with the fans and the public would disrupt his love affair with his wife. And he would let it.

So, I meant it when I said it was supposed to be a drabble, less than 100 words, short and sweet, as requested by a lovely anon. Don't know what happened...

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Open Up And Let Me In

The Waves Are Rising and Rising Extra Scene #5

Chapter 1

Our first chaptered extra! These bad boys (NieYao) can fit so much arguing and obsession with each other 😌 The next chapter will go up next Monday!

--//--

Jinlintai is so very different with Jin Zixuan in charge.

It’s only been a week of his actual leadership following the ceremonies and funeral rites involved in sending Jin Guangshan off properly, and there are still plenty of snakes in the grass that will need routing out, but that’s sort of the point. Jin Zixuan wants the snakes out, rather than to use them for his own purposes, and Jin Guangyao is both tentatively hopeful for what that means for the future of the Sect and annoyed that he has to continuously reassure his own spies and assistants that their jobs are secure and he’s not going to be pinning his crimes on them for scapegoats on their way to following in Jin Guangshan’s footsteps.

Jin Zixuan is honest, and it’s both wonderfully refreshing and slightly maddening in a way that Nie Mingjue has thankfully prepared him for, albeit unknowingly. The biggest concern at the moment is the issue of Xue Yang and, by extension, the boy’s primary form of entertainment. He hasn’t brought him any new corpses to experiment on since Jin Guangshan’s death, and though he’s been able to hold off the worst of the boy’s temper with sweets and letting him loose to wreak mental and emotional havoc on some of the more irritating old guard who want to see Jin Zixuan become a little carbon-copy of the late Jin-Zongzhu, something will need to be done about his restless ward soon.

‘Soon’ is not ‘tonight’, though, as tonight is a night for guests, and the modest banquet held in their honor despite the fact that Nie Mingjue has never liked the fuss. He’d at least seemed more willing to sit through the formalities tonight than he has in the past, though whether that had been due to the overall continued softening of his temper or the fact that, to keep him entertained, Jin Guangyao sat beside him delivering sly comments at random intervals from the moment he was free to do so is up for debate.

“Wait, a-Yao- can I come see you tonight?” Nie Mingjue had asked him when the first few Nie disciples had begged off for their beds, claiming an early start, a long day of travel, and the perfect amount of good wine as their excuses for leaving. Jin Guangyao, already half-standing to go begin reorganizing the next few courses to account for fewer guests, could only nod and do his level best to ignore the warmth of pleasure and desire curling up together in the pit of his stomach. 

Saying yes to such a simple request had made Nie Mingjue happy — visibly, demonstrably happy. He’d smiled up at him as he’d left, small but definitely there, and now Jin Guangyao feels like his face is going to get stuck in his own happy little smile that he isn’t interested in stifling. If anyone has noticed it in the last shichen or so they haven’t said, and now it hardly matters as he’s safely ensconced in his apartments for the rest of the evening. The moment he’s alone he starts taking off the more elaborate layers of his newest set of formal robes, perfectly in keeping with what’s expected of a member of the inner family and more stifling in this weather than he would prefer.

He’s just shrugged out of his outermost layer — a delicate, gauzy, cloth-of-gold robe with wide sleeves — when there’s a knock at the door, too authoritative to be one of the servants.

“Da-ge?”

He turns away from the mirror to face the door when it slides open and Nie Mingjue steps over the threshold, gaze darting quickly around the spacious suite of rooms before landing on him.

“You’ve finally been given proper quarters.”

“I have. Zixuan-ge insisted.”

“Good.”

Jin Guangyao turns to the mirror again to hide the pleased smile he’s once again helpless to stop, though it isn’t like he’s trying very hard either. Nie Mingjue shuts the door behind himself and steps further into the room but keeps his distance until Jin Guangyao has removed his heaviest embroidered layers, the perfect spot of cinnabar ink between his brows, and the still-unfamiliar weight of his golden guan to let his hair fall a little more loosely with a relieved sigh. Once he’s set the heavy crown aside he turns to look over his shoulder again and finds Nie Mingjue still standing near the door, just watching him. (He’s a little surprised to realize he isn’t intimidated at all, despite the fact that Nie Mingjue is staring at him with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his perpetually intense features are set in his usual stern frown).

“Do you not want to sit?” he asks with a gesture at the table laid out with light snacks and a steaming pot of water next to a few paper sachets of his favorite tea leaves. Well, none of them are his favorite, but he still hasn’t found that blend outside of Qinghe so the current selection he has will have to do.

“I will.”

Nie Mingjue doesn’t move a muscle and Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at him, bemused.

“You’d rather loom in my doorway first? Might I ask how long you plan to stand there staring at me? I need to know when to begin brewing the tea.”

That at least gets Nie Mingjue to relax a little, huffing and dropping his arms to his sides instead.

“I want to talk.”

Jin Guangyao very firmly pushes aside the brief flash of fear that he’s somehow learned of Xue Yang’s existence (or something else incriminating) in the shichen since they’d parted in the Fragrance Hall in favor of crossing the room to kneel behind the table. Doing his best to appear unbothered, he begins preparing the tea he thinks Nie Mingue will like best, a smoky blend not dissimilar to the strong, dark teas in Qinghe that also just so happens to steep longer than the others to give Nie Mingjue time to decide he’d like to sit down after all.

“What would you like to talk about, da-ge?”

“A-Huan said I should… he thinks — and I agree — that I caused you distress, that night when I… after you…”

Ah, so it’s to be an emotional discussion, then. Nie Mingjue only ever stumbles this badly when asked to talk about his feelings, and considering he isn’t in a blustering rage it’s unlikely he’s uncovered one of Jin Guangyao’s indiscretions on his own and wishes to lecture him on morality.

(Well, he amends, there’s nothing new to spark a debate; the morality lecture may still be coming.)

In his tentative relief, he decides to show a bit of mercy and offer an olive branch. “Da-ge, have you come to apologize for confessing your love to me when I was not at all prepared to handle hearing it?”

“... yes.”

His smile really is going to get stuck like this, he thinks.

“You’re forgiven. Sit down and help me drink this, I don’t want the whole pot.”

Nie Mingjue finally obeys, collapsing gracelessly with a huff to fold his long legs underneath himself and arrange the skirts of his robes neatly enough that they won’t annoy him. Jin Guangyao pours him a cup of tea while he fusses around getting comfortable, and when he passes him the cup he lets Nie Mingjue curl both hands under his, fingers looped around his wrists and his palms warm and dry against the backs of Jin Guangyao’s hands.

“You didn’t even let me say it. And it’s not the only thing I want to say.”

Jin Guangyao stays right where he is, fingertips stinging slightly with the heat of the tea and his entire being extremely aware of Nie Mingjue’s hands on his. He looks up to meet his partner’s eyes and finds equal parts discomfort and determination in his stern gaze.

“Alright. What would you like to say to me then, Mingjue?”

He watches the familiar address land and ease at least some of the discomfort, if not all of it.

“I meant it when I said it, and I’m not sorry for that. I won’t be sorry for that, ever.” Jin Guangyao’s fingers twitch as his breath catches in his chest; somehow an earnest Nie Mingjue is even more disarming than an earnest Lan Xichen. “What I am sorry for is that I chose to tell you at the wrong time, and that I didn’t stay to watch over you afterward.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile feels a little tremulous and he thinks he’s glad for Nie Mingjue’s steady hands wrapped around his to help keep them from trembling too.

“I see. You’re still forgiven.”

Nie Mingjue, the wind in his sails now, barrels on like Jin Guangyao hadn’t said anything, though he does at least finally pluck the cup from Jin Guangyao’s fingers to set it aside just so he can tangle their hands up even more thoroughly.

“I didn’t mean to upset you that night. I never want to upset you, but there are things left for you and I to discuss that won’t be pleasant for either of us. I want to clear the air, once and for all, and when we’re done I want to make it all up to you in whatever way you want.”

Nie Mingjue’s shoulders slump ever so slightly and Jin Guangyao takes that to mean that his clearly-rehearsed recitation is over. He was right to be tentatively relieved, it seems; what unpleasantness could there be for them to talk about if not the weight of their separation still dangling over them like an unsheathed sword, suspended and hanging on by the thinnest of threads?

“You want to talk about all of it right now? Tonight?”

Nie Mingjue stares at him in silence for a long moment before he huffs a sigh and slumps further, looking strangely defeated.

“Yes. But you have that look on your face like you’re trying to figure out how to tell me I’ve done something wrong.”

He has no such look on his face. Yes, he would very much have preferred some advance warning, and for Nie Mingjue to choose a night to discuss heavy, painful topics that wasn’t preceded by a day of politicking and managing the successful putting-on of a banquet. But he can’t deny that the list of his demands as to what exactly this tender thing between them really means is growing longer by the day, and that he’d very much like to see it resolved. It’s…annoying to try to go about his new normal and adjust to being wanted while simultaneously feeling like the rug is going to be pulled out from under his feet the moment Nie Mingjue’s good mood wears off, eroded away by Baxia’s continued influence. As much as he would’ve preferred a better time to schedule this particular heart-to-heart, he can’t find it in himself to fault Nie Mingjue for behaving exactly as expected and smashing straight into confronting the issue head-on at the earliest opportunity that presents itself. 

“Can we have our tea first? It shouldn’t go to waste.”

Nie Mingjue sighs but finally releases Jin Guangyao’s hands to wave him ahead. “Go on then. You and Xichen I swear-“

“Are refined gentlemen who can appreciate life’s small pleasures together.” Nie Mingjue shoots him an exasperated look for his smooth interruption, but it’s tempered so much as to be completely ineffective by the smile trying to hide in the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, of course. You took the words right out of my mouth.” Jin Guangyao snorts utterly involuntarily into his own cup of tea at such a dry response.

“This one is just so familiar with his da-ge’s mind, of course.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the second he’s done it. Nie Mingjue’s hand stills, cup hovering halfway between the table and the tight, unhappy line of his mouth. Jin Guangyao bites back an apology that’s more knee-jerk reaction than genuine contrition as he refills his own cup, despite not having actually emptied it.

After a long moment, Nie Mingjue sets his cup back down undrunk from at all, and Jin Guangyao’s hands twitch tighter on the teapot in the moment before he sets it carefully back down on its tray.

“It scares the hell out of me sometimes how true that is.”

His glare is focused on the lacquered wood of the table but Jin Guangyao feels the weight of it on his shoulders all the same.

“…da-ge?”

“You do know my mind. You know all the ways to get in there and tie me up in knots, you know just what to say to make me do what you want, and knowing that has never helped me resist your doing it.”

Jin Guangyao swallows a gulp of tea rather than laugh outright at such absurdity. “I may know your mind, Mingjue, but I can hardly influence you so strongly as that. I couldn’t even convince you to kill me with Baxia in your hand and your combined fury stoked as high as it could go with no other target in sight. How can I possibly manipulate you beyond your own control?”

Nie Mingjue raises his gaze from the table and Jin Guangyao is shocked to his core to see him looking so…lost.

“You didn’t truly want to die either time I threatened it, A-Yao. You didn’t believe you deserved it, and I couldn’t fight you either time. All I could do was send you away.”

The reminder still feels like the sword dangling above them has dropped only to impale him straight through the chest.

“I didn’t want to leave, either,” he whispers. “You didn’t kill me, but you also did nothing to keep me. Killing me would have been kinder.”

Nie Mingjue’s jaw works, a muscle jumping under his skin. “It wasn’t about what either of us wanted. You killed a Nie man in cold blood-“

“I killed an incompetent bully who put the safety of the entire sect at risk for the sole purpose of stroking his own ego-!”

“He should have been delivered to me for justice!”

Jin Guangyao snaps his mouth shut and tries not to choke on his panic. They’re backsliding and he can see no way to stop it, but now that they’ve begun they have to continue or else nothing between them will ever be solved.

“It was a sect matter, A-Yao, you should have come to me!”

“Well I didn’t! I didn’t come to you, I killed him myself and I’m not sorry! And if you can’t even forgive me for this then what would you have me do about Qishan? About the things I’ve done for my father? I killed more than your men for Wen Ruohan, I did so much worse than humiliate you, and I’ve done worse still since then. The things I did would make any righteous man sick, even a butcher like you, so what now? What do we do now?”

Nie Mingjue stares at him, breathing hard through his nose and clearly hanging onto his temper by the very tips of his fingers.

Jin Guangyao can’t quite stop his voice from cracking as he adds, “What do you want me to do, Mingjue?” 

His heart leaps into his throat when Nie Mingjue jerks to his feet and starts pacing, angry strides back and forth across the length of the main room of Jin Guangyao’s apartments. He doesn’t have Baxia with him, for which Jin Guangyao is grateful, but he’s sure that her influence has crept back in to take hold of Nie Mingjue again since they last cultivated together; he won’t be thinking entirely clearly, and this time there’s no Lan Xichen to help him cool down.

“What have you done?” Nie Mingjue finally asks, his voice harsh and rasping. “Tell me all of it. No more lies, just…just tell me, and then I’ll know and we can put it behind us.”

Jin Guangyao takes a steadying breath that doesn’t steady him at all before he stands, shaking hands patting down his robes to lie flat and smooth and perfect as he steps around the table straight into Nie Mingjue’s path. His partner stops short when he sees him and now Jin Guangyao can see the desperation warring with his anger in his eyes.

“You already want to forgive me,” he realizes in a burst of clarity, “so what will it matter what I say? You know of my crimes against you and your men, you know that I was ordered to kill you and that I couldn’t bear it — which means you also know that my father’s depravity ran deep and that he trusted me to execute his schemes, whatever they were. Everything you imagine that I could have possibly done — is any of it so horrible that you can look me in the eye and tell me that you’ve lied to me at our most vulnerable? Do you truly love me like you claimed you do, or will you deny me again?”

Nie Mingjue’s gaze is as intense as ever despite the tears glittering in his eyes and threatening to spill over. “Why does it all have to be so complicated?”

Jin Guangyao isn’t entirely sure where this bold streak is coming from — perhaps from knowing that Nie Mingjue does apparently love him, despite it all, as he’s missed his chance to refute it — but he looks Nie Mingjue square in the eye and says plainly what he’s been talking around for too long.

“Your rigid, black and white values are a luxury, Mingjue; the rest of us, even the rest of your Nie, make do with compromise, even in matters of morality. If you want to love me then you’ll have to finally learn how to do it, too.”

Nie Mingjue glares down at him, eyes still suspiciously shiny, for long enough that the silence stretches on into something tenuous and unbearable. Jin Guangyao meets his scrutiny head-on, but when the need to say something claws its way up his throat he spreads his arms out wide, leaving himself as open and unprotected as he can be here, dressed down and unarmed for the evening, in the privacy of his own rooms.

“Well?” he prods. “Those are the terms of the contract, Mingjue. I’m not so easy to love as er-ge, am I? You’ll have to put in the effort to choose me too.”

Nie Mingjue visibly collects himself and drops his hands from his hips to hang loose at his sides, the very image of defeat. Jin Guangyao stands still to let Nie Mingjue close the distance between them, doesn’t flinch when his partner raises a hand to tip his chin up oh-so-gently with thumb and forefinger.

“My life would be much simpler if you were difficult to love, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao has to shut his eyes and try to catch his breath, but Nie Mingjue just pulls him closer with the careful hand under his chin so he can press a lingering kiss to his forehead, right over where his cinnabar mark usually sits. They linger there for long moments, breathing quietly and reacquainting themselves with softer feelings than anger, or fear. Jin Guangyao’s hands creep up to rest on the easy dip of Nie Mingjue’s waist, Nie Mingjue’s mouth traces featherlight down to the curve of his cheek, and Jin Guangyao thinks they’ll be alright, somehow.

In little more than a whisper, he breaks the silence eventually to ask, “Is there more you want to talk about tonight?”

He’s expecting a defeated ‘no’. After all, they’d really only gone in their old tired circles again, and Jin Guangyao doesn’t see that changing so long as they both remain determined not to apologize for their deeper hurts, and Nie Mingjue is a brilliant tactician — surely he must see them getting nowhere as easily as Jin Guangyao does.

Nie Mingjue draws back only enough to meet his eyes, and before he even opens his mouth Jin Guangyao can see it written on his face that there’s more, and Nie Mingjue is going to say it whether it’ll help or not.

“You broke the rules,” he murmurs, unusually vulnerable, “and I still don’t..like it.”

“Which rules, hm? Unfortunately you’ll need to be more specific.”

He stretches up on his toes to kiss the underside of Nie Mingjue’s jaw, a silent reminder to unclench it. The hand poised lightly under his chin suddenly shifts to clamp down on the back of his neck and hold him there, suspended on the tips of his toes supported only by the press of Nie Mingjue’s chest against his, one enormous hand on the back of his neck, and the other covering the entire small of his back.

Nie Mingjue’s mouth brushes lightly enough against his ear that Jin Guangyao can’t keep himself from shivering. “You and Xichen..you broke your rules, for him.”

Jin Guangyao goes very still, hidden in the crook of Nie Mingjue’s neck, and scrambles after the memory of the conditions he’d insisted they follow for Nie Mingjue’s treatments. He hadn’t spoken of it to anyone, and he and Lan Xichen had still been in Bujing Shi when they’d fallen into bed together, so what-?

In a burst of clarity, he realizes the problem in a moment no longer than a gasp before Nie Mingjue explains, “You and A-Huan wanted each other, so you did something about it. It wasn’t just cultivation or casual sex for either of you. You meant it, with him.”

Jin Guangyao exhales just as sharply as he’d inhaled and nuzzles in closer, finally wrapping his arms tightly around Nie Mingjue’s waist to squeeze him in a tight hug that he’d wager helps them both feel better.

“You were jealous that night we told you, weren’t you? It seemed so impossible then…You’re really still upset, after everything since?”

“It’s ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue mutters, mutinous in the way that means he’s trying not to let emotion get the best of him again. “I have both of you, I know that.”

“You’re still jealous though.”

Nie Mingjue’s guilty silence might as well be a resounding ‘yes’. Jin Guangyao tamps down a thoroughly unhelpful surge of glee in favor of tutting sympathetically — it’s genuine and everything! — and pressing a few more soft kisses to the underside of Nie Mingjue’s jaw in consolation.

“You said you came here to make things up to me, but now I wonder if it shouldn’t be the other way around. What do you think?”

Nie Mingjue’s hand in the small of his back presses a little harder, drags him off balance enough that he stumbles a little on the tips of his toes, though Nie Mingjue catches him easily enough that he isn’t even startled.

“Are you apologizing?”

“No I’m not, and I will not. I’m not sorry, but I will prove to you that you have nothing to be jealous of.”

Nie Mingjue holds him closer for a long moment before he carefully sets him back on his feet and lets him breathe, amusement tucked into the corner of his smile and his eyes when he flicks a glance at the table still laid and waiting for them.

“Didn’t you want to drink your tea first? You were so insistent.”

“Think very very carefully about what you want from our time together this evening, Mingjue, and then decide if you’d like to tease me into taking my time,” Jin Guangyao says a little too tartly over his shoulder as he practically saunters to his bed, confident that Nie Mingjue will follow. “Ah- leave that on,” he calls when he turns and finds Nie Mingjue cautiously resting his hands on the beast head buckle at his waist. “Come here.”

Nie Mingjue obeys with a wariness around his eyes that settles when he’s close enough for Jin Guangyao to reach out and rest gentle hands on the buckle himself, carefully tugging the leather tongue looped over itself loose to let the whole belt fall off Nie Mingjue’s waist and into his hands.

“Put it somewhere safe — neatly.”

Nie Mingjue lingers for a long, long moment with his hands resting on Jin Guangyao’s, but eventually he takes the belt without a word and curls it on itself into a few loose loops to set aside on the chair at Jin Guangyao’s dressing table. Jin Guangyao watches him carefully and gifts him a smile when he turns back around to raise an eyebrow in clear expectation of further instruction.

–//–

Jin Guangyao is going to be the death of him.

It’s hardly the first time he’s thought so, obviously, it’s not even the first time he’s thought it with a curl of anticipation in his belly rather than murderous paranoia twitching in his hands, but something about tonight feels a little more charged. Or perhaps not more, just different.

This time Jin Guangyao doesn’t even tell him to come to him, he just sits on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, and gestures with his index finger curled in towards his upturned palm. Nie Mingjue goes without protest to stand in front of him again.

“What do you have to be jealous of, hm?” Jin Guangyao muses, addressing the question to Nie Mingjue’s abs as he focuses on unpicking the knot of the silk sash around his waist, tied a little too tightly in his haste to get out the door this morning. “Silly man, surely you know you’ve had er-ge in the palm of your hand since you were children, and you’ve had me from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He has?! Nie Mingjue blinks down at Jin Guangyao but the man still won’t raise his eyes to look at him, so all there is to see is long, dark lashes brushing lightly against pink cheeks.

“I…love er-ge,” he says, stumbling almost imperceptibly over such a bald claim to an emotion, “dearly. But I loved you first, I think.”

Nie Mingjue has to close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath in, pretending that it’s in relief for the pressure around his waist finally releasing. He curls his hands so tightly around finely woven silk his knuckles turn white when Jin Guangyao hands him the sash, and he doesn’t need to be told to fold it up carefully and set it aside with his belt. He returns to Jin Guangyao and stays still as the man starts on his next layer with ease, clever hands unerringly finding the fastenings he must still remember the location of from his own robes cut in the Nie fashion; of course with a memory like his it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t worn them in years.

