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spikybanana · 2 years

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@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: another world - this author decided to chuck all the plot from a truck and deliver it in a bucket- seriously though, it’s a nice point to hop in and see what’s going on for curiosity’s sake, or decide if you don’t want to think about it ever again. it explains more than spoils anything that’s happened in the series, and shouldn't depend too much on the context to understand [once upon a green haze]: masterpost

You will be my past,

And I was your future

Sirius spun on his heels, and ran. In front of him, the full moon had just become fully visible over the horizon, and behind him was a whole chorus of heart-wrenching cries Sirius could do nothing to soothe. Most of the pack was still transforming, and Remus was pitting himself against a couple younger wolves to buy him more time. And Sirius ran, one footfall after another, trying to get away from the pack. A couple of times he tripped on tree roots and fell, but he’d scramble up and keep running.

The howling started then, more restless than the moon prior. It was a mistake to have come so close to the pack, Sirius had agitated them with his sudden presence, but there was no room for thoughts while he ran, cutting through the woods, steering even further away from the village in case he was followed— not stopping until he reached the open patch of meadow at the top of the hill. There, he collapsed onto the grass, knowing the wolves would come nowhere close to here.

He didn’t return to the village all night. Laid at the foot of a tree, exhausted and overwrought, he drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming fitfully— mingled with fragments of the memory newly returned to him. Overpowering anger kept pouring into his mind, he wanted to direct it at Remus for not having explained for so long, but this urge battled the guilt about what he was putting Remus through. The wolves kept howling, but otherwise there was no sound. Sirius had never realised how silent this world was. There were no small animals ruffling through the undergrowth, no farm animals or pets rumbling inside rickety sheds and barns. Surely this was unusual? But who was Sirius to know?

The morning came slowly, mirroring Sirius’ first day to a ridiculous degree. He half-consciously tracked the full moon sinking from the cloudless sky, as he waited for the day to lighten.

As it had been with every time he’d gotten a memory back, the vicious bite of emotions fell away to leave the facts— facts he already knew. That Regulus was dead became a fact again, and while there lingered a throbbing that will probably never go away, it was no longer unbearable.

At sunrise, Remus found him. He was limping a little, and dropped himself down too carefully as he came to sit by Sirius. Close up, his expression was worn and tired and colourless, and Sirius’ heart ached, despite all his reason telling him to stay mad at Remus.

For a while they kept the silence, watched how the sun glanced into the village in the valley, how it turned the sheen of magic golden again. Tentatively, Sirius and Remus tried to sense each other’s magic, gauging each other’s defences before words had to be said.

“Have you— got the silver spoon on you?” Remus said, and he couldn’t have kept the exhaustion out of his voice if he tried. Sirius almost snorted, because Remus, always the man of the mission, chose such a moment to remind them of the whole animagus ordeal.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, huffed exasperatedly. “Yes, I’ve got it.” He pulled it out from where it had rested snugly in his pocket. He was just about to stand, but paused and frowned when he saw Remus wincing in pain while trying to move his limbs. “Hey, can’t you let me—” he indicated Remus' form with his wand.

“No, it’s fine—” Remus said stubbornly. He snapped his fingers so the spoon floated into the air, and with clenched jaws started fussing with the ingredients. “You could finally get rid of the leaf now, too.”

Sirius didn’t move, and kept looking at him. “Where are you hurt? Let me heal—”

“It’ll heal itself. It always does.”

“Can’t you just—”

“It’s fine—”

“Let me!” It came out a little more harshly than Sirius intended, but he didn’t back off until Remus silently acquiesced, lowering his head.

Sirius was still angry. And if he tugged at Remus’ limbs a little more roughly than necessary, well, Remus only made a face, and let Sirius trace across the raw wounds that covered his limbs.

“You’re being grumpy.” Remus mused.

“Well I wonder why.” Sirius snapped.

“Right.”

They fell silent again, Sirius playing nurse as Remus prepared bits and pieces for their potion. When the vial was ready, he passed it to Sirius, who gingerly popped the Mandrake leaf out of his mouth— finally— and dropped the soppy thing into the vial.

Sirius got up to hide it inside the hollow of a tree, and turning back, caught Remus staring longingly at his lips, and snorted.

“Oh fine.” he relented, “I had the same idea, anyway.” And with that, leaned down to catch Remus’ lips in a kiss. It was so careful, almost hesitant, but still tasted so sweet that it melted through Sirius despite his annoyance.

Eventually, he pushed back, palms flat on Remus’ chest. “I’ll let you explain.” Sirius looked up, their eyes locking, “But you have to explain now. And you have to tell me how to get back.”

Remus nodded, eyes wistful but he squared his shoulders and held his expression so cautiously, determinedly. “Let me think this through.”

He sat back a little, eyes dropping to the ground. Then, he picked up a small stick, bit his lips and started scribbling in the dirt, small figures of lines that curved and looped crossed each other.

Sirius stared, and raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Remus groaned, and crossed it all out. “I’m sorry.” he muttered, shaking his head to himself, “I really don’t know how best to explain this.”

“Why don’t you start with how I could get back to London? Preferably as soon as possible?”

Remus made another frustrated noise. “It’s complicated.”

“...Okay.”

Sirius crossed his arms, Remus shot him a pained look, before he snorted and stopped his face into his hands, huffing just a little hysterically.

“Right.” he raised his head and sighed. “Let’s—”

With his tongue poked out a corner of his mouth, Remus drew two fresh lines, straight, parallel next to each other. With a deep breath, he began.

“This is where we are.” he pointed at the first line, voice turning sober as he concentrated, “the timeline of the village, along which we’re going forward, like following a train track. And…” he moved the stick towards the other line, lingering almost too long in the space in between, “This would be London. It is entirely another world of its own. It’s on a separate timeline, it has its own object, events, people, history— these are two separate worlds, meant to be isolated bubbles. think different islands with no boats at all between them— or different stars, too far away for even light to cross the distance. Nothing is supposed to cross that chasm. And nothing from them is supposed to mix.”

“But I’m here.” Sirius said, sceptically, “and you had been in London.”

“Precisely. Perhaps none of this was supposed to happen, but—” he tilted his head a little, hand still hovering vaguely over the two lines in the dirt. “Timelines of worlds aren’t supposed to mix. But time— is never quite so well behaved as two straight lines. They, well— they bend and curve toward each other— think cotton threads on a table— and at points, they happen to meet, intersecting themselves and each other.”

Sirius blinked, and tried to let this story of the universe sink in. “A bit like you and me, huh?” he said with a smirk, but was running his hand through his hair again. “What’s this supposed to explain?”

“Patience, Sirius.” Remus glanced at him, a small smile on his lips, “To us, what matters is… our two lines, they intersect at four points, two on each of the timelines. And at these points, you might just find portals, that take you to either of the other points.” With that, he marked down four crosses, one at each end of the two lines. Then, he looked back up at Sirius, anticipating his narrowed eyes.

“I fell through a portal, didn’t I? On that first night.”

“Indeed.”

Sirius reached out to grab at the stick, used it to point at the first cross on London’s timeline, then the corresponding cross on the village’s timeline. “So I went from here— to here. And now I’m running along the village timeline, fine, but… to get back, I’ve got to get to that second portal, haven’t I?” Sirius gestured at the second cross on the village line.

“Well. Don’t let anyone say you’re not a quick study, Sirius Black.”

“And, you said the portals get you through to any other,” Sirius barely understood why he was taking this in stride. But surely, more ridiculous things have been said. “So I get to go from here—” he marked a light line, from the second cross on the village’s timeline, diagonally down, “to where I’d started.” He looked up, “Remus, is that right?”

Remus nodded. “You get to go back, Sirius.” he said quietly.

“I get to… get back to exactly where— when I left. So I’d not just be going across worlds.” Sirius pondered, “I’d be— travelling in time…”

“Backwards in time. You wouldn’t have lost a minute in the war you’re trying to fight.” Remus leaned forward, took Sirius’ hand in his and squeezed.

Sirius blinked back, at the way Remus looked urgently, pleadingly at him.

“How did you know all this? You were in London, and so you said— how did you get there if you’d spent your whole life here before the first portal showed up?” Sirius didn’t pull away from Remus’ hand, but he didn’t stop the defensiveness in his tone. “And if we’ve really met, why haven’t I got any memories of it?”

“That’s because— Sirius.” Remus’ second hand went to Sirius’ as well, “I’ve met you. But you haven’t met me yet. There’s— no other way to explain this. I came from the future.”

“You— what?”

“It’s not that outrageous, is it? You’ve only just spoken about yourself travelling back in time, and the fact is— I’m the same.” Remus gently pried the stick out of Sirius’ palm, used it to draw a diagonal that matched Sirius’, from the second portal in London, to the first portal of the village. “You weren’t the only one that fell through a portal on that night of the battle. We swapped places on our timelines, then. And I had my time in London, before coming back here through the portal, where you met me. But— I’ve already met you— the future you.”

“This, Remus,” Sirius shook his head, “You’re— this is not making sense.”

Remus only chuckled. “I’m sorry. And trust me, I know— you had to explain it to me at least four times. See: you came from London, fell through the portal to here. You meet me, in the first half of your journey, but you’re going to have the second half when you time travel back to London. There, I’ll get to meet you, when I’m still in my first half of the journey. We’re two zig-zags, Sirius, weaving between the worlds and time, impossibly entwined with each other, it’s—” Remus has started gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Sit with it. It’ll make more sense as we go along, I promise.”

A high noise escaped from Sirius’ throat. “So, you’ve… already seen everything happen, in London. You know everything future-me is going to do— has done. You know how it all plays out. And that’s why you’ve always seemed to know so much about the future. Remus—” Sirius’ hand went up to press between his eyes, “This is— this is two puzzle pieces that got ripped in half and joined together in the wrong order, why?”

Remus gave a rueful shrug. “I don’t know, Sirius, I hate saying that but— everything just is. There’s so rarely a ‘why’ that we didn’t just… come up with.” Seeing Sirius deflate, his brows drooped too. “But I’d like to think… There's something about us, Sirius. Something incredible, magical, if I should say, about how two minds and hearts, and souls, could intermingle. I had already been in love with you, Sirius, since before the first moment I saw you in this world, even if it happens later in your life. If you have to hold a grudge for falling in love with me, well, later you’ll get to convince a stubborn little me to fall for you. It’s all a mess in the order of things but— Do you see it? Do you see what I mean?”

Remus’ expression was so earnest then, even as Sirius shook his head he’d meant a nod. “Come here, you,” he said, finally drawing Remus into an embrace. “I love seeing you getting professor-like, Remus, but don’t try that again any time soon.”

#HERE WE GO #after 20 thousand words she finally attempts to explain things #did it make sense?#did it make no sense?#tell meeeee #now go back to the two lines at the start #does it make sense????#once upon a green haze #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #my writing

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firethatgrewsolow · 2 years

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could u maybe write some angst/comfort of robert having a bad day causing him to snap at the reader

I love this idea. 💕 Thanks for the request! Grumpy lion who needs playcating (yes that was on purpose). I’ll definitely delve into this when I get my writing head straight. But - here’s a couple of snippets from two chapters long ago that might tide you over:

Michelle bit the inside of her lip as Robert flung the door shut behind them. The evening had dissolved into an unmitigated disaster, and she was grateful that Bella was in Melody’s suite for the night. Tugging off his shirt, he refused to look at her, just as he’d done the whole ride back. He tossed it on the ground as he kicked off his boots, making his way to the bar. Snatching up the bottle of vodka, he poured a healthy shot. It was gone in an instant, his gaze finally resting on hers as if to dare her to admonish him. She stayed silent, not taking the bait.

Robert clenched his jaw at the fiery blaze swirling in his stomach, the warm buzz he’d anticipated morphing into nausea instead. Steeling himself, he poured another, eyeing the jewel at her throat. If she didn’t want to talk, he’d make her. “So, what were you and, ah, Jimmy discussing? Wait, let me guess … just the necklace, right?”

Here we go. Michelle hesitated, quite sure that anything she offered would be the spark the singer needed for an argument. Which he seemed hell bent on having. She did her best to keep her tone even. “Life on the farm. A lot of nothing, really. I don’t know … he was sort of teasing me about it I suppose.”

Robert swallowed mightily. “It looked like a little more than that.”

“For the love of God, Jimmy’s one of your best friends. You’re kind of being paranoid.”

“Maybe I am. But maybe I’ve a right to be, yeah?” he added, raising a brow. “And what about Paul?”

“Paul?” Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he rasped, mocking her.

The little bastard. “Well, we decided that we’d wait until you were asleep, and then we’d catch a plane to Paris. Or maybe Saint-Tropez. We’re keeping it open.”

“Not funny, Michelle.”

“You’re right, it’s not funny. It’s absurd. And you’re being ridiculous … and rude.” She balled up her hands as he reached for the bottle again, stifling the urge to rip it away.

“I was a bloody laughing stock. Do you know how fucking humiliating it is for me to tell people that we’re married, um, kind of, oh, wait, no, not exactly … what the fuck, Michelle?”

“Why do you tell them anything at all? What does it matter?”

“Christ, you don’t hear the things they say … the way they talk,” he trailed off as the bottle clinked against his glass, spilling some of the spirits onto the floor. He shoved it on the counter. “It matters because it matters.”

“That’s illuminating,” she shot back, nudging it away from the edge. He’s a wreck.

“Then I have to go chase you down because somebody I thought was my mate has his hands all over you … which you don’t even seem to mind. And then you bloody argue with me about it in front of everyone! Goddamnit, I can’t fend off every man you come across.”

“Nobody’s asking you to. Jesus, you’re such a hypocrite. You run after women all night long and expect me to welcome you with open arms … which I always do… and when someone comes along who just wants to chat, you go completely …”

“Chat,” Robert scoffed with a bitter laugh. He was starting to slur. “D’you really think … Paul wanted to bloody chat? Are you that fucking naive?”

“No, I’m not that fucking naive.” Michelle snapped, all the self control she’d fought to maintain deserting her in one fell swoop. Their eyes met as she sidled closer. “He wanted to fuck me, Robert. So bad,” she drawled, watching his features harden. “Just like the rest of them. And you know what? I should do it. I should fuck every single one of them, starting with Paul … or, I don’t know, maybe Jimmy. He was all over me, too, right?” Her lips turned up as the singer’s nostrils flared. “I could feel his hard on, you know, it was right against me …”

“You need to stop,” Robert whispered, a warning in his voice.

“No, I don’t think I want to stop.” Her smile twisting, she pulled the glass from his grasp, draining the contents. “I’m going to tell you exactly what you want to hear. How I can see him on top of me … oh, wait, the Dark Lord would probably want to get it from behind. Or maybe use that little thing we found in the …”

“Michelle.”

The word was a second warning, one that she happily ignored. “Yeah, I bet it would be so good … the band leader … I wonder what he could do with those fingers. A lot, I imagine.”

Inhaling deeply, Robert felt his shoulders tense. “Last chance, love.”

“Last chance for what?” she spat, pushing him back. “Christ, you’re really something. This should have been a beautiful night, and here you are … totally fucking it up! I’m kind of a sure thing, you know.” She cocked her head. “Although, you don’t deserve a fuck. You deserve a slap in the face.”

The rise and fall of her chest gave her away, and Robert could make out her taut nipples through the fabric of her dress. His mouth coiled smugly. “Would you like to give me one, then?”

“Maybe so.” The crack echoed through the room, the air growing electric as his lips extended their wicked curve. Michelle swallowed as she sensed his arousal, slowly recognizing her own. All he has to do is look at me. The thought infuriated her as she studied him, following the line of his jaw and neck, his curls falling over his wide shoulders, his chest so broad. He was the definition of a man. And a conceited prick. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

* * *

Michelle quietly closed the bathroom door and padded toward the bed. Robert was still sleeping, heavily by the look of it. She took in the silhouette of his broad back, pausing on the dark little patch of fuzz dusting the lower part. She caressed the spot, swiftly withdrawing her hand as the singer shifted. He stilled, and she carefully slid into the sheets, continuing her tentative exploration. His hair was fanned across the pillow, and she swept it away from his neck, revealing the tiny golden ringlets at the base of it. She skimmed the tip of her finger across them, gracing each one with a light kiss. She wondered how much of the night he would remember.

The dream dissolved as Robert sensed a feather touch on the nape of his neck. He recognized the feel of her lips and began to smile. The smile morphed into a grimace at the riot in his head, and he turned to her, stretching mightily, relieved to find forgiveness in her eyes. “Good morning.”

“Feeling some pain?” Michelle asked, brushing her hand across the pillow crease along the side of his face.

“I’ve been better,” he replied sheepishly, images of the evening flooding back to him. Just desserts, probably merits worse than a hangover. He pressed his palm to her cheek. “I’m so sorry about last night. I made a mess of everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” He expelled a breath, rolling onto his side. “I was a … Christ, it was complete shambles.”

“It wasn’t complete shambles, just maybe, um, partial shambles,” she teased, her mouth curving.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “Oh, honey, I don’t know what’s in my mind. When I see you with other … well, I get a bit territorial, I guess.”

“Just a bit? I’d say so.” Michelle combed her fingers through the long tendrils that were tickling her face, marveling at the two sides of him. A jealous git? Yes. But also so gentle and sweet. And she had to admit there was a piece of her that relished the way he wanted her, the way he needed her. “It makes you frisky. I like that part.”

Robert chuckled, nuzzling her ear. “Frisky? Is that what you call it?” He kissed her jaw, trailing his mouth down her neck. “Then I can be frisky anytime you want.”

#mich and rob from a hundred years ago lol #he ends up getting comforted anon #don't you worry about that #😊😊

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asoulofatlantis · 10 months

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Ups. I chose german. I guess I keep it that way tho, because this is my lazy-game and I will want to enjoy it the easiest way possible.

So anyway... characterization is so/so. Its nice that you can chose between male, female and non-binary pronomes and we definitely do have a lot more hair colors then usually, but they could have given us a bigger choices of clothes and mouths and so on.

Its an... uh... rather small field, isn’t it? ^^’ I am not used to that. We hardly ever had Harvest Moon (later Story of Seasons) games where we started with a relatively small field... or it just feels like it because on easily forgets the small fields after you arshive the bigger ones...

My first Harbest Moon was DS-Cute and the first (and really only field on your own farm) that you got there, was HUGE.

Cruel to make me chose. I do love dogs with hanging ears but the one with the pointy ears looks cuter... hm... what to do, what to do?

Its a bit stupid tho. They are like “Oh. Strays and they seem to like you, you can keep one of them. Chose!” and then after you name the one you chose you just leave it there, as if a stray dog would just sit there and wait for you. They could have handled that a bit more realistically.

I love it when the game gives you an adult Cow at the start. I always wonder if it is because the game wants to make the start easy for you, or because the game is so hard that you will need that Cow to survive XD

I always married Rock in DS-Cute, because he was almost the only attractive male character in the game but... his character was always a bit... uh... questionable ^^’

Did I misunderstood something back in the day? Wasn’t it that in DS-Cute, Vesta was the mother of Matthew and Cecilia?

Anyway... I think this game Matthew could be a god alternative to Rock. At least he is the only other one optically speaking to me ^^’

10 days? That is really freaking short. Wait a minute! That means I have only 40 In-Game-Days to get married? In other games I hardly ever make it before the first winter. Oh boy...

Wow! Breeding is so realistic and complicated here. This will certainly be a lot of hard work this time.

So I’ve decided to go for Matthew and I accidentally drank the milk I wanted to gift him, so I wanted to give him another on later in the afternoon after I milked my cow for the second time and now I run from one event into another whenever I finally find him somewhere... urg V.V

Yes... certainly the right one for me. And definitely much better then the guy who thinks not working is already hard enough work XD I own a farm, I don’t need someone so lazy.

Okay, its enough for today

#SoFAwL Mona Version

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sluttbuttsstuff · 3 years

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Hucow!AU Part 5 (FINALE!!!)

WOOHOO!! It’s finally Bruno’s turn, I saved best boy for last. All parts combined in gdocs are 29 pages total, this is def the longest thing i’ve written in over a decade!! I hope you enjoy, and look forward to whatever i decide to write next

thanks, and enjoy!

as always. credit goes to @dark-side-blog2 for the wonderful hucow! au

WARNINGS: not sfw, yandere, duncon, noncon, sleep fucking, force feeding, manipulation, dark themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, all characters 18+!!

After taking care of Narancia and tucking him into bed, Bruno returned to your room once more. You slept like the dead, worn out from a long night. Bruno smiled proudly, you had been wonderful for them. Each bull, you had accepted their love, their passion, their essence and earned your place in the herd once again. It filled Bruno with such joy, knowing that you were the perfect mate for them, for all of them.

You were caring and kind for Narancia, playful and fun for Mista, calming and gentle for Fugo, accepting and attentive for Abbacchio. And for Bruno: you were everything. For so long, there had been a piece of the puzzle missing in his life. He had a family with no mother, no children.

Bruno had met you first in a very dark part of his life-his herd was beaten, driven from his home in fear, on the brink of death with no hope. And then, you had appeared, an angel hidden away in paradise, offering safety, shelter. Much more than that, even, with a little bit of convincing, and a lot of planning. He would have his family, his children, and you.

