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forestwater87 · 3 years

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Chapter 15: Grand Gesture

Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.

CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.

Summer 2017

“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”

She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”

She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.

She hoped.

While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”

“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.

But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.

Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.

He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”

The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.

Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”

“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.

She had one chance.

“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”

---

Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.

But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.

And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.

“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”

(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)

“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”

Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”

Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”

And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.

“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”

“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”

“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?

“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”

He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”

The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”

(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)

“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”

He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.

He didn’t think she remembered any of this.

But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.

In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).

‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’

“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”

Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”

He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”

Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.

“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.

“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.

“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”

Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.

“I trust you.”

David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.

He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.

It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.

He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”

She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”

“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.

She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.

Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”

“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.

Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.

There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.

This was worth remembering.

---

Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.

Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.

Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.

There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.

But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”

A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”

David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.

“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”

“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”

A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”

His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.

“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.

But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.

His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.

“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.

She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.

Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”

The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.

Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.

“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)

He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”

“You’re not mad?”

She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”

Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.

He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”

“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”

She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”

“But I did —”

“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.

“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”

Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”

“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”

She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.

“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”

“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”

Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”

“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”

She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.

But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.

His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”

Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”

He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”

Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”

She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”

David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”

Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”

“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”

“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”

“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”

She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”

His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”

Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.

His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”

Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.

“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.

She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”

His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”

God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”

He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.

But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.

“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)

“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”

“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”

She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.

He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.

“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”

“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.

So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”

“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”

“I really don’t.”

“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”

“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”

“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”

“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”

“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”

She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”

She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”

“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.

“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.

It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.

Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”

“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.

He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”

All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)

But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.

She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.

And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”

She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”

Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”

Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”

David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”

“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”

“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”

Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.

(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)

“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”

A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”

It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”

“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.

Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?”

His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.

Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”

He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”

He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.

“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”

“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.

“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.

Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”

“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”

“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”

She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.

He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.

He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —

“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”

Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”

Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --

His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”

Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”

“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”

“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”

He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”

When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”

David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”

“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”

“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”

Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”

“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”

She frowned. “Did what?”

“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”

David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.

“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.

His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”

When it came to David, she always wanted everything.

“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”

She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —

He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…

Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.

The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”

David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”

She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”

The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”

“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”

Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”

“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”

He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)

“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”

“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”

So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --

Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.

God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.

David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”

Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”

“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”

No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”

“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.

“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.

God, he was perfect.

“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”

“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.

David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”

“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.

“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”

His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”

“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”

That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.

She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”

He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --

Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.

She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”

Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.

David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.

Worth it.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #this ending is too awkward to put in the main tags but fuck it #i spent weeks working on this okay #maybe even months #i am exhausted and cannot look at this anymore #hope y'all like your smut interspersed with pages upon pages of talking #because that's what you're getting #the only reason this isn't a total disaster is raenbows and don't anyone forget it #forestwriting

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wwitbeyondmeasure · 4 years

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Summer At The Burrow: r.w. fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction / Author’s Note / Chapter 1: The Journey to the Burrow / Chapter 2: Hidden Letters / Chapter 3: Ron’s Return / Chapter 4: Nighttime Conversations / Chapter 5: A Morning Surprise / Chapter 6: The Quidditch Match / Chapter 7: Girl Talk

Chapter 8: Aphrodite’s Push

Author's Note: hi everyone! thank you so much for being patient with me & my writing!! it means a lot :) also, just so you know, this chapter gets a little bit steamy so if you're not totally comfortable with that, please stop reading now. okay thanks! enjoy <3

Your eyelids barely fluttered shut before you were awoken by a strange pecking sensation on your fingertips. You groggily opened your eyes and were startled to see Dite sitting on your hand, pecking at your fingers in an urgent matter.

"Dite? What is it?" You asked, growing increasingly concerned at her hectic motions. Dite picked up your pinky finger in her beak and pulled it towards the door. She wanted to show you something.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," you assured her as you released yourself from the tangle of blankets you were sleeping with. Standing up, you stretched lightly, pulling down the tank top you wore to bed as it rose over your belly. Ginny liked to keep her room boiling hot, so you opted for a small tank top and pajama shorts. Your shorts were definitely a few sizes too small, rode up too much, and sometimes showed a little more skin than normally appropriate. However, they were a gag gift from Ginny so you loved wearing them. Despite being super comfy sleeping shorts, they were also decorated front to back with grinning photos of Gildeory Lockhart, with pink little hearts plastered around his head. You still can't believe he sold his own face on merchandise in the form of sleeping shorts.

Ginny and Hermione were still sleeping soundlessly around you, so you carefully and quietly stepped outside of the room so as not to wake them.