“I don’t know. Respect, admiration, a mild obsession with ensuring I arranged the world to your liking, running your household in the way a Madam would be expected to if you’d had one, as well as performing the duties your martial steward should. Maybe it wasn’t quite love, but wasn’t it close enough? I wanted everything to go well for you, and I was thoroughly devoted to making it happen. I was prepared to do almost anything for my righteous Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue can barely breathe but he doesn’t dare try to stop him. This isn’t at all what he’d had in mind, but perhaps that’s for the best. His strategies on the battlefield contributed the greater part of winning the war; his strategies for love are much less successful. That’s why he’s even here in the first place trying to settle their debts, and with very mixed results so far.

“You don’t have to be jealous of er-ge,” Jin Guangyao says again, clever hands sneaking under his outermost layer to begin unfastening the next. Nie Mingjue stands helpless in front of him, mouth dry and his heart thundering in his chest, but he finds himself unable to look anywhere else as Jin Guangyao undresses him with more care than Nie Mingjue can remember ever doing for himself. “I’m right here.”

He braces one hand on Jin Guangyao’s shoulder and says nothing as Jin Guangyao unfastens the loose tie holding his final layer shut, and without being told Nie Mingjue shrugs out of the whole pile of robes and the shirt directly against his skin in one motion that has Jin Guangyao petting possessive hands up his scarred abs, scritching gently when he trails those clever fingers of his down to the trail of hair beneath his navel. He chases it under the waistband of Nie Mingjue’s trousers, dipping beneath the fabric without untying it first so that his fingers barely fit between the garment and Nie Mingjue’s skin that suddenly feels too warm, too tight to contain his desperate wanting. It feels like each brush of the backs of Jin Guangyao’s fingers against his belly, against his hips, will be the thing that undoes him.

“A-Yao-”

“Mingjue.”

Jin Guangyao finally flicks a glaze up at him, but it’s not a mercy like Nie Mingjue had thought it would be. His eyes are blazing with the heat of his remarkable restraint, but his fingers are still dipping and petting ever-lower inside his trousers and it’s only a spare moment later when Nie Mingjue shudders and chokes on some inarticulate noise he’s helpless to stop. Jin Guangyao leans in slowly to press a tender kiss just above his navel and Nie Mingjue is briefly sure he’s going to pass out. 

Jin Guangyao’s mouth brushes softly against his overheated skin as he murmurs, “You’ll make things up to me, I’ll make things up to you, and then the debt starts again. We’ll go around and around in circles forever and that’s alright with me. Just stay near me, I don’t care what we do.”

Somehow Nie Mingjue feels like he isn’t only talking about sex.

This isn’t at all what he’d prepared for-

He falls to his knees and leans in to kiss Jin Guangyao, feeling feverish and vaguely clammy in the small of his back even though they haven’t even really begun. Is this what Jin Guangyao did to Lan Xichen? Is this why they were still sharing those looks with each other for so long after the fact? As irritating as it had been at the time, Nie Mingjue can’t honestly say that he doesn’t understand it now, and they haven’t even fallen into bed together yet.

He has so many things he could — should — say in reply. There are things that have been simmering in the back of his mind for years, things he thought there would never be a right time to say and if this isn’t it then when will that be? But his tongue feels thick in his mouth and all he wants to do is use it to make Jin Guangyao forget they were ever angry with each other, and, well, that’s what he’s currently in a position to do.

Jin Guangyao uncrosses his legs quickly enough to clip Nie Mingjue’s chin with his knee but Nie Mingjue barely notices it as he buries his face in Jin Guangyao’s lap, hugging him tightly around his hips for a long, shaky moment before he pulls his hands back to untie Jin Guangyao’s two remaining robes and the waist of his trousers for good measure.

“Ah- Mingjue-”

“This is making it up to each other — simultaneously,” he finally manages to say as he tugs Jin Guangyao’s trousers down and out of his way mostly out of sheer stubbornness, as Jin Guangyao suddenly seems frozen with indecision. His belly is warm and soft under Nie Mingjue’s mouth and he lays back on his elbows without any further protest, his legs thrown comfortably over Nie Mingjue’s bare shoulders. “You let Xichen touch you, I want the same.”

“I was- I’d intended to do this to you-”

“Did you use your mouth on Xichen?”

He already knows the answer, but he looks up from between Jin Guangyao’s thighs anyway to watch him shake his head, slow and jerky like he isn’t sure he should admit it.

“You told me what he did to you, in detail, because you wanted to see me jealous of him. You wanted me to fantasize about you exactly as he’d had you.”

Jin Guangyao nods, still just as slow and uncoordinated.

“This is what you’ve asked for, then.”

Jin Guangyao blinks at him and then, all at once, Nie Mingjue can see relief and cautious pleasure softening his eyes and he’s relieved to have gotten this right, for once. Maybe there’s hope for them yet.

Naturally, having been offered what he’d wanted then and apparently still wants now, Jin Guangyao doesn’t try to stop him again on his way to his goal. He doesn’t know if he’s as good at it as Lan Xichen had been that night, but he tells himself it doesn’t matter. He’s not Lan Xichen, and he’s determined to make sure Jin Guangyao doesn’t forget who he’s with tonight for a single moment.

“Is it really what you want, though?” Jin Guangyao asks after a beat like he can’t stop himself, sharp and clumsy in a way he never is. To be fair, though, it might also have something to do with the fact that Nie Mingjue has started mouthing a lazy, meandering trail along the silk-soft contours of his thigh, his hip, across the slightest, smallest new hint of softness of his belly.

“Do I seem like I don’t want it?”

He feels like the answer to his question is fairly obvious considering he’s asked it with his mouth buried against this barely-perceptible evidence that Jin Guangyao is finally starting to eat properly, to actually relax in his own home, and he doesn’t think he could stand to pull away from it just yet for anything. Maybe it’s silly to be so arrested by something Jin Guangyao himself likely hasn’t even noticed yet, but…Nie Mingjue has always wanted to take care of him, even when he could barely stand to look at him.

“No..?”

Nie Mingjue is reacting to the uncertainty in Jin Guangyao’s voice before he consciously registers it, rising up off his knees to hover somewhat awkwardly over where Jin Guangyao is laid out on the bed, the balls of his feet pressed to the wood floor and his elbows on the mattress on either side of Jin Guangyao’s shoulders to box him in.

“What is it? You’re thinking something.” he asks, short and sharp in a way that probably has no real place here when he’s trying to put Jin Guangyao at ease, but oh well it’s done now.

“That is quite literally always the case-”

“You know what I mean! Just spit it out, A-Yao.”

Jin Guangyao narrows his eyes up at him and pouts, a little twist of distaste that Nie Mingjue wants to kiss off his mouth with a ferocity that surprises even himself.

“I just don’t want you doing this out of any sense of- of duty, or obligation,” he finally relents, clearly irritated with being pushed to actually say it, “or because it’s what er-ge did therefore you have to do it too, whether it’s what you want or not.”

Nie Mingjue snorts and, ignoring Jin Guangyao’s furious glare, ducks down to kiss his cheek. “I knew it. Relax, stop thinking yourself in knots. I am doing this because Xichen did, and I know you liked it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it of my own accord. Are you forgetting that he’s done it to me too? I know exactly how good it feels, are you saying I’m not allowed to want to make you feel like that myself?”

Jin Guangyao’s irritation drops off his face so quickly Nie Mingjue nearly laughs at him, only barely held in check by the fact that the irritation had made way for what he can only describe as ‘quiet shock’. With a little mental wrench he dredges up an extra bout of honesty, the continuing explanation getting a bit… uglier as he digs into the heart of his jealousy like a thumb into a bruise. 

“You let Xichen see you like this,” he rumbles, “you let him do things to you that I wanted to do, but was not allowed — or asked. Is it only me you can’t trust or did you doubt him like this too, when he offered himself to you?”

Jin Guangyao bites at his bottom lip, a nervous habit Nie Mingjue isn’t sure he’s ever seen on his partner before, and he thinks the extra bit of shine in Jin Guangyao’s eyes might be a trick of the light. After a long moment he nods, his hair mussing against the bed and his lip bitten-red and shining when he releases it to inhale unsteadily.

“I… yes I did, actually. Very briefly. He seemed to have anticipated my hesitation, though-“ Nie Mingjue watches with surprised pleasure as Jin Guangyao’s complicated expression morphs into much clearer fond amusement “-as he had either prepared or was quickly able to construct a convincing counter-argument as to how it would assist in our dual cultivation practice if he relaxed me with an orgasm first.”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue prods and leans down slowly, tentatively, to start peppering Jin Guangyao’s cheek and neck in little encouraging kisses.

“Mhm. I thought of you, the moment I agreed with his logic.” Jin Guangyao whispers it, almost conspiratorial, and as ridiculous as it is it actually soothes a bit of the jealousy still clawing and whining in his chest.

Articulate prodding is beyond him, and his mouth is busy anyway. “Mm?”

“He said I was owed an orgasm from the bath, and that you always seem more relaxed for me after he’s had you first, so he thought the same process would help me. I agreed to let him try and he said, and I quote, ‘Wonderful!’.”

Nie Mingjue has to bury his bark of a laugh in the crook of Jin Guangyao’s neck; he’d never known him to be particularly good at imitations, but at least for this Nie Mingjue can practically hear Lan Xichen’s ridiculous, cheerful chirp for himself.

“Of course he did,” he chuckles and Jin Guangyao nods furiously, snickering and failing to suppress his own amusement.

“Of course he did, I knew you would agree. He seemed to find it a perfectly acceptable response; I didn’t have the heart to laugh but in that moment I wished you were there to commiserate with me.”

It’s ridiculous, it’s petty, it’s immature beyond rational reason, but Nie Mingjue is vindictively pleased that Jin Guangyao thought of him even with Lan Xichen (and that talented mouth of his) between his legs. Nie Mingjue presses a few more lingering kisses along the inviting arch of his neck, the line of his jaw, and when he can feel Jin Guangyao relaxing beneath him again he shifts his weight to one side so he can skim his newly freed hand down the length of him — throat to chest to belly to hips.

Jin Guangyao shivers when Nie Mingjue wraps his hand around him. “Well you’ve asked me once if I’m sure, as you did him. Any more doubts?”

“No.” This time it’s definitely not a question, and Nie Mingjue grins with pleasure to have had it gasped against his skin, Jin Guangyao turning his head to try to smear a clumsy kiss against his jaw.

“Wonderful-”

“Mingjue!”

“You’re right, I should save my teasing for A-Huan. I have more important things to do to you,” he concedes. He leaves Jin Guangyao flushed and trying not to laugh as he slides back down to his knees and, with no further preamble (lest they get distracted again and wind up doing more talking), takes Jin Guangyao’s cock into his mouth, one hand still wrapped around the base to hold it steady.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t been entirely certain what to expect; Lan Xichen seems to enjoy the process, and he’d supposed he could understand why. After so many months of always receiving, he’s eager to return the favor now that it’s possible, and he’d thought that would be the source of his own enjoyment. He hadn’t expected to like the sensation of it, the warm, solid weight in his mouth and the trembling squeeze of Jin Guangyao’s thighs around his head, the grasping hand tugging at his hair. Even the taste is better (or at least much less of an issue) than he’d dared to expect in the brief moments he’d considered such things. He readjusts his weight to settle in and he just has to hope that his new enthusiasm makes up for any mistakes he might make along the way, because this is great.

It’s easier in some ways to be with Jin Guangyao like this, too. It’s possible for him to tell more lies like this, he supposes, but he doesn’t think Jin Guangyao is — or that he wants to. He’s pretty sure, just judging by the way Jin Guangyao is whimpering and choking on sharp gasps as he visibly struggles to keep his reactions at least somewhat contained, that Jin Guangyao doesn’t currently have any room in his head to try to figure out how to manipulate the situation, or dissemble behind that damn neutral mask he always puts on. This is what Nie Mingjue wants, and if they can’t get there with talking then this will have to suffice. (It’s not like it’s a hardship.)

It’s so easy, like this, to forget all the sore spots they know how to press on with unerring accuracy. Nie Mingjue tries a few things he vaguely remembers Lan Xichen doing with his tongue and it must be alright because Jin Guangyao moans his name up at the ceiling, so tender about it that Nie Mingjue is glad his mouth is otherwise occupied lest he do something stupid like blurt out years’ worth of emotional confessions at once in response.

When he’s figured out what Jin Guangyao seems to like best from his mouth he sticks to that for a few moments and starts moving his hand over what his mouth doesn’t cover, and that seems to be the right move; Jin Guangyao scrabbles after his free hand to clutch it tightly enough to ache — and comes.

Nie Mingjue can’t help but jerk back a bit, startled, but he just barely manages to keep his mouth on him and, without any other obvious recourse, swallows what he can as Jin Guangyao tenses enough that Nie Mingjue wonders if he needs to untangle their hands to try to stop Jin Guangyao from bruising his neck and ears between his thighs. He relaxes again quickly though and Nie Mingjue keeps lavishing attention on him as he comes down until Jin Guangyao is shuddering, legs hitching up higher before he settles them on his shoulders again, and weakly bats at his head in a silent plea for him to let him rest.

“Hm,” he hums when he finally pulls off. He frowns a little and raises his gaze to meet Jin Guangyao’s, sleepy and sated but too guarded for his liking after all of that.

“Hm?”

“I had more ideas I wanted to try,” he tells him and he’s mildly surprised by the rasp of his own voice. He smirks a little and lets go of Jin Guangyao’s softening cock to wiggle his fingers in a way he hopes is suggestive enough. “Want me to use Xichen’s trick so we can go again?”

Jin Guangyao drops his head down fully with a breathless laugh, breaking eye contact but maintaining his grip on Nie Mingjue’s hand next to his hip. Nie Mingjue rests his cheek on Jin Guangyao’s thigh and waits him out, pressing a kiss or two to the warm expanse of skin at random just because he can.

“I would rather have you up here,” Jin Guangyao finally admits, too small and unsure for Nie Mingjue’s liking after all of that. “Please.”

Nie Mingjue bangs his knee off the edge of the bedframe in his hurry to do as he’s asked, only pausing long enough to help Jin Guangyao get settled properly before he lays down next to him and pulls him in close to tuck him under his chin and squeeze him in a crushing hug. Jin Guangyao doesn’t protest, he just nuzzles in closer and lingers like that, taking steady, even breaths that he’s so clearly counting his way through. He wants to ask what the hell happened, why he’s clearly upset about something so soon after Nie Mingjue thought he’d just done a decent job of distracting him, but he holds his tongue with an effort.

His patience is rewarded some time later he doesn’t bother to measure except by the gradual slowing of Jin Guangyao’s breath and heartbeat, the steady softening of the tense lines of him until they fit together perfectly. Perhaps he is actually improving at least somewhat with this whole communication business. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s another round of talking in their near future, so he just strokes Jin Guangyao’s back with a slow, steady rhythm and waits on tenterhooks for Jin Guangyao to say whatever’s weighing on his mind.

[syd-djarin]

Do It For Me | Treat Me Like a Slut, Part 2 | Pairing Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x fem!Reader (NSFW 18+ MDNI)

***TEASER***

Read part one here.

Warnings: sub!jack, dom!reader, edging, safeword, some religious undertone references (Christ, taking the lords name in vain, “the Almighty”), a little angst in the beginning, alcohol, inability to tell the truth, mentions of Jack possibly being dead, blood, yelling, crying. Excessive, excesssssive use of pet names, (1) use of MOMMY, use of daddy, Jack is called a pretty boy and a good boy. Dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), Jack’s big cock, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, size kink, handcuffs, cowboy/southern references, mentions of pain and punishment. Reader has no major physical descriptions. And finally…your honor, they’re in love.

Shoutout to: @katiexpunk for helping with scenes, brainstorming, beta’ing. (y’all better not get tired of me singing her praises) & @milly-louise for brainstorming and beta’ing my rough rough draft. I have the best people in my corner.

Here’s a sneak peak ;)

He’s well-versed in taking charge and fucking you til you see The Almighty, but reversing those roles, having you boss him around for a change? He’s never experienced anything quite like it. The Statesman surely didn’t train him for this.

“Remember the safe word, baby?” You ask in a serious tone, momentarily pausing your sexual prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he chokes out. “Y-es, I remember, baby.” Your pussy throbs at the sight of your tough cowboy submitting to you.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. Can you do that for me?” You respond, your voice smoky, laced with pure desire.

He nods and a faint whimper escapes his lips. You squeeze his jaw with your hand, “Use your words like a big boy,” you scold, reciting similar words he used on you not too long ago. Use your words like a big girl.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, voice trembling with need, a twinge of submission behind it.

You can’t help the smirk on your face, taking over the reins and being in charge gives you a new thrill. Now you know what all the fuss is about.

You start undoing the buttons of his Western-style shirt. You’re taking your time, enjoying how each undone button reveals more of his lean body, but for Jack, it’s painstakingly slow. He squirms where he’s sitting and fights the urge to take over. He’s trying not to paint his jeans just looking at you being a minx.

Rip my fuckin’ heart out baby, is the only thought that crosses his mind.

[kindheart525]

It was a busy Thursday afternoon at the Ponyville theatre, for there was soon to be a production of Roemeo and Muleiet put on by the local foals. A well-studied work of Shankspear, a timeless tale of a young seapony and mule defying their families for love, every young actor was thrilled to show off their talents in these roles.

And the tech crew was hard at work making sure everything would run smoothly behind the scenes.

Boot Polish strolled across the backstage workspace, proudly taking note of all the students working so diligently on their props.

“The scenery is coming along splendidly,” he voiced his pride out loud. “You are all excellently keeping pace. You have just over two weeks until tech week, so keep going!”

Several of the students murmured in affirmation through the paintbrushes and other tools clenched in their mouths. One of them commented,

“I’m sure we’ll be done in time, no problem. I wonder how the actors are doing?”

“Yesterday I heard Tiramisu in the bathroom practicing her lines for the nurse,” another replied.

“During class?”

“Mmhm!”

“Oh, those theatre ponies can’t get a break!” This techie, Skydance, put down their paintbrush with a chuckle. “Correction, they don’t let themselves get a break. Practicing their lines at every hour of the day. Eating, sleeping, and breathing the show.”

“Literally, I heard Dove Song practices her lines in her sleep.”

All the young techies laughed at this, and even Boot couldn’t help but chuckle along at the youthful passion.

Skydance was a bit cocky about it, though, but in a playful way.

“It’s not like it’s that hard!” They claimed. “All they have to do is memorize words and know where to walk. We have to paint backgrounds, and make costumes, and build a bunch of props that they end up breaking, and we only have this time to do it!”

As if to emphasize their more crunched schedule, they made a few paintbrush strokes on their prop as they spoke.

“Now, memorizing takes a great deal of effort as well,” Boot tried to gently point out. “The mental energy required can be grandiose. You only need ask Mrs. Stockholm about it.”

Although he was lighthearted in his explanation, a part of him felt like he was defending his wife, more particularly the honor of her life’s work as a master of memory.

“Consider, you get to leave here and go about the rest of your pursuits freely until the next session. The actors must work around the clock to ensure they have memorized their cues. Do you follow that?”

“Yeah, sure, I know,” Skydance somewhat waved him off. “I just think some of them overthink it.”

They put a hoof to their chest and raised another in the air in a somewhat exaggerated manner, taking a deep breath and reciting:

“Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Moraygue. What’s Moraygue? it is nor tail, nor hoof, Nor flank, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a creature. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.”

Despite their humorous intentions, Skydance delivered Muleiet’s monologue with such passion, yet such expert nuance, that their fellow techies couldn’t help but pause their work to watch. A small crown of them gathered around watching with wide eyes as if they were attending the play itself.

Skydance was oblivious to the stares even once they opened their eyes.

“That was like, half the monologue. I only had to read it a couple times to know all that, so why’s there such a big fuss? It’s easy.”

“Or maybe you’re just really good at remembering things.”

One of their peers commented. Another added,

“Yeah, like, I couldn’t memorize all that.”

A small chorus of mumbling indicated that others felt the same.

“Not just remembering, but like, acting too. You did really good.”

Even Boot had to take a moment to compose his thoughts after that small performance, having been temporarily lost in the surprise this budding talent brought him.

“Have you ever considered taking a role as an actor?”

“Not really.”

Skydance shrugged.

“I’m just not that type. I’ve met a few theatre ponies and I’m nothing like them. I mean, it’s kind of fun to pretend to be someone else sometimes, for laughs and such…”

Their demeanor changed a bit as they started reflecting more.

“And I guess it’d be kind of fun to do it on a stage. But I’m just not what you think of when you hear ‘actor,’ you know? You always think of the ones that are like, crazy about musicals!”

It was a wildly different situation, Boot almost wondered if it would be unfair to make such a comparison, but he couldn’t help but think of somepony he knew who was making her way in the theatre world. In a way, she, too, broke the mold of what most expected an actress to be, yet it was creating a world of opportunities for others.

“Now, who would earnestly suggest that there is one way for an actor to behave?”

He posed the question to his student.

“There is no one prescribed personality for an actor to have, nor a technical artist! You mustn’t allow that to limit you. If you feel you would enjoy being on the other side of the curtain, why, you should try it!”

Skydance’s eyes widened with wonder just thinking about it, but their face quickly twisted into a look of hesitation.

“You really think I should get into all that?”

“Whether you should is up to you,” Boot gently corrected them. “Nopony else can tell you what is meant to be. I only suggest that you consider it.”

A small smile formed on his face.