Bruno knew how to play the long game, how to strategize and manipulate, but he only did it for good reason. He had to, you were too prideful, too stubborn to realize how much you needed him. You were running a giant farm several acres large by yourself, no employees, relatives or neighbors to help. Bruno couldn’t have that,now could he? He and the other bulls took over the hard work and heavy lifting-eventually, after a lot of hemming and hawing from you. Bruno managed to talk you into it; it was beneficial for both of you, a way for the bulls to earn their keep and for you to get some help.

The bulls helped with Bruno’s plan as well, in their own ways. Mista put his cooking skills to use, making you healthy meals infused with lackweed (Mulgeo, a plant that encouraged your body to lactate) and pills that increased your sexual urges. He’d even been adding charcoal to your meals to cancel out your birth control; it wasn’t necessary, Bruno had gotten rid of your birth control months ago while you were asleep, but Bruno appreciated it nonetheless.

Narancia had gotten you to warm up to them very quickly, being as innocent and naive as he was, and Bruno was able to use him to display his parenting skills. Yes, Narancia was a grown bull, and mostly treated as such, but he was still the youngest, and hard not to spoil. Plus, the way you seemed to light up when Bruno would baby Narancia- it was clear your maternal instincts were awakening. Good! It was excellent practice for your own children.

Fugo was admittedly the most awkward around you, it wasn’t really his fault, though. He had the least experience out of the bulls with women, but Bruno could tell his true feelings about you. So, he encouraged Fugo to show his strengths to you; mainly his brain. There was an old tractor collecting rust that needed repairs, and you had lost several crops last season due to lack of irrigation. Fugo was able to repair them, thanks to researching some books and some help from you. Plus, it was one less job for you to do, and another reason for you to depend on them. Bruno knew Fugo was nervous, but Bruno was certain he’d be a good mate and husband. He would make their children very smart.

Abbacchio could be a little rough around the edges, it's true, but he clearly had a soft spot for you. While he would smack Mista and Narancia around when they got on his nerves or got ornery, you he respected and let a lot slide. Bruno had seen you tug on his tail (admittedly by accident) , elbow him (after a funny joke), and even put flowers (that he was allergic to!) in his hair! Abbacchio had taken it in stride, and even defended you when Mista’s teasing or the other shenanigans went too far. Plus, Abbacchio’s skills as a lockpick let them sneak into your house when you were away or sleeping. Very useful indeed…

Bruno knew he had to share you, as much as he wanted you for his own. He couldn’t hurt his herd, his brothers, who loved you almost as much as he did. So Bruno was patient, he let them have their turns first, keep the peace….

But Bruno couldn’t wait any longer.

The timing had to be perfect, to ensure he had the best chances. He had snuck into your home months before, stealing and disposing of your birth control, and destroying your refill prescription. Thankfully you were too busy and preoccupied to make a new appointment with the doctor for new medication, which Bruno appreciated greatly. Digging through your trash, he was able to record and determine your cycle, in order to find out when you would be most fertile. He would allow his herd many things,including you.

But his child would be first.

Letting the others go first- he allowed it before you were truly in heat. They didn’t know why, but were grateful nonetheless, eager to claim you.

He pulled back your blankets, after making sure you were deep in R.E.M. sleep. Birds started chirping as dawn rose outside, but you were dead to the world. So much, in fact, that when Bruno pulled back your bed sheets you didn’t so much as flinch. You were still nude, too tired to put your pajamas back on last night; Bruno admired the early morning light glowing on your body. Bruno kissed down your face and body everywhere the sun touched, relieved you were still asleep. Bruno made note of every bruise and marking on your skin to treat later that morning, as he went lower and lower down your body. Spreading your legs, you tasted divine. You were definitely ready, too: now would be his best chance.

Licking the others out of your core, he heard you quietly whimper- he paused, waiting for you to stir, but you eventually drifted back to sleep. You always were cute when you slept, the way you would sometimes talk in your sleep or kick your legs “Running.” Bruno had learned a lot observing you, and intended to learn a lot more from you today. He cleaned you out with his tongue and prepped you thoroughly-maybe it was petty of him, saving you all for himself, but Bruno was the alpha bull, and the perfect mate for you. That’s why it was so important to not just get you pregnant, but pregnant with his children. It’s what you, the both of you deserved.

Once Bruno was certain you were ready ( you were still soft and wet from last night, and pleasantly warm against his tongue and fingers) he leaned over you, pulling your legs up against his shoulders into a mating press. It terrified him how easily you slept, how dangerous it would be if his herd hadn’t found you. What if someone else had found you before them, taken you like this in your sleep? It worried him so, that’s why he had to do this, claim you and protect you from any rivals.

Bruno stroked your cheek, before pressing inside. Finally, after all this time, he was inside of you, warm and wonderful and all his. You squirmed in your sleep,but otherwise accepted him without complaint. Bruno was so happy he could cry, he settled for kissing your shoulder as he pushed into the hilt. Bruno couldn’t hold his urges back any longer, he thrust into you again and again, hitting against your sweet spot. You cried out in your sleep, jumbled noises Bruno convinced himself were his name. In this position, he was able to reach so deep, force himself as far inside as he could reach.

His grip on you tightened, feeling the strain of the position, the slap of his balls on your ass fueling his desire more. But it wasn’t enough, he had to make sure you felt good too. He suckled your chest, licking your nipples the way he had seen you enjoy. Your pussy was so wet he was able to rub slick onto your hard throbbing clit, careful to rub the raw skin gently.

“Y/n, I’m so thankful to have found you, finally we can make our dreams come true~” Bruno whispered to you, desperate for you to know the feelings he’d held back for so long.

“I can hardly hold back with you; I’ve been waiting so long for this, and I can tell now that so have you. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, we all will. Just give in, you can trust me.” Bruno pleaded, close to the edge. Bruno grit his teeth, it was about to end, all too soon. Bruno wasn’t ready, he wanted to stay like this with you forever. Relief washed over Bruno as he heard you cry out in release, tightening around him and bringing him to release.

“I’m cumming, y/n. Please, accept all of me!” He gasped,spilling his seed inside. Tears Bruno had held back spilled down as his emotions overcame him, something he would only allow to happen while you couldn’t see. He was certain this was the right thing to do, now more than ever. You were his, all of theirs, safe and protected.

In the next months, you would become full with child. Naturally, you would have to stop manual labor-which would be fine, you could depend on your sturdy bulls to run the farm for you. And then when you had their children, you would need to raise them. Obviously, you had five capable mates to help you; taking turns feeding them, staying up on long sleepless nights, teaching them right from wrong. So many precious memories to be made with you, Bruno could

hardly wait.

As Bruno turned to leave you to rest, he saw you start to rise.

“...Bruno?” You called weakly, and Bruno was by your side in an instant.

“Y/n? What’s wrong, you’re up so early?” Bruno asked, concerned.

“...It’s hot” you groaned, reaching out for him. Bruno’s heart fluttered, you called out for him. He felt your forehead; admittedly sweaty, but not necessarily from illness.

“You are a little warm. Let’s get you out of these sweaty blankets and cleaned up.” Bruno helped you out of your sheets, and ran to get a damp washcloth. He returned quickly, sitting on your bed and wiped the cloth over your body. Your body flushed, and whenever you thought Bruno wasn’t looking, you would glance over at him. Bruno smiled to himself, you really were spoiling him this morning-he couldn’t be more delighted.

“Are you feeling any better? You should take it easy today, you had a long night.” Bruno said as he washed your stomach.

“Umm, yes, im-ahh!” You jumped, as Bruno’s wash cloth reached your nether regions.

“Relax, bella, It’s important to clean this area as well. We don’t want you getting sick now do we?” Bruno continued, unfazed by your reaction. You fidgeted a moment longer, but considering all that had happened, you relented. What more could Bruno do to you?

He toweled you off quickly, patting you dry and then headed to your closet.

“Let’s find you something extra comfortable to wear today, shall we?” Bruno asked, flipping through your hangers. What a shame, most of your outfits were utilitarian and industrial, not befitting a mother to be.

“Oh, Bruno, you don’t have to-” You began, but Bruno cut you off.

“Here we go, perfect! Ah, and this shade of lavender will look lovely on you!” Bruno proclaimed, holding up a flowery sundress made of soft cotton. Very comfortable, but not the best for farm work. Bruno couldn’t be stopped though, grabbing some undergarments for you (how did he know where you kept them?) and helped you sit up in bed.

“Let’s get you dressed, as much as I love the thought of having you nude all day, nothing will get done around the farm with the boys fawning over you.” Bruno chuckled, sliding socks onto your feet for you.

“Bruno, please! I can dress myself!” You pleaded, trying to pull away, but Bruno stopped you with gentle but firm hands.

“Bella, please-let me take care of you the way you’ve taken care of us. It’s only fair, isn’t it?” Bruno smiled, tugging your socks up to your ankles. He held a white pair of panties out for you, “Step in, dear, one foot at a time” You groaned, turning an adorable shade of red Bruno loved, but did indeed let him slide the panties up and onto you. He convinced you to skip a bra today (Bruno wasn’t completely selfless) and slip into the sundress, snug as a bug.

“Much better! Now, do you want to see if you can get some more sleep? You didn’t get many hours of sleep last night, and your body must be very sore.” He asked you, stroking your cheek. “Well, maybe later, but-” You began, only to be interrupted by your growling stomach. Bruno chuckled, “Ahh, of course, let’s get you fed shall we?” he winked, placing a hand on the small of your back and escorting you to the kitchen.

You tried to make yourself breakfast, really you did, but Bruno wasn’t giving you any leeway this morning.

“Please, Bambina, let me cook for you. You always make the rest of us meals, and I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.” He told you, sitting you on a kitchen chair, rolling up his sleeves. True to his word, he was decent in the kitchen-more than decent, in fact. Bruno fried up a pig’s worth of bacon, crispy and fried with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Eggs, sunny-side scrambled and over-easy, just a little bit runny and fresh from your henhouse. And the cru-de-ta, a mountain-pile of fluffy home batter pancakes, smothered in homemade syrup and creamy smooth butter dollops piled on top. Bruno piled your plate to the brim, sure to give you only the crunchiest bacon strips and roundest pancakes, with plenty left over for the boys. It was a miracle the other boys hadn’t woken up yet, but you supposed they were still wiped out from the night before and needed a little more rest.

Bruno didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the one on one time with you he rarely got. Sitting patiently for him like a good mate, letting him clean you, dress you, even feed you. Bruno was determined to spoil you, so you would never want for anything other than him again. Looking around your plate, you asked Bruno, “Sorry, but you forgot to grab a fork and knife. Would you mind?”

Bruno smiled, unblinkingly, “Oh no, I didn’t. Open wide~” He cooed, stacking a silver fork full of your breakfast. You looked at him incredulously, “Seriously?”

Bruno didn’t relent, smile unwavering, “You wouldn’t turn down all my hard work and this delicious food, would you?”

You wanted to argue with him, you really did. For every inch he gave you, he took a mile, and it was starting to be humiliating. But for whatever reason, Bruno always made you cave. Besides, after everything you’d been through, he’d never hurt you, always gentle and caring. So, against your better judgement, you sheepishly opened your mouth for him.

Bruno lifted the fork into your mouth, watching your lips close around his fork. You savored the buttery rich flavor of the pancakes, the spongy texture bouncing lightly in your mouth as you chewed. To say it was delicious would be an understatement; you were starting to consider letting Mista and Bruno handle mealtime more often. Bruno bit the corner of his lip, watching you eat your meal. You wanted to pout, not give Bruno the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed being babied like this, but you couldn’t help smiling as you swallowed bite after bite, opening your mouth and even leaning forward. Each bite was better than the last; the salty sweet bacon grease and runny eggs soaked into the pancakes, soaking up the flavor medley and sending your palette into overdrive.

Bruno loved every minute, watching you let your guard down for him, licking up syrup from your chin, even letting him wipe your cheek clean with a napkin. Your stomach puffed out as you ate through your meal, it excited him to know he did that to you, and that your stomach would soon be even more distended and full with his baby. Your plate was nearly clean, but you didn’t think you could eat another bite. Bruno had given you so much already, and it was all delicious and rich, and had no more room.

“Please, Bruno, I’m full to the brim. I’m sorry but I can’t eat anymore.” You groaned, clutching your stomach.

“Oh please, just another bite, bambina~ you’ve done so well, you’re almost done.” He cooed, forking the last bits on your plate. You tried to excuse yourself, but Bruno stuffed it into your open unsuspecting mouth. You nearly choked on the utensil forcing your way into your mouth, a sugary syrupy mess that was starting to nauseate you. It was too much, too rich, but Bruno held your mouth shut.

“Please, y/n, you have to eat more. Think of our children, won’t you?” You froze, as you remembered everything that had happened last night with a wave. You looked at Bruno, mouth still full and ready to vomit. His gaze tore into you, more serious than he had been all morning. In fact, the last time he looked at you like that…

Bruno rubbed your back, as your eyes watered and spilled over. Poor thing, were you already having morning sickness? No worries, it was only natural; he would take care of you. You were having trouble breathing, not sure if it was the food or the panic setting in.

“Come on Bambina, you’re almost done. Just swallow it all down, you can do it~” Bruno hissed, as he plugged up your nose. Bruno sighed, watching your eyes bug out; he didn’t want to be harsh with you, but what other choice were you giving him? You needed to follow his orders, that’s how he kept you safe and happy. “Now, y/n”

Despite the lump in your throat, you had no choice but to swallow, the lack of oxygen making you gag. How could you forget who you were dealing with? How could you let him take advantage of you again and again? You wiped the snot and tears from your face, catching your breath. You flinched as a familiar hand reached out and grabbed your chin. Bruno turned you to look at him, his face calm and smiling as if nothing had happened.

“There, Bambina, that wasn’t so bad was it? You have to let me take care of you, okay? We don’t want you hurting yourself do we?” He asked, voice soft and patronizing, like he hadn’t just force fed you against your will. You wanted to run away, but didn’t know where to go. It didn’t help any as you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Yo, y/n! You’re up already? I thought we wiped you out last night!”

“Guess we’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Are you okay, y/n? You look ill. Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Ohh, it smells so good! Did you make breakfast for us, y/n?”

You were surrounded. No way out. Five strong angry bulls that had taken over your life, your home, even your body. You couldn’t trust them, not any of them. There was no escape.

“What’s wrong, bella? Are you crying?”

“Don’t cry, y/n! There’s nothing to worry about, we’ll take care of you!”

“You can count on us, y/n. We’re mates, after all.”

You were trapped.

Trapped.

You opened your mouth to scream, but it was no use.

It’s not like anyone would hear you, anyways

END

#sluttbuttsstuff #fic #not sfw #hucow!au #yandere #bruno #brunoxreader

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keichanz · 3 years

Text

Mistake

kay so i really don't care if some of this doesn't make sense because this is the first thing i've written in a while that i don't absolutely hate. well this version at least. ending up scraping the first draft because it just seemed wrong and went in a different direction. im glad i did cause im happy with it.

anyway i realize that this may not get much feedback because i took a different approach to it, aka the entire pov is from an OC but i can't bring myself to care too much because i wrote this purely for myself. got inspired, started writing, and i actually liked the content i was writing. end of.

btw the oc doesn't refer to inuyasha as a half-demon because he's unaware he is one and i was too lazy to delve into those waters anyhow.

also for the sake of this oneshot pls dont look too closely at the ranks of diplomat and ambassador. i was too lazy to put much research regarding positions of power so just...go with it.

inspired by @stillunderyourbed's art that can be found here.

It was…quaint. Smaller than what he'd expected. The housing structures looked subpar, there didn't appear to be any wooden walkways, and he could detect the distinct odor or fish in the air with hints of manure. There even seemed to be a perpetual dust cloud hovering at about waist high, thickening from the numerous carts, wagons, horses, and villagers kicking up dirt as they went about their daily lives. Already he felt like there was a layer of dust caked on the inside of his lungs and he wasn't even inside yet.

All in all, it was your typical countryside village, home to simple folk that made a living off of fishing, farming, and trade. The diplomat sneered in disgust. For being the rumored home of the creature strong enough to destroy the despicable Naraku, the village was…less than impressive. And to say that he was underwhelmed would be a vast understatement.

Shifting atop his mount, a chestnut gelding that had been his faithful companion for the last four years, Takeji frowned as he surveyed the sight before him. It was early afternoon, so men were out working in the fields, women were chatting amongst themselves as they laundered clothing at the river, and children were running about, playing and laughing while dogs barked at their heels. He could see the great red torii gate and the stone staircase that led to the shrine and he could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes.

The village was obviously poor, possibly even teetering on the edge of poverty, and instead of feeding themselves for a good long while, they decided to construct that monstrosity. He would never understand the minds of simple common folk. Daft. All of them.

Barely keeping himself from scowling, Takeji reluctantly climbed off his mount and forced himself to move forward into the pathetic excuse for a village. Already he knew he would have to burn his expensive attire; there would be no getting the dust and stench out of it after his ghastly visit. A visit he had not wanted to make, but being a highly revered and prestigious diplomat, it was his duty to travel to far off lands in hopes of establishing a profitable relationship that would ultimately benefit his homeland.

Although, looking around and fighting against the urge to retch at both the nauseating stench and the mere sight of all the unwashed villagers milling around, Takeji wondered not for the first time why he even bothered to accept this task. True, it was said the slayer of Naraku did hail from here, but surely having his homeland associated with this hovel would garner nothing but loss. So why had he agreed to come?

Oh, yes, he mused, grimacing as he stepped over a large manure pile right in the middle of the road. Because apparently, being all chummy with the nation's hero will allow us to have him at our beck and call, because who doesn't want a powerful demon capable of slaying the most evil demon in all of existence as an intimidating presence during negotiations, and let's not forget he alone would be equal to about one hundred soldiers in battle.

Rolling his eyes, Takeji tied his mount to a hitching post, withdrew his satchel with all the necessary paperwork, and set about finding this Inuyasha fellow. He'd been told the demon wore scarlet robes, carried a sword at his hip, and had white hair so no doubt he would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the droll browns and grays of the common folk, which suited him just fine. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave because there was no way he was staying even a second more in this village than he had to. Even if the next inn was hours away, he'd make the journey; the inn here was probably as unclean and riddled with bed bugs or something. Ugh. How vile.

Shrugging the satchel over his shoulder, Takeji bit back a groan, sighed, and hadn't even made it a single step before the sound of screaming froze him in his tracks. He gasped and immediately started looking for the danger, body tense, preparing to hop back onto his steed lightning fast and make a hasty getaway.

But as he looked around with wide eyes and a frantically beating heart, Takeji couldn't help but notice that he was the only one that appeared to have heard the sound of terror. The villagers were just continuing to go about their day, calm as you please, either severely deaf or completely uncaring. Takeji was beginning to wonder if he was perhaps hearing things when it happened again, a high-pitched sound that he realized with dread belonged to a child.

Takeji gaped. A child was in danger and nobody cared?! What kind of village was this?! Another shriek pierced the air, and Takeji made a decision. Very well; if these imbeciles weren't going to do anything about it, then he himself would see to the danger. While by no means a swordsman or warrior, he did have some weapons training he could fall back on for this precise reason. Traveling alone was dangerous, and you never knew what you would encounter.

Resolved, the diplomat set his jaw, unsheathed the dagger at his waist, and darted toward the direction the screams were coming from. He meandered between houses, hoped over lazing dogs, dodged startled villagers in his path, and he came into a small clearing by the forest's edge. The sight that greeted him was…not what he expected.

Coming up short, Takeji watched with a befuddled frown as one child chased around two other, slightly older looking children. One might think they were playing a game of sorts, and the diplomat started to believe that was indeed the case…until the one doing the chasing, clad in red, suddenly jumped high into the air, over the heads of the other two children, and landed before them with hands raised.

Hands, Takeji noticed with growing dread and disgust, tipped with claws on each finger and he quickly realized what exactly was happening. That wicked little demon brat, that creature was toying with those helpless children! It was keeping them trapped, preventing them from running away by leaping over their heads and blocking their route of escape! They screamed, the demon child laughed, and so potent was his fury, so enraged was he for the fact that the villagers apparently did not care about what was happening right beneath their noses, Takeji failed to notice the wide smiles on all three of the young one's faces. The blood pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing the gleeful giggles as the two human kids scrambled away from the one clad in red, and without another thought, Takeji moved.

"Run, children!" Takeji ordered as he hurled himself into the clearing, dagger raised as he charged toward the demon brat with a baleful glare. "I will take care of his filthy animal!"

All three children froze in place, eyes wide as Takeji inserted himself between the two human children - twin girls, he idly noted - and the demon spawn that dared raised its claws toward them. The brat stared up at him with big brown eyes and it - she - actually looked confused. Takeji scowled. He would not fall for such a ploy.

"I will not allow you to harm them," he spat and pointed his dagger at her. The child blinked at him and then looked behind him at the two girls who still had not taken the chance to flee. In shock, perhaps? Stunned? No matter; they were safe, so long as he stood between them and the threat.

The demon child made a face and started to walk around him, completely disregarding the weapon trained on her, but Takeji shifted and stopped her once more. He heard the two behind him whispering as the spawn looked up at him once again, this time frowning at him with narrowed eyes. And was that a growl he heard? He snorted. Was she actually trying to appear threatening? Pathetic.