When you reached the hallway, Dite fluttered up the stairs to the next story. In your half-asleep state, it was difficult to follow her up the many stairs, bumping your shins against the wood many times before you reached your final destination. Dite stopped and floated in midair right outside Ron's closed bedroom door. Before you could even register her actions, she was beating her beak against the wooden door.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind the door before it swung open to reveal Ron, hair messed up from sleep and wearing only red striped pajama pants. Your cheeks flushed. Did he always sleep half naked? You wished he would have last night when you were with him. Is this normal for friends to think of each other like this? you wondered.

You were snapped out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts when Ron asked, "Y/n? What're you doing here? What time is it?" His voice was thick and raspy from just being woken up and you felt a warmth travel from your heart downwards as you heard his morning voice.

"Um, I dunno. Dite woke me up, she seemed urgent," you explained. Now, as you were more awake, probably from seeing Ron's bare torso and abs and v-line, you came to realize that your reasoning for being at his door so late at night was probably not the best.

Both you and Ron turned your eyes towards Dite. She floated innocently in the air, looking between the two of you expectedly. As a long silence stretched out in the small hallway, she rolled her eyes (you didn't know owls could do that) and flew into Ron's room.

Ron shrugged. "I think she misses Pig," he said as Dite flew into the owl cage and nestled next to Ron's owl. You nodded, although you weren't that easily fooled. Dite was smart, she definitely brought you here for a reason. The black heart on her feathers gleamed up at you from her cage and you knew she was sending you a message. After all, her name was Aphrodite.

"Can I come in?" You asked quickly and abruptly. Ron looked startled by your question, but his surprised expression soon changed to a concealed smile.

"Sure," he said, so quietly it sounded no louder than a breath.

You stepped into his room, taking into account the rumpled bed sheets and messy floor. Ron closed the door behind him and did his best to straighten up.

As he started throwing dirty clothes into a pile in the corner of the room he said, "Sorry. If I knew I would have a visitor I would have cleaned up more."

"I thought you invited me," you said boldly, your playful side coming out. "Isn't your bed always open to me?"

The moonlight shining in through the bedroom windows illuminated Ron's face as he glanced at you. His grin widened and you swore your heart skipped a beat. Standing there, 4 feet apart in the room of the boy you loved, with him smiling at you like that, you swore there was no better view in the world. You palms were sweating and your heart was beating and Ron was suddenly a lot closer than before.

He was now standing chest to chest with you, he was so close you could smell his familiar scent. His bare torso was pressed against yours and your eyes fell from his face to his shoulders and you gazed at the freckles splaying across his broad muscles. Your stomach flipped as you felt a warm hand press into the small of your back.

Breathing seemed nearly impossible as you felt Ron lower his mouth to your ear. Hot breath fanned against your neck as he leaned in so close you felt his lips brush your earlobe ever so slightly. You had never felt so flustered in your entire life.

This was it, you thought. This was the moment he was going to kiss you or tell you everything you wanted to hear. The moment he would lean in, make you his, get close and tell you he loved-

"Nice shorts," he whispered into your ear.

A surprised laugh erupted out of you as Ron broke out in laughter, stepping away from you and reclining onto his bed. Here you were convinced he was going to announce his deepest and truest romantic feelings for you, when in reality he was just joking around. You were beyond embarrassed, so you tried to cover it up with humor before he could sense your disappointment.

As casually as you could with your heart beating a million miles a minute, you leaned against Ron's dresser.

"Thanks," you replied, "I know you're the biggest fan of Lockhart around, so I made sure to wear them for our nighttime visits." Maybe joking about your odd ability to always be together at night when no one else was awake would make up for the fact that you longed to do lots of other things with him when no one else was around.

Ron laughed at your comment, the sound making you feel short of breath and light headed. How did he have such a strong effect on you? Did you have this same effect on him? Merlin, you hoped so because you couldn't stand another minute of pining after him so badly without any reciprocation.

"Not likely," he said, "after all, he is just a giant git who lied and stole peoples stories."

You nodded, the fall of Gilderoy Lockhart at the end of your second year of Hogwarts was one for the storybooks. Ron had made sure to take every chance to boast to you and Hermione and any other woman who was taken by Lockhart's golden hair that, "I knew it all along! He was always a crook!"

"Yeah, that's true," you conceded. "But he's hot."

A mischievous glint flashed in Ron's eyes. A short silence filled the air between you before he replied. His voice was an octave lower when he said, "So is your ass in those shorts."

Your cheeks flamed red. Ron has never, ever, complimented you so directly like that. If any other guy would have made such a forward and direct remark about your body, you would certainly have been annoyed, maybe even disgusted. But not with Ron. When those flirty words left his lips, which were smirking at you from across the room, you felt every inch of your skin heat up.

Ron's eyes were practically undressing you from across the room, roaming over your body in a hungry manner. His intense gaze made you squeeze your thighs together as you tried not to stare at his bare chest that looked so inviting for you to wrap yourself around.