“You never know, it could be better than you dreamed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Our Own Star Next (end flashback): Every Rose

This was a collaboration with characters drawn by: - Me (owner of Boot Polish and Skydance) - AzzyNextGens (owner of Honey Velvet) - @cornerofhell (owner of Sugar Skull) - @dumb-a-horses (owner of Nebula) - @dahliarauxt (owner of Apple Bites)

[pinespittinink]

There are five more chapters of Enchanted at Eventide left for me to do minor line edits on, before Eran gives it a polish for betas, and I’m so excited for other people to read this story and shower it with affection. Aurora is such a pleasure of a protagonist, and I adore this supporting cast with all my heart.

Anyway, go ask @sentfromwolves about this soft magical romantic fantasy (full of discovering self-worth, a hot moron who learns to drink his respect women juice, and the most delightful talking foxes)— it’s all a joy and leaves you with such a wonderful contended feeling 🦊🦢✨💕💖💞

[timid-orchid]

Disastrous Wedding Part 1/3

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: You have to attend your sister's wedding and things go wrong, like usual.

Warnings: mentions of unwanted touching (nothing explicit), verbal abuse, mom being the absolute worst, Leon being adorable as always

Word count: 1, 855

You were the maid of honor at your sister’s wedding and you were paired up with a very handsy groomsman.

You met him three hours before the wedding, when the bridal party gathered together to take pictures without the bride and groom. When he introduced himself to you, he seemed nice and shy. But that changed quickly.

You started to get a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach as he kept putting his hands on your waist, even after you asked him nicely to stop. He would apologize profusely, insisting he’d stop, only to try and touch you more.

You were frustrated. Why did this grown man, a man you just met, think he could put his hands on you? Especially after you asked him to stop multiple times?

Not wanting to deal with him any longer, you hurried to the room your sister was getting ready in, hoping she would help you.

“Look, I understand he makes you uncomfortable, but he’s the groom’s best man and you’re my maid of honor, you can’t just switch!” Your sister sighed, she just got her hair and make-up done. “All you have to do is walk down the aisle with him and sit next to him at the reception. Then you’ll never have to see him again.”

“You clearly aren’t understanding, being next to him is the problem!” You exclaimed.

“You’re just being over dramatic!”

You gave your sister a hard look. “He kept putting his arms around my waist and pulled me up against him. I asked him multiple times to stop but he just kept on-“

The sound of a door slamming shut interrupted your explanation, startling both you and your sister. You turn to see who came into the room and froze.

“I could hear you yelling from the hallway." Your mother straightened her already straight posture. “That means anyone who walked down this hallway could hear you, isn't that right?”

"Yes, mother." Came your robotic response, knowing better than to disagree with her.

She walked to you until she was face to face with you. She was slightly taller than you, and you hated that fact. Having to look up at her made you feel weak.

But then again, when it came to dealing with your parents, you were weak.

"And being heard is not what you're supposed to do, is it?"

"No, mother."

"What are you supposed to do, Y/N?"

You took a deep breath.

"Be seen and not heard, mother."

She hummed approvingly, satisfied with your answer. "So tell me this, why could I hear you?"

You hesitated to tell her your situation, knowing she wouldn't do anything to help.

But she asked you a question and you had to answer it.

Honestly.

"The groomsman that I'm paired with keeps touching me when I've asked him not to."

Your mother folded her arms behind her back and walked around you in a circle. "And what does this have to do with your sister?"

"I was hoping she would let me switch partners with another-"

"Absolutely not." Your mother interrupted, coming back around to face you once again. "The best man and the maid of honor are partners in most weddings. If you changed partners then it would show our guests that something was wrong, isn't that right?"

"But I-"

A slapping sound echoed in the small room and your cheek started to sting. You didn't even see her lift her hand, she's gotten faster.

"You will walk with the best man. You will be seen and not heard. You will not embarrass this family today. Am I understood?"

"Yes, mother."

She sighed, "honestly, you're such a disappointment of a...I can't even call you my daughter without being embarrassed." She walked to the door and turned toward you. "Don't make this special event about you. You're not worth making a fuss over." And with that, she finally left.

You felt like you could breathe easily again.

“This is my day. Please don’t make a scene.” Your sister admired her mermaid styled wedding dress. “Today has to be perfect.”

You knew you were fighting a losing battle. If you said anything else about it then who knows what your parents would do. They demanded obedience and punished you when you disobeyed, even if it was on accident.

Even as a 27 year old woman you were scared of them. They were the reason you moved out the moment you turned 18. They were only that way with you though. They worshipped the ground your sister walked on, then turned around to insult everything you do. You could never win.

When you were younger you thought you could rely on your older sister. The youngest could always count on the older siblings, right?

Wrong.

You were so very wrong.

She would always blame you for things she did, whether it was an accident or not. And everytime you did something you weren't supposed to, she would go running to your parents, like she was waiting for you to screw up just so she could tell on you.

But you wouldn't be surprised if she was waiting. Your parents would compare you to your sister when they disciplined you, and she would be standing behind them with her chin up, back straight, and a big smile on her face like she just won the gold in the Olympics. She loved the praise your parents gave her, and how you were a reproach to them.

She loved being better than you. Loved hearing everything your parents would say to you, every insult, every comparison, every disappointed sigh.

"Why can't you be like your sister?"

"Why do you have to break everything you touch?"

"Why are you so clumsy?"

"Your sister's academic scores are superb, why aren't yours?"

"Why do you ruin everything?"

"Why do you constantly have to disappoint us?"

"Why did we even have you?"

"Why were you born?"

Those questions and more haunted you for years, along with the physical abuse. Whether it was slapping or kicking, they always had to beat your sister's success into you.

You never did find out why they treated you like this. Why you deserved to be physically, mentally, and verbally abused while your sister could do no wrong.

But she always did wrong, she just made sure to blame it on you.

If you weren't so scared of your parents then you wouldn't even be there. You had moved out years before your sister was even engaged. You didn't speak to her or your parents after you left, you never wanted to see them again.

But when you were announced as the maid of honor in the wedding invitations, you knew your fate was sealed, you had to be at the wedding. If you didn't show up then that meant something was wrong, and nothing is wrong in this family.

Nothing but you.

“I’m sorry for bothering you on your special day. You won’t hear anymore complaints from me today.” You walked out before your sister could respond, doubting she would say anything that would be of help to you.

She never helped you in the past, why would she help you now?

Why do you keep hoping she would miraculously be on your side for once? Protecting you from your parents, telling them how no one is perfect and they shouldn't expect perfection from either of you.

Why do this to yourself?

Breaking your heart with disappointment after she has proven everytime to be against you, yet you still hope.

That's all you could do.

But sometimes, having hope isn't enough to change something. Sometimes, it could make things worse. And with your luck...

You didn't want to even think about that. You had such rotten luck ever since you were a young child, maybe five years old is when it all went downhill. Everything always went wrong and you were powerless to stop it.

You wanted to find a dark corner to hide in until the ceremony began, but you knew your mother would want you to greet guests. Especially the guests who were close to your family, and who would love to tell your parents every little thing you did wrong. So instead of hiding, you put on a fake smile and tried so hard to pretend everything was fine.

“Damn, they let you leave the house looking that good?” You turned to see your boyfriend walk up to you with a big cheesy grin on his face.

A genuine smile formed on your lips. “And look at you, Leon.” You slid your hands up his chest. “You look so handsome.”

He smirked while pulling you in for a kiss. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m going to pin you against that wall and have you screaming my name.”

You smacked him in the chest and backed away from him. “Calm down, mister, this is a family friendly event. Don’t want to scar the children.” You joked.

He looked around, “I don’t see any children…”

You laughed, shaking your head at the man you love so dearly. “Thank you, Leon, I needed that.”

He grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you into his warm embrace, holding you tightly while kissing you on your head, careful not to mess up your hair. “Any time, sweetheart. I’ll be here all night.”

You relaxed against him. Your family made your life a living hell, and you would’ve drowned in your despair had you not met Leon.

You two met at the hospital of all places. You had burned your arm and he had a large cut on his torso that needed stitches. You were checking in while he was checking out and he asked you if you wanted to get dinner after you saw the doctor. You were weary of him at first, knowing better than to go somewhere with a stranger, but your mouth said yes before your brain could catch up. You two have been glued to each other ever since. You could face any challenge as long as you had him by your side.

“I love you so much.” You muttered against his chest.

“I love you too, doll face.” He pulled back a little to look into your eyes. “Do you want to talk about what made you upset?”

“How did you know I was upset?” You tilted your head at him.

“You smell different when you’re upset.” 

“What?”

“What?” He echoed.

“I’m being serious!” You laughed.

He looked offended, “And you think I’m not?”

You raised a brow at him, waiting for his real answer.

He chuckled, “we’ve been dating for four years, of course I know when you get upset.” He rubbed your arms with his thumbs. “You put on a fake smile and act happy to make everyone else happy.”

“Alright, alright. I’m an open book.” You huffed.

“Only to me.”

You looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes, they were a lighter blue today. “Only to you.” You agreed.

"So, you wanna talk about it?"

"Absolutely not."

“Do you want to get dinner after this?”

“Absolutely."

[witch-hazels-musings]

because I need that good loving can I request Diluc and Zhongli reaction to seeing there SO dressed up for a formal event even though its not something they really like doing but because they dont want to make Diluc/Zhongli look bad in front of all these other people they put all their effort into looking like the human embodiment of attractiveness.

the way you look tonight 

(okay so truth time - I thought about you the whole time I was writing this and forgot you requested it -- I hope the love of these boys reminds you that you are lovely <3!) 

Warning -> SFW, fluff / comfort (cussing(1))(self-conscience reader)

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Zhongli ⚘, Diluc

Zhongli

He finds your normal style of dress unique and interesting, it’s unlike most of the people who make up Liyue’s landscape and it’s independently you

When someone lives their life in the way they want to, that's what Zhongli admires the most about people, about humans 

He doesn’t mind what you wear, he would want anyone to meet you, to see you regardless because through his eyes he sees your attractiveness - it’s in the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you react when something makes you excited or when he gives you a gift you don’t expect - how could he hide you away and not let others see the way you glow? 

You look at yourself for the tenth time in the large circular mirror. An hour had gone by and you still felt unusual, out of place, like a fraud in this attire. For the, you’ve lost count, time you fuss with the fabric that sits against your stomach, tugging on it, wondering if you should leave it open or closed. The most frustrating thing about this is that you had no idea how to wear this damn thing. 

Your head falls onto the vanity and you do your best to hold it all in. With a deep breath, you go back to messing with your hair and face. The ticking clock behind you reminds you that time is not your friend no matter how much you want it to stop. 

This is so hard for you, of course, you want to be there for Zhongli - he was there for everything you ever did, it was beyond time to repay him - but you just couldn’t find the confidence to be proud of what you’d done. So, shaping the image in your brain into a distorted representation of what you wished you looked like, you stood from your small chair and walked toward the door of the bedroom. 

Your shoes click on the hardwood floor which is something you hate, the thought of people hearing you coming only to see what appears from the source of the sound makes your skin crawl. Still, you pressed on, and that’s when your eyes fell onto the immaculate figure that stands near the entrance. His tall, elegant frame is so intense it knocks the wind from your lungs as if someone just punched you in the stomach. How can I stand next to that … you panic and turn to retreat back into the safety of the bedroom when your arms collide with a small table in the hallway.

Objects fall to the ground and, in a ridiculous display of your clumsy nature, you juggle one of the more breakable objects before catching it moments from shattering on the floor below. 

“Whew …” You exclaim, bringing it close to your body. “Sorry, little guy didn’t mean to do that.” You wince, patting its side before place it back onto its home and picking up the other objects from the ground. 

Long fingers enter your field of vision, startled you stand only to see Zhongli reaching down to assist you. 

“Ah, sorry.” You express, crossing your arms after putting the items in your hands half-hazard onto the surface. 

“No need to apologize, are you injured?” He asks, standing himself and reminding you how tall he is. 

“My pride, maybe.” You share, laughing through your embarrassment. 

“Too much of that and we might find ourselves in trouble anyway.” He looks down at you, his eyes scanning, interested and making you shift under their gaze. “You …” 

“I know... I look so strange, and,” you begin, fussing with the top again, “I can’t seem to get this right.” Turning around you show him what you were talking about and how it seems far too loose. 

He laughs softly and you feel his hands run underneath the edge of the fabric and coming to rest at the wrap at your waist. “Let me assist you.” 

“Thank you …” He’s so close to you, his hands move expertly as they work to correct your inadequacies, eyes compassionate, patient as they always are. 

“This outfit suits you.”

“Does it really? I look so … I mean this isn’t something I would normally wear. In fact,”  You think for a minute before continuing, “I can’t remember the last time I dressed up for something other than adventuring. It’s not practical to go running through ruins in this type of getup.” You explain, lifting your arms and watching how the fabric slips down to your elbows before sliding back to your wrists as they collide with your legs. 

“That could turn things into quite the challenge I’d imagine.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Nevertheless, you will turn quite a many heads upon our arrival.” 

“That’s what I'm afraid of …” You mumble, forgetting that he is close enough to hear you. 

“Y/N, need I remind you how spectacular you look.” 

You bite your lip but your insecurities make you speak anyway, “I just don’t see how I have the right to stand next to you, I don’t want you to be … ashamed of me.” The end of your sentence trails off as you look to the ground. Zhongli doesn’t respond until his hands stop fixing your gown. With comforting fingers he presses against the soft underbelly of your chin, lifting your head at the angle it should be. 

“While I am beyond sure you can hear me, I hope that you can trust me as well when I tell you that every day I am honored to stand at your side. There is nothing in this world which compares to your beauty, in fact, you are more radiant than the moon itself.” He leans in to place a kiss against your forehead. 

“You don’t wish I was … more attractive?” 

“I cannot wish for a thing that holds no bearing on reality.” 

“Mmm.” 

“If my words have not reached you, perhaps I can better express my truth through actions …” He pulled you flush against him, his hands now wrapped around your hips and eyes focused on your lips. 

“Aa! Wait … no, I believe you.” Embarrassed, you push away from him and make your way toward the door. “Let’s just go because if I get out of this thing I won’t be putting it back on.” You huff, smoothing out the wrinkles. 

“Shall we?” He reaches for your hand and easily you take it. 

“Let’s do this.” With a lighthearted Zhongli, you exit your home and head toward the lively sounds drifting over the water. 

Diluc

He already thinks you are so incredibly attractive no matter what you wear - he knows you’re one for practicality, from your actions to your clothes, you are ready to go and prepared for whatever will come your way - a trait he admires

There is something adorable about the way you fall out of bed in the morning and, in some cases, take less time than he does to get ready - it can come in handy where there much work to be done 

He never asks for you to be more than what you are - he honestly wouldn’t care what other people thought about you, all that matters is you believe him when he tells you how good you look or how you make his heart clench 

So when he sees you descend the stairs in an outfit, a formal, totally out-of-the-absolute-norm outfit, he’s stunned 

“Crap.” You say, flinging the jewelry you couldn’t decide on anyway back toward the dresser. You’d taken far too long to get ready, even though you started hours ago, it still wasn’t enough to make you feel confident and finished. Glancing at your reflection one last time, you gave up with a heavy sigh and made your way down the hallway. 

You could already see everyone else in their formal attire ready to go, even the attendants looked better than you did. When you caught sight of Diluc your steps slowed and for a solid minute to you debated about turning around and hiding under the comfortable covers of the bed you loathed getting out of this morning. 

“Ah, there you are! Are you ready?” Adaline shouted from below you and like a scene from a nightmare everyone turned to look up at you. You stumbled backward and felt your chest tighten, eyes scanning each face as you debated on your next action. When they fell onto Diluc’s stoic eyes, you felt a little bit of relief and knew all you had to do was make it down to him. 

Slowly, you started again and, with a deathlike grip on the railing, you made your way down the stairs. Diluc met you at the bottom, his hand extended to take yours. 

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t figure out what would pair well with … this thing.” You gestured at your outfit and looked behind him, thankful that people had already started to leave through the front door. “Do I … look okay?” 

With an awkward smile, you waited for his answer, hopeful that he wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to lie to you. I mean, when you were able to see him in his suit, the way it perfectly fits around his toned body, the fabric tucked in all the right places, the sleeves just long enough to give one a peek of skin underneath - there was no way you compared to him. 

He looked at you for so long your heart started to feel like a thousand knives were stabbing you in all directions. He hates this … he can’t believe that I’m such a disaster. The thoughts circulate in your brain and just as your about to rush back up the stairs and hide he lifts your fingers to his lips and kisses them with so much love. 

“I apologize … I’m just a bit startled is all.” Your stomach drops to your feet at his words. 

“Archons, is it that bad? Did I put something on wrong … or?” 

“Nothing like that,” He kisses your palm and the action makes your spine turn hot, “You look unbelievable, is what I wanted to say.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes.” He looks at you but you shy away from his eyes. “Y/N, do you trust me?” 

“What … of course I trust you.” You reply, flabbergasted. 

“Then trust me now.” He pulls you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around your neck, his hand resting at the back of your head. “I’ve never seen someone as brilliant as you.” 

Fueled by your emotions, you return his hug, squeezing your arms around his waist and doing your best not to let your face be ruined by the tears that want to fall from stinging eyes. “Thank you, I’ll trust you on this … today.” 

“I don’t have any issues reminding you again and again.” Shouting outside tells you that it’s now or never and, as much as you don’t want to, your arms release each other. “Are you ready?” He asks, offering you his arm, and with a deep inhale and sharp nod, you take it and walk through the doors. 

----

taglist: @star-gods @mercurysmaiden @dourpeep @clemmywrites @pepperoncinipizza @handswritteeen @the-mermaid-of-mondstadt @lucifucker @beelsdessert @coolcats09 @ninqat @musekala @sufzku @mooshymello @heavenlyang @plenilunegazes @odafashioned @glazelilyy

[damn-stark]

Special to me too

This request contains season 4 spoilers!! Spoilers!!

Jean Kirstein x reader

Requested by anon “My question or request: Imagine you are sasha´s best friend and connie´s best friend too, since the first day you met. You are jean`s lover since you were 15. You met him too when you met sasha and connie and the others. Imagine you save sasha and get shot instead of her. you practically jump in her way and save her.”

Warning- Angst, mentions of violence and blood, slight swearing, fluff and just heartbreak :(

——

“Jean!” You exclaim whilst you stand behind Connie and Sasha on the airship, watching with anticipation as Jean finally makes his way above.

“Grab on!” Connie shouts as he and Sasha extend their hands out for Jean to take and pull him up onto the safety of the airship, easing your nerves at the knowledge that he was here now.

When he's fully stable on the floor, he meets your gaze and cups your cheek to assure himself you were here and fine, sharing a silent but assuring look with you before turning to Connie curiously. “Who’s left?”

“Still waiting on Lima Squad.” Connie informs him.

“As far as we know, there’s six casulities.” You add after Connie.

Jean drops his hand from your cheek and focuses his hardened gaze on the ground. “I see. Shit!”

Noticing his frustration, you try to assure him, but Floch interrupts you before you can try. “That’s nothing compared to the damage we did!” Said man thrusts his fist into the air and turns to the rest of your comrades, “it’s a huge victory!” The New Eldian Empires first battle ends in victory!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

You sigh at the scene caused by Floch and decide to ignore them so as to not ruin their celebration. Even if you knew that celebrating this early was never good luck.

“Tonight we celebrate in honor of our six fallen heroes!”

You roll your eyes and turn to crouch across from Sasha to keep a careful eye out the still open door, noticing Connie stands up and begins to wander off, while Jean stayed and refocused his gaze on the ground as he contemplated the scene before him, and the battle just fought. “First battle, huh? How many more till the fighting ends? Just how many have to die?”

Just as you’re about to go towards Jean, you feel an arm wrap around you and pull you with them; pulling Sasha and Jean as well. When you look to the side to identify who it had been you see it had been Connie—“anyways I’m just glad we survived again,” Connie adds, making you drop your stunned expression and keep beside him in silence as he continued with his assuring words. “It’s not very fair to the others, but you guys are special....to me.”

Your lips pull into a soft smile at Connie's kind words, and just like Sasha and Jean you let the comfortable silence wrap around you four.

Well that is until Jean breaks the silence and the moment with a snappy comment. “That hurts, idiot. Don’t hug us wearing hard-ass gear.”

You scoff and move to the side, smirking as Connie snapped back. “Excuse me, Jean?! You’re the idiot for always fussing over your tiny-ass beard!”

“Huh?”

You snort and Jean looks over his shoulder to shoot you a pointed gaze that you just reply with an innocent smile.

“That’s right!” Sasha chooses to interject, “why grow a beard if you can’t eat it?”

“Huh?!”

“Say are we eating soon?”

“Yeah,” you pitch in as you grab onto your stomach, “when are we? I’m starving!”

“Not till we reach the Island.” Jean answers you.

“What a useless leader you are.” Sasha quips.

“Do you like my beard, y/n?” Jean asks as he strokes his chin.

Connie and Sasha look at you and you keep looking at Jean to answer truthfully. “I think it suits you, I like it.”

“Of course you say that, y/n!” Connie remarks as he helps you to your feet. “He’s your boyfriend!”

You smile and throw an arm around Jeans shoulders, pulling him close to you to defend him. “So? Even if he was my friend I’d say I like it because he looks sexy with it.”

Sasha and Connie share a look and both gag making you chuckle.

Jean smiles and shoots a smirk to your best friends in front of you. “See she gets it.”