Scowling, Takeji lifted a foot, placed it on her stomach, and shoved. The demon gasped as she stumbled back and then landed on her behind with a small grunt. He heard a gasp from behind him, urgent whispering, and then hurried scrambling. A glance over his shoulder told him they'd finally gotten wise and ran away. He nodded. Good. Now he could deal with this vermin without innocent eyes to bear witness.

But as he stared down at the pathetic sight before him, Takeji wondered maybe if such measures would even be necessary. The beast was still lying where she had fallen and was staring up at him with wide eyes brimming with…wait. What? Were those tears? Oh, you have got to be joking.

Rolling his eyes, the diplomat scoffed at the pathetic play for mercy and careless waved his dagger at her. The child actually flinched and followed the blade with her gaze, wariness clear in her eyes. Well. It appeared her self-preservation instincts have finally kicked in.

"Cease your theatrics," Takeji drawled, unimpressed. "They do not fool me. Now lucky for you, demon spawn, the pathetic sight you project has made me decide to spare your life. Your tainted blood is not worthy enough to soil my blade, so I will say this only one and you would do well to heed this warning, beast."

Hardening his stare and curling his lip into a sneer, Takeji spat, "Leave this place at once and do not return. There is no place for the likes of you, an abomination that preys on helpless children. Now get out of my sight, afore I kill you on principle. Your vile presence disgusts me."

The child grunted and Takeji watched, stone faced, as she got to her feet. Then to his surprise the little demon balled her hands into fists at her sides and glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the tears he could clearly see brimming her eyes. He cocked a brow, unmoved. She sniffled once, twice, and then to his utter surprise and bafflement, her face suddenly crumbled, her lower lip trembled, and she promptly burst into loud tears before spinning on her heel and running away.

"P-Papaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Takeji frowned. Papa? Were the brat's kin nearby, then? Body tense and weapon raised, he waited, prepared to either fight or flee - because he wasn't a fool and knew when he was in over his head - but when no demons came bursting out of the tree line, Takeji slowly relaxed.

Bewildered and more than a little annoyed at the whole debacle - what a waste of time! - the diplomat scoffed in derision as he turned to watch the little demon brat scurry away. And then right at that exact moment, a figure donned in red dropped to the ground seemingly out of nowhere and Takeji felt a wave of relief sweep through him. Finally! This had to be his demon quarry.

Nodding, Takeji stepped forward and opened his mouth to call out a greeting—

And then froze in his tracks as the greeting abruptly died on his tongue. Because the little demon girl, the one he'd just pointed his weapon at and shoved to the ground, ran straight to the figure robed in red and Takeji could do naught but watch with a growing sense of horrified dread as the older demon knelt down to take the child into his arms.

All color promptly drained from his face and Takeji suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He glanced behind the pair and he was somehow not at all surprised to find the twin girls from earlier glaring at them and holding onto the skirts of their mother with a monk garbed in violet robes beside her. They too were staring at him in a not so friendly manner, but upon returning his gaze to the two demons, Takeji numbly thought that if looks could kill, he would surely be dead by now.

Because the demon robed in red - which was now unmistakably the child's father and none other than Inuyasha, the demon he'd come here for - was glaring absolute murder at him and it was obvious that he was. Not. Pleased.

Takeji swallowed and unconsciously backed up a step. With one small hand fisting her father's robes, the child had the other pointing an accusatory finger at him as she no doubt recited to him their earlier…ah, exchange. Inuyasha said nothing in response, but he didn't need to. The deep, nearly subsonic growl that erupted from his mouth, complete with fully bared fangs in a truly fearsome snarl, told him very clearly of his thoughts on his daughter's mistreatment by him.

Which, if Takeji had to guess, were not very Takeji-friendly. At all.

Somehow managing to fight against the urge to flee, Takeji swallowed hard as Inuyasha pushed to his feet and stalked toward him with that same murderous look on his face. Something told him, perhaps some deeply rooted self-preservation instinct, that if he even tried to run right then, it would not end well for him. So he remained where he was and tried valiantly to control the trembling in his body as he slowly, very slowly, tucked his dagger back from whence it came.

Inuyasha stopped in front of him and Takeji cleared his throat before attempting a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Ah…I assume you are…In—"

One second Takeji was staring into the scowling features of one pissed off dog demon. The next there was a bright flash of light and then he was staring at the business end of a very large and very sharp sword. With the tip just a hair's breadth away from his nose, Takeji gasped sharply and stumbled back a step out of instinct.

Sweet merciful heavens! How—?

"Usually I'd ask who the fuck you are," the demon growled, his eyes twin slits of baleful gold. "But honestly, I can't really bring myself to care enough to know the name of the asshole who threatened my daughter when she was doing nothing but playing with her friends."

Takeji blanched for the second time and he could actually feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He fucked up. Oh dear god he'd fucked up so bad—

"There's—there's been a misunderstanding," Takeji tried in a voice higher than usual, raising his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture as he eyed the very sharp point of that blade. "I—I admit I've made a grave mistake—"

"Shut the fuck up and tell me why I shouldn't gut you where you stand," Inuyasha hissed, lips feeling back off his fangs in another fierce snarl. With his ears pinned back and those golden eyes glaring absolute death at him, the demon made quite the menacing picture. Takeji had the brief, if a bit ludicrous thought, that perhaps the demon Naraku perished from the sheer animosity that was coming off of the silver-haired demon in waves.

Swallowing once, twice, Takeji realized that he only had his quick wit to get him out of his certain predicament. So bracing himself, he opened his mouth—

"He's from the continent, Inuyasha. You can't hurt him."

Startled hazel eyes swung toward the source of the voice but amber eyes stayed locked on their target, the only acknowledgment of the voice a flick of an ear.

The owner of the voice the human diplomat could only presume was the child's mother, as the child in question was standing behind her legs and was actually smirking at him. He frowned.

"You're from Shenshi," the woman remarked and Takeji swung his gaze back to her. "Right?"

Though her expression wasn't openly friendly, it wasn't exactly unfriendly either, however the human diplomat still felt he needed to tread carefully. Because while her face didn't betray anything, her stare was hard and her mouth had tightened into a thin, flat line. She had one hand on her daughter's head while the other clutched a longbow, and belatedly he realized she had a quiver of arrows slung across her back. He barely held in a flinch as he realized this was one of the demon's companions that had assisted in slaying Naraku, possibly the young woman in which Inuyasha held a more meaningful relationship.

A much more meaningful relationship, if the child currently glaring daggers at him was anything to go by since she was more or less living proof of it.

Wonderful. So he'd gone and threatened the only child of two of the most powerful beings in Japan. Clearly he'd stepped over the wrong grave and pissed somebody off.

Clearing his throat and aiming a strained smile toward the woman who was still awaiting his reply, Takeji nodded once. "Ah, y-yes, my lady. I'm—"

"The diplomat Ambassador Sharaku sent to convince Inuyasha to join his ranks so he'd have the support and protection of 'The Great Slayer of Naraku.'" The woman raised a delicate brow at him. "How am I doing so far?"

Takeji had the good grace to look a mite sheepish. "Ah…well—"

"You can't kill him, Inuyasha," she repeated and Takeji thought she sounded disappointed. "If he goes missing, the ambassador will send his troops to find out what happened or if he returns injured, it could be taken as an insult and you can imagine what would happen after that. You would risk mine or Moroha's life like that, and you know it."

Inuyasha growled but said nothing to refute her words, so Takeji assumed he agreed.

"He threatened her, Kagome," the demon spat, inching the blade closer to his throat and Takeji flinched. "Called her a fucking animal, shoved her down, and waved a goddamn dagger in her face! You can't honestly expect me to let that—"

"Papa," the child - Moroha - suddenly said, successfully stalling her father's angry tirade. A quick glance revealed the girl, still sticking close to her mother, was staring at the older demon with big brown eyes, bright with the threat of tears as she worried her bottom lip. And evidently the sight was enough to calm the raging storm of Inuyasha's fury because he grimaced, released a low growl, and then Takeji watched in stunned amazement as the massive sword suddenly transformed into a rusty katana before it was sheathed at his hip.

With a weapon no longer at his throat, Takeji could breathe a little easier and he released a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. But then he sucked it right back in when Inuyasha suddenly stepped in close and got in his face, a low, threatening growl leaking past rightly clenched teeth bared in another snarl. Golden eyes bore into his own, filled with a lethal warning that had the human male's back straightening and his blood to run cold in his veins.

"You listen carefully, asshole," Inuyasha hissed, glaring so heatedly it was a wonder Takeji didn't burst into flame. "Don't you dare think that my wife's words have any sort of sway over my decision to spare your pathetic life. I'm not scared of your weakling ambassador and I sure as hell ain't scared of his little human army. No, the only reason that I let you live is because I don't want my daughter, the one you foolishly threatened when she had done nothing wrong, to see me sully my hands with your disgusting blood when I reduce you to nothing more than a bloody smear on the ground."

Takeji paled and swallowed thickly. That particular image was…not pleasant.

Inuyasha watched the color drain from his face. Satisfied, he sneered before saying in a growl filled with sinister promise, "Now get the fuck outta my village and if you ever touch my daughter again, I'll gut you so fast you won't even have time to fucking scream."

Then with that, Inuyasha leveled him with one last dark scowl before spinning on his heel and stalking away, a clear dismissal. Neither mother nor daughter even spared the frozen human male a glance as Inuyasha paused to pick his daughter up into his arms before striding away, his wife close to one side and his friends on the other.

From over his shoulder, Takeji could only watch in a mixture of shock and befuddlement as the little demon girl named Moroha smirked and then stuck her tongue out at him, safe and sound in her father's arms.

Left standing in a state of numb bewilderment, Takeji blinked, looked down at himself, and had the passing thought that it was a very good thing he'd decided to wear brown trousers that day.

#mistake #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha #inukag #moroha #oneshot #keizfanfiction #papayasha to the rescuuuuue #i deliberately did not tag anybody in this and no i will not say why #and yes i did use sharaku because it sounds like naraku #listen dont fuck with his wife or kid #you will die #if you dont understand that last sentence #tough shit im not explaining it lmao

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nanasparadise · 3 years

Text

“Your musketeer in a blue tunic” Yan! Polnareff x female reader (musketeer AU)

Hiya everyone! As promised, here is a Yan! Polnareff writing, since he was in the top four of the poll for the special but hasn’t reached the top three. I thought it might be a fun idea to make him a musketeer and now I’ve realised this fic turned out to be low-key a Belle and Gaston situation from Beauty and the Beast lmao. Anyway, there might be historical inaccuracies in the story, I’m sorry for that.

Summary: You’re a farmer woman in 18th century France and a certain musketeer keeps crossing paths with you…

TW: toxic relationship, noncon kiss, low-key harassment, forced marriage, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 3900

“Just about half an hour and I’ll be there”, you mumble to yourself.

The pouring rain drenches your whole form, an icy cold having already nested deep in your bones. But you can’t stop now, even if it’s raining cats and dogs. You know you have to arrive to the main market place, which is located a good three hours from the farm you live in. If the wool – which you hope isn’t too wet, knowing the burlap bags aren’t protecting it well from the rain – won’t be sold today, you don’t know how you could afford some bread for your family. You think of your little siblings, how they always stare at you with big eyes, expecting at least some crumbs of stale bread in order to satiate their hunger a bit. Your heart aches painfully at that mental image. No, you’re going to sell the wool at all cost, no matter if it means you get sick due to the weather. You owe it to your loved ones, needing to protect and provide for them as the oldest sibling.

A chilly wind blows intensely into your face, making you shiver even more. Lucky for you, no other person is currently on the road, meaning you’re in safety. You’re aware about how many sketchy men lurk in these streets by the countryside, just waiting for a young woman like yourself to pass by and to do God knows what with her. As a protection measure, you always carry a knife with you, hidden in your boot. Fortunately, you haven’t needed to use it, yet…

Suddenly, you hear the footsteps of a horse approaching you, the characteristic sounds of its hooves drawing closer to you. Your first instinct is to immediately pull out your knife, but you refrain yourself.

“It’s probably just another merchant who wants to go to the market, too”, you think, comforting yourself. And even if that shouldn’t be the case, it would be wiser to take your possible aggressor by surprise with an attack if needed.

The steps are now dangerously close to you, too close for your liking, until they come to a halt. Surprised, you stop your walking as well and look up to the person on the horse. Next to you on his steed is a man around your age, probably a few years older, with peculiar silver hair and bright blue eyes. Through his uniform, consisting of a characteristic blue tunic with a white cross on it, you immediately recognise the stranger as a King’s musketeer. You hastily curtsy and meekly avert your gaze, given that he’s of a higher social rank. Why would a musketeer want from you, a farmer?

“Good day, Monsieur”, you greet the musketeer politely.

“Good day, Mademoiselle”, the stranger answers jovially. “Please forgive my intervention, but what does a young lady like you travel alone on such a dangerous road?”, he asks you, sincere concern marking his voice.

Why would he care? And why would he refer to you as a lady when you’re clearly just a commoner? You get the sudden urge to grab your knife again, but of course your rational brain side hinders you from doing so.

“I’m only going to the market place, good sir. I’d like to sell some wool”, you explain shortly, your eyes still not meeting the stranger’s.

“All alone?”, the Frenchman wonders.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice, Monsieur. My father has to work on the farm and my mother looks after my younger siblings”, you reply truthfully. Honestly, you’d prefer not giving too much information away to the stranger, but lying doesn’t seem like a safe option either.

“I see, Mademoiselle,” the musketeer utters politely, “in that case, I’d be pleased to escort you to the market place. After all, my heart couldn’t handle if something happened to a damsel.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, Monsieur”, you answer civilly, curtsying gracefully again. Though internally, you sigh and roll your eyes at the Frenchman’s words.

“More like his ego couldn’t handle getting rejected by a common woman”, you ponder cynically. You’re about to continue your walking as the stranger stops your action abruptly.

“Wait a moment, Mademoiselle,” he shouted hastily, “I’ll take your bags and settle them on my horse.” The silver-haired man dismounts from his white horse and takes the bags filled with wool from your hands, placing and tying them on the animal’s back.

“You are far too kind, Monsieur”, you say with an overly sweet voice. Lucky for you, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice the hint of sarcasm hidden in your tone. Instead, he smiles brightly at you, revealing a row of impeccable white teeth.

“As a musketeer, it’s my duty to help a lady in need”, he boasts proudly. Again, you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Ah, how rude of me, Mademoiselle, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Jean-Pierre Polnareff, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss…?”

“Y/N L/N”, you reply meekly.

“What a lovely name, Milady.”

The pair of you have been walking silently side by side for a while. You simply wish to arrive as fast as possible to the market place, wanting to get rid of Polnareff’s present. After some time, the stormy weather has changed into a brighter, more pleasant sky. Though some sun rays peek through the clouds, the cold from the previous rain remains. Upon seeing your slightly quivering form, Polnareff offers you a blanket he has in his supplies with him. Politely, you decline his offer. You certainly don’t want to be more in the debt of such a high ranking man.

“I apologise if this may come across as rude, Mademoiselle Y/N, but I couldn’t help but notice that there isn’t a ring on your finger”, the musketeer suddenly mentions. The hairs on your arms stand up at his observation and you instinctively straighten your back. If Polnareff has seen your discomfort, he still chooses to continue speaking. “And you’ve said previously you’re living with your family on a farm. How come such a fair maiden like you isn’t married yet? I reckon you must have many suitors.” Something about his tone and the dangerous gleam in his blue eyes sets you on edge.

“Oh, I do have had some suitors in the past,” you answer truthfully, but cautiously, “but I’ve chosen to not marry. My family needs me and I don’t wish to let them down.” Polnareff gives you a tender glance, the prying shimmer being replaced with sympathy now.

“Maybe you’ll soon find a wealthy man who’s able to help your family out”, he mumbles softly, though you still could hear his words.

“I’d rather not base my life on such an improbable dream. After all, I’m just a common farmer,” you say, slightly amused. “He doesn’t have a clue how life’s for a commoner, does he?”

“So you’d like to marry? It’s your dream, didn’t you say that, Mademoiselle?”, Polnareff counters, hope swinging in his voice. Why is he hopeful? But you decide to not voice this thought.

“Well, that’s quite a difficult question, Monsieur Polnareff,” you retort, feeling unsure now “it would be the wisest choice for me to marry, but at the moment, I feel content to take care of my family.” For some reason, the musketeer’s face falls at your last sentence. Disappointment takes over it instead, his lips turning into a bitter, thin line.

“Ah, I see”, he replies wearily. You immediately notice the change of atmosphere, though you don’t comment on it. Instead, you two continue strolling in silence.

Eventually, the pair of you arrive at the market place. During your travel, none of you spoke further, the mood being too tense and awkward. You settle your burlap bags on the floor on a free spot after the silver-haired man has removed them from his horse for you.

“My sincerest thanks, Monsieur Polnareff.” You bow politely. Even though your eyes have been trained on the floor for only a matter of seconds, some stealthy thief has been able to snatch one of your bags. Immediately, your head leaps up.

“Hey, this belongs to me! Give it back!”, you scream angrily. You wouldn’t let some trickster take your wool, not after working so hard for your family! You’re ready to run after the knave, but a hand on your forearm hinders you from doing so.

“Let me handle this, Mademoiselle Y/N,” Polnareff says confidently, “you’ll have your merchandise back in no time. Just wait for me here.” Quickly, the musketeer dashes into an alleyway after the thief. Confused, you’re left alone at the market place, the man’s horse being your only companion. A sigh rolls off your lips.

“Guess I’ll have to do what he says if I ever want that wool back”, you exclaim exasperatedly. This is the last thing you’ve needed today. First, you’ve been drenched by the rain, then a weird musketeer has started following you and asking you eerily invasive question and now your precious goods have been stolen. In the meantime, you try your best to sell the remaining wool.

After half an hour, you still haven’t sold any wool at all. Though you were definitely drawing attention on you by shouting out some offers, no one has seemed to be interested yet. No one even cared enough to look towards your direction.

“I guess I’ll just have to stay all day, then”, you think gloomily. From the corner of your eyes, you notice an all too familiar form approaching you, though this time with a bag in his hand.

“Mademoiselle Y/N!”, Polnareff shouts excitedly, “I’ve retrieved your bag from the thief!” A sincere expression of gratitude appears on your face. Yes, the man is more than annoying to you with his clingy behaviour, but at least he was chasing the trickster for you!

“Thank you so much, Monsieur Polnareff!”, you exclaim happily, relieved to have your wool back. Now there’s only the matter of selling it left…

“Of course, nothing to thank for, Mademoiselle! I’d never want to see such a charming lady like you in need.”

Purposefully, you ignore his statement, an awkward feeling bubbling up in you. Instead you’re thanking him again. All the while, the Frenchman keeps staring at you with a look of fondness, a huge and proud smile adorning his face. In his mind, he’s just proven to you how capable he is of taking care of you and your family. How could you refuse him now? He’s literally your knight in shining armour! Or your musketeer in a blue tunic. It doesn’t matter, he’s practically your hero!

Polnareff’s grin only widens at the thought of you swooning over him. The silver-haired man doesn’t know why he feels like this towards you. Maybe it’s because you just looked so pitiful when he saw you on that road, soaking wet from the rain. Maybe it’s his pride that doesn’t let him relent. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparked with determination and love when you talked about your family. Maybe it’s your radiant atmosphere, which draws him in like a moth. Maybe you’re secretly a witch who put a love spell on his poor self, making him a fool for you after having only met you. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Polnareff quickly stops his pondering. “It’s not of importance,” he muses, “as long as she’ll realise I’m the best choice for her.”

“I see you haven’t sold any of your goods yet”, the musketeer says, trying to sound casually. Though in his thoughts, he already has a plan schemed.

“No, unfortunately not,” you reply, an exasperated sigh following swiftly, “but there’s still some time left until I have to return home. Surely, I’ll be able to sell some.”

“You know, Mademoiselle Y/N, I’d rather not see you standing here all day, maybe even for it to be in vain,” Polnareff utters, concerning coating his voice, “let me help you, I’ll buy the wool.” Your eyes grow big at his proposition. Even though it’s more than a generous offer, especially after all he’s been through for you today, you can’t help but feeling alerted. Why would he go all these lengths for you? He can’t be that kind, there must be something he wants in return.

“You’re far too generous, Monsieur Polnareff. I can’t accept such an offer”, you tell the musketeer, hoping he’ll actually drop his suggestion. But the Frenchman remains stubborn as a mule.

“Ah ah Mademoiselle,” he tuts you condescendingly, “I’m a man of my word. How much would you like? Are two livres enough?”

Your eyes widen so much at his offer, you wouldn’t be surprised if your eyeballs fell out. Two livres? Is that man insane? The wool is hardly five sous worth!

“I think you must have meant two sous, Monsieur Polnareff,” you answer him, still shocked.

“Pas du tout, Mademoiselle. Two livres is what I said and what I meant. Or would you maybe want more?”

Vehemently, you shake your head. Two livres… That would feed your family for at least three months! “No Y/N, you can’t take this offer!” Your thoughts interrupt you suddenly. Not only does your conscience forbid you from doing so, your parents would also wonder where all that money comes from. They might assume you’ve stolen it as no one would believe a stranger to be so kind to just give a random farmer way too much money.