“You know who else has a beard now?” Sasha snickers as she stands up to fold her arms over her chest and stand next to Connie. “Eren. You think he looks sexy too, y/n?”

“Huh?!” You exclaim, “no! Ew! No!”

“That’s right he can’t pull it off like I do,” Jean retorts smugly. “He probably has fleas on his beard.”

“How long do you think it’s been since he’s washed his hair?” Connie wonders out loud.

You shrug, “who knows.”

——

“Did you hear that sound just now?” Sasha asks curiously with her attention over her shoulder.

You follow her gaze and see nothing, you only hear the loud commotion before you that made it impossible to hear much of anything else.

“Hey! Quiet down!” Jean exclaims to the group, only getting the opposite response from Floch.

“Make some noise! Victory!”

You roll your eyes and keep drifting your eyes over your shoulder as you begin to feel paranoid after what Sasha had pointed out.

“Isn’t lobov still out there?” You hear Connie ask Jean.

“No, I think he came aboard.”

“Then we should close—” before you could finish your sentence, from the corner of your eye you see someone unknown roll onboard with a gun in hand. Your eyes peel open and you notice that it’s a little girl; she lifts her gun and you follow where she points to, gasping as you see that it’s pointing at Sasha. You continue to act quick, without a sense of hesitation and push her out of the way, hearing a loud bang and feeling suddenly something sharp hit your stomach.

The sudden painful impact makes you fumble back and lose balance from one moment to the next and fall on the ground, with a hand gripping onto your stomach, over the throbbing wound that now affected you.

“Y/N!” You hear Sasha call out before falling on her knees by your side.

You draw in a deep inhale and blink slowly to look up to the ceiling and feel your pain heighten and your consciousness begin to slowly drift into darkness. You hear commotion around you, but the sound, the reality of what was happening didn’t register in your mind. You only barely manage to grasp Sasha and Connie over you.

“Y/N! Hey!”

“Hang in there! Hey!” Connie exclaims as she tries to tilt his head to him.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You recognize Jean's voice.

The pain you feel on your stomach begins to slowly numb now and your eyes drift to Jean now beside your head. You tug your lips into a faint smile and you reach for his cheek. “Hey...smile for me….don’t worry so much….we made it.” You swallow thickly and continue to feel your consciousness drift, you feel your eyes droop and the pain almost completely disappear. You roll your head to look up and slowly drop your hand from Jean’s cheek, barely capturing what your friends and boyfriend were saying beside you.

“Bandages, now! We’ve gotta stop the bleeding!

“Y/N! Make it to the Island!”

You breathe in another short and shallow breath and blink slowly once more. “You guys...are special...to me too.”

“Y/N, please!”

Once again you see Jean's face in front of you, yet your mind wanders off to somewhere warmer, and your smile tugs wider.

“The ocean…”

——

“...it’s beautiful isn’t it?” You muse as you breathe in the fresh salty air, watch the warm yellow sun reflect on the blue sparkling body of water. You smile as the warm colors of the unbelievable orange, yellow, pink and purple sunset cast over every inch of land and every part of your best friends, Jean and you.

“I could live here forever,” Sasha shares with a beaming grin.

“Me too,” you sigh as you throw yourself back and rest your head on Jean’s lap. “Let’s stay here.”

“And build a house,” Sasha continues as she rests her head on your stomach. “A farm house so we can raise sheep’s and cows.”

“A two story house so I can have a balcony,” Jean pitches in as he gently caresses your arm. “A balcony that overlooks the ocean so I can relax and drink with my girlfriend.”

You grin brightly and tilt your head up so you can admire him admiring the scene in front of you all.

“We can grow our own garden,” Connie adds as well, “grow fruits and vegetables.”

“Yes!” You agree, “and maybe we can hire Niccolo to cook our food.”

“Yes! Yes we can!” Sasha exclaims as she shoots up and tightl wraps her arms around Connie's neck.

Jean snickers and meets your gaze to show his playful and teasing expression. “Seems to me that someone is a little too excited to have our new friend over.”

You snort and smirk. “Hmm I see it too, seems potatoes aren't the only things she loves.”

“Huh?!” Sasha tilts her head around and stares at Jean and you with a pointed glare as she tightens her arms tighter around Connie's neck. “What are you two talking about?”

You shrug and sit up, choosing to answer nonchalantly. “I’ll give you a hint. You love Niccolo like I love Jean.”

“Huh!”

Connie snickers and pulls away from Sashas grip to add to the teasing. “We all see it, you look at him like you look at your food. It’s an easy observation.”

You nod in agreement, “I’ll give you some pointers on how to flatter him,” you clear your throat and pop a piece of fruit inside your mouth. “This is how I got Jean—tell him you like his hair, his eyes, his smile. Laugh when his jokes are funny and compliment his fighting skills.”

Jean smirks and nods, but Connie doesn’t really agree. “Didn’t it take you like five years to confess your feelings to Jean?”

You blink and shake your head, meeting Jean’s amused gaze and scoffing. “Maybe—”

“Actually I had to confess to her first and then she told me.” He interjected cockily. “I saw the way she looked at me and I made my move first.”

Your smile brightens and you rest your head on his shoulder. “Yes and I’m happy he did.”

Sasha and Connie meet each other’s gaze and share a knowing look and then pretend to gag. “Please spare us from that sappy stuff,” Sasha groans.

“Yeah we see enough of that everyday,” Connie adds lazily. “We get it you two love each other.”

“Don’t be bitter, Connie,” Jean remarks playfully, “it’s okay you’ll find someone soon too.”

“Regardless, Sasha,” you cut him off, “promise us, or me, that you’ll tell Niccolo how you feel.”

“Fine,” she sighs, taking the bottle of wine and chugging it.

You look back to the horizon and barely notice that the sun is completely gone. After the lighthearted conversation with your best friends you barely noticed that the only light casted over you now was from the light of the stars and moon.

The sight of the white moonlight and the endless glowing stars reflected on the ocean was breathtaking; “I could stay here forever,” you breathe out with a faint smile. “We still are planning to live here right? Together?”

[sgrayonderii]

nom de guerre

SSM21 Day 17: a gentle man

In which some titles are more accurate than others. Samurai-esque AU

It is common knowledge that for a noble title and a swath of land, her mother was sold to a warlord.  

Haruno Sakura had the great misfortune of being born as the daughter of a destitute samurai family. Their master had long been vanquished and their lands long sold to make ends meet. And yet still longed for days yonder. 

But her mother also had the great fortune of being born a beauty, so when the opportunity arose; a passing hegemon looking for a bride, Sakura’s parents took a chance. 

They say that the young warlord was so mesmerized by her mother that he immediately accepted the terms of the expensive bride price and took her as his wife. 

On their wedding day, mother was dressed in her finest robes while her father arrived late in a full suit of blood soaked armor. 

The ceremony itself was a soleum affair. Her parents pledged themselves before the gods and swear to their union.

And so Haruno Sakura becomes Lady Uchiha no Sakura, the wife of Lord Uchiha no Madara.

----

Sarada has faint memories of her father; more often than not her father is sent to the battlefield and only returns a few days to weeks at a time between campaigns. 

The Uchiha clan is one of the important noble families of the Konoha and known for its long history of bloodthirsty warriors. Her father is no exception. 

Whenever he returns home, Sarada hides behind her mother’s skirt. Her father is an imposing demon-like man, larger than life, and taller than a mountain. Someone more suited for stories and legends than real life. 

They call him a man more fearsome than Susanoo-no-Mikoto itself. So violent, so blood crazed, it is a wonder that Sakura lived as long as she did when a male heir had yet to be born. 

Thankfully, it seems that as a daughter, her father pays very little attention to her. Whenever he returns from the borderlands between here and Oto, he barely spares her a glance. 

However, whenever his eyes meet her mother’s through his helmet, he beckons her over. 

“Sakura,” he commands, voice deep and low, “bring some tea to my quarters.”

Sarada always remembers her mother looking angry but determined then. Sakura dutifully follows her husband into the inner chambers. She doesn’t emerge until late morning.

Sarada is usually having lessons during this time, but one day she sneaks out of her etiquette classes to find her mother. 

She searches almost the entire unusually empty manor before finding Sakura in the kitchen brewing tea. Her mother’s clothes are covered in blood and her hands are covering her tears. 

Sarada has never seen her mother sob so terribly before.

From then on, she decides that her father must be an especially cruel man. 

---- 

Whenever her father returns from war, her Papa also comes home. 

Today she finds him on the engawa overlooking the gardens. He is sipping some tea while looking over some scrolls. He appears injured, bandages wrapped around his torso, but otherwise in good health. 

If her father is the devil incarnate, then Sarada’s papa is a handsome devil. 

No wonder her Mama is so taken with him. Sometimes when she is supposed to be asleep, she can hear her Mama fuss over Papa. They hold hands when no one is looking and share secrets no other soul knows. 

Despite the cold manor they reside in, Mama is an affectionate woman at her core and her Papa is receptive to all she has to give. 

And Papa must be someone important too; after all he is allowed to leave and enter from the inner quarters that a normal Uchiha foot soldier could not. 

Sarada pads over to him, he looks up and beckons her closer. 

“Have you been a good girl, little peanut?” 

Sarada scoffs. “ I’m not a nut.” But she holds out her hands anyways. 

Her Papa chuckles and pulls out some dried persimmons from his sleeves. “Don’t tell Sakura.” 

Sarada smiles at their little secret before taking a bite. “What are you reading?” Her Papa allows her to climb onto his lap and drapes the scroll over her. Sarada squints, only understanding a fraction of the words on the paper. She points and reads aloud the characters she recognizes.

“Good girl.” He slips her another dried persimmon.

That is when her mother finds them. 

“Sasuke-kun!” her mama enters the scene in a huff, “I told you to stop that, you’ll ruin her dinner.”

Sarada quickly shoves both persimmons into her mouth. Her papa has the decency to look sheepish. 

“You can’t keep spoiling her like that! She is going to get an upset stomach!” Sakura continues.

“Do you want me to spoil you too?” 

Her mama sputters, all red and flustered. Her hands move to cover her flaming cheeks.

Sarada meanwhile uses the distraction to hold out her hands for another treat. Her gentle papa instead leans down and kisses her forehead.

---

For the past year, her father and his retainers had been defending the borders between Oto and Konoha. After the dissenters were finally defeated, a grand celebration is held in her father’s honor. 

She remembers that her father was hailed as the second coming of Madara, the legendary clan head from the distant past. The comparison is uncanny, both bloodthirsty and merciless but dauntless in the face of adversary. Soon it becomes her father’s mantle; Lord Uchiha no Madara, the slayer of the Orochi. 

Sarada hadn't been invited to the banquet due to her age but that night she is much too excited to sleep. She has never seen so many people gathered in one place in her life. And even though her father’s presence makes her nervous, she loves the tales about his exploits. 

The banquet hall is rowdy and the envoy’s drunken singing could be heard from down the halls. The fuzzy silhouettes of her father’s soldiers line the banquet hall, she has a hard time making out who is who. Everything is quite blurry even with the multiple lanterns.

The only one Sarada could identify for sure is her mother. Sakura’s features are distinct, like a lone flower against the night sky. Her mother sits obediently at the head of the table beside the man that is her father. 

He has forsaken armor this time, but there is still a sword at his side. From the distance, her father doesn’t look particularly like he was enjoying the festivities. 

He appears bored. Perhaps his blood is not used to peace, after all a beast belonged in the wild and a warrior to the battlefield. 

Sakura every once and a while would refill her father’s sake cup or serve him more of the feast in front of him. Occasionally, when her mother would lean over and her father would whisper something into her ear. 

Her mama would stiffen and her face would become strained. At first Sarada can’t make out the expression, until a small smile blooms on her mama’s visage. 

Sarada goes to bed soon after, not quite understanding their interactions. 

---

Her earliest memory of Papa is halfway past her fourth year. 

Father had been back for a few days now, not that she had really seen him. And to be perfectly honest, her father is a scary man and she would rather not run into him. 

But Sarada is also curious so she puts on a brave face and finds herself outside her mother’s quarters.

Peering through the crack in the paper screen door, Sarada spots her mother’s figure and a man she doesn’t recognize. 

Her mama is leaning on the man’s shoulder while he serves her sake with his free hand. Back then, Sarada found it a strange role reversal that a man dressed in such luxurious robes was pouring her mama a drink. 

Sarada has seen some men in her father’s army throw a tantrum when a pretty lady wouldn’t attend to them. Even Sakura during official functions knows to serve her father first before anyone else can even eat.

But this man sat with her mama so nonchalantly and closely, breaking tradition as if it was nothing!

Her shock was audible to where her mother and the man turned to see her crouched by the entryway. 

Sarada felt as if she interrupted a private moment, but man’s expression morphed into something soft and Sakura giddily rushes over to pick her up. 

“Sarada! Come, come! Papa is here, see?” Sakura hands her over the stranger’s awaiting arms. She doesn’t want to leave her mama’s embrace but the man’s is just as warm. 

“Hello little peanut, have you been good while I was away?” 

How is she supposed to answer him? She opts for a nod and reaches for the familiarity of her mother.

“Sasuke-kun…” 

“It’s alright, she probably isn’t used to my face.” He leans over regardless and kisses her mother’s forehead. Then he looks Sarada straight in the eye. “I am you papa.” 

Sarada thinks she likes this ‘Sasuke-kun,’ this Papa. Someone so kind to her mother can’t be a bad man. 

----

As she gets older, Sarada becomes privy to the rumors about the current acting head of the Yamanaka clan. How her son looks nothing like her deceased husband but has the same eyes as the court painter. 

And Sarada has her own theories about her mama and the man that is her papa.

She just hopes that her father never finds out. 

---

Even though her mother is essentially the lady of the house, Sarada still hears whispers of her lineage. Even more so now that Sarada begins wearing glasses. 

Before her father leaves for his next campaign, he gives Sakura his inkan. 

As the wife of the lord, Sakura officially acts as his surrogate in any official business even if some of the family retainers aren’t happy about it. 

Fortunately, many would rather swallow their pride that incur her father’s wrath. 

All except one. 

Uchiha no Shin, a rather minor branch clan member, always disapproved of her father and even more so now that he left his wife in charge of the estate in his absence. 

It all comes to a head when Sakura denies him funding for a rather ill thought out building project. 

“You dirty wench! ” 

Sarada can hear the screams from her room. She rushes to the scene. Sakura is still standing her ground when she arrives. 

“I don’t see any benefit in this strategy and I doubt my dear lord husband would either.” 

“What do you know?! You are nothing but a plaything you stupid bitch, I’ll teach you some manners!” Shin chooses that moment to raise his hand at her mother. 

Sarada feels the anger seep into her bones but her mother chooses that moment to retaliate and punch Shin square in the face herself. 

Shin falls back unceremoniously. Sarada is slack jawed. 

“How dare you!” he seethes. Shin tries to get up only for another person to rush to her mother’s aid. 

Shin’s screams are agonizing and it takes Sarada a moment to realize that not only had her father returned, but he had drawn his sword and stabbed it clean through Shin’s arm, effectively pinning it to the tatami. 

“Sasuke-kun!” 

Sarada blinks once. Twice. 

“Are you alright Sakura?” Her father, her papa asks, completely ignoring their screaming relative. 

Sakura nods and he turns to her as well “Are you okay Sarada?” his voice deep and low but the same kind cadence up close as her beloved papa.

Suddenly her father’s mysterious and distant features that were always hazy to her meld with the papa in front of her now.  

Sarada adjusts her glasses. She feels really stupid in that moment. 

---

This time, Sarada is invited to the banquet. 

It’s an annual harvest festival and her father is the guest of honor. The local leaders once again announce him as ‘Lord Uchiha no Madara’ much to his chagrin. 

“I really hate when they call me that.” Sasuke tells them later when the food is being served and drinks are flowing freely. Sakura is on one side while Sarada is on the other. Habitually he is discreetly putting any sweets that make it his way and the tenderest pieces of meat onto their plates. 

“Anata,” with time Sarada notices that her mother only ever uses this term in public when her father needed more placating than usual, “they are just just in awe of how great you are!”

“I wish they had chosen something different, Madara was such a pain in the ass.” 

“Sasuke-kun!” Her mother tries to be scandalized but can’t help but devolve into a fit of giggles. 

As her father continues to look on adoringly at his wife, Sarada can’t help but agree with him. 

A name like that is unfitting of her gentle papa. 

A/N: Happy Sasusaku month 2021! My brain is mush right now so excuse the multitude of grammatical errors. Thank you for reading!

And just to note in historical Japan, men tended to change their names depending on significant life events. For example, Minamoto no Yoshitsune's childhood name was Ushiwakamaru.

@ssskmonth

[gondowan]

Communal Property

Pairings: Din Djarin x f!Reader, allusions to Paz Viszla x f!Reader, Boba Fett x f!Reader, other Mandalorians x f!Reader, big gangbang vibes here lads. 

“I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.”

Tags/Warnings: NC-17. Explicit sexual content. Established relationship. Verbal humiliation.  Dom/sub. Choking. Lots of finnnngerrring (vaginal/anal). Canon-typical violence (Din stabs a rando). Soup, but make it sexy. Daddy kink (ehe). Suggestions of a threesome, gangbang, public use, bondage, breeding, double penetration (if I missed anything please let me know), its fluffy at the end :D

Word Count: 4,709

Notes: <:3c please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with anything listed above lol. Seriously though. 

---

It was getting late, and the only clientele left at the dingy cantina were either drunk and rowdy or on their way to out. Which was fine, it was rare for the two of you to have some time together and you relished every second you could get. Din had just bagged a large bounty for Karga, enough that he could be persuaded to take a short break. It had been far too long since the two of you could spend some time together without a bounty puck hanging over your head or fears of Imperials looking for the Child.

Besides, Sorgan was as quiet as it got, and with all the planet-hopping and close calls in the last few cycles, the two of you really hadn’t had any time to yourselves and you were getting a little...tense from the lack of release. 

It wasn’t that Din ignored your needs, but rather you were both so caught up with everything that there was barely any time to sleep, let alone indulge in a long scene. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to both take care of the Crest, the Child, and yourselves while on the run. You could tell he too was tense from the lack of physical connection; from the moment you stepped planetside, he was constantly touching you, either guiding you with a hand on the small of your back or  

Din was in a mood. 

“What will it be?” the barkeep had asked when you both walked in. 

Before you could open your mouth, Din replied “Some stew and cider for her please, nothing for me,” he said in a clipped tone, not bothering to look at you or even ask what you might want. 

As the barkeep walked away, he turned his helmeted gaze towards you. “Any objections sweet girl?”

You felt your face get hot. “No,” you murmured. 

He cocked his head to the side, waiting. He was in that kind of mood tonight. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the barkeep coming back to your table. 

“No...daddy,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze away from him right as the barkeep put down your drinks. 

“Let me know if you all need anything else!” she said cheerfully as she set your plate of food and drink in front of you, oblivious to what had just occurred. 

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Din said, not even bothering to look at the barkeep. She must’ve thought you were mute or the two of you had an argument or something, the air between the two of you felt so charged. You hadn’t spoken a word since you two stepped in, and this armor-clad Mandalorian was basically bossing you around. 

She walked away, and you reached for the soup. 

“No.” 

You blinked at him in confusion. 

“I’m going to feed it to you,”. 

If you weren’t embarrassed before, you were now. Although the two of you had conversations about taking your dynamic outside the bedroom, Din hadn’t tried anything outside the ship just yet. The two of you were constantly surrounded by others anyway (Cara, Mayfeld, Boba, etc),  so there wasn’t much of a chance to be naughty in public.

Except now, you suppose. You should’ve known. 

“Mando, we’re in public,” you hissed, looking around the cantina. It was crowded and loud, and you were in a corner booth, but there was still a nonzero chance that someone might glance over.

His vocoder crackled, “Just the first spoonful,” he said, dipping the spoon into the soup and raising it towards you. You knew better than to say no, not if you valued the ability to sit down comfortably tomorrow. If you were really uncomfortable, all you had to do was blurt out your safeword, and you knew he would stop. 

You licked your lips, “Just the one.” You prop your forearms on the table and lean towards him, parting your lips, fervently hoping that no one would look towards your table. Din carefully tips the soup into your mouth, watching intently as you swallow.  

“Good?”

You lick your lips, despite the (admittedly delicious) soup, your mouth feels dry, “Y-yeah,”. 

“Finish it and we can leave,” to do what it is we really want to do, is the unspoken statement hanging in the air. He pushes the bowl towards you; you hastily grab the spoon, not even tasting it anymore.  Din watches you eat, unmoving save for an impatient drum of his fingers on the table. 

You relax a little, and ramble at Din about this-that-and-the-other to fill in the silence as you move onto polishing off your cider. Din says little in return but traces circles at your thigh, gloved fingers leaving a burning trial in its wake. Right as you are about to finish, a drunken man saunters over. You can smell the stench of alcohol rolling off of him. So much for a quiet night. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing with a tin can like that?” the drunkard giggles, pointing at Din. “Come with me instead, I can show you a great time, and you can see my face!”.

You sigh, so much for a quiet night, “I’m not interested, thank you,” you say with a clipped smile, turning away, hoping to the maker that he’d leave. 

Unfortunately this idiot can’t read the room, “Awww, don’t be like that, I can-”.

“She’s not interested.” Din said, voice flat, gaze still directed at you, not even bothering to give the drunkard the luxury of his full attention.