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you try again to change his mind, “I really don’t think you should-“

“Ah, there’s my pouch!”, the silver-haired man exclaims happily, ignoring your previous words. Eagerly, he takes two shiny coins out of it, pressing them in your palm. Admitting your defeat, you curtsy and express your deep gratitude again. Though a small part inside you does enjoy the fact of getting provided for.

After your exchange, Polnareff insisted on bringing you home again. You dislike the idea of him knowing exactly where you live, but that man’s stubbornness and pride is bigger than the Palace of Versailles. Which is why the two of you are walking back to your farm, the wool resting on Polnareff’s horse’s back.

“What are you doing with all the wool, if I may ask?”, you say with a questioning look on your face, “Surely, a musketeer doesn’t need to fabricate his own clothes.” The Frenchman rubs sheepishly behind his neck and offers you a smile.

“Ah Mademoiselle, you see, I might just donate it. I’ve just wanted to help you out, I don’t need it myself.” Even though you still cannot bring yourself to trust him, your heart warms at his statement.

“That’s indeed very noble of you, Monsieur Polnareff”, you reply candidly. The musketeer sends you another bright grin, a subtle blush forming on his pale cheeks.

The sun has begun to set as the two of you arrive on the farm. With a polite curtsy, you’re ready to finally return home, excited to tell your family the good news regarding the money. But Polnareff stops your goodbye. His hand finds its way to your wrist, halting your movement.

“Before we must depart, Mademoiselle Y/N,” he counters hastily, “I’d like to be assured that we’ll meet again soon. I find myself enthralled by your presence.”

Your heart beats faster at his proposition. Suddenly, you realise the dangerous situation you’re in, the big hand capturing your smaller wrist. Could you really deny him without facing consequences? Thoughts like these rush through your head as the man in front of you keeps waiting for your reaction. Still, you’re going to try. If something should happen, you still have your knife with you and your father would surely rush out once he hears your screams.

“Monsieur Polnareff,” you start hesitantly, “I’m deeply flattered by your words. You are truly an admirable and honourable man whose kind actions shall always carry my most sincere gratitude. Though I must admit, I don’t think it would be a wise idea to meet again.” The Frenchman makes a crestfallen face at your words. You feel almost bad for him. “Ah, I think I should explain myself further. Well, Monsieur Polnareff, we are of two different social classes, continuing mingling with me would put a bad reputation on you. I cannot offer you something of interest. Plus, I like staying with my family so far, this is my home.”

“Y/N”, Polnareff whispers affectionately, his thumb rubbing softly on the inside of your wrist. You shoot him a surprised look, confused by him dropping the formal title. If anyone would have heard this, they’d turn it into a scandal.

“I know my offer might appear strange to you, but I wish to marry out of love one day. I’m aware it’s fairly uncommon and even looked upon with scorn to marry below someone’s station, but the matters of the heart outshine the matters of the mind in my case. I have more than enough money, a comfortable estate and an honourable title. So you’re correct by saying you can’t offer me anything. Though you forgot one important thing, dear Y/N: you can offer me companionship, love, a meaningful bond between two souls.” Upon his last sentence, Polnareff tenderly grabs both of your hands in his, admiring how they seem to fit perfectly. Too astounded by his words, you let the man do as he pleases. Quickly, Polnareff catches on with his speech. “Please Y/N, let me see you again. Let me court you properly. I can give you and your family a beautiful life, a life you deserve.” The silver-haired male’s form moves now closer to yours, his blue eyes fixated on your lips. This action breaks you from the spell you’ve been caught in previously as you abruptly rip your hands off his grip and step back.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Polnareff,” you manage to say, your voice sounding breathless from the adrenaline rushing in your veins, “I don’t think I’m the right woman for you. I do not wish to disappoint you further, that’s why I’m being direct with you. I’m going home now, please do not seek out for me. Have a good evening, Monsieur Polnareff.” You give him one last glance, noting his furious facial expression, before you eventually walk rapidly the path up to your family’s farm.

“I’ll be coming back, Mademoiselle Y/N!”, you hear the musketeer shouting behind you, “I’m not giving up that easily!” His sentences only make you pick up your pace as fear makes itself present in your body. Why couldn’t he just respect your choice? You’re sure there are enough suitable ladies in his rank pining for him, so why would he bother you? Finally, to your happiness, you arrive at the front door. Quickly, you enter your home, locking the door from the inside. Still, it feels as if a pair of blue eyes continues burning holes in your back…

The following month had been both positive and negative. Positive, because your family didn’t need to worry about food thanks to the two livres Polnareff gave you. Negative, because the latter had been true to his word and kept showing up at your place. Every time you told him you won’t change your mind, the musketeer only seemed to be more encouraged to prove you otherwise.

Today isn’t any different. As you make your way to the market to buy some food, you hear the familiar hooves approaching you. Annoyed, you let out a sigh and roll your eyes.

“Bonjour Y/N! What a pleasant day to see you again, mon amour!”, Polnareff exclaims happily while he dismounts from his horse to walk next to you.

“Bonjour Polnareff”, you reply politely. In the meantime, you’ve dropped the titles when you two were alone, not seeing the point of them anymore. Plus, the Frenchman even decides to call you pet names, so why showing him respect?

“Ah, ma puce, no need to be so cold today! After all, I bring some splendid news”, the Frenchman replies excitedly. You eye him suspiciously, brows knitted together. What on earth is he planning now?

“And that would be?”, you answer matter-of-factly. “You’re finally leaving me alone?”

“You see, before I came to meet you, I’ve finally talked with your parents.” At these words, you immediately stop your steps. A feeling of dread emerges in your stomach, making you feel sick.

“Oh no,” you think desperately, “this can’t be good.”

“Very lovely people, indeed. It hurts my feelings knowing you haven’t invited me to them, mon cœur”, Polnareff continues his talk, a hand put on his chest in mock concern.

“And why should I have done such thing?”, you reply coolly, though internally you’re freaking out. You already know you won’t like the answer…

“My dearest, how come you act so cruel? Don’t you think your future husband should see your parents? After all, we’re betrothed now!”

“No”, you retort without thinking. Your palms grow sweaty, a deep fear manifesting in your body. The silver-haired man smirks at your reaction.

“Non? I think your parents disagree with you, ma chérie. In fact, we’ve already picked out a date for the ceremony. Can you believe it? In two months, we’ll be finally one.” Panic overflows your mind, your breathing becoming laboured. How could your parents decide on such a matter behind your bag? After everything you’ve done for your family? Polnareff notices your stress as he softly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest. The musketeer tries to comfort you by shushing you and gently brushing over your back, though his actions only fuel your terror. You squirm in his grasp, trying to escape him, escape this situation, but his grip on you only strengthens.

“Let me go!”, you scream all while tears stream down your cheeks, “I don’t want to be with you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

“My little Y/N,” Polnareff mumbles calmly, “if you hadn’t been so stubborn, we could have discussed the wedding plans together. I know you think our union is not favourable, but if even your family agrees to it, it surely can’t be that wrong, hm? You’re so blinded by your little provincial life that you can’t see what’s best for you. And trust me, my dove, I’m the best choice.” The Frenchman grabs your chin, staring lovingly in your by now puffy eyes. “It’s fine if you need some time to realise that. As long as you remain by my side.” With these words, the silver-haired man puts his mouth on yours, his hand now wandering to your cheek. You wriggle harder in his grasp, though your attempts to escape remain futile. Tenderly, Polnareff caresses your face as his lips finally leave yours.

“Je t’aime de tout mon cœur, mon ange*”, he whispers adoringly, pressing your face against his chest again. Your tears smudge the blue fabric of his tunic, your voice hoarse from screaming. And even though you wish this is but a nightmare, you start comprehending you’re truly trapped in Polnareff’s oh so loving arms for the rest of your life.

*former French currency. 2 livres are about 30 euros, which was a lot of money back then

*former French currency. 5 sous are about 3,70 euros, which was still quite some money back in the day

*”I love you with all my heart, my angel”

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jojo #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere polnareff #yandere polnareff x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: arranged marriage #tw: noncon touching

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amymel86 · 3 years

Note

Hello! Do you have any bits of your awesome writing to share for WIP wednesday?😍

I just saw this anon!

And thank you for asking <3

This is a bit more of this as yet untitled 'post-apocalyptic/fertility/modern arranged relationship???' fic. The first bit I posted on tumblr is here and as before, some things are not yet decided (like town names) and things may change...

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, darling?” Her mother’s voice on the telephone was a balm to her soul.

Sansa’s finger brushed the soft vivid petals of the small potted iris she’d bought at the store today. The iris symbolises hope, wisdom and courage among other things and she prays that the pretty purple and yellow bloom will lend her some of those. “I’ve got to try something, Mum,” she says, turning her attention to the two separate bundles of paper in front of her. Two men, two candidates, two different futures. Sansa had filled out all the matching service’s extensive questionnaires and scrutinised all the information she could find on the program. It seemed simple enough – you’re rewarded for helping to repopulate. In turn, the authorities help to pair you with someone who should be a good match dependant on all the information they have about you. The aim is that this new generation of children are raised in the traditional family unit. That had appealed to Sansa. “I can’t seem to find the right guy all on my own anyway,” she said into her phone.

“How do you know it will be safe, though?”

“It says here that my situation will be monitored by my own caseworker. I can call them any time I want. They’re not just going to drop me at the guy’s house and just leave us get on with it.”

“Hmmm... tell me about them? These men that they’ve narrowed down for you.”

“One’s called Waymar, he’s a financial advisor here in the Vale,” Sasna pauses, looking at the man’s photograph on his paperwork before fishing out the other. “And the other is called Jon, he owns a farm in the Reach.”

“None in the north then?” Her mother has been itching to get her back home. “I just wish there was a way to know that either of them were good men, Sansa. That’s all I want for you.”

Sansa put the two photos together. Two possible fathers for her child.

“That’s what I want too.”

***

“Shit! Holy fucking shit!” Jon says to himself, hanging up from his phone-call. “Mance!” he yells, bursting out of his trailer to find the old man. “Mance! It worked! It fucking worked!”

He’d relented. When Mance first put it to him that he should sign up for that weird government breeding program or whatever the fuck it was, he thought the old man’s last brain-cell must’ve fried up in the sun. But if they were going to make it easier for them and it meant Mance could keep the farm (and Jon could carry on living there rent free), then it was worth a shot. So he had relented. He’d filled out what seemed to be a gazillion and one questions about himself, his politics, his views on family and finances and education and fucking... art and shit. These damned government people wanted to know everything about him down to whether he scrunched or folded his toilet paper it seemed. He’d even had to lie. He didn’t like doing it, but there was no way that a fertile was going to pick him if he didn’t. So, he fished out an old photograph – one taken before the bar brawl that lost him his sight in one eye, and he’d also lied his asscheeks off by claiming he had ownership of the farm. He knew – he knew – that these lies are just more things that were going to trip him up one of these days but with Mance urging him on, he’d signed that damn form and offered himself up for the program.

And now a fertile had chosen him.

Him.

Fuck, he might throw up.

This can go one of two ways. Either completely up Shit Creek without a paddle – with his lies and reality crashing down on top of one another, leaving them exposed... or, his fertile somehow looks past his deceits and sticks with him and they-... well, shit, he could actually become a father. No-one becomes parents these days, especially not ‘round here. Fertiles flock to the big cities, to men with bigger pockets, or they work for couples who can afford to pay them off in exchange for a kid or two.

“It worked?” Mance asks, rolling out from under an old Ford pickup that needed a new exhaust. “They sendin’ us a peach?”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not sendin’ you anyone, old man. An’ don’t call her that – they’re-“ Fuck, what did the council call them on all that paperwork? “Reproductively abled.” He’ll have to remember that if he doesn’t want to offend her.

“Well, shit,” Mance grins. “What did I tell ya? Knew your pretty face was good for somethin’!”

Jon frowns. “Ain’t so pretty no more though.” He might have to go get himself a patch to cover his milky, sightless eye. It’s fine most of the time since Mance is the only one he sees unless he’s going to drink at Hobb’s, but he certainly doesn’t want to put off his ferti- reproductively abled friend who’ll be arriving in three weeks.

“She got a name? Your new peach?” Mance asked, earning him a glare.

“Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

Mance grunts and nods. “Sounds fancy.”

Yeah... It did sound kinda fancy he supposes. Jon’s first reaction had been that it was a mighty beautiful name, but now he thinks of it...

“Shame we can’t look her up – see if she’s a beauty or not.”

Jon can’t remember a time when that was an option. He was barely 11 at the highest point of the virus’s hold. Government officials had deemed certain channels on the internet were causing more harm than good by spreading false rumours, incorrect statistics and completely counterintuitive medical advice. The whole thing was shut down, now deemed illegal, only to be reconnected again three years later apparently looking like a foreign landscape from the one before. The internet was no longer a platform to socialise, only government approved informative sites remained. Mance says it’s better this way – that all people used to do was post vain images of themselves for attention anyway.

Jon wouldn’t mind seeing a vain image of Sansa Stark right about now though.

Not that it mattered terribly. As long as they get along and she decides to stick around she could be as ugly as sin. In fact, she probably will be, won’t she? Most pretty ferti- reproductively abled women stick to the cities and its high-fliers.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You just gotta keep her happy here and-

“Mance?” he asks, an issue coming to mind. The man grunts in acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is she gonna sleep? She’s not gonna want to stay in my trailer.”

The man grins in response. “I’m glad you asked, boy. I’m glad you asked.”

***

Her caseworker was meant to meet her at the train station. It was quite a drive to the farm and he was meant to pick her up, make sure she’s safe and happy and introduce her to Jon.

That hasn’t happened.

“Please accept my apologies, my dear,” Mr Baelish said down the other end of the phone. “There’s been a mix up with my schedule. We can set you up for the night at a local motel or ask your match to come and get you. Which would you prefer?”

Sansa eyes the dirty looking motel across the street from the train station. Everything here at [[INSERT TOWN NAME]] seems a little on the... rundown side. Maybe the sooner she gets to the farm, the better. Plus, her tummy is all a flutter with anticipation to actually meet Jon. She’d wound up swaying towards Jon as a match due to a few reasons; 1 – he does not live in, around, or anywhere near Harry or his crazy mother. 2 – he owns a farm, and that had conjured up hazy daydreams of idyllic country life. Sansa may enjoy big nights out in the city, drinking her dirty margaritas and feeling her bones vibrate against the base beat in a nightclub, but she knows that’s not what she wants to raise a child around. A child will want to run barefoot through wheat fields and chase chickens and milk cows and –

Let’s just say Sansa has a few ideas and that they all helped to sway her away from city pleasures and towards farmhouse life. And Jon

And last, but not least, reason number 3 – Jon himself. Put side-by-side, his and Waymar’s photographs looked rather similar if truth be told, but Jon won out on something that Sansa just couldn’t describe. Looking at his photograph gave her goosepimples along her forearms because it was like he was looking right back at her. There was something in the depths of his eyes – a kindness? A wit? A strength? She’s not sure, but she couldn’t find the same qualities when she stared at Waymar’s likeness. And his answers too. His questionnaire was full of how he’d like to teach a kid how to walk and ride a bike and fix a... a tractor for heaven’s sake! And so her head was flooded once more of this idyllic life where they got up to watch the dawn stretch over the farmland and they’d grow their own vegetables and she’d bake a pie every day and it would just be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Sansa glances around the near abandoned train station.

This doesn’t look so perfect right now.

“Could you please arrange for Jon to come and get me, Mr Baelish?”

***

It’s been an hour and fifty-six minutes precisely since Sansa last spoke to Mr Baelish to arrange her match coming to get her. An hour and fifty-six minutes of sitting on the curb, waiting, surrounded by her three suitcases. She’d started off by sitting at the nearby bus stop, purely because it was somewhere to sit and she had a clear view of the road, but after the rude bus driver insisted that if she’s sat there, she must be wanting to hop on his bus, Sansa decided to park her butt on the dusty, sun-baked curb instead. Her legs were beginning to numb and she was starting to get a headache from the sun beaming down on her head. The curls she’d styled into her copper locks have likely lost their hold by now. What a waste. Opposite, on the other side of the street, beside the dirty little motel, there was a tiny bar that advertised the fact that it hosted exotic dancers at the weekends with a blinking neon sign. Next to it was a hunting and fishing ‘emporium’ and beside that was a vacant store with an old dirty sign that read ‘Blouses & More!’. Presumably, the ‘& more’ still wasn’t enough to keep that fine establishment in business in this funny little town. At the end of the block was ‘Tarly’s Drugstore’ and Sansa had been debating with herself whether or not she should haul her suitcases over to go buy a drink and a magazine for about the last hour and fifty-five minutes.

But she hadn’t wanted to miss Jon Snow’s arrival.

Jon Snow, who seemed to be pulling up outside Tarly’s Drugstore in a dusty Ford pickup truck right about now. Sansa stood, expecting him to come right on over considering how long she’d been waiting for him, but she found herself wondering if she’d got it all wrong when she hadn’t caught a good enough look at him before he darted straight into the store.

Sansa is done with waiting. She grabs her smallest case and places it on top of her larger one, trying her darnedest to roll all her luggage across the road in a lady-like fashion. She could feel the eyes of several passers-by on her while her stiletto heels clip across the street. In turn, her own gaze fell to Jon’s cream-coloured truck. Its front bumper looked a little rusty and wonky too. There was a big gash in the leather of the bench seating on the passenger side. On the truck bed, there were a number of items, including a rocking chair that seems to have a couple of spindles on the chair-back missing, and a new double bed mattress wrapped in clear plastic. Sansa was almost done frowning at the state of the vehicle when the over-door bell of the drugstore tinkles.

“Holy shit,” he curses. And yes, it definitely was Jon standing right in front of her. Only... well... his hair was tied into a knot at the back of his head and.... and... he was wearing a black eye patch? “Uh,” he stood there, arms laden with bottles from the store as the gaze from his one good eye quickly darted down her frame and back up again. “You’re her, right? You’re Sansa Stark?”

Sansa found she could only nod, looking him up and down, like he was with her. He was in jeans with oil smears, some tough, heavy looking boots, a somehow pristine white vest and flannel shirt with the arms ripped off.

Speaking of arms...

Gods-damn! Sansa’s focus was momentarily derailed...

“Sorry, I-“ Jon starts before his grey eye drops to the floor and then returns to her, looking a little bashful. “I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

Oh boy. He may be wearing an eye patch right now but this man could win over a thousand girls with that smile, Sansa’s sure of it. She resists the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. She’s here to find out if they’re well suited enough to start a family together – she needs to keep her head and think rationally, not allow herself to be swayed by his rugged country boy charm. It was Harry’s looks that enticed her in the first place – and look how well that turned out for her?

“Thank you,” Sansa says, blinking back at him before his words truly hit home. “Didn’t they give you my photograph?”

Jon shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Huh.

“Did they show you mine?”

Sansa bites her lip and gives a nod.

Jon grimaces. “So I guess you weren’t expecting this?” He points to his patch.

Sansa shakes her head. “No... did you... did you do something to injure it?”

Jerking his head, Jon begins rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s a long story... but... it ain’t gonna get any better, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh.”

They stood, staring at one another for a heartbeat or five before Jon sucks in a breath over his teeth and glances down to the bottles he clutched to his chest with one arm. “I tried to get you some things to help you feel at home,” he says, “these are the nicest smellin’ soaps ‘n’ stuff from Tarly’s.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replies, knowing full well that she brought her Highgarden Floral Scents bathroom range with her.

Jon chews on his lip as he eyes her suitcases. “Lemme get those for you,” he offers before dumping the bottles in his arms into the truck bed and reaching for her luggage. Sansa’s heeled shoes seem welded to the spot. Jon notices. Scrubbing both hands down his face in resignation, he takes a step closer to her and Sansa realises for the first time, that he had dirt beneath his fingernails. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “It was a shitty thing for me to do,” he offers, his words low and husky. Sansa feels the timbre of his voice set off a trickle of gooseflesh down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him, momentarily confused.

“About this,” he explains, brows high on his head as he points to his patch. “I shouldn’t have sent that old photo of before this happened, but – fuck – even my ex-girl won’t acknowledge I exist anymore with this and I knew I shoulda been honest about it but-“

“This ex-girl...” Sansa suddenly found herself left with a sour taste in her mouth. “... does she still mean something to you?”

Jon licks at his lips, his eye falling briefly to her own. “No, ma’am,” he shakes his head.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #but late #oops

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kaznejis · 4 years

Text

Letters- Marco Peña x reader, best friend!Noah Flynn x reader

@nick-1432 asked: Hey Can I get a Marco ×Y/n imagine where the reader is Noah's best friend but a year younger than him . So is in the same year as Lee and Elle . You decide the rest .

A/N: Thankyou for this prompt! This is an AU so before we begin I’d like to note that Marco and Elle didn’t kiss in this universe- her and Noah had their issues but she never cheated. I decided to make this into a secret admirer fic- enjoy! :)

Feel free to send in any prompts!

“So, how is it going with Elle nowadays?”

Noah grinned; the facetime screen glitching as it rushed to keep up with his widened features, “Yeah, it’s going better. I’ve decided that communication definitely is key and we were lacking it before.”