The man scowls, throwing up his hands. “Whatever, she’s probably all used up. I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.” 

The air got deathly still. Before you can turn to stop him, Din’s vibroblade is sticking out of this man’s shoulder. He screams, sobering up instantly, as Din twists the blade. 

In a flash, the barkeep shows up, blaster in hand, “OUT! All three of you!”, she yells, “Sa’al, I told you if you were going to get in trouble for this shit one day. Don’t let me catch any of you back here again.”

You throw down a fat wad of credits at the table, face apologetic as Din pulls his knife out of Sa’al’s shoulder, returning it to his boot. Sa’al collapses and scurries away in pain, clutching his shoulder. Din calmly stands up, takes your hand in his and leads you towards the exit. You mouth apologies at the barkeep before stepping out into the cool night air. Sorry, my partner is...touchy tonight have a good night so sorry I’m so sorry. 

You shiver, not looking forward to the long walk back to the Crest. Surprisingly, Din turns you in the opposite direction, marching you towards the inn. 

“Don’t want to wait,” he says. “Besides, it’s getting cold, and I know you don’t like that,” he drapes his cloak over your shoulders, and despite the reaction he had at the bar, your heart feels warm, and you lean into him. 

---

The inn is quiet, and you were lucky to get a larger room at the end of the hall. A bath would be nice, the refresher aboard the Crest did its job, but five minute showers really didn’t leave any time for luxuriating. Maybe you could MacGyver some bubbles and really indulge with Din. 

Din however, has other ideas. He all but shoves you into the room, closing the door behind him and quickly doing his usual checks for cameras and recording bugs. Old habits die hard. Once he’s satisfied, he sits at the edge of the bed. He pats at his lap, gesturing for you to sit. This had become a bit of a ritual for the two of you, he would often decompress by holding you as you sat there, either in the cockpit or the sleeping quarters. You amble over, planting a kiss on his helmet, and sit down.

Din doesn’t say anything at first, just lays his head on your shoulder. You reach in between his armor to rub at the tense muscles on his back, and for a few moments, it’s just the two of you and the sound of his breathing out of the vocoder. 

“You didn’t have to go so hard on the poor man you know,” you murmur as you massage the back of his neck. Din doesn’t move, just continues to hold you on his lap, head on your shoulder as he scoffs. 

 “I’m getting soft. Before I met you, old me would’ve killed him,”  the voice underneath the helmet is deadly. He releases his hold on your waist and takes off his helmet, immediately peppering kisses along your mouth. You knew he wasn’t lying, he had done worse--for less. “No one talks to my girl like that,”. 

“It’s fine, you dealt with him. My honor remains intact, I swear.” you giggle as his lips reach a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. Except the idea was enticing. Maybe you could bring it up another time, when Din wasn’t fresh out of nearly killing someone for saying that. The idea of being sandwiched between two Mandalorians was...tempting. You squeeze your thighs together, willing the thought away as you card your fingers through his hair. For someone who routinely kept it covered, it was so, so soft, and one of your favorite parts about him. Din still kept his helmet on more often than not, so you relished every chance you could get. 

His mouth wanders to your collarbones, hand reaching into your shirt, fingers smoothing over your nipple. 

“Although Din--ah,” your breath hitched as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, “What was that with the soup?”

“You didn’t like it?” his voice is muffled as he sucks a bruise onto your shoulder. 

You loved it actually. 

“Need to make sure babygirl has enough energy for Daddy,”. He continues to play with your nipple as you fuss around his lap.“Although...you averted your eyes earlier sweet girl,”. 

You whimper, body tensing. Shit. That had one been one of the rules he had laid out for you at the very beginning. Eye contact whenever you were playing. Din loved it because it made you embarrassed to have to admit to your desires to his face and it put you in an almost automatic submissive mindset. 

“Are you ashamed of being my baby girl?” he murmured, catching your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his. You knew it was a trick question, you could never be ashamed of the relationship the two of you shared. It had grown from just business to more, and despite the near-constant danger, you never wanted to be away from him, and you knew Din felt the same. 

“Of course not,” you sigh. You could never be anything but happy to be his. 

“Then why did you look away from me?” he asked, keeping your chin in a gentle grip, looking at you fondly, a smile of wicked pleasure gracing his handsome features. His voice was calm, and he maintained an innocent demeanor even as his other hand drifted away from your breast onto your thigh, squeezing gently. 

“I was just caught off-guard, we were in public,”. You braced yourself for what you knew was coming-- punishment. 

The other hand that had been trailing along your thigh paused, prompting you to freeze. “Well, it looks like you need to be taught a lesson. Always be ready for me, kitten.” 

“I think five is good,” he releases your face, hands roaming to your bottom, groping as you let out a shuddering breath, “Remember to count them”. 

You burrow your face into his shoulder, holding on tight. Din keeps his gloves on, knowing that you have a special fondness for being spanked while he was wearing them. The leather just adds that extra touch. 

The first hit takes you by surprise, and you buck into him, feeling the sting of his hand. 

“O-one.”

The second and third hit right next to the first, causing you to moan into his neck. 

Din rubbed the growing warm spot on your asscheek, “You should be in a museum kitten, your body is a masterpiece,” he growled, “Almost makes me feel sorry to hurt you.”. He lifts his hand away and you close your eyes, bracing yourself.

“But not quite,”. The next hit has you whimpering.

“Four.” you manage between clenched teeth.

He murmurs, “Last one okay? You’re doing so well.” You steel yourself, knowing that this one will be the most painful. You loved it when he was cold and domineering, playing with your body, inflicting both pain and pleasure at his desire, extracting whatever he needed out of you. 

Din’s hand comes down, hard. You cry out, shifting forward with the force, but are caught by his chestplate. 

“Five!” you call out, relieved. “T-Thank you Daddy,”.  

Din kisses your cheek, phrases of adoration and love filling your ear. He moves you off his thigh, pushing you onto the bed in one swift motion. You land with a soft ‘oof’, getting up on the back of your forearms to look at him. 

Din hurriedly takes off the rest of his armor and looms over you on the bed, arousal rolling off his body in waves. His palm reaches down between your legs. “Babygirl...you’ve already made a mess.” Din pulls at the crotch of your panties, feeling the wetness that has seeped through. He yanks them off, making a big show out of sniffing them, all the while maintaining eye contact with you as you squirm under him.  

“Is this all for me sweet girl?”. You nod feverishly and Din groans, as he inhales deeply again, your ruined panties pressed right against his nose, “It’s too good--I should just keep your pussy under lock and key.”  

“Did the spanking get you all riled up?” he asks, the curve of his cock visible even through his pants, making your mouth water. 

“Or…” his voice drops precipitously, “Were you thinking about being passed around?” 

Damn, of course he’d know. Your eyes widen and you swallow, stomach twisting. 

Din grins as he continues to let his hands caress your hip, “Was that it? Is that what you want? Passed around and used up by a bunch of Mandalorians?”

You whine, biting your lip, refusing to give him the pleasure of confirmation.

A sharp slap across your nipple brings you back to reality. “Answer me.”

You nod, lips parting, unable to answer as Din pushes a finger into your mouth and across your tongue. You lap at his finger, pleased at the subtle shiver that goes through him. He adds a second finger, reaching deep into your mouth, making you gag as you garble out an affirmation. 

Din grins ferally. “You know I could call up Paz and Boba, let them take turns on you”. You shudder, the thought of sucking Boba’s cock while Paz worked your pussy was hot. You hadn’t done more than exchange a few conversations with the two of them, but you knew that Din would trust them with his life, they were his vod. Paz was the biggest one and you knew he wouldn’t take it easy on you. Boba, however, would be brutal, possibly even more so than Din.  

“Although I don’t know babygirl, I’m not sure I can share your pussy-- maybe I’ll keep my cock in your pussy and the others can take turns on your ass and mouth, keep you airtight and so full. Would you like that baby? Be stuffed full of cock?” Din hums as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. The image he’s painting in your mind is disgusting and oh so good, you imagine yourself straddling Din as his cock fills your pussy, holding on for dear life while Paz eases himself into your other tight hole and you choke around Boba’s length, utterly debauched. 

Din pets your cheek, soft gesture contrasting sharply with the utter filth coming out of his mouth. His hand finally reaches down towards the apex of your thighs, knuckle grazing up and down your folds. “We better train your asshole then, don’t want Paz or Boba to hurt you,” your heart flutters, filthy images of you on your knees plugged up making your blood pound.  

“That’s Daddy’s job after all.” he says absentmindedly, eyes laser focused on your pussy as he briefly dips his finger even lower, just barely skimming across your other hole.    

“Look at you,” he says, admiring the way you shudder as he inserts his fingers into your pussy, you’re so turned on you can hear the squelch as he pushes in. “Knew you were a greedy slut since the first day I set eyes on you.”

You keen under his touch, mind flying high, pussy throbbing as you move your hips into his hand. “I’m your greedy slut Daddy,” 

“Yeah you are, sweet girl.” Din says fondly. You wonder how it is that you’re already this close even though he’s barely started to finger you.  

“Can I kiss you? Please?” you whimper, reaching for him. Din hums and puts a knee on the bed, leaning over, chest pressed against yours, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You pull him closer, needy for more of him as you wordlessly beg for more. He nips at your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in, never minding the mess of saliva. 

 “Never thought you were that much of a whore,” he hisses against your neck, teething grazing along the line of your skin as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. His fingers continue to work their magic on your slick folds, and you’re pretty sure you’ve made a mess on the bed already, and dear maker, he hadn’t even made you cum yet. 

“Alternatively…”. Din stands up, mouth leaving yours and withdrawing his fingers as well. You whine at the loss of sensation. He nips at your breast before reaching down to pull his pants down. You swallow, chest heaving as you part your legs further for him. Din rubs the head of his cock on your clit, 

“Spread yourself,” he orders with a sharp smack to your inner thigh. You scramble, reaching down to give him better access. Din lets out a moan at the sight of your dripping pussy and your debauched dreamy expression, fresh bruises adorning your neck and chest, all his doing. He loved the way you folded under his touch as if you were made for him, always so sweet and anticipatory of his needs. A beautiful complement to his twisted desires. The thought of it made his heart swell. He was never going to let you go.  

Din makes an appreciative noise as you follow his command, lining himself up with your wet hole. You’re breathing so hard in anticipation that you feel light-headed, “Or...I could take you back to the Covert, let everyone else have a turn at you,”

Before you can fully register what he said, he pushes deep into you with one fluid motion of his hips. You squeeze down on him, grateful for the pressure and the way he fills you up every time like he was made for you.  

“We could get your implant taken out, make you take all of our loads in your pussy. All of our cum mixing together.” You moan, head dropping back, shuddering as he continues to thrust, bottoming out, not giving you any time to breathe let alone think. 

“Would you like that babygirl? Naked in the middle of the Covert for all to see?” you scramble to hold on to his arm, legs circling around his back. You squeeze around his length, getting close, but you don’t dare to cum without his permission. 

“D-daddy…” is about all you can muster out, eyes looking at his face but unseeing as he continues. You pull at the arm he’s been using to brace himself against the bed, gesturing at him to put his hand around your neck. He obliges with a small laugh, the span of his palm encompassing your neck, lightly resting his hand there and not squeezing, yet. 

“Close baby?” 

You tremble, “Y-yes Daddy fuck, please may I--” 

His hand returns to your clit and he presses down, taunting you, “You’re close already? If you cum, you acknowledge that you’re a filthy slut who needs Daddy to keep them in check. Is that what you are? A whore for Daddy?”. The hand on your throat squeezes just right and you can’t hold on any longer.  

“Always Daddy f-fuck.” you cry out as you curse, feeling your release overtake you as Din fucks you through your orgasm. 

“What do you say,” he snarls, ignoring your attempts to scramble away from the overstimulation of his cock and fingers. 

You blink and take a deep breath, “Thank you for letting me cum Daddy.” You’re past the point of embarrassment at this point, he has you wrapped around his finger, all mental filters long gone. 

You can see Din’s jaw clench before he pulls out quickly and you whimper at the loss of sensation. He flips you over and pulls your hips up. He huffs out as he pushes himself back in, chasing his own pleasure this time, nailing you to the bed and all you can do is continue to take it.  Your mind swims as you let out a sob; you’re so deep in a trance that you barely register his finger at the edge of your asshole again. He pushes in slowly, first knuckle breaching the tight ring of muscles as you tense up around his thick finger. 

“I knew you would love being the Covert slut; you always need so much to be satisfied,” he sneers, voice dropping even lower as he continues to mock you as his thick cock continues to work your hole and his finger fully breaches your asshole. “Maybe we won’t stop until we’re sure you get pregnant huh? You won’t ever know who the father will be since you won’t ever see their faces.”

 You’re nonverbal at this point, your litany of ‘yes Daddy’ and ‘more please’ muffled by the pillow.

“I guess we’ll just have to hope it looks like me huh?”. You groan, too overcome to do anything but moan.  

“Gonna give us warriors babygirl?”. Din snaps his hips particularly hard, you’ll be feeling the smack of his thighs against yours in the morning. 

You can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of the obscene image he had planted in your mind coupled with the press of his cock at your back and the fullness of his finger in your asshole was getting to be too much. You grip the sheets in a vice grip, mind falling into the web Din painted, of you on your knees, collar tied to a post, all your holes dripping with cum while the other Mandalorians all take a turn at you. So filthy, and you love it. You know nothing would please Din more than your complete and utter submission, and if that involves the entire covert or Paz and Boba, so be it. 

Din’s hand comes back up to your throat, and squeezes, playing with your breath right as his other hand inserts a second finger inside your asshole. You clutch at the hand wrapped around your neck, feeling your head swim, closing your eyes as you bounce up and down on his cock.   

He growls, biting into the shell of your ear, “Aww baby are you drooling?” he smears your spit across your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, you’ve only cum once, and all of this is already making you cockdumb. Might have to call Paz and Boba in after all.”

You could only mewl in affirmation, mind floating, body only anchored by the points of contact made by Din’s hand on your throat, his cock in your pussy, and his fingers in your ass. You feel so good being used like this.  

“I love it when you’re like this babygirl, so helpless for Daddy,” Din growls in your ear. His eyes are hooded as he chases his own orgasm, the rhythm of his hips becoming more erratic. 

“I-I--” your tears break free, running down your cheeks as you struggle to form coherent words. 

Din is unaffected, unrelenting in his thrusts against your walls. “Tears aren’t your safeword babygirl. You can do better than that.”

You manage a moan, barely registering his words, cries reverberating around the room as he knocks the breath out of your lungs with each thrust. “Tell Daddy you love this.” he hisses. 

“I-I fuck, oh, oh, iloveitdaddypleaseplease,” you struggle to find enough breath to answer him, mouth dry from all your panting, Din’s hand unrelenting across your throat. 

“I know you do baby. Is it getting hard to breathe? It’s okay, Daddy’s got you,” his voice full of pride as he rails you, splitting you open, filling the room with nothing but the sound of his cock moving in and out, his hips slapping against your ass. “So good for Daddy fuck-- I’m gonna-- this pussy is too good--such a good girl for me.”

His words fill you with warmth, and you squeeze your pussy against him right as he pulls out. Din moans, his hand letting go of your throat, looking for more leverage as he gets closer to his own completion. “Make a mess all over me babygirl, it’s o-okay I got you,”. You wail and sob as he pushes you over the edge again. All you can hear is your garbled ‘thank you Daddy thank you’ as you thank him devotedly over and over again.  All the tension drains out of you, leaving you boneless on the bed, only held up by the fingers still in your ass and his cock. 

“S-shit. You made a mess all over me f-fuck, oh fuck.” Din groans as he finishes inside you, filling you with warm cum. He pulls his fingers out and collapses on top of you. Din places his head against yours, peppering kisses all over you as he pulls out, his cum oozing out of you. It’s quiet as you both catch your breath. 

You open your eyes blearily, “Fuck.” is about all you can manage before giggling, the endorphins making you feel so good. You can feel Din smile as he lifts himself up, pushing you back on your back. He looks ethereal, hair sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down his body as he gazes at you fondly. You reach up and caress his face and he leans into your touch. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, warm brown eyes on yours, laying a kiss on the back of your hand; ever the gentleman when he wasn’t busy degrading you at your request. 

You stretch languidly, a little sore, but no more than usual. “I feel great actually. And you?”

Din smiles softly as he caresses your face, “Never better,”. You love all these aspects of him, the bounty hunter, the Mandalorian, your lover. Nothing made you happier than getting to share these moments with him. The two of you lay there for what feels like eternity, happy, sated, no concerns, just kissing each other softly, coming down together. You feel your eyelids close.

His voice brings you back from the edge of sleep. “Sweet girl...we need to clean up,”.

You blink at him blearily, “Ah right...I made a mess,”.

“We made a mess,” he chuckles, pulling you up into his arms (how did he still have all that energy?) before depositing you in the tub and turning on the warm water. Right as the water covers your shoulders, he gets up. 

“Where are you going? The water is niiiiice.” you say as you make a big show of sinking into the bath. “Although not as nice as your ass.”

He smirks, “I need to send a message to Paz and Boba. Got exciting news for them,” he says as he turns towards his discarded armor. 

Your eyes widen. Wait what? 

--- 

I regret nothing lmfao. This is 100% me procrastinating from the fact that I have six months to finish writing my dissertation nbd. The line “you should be in museums” and “pussy under lock and key” is from Megan thee Stallion’s Sex Talk and Dance respectively. As always, comments/reblogs/keysmashes are always appreciated and give me much serotonin :)

Might do a part two with actual Boba and Paz but there are only so many euphemisms for cock that I know of ahaha. 

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He��s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (4/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader  / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader  

Warnings: mentiones of violence, mentions of death 

Word Count: 2.4k

Part Summary: As the group arrives at Aslan’s How, it’s evident that Caspian and Peter won’t exactly see eye-to-eye. When Peter 

Masterlist

Arriving at Aslan’s How is truly like something out of a picture book. We stop just before the archway. I stand beside Peter, observing him as he watches the scene unfold before him. Centaurs line the path and draw their swords in honor of the Pevensies, their Kings and Queens of Narnia. Peter appears unfazed, as though this is normal life. Then I realize, this is normal to him. He starts to walk along with his siblings. When he comprehends that I’ve stayed put, he turns to me in confusion. I release his hand and urge him to go out with a nod of my head. I’m not a Queen of Narnia. An unfamiliar expression crosses his face before he snaps out of it and hurries to rejoin his siblings. I glance over Caspian and his head falls as the siblings walk ahead.

“Don’t worry, you’re needed here too,” I assure him quietly.

His eyes meet mine and I offer him a soft smile. After all, if it weren’t for him, the Pevensies would’ve never made it back here. I can tell he’s unsure of himself, worried about all of the pressure on him. Caspian and the Pevensies are supposed to lead a revolution. I can’t help but wonder if it’s truly feasible. We’re just a couple of kids.

I nod my head toward the How and the two of us start walking together with Trumpkin following along.

After a tour of the hideout and Caspian showing us the shrine to Aslan, there’s a war meeting. Peter and Caspian are butting heads, not much of a surprise there. The presence of a power struggle between the two leaders is evident as day. Caspian believes we should wait for the Telmarines to make the first move. Peter thinks it’s best if we attack first with the element of surprise.

I sit with my knees close to my chest against a pillar with Ed. I rest my head on his shoulder, growing tired of this back and forth tennis match between royals. Plus, I haven’t slept in two days. 

“If we dig in, we can hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sides with Caspian.

“But if they’re smart, they could starve us out,” Edmund voices.

Centaurs give their unwavering support if Peter does decide to lead a raid. They guarantee that they will fight to the death. I shake my head, earning the attention of Edmund who feels the motion against his shoulder. He can likely predict what I’m thinking. Brotherly, he places his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over my skin gently. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lucy interjects under her breath.

Peter turns to her, “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options, dying here or dying there.”

Again, Lucy is the youngest, but still the wisest. I’m on team Lucy.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening Lu,” Peter dismisses, much to my frustration.

“No, you’re not listening,” she fires back uncharacteristically. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch?”

Lucy has a point there. I raise my brows, suppressing a smirk. Out of my peripheral vision I see Edmund checking for my reaction. I glance at the youngest boy. 

“You should say something,” he advice. 

I shake my head, denying the chance. There’s no way am I doing that. 

“I believe we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter states to his sister.

What happened to the Peter who spoke so highly of the Guardian of Narnia? He praised Aslan and now he’s losing faith in him.

“Y/N, what do you think?”

I’m pulled from my train of thought upon hearing Peter saying my name. I scan the room and everyone’s eyes are on me, even the squirrels.

“Me?” I laugh nervously, rising to my feet. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to talk to.”

“But you are the fairest,” Susan compliments.

“Definitely the most patient,” Edmund adds by my feet.

Rubbing my hands together anxiously, I steadily approach Peter. I know what he wants me to say, he wants my support. I do support Peter as an individual, no matter what, but I can’t condone war. He likely knows what I’m going to say, he knew when he asked for my opinion. Yet, he asked for it anyway, perhaps out of hope that I’ve had a change of heart in the circumstance.

The room falls silent as Peter and I study each other’s face, silently pleading with the other to comply.

“You know I don’t believe violence is ever the answer,” I reason with him calmly. 

“But we’re at war!” He fusses, pacing away from me in frustration.

I scoff, pausing to processes his words. He can’t be serious right now? After the last three years, he doesn’t think I’m well acquainted with what war means?