“So you did take my advice!” You giggled and fist-pumped the air, “So everything I say isn’t complete rubbish.”

“You didn’t know that already?” Noah raised his eyebrows and moved closer to the camera from where he had been showing off the apartment’s new microwave, “You’ll be here at Harvard with me in no time.”

“Yeah well,” You shrugged bashfully, leaning back in your desk chair, “I’ve got to actually hear back from them before that can happen.”

“It will.” Noah insisted before smirking slightly, “I may have even put in word with the dean for you.”

“Noah!” Your eyes widened as you slammed a hand down onto your desk, “You didn’t?!”

“I did.”

“Jesus,” You huffed, shaking your head at the camera, “You’re a sneaky bastard.”

“Takes one to know one, bitch.”

You both laughed at that, the both of you letting out snorts and silly giggles as you clutched at your sides and leaned back dangerously in your chair. Though before you could reply back with a cutting retort your dad came into the room.

“Hey sweetheart, there’s a letter for you.”

You held up your finger in a ‘one moment’ gesture to Noah and put yourself on mute, “Who is it from?”

“No clue,” He shrugged and handed you a white envelope with your name on, “It just came through the mail box and by the time I got there whoever delivered it was gone.”

“Oh,” You turned the letter over once, twice before giving your dad a polite smile, “Thanks.”

He nodded in reply and left your room, shutting the door behind him, “What is it?” Noah’s voice sounded from your laptop, you quickly took yourself off mute and held the letter up to the camera.

“A letter, no idea who it’s from though.”

“Well open it.” That earned him a glare, but he did have a point- you wouldn’t know who it was from if you never opened it.

It was a standard white envelope, though it only had your name written on it meaning it had been posted straight into your mailbox by the sender themselves. Not creepy at all, you snorted to yourself. After pondering for a few moments, you hastily flipped the letter over and ripped it open, Noah winced at your ferocity in doing so. Inside the envelope was a slip of paper folded in half; it was white and there were pen marks that sunk through it.

“Well?”

“Calm your farm,” You muttered, glaring at Noah again, “I’m getting to it.”

Unfolding the paper, you began to read the note. The handwriting was elegant and familiar- though you couldn’t place where you recognised it.

Dear Y/N,

I’m just going to cut straight to the chase here, I like you. A lot. I have for a long time now and I just can’t keep it to myself anymore. So there you go.

Yours sincerely,

Your secret admirer.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god.”

“Y/N?” Noah stared at you through the screen, looking increasingly concerned, “Who is it from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

You breathed, scratching your eyebrow before saying, “I mean, it’s from my secret admirer.”

“Your what now?”

“My secret admirer.”

To your utter shock, Noah barked out a loud laugh and clapped his hands together- extremely amused at the revelation, “A secret admirer? What is this, middle school?”

“I know right?” You huffed, placing the letter down onto your desk, “It is kind of cute though.”

Noah raised an eyebrow and leaned forward on his elbows, “I’ll be the judge of that, let’s hear it.”

You read the contents of the letter out to Noah- who looked like he was holding back a laugh the whole time. You huffed at him, tilting your head to the side and practically pouting once you finished, “Stop.”

“What?” Noah snorted, elongating the word slightly as he attempted to come as innocent. You returned this with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, “Alright, alright. I have to admit it’s pretty cute...who do you think it could be then?”

You shrugged, there were hundreds of people at your school alone, let alone the whole of LA, “I have no clue.”

“What if it’s Marco?”

You laughed at the sheer stupidity of Noah’s words, almost wiping away tears once you were done, “As if.”

“What?” Noah crowed, frowning, “I’m serious, when I was around he used to stare at you all the time. I doubt he’s changed much, if your wardrobe change over the summer is anything to go by.”

“In my dreams, Flynn.”

Despite your original rejection of Noah’s statement, it stuck in your mind for days to come. You weren’t going to lie, you had caught Marco staring at you a number of times; the reason for that being that you had been staring at him too. You had liked Marco for months, the boy’s dark curly hair and gorgeous build had you enamoured from the get-go. But, then you had been paired together for a project and you’d really gotten to know him. Although at times he could be blunt and quite cold; he was hilarious and really intelligent. Seeing the personality behind the pretty face had caused you to fall fast, but eventually the project was over and daily interactions became shy smiles in passing. Sure, your friendship groups crossed paths from time to time but you just didn’t have the confidence to start anything. So, you were stuck with a relentless crush. Gross.

You were at your locker on Tuesday, rifling through it as you searched for the textbook you had left in there and desperately needed. As your fingers finally swiped across the book, they were also met with a different slip of paper. You paused, heart speeding as you slowly pulled it out. It couldn’t be.

Nevertheless, in your hand lay a slip of paper identical to the one that you had received a few days prior- you once again unfolded it and got to reading the note within.

Dear Y/N,

Now that I have expressed the way I feel, I have an urge to tell you more.

Your smile is so beautiful and your laugh lights up the room. The way you always tuck your hair behind your ears is really cute too.

Yours sincerely,

Your secret admirer

A blush highlighted your cheeks as you subconsiously tucked your hair behind your ears, almost slapping yourself for doing so. No, you were not going to let a few little compliments break you down like that- but then your eyes landed upon the small heart illustrated below the sign off. You swallowed heavily and fanned yourself in an excuse to compose yourself before your next class begin. You spotted Lee, Elle and Rachel heading your way and shoved the letter into your bag before skipping over to them with your usual bright smile as if nothing was wrong.

The letters continued like that; they were always in your locker and they always entailed some form of compliment. You found yourself expecting them most mornings, running to your locker to see whether or not a note had been slipped into the grates whilst you weren’t around.

One particular morning, you were in a frenzied rush- sprinting to your locker in order to grab the essentials so that your day wouldn’t be a complete flop. As you wrenched open your locker you spotted another familiar letter, with a huff you shoved it into your pocket before practically pouring your belongings into your bag. You’d read it later, you had to focus on actually getting to class.

Thankfully, you did arrive to the class on time. But, you were last and the teacher was moments away from beginning the lesson.

“Nice of you to join us, Miss L/N”

“Sorry miss,” You twisted your lips apologetically before making your way to the only seat in the class, which was positioned right in the middle of two ‘popular’ girls, “Shit.” You muttered before ultimately sucking it up. Your friends on the other side of the room each shot you sympathetic looks.

After a quick observation, you noted that Marco was sat one row back and directly diagonal to you. The girls on either side of you were each twirling their hair and blowing their bubble gum obnoxiously, paying no mind to the lesson before them. You decided to just get to work, ignoring the possibility of a pair of eyes watching from behind.

About half way through the lesson, you were reminded of the unread letter that had been shoved into your pocket in your rush. Checking the room for any intrusive eyes, you took the note from your pocket and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

You look really beautiful when you-

Before you could continue to read the letter, it was wrenched out of your hands violently by one of the girls beside you.

“Now what do we have here?” She giggled, moving with unexpected stealth as you tried to take back the letter, “Aw, you look really beautiful when you concentrate, yours sincerely your secret admirer.” A chorus of giggles sounded from the students surrounding you as you sat in shock, mortification evident in your features.

“Who would want to be their secret admirer?” A voice sounded from behind you, “She’s lucky enough to be friends with Noah Flynn.”

Yet another chorus of laughs sounded from around you, but before you could escape from the personal hell that was this classroom, a voice sounded from diagonal to you, “I want to be.”

The room froze and time slowed down as you turned to the owner of the voice, your eyes landing on Marco who was staring right back at you; nervousness with a hint of determination was evident in his eyes. You shook your head, feeling way too overwhelmed, “I can’t do this.”

The entire class watched as you gathered up your belongings and hightailed out of the room and as Marco did exactly the same and sprinted after you.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You wiped the streaming tears from your face as you turned to face Marco who was quickly approaching you, his face was split open in a mix of raw emotions.

“What Marco? If this is some kind of sick joke I don’t want to hear it.”

“No, no Y/N.” He cooed, taking hold of your wrists in an attempt to calm you down, “I wasn’t joking. I was the one who sent the letters- I really like you Y/N and I couldn’t watch them talking about you like that.”

You hiccuped, feeling a fresh trail of tears falling from your eyes, leaving a glistening trail in their wake, “Oh god.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry.”

“But Marco-” You blew out a breath and almost preened under his gaze, “I haven’t spoken to you in months, how could you like me?”

“Well,” He began, moving a stray hair behind your ear, “Did you not read my letters.”

You laughed lightly, a small burst of breaths coming from your mouth, “Yeah, but-”

“Then what I said there are my reasons for liking you.”

You grinned up at him as your teeth sunk into your lip bashfully, you caught onto his eyes zeroing onto that factor. So, you took a leap and pressed your lips against his and moved to bury your hands into his hair. He responded immediately, cupping your cheeks with his hands as he pressed back with obvious enthusiasm and want.

“So, you were right- it was Marco.”

“I knew it!”

If you would like to be added to my taglist for any future posts- please let me know!

#marco peña #noah flynn #Marco Peña x reader #Noah Flynn x reader #Elle Evans #Lee Flynn #Fanfiction #The kissing booth #the kissing booth 2 #oneshot #imagines #prompt

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 7 ~The Holiday Feeling~

Picture Source

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Christmas Treats ...

After Annalise had left for a night out of bowling and dinner with Willie, she'd put on her new pyjamas, a long coat so no one in the street would notice what she was wearing underneath when she walked to Jamie's cottage and a pair of Ugg boots. All the while, her stomach did a mad flip-flopped, and she continually found herself staring into space, almost tripping on the way to Jamie's house.

Obviously, she hadn't finished staring into space because when Jamie opened the door after she'd knocked, sending her hurtling back to the present, she was speechless. Rollo dashed out of the house and circled her happily, jumping on her.

Jamie grinned and opened the door wider. "Sassenach! Get in here! We have a guest."

"Oh!?" I thought we're alone.

She pulled the coat tighter and patted Rollo's head. She remembered Annalise's word not to brace herself too hard, took a deep breath, relaxed and stepped into Jamie's house.

What she saw next, took her by surprise.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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"Oh, it's alive. I thought it's a toy. What's that?" Claire asked as she stepped into the cottage and saw movement in the shoebox on the floor. Rollo flopped himself down beside it like he was the keeper and protector. "Is this the guest you're talking about?"

"One of them." Grinning, Jamie shut the door and followed her gaze. "Can't ye tell what's in the box? Harry found the poor wee thing mewling under the bushes in the park. It cannae be more than a week old. Probably wandered away from the litter and got lost. It's good Harry found her when he did. I dinnae think it would have survived tonight in this cold."

"It's a kitten!" Placing the paper bags she had on the rug, she got on her knees, picked up the ball of grey fur and held it against her chest. Half of its body was cocooned into a red child's sock, and its tiny head had a comical covering. "Goodness, it's even got a hat with earholes. I've never seen anything like this."

Jamie beamed. "Not my doing. Harry brought it all bundled up like that already."

"Who's Harry? Another sibling?" she asked, nuzzling her face into the tiny furry body before carefully depositing it back into the shoebox.

Ach, Harry! He was here a minute ago. "No. A mate. He's here somewhere. I invited him to stay for dinner. Give me a sec." He'd been distracted by Claire's arrival, he'd forgotten all about his unexpected visitor.

Jamie left Claire in the living area and went to look for his friend. When he felt a draft of cold air, he went into the kitchen thinking Harry probably went to have a peek at his back garden.

He poked his head out the back door. "Harry!" he called out. There was no answer. Where the bloody hell has he disappeared to?

All throughout the day he'd been looking forward to tonight after he'd spent the afternoon putting up a Christmas tree he'd bought at a tree farm and decorating it with ornaments belonging to his grandmother from his mother's side. And of all days, Harry had to drop by. Not that Jamie wasn't glad to see him, but the timing was terrible as spending some alone time with Claire was on top of his agenda. Nevertheless, he'd invited the Englishman to stay for dinner. But where the hell is he?

He scoured the yard, but he couldn't find Harry. Suddenly feeling the cold, he slipped back into the kitchen to check the pot roast. It was already ready after he'd left it in a slow cooker to cook all day.

Earlier this morning, after he'd dropped by at Claire's B&B cottage and kissed her, it had been a mammoth task to leaving her side, so he'd kept himself busy all day to make time go by faster. It was becoming apparent spending time away from her was starting to feel like the tension on a bungee cord. The longer the time they spent apart, the greater the urge to see her. And the line felt like it was getting shorter, like his threshold for not being with her was diminishing. If Harry was joining them for dinner, he hoped he wouldn't stay too long after dessert.

"Jamie?"

He glanced up to find Claire holding up a bottle of red wine.

"I splurged a bit. I hope this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon will go with whatever you're cooking?"

Perfect! Putting the teatowel down, he grinned and approached her.

"It's a classic," he said, taking the bottle from her hand and putting it on the counter. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry Sassenach, I havenae given ye a proper greeting."

She smiled against his mouth. "Where's your friend?" she asked when he was done kissing her.

He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "God knows! He probably left. Harry does that all the time. I've invited him to Lallybroch for tea countless of times, but he’s always refused. I guess he's just not a people person." Jamie decided not to worry about it. "Hungry?"

"Very." She glanced past his shoulder. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm, nice. Smells heavenly. Need help?"

"No, I have everything under control. Want something to drink?" Jamie asked, taking out wine glasses, plates and cutleries.

"Not just yet. I had a cuppa before I left the cottage." She smiled at him. "I love your home, especially that fireplace. Is it original?"

He checked the roasted root vegetables in the oven for doneness and shoved them back in again. "Aye, it's an original. This is a crofter's cottage from the eighteenth century, and I've salvaged most of the original fixtures and fittings."

"Love the Christmas tree too. Did you put it up today?" she asked glancing around the kitchen, peering out of the window and touching his collection of fridge magnets.

"Aye, I did."

"Those antique Christmas ornaments are stunning and much better than those plastic baubles you get in shops. I have a few antique ornaments myself. Just too bad, our London flat is not big enough to accommodate a proper Christmas tree." She lifted the lid off the slow cooker and took a whiff. "Mmm, this smells lovely."

He straightened and glanced at what she was wearing. "Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are ye still wearing yer coat? Are ye cold? I thought I put enough wood in the fire."

She grinned. "Oh, this. It's a surprise. Hang on a minute." She turned her back to him, and he waited with anticipation, watching her movements of undoing her coat. If she was wearing a negligee under that coat, he knew he would have a heart attack, and dinner would definitely be put on hold if not cancelled. But he rubbished his thoughts immediately, knowing she wasn't that type of lass. "Close your eyes!" she instructed, and he did.

"Ye're killing me."

"Patience!"

"Are ye naked under yer coat?" he teased.

"You wish!"

He heard rustling followed by footsteps.

"Right, you can open them now."

He slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately landed on the front of her top. It was a Rudolph the Reindeer's face applique complete with a protruding shiny big nose. She was a bundle of red, wearing red fleece pyjamas with plaid bottoms, and her feet were covered in thick, red woollen socks. He laughed out loud.

"Wait for this. You haven't seen anything yet." Claire fiddled with something from under the hem and pulled the reindeer antler's hood from behind. The reindeer's nose on her front lit up, and the antlers stood lopsided on her head. The hoodie was far too big for her, and it hid one eye. "Ho, ho, ho!" she intonated in a low voice.

He chuckled and pulled her against him. "Ho, ho, ho, indeed. Where did ye get this? This is something for Christmas morning. It's almost as ridiculous as the Christmas jumpers."

"I know, right? As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it. Bought it today in Inverness. I thought since we've been doing all sort of Christmassy things together, I'd stick with the theme."

"That red nose is not going to keep flashing like that the whole evening, will it? It's very distracting."

She pressed something from under the top. "Nope. The show's over."

He arched an eyebrow and decided to tease her. "Really? What's underneath that top?"

She blushed, but the smile never left her face. "A hungry tummy."

"Brilliant! Shall we eat then?"

"Sure! I'll help set up the table."

Claire rattled off the things she did with Annalise that day. He was glad her friend had agreed to stay until Three Kings which would buy him more time getting to know Claire better. Jamie didn't want to think of the day when she would go back to London, even though it had been lurking all day at the back of his mind. Watching her work beside him in the kitchen, he was glad she felt comfortable and right at home. He wanted to make good memories with her just in case this was all they would ever have.

They served dinner like they'd been doing it together for years, pouring red wine, plating food he'd prepared and chatting the entire time. They sat opposite each other so Jamie could see every blush, expression and emotion that crossed her face, appreciating the fact she had an appetite, a sense of humour and took a keen interest in his work, life and Broch Mordha. He might have sounded a tad bit like a salesman trying to sell a lifestyle in a remote Highland village, and if she noticed, she didn't give any hints.

When they touched the delicate subject of his PTSD, he realised it was easier to talk about it this time. Claire spoke with refreshing candour, even suggesting alternative healing such as meditation and acupuncture, which he liked and made a mental note to look into it.

Throughout their meal, Claire spoke of her childhood, and in exchange, he talked about his family. From time to time, he would reach out to squeeze her hand so he could see the blush blooming on her cheeks or kiss her, to see the shy smile spreading across her face. Every second with her was a pleasant discovery, and he knew what a lucky bastard he was. How she was without a boyfriend was beyond him but thankful that she didn't have one.

After dinner, they cleared the table and did the dishes. And when Jamie took out Rollo for a short exercise, Claire fed the kitten with a wee bottle Harry had left him.

They took their coffee, a box of chocolate Claire loved, and the unfinished bottle of red wine into the living room. As Jamie put another log into the fire, Rollo curled up next to Claire. It was quite apparent, he wasn't the only one smitten. Smiling, he plopped down next to her and turned on the TV to watch Home Alone.

..........

When the film credits started rolling in the end, Jamie turned off the volume and stretched. He glanced over to Claire just in time to see her unwrapping a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. When she realised he was looking at her, she offered him the already unwrapped sweet.

He shook his head and smiled. "So, what do ye want to do?"

The room filled with silence as she exaggeratedly contemplated, tapping her chin and scrunching her nose while rolling the chocolate in her mouth.

His eyes dropped to the delicate lines of her jaw. The smooth, pale skin of her neck and the movement of her throat as she swallowed wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had a very vivid image of what they could do, and they involved running his tongue along the neckline of that ridiculous pyjama top. Since that option would probably send her running out the door, he quickly dismissed the idea. "More movies?" he suggested.

"No. Had enough. Do you know how to play poker?"

"Do I know how to play poker?" He laughed out loud. "I'm a master at the game."

Her eyes lit up. "You have a deck of cards?"

"Aye, I will go and get them." He got up from the sofa and headed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Always love a game of poker."

"Oh, good. I haven't played for ages."

"What do we play for?"

She cleared the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We'll play for pennies, how about that?"

"I dinnae think I have any loose change."

"We'll think of something else. I'm dealing."

He handed her the deck of cards, put on some classic Christmas song, and then refilled their glasses. He sat beside her and watched with amazement as her fingers expertly flew through the cards with ease, shuffling with lightning speed. While concentrating on his hand, he wondered where she learned how to deal and surmised probably her uncle, the same man who taught her to play pool.

"Alright, here we go, dealer's choice. Five-card stud, ante up."

He glanced up at her. "Wait! We havenae decided what we're playing for."

"Oh, I forgot. You said you don't have any loose change."

"Maybe we ought to play for the family jewels."

She slapped him on the thigh. "Ha-ha! You funny man!"

His lips twitched. "Weel, any ideas?"

"Can't think of one at the moment."

"Wait a minute ...I have a verra interesting one."

Claire glared at him. "If you're thinking of strip poker, forget it."

He laughed out loud. "No, I didnae mean that. Although I wouldnae mind that." When she arched an eyebrow at him, he grinned. "I meant we'll play for favours."

She bit her lower lip. "Favours? What kind of favours?" she asked suspiciously.

"The first to win three hands gets a free favour from the other. It can be used at any time, like a voucher per se."

Her face suddenly became animated. "Can you use the favour for anything? How about the rules?"

He grinned. "Nae rules and ye can redeem yer favours on anything. Anything at all."

The challenge lured her in like a true gambler following the scent of a big stake. "Very well then, we're playing for favours."

He smothered the jubilant smile threatening to surface and quickly fixed his expression into poker-face, almost licking his lips with glee when she'd agreed.

She dealt, and he almost pumped his fist in the air at the obvious outcome, but he remained silent, watching her replace one of her cards.

After a while, he laid down his cards. "Flush."

"Cool. Two queens. Your deal." Her expression remained inscrutable. God, her poker face is good!

Jamie had to give her credit for keeping her emotions under control. Whoever taught her to play, taught her well and if it wasn't for his past experience, he felt in his guts she'd be one hell of a player to beat. Next, she threw down a pair of aces and yielded gracefully to his three twos.

"Alright, one more hand to go," he announced, subduing the mirth in his voice.

"My deal. I can count, ye ken," she said, imitating his accent. He kept his face impassive as he watched her dainty fingers flitting over the cards. "Care to share where you learn how to play poker?"

He inspected his hand casually. "Played a lot with my unit during my SAS days. Beats sitting around and twiddling my thumbs during long intervals."

"My uncle taught me," she shared. "As well as backgammon and chess."

He threw in a card and replaced it. "I have backgammon and chessboards if ye feel like playing for another time. I'm quite good at both games, in case ye're up for a challenge."

She let out an unladylike snort when she laid down her cards, displaying straight as victory gleamed in her eyes.

Jamie almost felt sorry for her. Not quite but almost.

He whistled low and shook his head. "Good hand." This time he allowed himself to smile. "But, sorry lass, it's no' good enough." He threw his cards down, showing four aces and then cockily stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the sofa. "Nice game, though."

She gasped and looked at him with those beautiful golden orbs. "Jamie, the probabilities of four aces in five-card stud are ..." Her eyes widened. "Oh my word, you didn't!"

"What?"

"Why you cheeky sod ..."

"What, Sassenach?"

"Don't Sassenach me. You cheated!"

"No!"

"Yes, you did!"

He shook his head in feigned horror and tried to look offended. "Och, how could ye think that? Surely not! I ken ye're verra good at it, but this is all on luck."

Her pretty eyebrows slammed together. "No way you can get those four aces unless you palmed the cards. Admit it, because I was thinking of doing it myself, but I refrained from doing so!"

"Don't ye think yer accusation is a tad bit harsh?"

"Jamie, you cheated! I know you did. I can't believe you cheated on our date night. Oh, my God! How could you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Jamie!"

"No cheating occurred, Sassenach." He straightened up from his sitting position and smiled. "Now about that favour I won ..." But his voice trailed off when she abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Sassenach?"

"You cheat!" Without warning, she propelled herself over the coffee table and into his arms. Air whooshed out of him as she toppled him back onto the sofa and slipped a hand under the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking for the suspected hidden cards. Jamie grunted as the full weight of Claire landed on him, her intent on finding proof of foul play resolute. He attempted to regain his balance, but she shifted her attention somewhere else, making him fall back again. When her hands slipped into his pants pocket, he realised if she delved any deeper, she wouldn't come up empty-handed. Ah, sweet Jesus! With no other options, he flipped her onto her back and pinned both hands above her head.

The tie holding her hair somehow became undone during the struggle, causing her chocolate brown curls to spring forth and tumble down, and a few unruly locks to settle on her face. Jamie stared at the snapping golden eyes peeking between the strands, filled with determination despite his more considerable strength. Her chest heaved against her ridiculous top, the appliquéd Rudolf the reindeer staring mockingly at him. Without meaning to, his weight forced her thighs apart, and he wondered if she was aware of both their predicament. Or at least his.

Jamie knew he would be in deep trouble if he remained where he was, as she continued to wriggle under him.

"I know you're hiding the cards somewhere. I wasn't born yesterday, you know! Admit you cheated and I will forget this ever happened."

"Will ye keep still, Sassenach" he muttered. "Ye're torturing me."

She stuck out her bottom lip and blew a hard breath, the wayward curl lifting and blowing sideways, clearing her line of sight. "That's your conscience doing that. Did you know there's a special place in hell for cheaters?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Don't ye ever think of the repercussion to yer actions? Ye cannae just tackle a man like that."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it? Tell Santa to put me on his naughty list?"

Her body suddenly started to shake when she burst into fits of laughter at her own words, causing the heat in his groin to surge through his body like a wildfire gone out of control. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! His blood buzzed in his head like a swarming fog, and even though he tried to shift all his thoughts on the fat man sliding down the chimney and getting stuck halfway, all he could only think of was the soft body beneath him. He tried not to breathe and held his body in a tight muscle lock and prayed Claire wouldn't make any more sudden big movements; otherwise, he was going to explode like a schoolboy and look like a glaikit idiot.

But when the realisation of his plight swiftly dawned on her, her mouth formed a comical O, and her face turned bright red, her previous intent on extracting a confession of his cheating, dissipating.

"Jamie?" Her voice was husky.

He swallowed hard and ignored the fact he had a big fat boner wedged between them. "Did I hurt ye? Didnae mean to be so rough."

"No. I'm fine."

"Are ye sure?"

She smiled, and he inhaled deeply to regain his composure. She smelled like shampoo and flowers and just a hint of fruit flavoured lollies, and he could just about see the pulse palpitating on her neck. Their position made his erection harder, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping at all.

"You're a big lad," she gulped.

Ah, shite! "And ye're not helping," he said hoarsely, tamping down a groan.

"Shall I go?"

"No!" He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just be still for a moment, aye?"

"Alright."

They laid still for a while looking at each other.

Carefully, he let go of her wrists above her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I can stare at ye like this for hours and never tire of it," he whispered. She smiled, and he kissed the smooth line of her jaw. When she tilted her head back, his lips trailed down of their own accord, bowing his body over hers as he worked his way to the side of her neck.

Hard as he was, he didn't move against her. He wanted her to feel safe and everything to be on her terms, letting her know this attraction went beyond sex. He held on to his control with a mental vice grip and simply appreciated the moment.

His combed his fingers through her curls, feeling the softness of it in his hand as he kissed her softly, never demanding or pushing even if it pained him a lot.

He heard Rollo sigh from somewhere in the house and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He almost shot out the sofa as small hands tentatively explored his chest and shoulders, before sliding around his neck and up through his hair. Then they moved down his side and waist before her palms settled over the ridges of his stomach. He loved the small sounds she made at the back of her throat and the softness against every part of him that was hard. Every movement and sigh she made, her scent drifted and surrounded him, a heady pheromone, pulling him in closer.

When her hands slipped under his sweatshirt and settled at his lower back, his breath broke and went ragged, and an instant electric tension rose between them, turning their soft, playful kisses heated and more urgent.

As much as it hurt him to do so, he tore his lips away and looked into her eyes. "We dinnae have to do anything ye dinnae want, Sassenach. We can stop right now," he whispered, his voice sounding oddly gruff in his ears. He felt his cock protesting against his boxer shorts, but he ignored the mounting discomfort in his groin.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to stop. Kiss me again."

Relief slammed through him as a ton of weight lifted off his back. "Sassenach, are ye sure?"

She nodded.

He was about to kiss her again when a gentle push of her hands on his chest stopped him.

"I've never done this before," she whispered.

"What do ye mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant sex!"

Ah, Christ! A virgin living in London! How is that possible? Even for Broch Mordha, a virgin was a rarity. He shut his eyes for a few heartbeats, and when he opened them again, suddenly she looked unsure, almost embarrassed, and he felt she needed him to step up. He gave her a slow smile to put her at ease. "Do ye come with a user's manual? Never been with a virgin before."

Her face broke into laughter, and the tension eased a bit. "No! And before you start having all sorts of notions about virgins, I'm not all that naive. I have a fair idea of how it suppose to happen."

"Weel, no crash courses needed then," he joked before his face turned serious. "But why me, Sassenach?"

She gave him an unwavering look, her chin tilting up slightly. "Because I've never felt like this before."

Neither had he, but the wee voice in the back of his head reminded him this lass was the type of lass you brought home to introduce to your parents. Getting involved with her on a deeper emotional level wouldn't bode well for both of them as her life was in London, and he belonged here. He didn't want to hurt her. She deserved a man who could live in her world without falling down to his knees and having one of his episodes. But the gravitational pull between them was unrelenting. He needed her badly, but his conscience compelled him to offer one more out. One more, before he lost sight of the right thing to do.

"We can just continue kissing ...nothing needs to happen," he rasped, brushing their lips together. "Just say the word, Sassenach. I promise ye I wouldnae mind. I'm perfectly happy just to kiss."

Claire's breath caught as she scrutinised him, the weight of what could follow once they'd stripped each other's clothes written in her eyes. Probably in his, too. "I want this Jamie ... I'm ready."

He studied her for a long while, before making up his mind and nodding. "Wait here."

Getting up, he grabbed some blankets and throw cushions from the sofa and laid them out on the floor. And then he went to retrieve some condoms from the bedroom. After a couple of minutes fussing and finally satisfied with his handiwork, he picked Claire up and gently carried her by the fireplace. Though the fire was already slowly dying down, the embers still glowed, lending the room a cosy feel and warmth.

Claire looked up at him and beamed. "Well, I suppose this is the part where you take off your top."

He laughed out loud despite his balls almost on the verge of mutiny. What supposed to be a tense and awkward moment, was turning out to be fun. He didn't need telling twice. Grinning, he dragged his shirt over his head and was hovering over her under a split second. She looked mightily impressed as she pulled him down. "Wow, never seen anyone take their shirt off so fast," she breathed as he pressed his lips on the hollow of her throat.

"Ye should see how fast I can get yers off," he muttered against the crook of her neck.

She laughed and gently pushed him away. "I don't want my Rudolph top damaged. I'll take my own clothes off, thank you very much."

With his heart in his throat, he watched her stand and peeled off her pyjama bottom first. She had her back to him, and he figured she was trying to hide her blush. And when she took off her top next, his cock roared back to life, and he hurriedly followed suit, taking off his sweatpants, his eyes fixed on the smoothness of her long legs. Leaving her red bra and knickers on, she swiftly slipped next to him, her teeth clattering and her beautiful pale skin covered in goosebumps.

He gathered her immediately under him, rubbing her arms and the side of her body. "How's that? Still cold?" he asked, looking down at her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Feeling a lot warmer now."

"Christ, ye smell so good."

"And you're so hot." When she realised what she just said, her eyes widened in horror. "I mean you're like a heating pad."

He grinned at her. "I know what ye meant, but I'll take the other meaning any day. It will do wonders for my ego."

She slapped his arm. "Your ego is perfectly intact, I can assure you."

He smiled as he skimmed his hand up her side and gently cupped her breast, waiting for her reaction. When he felt her back arch a little, he brought down his lips to hers, gently thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, opening and taking each thrust, conscious of her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He reminded himself to take it slow and make it memorable for her, but when she parted her knees and allowed him to settle between her thighs, he groaned out loud and changed position, so the tip of his erection pressed right into her through their undies. The slow tease of their movements was maddening, and he wondered if she was aware of it. His cock was straining against her where it would slide in effortlessly if there had been nothing between them.

He felt her hooked her thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. He helped her by kicking them off while putting his fingers under the edge of her knickers. He paused with bated breaths, waiting for her permission, and when she lifted her hips, he groaned and kissed her long and thorough, pushing the flimsy scrap down her thighs.

He nipped at her lips, then trailed down with his tongue to nibble her neck, his fingers unsnapping the clasp of her bra. Claire flailed her head, seemingly unable to verbalise the reactions her body was experiencing, and he watched her with fascination. Emboldened, he cupped the weight of her breast, rolling her nipple, then gently tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God Jamie ..."

"It's good?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her lips in.

Jamie lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple, his tongue flicking and never letting up the frantic pace, his fingers trailing along her inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. When he touched her core, she was already wet with need, making his head spin out of control. Fighting the urge to take her now, his index finger traced her folds, rubbing her wetness on her nub. The delicate hitch of her breath hit his ears the exact time his mouth abandoned her breast.

He met her gaze and sank into the amber depths of her eyes, so far gone with pleasure they turned to molten gold, full of feminine demand that battled past all obstacles and shattered them to pieces. The raw need etched in her features told Jamie she was past the point of no return, that she wanted him now and he knew the feeling.

"Sassenach ...are ye sure?"

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, if you stop now ..." her voice trailed off in a hiss.

"I need to hear the words."

"For God's sake, I want you, Jamie. Now."

Knocking back the reluctance to untangle himself from her, Jamie reared back and reached out for the condom he'd left beside the cushion. He quickly sheathed himself in stretched latex and prowled up her body, settling between her thighs and muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss.

"The first time ye come, I want it to happen while I'm sunk so deep in ye, ye'll never forget who broke it in," he muttered, words muffled by her lips.

"Oh, dear God ..." she moaned.

"Open yer legs wider for me, Sassenach."

She nodded, her fingers running over his cheekbones, lips, chin, as she hiked her knees up. Their breaths raced out of their mouths as he reached down and guided his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inch by inch, allowing her to get used to his girth. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he collapsed and dropped her forehead to hers.

When he got his breath back, he braced himself on his elbow and looked into her eyes. "Did I hurt ye?"

"Just a little. I hardly noticed. Keep moving." She wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingernails scraping his back lightly on the way down to his arse, which she gripped with hesitation at first, then with more confidence.

With a groan, his hips started to roll of their own volition. He held his breath as heat threatened to flare up in his balls. "Oh fuck, ye feel so good."

"Don't stop ..." she gasped frantically moving her hips against him.

With a hand on her bottom, he lifted her hips effortlessly and drove himself deeper, the last shreds of his control dissolving as he fell on top of her like a dying man. His mouth travelled over hers, and she responded in kind, their tongues twining, their bodies moving in synchronicity to the erotic rhythm and dance. The root of his erection grated against her core and her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her breaths coming out in pants. It was so breathtaking to watch her pleasure, and what his body is doing to hers, it constricted his heart.

When she dropped her legs from his hips to spread them wider, she let out a strangled moan, and his cock bore down, working her nub. He angled his body for more friction, watching and always conscious of her reaction. When her back arched, and her right leg extended further out, they descended into what felt like wanton madness. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet his thrusts, her inner walls beginning a slow, tight suction of his cock. Jamie was almost afraid to look at her, worried the sight of her would make him lose his restraint and come before her. But it was an impossibility to keep his eyes away when she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He watched her writhe and finesse flew out the window. He fell on her, grunting, sucking in huge gulps of air, pushing her thighs open as he drove faster, listening to her moans of his name, treasuring the throaty awe of them in his ears and all around him. Their mouths joined and gorged, her hands slapping down on his buttocks to pull him in deeper and push him faster. All thoughts of logic, questions and issues suspended as he dipped his head, lowered his mouth over her jiggling tits and continued to pump like a wild beast.

Her body suddenly stilled, before trembling violently underneath him in a climax accompanied by a soft moan, her inner walls squeezing his cock tight. Cursing under his breath, he yanked her legs up and drove himself with a few more hard thrusts to his own peak, a loud groan reverberating from his chest and echoing into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body exploded and spilt his seed. He went from being a bundle of tensed nerves to being utterly devoid of it.

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, gathering her against him, almost smothering the air out of her. His insides were totally decimated, mind blown and floated down like confetti.

Moments later, when he lifted his head and searched her eyes, he couldn't stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. And when she returned it with a twinkle in her eye, he fell irreversibly and completely in love with Claire Beauchamp.

..........

The next morning, Jamie got up extra early to let Claire sleep while he did a few chores around the house. He'd kept her up all night, making love and sometime in the early hours of the morning, he'd carried her to his bed. Sleep had been evasive, but this time the cause hadn't been his nightmares or one of his episodes. His thoughts had been filled with the future and its uncertainties instead of being plagued with the past. There were still some niggling doubts lurking in the recesses of his mind, and one of them was his concern when Claire returned to London.

How often had he asked himself in the past twenty-four hours if he could live in London to be closer to her? But now that he had an arboricultural business with Willie, it was doing very well and planning on expanding. He was excited about the community projects he was involved in and committed himself to working long-term. With his episodes and PTSD, the idea of being surrounded by busy streets, chaos, traffics, loud noises, and shoes on the pavement rather than fresh earth paralysed a piece inside him.

Jamie had spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Eventually, some choices have to be made. And he wasn't sure if love would be enough for either of them and if Claire felt the same way.

Taking that leap would only end in heartache and worsen his condition. There had to be some other way. But he couldn't ask her to give up her life and career in London. Or could he? Could he give her what she needed? He shook his head and pushed the bugging thoughts away. They still had the time, and he should focus on that.

After letting Rollo out and bringing in more logs for the fireplace, he made some coffee, answered his emails and read some news on the internet. When his phone chirped and realised it was from his sister Jenny, he groaned. He decided to answer and get it out of the way.

Jenny: I heard all about the lass you're seeing. A city lass, no less. Have you gone mad? Haven't you learned your lessons?

Ah, fuck, I don't have time for this.

Jamie: Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry about me. It's just a winter fling. OK? She's on holiday, and she'll be going back to London. Soon. Happy now?

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and shook his head. This wasn't the text conversation he should be having about Claire. But if it would keep Jenny from busting his balls of all days, he'd play along just to pacify her. He slipped into the bedroom, and when he saw Claire still asleep, he decided to have a shave and shower.

After he was done, he walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was already made. He searched for Claire, humming under his breath and planning what breakfast he should prepare.

"Sassenach?" he called out.

No answer.

She probably went back to her cottage to get a change of clothes, he thought.

He shrugged and went ahead and prepared breakfast, singing along to the song playing on the radio. All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Dear Readers,

Thanking you all for reading and leaving your feedback on the previous chapter. Very much appreciated. It's crunch time now with my writing and preparation for Christmas, but thank God, I'm still on track.

Anyway, I hope this story has given you Christmas joy so far and looking forward to reading what you thought of my latest update. Sending you best wishes and positive vibes. Take care of yourselves and until next time, much love. x

#melodyheart #all I want for christmas is you #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Month of Miracles Day 8 - Uncertainty

Find the prompt list here!

Marinette had a lot of experience with embarrassment, and she was well aware that no matter how much she wished it, the odds of the earth opening beneath her and swallowing her up were pretty slim. In fact, at this point in her life she was pretty sure that if it ever did happen, it would be while things were going perfectly fine, just to spite her.

So as she stood on the sidewalk outside of the library, peeling a sticky bow off her forehead (and probably a perfectly square section of her foundation with it, which she was sure would look just great), trying not to look at the very attractive rock star (former rock star?) beside her, she was annoyed but not surprised that the ground remained solid under her feet.

“Well,” Luka sighed, “I guess since Rose is paying...can I take you to lunch?”

“I, um—” Marinette began, and then shivered, grabbing her arms as the wind suddenly cut through her.

“Here,” Luka said, and Marinette finally looked at him. He was holding her coat open for her, waiting. He was already wearing his. “Marinette?” he asked when she didn’t move immediately, and Marinette jumped.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, hastily jamming her arms into the coat. It was harder than it should have been, since she still had the big stick-on bow in her hand, and her internal screaming grew louder as Luka continued to hold the coat patiently until she finally got her hand through the cuff. She jammed the bow in her pocket as she turned towards him with a grateful, if embarrassed, smile as she began buttoning the coat. “Um, thank you, but I’m sure you have things to do, and, well Rose didn’t exactly give you notice there, so if you need to, um, go, I understand.”

Luka gave her a slow smile. “Well, since one of the things I have to do is eat lunch, I’m not going to turn down a slice of Sally’s pie on Rose’s dime. And since she kind of played us both here, I think she owes you one too. Unless you don’t like pie?”

“I love pie,” Marinette blurted, and had to stop her hand from flying to cover her mouth.

“Well, okay then. Let’s get some pie.” Luka gestured, and Marinette found herself walking alongside him. “Maybe some soup, too. Sally’s tomato bisque is amazing when it’s cold outside.”

Marinette made a noise that she hoped sounded like agreement. What on earth was she doing? Didn’t this make it look like she wanted to go on a date with him? What if he thought Rose was acting on Marinette’s behalf?

A touch on her arm jolted her out of her spiral. “Are you all right?” Luka asked gently, slowing down his walk. “Look, I know Rose is...a lot. I didn’t mean to enable her pushiness, so if you’re not comfortable—”

“No!” Marinette exclaimed quickly, and then sighed. “Well...yes, a little. Not she’s a lot a little, but I’m a little. Uncomfortable, I mean. N-not that you did anything, or...um…” She clamped her teeth together and fought the urge to scream.

“It’s just that this is a little awkward, because Rose has all the subtlety of a brick to the head and now we’re both trying to pretend that we don’t know we were set up?” Luka smiled, and Marinette actually laughed a little bit despite the vivid blush she was sure was spreading over her face.

“Yeah, kinda,” she admitted, hunching her shoulders.

Luka shrugged. “Well, we could bail on lunch, walk away and pretend none of this ever happened, and hope that we never see each other again. Buuuuut this is a pretty small town, and avoiding people here is hard, so the chances of recurring awkward are high.”

“Good point.” Marinette winced. “Um...what are our other options?”

“Well, I’m personally a big fan of just embracing the awkward.” Luka gave her a lopsided smile that looked nothing like his posters. “So I propose that we go have lunch, no pressure and no expectations, ask all the questions we’ve been dancing around until now, and see if we can’t just power through the awkward and come out friends—or at least acquaintances that can greet each other on the street without combusting from embarrassment.”

Marinette laughed. “That...that actually sounds like a plan.”

Luka’s lopsided smile turned into a grin, and in that moment she could see a flash of the rock star she remembered.

It was a short walk to the café (it was a short walk just about anywhere on Main Street, really), and before she had quite recovered from that grin, Luka was holding the door open for her and waving her through.

“Hi, Sally,” he said as he followed her into the café. “Where should we sit?”

“Anywhere you like, hon, just don’t take up the big tables,” Sally replied absently, preoccupied with something behind the counter. “Your usual?”

“Am I so predictable?” he sighed, leading Marinette to a small booth near the windows.

“You are when it’s this cold out,” Sally laughed, looking up, and noticed his companion for the first time. “Nice to see you again Marinette! Do you need the menu?”

“I’ll have what Luka’s having, actually,” Marinette said, blushing a little as she slid into the seat across from Luka. “Now that he’s talked it up I have to try it.”

“Sure thing, hon. Tea instead of coffee for you though?”