I lose my temper. “You don’t think I know that?!”

Peter whips his head around furiously and murmurs erupt amongst the Narnians. I’ve just yelled at their High King.

“We’ve been at war in our world for years now!” I shout at ‘King Peter,’ more like self-righteous Peter. “I know war! I understand war! What I don’t understand is creating more damage than necessary! Miraz is your problem? Target him! Attack him, not the entire palace where innocent lives could be taken!”

Peter pants, his red with anger as he restrains himself from yelling. Peter and I have only argued like this perhaps twice in our lives. Even in those instances, the reasons were never as imperative as this one. We argued about childish things, jealousy, and sharing. Now, we’re arguing about war and the priority of life. I’m only a teenager, these are conversations for adults.

I shake my head and my face falls in disappointment as I continue to look at my best friend. His eyes shift from expressing overpowering aggravation to guilt. Silently, I rush to the hall leading to the rest of the hideout. Peter reaches for me as I pass him, but I slip my wrist from his grip.

“Y/N!” Peter calls pleadingly to which I ignore.

I won’t participate in this discussion further. Peter and everyone else knows where I stand now, no need to stick around.

____________________________________________

The sunsets over Aslan’s How and soon the starry sky hangs overhead. I’ve been hiding on top of the How on the patches of grass since the meeting. At first, I was fuming. Peter isn’t being reasonable! He’s trying to prove himself to the Narnians and Caspian that he’s still this great king from before. I can tell he’s guilt-ridden because of his accidental return to our world, all of the Pevensies are.

“Why are you awake so late?”

A voice pulls me from my train of thought. Caspian strolls over to me and sits down on the grass next to me, resting against the rocks of the fortress.

“I can’t sleep,” I mumble as I play with a blade of grass. “I haven’t been able to.”

“I can assure you you’re safe here,” Caspian smiles faintly.

It’s not that I feel unsafe here per se. It’s my mind, it won’t stop wondering. Whenever I close my eyes, I’m afraid of what I’ll dream of.

“I don’t doubt it. I just...” I release a deep sigh, looking out over the field ahead. “It’s all just overwhelming.”

One minute, I’m on my way to school as I do each day, nothing exciting there. Then the next, I’m in some foreign land surrounded by mythical creatures who I was led to believe only existed in fantasy novels.

I turn my head to Caspian, admiring his side profile. “What keeps you up?” I ask him quietly.

He shifts, relaxing more into his position, and turns his head to meet my gaze. His jet black eyes that match his hair glisten under the stars. Little specks of white glimmer in them like stars.

“I uh... “ he swallows hard, his eyes flickering to the bit of ground between us. “Whenever I close my eyes I see my uncle’s face. When I try to sleep, I...”

I place my hand over him without a second thought. His sight returns to mine with a hint of surprise. Yet, he still appears troubled. I offer him a comforting smile, hoping it will grant him peace of mind.

“Nightmares are perfectly normal, Caspian.”

He nods, coming to terms with it. “Would you mind if I stay here with you for a little while?”

My smile grows and ease of relief across his features. “Not at all.”

______________________________________

Chatter, the sound of pounding metal, and birds chirping increase at a rapid rate. I shift a little, groaning at the sudden surge of disturbing sound. I can see light behind my closed eyes, so I hide my eyes in my hands. Utterly exhausted, I grant myself five more minutes. I moan, stretching out slightly to get comfortable again. I feel a weight on my waist and it tightens around me. Then, I feel something against my back and hear a deep sigh as warm breath brushes against my shoulder. I relax, a faint smile appearing across my lips.

Similar to a blast, I fly up from my laid position. My eyes adjust to the bright light of day slowly and I frantically search the area around me. Caspian awakes beside me in a panic due to my sudden surge of movement. Oh no, this is not good!

“Oh no, by all means, don’t scurry on my account” Trumpkin makes himself known a few feet away. “I was just about to throw up!”

i growl at the dwarf and rise from the ground. “Must you be so crude?”

Brushing down my dress, I march off to the path leading down to the How’s entrance. I hear Caspian chase after me.

“Y/N wait!” He calls.

Ignoring him, I continue my hurried pace down to the ground.  Peter is likely having a fit wondering where I am. Falling asleep with Caspian on top of the How was not on my to-do list.

Right as I reach the stone path leading into the alcove, Caspian grabs my wrist. “Do you think we can train together today?”

I laugh, does he think me to be Joan of Arc? I’ve never fought a day in my life!

“Me? Train with you? I’m no soldier, I would ask Edmund or Peter. They’re far better than me,” I suggest as I start to walk away.

The Prince jogs ahead and blocks my path, placing his hand gently on my arm. “Well maybe so, but then we can learn together.”

Peter wouldn’t like it, that much I know for sure. He hardly let me borrow Edmund’s Katana. Since then, I’ve never actually used it. I drew it in the woods when Caspian and Peter were fighting, but I don’t know the first thing about defending myself.

“Alright,” I comply, much to Caspian’s pleasure. Perhaps it is to my benefit to training. After all, I suppose there will be a battle eventually, though I’ll do everything I can to stop it. “But I don’t think we should do it here,” I add.

He frowns, “why not?”

I raise my brows at the boy. “Have you met Peter?”

He snickers, understanding my point. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We could try by the river!”

“Alright,” I nod. “We should go now.”

I cautiously check around us to make sure no one overheard before heading inside. Other than a few Narnians transporting supplies and weaponry, we’re in the clear. As long as none of the Pevensies find out, especially Peter, Caspian and I should be okay.

__________________________________

Caspian and I have been training all afternoon by the river. I’m actually better than I thought I’d be. Once Caspian taught me some basic motions, I learned I could build off of them. At first, he was going easy on me, changing positions slower than he really would in a fight. As I started to get used to having a weapon in my hand, I could imagine it as an extension of my arm like Caspian instructed. Soon, I was putting up a real fight against Caspian. I spin and swing my sword to meet his blade at an angle.

Face to face, Caspian laughs breathlessly. “And you swear you’ve never used a sword!”

“No, we don’t exactly need them in Finchley,” I snicker.

“What is your world like?” He asks as he changes our position and nearly knocks my katana from my hands.

“It’s not necessarily exciting,” I grunt as I drop to a squat to sweep his legs.

He jumps to dodge the move, landing on his feet perfectly. “Tell me about it. What do you like to do there?”

I snicker, stepping to the side to swing my blade down onto his shoulder. “Are you wanting to know more about my world or more about me?”

Caspian takes advantage of my uneven stance and grabs my arm. Swiftly he spins me around and yanks me into his chest. I accidentally drop my sword and his hand wraps around my neck.

“You,” he whispers in my ear.

I swallow hard, glancing down at my katana laying in the plush grass just a few feet away. Keeping the status quo, I play along. “I like the ocean, but your’s here is far prettier,” I distract him. “When I was younger, my father used to take my family sailing on holiday... but that was years ago.”

His grasp around my neck eases up slightly and I take the chance to slip from his hold. I fall to my knees and reach for my Katana. I grip it’s handled right as Caspian rolls me over onto my back and climbs on top of me. He pins my wrists above my head.

“Why did you stop going?” He pants, referring to my story.

“The war,” I answer softly, my breathing uneven. “He died in a battle in France.”

His face falters sorrowly and his pressure on my wrists subsides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, not seeking his sympathy. “But now you understand why I don’t believe in war.”

“I lost my father many years ago too,” he confesses.

The despair in his eyes nearly breaks my strong facade. No one should have to lose a parent, especially at a young age. Losing a father leaves a greater hole in one’s heart than most can predict. There are far more long-lasting effects deeply rooted in the experience than meets the eye. I’ve put on a strong face for my family and friends for so long that I’ve grown used to it. None of them understand. Yet here, I’m faced with someone who does.

“Then you truly understand.”

My words release in a whisper, the relief evident in my voice. Caspian nods gently, then his eyes flicker down at my lips. I bite down on the lower, tempted. No, I can’t do it. Peter’s face flashes across my mind. Yet, I can’t deny the alluring feel I have in Caspian's presence. At this moment it’s never been stronger. Caspian leans down, hovering over my face closer than before. My eyes uncontrollably fall to his parted lips. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t deny him. In fact, I find myself wishing he would. My eyes fall shut and his lips brush against mine.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice booms over the otherwise peaceful wood.

__________

Masterlist

Tags:  @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter sixteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rating: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

*

Chloe woke up sometime mid-morning. She was a bit drowsy, but memories of what had transpired earlier that day quickly sprang back to mind as soon as she tried to sit up and a blinding pain shot through her stomach. 

She couldn’t feel her legs, and she had a catheter put in. 

The c-section felt like a surreal out-of-body experience. Despite being awake, Chloe couldn’t seem to grasp what was actually happening. It felt like a bad dream, and her brain couldn’t grasp it as reality.

Twisting her head to her left, she caught sight of a note and winced as she grabbed it. A soft smile curved her lips, and she reached for her phone next, seeing three photos and a video from Beca. 

All of Bean, along with a message dating from three minutes ago which made Chloe smile with relief. 

Beca [11:04am]

Bean is doing good. The nurse told me she’s doing well with feeding. Strong like her Mama.

The day was long, as Chloe could do nothing besides laying there or pumping milk. Beca visited every couple of hours, but Chloe would rather have her keep Bean company while she couldn’t. She texted her parents and the girls to tell them Bean was born but still in the NICU, and facetimed with Aubrey. She slept some more afterward, but towards the end of the day, she started feeling anxious to meet her daughter. 

“You should go home and get some rest,” she told Beca when it pushed ten pm. 

Beca stifled a yawn. “I’m okay.” 

Chloe gave her a pointed look. “You look exhausted, Bec. You haven’t slept in over 36 hours. I’m fine. Bean is doing good, and the nurse told me she'd keep me posted frequently throughout the night. Besides, they won’t let you stay at the NICU all night.” 

Beca seemed to hesitate, eventually relenting with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll keep my phone on though, so call me if there’s anything.” 

“I will.” She smiled when Beca bent down to kiss her forehead, leaning against the contact. “Night, Bec.” 

Despite her anxiousness, Chloe managed to catch a handful of hours of sleep. As promised, the nurse had kept her posted on Bean’s health, and nothing alarming had popped up. Beca was back at 6 am, armed with a coffee and a bagel. 

“Oh man, I love you,” Chloe mumbled, taking the coffee from her. The one from yesterday was cold by the time she woke up, and she appreciated that first sip in close to seven months. 

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?” Beca teased, smirking. 

“The coffee,” Chloe replied, sticking her tongue out. “Did you manage to get some sleep?” 

“Yep. Seven hours.”

“Ready to go see your baby?” The nurse asked as she breezed inside Chloe’s room with a wheelchair. 

Chloe beamed. “Yes, more than ready.” She sat up with a grimace and turned, letting her legs hang off the side of the bed while she waited for the discomfort to pass. Then, with Beca’s help, she shrugged on her robe and lowered herself in the wheelchair. 

Her heart picked up with anticipation as she was rolled down towards the NICU. She thoroughly washed her hands, as did Beca, and Beca took over with the wheelchair pushing duties, slowing it to a stop in front of the right incubator. 

Tears filled Chloe’s eyes, but she managed to blink them away so they wouldn’t blur her vision as she took in the sight of her daughter for the very first time. “Oh my goodness,” she breathed out, reaching out through the hole to touch her hand. 

“Hi, Bean. I’m your Mama,” Chloe choked on that word, tears spilling down her cheeks despite her best attempt to make them go away. “Hello. You’re okay,” she soothed when the newborn scrunched up her face and kicked her legs. “Mama’s here.” 

The NICU nurse standing by observed the scene with a smile. “Do you already have a name for her?” 

“I do,” Chloe replied, unable to tear her gaze away. “Marleigh June Beale.” June was her grandmother’s middle name, and Chloe wanted to honor her in some way. “Aka MJ. Or Bean.” 

“I feel like Bean is going to stick around,” Beca commented with a soft chuckle. 

“I’m not able to hold her yet, am I?” Chloe asked the nurse as she wrote down Marleigh’s name on a small board. 

The woman shook her head. “Not until she’s stable enough.”

Chloe nodded, pushing her disappointment away. While she was aching to hold her, she felt grateful enough that they were both okay after that huge scare. 

“She’s so small,” Chloe repeated to Beca when the nurse left. Marleigh’s tiny fingers wrapped around her pointer one and Chloe smiled. “That’s right, Bean. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.” 

Except she obviously had to during the night, but she was right back as early as she could, gazing at her daughter for hours on end. The odds were looking good, with Marleigh gaining weight every day and her lungs getting a bit stronger, too. She was switched to a C-PAP ventilating machine instead of a tube down her throat on the third morning. 

Chloe was discharged on her fourth morning, and once visiting hours were over at the NICU, she reluctantly left Marleigh’s bedside and drove home with Beca. 

“You alright?” Beca asked as she pulled out of the parking lot. 

Chloe nodded, wiping a tear away. “Yeah. It’s just-- weird to leave her behind. I know we’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, but… it’s not the same.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Beca agreed, reaching over to hold her hand. 

It had been three days, but Chloe was still extremely sore from her c-section. Simple things such as getting out of the car by herself were difficult, and she found herself in a pickle as she stood in the bathroom, unable to take her clothes off. 

“Bec?” She called out over the sound of the shower running. “Can you come in here for a sec?” 

Beca popped her head inside a few seconds later. “What’s up?” 

“Can you lower my leggings for me?” Her nose scrunched up. “I can’t bend over.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Beca said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. She slid them down and Chloe stepped out of them, then undid the last few buttons of her shirt and shrugged it off. Her incision looked pretty raw, and she was sporting a five-month bump, but that didn’t bother her. She knew it would deflate with time as her uterus went back to its normal size. “Can you um, do you mind getting in with me?” Her cheeks heated up over the request. “I can’t raise my arms at all.” 

Beca smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, of course.” She stripped down to her underwear and a sports bra while Chloe stepped under the hot spray in just her underwear. 

It wasn’t anything Beca hadn’t seen before, and she really needed to get her nipples rinsed off after pumping. 

“Oh my god, this feels amazing,” she gushed as soon as the spray hit her sore muscles. It was her first actual shower in over three days, and Chloe felt gross. She felt the loofah against her back, rubbing in slow circles, and bit back a moan. While Beca did her back, she was able to wash her front and her face with slow, calculated movements so she didn’t strain her incision. 

“Shampoo?” Beca asked. 

“If you don’t mind.”  

“Tilt your head back a bit if you can.” 

Chloe did so, holding back another sound of satisfaction as Beca massaged her scalp, working the shampoo through her red curls. She stepped back under the spray to rinse it off, then turned the water off. 

“I’ll go get you a towel,” Beca said, stepping out and reaching for a large towel under the sink. She wrapped it around Chloe’s body, then grabbed another one for herself. She wordlessly helped Chloe dry off and once in her bedroom, helped her dress once more and towel-dry her hair because it turned out being able to raise her arms was handy for a lot of things. 

“How you feelin’?” Beca asked ten minutes later when Chloe padded to the kitchen. 

“Better,” Chloe said as she poured herself a glass of water. She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Anxious, though. I don’t like being so far away from her. I just hope she’s okay.” 

Beca nodded. “They would have called if she wasn’t.” 

“I know.” Chloe cleared her throat. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly, but you were my rock during the c-section. I was terrified, but having you there with me and knowing you were looking out for her after… it really helped. So thank you.” 

“Of course,” Beca murmured. “I’ll always look out for my favorite girls.” 

Chloe smiled and stepped up for a loose hug. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Chlo.” 

Chloe was greeted with great news when they reached the NICU the next morning. Marleigh was deemed stable enough to spend some time outside of the incubator, which meant Chloe would get to hold her. 

“Skin-to-skin contact is very beneficial at this age, so you’re welcome to open your shirt to lay her directly on your chest,” the nurse told Chloe as she opened the incubator and fiddled a bit with the wires. 

“Okay,” Chloe said, taking a seat on the chair in the corner and undoing her buttons. She gasped when the nurse gently transferred her into her arms. 

Marleigh fussed for a bit while the nurse adjusted the CPAP over her head, then settled down, curling up against Chloe’s chest. 

“Hello my sweet girl,” she whispered, brushing a kiss to her red hair. Her heart felt fit to burst, and happy tears stung behind her eyes as she gently rubbed her back. “I love you so much.” 

“Smile for the pic, Mama Chlo,” Beca requested as she held her phone up. Chloe looked up and did so, finding it hard to keep her eyes away from Marleigh more than a few seconds at a time. “Can I send it to the group chat and your parents?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed out, her gaze flickering back down to Bean. She cleared her throat and started to sing softly. 

“She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face

She takes me away to that special place

And if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry…

Whoa, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine.” 

It took another ten days for Marleigh to be taken off the ventilator. Chloe spent every day at the NICU, holding her, singing to her, reading her stories, or simply holding her hand. Beca wasn’t there all the time, tying up loose ends at the studio so she could take four weeks off whenever Marleigh got to go home. She still made it to keep Marleigh company while Chloe headed to her NA meetings or therapy sessions because Chloe didn’t want to miss any. 

Marleigh couldn’t feed on her own just yet and was struggling to regulate her temperature, those being the two milestones she needed to reach before being cleared from the NICU. 

“Chlo, she doesn’t like it when I’m the one doing it,” Beca mumbled, looking slightly panicky as Marleigh fussed while she tried to change her diaper. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like me, period.” 

Chloe had done it quite a few times by now, but it was Beca’s first attempt at changing a baby diaper in apparently, ever. 

Chloe rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh. “She likes you. Now open the diaper.” 

Beca did, grimacing as a foul smell escaped from it. “Holy shit. Dude. That’s nasty.” She folded the dirty diaper and put it away, then gently grabbed Marleigh’s kicking feet. “How can someone cute like you make something so stinky? I feel like your Mama knew that was a bad one and let Auntie Beca do the filthy job. Don’t you think?” 

Chloe wasn’t sure how much more her heart could take. It seemed to swell a bit more with each interaction she witnessed, and would soon run out of room in her chest. 

Wipes and a clean diaper later, Beca lifted Marleigh into her arms. “We did it, Mar!” She showed her hand to the two weeks old. “High-five? No?” Beca smirked as she sat down in the rocking chair. “You’re hard to impress, MJ.” 

Over Marleight’s third week in the NICU, Chloe tried breastfeeding for the first time. It took a good minute to get her to latch on properly, but once she did, she was a real trooper. 

“How does that feel?” Beca asked as she sat in the opposite chair, observing the scene before her. “Does it hurt?” 

“No. It’s a bit weird, but it doesn’t hurt,” Chloe said as she gazed down, obsessed with the way Marleigh’s ears moved back and forth as she nursed. 

“Oh, Aubrey’s here,” Beca said when her phone buzzed. “I’ll go get her.” 

By this point, Beca was considered the other parent by the NICU staff, so they were allowed an additional visitor. Marleigh’s stomach was still fairly small, so Chloe was done feeding by the time Aubrey arrived. 

“Hi,” Chloe greeted with a bright smile as she paced around, rubbing Marleigh’s back to get her to burp. When she did, Chloe pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Good job, Bean.” She focused back on Aubrey. “Wanna hold her?” 

Aubrey’s head bobbed up and down. Chloe didn’t think she’d ever seen her best friend this excited, though she could tell Aubrey was trying to conceal it. Once she’d sat down on the chair previously occupied by Beca, Chloe gently lowered Marleigh down in her arms. 

“Oh my gosh,” Aubrey gasped, cradling her in the crook of her elbow. Marleigh was much more alert now, her big blue eyes staring up at that new face. “Hello, Marleigh. I’m your Auntie Aubrey.” 

Tears pricked behind Chloe’s eyes as she snapped a few pictures. She had about a thousand of Marleigh by now. 

By the fourth week, Marleigh was wire-free and was moved to an open incubator. She still needed to gain more weight until they could go home, but it was only a matter of a couple of weeks at most. Chloe now got to dress her, her first official onesie being the Bella one. She snapped a photo and sent it to the group chat, then had Beca snap one of the two of them as Chloe was wearing Beca’s barden hoodie, too. 

They were cleared to go home when Marleigh reached five weeks and doubled her birth weight. She still looked unbelievably small once she was strapped in her car seat, ready to set off. Chloe gifted the nursing staff with a basket full of goodies and a heartfelt note for their devotion and kindness over the six weeks Marleigh spent at the NICU. 

“You got it?” Chloe asked as Beca slid the car seat into position once they reached her car. 

A click was heard and Beca cast her a smirk. “I’m a pro already.” 

Chloe chuckled and slid in the backseat so she was by Marleigh’s side for the ride home. They reached Beca’s place just after eleven that morning, Marleigh having fallen asleep in the car. 

Their first afternoon home unfolded smoothly. It was weird and a bit scary to take care of Marleigh without having a nurse nearby, but Chloe knew it was just a question of habit. 

“How’s the water?” 

“Good, I think. You should check it, too,” Beca said as she turned off the faucet. 

Chloe dipped her hand in, then lowered Marleigh into the baby plastic tub they had set up in the master bathroom one. Marleigh started crying as soon as her butt touched the water, her features scrunching up. 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Chloe soothed. “I’ll be quick, Bean.” 

Beca started singing to distract Marleigh from crying. 

“Shorty get down, good Lord

Baby, got 'em open all over town

Strictly biz, she don't play around

Cover much grounds, got game by the pound.”

Chloe stifled a laugh and bit back a comment because it was actually working, Marleigh settling down while she rubbed a cloth over her body, then gently shampooed her hair. 