“Yes please,” Marinette replied quickly, shrugging out of her coat. She raised a self-conscious hand and touched the spot on her forehead where the bow had been, glancing at her reflection in the window.

“Rose’s treating today, so make it the big bowl please,” Luka called, and got a good natured wave from Sally to indicate she’d heard him. He turned his attention back to Marinette, and she tried not to squirm.

“So,” Luka said, slipping out of his coat and stuffing it into the corner beside him. “Do you want to start?”

“Why did you retire?” Marinette blurted, and covered her mouth.

Luka winced. “Wow, right out of the gate.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette backpedaled frantically. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it was a fair question,” Luka sighed, sitting back and tapping his fingers lightly on the table as he thought. Marinette bit her lip, feeling terrible for asking, but also really wanting to know.

“Sometimes you take a chance, and things don’t work out,” he said finally. “But...sometimes they do work out, and then you find out it wasn’t actually what you wanted in the first place. I love the music, I thought I loved performing, but that whole lifestyle just...didn’t work for me.”

Marinette wasn’t sure what to say to that, and was grateful that Sally arrived just at that moment with her tea and Luka’s coffee.

“Okay, my turn,” Luka said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Why are you here? In this town, I mean. No offense, but you kind of stick out.”

Marinette made a face. “The real reason? My mother thought I was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, so she conspired with my grandmother to guilt me into taking a vacation. As if all my problems aren’t still going to be there when I go home.” She glanced up at him, gathered her courage, and said, “Why are you here?”

“My family is here,” he said, pushing the salt shaker around on the table absently. He leaned back as Sally came to slide two bowls of soup on the table. Luka thanked her, and then looked back at Marinette. He gave that lopsided grin again at the slight pout she was aiming at him, and gave in. “So it was the logical place to come when I decided I needed to figure out what I really wanted out of life.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “And did you?”

Luka shrugged. “It’s a process, but...yeah, I think I’m on the right track.” He raised his eyebrows back at her. “What was stressing you out so bad at home?”

“My boss,” Marinette groaned, as they both picked up their spoons. “There’s so much she can do for me in the industry but she’s so rude and mean. The words constructive criticism seem to have no meaning for her. It’s like she expects me to read her mind and fix things without any guidance. Why did she hire me, if she hates everything I do so much?” Marinette stirred her soup listlessly, and then finally tried some. She smiled at Luka. “This is good.” His mouth was full but he aimed a wink at her in lieu of an I told you so. “So why a Christmas tree farm?” she asked.

Luka shrugged. “I don’t even really know myself. When my mom bought it I thought it was just another one of her crazy whims, and that she’d sell it again before the next season even came around. But, turns out she likes the farm, and she likes the town, and she runs a kayak rental during the summer that keeps her adventuring spirit satisfied. I still expect her to up and leave with practically no notice someday, but for now she seems happy. Make sure you try the toast on the side, by the way, it’s amazing.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why does Christmas hate you?”

Marinette had to take a moment for that one, taking her time with her next spoonful of soup. Luka didn’t press her, just went on eating his own. “I’ve never had much luck with Christmas,” she muttered, and then felt like he deserved more of an answer than that. “Not every Christmas, some were fine, but some were...just times when I found out that people weren’t the friends I thought they were. Then last Christmas...” She hesitated, feeling foolish. “My boyfriend dumped me,” she said finally, and then blushed. “It sounds really stupid and pathetic when I say it out loud, and it’s not like he did it on Christmas or anything like that, but...” She shook her head.

“But now it’s Christmas again and you’re having a hard time separating the season from the memories?” Luka suggested. Marinette nodded.

“My ex, he’s...kind of famous,” she admitted, “And now he’s back in the news because he’s got a new girlfriend, and there’s rumors there’s going to be an engagement announcement soon, and we work in the same industry so we’re still part of some of the same circles, and...yeah.” She shrugged and looked down, eyes suddenly stinging. “It just kind of feels like Christmas isn’t on my side this year either.”

“Hey,” Luka said, reaching across the table to catch her hand. Marinette looked up at him, startled, and he smiled. “What kind of pie do you want?”

His hand was rough, but warm from where it had been wrapped around his coffee, and for a moment she could only stare at him. He has kind eyes, she thought.

She hadn’t seen that on his posters, either.

“Blueberry,” she managed to say, and it wasn’t as hard to smile back at him as she thought it would be.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #hallmark au #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: The Royal We ch.5

Summary: Finally the concluding chapter of 'The Royal We'! Wonder what's gonna happen here, hmmmm.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

Edge woke far later than normal to the sound of the shower running. He jerked halfway upright in the bed, briefly disoriented, before the events of the day before came back to him in a rush. The baby shower planning, the discussion with Stretch about having children, or rather not having them, Janice’s son getting lost, and learning that Stretch’s abilities as a Judge allowed him see Monster souls, including his own.

Small wonder he’d overslept, Any one of those things would be tiring but put together it was entirely too much for a single day, particularly one where he and Stretch finally came upstairs in the wee hours of the morning, barely taking the time to shed their clothes before flopping together into their bed.

At least Stretch seemed to be somewhat recovered if he were up to taking a shower. Edge sank back against the mattress, kicking the blankets from his feet as he stretched with joint-popping bliss, luxuriating in a moment of uncommon laziness. As stressful as the day before had been it had also been cathartic in some ways, certain issues clouded between him and Stretch discussed then cleared away.

This morning his leg felt fine even without the brace, without even a trace of a pain. It was actually healing as the doctor promised it would, despite Edge’s occasional loose interpretation of their directions, and as time passed it would keep getting better until the injury was only a memory and an occasional ache on very cold days.

Getting back to normal, that was all. The term ‘normal’ when it came to their lives was certainly up for creative interpretation, but it honestly felt like they were getting to it. Of course, that was dependent on nothing new cropping up in their lives and it surely would. It didn’t matter, whatever came he and Stretch would face it together.

Thinking of togetherness, Edge rolled out of bed and made his way to the ensuite bathroom. Muffled strains of music were coming through the closed door and when he opened it, it poured out, bright and pop-cheerful. Behind the shower curtain, oblivious to his audience, Stretch was singing along. He’d always have a lovely singing voice, husky sweet and pitch perfect but it was the lyrics gave Edge a pause.

“i’d get down on my knees, i’d do anything for you…ohhhh, i don’t want anybody else, when i think about you, i touch myself…”

Well, that was an invitation if he’d ever heard one.

Edge only took long enough to strip of his pajamas, casting them off in a rare messy pile on the floor before sliding around the shower curtain. He was ready for Stretch to yelp and jump, catching him before he could slip on the wet porcelain. His lovely bones were slick with water and soap and he was blinking through the spray, his pale eye lights still bright from the surprise.

“holy shit, babe,” Stretch sputtered, licking water from his teeth. “a little warning would be nice!”

Edge only shifted Stretch in his arms, settling him with his spine pressed firmly against Edge’s chest. At his silent urging, Stretch let his head drop back against Edge’s shoulder, huffing a groan as Edge murmured against his skull. “And miss the chance to sweep you off your feet?”

“you can get in your gropes without giving me a—oooh,” Stretch broke off and Edge smirked, mouthing lightly at his scapula as his hands wandered lower, his bare fingers seeking out places he knew were sensitive, pressing and stroking until Stretch shivered in his arms despite the heat of the water pouring down on them.

“What was that?” Edge crooned. “I couldn’t quite hear.”

“baaaaaabe,” Stretch moaned. He squirmed, his pelvis scraping tantalizingly against Edge’s. “this isn’t fair.”

“No? I was only trying to confirm the truth of your statement,” and before Stretch could ask, “Do you, then? Touch yourself when you think about me?”

“heh.” That squirm turned into a deliberate grind and Edge caught his breath, “want a demonstration?”

As it turned out, by the time Stretch was finished ‘demonstrating’, they both needed another shower and Edge was never more pleased to have splurged on their hot water heater. The chance to hold Stretch in his arms for longer without any chilly surprises was well worth the extra cost.

~~*~~

It was a few hours later that Edge was finishing buttoning his shirt, giving his husband a sideways look where he was still sprawled out on the bed, entirely naked except for a single sock that was still sagging at the ankle. The other was in his hand, waiting for its owner to either work up the energy to put it on or to abandoned it to its lonely fate.

Tipping the scales in favor of wearing might be in order. “Are you planning on putting that sock on or do you need longer to bond?”

“i’ll put it on as soon as i can feel my feet,” Stretch sighed out dreamily, “babe, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

“In a variety of ways,” Edge said serenely. “I do well with entrances.” He sat on the side of the bed next to Stretch and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss before snatching up the sweatshirt beside him and dropping it on his head. “Come on, get dressed, we need to check on the chickens. I believe there may have been an event we missed.”

Stretch lurched upright, fighting his way out of the clinging folds of the sweatshirt to give Edge a stricken look, “fuck, i forgot!” The sweatshirt was only half on when he started for the door and he was still struggling to pull it over his skull when he made for the stairs.

“Pants!” Edge shouted after him. Their neighbors asked so little of them and he really didn’t think that no unexpected nudity was an unreasonable request.

A shout floated back up, “bring ‘em with you and i’ll get the coffee going!”

Edge only shook his head and retrieved a clean pair of track pants from their dresser. However this might end, at least it would be with a reasonable amount of dignity.

Well, that might be a tall ask of Stretch and if he couldn’t be clothed in dignity, pants would have to do, so long as it wasn’t the bare minimum.

Edge stifled his grin and headed for the stairs, pants in hand and ready to share that particular witticism with his husband. Anytime was a good time for pun to Stretch, but over morning coffee held a certain brewtiful appeal.

It was with puns exchanged (among them was Stretch declaration that so many jokes this early was a latte to handle) and coffee in hand that they finally made their way to the chicken coop to investigate yesterday’s happenings. The morning air was still tinged cool, only hinting at the afternoon’s predicted warmth and Stretch shuffled through the fallen leaves to the coop door where Noodle and Dumpling were already waiting impatiently for the bringer of their breakfast.

“yeah, sorry, gals,” Stretch set his coffee cup down outside the coop before opening the door. He leaned over to give them each a brief pat before heading to the feed trough. “i know, we’re running late. let’s get you fed before checking on your sis, okay?”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes too far up,” Edge cautioned. He set his cup alongside Stretch's and followed him inside. “I can’t even calculate the odds of her not only finding a fertilized egg but also managing to hatch it.” Her finding an egg at all was a question that Edge already decided not to look into too deeply.

“i can calculate it and trust me, it’s a lot of decimal points. don’t worry,” Stretch said as he measured out a scoopful of feed. “i won’t. not even sure i wanna meet whatever’s supposed to come out of the cryptid egg she stole. hope nugget isn’t too disappointed when her basilisk doesn’t hatch.”

The sound of feed pouring into the trough was enough to summon the smallest of their wayward poultry. Nugget poked her small head through the coop’s door flap, chirring inquisitively, and then darting out to beeline right for the feed. Hungry indeed, she didn’t detour even briefly in Edge’s direction, intent on her pursuit of tasty grains.

But it wasn’t Nugget that had their attention. Behind her, coming from the coop was a faint sound, a peeping reminiscent of those Edge heard on the farm back when he was considering whether to invest in chickens of their own. Stretch only stood frozen, staring at the coop door and Edge was the one who finally opened it and stepped inside.

They’d persuaded Nugget to abandon the plastic bucket she’d nested in for one of the coop boxes, lining it with soft hay and that was where the sound was coming from. The single caged bulb overhead didn’t provide much light and Edge peered into the darkened nest, his sockets narrowed. Nearly buried into the hay was a tiny ball of yellow fluff. Edge reached for it, scooping it cautiously into his hands and bringing it out into the light.

Stretch hovered over his shoulder anxiously, “is that…what is it?”

From the rounded cup of his hands, a tiny, billed head poked out. Webbed feet shifted against his palm as the little creature peeped anxiously, its eyes dark against the bright yellow fluff.

“it’s a duckling! holy shit!” Stretch managed to keep his delight to a muted squeal, reaching out with cautiously grabby hands. Very carefully, Edge deposited it into his hands, watching as the little bird settled against the warm bones. “this is way better than a basilisk!”

“I believe the neighbors will agree,” Edge said dryly, watching as Stretch very gently inspected their newest acquisition, petting that feathery softness. “Is it male or female?”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “welp, all the years i spent studying physics instead of zoology are letting us down here, babe. i’ve barely got ‘duck’ cleared, if you want a more detailed report, you’re gonna have to hire a pro.”

“Understood,” Edge said. He looked out the door at their backyard, freshly layered in falling leaves. “What on earth are we going to do with a duck?”

Stretch only held the little duckling closer to his chest with a gasp, “we can’t get rid of it!”

“Of course not,” Edge said, exasperated, “I’m not suggesting we drop it off at the local livestock orphanage, it was a legitimate question. We’ll need to make arrangements for it, ducks may have different nutritional needs than chickens. It will need some sort of pond to swim in and—” He broke off as Stretch gave him a look. “What?”

That gentle smile matched the softness in Stretch’s eye lights as they briefly flashed into hearts, shining with love, “nothing, babe. you’re really gonna let me keep cheese?”

Edge blinked. “Did you just call that duckling ‘Cheese’?”

“yeah.” Stretch grinned. “short for cheese and quackers.”

“Oh, for—” Edge sighed. “I walked right into that one.”

“headfirst,” Stretch agreed. “don’t feel bad, i left the door wide open.” At that moment Nugget came wandering back into the coop and started to make concerned motherly noises. Stretch hastily set the duckling, no, Cheese back into the nesting box. Nugget hopped up into it, squirming back to bury her child beneath the bulk of her feathery warmth.

“guess introductions are over.” Lacking a tiny duckling to hold, Stretch settled for flinging his arms around Edge and giving him a hard squeeze. “c’mon, hot coffee waits for no fowl and cold coffee is foul, so let’s get ours.”

“You’re an endless font of hilarity, love.” Edge followed him out and the two of them retrieved their cups. By unspoken agreement, they settled to sit at the patio, sipping their coffee as the trees rustled softly around them.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence, and Edge checked it to see a text from Papyrus. Ah, another loose end from yesterday’s tapestry to tie up. He opened the text to find not a jumbled of excited words but a picture. Of Undyne in a hospital bed, looking both weary and elated, Alphys at her side, but it was the small bundle in their arms that drew Edge’s gaze.

The only thing visible from the swaddling of striped blankets was the child’s face, the same deep blue skin tone as their mother and a small tuft of red fronds falling over their forehead. Childbirth seemed to have left a certain squashed quality to that face that hadn’t had time yet to fade, puffy cheeks and swollen eyes, and as Edge studied the picture another text came through.

It’s a girl!

A girl, a little niece to spoil and teach, and Edge could already picture her toddling along and joining the other children as they followed Stretch around very much like ducklings as he taught them science and experiments, spending his weekends building snowmen and painting excited faces. Without making any undue assumptions, Edge could imagine the formidable child that Undyne and Papyrus’s genes would produce and the adventures that might come of it, the coming years would certainly be interesting and—

“is that the baby?”

Almost, Edge twitched his phone away before Stretch could see the picture. But none of yesterday's upset or melancholy appeared, Stretch only looked at it with an appropriate expression of interest, smiling widely.

“aww, what a cutey,” Stretch cooed. “tell undyne she does good work.”

“I will,” Edge agreed, and did so. Before he set his phone aside, another picture came through, this time with Papyrus holding the baby, the very vision of a delighted uncle and why his arm was in a sling, Edge decided not to ask. The story of Undyne’s labor and delivery was likely an epic one and not to be heard before plenty of coffee. He was nearly ready for a second cup when Stretch spoke again.

“so,” Stretch began. He shuffled his feet against the porch, his coffee cup held tightly in both hands. “you wanna get started on the pond today?”

Edge smiled faintly. “Of course, love, best to get it ready before Cheese needs it.”

He watched as Stretch lit up, equally delighted by his answer and his ready use of Stretch’s chosen name. It was hardly more ridiculous than Noodle, Nugget, and Dumpling, and besides, their baby deserved the best, too, did it not?

A pond and some research into their little duckling’s needs, that was the challenge for the day and Edge was more than up for it, so long as Stretch was by his side.

Edge set his cup on the table and reached over to take Stretch’s hand in his, slender fingers tangling with his own. He ran his thumb over Stretch’s wedding band, the smooth metal body-warm. Together, no matter what, and Edge was ready for that adventure as well and any that came along with it, for the rest of his life.

Even when it included unexpected additions.

-finis

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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honeym4rk · 4 years

Text

station (jjh)

college! jaehyun x reader word count: 3.0k summary: four times you find yourself alone with jaehyun at a bus station.

There is comfort in the silence.

With every step you take, there is a crunch of fallen, juniper leaves at your feet. Your canvas tote bag is looped around your shoulder, your fingers clinging to the straps like it would shield you from the awkwardness of the current circumstances.

He’s got his hands hidden in the cavity of his hoodie. His knuckle cracking is sporadic, and you cringe at just how many times they’ve made an encore in the past two minutes.

You really should have begged Mark to tag along and leave the shindig so that this wouldn’t have happened- but alas, the boy was still hooked by the prospect of winning the next round of Mario Kart against Donghyuck. ‘It does some good to my self-esteem,’ he’d said.

So here you are, sauntering bashfully to the bus stop with Jaehyun.

“So, uh- what bus are you taking?” You muster up the courage to speak up after a few minutes of painful reticence.

“I’d have to take 922 or 153 from the opposite stop to get back to hall,” he sighs. It’s clear that he reciprocates the weird, distinctive tension here.

“And you?” He faces you with his raised eyebrows and you’re baffled by the sudden eye contact made. Your eyes dart elsewhere.

“Oh, I’m taking 922 from here.” You nod your head imperceptibly at the bus stop ahead of you.

A few metres away, there’s a zebra crossing, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re finally about to part ways. Oh, you’re sure Jaehyun is a nice person and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that the unspoken, kind enmity in the air is capable of being taut so hard around your neck that you asphyxiate.

Ten more steps. Come on.

Five steps.

Three steps.

“I’ll see you next ti-”

Yet he doesn’t stop at the crossing. Instead, he continues his stride in tandem with yours towards the station. You stop in your tracks, slowly gesturing towards the beaconing street light with the hand you raised to bid adieu.

“Aren’t you going to, you know..?” Eyes hinting at the yellow streaks of light, at the bus stop across the road, anywhere away from his own. Jaehyun notices your halt and follows suit.

“Well, I mean, Mark did ask me to see that you got home safe....”

You immediately wrack your brain for an appropriate response to his chivalry. It’s unclear how you should react; he really caught you by surprise. And from the way he’s gnawing at his inner lip and raising a hand to scratch the nape of his neck, you infer that he’s abashed too. All you manage is a small, “Oh,” as more silence ensues, before you start to blabber,

“No, no, thanks, Jaehyun, but it’s really fine, you don’t have to.”

His lips are taut into a firm, straight line and he lets out a surreptitious hum.

“Let me just wait ‘til you board your bus. Is that okay? It’s getting pretty late.”

You want to vehemently object.

And you’re about to, but you let out a consenting “Yeah, alright.”

He’s invading your desiderated solace- yet something about his offer seems so genuine and saccharine that you comply out of curiosity. You’d heard things about Jaehyun around in school before, good things, especially seeing that he was well acquainted with your friends like Mark, but you’d never really encountered him until tonight, thanks to Donghyuck’s birthday celebration. Being a Linguistics student, fate hadn’t really presented many opportunities for him to meet someone majoring in Pharmacy.

Therefore- you think to yourself- it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s unlikely that you’ll actually talk to him again, since you’ll probably never be within a radius of at least ten metres from him again. It’s alright, it’s okay. You decide to let him be a gentleman.

So you bask in the quietude shrouding the two of you, as you sit on the metal form, awaiting the arrival of a yearned 922.

After all, there is the slightest hint of comfort in the silence.

There is also comfort in the familiarity.

You’re sure there’s a sense of déjà vu. It’s a similar scene to what had ensued a few weeks ago, at least, and you’re definitely surprised to be here again, with him . However, you’ve both abandoned the multi-layered cake of unease. It’s almost been completely devoured now. Fortunately.

Jaehyun’s chuckling relentlessly- nearly doubled over laughing- as you recount the earlier occurrences of the Friday night.

“Yeah, no, but I’d give anything to see the look on Donghyuck’s face again.” His eyes crinkle into small crescents as he runs a hand through his silver hair.

“He looked so confident that it was going to work and I’d already told him otherwise, but I really don’t know what he expected.”

Tonight, there had been an effort to study in Donghyuck’s apartment; considering the looming exam season. This purpose was indeed fulfilled, to some extent.

Then Donghyuck, feeling rather ravenous, decided that he wanted to indulge in a quick and easy two-ingredient Oreo mug cake. The video tutorial truly looked too good to be true- you’d seen multiple YouTubers debunk the content-farm produced recipes.

The wide-eyed boy was too desperate, however, as he credulously decided to fill his mug with crushed oreos and milk to the brim. He swore that it looked and sounded promising until a loud Pop! reverberated in the kitchen 30 seconds into heating.

Everyone gathered around to watch Donghyuck cry over his spilt milk, literally, as his appliance perpetually emitted smoke, its glass door burst open. Burnt mounds of moist black and white cookies were thrown at the white, metal walls of the microwave. Donghyuck fanned the plumes of smoke hastily.