“I can’t believe you sang that song,” Chloe said, shaking her head as she rubbed Marleigh dry a few minutes later. 

“Hey, it worked,” Beca argued softly, huffing a laugh. “My girl’s got good taste.” 

After putting on a fresh diaper and a onesie, Chloe fed Marleigh, then swaddled her. The baby didn’t stir as Chloe lowered her into her crib after singing her to sleep, and she turned on her night light and the baby monitor before quietly shuffling out of the room. 

First day home from the hospital? Nailed it. 

[porcelain-blue]

Stray Dogs Seem to Follow

What if Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze did not die? What if they, along with Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, start their dream sect where no bloodlines matter, only skill and hard work?

The all-star trained-by-an-immortal cast is honestly reason enough for random rogue cultivators to start to flock to them, but the truth is the reputations that draw people are not one of battle prowess, but of human decency, humility, and a penchant for treating people equally between farmers and gentry. 

YilingWei is a small but growing power in the cultivation world, and through Wei Changze has an alliance with the Jiang Clan, and through Cangze Sanren, has an alliance with GusuLan. Many of the other sects dislike this very much, because nobody likes to see the idea that noble blood actually doesn’t really matter be proven so soundly.  Wei Wuxian has an uncanny ability for picking up strays. 

Stray #1: Wei Wuxian is ambling around Yueyang, let loose with uncle Song Lan at a good pace watching him, when he sees a kid get beaten up for asking for a reward of a snack. He darts forward, catching a fist and stepping to the side so the man is twisted under his knee in one smooth motion. Training had been going well, and he thinks mama would be proud.  The man sputters, face red, and makes all sorts of demands, puffing and going on and on about the YueyangChang. 

Wei Wuxian, professional brat and heir to YilingWei, lets the man go with a light shove that sends him kneeling into the dirt, and speaks, heaping on extra insolence just for fun.

“Ah, well. Sorry, gongzi, I’m not from here, so I don’t know who is who around these parts,” he sing-songs, moving to help the very battered kid up from the ground. He looks like he’s about his age. He beams at him, although the kid is looking at him warily. “But my mama tells me you can’t make promises you can’t keep, and a rich gongzi like you surely can buy some candy to pay for your errands, can’t you?” 

“Who the fuck are you, brat? You think you can speak to me like this?” The man seems to be reaching forward, ready to strike, and Wei Wuxian is ready to throw down, but his uncle Song Lan steps smoothly between them, bows with grace to the man and asks softly what the matter is. 

“Has our young master Wei gotten himself into trouble again?” Song Lan asks, all civil and gentlemanly and terrifying. The Distant Snow and Cold Frost is recognisable to most, and Wei Wuxian watches as the man puts two and two together. That said, YilingWei isn’t that prestigious a clan to warrant that much respect, but the man clearly knows he is outclassed. He turns in a bad temper, stomping away.  Song Lan turns to him, raises an eyebrow, and then bends down to speak to the kid who is fidgeting behind Wei Wuxian.  “Haizi, don’t worry, we mean no harm. Will you tell gege your name?” The kid looks at the two of them warily, eyeing their simple clothing, their lack of ornament. “Xue Yang,” he mutters.  “Alright, A-Yang, A-Ying, will you tell gege what happened?” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his uncle. “That guy was being an ass! Yang-di did something for him for a snack and he got all mad!” He huffs, annoyed. “We should have beat him up.”  Song Lan waits to see if Xue Yang will dispute the story, and when the kid just looks at his feet, angry tears in his eyes, he sighs. Grabs Wei Wuxian by the scruff of his robes and puts a gentle hand on Xue Yang’s head.  “Come on, gege was getting hungry anyways. I was going to get some food. I’m sure A-Ying will want too many snacks, but if there’s two of you, you can share, hm?” He starts walking away.  Wei Wuxian grins. “Uncle is really a pushover, c’mon, I want some tanghulu. Do you have any family? Our sect is great, we don’t care who or where you’re from. You wanna come see?”  Xue Yang blinks at him, lets his wrist get grabbed and towed away, buoyed by the promise of tanghulu and snacks. Maybe this time it won’t end in suffering.  ----------

Stray #2:  It’s the third day of the discussion conference in Lanling, and while Wei Wuxian had been dragged by his parents to attend and bow and get his everything commented, he had finally bargained the day off, cheeks sore from getting pinched by random and well-meaning older aunties. He grabs Xue Yang and uncle Xingchen, badgering them into going to town with him. He wants to try Lanling street food! He’s heard the baozi are really good! It’s about lunchtime when they wander into a food stall that smells amazing, but before they can order there’s a commotion.  “Stay away from us, you son of a whore!” A scuffle, and there, a kid is being pushed down, his baozi thrown onto the floor.  “Yeah, I bet you’re full of disease, just like your mother!” another kid, bigger and meaner, spits on the ground. Gross. The kid on the floor looks incensed at this, eyes flashing, but before he can do anything his hair is being yanked and he’s gasping in pain.  Wei Wuxian has really got to stop meeting peers like this. He slants a look at Xue Yang, who has gone still and tense. Xue Yang hates these kinds of people the most. They step into the stall together, and while he’s tempted to really mess around with these guys, he probably shouldn’t make a fuss during a discussion conference, or mama will make them do drills for hours.  So he nudges Xue Yang forward, and his shidi grips the hand holding the boy’s hair hard enough that the bones creak, until the bully is gasping in pain and wrenching back, letting go of the younger boy. Wei Wuxian helps the kid up, makes sure he’s alright.  “Who the fuck are you guys?” the kids say, and Wei Wuxian notices that they’re in Jin gold. Gross. It occurs to him then that they probably also cannot make a fuss during LanlingJin’s discussion conference, so Wei Wuxian just grins his most diplomatic smile, throws an exaggerated bow and says, “Wei Wuxian, heir to YilingWei, at your service! This is my shidi Xue Chengmei! We compliment LanlingJin for hosting our sect. LanlingJin must be very rich, if minor disciples can afford to waste food like this!” He waves an airy hand at the remains of the boy’s baozi scattered across the floor. One of the Jin boys sneer, “We don’t have to care about commoners and trash like that,” he spits, but is clearly not willing to challenge a sect heir outright. Xue Yang is still pissed, so he puts a hand on the sword at his hip, and narrows his eyes at them.  “YilingWei strongly discourages actions and words like that,” he says. And the threat is very, very much implied.  Eventally, Uncle Xingchen appears, smoothes things over, and sends the Jins on their way. Wei Wuxian turns round to the kid who is looking at them with wide doe eyes, half afraid, half in awe.  “This Meng Yao thanks the two honored cultivators for their assistance,” he murmurs, polite and formal, but the hands folded in front of his bow are trembling.  Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose as Xue Yang ambles off to buy three baozi from the lady at the front of the stall. It’s kind of nice, Wei Wuxian thinks absently, that Xue Yang gets to feed other kids, now. 

“Aw, none of that,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling the kid’s hands apart and lifting him back upright. “We’re all common folk here, aren’t we, Yang-di!”  “Aren’t you the heir of the Wei Sect, gongzi?” Meng Yao asks.  “Well, yeah, but my dad was born a servant. Anyways our sect doesn’t care about that sort of stuff. You want a baozi? I’m sorry yours got thrown.”  Meng Yao accepts a baozi and eats it with more elegance than Wei Wuxian has ever seen. He doesn’t finish, though, even though he’s obviously still hungry.  “Saving it for later?” Xue Yang asks, eyeing him.

Meng Yao shakes his head gently. “My mother, ah. She works at a brothel, as I’m sure you heard earlier. They don’t... they don’t feed her much if she doesn’t work enough.”  They sit there for a moment, three kids digesting the weight of the world. The moment passes, though, and Wei Wuxian darts back to the front of the store to get another baozi, and some other snacks wrapped up in paper to go. He gestures at them to come out, and the trail after him.  “C’mon, I got some extra food for your mom. Can you take us to her?”  Meng Yao blanches for a moment, obviously torn. He nods, after a moment, and they walk a ways to the establishment where Meng Shi works. Meng Yao fidgets for a moment, but gestures them in through a side door. They meet Meng Yao’s mother, who looks a lot like him, She thanks them graciously for the food, and asks them questions about their sword, and the cultivation world in general. They’re not there for long before Wei Wuxian’s yaopei glows softly, and he winces.  At the two pairs of delicately raised eyebrows, he answers, “Mama’s using her tracking talisman.”  Meng Shi laughs, then, a clear, high sound. She slaps a delicate hand on the table in mirth. “Oh, I wish I had one of those for my boy here! Your mother would make a killing if she sold those!”  Before he can reply, he hears a scuffle, a few shouts of “Excuse me, You can’t be here!” before his mother thows the doors open and stomps in, stopping before them to stare her son and disciple down. “Well boys, aren’t you two a little young to be in a place like this?” she says archly.  Meng Shi rises gracefully, bowing low. “Ah, we beg your forgiveness, your boys were helping my son with some trouble, and were kind enough to bring me some food. Please let me repay you for their troubles.”  Meng Yao looks alarmed at that, but he doesn’t say anything. Cangse Sanren looks at the whole scene, narrows her eyes at her son before waving her hands at the other woman. She pushes her son and Xue Yang’s heads down roughly, making them bow.  “No, no, thank you for keeping my boys out of trouble!” she says, and the two women stare at each other for a beat, before they both smile and sit down at the table in unison.  “Psst. Mama, can we bring them back? “ Wei Wuxian asks, tugging on her sleeve. She sighs at him, and then directs her question to Meng Shi. “Well, Meng-guniang. It looks like my boys have made friends with your son here, and to be honest, we’d like some more young disciples. Would you want to come with us?” 

Meng Shi looks taken aback. She thinks of Jin Guangshan and his many empty promises. She thinks of her son, and wonders if he will make a good cultivator in Yiling black and white instead of Jin gold. She knows, that of the two sects, only one has been kind to her son so far. But still. “I’m a prostitute. What use could YilingWei have for a woman like me?”  Cangse Sanren looks straight at her. “You can read?”  She nods. It is her one pride. “I can sing, and play erhu. I can sew” The othe woman nods. “You can teach my boys manners, too, it seems. We will take you, if you come with us. You would have to work your debt off, but, we wouldn’t ask you to do it like this. There are other girls, who come from your line of work. They help us with accounts and sewing and whatever else they are deft at.”  Meng Shi looks at her son, notes the way his eyes are wide and guileless. He has yet to learn how to lie and scheme and seduce his way into power. He looks at the two other boys, who look away at the scantily dressed women who walk by and smile at them, who are young and strong and seem to not care about her sons birth.  She stands, and bows deeply. “We humbly request a place in YilingWei.”  Cangse Sanren smiles, and leads the way, three boys trotting along at her heels as she goes off in search of her husband. It’s time to go home. 

[whump-town]

Moments Too Late

Part two!

I don’t know it’s fun writing all this college nonsense (while ignoring my own college nonsense) and I think I’ll probably write a chapter three because this is giving me a little kick and it’s fun

Warnings: panic attack, briefly mentions Derek’s childhood, Carl Buford, and the insinuations of what that entails 

Part One is Here

The quad, a great expansion of grass covered in a sea of moving sweaty twenty-year-olds, is nearly unaware of the scene played out before them. A mismatched group of a twelve-year-old, a Chicago born here on a scholarship football player, a brightly adorned orphan, a blonde basket case, an alcoholic, the Italian mobs missing link, and somebodies lanky older brother don’t typically need so much attention. They’re the sort to pass quietly through college. The blonde basket case might make honor roll and the football player might be seen in the back row of some newspaper before an injury takes him out but that’s about it. For them, that’s a point of pride -- not being noticed.

Derek knows from the pull of Aaron’s shoulders to the rattling sound of his breathing as he stumbles away from them that he’s having a panic attack. He watches Emily step to follow, knows she means well but will only make things so much worse. “Stay,” Derek shouts at Emily. Alliances mean everything to them, young and dumb and alone in a world not yet fully accessible to them. They need the little promises -- that Spencer will only eat red skittles out of the bag, that JJ will carry rocks in the pockets of her pristine clothing to give to Penelope, and that Derek sides with Emily.

Out of shock, Emily rocks to a stop. Derek’s never yelled at her.

“I’ll go,” he offers, not waiting for anyone to argue even though it looks like Dave might try. “Don’t follow.”

Aaron’s spider-like legs carry him quickly but he’s got nothing on the suicide’s Derek’s football coach has had him running for the past six months. Derek pulls them hip to hip, glad that the sun and the chatter pull all attention away from them. They look like tipsy girls on their way back from a party, stumbling into one another heads pulled in as if to discuss something of great importance.

Derek’s never been so thankful their dorms are on the main part of campus.

“Hey--” the RA, some poor kid just trying to put himself through college, watches Aaron and Derek come barreling into the building. He’s not on duty but he’d gone to get one of his kids the extra key to their room and been on the ground floor to watch Derek loop his arm around Aaron. Nearly having to pick the older boy up by his hips to plant him back on his feet. He’s got a split second to decide what to do.

To his defense, he knows Aaron and Derek. Aaron is a sophomore and never causes anybody any problems. Hell, he spent spring-break in the dorms and didn’t tell anyone the hot water went out. He just showered with freezing water for a week. Derek is a football player but not the sort that drags in all their muddy crap all over the carpets, when Derek comes in from practice there’s not a trace of his existence. When the two are together, they’re the least rowdy group to deal with (even though one or both has at least three or four more people in their rooms).

So, the RA looks at Aaron, looks at Derek, and decides whatever those two are doing… they can handle on their own. “Don’t fucking run! This isn’t a barn!” Hmm, just another job well done. Nice.

Derek looks over his shoulder, smiling despite how hard his hands shake with his anxiety. “Right!” he offers. “Sorry!” He’s not worried about tearing past everyone they see or that pulling Aaron’s heavy ass behind him is making his biceps burn. He’s worried about the tears Aaron seems to have no control over or how broken, how lost he looks. “Just a second,” Derek promises, throwing his weight into the bathroom door. The communal showers are empty, not many people take showers at two in the afternoon, and that’s what Derek’s banking on.

“I -- I --” Hotch goes where he’s pulled. His face numb and his feet heavy, it takes his brain a moment to really compute where he is. “What are we--” he coughs on a breath that doesn’t come outright. Whimpering and pulling his hands in towards his chest, trying to soothe the feeling of his sternum chipping away to shoot hard bone fragments of pain down his arms and up his throat.

His cry startles Derek enough to spur him to further action. Grabbing Aaron by two fist fulls of his ratty old sweater, a beige monstrosity that Aaron will never admit to having bought at Salvation Army with the last twenty dollars he owned, Derek pushes him into the shower. Holding him against the wall as he sputters against the shock of the freezing water beamed at his chest. Caring about neither of their clothes, he ignores his shirt wetting and sticking to his shoulders and back.

“Derek please--” Aaron cries, weakly pushing at Derek’s arms. He’s too disorganized, too frantic to push the stronger boy off. It’s nothing for Derek to grab Aaron’s thin wrist and pin them to his chest; not an issue of strength but it pains Derek to watch Aaron sob and try and pull himself free. If anyone were to walk in they’d think Derek was hurting him but this is just all Derek knows will help.

Derek feels Aaron’s body start to take to the cold, become too shocked to panic. “Just breathe,” he instructs. “Just calm down.” Carl Buford had been the person to teach Derek about this little trick. Naked and terrified and too trusting in all the wrong men. Buford had lifted him and dunked him in a freezing bath, shushing him when he’d scrambled madly out of the painfully cold water. Buford had held him, pinned Derek’s thin arms down, and held him down in the water. Buford held him close until he calmed down, Derek nearly felt safe once again as if the atrocities done to him never happened. He considered maybe they hadn’t.

“Shit,” Derek scrambles closer, grunting when Aaron’s knees just give out from beneath his body. They both as they hit the floor, a clatter enough to draw attention to them. Derek hits his elbow against the wall, sending sparks of pain through his nerves. “Alright, alright.” Aaron’s teeth are chattering but he’s not fighting, he’s not panicking. “Just --” he didn’t think this far ahead. To the aftermath. He needs a towel and someplace warm but not too warm. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves Aaron sitting on the floor, curled as far as he can get from the water but just limply leaning into the wall. Temple resting against the wall and arms wrapped around his body and fingers clenching the wet material of his shirt. Staring vacantly at nothing.

He runs to his own room where his towels are sitting in his clean clothes basket from where he cleaned them three days ago but hasn’t needed to put them away just yet. He grabs two because he’s not sure what the damage is and it’s likely they’ll both need one. He’s in such a state he nearly busts his ass. His sneakers slipping in the water dripping off his clothes. He lands with a plop on his hands and knees, brain short-circuiting for a moment as all he takes in is the sting of the skin on his knees and the ache of his wrists.

In the hall, legs of a fawn not yet certain how to move its knees, arms wrapped tightly around each other, and jaw clenched tightly to prevent his teeth from clacking together and sounding out his painful retreat back to his room Aaron shuffles down the hall. Derek catches sight of just his drenched clothes, hanging pitifully off his frame and weighed down by the water, and can’t help but be frustrated but not entirely surprised.

“I told you to stay,” Derek fusses as he jobs up behind Aaron. He wraps a towel around his shoulders, wincing when Aaron looks up at him and Derek gets a good look at his face. Aaron’s always had bags under his eyes and he’s naturally just very pale but the cold has drawn any color out of his face leaving behind only the darkly contrasted proof that though he might tell them he’s sleeping well that he’s lying. That’s where you have to be careful with a man like Aaron -- they have long ago mastered the art of redirection and lies. A skill he learned at his mother’s hip as she dabbed concealer over his eye. Redirect their attention to protect yourself. It hasn’t failed him yet.

Well… except for today and, evidently, every day before that.

Derek allows Aaron to keep shuffling in the direction of his room with the assumption that the room will be a nice warm space to get comfortable. The problem is supposed to be in getting Aaron out of these clothes; Derek knows he won’t strip in front of him. Not that Derek is going to enjoy himself watching Aaron -- mostly because he’s a little afraid of what those oversized sweaters are hiding but also because Derek typically prefers women.

What Derek isn’t taking into consideration is that Aaron is a borderline masochist.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Derek takes a step back when Aaron manages to get the door open. Shivering at the cold air that comes rushing out.

Aaron shrugs, lips blue and jaw starting to betray him. “Can’t sleep under the blankets if it’s too warm,” he offers as if Derek might be the silly one here. But they both are really, standing in the doorway of a dorm shivering in soaking wet clothes. “Whatever you say, boss,” Derek mumbles with an eye-roll, stepping around Aaron. They’ve all grown very familiar with the layout of each other’s rooms. Even when new school years bring new floor layouts, some of them are more reliably the same than others. Emily is a bit of a wild card but people like JJ and Aaron have the same habits. And Derek knows where the changes of clothes he’s looking for are.

He’d borrowed a pair of Aaron’s slacks last semester for an advising meeting with people from his major and they’d been snug. Snug is an understatement -- he thought his ass was going to bust out of them. He’d even had to have Penelope bring them up two inches because, despite being the same height, Aaron has freakishly long legs. Derek would never comment on this, Aaron might come across as your normal brooding angst but he’s kind of sensitive. Though the others might not think so (given Derek’s nature to push and shove at everything Aaron says) Derek values Aaron’s friendship tremendously and Aaron knows that when Derek pushes it’s to understand boundaries and because he trusts Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Penelope exclaims from the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

Aaron jumps, wrapping his arms around his naked chest in a hurry. He shuffles back, trying to put some distance between himself and Penelope standing in the doorway of his room. Glancing at Derek as he does so, pleading with the other boy to do something and get the attention off of him.

Derek tosses a pair of pajama pants on Aaron’s bed, motioning for Aaron to turn and pay them mind. “Get out of those clothes before you get sick.” Turning his own attention to Penelope he averts her, shuffling her back until their both out the doorway. Giving Aaron the privacy he needs and letting her air-out her loudly proclaimed worries as he does so. “Baby girl,” he says over her rapid speech. “Baby girl, hey. Hey, he’s fine. Look at me, he’s fine.”

Penelope stops, mouth open and brows pulled down with great concern, “Derek, he’s soaking wet and pale--” She stops and really gets a good look at him. Standing before her in a shirt clinging to his skin and shivering slightly in the air-conditioned hall. “And-- And you’re soaking wet too. Derek Morgan, what did you do?”

Derek grimaces in preparation for how crazy he knows he’s about to sound. “I--I threw him in the shower.”

Penelope raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“He was…” Derek hesitates. He’s not entirely sure how much he should tell her, for the sake of Aaron’s privacy. If it was Spencer, there would be no doubts but Aaron is far more complex than that. “Sometimes cold showers can help nerves and so I directed him to that solution.” Leaving out the bits about Aaron’s panic or maybe anxiety attack, his vulnerability, and the wrestling that took place to get him there Derek feels he’s left Aaron’s virtue intact. A win. “It sounds crazy,” he admits, “but it helps, I swear.”

Penelope considers what she’s just been told and while she would like to implement further comments on the terms and conditions of a shower (even if it’s a cold one) with Derek Morgan, she just narrows her eyes and knows that Derek always seems to know what’s best. She trusts him. “So, he’s better now? Asides from the pale, shivering bit?”

Derek nods, “yeah but in my defense, he’s always pale and shivering.” Which is true, no matter where they go they carry blankets and jackets something to offer Spencer and Aaron when they inevitably get chilled. 