“It looks like a volcano erupted.” Mark added, coughing, as he tried to swallow the chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat.

“Dude- I don’t want to say I told you so but,” You began to implore, before Donghyuck interjected.

“Maybe I should just try again, I think the microwave setting just wasn’t right.”

And so he did- but to no avail.

The two of you approach the tiny station side by side, and you relish the warm, fuzzy feeling establishing in your stomach. Not quite butterflies, but maybe more like a tiny sprout popping out of the ground.

“To be fair, though, it didn’t taste half as bad as it looked.”

You snort. “Sure, because it’s literally sugar and milk with a dash of hidden carcinogens.”

He lets out a low chortle. Jaehyun nails the bellowing dad laugh right down to a T, and some part of you finds this endearing.

A flash of bright light emerges as you look up from your feet. 922 has arrived and you’re rummaging through your bag for your bus card.

“I feel like I left my card at Donghyuck’s, shit,”

The bus halts.

“Here, use mine, I’ve got a spare.” Jaehyun offers without a second thought, pulling his card from the pocket of his denim jeans.

“Go on, the bus driver’s waiting.”

You would have thought this through for a little while longer, but he was right. A scowl that said ‘Stop wasting my damn time,’ is plastered on the driver’s face, and it urges you to carefully pick the card slotted between his fingers.

“Thanks so much- I’ll return it tomorrow, or something.” Your eyebrows furrow together and you clench your teeth together in a grimace.

“Yeah! Yeah, whenever. Good night, Y/N. Get home safe,”

“You too, thanks again!”

Boarding the bus hastily, you wave at him through the glass door as the bus sets off. He doesn’t leave until you’re out of sight.

You can’t help but grin as you examine the portrait on his student pass. He’s handsome, skin clear and glossy, hair parted such that there are a bunch of strands obstructing his forehead. It’s black in this image. You wonder how many colours it's been dyed. His dimples replicate the poked slime in the myriad of videos you’ve seen, and his cheekbones are incredibly prominent.

It dawns on you that you don’t have his number, or follow him on Instagram, or have any means to contact him at all. You guess that you’ll have to fish something from Mark, but Jaehyun seems to beat you to it.

Unknown, [2340]: hey this is jaehyun lol hope you get back safe :-)

A sudden flash of the many possible outcomes this could entail breezes past your mind. You’re quite uncertain about how this will play out, and you unlock your phone to reply.

Y/N, [2341]: hii hahah thanks again! i can return your card tomorrow, just lmk where i can drop by

Jaehyun, [2341]: yeah sure, i think i’ll be cooped up in starbucks doing work w my friends lol

Jaehyun, [2341]: u can join if ud like :o

There is comfort in the unknown.

There is comfort in the noise.

Your whole herd of boisterous friends are walking uphill from yet another study session at Donghyuck’s- there’s been quite a number of them since the first. You’re honestly amused by how many people can fit in his apartment. The study group has expanded from a mere four to a whopping seven people in total.

Thankfully, there haven’t been any microwave oven explosions since then, but you’ve had your good share of fun and company, and more importantly, productivity.

The pack of young adults currently divulging the extensive, latest gossip and hall horror stories, you and Jaehyun stray further behind. You’re trying to listen in and pick apart information, but you’ve joined the conversation a bit too late for context.

“Oh my god, Lia, you’re going to hate hearing this, but…” Jungwoo begins, his voice entering a decrescendo.

“But Jeno has a girlfriend? Yeah, I figured.” Lia wails. “I saw them together in the library the other day, being all cute and shit. My heart shattered .” She emphasises this by hitting Jungwoo’s shoulder out of pure frustration.

“How long have they been together, though?” Ryujin quips, to which she gets a reply, but you try to drown out the rest of their conversation.

You tug at the arm of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt, and he leans closer to you as you query, “Who’s Jeno, again?”

“Cute dude that she keeps bumping into at hall, I think,” he mumbles. His words are semi-intelligible, because of the commotion right in front of you.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” The infinite frequencies are hard to tune out, and it gets increasingly arduous to do so when Ryujin gasps.

“Oh shit, the bus is here!” Your friends are immediately ready to break into a sprint, but Jaehyun’s feet seem heavy as he continues to meander with you.

“Jae, aren’t you coming? The next one’s in thirty minutes!” Jungwoo shouts as they begin to dash across the road.

“It’s fine, go on! I’m just a little lazy. See you!” Jaehyun dismisses him with the wave of his extended hand, and receives an incredulous look. The lame excuse confuses you, bamboozles you, but you wave goodbye to your friends anyway.

It’s been long since you’ve been caught alone here at the bus stop with Jaehyun- you usually head home with Mark every Friday. He’s not here, though. He’s crashed at Donghyuck’s for tonight.

“Uhm, what was that ?” You chuckle nervously, the little sprout in your belly magically reappearing. Truth be told, after the many lighthearted, late-night messages exchanged over the past few weeks, and after unravelling Jaehyun bit by bit, the sprout has grown into a pocket-sized garden. It brings its own butterflies, but you don’t quite have the audacity to admit this. There’s a different kind of trickiness lingering in the air tonight.

“Well, you know- Mark…and it’s- it’s getting late, kinda.” He’s timorous tonight. Under the luminescence of the bus station’s lamps, you see the pink tint land on the tips of his ears, something you’ve learnt happens when he’s rather shy.

“I wanted to ask you something, too, though.”

“Okay, shoot.” You take a seat. He sits a modest distance away from you, cracking his knuckles instinctively.

“Well, I uhm, I’m not quite sure how you’ll react to this but,” he licks his lips.

“But?” You encourage him to carry on, staring as you await his continuation.

He looks as if he’s got the words at the tip of his tongue, the sea of sentences about to overflow from his mouth, and they’re spilling when he starts speaking again.

“Would you-” You listen intently, attempting to read his lips. However, he’s cut off by the booming wails of a velocious ambulance. You whip your head around to watch the vehicle pass by.

Jaehyun breathes sharply, exhaling in frustration. The cries subside, so he tries again.

“Y/N,” he clears his throat, and you face him once more.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I was wondering if-”

A fire truck zooms past the bus stop, and your attention is grabbed by the monotonous siren that raids your ears. Jaehyun notices your bus approaching, and he panics. The air-raid isn’t becoming distant; the truck’s obstructed by the imposing red-light flashing. There’s only so much time left to ask what he’s been dying to- and he can’t believe he’s getting cockblocked by the emergency services right now.

You’re hearing Jaehyun spill a string of words but they’re incoherent- all you can seem to comprehend is the blaring repetitions that are relentless.

“What?!” You shout, fighting past the cacophony. “I can’t hear you!” You’re signing this to him, pointing to your ear and shaking your hand vigorously.

Your bus halts before you. Jaehyun’s in an absolute frenzy now. He doesn’t want to do this online. Something about hiding behind his screen sounds so ingenuine to him, and you’re already standing, shit, but he can’t win against the absolute pandemonium and doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the small crowd that’s alighted the bus, but he’s also not sure when he’ll get to talk to you in private like this again,

So he clamours.

“Do You! Want To Go Out! With Me!” He’s cupping his large hands around his mouth, screaming into the makeshift amplifier with all his might, as you walk towards the front doors of the bus.

You look like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide open in disbelief as you gawk at the boy who’s sheepishly glancing at everyone and using his hand to defend himself from their stares. The butterflies that have erupted in you are merciless.

And then you burst into a fit of laughter- Jaehyun curses the sirens for piercing through such a pleasant sound- and you nod profusely, one foot already boarding the bus.

The glass doors shut close, and you’re enthusiastically gesturing to your handphone, waving at him. The bus whizzes away.

He’s shell-shocked, and he’s unable to will his hands in drawing his phone from his pocket. The sudden series of vibrations brings him back to his senses.

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝),[2257]: WAIT ask me again

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: idk if i heard u right

Jaehyun, [2258]: k

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: dude come back </3

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: YES lol

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: yeeeeeeees

It heavily hinders Jaehyun that night, but there is comfort in the noise.

There is comfort in the isolation.

It’s only the blinding fluorescent lights and the cool breeze presenting company at the bus stop- you’re grateful that the occasional cars speeding by are helping you break down the very last walls of tension between the two of you, if there are any.

Whoosh.

“I really enjoyed today.” He smiles and steals a quick glance at you. You’re at a different bus stop now- a month later and you’re amazed that you’ve gone out with Jaehyun at least three times now.

You catch the slight twinkle in his eyes as he scoots a whole foot nearer towards you on the cool metal bench. The distance between the two of you is closing slowly yet your heart rate is augmenting. It’s accelerating now- faster than any of the rambunctious vehicles that race down the road, their engines revving dirtily.

Whoosh. A black BMW zooms past you both and you take the opportunity to reciprocate the cheeky glimpse.

“Me too.”

There’s fumbling of fingers and twiddling of your thumbs before you notice the sudden influx of light and buzzing and realise that your bus has arrived. Pure languish rushes through every vein in your body- you don’t want this night to end.

Jaehyun begins to stand and shoots a quizzical expression when you don’t follow suit.

“Let’s wait for the next one,” you grin, your legs swinging back and forth as you continue to glue yourself on the elevated seat.

The sound of his chuckle envelopes you into a warm hug- it’s deep, and strong, yet soft at the same time- and then you’re pulled to your feet by your wrists before he embraces you with confident hesitation too.

“Is this- it’s okay, right?” He just wants to be sure.

“Yeah- very.” You breathe, and his boyish smell fills your lungs. There is difficulty in naming what scented cologne he’s used today; but you devote no more attention. You just wallow in the tangy, mellow fragrance that has permeated your senses.

He’s got his arms coiled around your waist, his palm extended to press your back closer to him. You’re playing with the sharp, freshly cut hairs on the back of his neck. You run your fingers through them and he dives his head further into the crook of your neck. Jaehyun’s muffled voice is tickling your shoulder-

“Your hair smells really nice.” The corners of your lips edge upwards into an unrelenting grin.

“Thank God.”

There is comfort in Jaehyun.

#nct #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun imagine #jaehyun oneshot #jaehyun blurb #jaehyun au #jaehyun fluff #jung yoonoh #jaehyun #nct imagines #nct oneshot #nct au #nct fanfic #hm4rk os #hm4rk jaehyun

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marvelous-writer · 4 years

Text

Baby Giraffes & Overheated Spider-Kids

Summary: In which Peter faints during a family trip to the zoo.

Word count: 2,203

Genre: whump, humor, fluff

A/N: Thank you @whumphoarder and @xxx-cat-xxx for beta reading!! Bethany, you’re a saint for putting up with me. ❤️

Link to read on Ao3

“So where should we go next? Lions, zebras or giraffes?” Tony asks as they come to a stop in front of the sign displaying the zoo’s map.

“Giraffes!” Morgan exclaims excitedly from her spot on Tony’s shoulders. “I want to see April and her baby!”

Grinning, Tony continues along the crowded pathway. “Giraffes it is then.”

Happy is bringing up the rear with Peter, carrying the day bag Pepper had packed for them. “We have a two-thirty reservation at the Rainforest Cafe, so we only have enough time to visit one more exhibit after.”

“I heard one of the hippos just had a baby last week. I think they’re near the alligators,” Pepper says.

Morgan lets out a small gasp. “A baby hippo? Can we go?”

Pepper glances at her smart watch. “If we have enough time.”

The four of them continue moving through the hoards of people toward the enclosure. They’ve been at the zoo for well over three hours now, going from exhibit to exhibit. Morgan seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself, especially when they stopped at the petting zoo where she was able to hand-feed the farm animals. One of the goats even tried to knock Tony over by ramming into his legs from behind.

Peter on the other hand… wasn’t having the best time. The hours of walking around in the sun on a sweltering July day have really taken a toll on him. He’s exhausted, his feet are killing him, and all he wants to do is call it quits and go back to the car, turn the AC on full blast and fall asleep until they get back home. But this is Morgan’s day, and Peter is going to suck it up for her. She’s been looking forward to their day at the zoo all week and he isn’t about to ruin it for her.

When they finally reach the giraffes paddock ten minutes later, they’re met with a horrifyingly long line at the feeding station.

“I can’t see the baby,” Morgan complains from Tony’s shoulders.

Tony peers through his sunglasses around the crowd. “She might be inside the barn.”

Peter wishes he thought to bring his own along—not that they would help much right now.

“Can we feed them?” Morgan asks.

Tony looks over at the line. “We can… but we might not have enough time to see the baby hippo.”

Morgan hums in thought as she looks back at the giraffes. “Giraffes,” she decides after a few seconds.

Peter resists the urge to groan, wishing that they could just skip the rest of this and head to the restaurant to get out of this heat wave. But it’s Morgan’s day, so it’s her call what they do and Peter is going to go along with it.

“It’s not everyday you get to feed a giraffe, right, Pete?” Tony asks, looking back at him as they step in line.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees with a tired smile.

Happy on the other hand, doesn’t seem too thrilled. “You don’t think they bite do you?” he asks warily.

Pepper seems to ponder the question. “Well… I’m sure they’re used to visitors coming here and feeding them,” she reassures.

“I don’t know… animals are unpredictable, especially exotic ones,” Happy grumbles.

Tony turns to him with a raised brow. “Are you telling us you’re afraid of these things?”

“No!” Happy retorts. “I’m just worrying about Morgan getting up close to them.”

Tony nods, his lips spreading into an amused grin. “Oh yeah, sure,”

When Tony turns back around, Happy shoots a glare at the back of his head, causing Peter to huff out a short laugh.

“We can sit this one out if you want,” Peter offers, turning to him.

“You sure?” Happy asks. “It’s not everyday you can get up close and personal with one of these things.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, I’m sure.” The sooner they can get out of this line and find somewhere nice and shady to sit, the better.

Happy nods and turns to Tony, tapping him on the shoulder. “Pete and I are going to walk around for a bit while you guys do this,” he says.

Morgan pouts at that. “You don’t want to feed the giraffes?” she asks disappointedly.

“Not today, but you have fun,” Happy says with a gentle smile. He turns back to Tony. “Call me when you guys are done and we’ll meet you back here.”

Tony lets out an overly-dramatic sigh. “Alright… but you guys are missing out…”

Happy rolls his eyes as he turns away, lightly nudging Peter’s shoulder. “Come on.”

They both step out of line and continue down the crowded pathway. Peter squints in the harsh sunlight, only adding to the headache that’s been steadily worsening since noon. It feels like a fog has settled over his brain, making it hard to think.

“So what do you want to do to kill some time? We can head over to the hippos and take a few pictures of the baby for Morgan?” Happy suggests.

Peter nods as he wipes a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Yeah… she’d like that.”

“I’m just not sure where the exhibit is. Maybe they have one of those maps around here. I knew I should have grabbed one back in the gift shop…” Happy trails off, his voice becoming lost as Peter’s ears start to ring.

He feels lightheaded and breathless all of a sudden, like the hot air is weighing him down, making him even more exhausted than he already is. “Uh, can we… can we stop for a sec?” Peter asks as he looks up, finding that Happy is now walking quite a few steps ahead of him, typing something into his phone.

“Yeah,” Happy says distractedly. He slows his pace, oblivious to Peter’s distress. “I’m trying to pull up the zoo’s mobile map but I can’t get on their WiFi…”

Black dots dance across Peter’s field of vision as a rush of heat washes over him. He sways, struggling to keep his heavy legs moving. Happy’s figure grows more and more blurry as the seconds pass by.

Peter licks his dry lips. “H-Happy?” he mumbles, blinking sluggishly. “I… I don’t feel so good…”

That seems to get Happy’s attention. “Huh?” He stops, turning around to face Peter with a frown.

That’s when Peter’s legs suddenly decide to give out underneath him, the ground rushing up to meet him. He’s barely aware of the pair of hands that catch him under his arms, saving him from face-planting against the asphalt before he passes out.

...

The next thing Peter’s aware of is someone tapping his cheek.

“...c’mon, Pete wake up…” someone says. Their voice is a bit muffled, kind of like they’re underwater, but that doesn’t make sense. It’s so hot — there can’t be any water around.

Peter groans as feeling starts to come back to him. His head is swirling and pounding and he’s so hot , despite the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. He manages to open his eyes, only to find Happy kneeling over him, his eyes wide and panicked.

“Did I pass out?” Peter mumbles.

“Yeah, you did,” Happy says. “How are you feeling?”

“Really dizzy… tired,” Peter answers, suddenly very aware of the people that have started congregating around them.

“Think you can sit up?” Happy asks.

Peter nods sluggishly. “Yeah.”

Happy helps him sit up and Peter has to shut his eyes tightly against the lightheadedness he’s met with from the change in position. After a few minutes, Happy helps him to his feet, keeping a firm hand on Peter’s arm as he leads him over to a thankfully empty bench in the shade under a tree.

Happy eases him down on the wooden bench before standing back up and looking around. “I’m going to get you some water,” he says, glancing back at Peter. “Stay here. There’s some right over there,” he says, pointing to a vendor across from them that has a long line in front.

Peter nods. He leans forward, arms resting on his knees as he hides his face in the crook of his elbow to shield his eyes from the light.

Happy comes back not even three minutes later, two water bottles in hand, and Peter doesn’t want to know how he managed to skip that line. Peter slowly sits up a bit, arms still braced on his knees. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his right temple.

Happy unscrews the cap from one of the bottles and hands it to him. “Small sips,” he instructs as he sits down next to Peter, watching him with concerned eyes.

Peter takes a few small sips of the icy water, just as Tony suddenly appears. He’s a bit breathless, as though he’s been running.

“Happy called. Are you alright?” Tony gasps out as he crouches down in front of Peter.

Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. “Feel like hot garbage,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, bud,” Tony says sympathetically. He takes off his sunglasses and slips them onto Peter, causing the boy to sigh in relief. “I think we’re just gonna just order some food and eat it in the car on the way home.”

“I’ll put an order in at the cafe,” Happy says as he stands up. He hands Tony the other water bottle before stepping away to make the call.

“Did you get to feed the giraffes?” Peter asks as Tony sits down next to him.

“Nah, but Pep and Morgan are over there now,” Tony says.

“Maybe we can make it back in time before they’re done?” Peter says as he tries to stand up from the bench, ignoring the way his vision swims a bit.

Tony stops him by gently grabbing his arm, keeping him seated. “It’s alright, Pete. There’s always next time. Besides, I’ve got my own hungry kid to feed.”

“But-”

Tony shakes his head. “No buts about it. You just fainted and you need to take it easy.” He uncaps another water and hands it to him. “And keep yourself hydrated.”

Peter sighs, but he takes the bottle anyway. “Okay,” he mumbles before taking a sip.

They sit there for a few minutes, just watching the people passing by. Eventually Happy finishes his phone call and walks over to join them.

“The food’s all ordered—should be ready by two-thirty,” Happy says as he stops in front of them. He looks worriedly at Peter. “You feeling any better?”

“A little,” Peter says. His head still hurts and he feels a bit shaky (probably due to the fact that he really didn’t eat much at lunch), but mostly he’s tired.

“That’s good. I almost had a heart attack when I saw you drop,” Happy says, taking a seat beside Tony on the long bench. “I think the heat might’ve gotten to you.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs as he lazily sips at the water. “Don’t really know what happened.”

“Well, I texted Pep and told her where we are. She and Morgan are almost done, so when they find us we’ll head to the car so we can get you out of this heat,” Tony says, glancing up from his phone to look at him with worried eyes. “I’ll even let you sit in the backseat and eat while you watch Star Wars if you want,” he offers with a small grin.

Peter smiles at the offer. “That sounds good,” he says, even though he knows he’ll probably end up passing out before the opening credits roll.

Several minutes later, Pepper and Morgan arrive, spotting them almost instantly.

“Petey!” Morgan shouts as she runs over, practically dragging Pepper after her. “We heard you weren’t feeling good, so we got you this!” She holds a fluffy giraffe stuffed animal out to him.

Peter smiles tiredly at her as she hands it to him. “Awe, thanks, Mo,”

Tony smiles. “That was very nice of you two,” He says as he helps Peter stand up from the bench. “Now, lets head back to the car so we can all get out of this heat.”

“Amen,” Happy groans, pushing himself up.

…

Thirty-five minutes later (including a ten minute search for the car), Peter is sitting in the backseat with the AC on full blast, snuggled up with his new giraffe plushie and almost half asleep while 101 Dalmatians plays on the small built-in TV.

The car is silent, except for the sounds of the movie and the highway as they drive, but it’s soothing, lulling him to sleep. Peter blinks slowly as he leans back against the headrest. His gaze shifts to the front when he sees Tony raise a hand from the wheel to adjust the rearview mirror. He smiles softly at Peter when their eyes meet. The corners of Peter’s mouth lift into a small, tired smile in return before Tony looks back at the road.

Peter’s eyes drift over to the window, watching the world go by in a blur as his eyelids get heavier. Eventually he gives in and lets them drift shut, feeling safe and content, knowing that Tony will get them home safely.

#fainting #heat exhaustion #dehydration #peter parker whump #happy hogan is a good bro #irondad #spiderson #fluff #peter parker & tony stark #irondad fic #morgan stark #irondad & spiderson #my fic

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