“Okay,” she caves. That seems to settle some of her own anxiety. She looks sadly to the shut door separating her from Aaron. “Okay,” she repeats again, deflating at the thought of her poor Aaron sitting on the other side. Hurt and upset. “Do you think there’s anything we can do?” She looks to Derek, so hopeful that he’s come up with some solution she hadn’t come up with on her own. 

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t think so, Penny. I think we’ve got to let them work it out. It’s not about us.” He sighs and he’s frustrated that it’s true but he can’t amend Emily’s words and he’s not so sure she can either. With a sigh he opens Aaron’s door back up, peaking in to see where the other boy’s gone. 

Aaron’s climbed into his bed, lights off, and back facing them, covered in his mounds of blankets. 

“I hate it when they fight,” Penelope whispers. 

Derek takes one long look at Aaron, watching his back move as he sleeps. Panic attacks are draining, he’s just glad Aaron’s sleeping for once. “Yeah, me too.” 

[apocalypseornaw]

Always be Yours-5

Word Count:4,476

Story Summary: Inspired by the 2 part I did of the same title. Follows Dean and Reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: During a hunt a spell results with Dean tapping into his more k-9 nature

Warnings: ridiculousness along with the usual

After the interruption by Sam the night after Charlie left you expected Dean to find a moment to ask you whatever it was but it seemed as if he intended to act as if that moment had never happened between the two of you. Your bruises healed and with Kevin's mini vacation being over life in the bunker went back to as normal as it ever was.

You had just walked into the map room where Sam was sitting at the table when Dean walked in from the hall "Wow" you cut your eyes at him as you handed Sam a cup of coffee than sat across from him with your own "What?" Sam asked turning to look at his brother. "Kevin, I just poured some buffalo milk down his gob twice" you stifled a laugh. Poor kid was still recovering from Branson. "Buffalo milk?" Sam asked and without thinking you spoke over Dean "Hangover cure-all. Has everything in it except buffalo milk" Dean raised one eyebrow at you knowing what he meant and Sam not but luckily before he could comment on it Sam said what you were thinking "How is that kid still recovering from Branson?" "What can I say he's an amatuer. The slippery nipple shots at the Dolly Parton dixie stampede nearly killed the guy" "Not the slippery nipples" you muttered into your coffee and made both boys look your way with matching smirks before Sam told Dean he may have found a case.

"Are you sure you're up for a case Sammy?" Dean asked and you braced yourself for the ongoing back and forth where Sam would assure you and Dean both he was feeling fine and Dean would express his and yours concerns because the two of you actually knew what Sam's insides were like. "I am Dean. Look, Kevin's back on the heaven spell. Crowley's locked up so we should be out there doing what we do best. Plus we have Y/N here so three hunters are better than two"

Dean glanced your way but you kept your eyes trained on the coffee swirling around in your cup when Sam asked him "Are you at least going to listen?" Dean finally looked away from you and waved a hand "Go ahead" You turned to look at Sam as he started reading from the article "Taxidermist named Max Alexander crushed to death. Nearly every joint in his body dislocated, every bone broken. Poor guy is a human pretzel. You tell me what's got that kind of strength" "A demonic luchador?" Dean offered and the eye roll Sam gave him was deep enough you were certain Sam saw his own brain. "Shop's a couple hours away in Enid Oklahoma. We should at least check it out. Y/N you in?"

You looked up and shrugged "Sure, why not" Dean still hadn't said yes or not so Sam pushed "Unless there's some reason you think we shouldn't Dean" When you stayed quiet Dean finally let out a breath "Meet you both in the garage in twenty"

------

You sat in the backseat of the impala doing your best not to look Dean's way so you busied yourself with talking to Sam,double checking emails from other hunters and even fussing with your suit jacket. When baby finally came to a stop outside of Mounted Treasures Taxidermy you were relieved to get out of close quarters. Maybe you needed a break from the bunker too? You'd decide after this case.

You fell in step behind Sam and let out a low whistle when you saw the words "DIE SCUM" written in what you hoped was just red paint on the side of the building. Dean cut his eyes at you "Subtle isn't it?" Sam pointed out a symbol on the end of the letter M. It was an upside down triangle with a paw print inside. "I don't recognize it" you said before Sam took a photo "We'll look it up later"

Dean opened the door and motioned for you to go ahead so you smirked "Age before beauty" he rolled his eyes but stepped inside so you walked in between him and Sam. The interior of the building was even less welcoming than the message on the wall "The creep factor just skyrocketed" Dean muttered and you nodded in agreement glancing around at all the mounted animals lining the walls.

When Dean spoke the officer who you were assuming was in charge of the scene turned and spotted the three of you "Woah woah woah" You knew the drill so you had your badge out before Sam did the introductions "Agents Michaels, Deville and Jameson" motioning to Dean, himself than you in turn. The officer immediately turned a lot friendlier "The body's already went to the morgue just wrapping it up with Dave Stephens" then explained that Mr Stephens was who discovered the body. You glanced at the back room then back to the officer when he added "Sure a shame. I used to go hunting with Max. He was a real good egg"

"Sorry for your loss" Dean told him and you nodded in agreement. The officer thanked you both so Dean then said "Mind showing my partners around? I just got a couple questions for Mr Stephens" The officer nodded "Ok, Come on"

You walked in behind Sam and spotted the "Game of thrones" themed animals on the desk and nudged Sam. He picked one up and turned getting Dean's attention. If looks could actually scold anyone the look Dean threw at you and Sam was Bobby level scolding so you smirked then took the animal from Sam and replaced it with the others. You turned back to Sam "So emf? Hex bags?" he shrugged "You take emf, I'll look for the bags"

After a few minutes with no luck you and Sam headed back to the front room. Dean excused himself from Mr Stephens and the officer when he saw the two of you coming. "Excuse us"

"So?" Sam asked. "We got a thief jonesing for animal parts, a pagan symbol and a human pretzel" Dean said so you replied "Yeah it sounds all witchy but there's no hex bags or proof of anything we normally deal with every being here" So Dean shrugged "Well let's keep digging" then you noticed him look up at an owl that was on the wall before he added "Just not here" You looked at the owl then back at Dean "Did he insult you? Should I defend your honor here?" he smirked "I just don't like the way that thing's looking at me"

You were walking back to baby when Dean cut his eyes at you "Y/N, you good with one room or do we need two?" you shrugged "I'm fine with one" so he nodded "One it is"

------

Dean was going through his bag and you were coming out of the bathroom when Sam said "The symbol in the graffiti..It's not wiccan, It's copywritten" You walked over to where he was sitting on the foot of one of the beds and leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen then up at Dean "Local animal rights group, Enid's answer to PETA" Sam turned the screen around and Dean read over the screen "S.N.A.R.T? You got to be kidding me" "Well it makes sense that an animal right's group would have an axe to grind with a taxidermist" you offered pushing off Sam's shoulder to stand back up.

"Why? The animal's already dead" Dean asked and Sam responded "Yeah but hunters are what keeps them in business" Dean rolled his eyes and Sam added "Now the question is are those bleeding hearts actually witches or just hippies?" "What's the difference?" Dean asked and you laughed under your breath "We can shoot the witches?"

------

Gentle Earth Vegan Bakery was listed on S.N.A.R.T'S website so that was where you all headed. When you stepped in the door Dean looked around then said "Always knew I'd find the source of all evil at a vegan bakery" you tilted your head then said "Just wish I would've packed my leather jacket just to screw with them" and was rewarded with a wink from Dean and an eye roll from Sam.

Sam sniffed and his nose scrunched up "What's that smell?" "Patchouli" Dean answered and when you and Sam both looked his way he added "Mixed with depression from meat deprivation" you shook your head then noticed that the guy behind the counter was wearing sunglasses so you nudged Dean who followed your line of sight "Know who wears sunglasses inside?" You asked and he answered "Blind people and douchebags?" you shrugged "Point for the eldest Winchester. Sammy try to keep up"

You followed the boys to the counter then spoke "Olivia and Dylan Camrose?" the man and woman behind the counter looked your way "Yes ma'am?" "You two are members of S.N.A.R.T.? correct?" you asked and Olivia smiled "Founders and Co Presidents actually" then held up a pamphlet "Can we interest you in some literature?" Sam shook his head politely so Dylan offered a flax seed scone that was wheat, gluten and sugar free. "I'm gonna stop you right there" Dean interrupted "We're here to investigate the death of Max Alexander, local taxidermist" "He's dead?" Olivia choked out and appeared to be genuine. "You knew him?" you asked and she looked at Dylan before answering "Ish. Small town"

"Well he was murdered last night and a S.N.A.R.T. logo was found at the crime scene" you told her and wished she'd take those damn glasses off so you had a chance of catching a reaction of some sort. "You two wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?" Sam pushed looking between the two of them.

------

Olivia and Dylan were a bust. Turned out while they were tagging the taxidermy place the night before they got spooked by a hissing sound and ran into the alley where they ended up getting maced. You didn't miss the irony of it but remained quiet when they removed their sunglasses to show their faces.

With no other leads you headed back to the motel to change and dig a little deeper because the "mace" on Dylan and Olivia didn't look like any macing you nor Sam had ever seen.

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You sat across from Sam while he typed into his laptop and took the beer Dean offered you. "Necrosis" Sam announced so Dean asked "Necrosis?" "Premature death of tissue, that's why their eyes were all messed up and it's not caused by mace" "Then what caused it?" you asked while Dean leaned over Sam to look at the screen.

"Blunt force, radiation, venom" Dean read off. "As in snake?" you asked and Sam shrugged "Taxidermist was constricted. Olivia and Dylan heard hissing and they were sprayed in the eyes" "By venom" you finished and took a sip of the beer.

"So we talking some sort of freaky ass snake monster?" Dean guessed sitting next to you on the chair and you shook your head at him but refused to move. Sam looked between you two then shrugged "Maybe but the weird thing is, snakes either envenomate or constrict. No snake does both" "Correction, freaky ass mega snake monster. Awesome" you scoffed which made Sam chuckle and offer "Could be a vetala?" "Yeah but they're not afraid to sink their fangs in" Dean brushed off the suggestion and you agreed "Taxidermist was bite free. Doesn't fit the profile"

Sam sighed "So we call Kevin? get him to look some stuff up?" "Best option we have at the moment" Dean agreed.

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With nothing else to do for the day Dean went to grab some food so all of you could eat and attempt to get a little sleep. You were sitting at the table in the room and Sam cleared his throat so you glanced up "Yeah?" you could tell he was wanting to say something but also not risk you getting upset at whatever it was so you stared at him expectantly "Just say it Sam"

He scratched behind his ear as he stood up and walked over to sit across from you "Is there something going on between you and Dean?" you didn't have to act in that moment because you were honestly confused "Huh?" he shrugged "Lots of conversations just from looks being passed back and forth. Dean worried about you leaving the bunker. The couple times I've walked into a room and the two of you jump apart.." You shook your head "There's nothing like that going on Sam. Just when you got so sick after the trials I guess it just pushed me back fully into your lives and then after the two of you talked me into moving into the bunker we're close quarters and all" He didn't look too awfully convinced but nodded nonetheless "Ok, I mean I just wanted to say I wouldn't have an issue with it. You both deserve someone to make you happy and if that happens to be each other.." you held up a hand to cut him off "We're friends Sam. That's it" about that time the door opened and Dean walked in carrying bags of food and soda and looked over at you and Sam "You two good?" you nodded "If you got my cheeseburger we are" and Dean grinned and held the bag out "Got your one and my three"

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You ended up sleeping in the same bed as Sam with you under the blanket and him sleeping on top of it. When you woke up Dean was making coffee and looked over "Sleep good?" you glared at Sam's side of the bed since he was already in the shower "Fucker snores, next time you're scooting over"

He smirked at that "Anytime you want in my bed just say the word" you bit the inside of your cheek to stop the warmth from spreading through your face, caused by his words then climbed out of the bed "Can I have a cup?" Dean held out the one in his hand "Here, we take it the same and I'll just grab me another one" you took it with a smile and teased "Dean Winchester dances and gives his coffee to a damsel in distress" He laughed "Sweetheart you may be a damsel, there may be times you are in distress but I haven't seen a lot you can't handle"

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By the time you made it out the shower Dean was knocking on the door to tell you to go with the fed suit instead of usual jeans and t-shirt. There was another body on the ground at the animal shelter.

The body was of the guy who worked the front counter at the shelter. He had claw marks down the side of his face and according to the cops all the cats that had been registered at the shelter were now missing. "So yesterday snake monster, today killer kitty?" Dean scoffed and you cut your eyes at Sam who said "I don't know" Dean stopped both of you and pointed at a pen "Doesn't that mutt look familiar?" "He's from the first crime scene isn't he?" you asked and Sam doubled checked the clipboard on the pen and nodded.

"So he's been at both crime scenes, suspect?" you asked looking at Dean who agreed with you by saying "Could be a skinwalker or a shapeshifter" "Doesn't really look like a monster to me" Sam was looking at the dog but Dean had already dug a silver coin out of his pocket "One way to find out" Dean squatted and called the dog to the gate. He rubbed the coin behind the dog's ears but there was no reaction. "Well at least the pooch isn't the killer?" you said about the time the officer from the first crime scene walked up and the taxidermist's dog started barking until the officer took his hat off. He spoke to Sam but Dean noticed what you did especially when the dog once again started barking when the officer put his hat back on.

"Can we borrow your hat?" you asked and he handed it over. You held it right over Dean's head and the dog started barking until you pulled the hat down. You cut your eyes at Dean then handed the hat back. The officer snarled "Good luck getting adopted" at the dog and you had the strongest urge to punch the damn cop.

Sam read the clipboard again "So Colonel's not a suspect" "He's a witness" Dean confirmed. You squatted down and scratched Colonel's head "You speak sign language buddy?" he whined at you and tilted his head so you could scratch further. Sam perked up "No but there may be another option" and pulled his phone out. You curiously looked at Dean who shrugged until Sam said "Hey Kevin, it's me.. how do we speak to a dog?"

The shelter let you take Colonel with you so you sat in the backseat of baby with him laid across your lap back to the motel.

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Kevin called back with the spell about the same time you made it back to the motel so Sam was currently combining the ingredients? while Dean sat across the table and you sat on the floor next to the table with Colonel. "So it's an Inuit spell?" you asked. Sam looked up from the bowl "Yeah, who knew the men of letters had its own eskimo section?"

"And it's supposed to let us communicate with the Colonel?" Dean asked looking at the dog who had his head laying in your lap where you were sitting leaned against Dean's chair. "Yeah..well that's the plan" Sam plucked a few hair from the Colonel then explained that it was a sort of animal/human mind meld which meant if it worked whoever drank it would be able to read the Colonel's thoughts.

You watched Sam pour the foul looking concoction and was glad when Dean grabbed it "I'll do it" he looked into the cup and at the face you were making "Doesn't look so bad" he downed it in a gulp and his entire face twisted for a moment "I was wrong"

Dean read off the spell but the Colonel barely moved. Dean tried to talk to him but to no avail so it was decided to get some lunch then call Kevin for more ideas.

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You were sitting on the foot of one of the beds when Dean looked at the Colonel "What?" "What?" you and Sam echoed. "Shut up! It's working" Dean clarified then looked back at the Colonel "Say that again" after a moment Dean said "Dennis DeYoung's not a punk" you were more than a little lost but amused that the dog was apparently arguing with Dean. "Dean! Focus!"

"Oh yeah" he looked back at the Colonel "Hey boy, what were you trying to tell us about the coyboy hat?" you and Sam sat watching the scene unfold which even though the two of you could only hear one side it was clear there was a full conversation happening. "and the pothead too?" Dean asked and Sam glanced at you then turned his attention back to them. Sam threw a balled up napkin in the trash and told Dean to ask about the cats. Dean threw the paper back to Sam then asked about the cats. "I don't want this" Sam told him then chunked the napkin again.

You laughed when you realized that the mind meld was more than talking when Dean once again retrieved the napkin and said that the guy who was doing the killings smelled like ground chuck, soap suds and old lady cream. Sam finally held up the napkin "Dean, what are you doing?" Dean scratched his head in the same spot the Colonel had kept urging you to scratch on his "I don't know"

When Dean started beating on the window yelling at the mailman you fell over on the bed laughing "Dean's a dog dude!"

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While Sam called Kevin to check side effects on the spell you sat between Dean and the Colonel. You weren't really paying attention to either until the Colonel bumped your knee so you absentmindedly scratched his head. It made you freeze when Dean let out a light whimper and you looked to see he was looking at your other hand "Are you serious?" he looked at the colonel "He's being smug that you're scratching his head" The colonel looked up at you and if you'd ever seen a dog laugh it was in that moment so you scooted over so you scratch Dean's head too. He let out a contented sigh and laid his head over on your thigh.

Sam hung up and arched an eyebrow at your current position so you stopped scratching both of them despite the whimpers so he could explain the spell's side effects which was what Dean was experiencing.

A few words were passed between Dean and the Colonel and you had to laugh again when Dean announced "I don't have the urge to sniff butts" "Dean?" you asked and he seemed offended "No! Sam how long will this last?" "Kevin doesn't know" he replied and you ran a hand across your face, as if your life could get weirder.

Dean pulled a candy bar out of his jacket pocket and you grabbed it out of his hand "Woah! What the hell Y/N?" you motioned to the Colonel "Dogs can't have chocolate Dean. Do you really want to test it?" the Colonel looked at you and let out a sharp bark so you looked back at Dean "What'd he say?" Dean glared at the dog then answered "He said you're cute for a human and smart" "Aww, thank you" you cooed rubbing the Colonel's back and could've sworn Dean let out a light growl of all things? Sam looked between the three of you then said "Let's head back to the shelter to see if we can find more clues because I swear Dean's getting jealous over a dog" "Am not" Dean argued but cut his eyes at the Colonel as he spoke.

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After you and Sam having to de escalate an argument between Dean and a pigeon you were in tears from laughing as you climbed in the backseat with the Colonel and it only got worse when they both wanted to hang their head out of the windows.

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When you got the shelter Dean argued with the Colonel for a second before saying "Y/N, he wants you to hold his leash" you winked at the Colonel then grabbed his leash as you climbed out and held the door open for him "C'mon big guy" he climbed out behind you and looked up at Dean who glared at the dog. "Quit being smug you asshole"

Watching Dean interrogate dogs was somewhere between just weird and the absolute best entertainment you'd had in years. A yorkie turned out to be a star witness and wanted a belly rub from Sam in return for information. You stood there watching Sam scratch the yorkie while chewing your bottom lip to not laugh. Apparently the whatever you were after had a sweet tooth for cats according to the yorkie.

The burlap sack the guy had taken the cats from the shelter in had "Avant-Garde Cuisine" written on it so that was finally a solid lead along with a vague description of the guy.

When you were about to leave Dean said "Hold up" and passed you the Colonel's leash then went back and opened all the cages. You shook your head with a laugh when he said "Ok, now let's go"

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You were once again herded between Sam and Dean as the three of you walked into the restaurant after Sam picked the lock. In the first office you found a photo of "Chef Leo" who wore a cowboy hat like the yorkie had described along with a frickin pharmacy worth of pain meds.

You were going through a drawer when Dean said "Did you hear that?" you glanced at Sam the shook your head "No?" "Sounded like little kids" Dean explained so you stood up straight and strained your ears to no avail.

It turned out to be a cage of rats who lead Dean to the fridge that contained everything from cheetah liver to grizzly heart while Sam found a shamanism spell book. According to the book whatever animal organ you ingested along with the right mix of hoodoo and spices resulted in the temporary gain of the power of that said animal.

Meaning owl brains for IQ, Cheetah liver for speed..etc

A clanging drew all of your attention so Sam killed the only light in the room and you all pulled your guns and flashlights then headed out into the hall.

-------

The hall was empty so you moved into the kitchen clearing each corner carefully. There was a lone cook so when he asked who you were Dean said you were all from the health department for a surprise inspection.

He told you all that the reason the restaurant was closed was due to the chef having a private party and would be there any minute. "In that case you're shut down" you ordered and glanced at Sam who added "You're clearly in violation of penal code eight fourteen" "You heard em! Out Now" Dean barked out and they quickly moved to comply.

Dean took the front, you took the halls and Sam took the back to try to find the chef. Working plan was to simply empty a clip into his head and hope for the best.

------

After a fight with the good chef Leo resulting in Sam getting knocked out, you getting slashed on the arm and Dean calling in an entire pack of dogs as assistance the good chef got exactly what he had coming.

When Dean ran back into the kitchen you were crouched over Sam trying to wake him up. "C'mon Sam!" "Y/N!" Dean hollered so you shouted "OVER HERE" he slid to a stop at your side and crouched next to you "He's alive Dean" he let of a breath of relief when Sam finally stirred. "Thank god" Dean helped Sam to his feet then looked at your arm "Do you need stitches?" you shook your head "I don't think so"

The three of you made it outside in enough time to see some bloody dogs running away from the heap that had been chef Leo.

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After getting the Colonel adopted out to Olivia and Dylan you hit the road back to the bunker. The only unfortunate thing was chef Leo had put some doubt in Sam's head by asking what Sam was. From what you and Dean could piece together Leo had slit Sam's throat and Zeke healed him. Wasn't like the two of you could tell him that so instead you convinced him that Leo was simply out of his head.

When Dean pulled out onto the road he shot you a look in the mirror and you met his gaze fully. "It'll be ok" you mouthed and he smiled then turned his eyes to the road.

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