Glancing down, you realized how little skin you had covered in your nighttime attire. A sliver of stomach poked through between your Lockhart shorts and your thin grey tank top. Upon further observance, you remembered that you had forgotten to wear a bra that night. And Ron's room was much, much colder than Ginny's. You were embarrassed to see your entire chest was practically on display through your thin shirt, your nipples very noticeable in the moonlight.

Ron's eyes never left your body but suddenly you felt nervous. You had never had a boyfriend or girlfriend before at Hogwarts so this was all new territory for you. Sure you flirted with a couple people, and they flirted back, but nobody had ever watched you with such intense eyes that Ron had right now.

Suddenly very aware and self conscious of just how much skin you were showing, you wrapped your arms around yourself to cover your chest.

You didn't want to meet Ron's eyes, so you trained your gaze to watch the floor. The only indication you had that he was getting closer to you was the sound of his steps against the carpet as he approached you. You kept your eyes fixed to the ground, and you only looked up when he was standing a foot away from you.

Afraid to meet his gaze right away, you let your eyes scan his body. His pajama pants hung low on his hips, exentuating the prominent muscles that shaped a V along the waistline of his pants. You swallowed hard and tried your best to not think about what that v-line led to. If you kept letting your mind wander to such territories, you weren't sure you could restrain yourself from practically jumping into his lap.

"Y/n, you don't have to do that," He said, his voice low and gruff. Your eyes flickered up to meet his and the intensity of his stare made you feel a little weak in the knees.

"What do you mean?" You asked, your voice high and strained, a clear indicator of how flustered you were.

He took another step closer to you. Now you were sandwiched between his chest and the dresser behind your back. You wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was beating in your chest.

"You don't have to cover up around me, y/n," he said. "Not ever."

Gently, he took your arms in his hands and uncrossed them, to expose your scantily clad chest, letting his fingertips trail down your skin. Goosebumps erupted on the skin his fingers grazed over. His hands reached the end of your arms and he interlaced his fingers and yours.

If your friends thought it was suspicious you were laying in bed together last night, imagine what they would think if they walked in to see him, half naked, pressing you against the dresser while holding your hands. That was surely a sight that would cause a few questions.

At a lost for words, you could only stare at Ron. He was being so confident and sultry, was he always like this? Have you just never noticed? Did he act like this was Lavender Brown?

The thought of his ex girlfriend sent a pain straight through your gut. What was Ron playing at? you wondered. You think he likes you, but then he gets a girlfriend in sixth year. You think he enjoyed spending the night cuddling with you, but then he practically runs out of bed the next morning. You think he might confess his feelings for you, but then he just makes a joke about your shorts. You wondered what kind of switch he was going to flip after this moment.

Ron must have noticed your change in demeanor because his eyes dropped the intense gaze he held with yours as they swept across the rest of your face. His warm hands reached up to cradle your face, and you found yourself leaning your cheek into his open palm. Merlin, you were like putty in his hands.

"How's your head?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. When you were standing this close, he didn't need to talk loud for you to hear him.

It took you a moment to register what he was talking about. Your hand skidded up to feel the bandaid still pressed to the side of your forehead. "It's s'okay," you replied, still feeling way too many emotions at one time.

"It's probably healed by now, you can take the bandaid off," he said. How could he talk to you so casually when you were this close to each other? You could barely string together a coherent sentence.

You nodded and raised your hands to peel off the bandaid, but his calloused fingers stopped you by wrapping around your wrist.

"I can do it, if you want," Ron said. He smiled lightly, "Mum used to always pull the bandaids off for us when we were little. She said it hurts more if you do it yourself."

You smiled back at him, your chest warm as you watched him relive the memories of his childhood, playing in their backyard and getting scraped up and his family being there to patch him back together.

Nodding, you let him grab the bandaid with his fingers and peel it off. Shutting your eyes, the skin stung for a moment, but then the pain subsided. You opened your eyes to see Ron throwing the band aid in the nearby trash can, but still not letting any more distance come between you.

The atmosphere changed as Ron's gaze settled on you again. One of his hands traveled from your cheek to the side of your jaw, trailing along the crook of your neck and stopping at your collarbone. His other hand remained cradling your face, forcing you to not be able to turn away from him.

His eyes flicked from yours down to your bodies pressed firmly against one another and then back up again. His fingertips traced light patterns against your collarbone and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his torso, feeling his bare skin. Your fingers felt every groove, every muscle, and every freckle on his side as you let yourself become drunk on him. Fingers feeling the muscle of his abs, you finally let yourself touch what you had been staring at all day during the Quidditch match. It was as if the air between you and Ron had been sucked away and replaced by only the burning need to feel one another, and memorize every inch and line of each other's skin.

Ron's fingers left the hollow of your collarbone and trailed to the front of your chest. His thumb lightly pressed against your sternum as he dragged his fingers along the valley between your breasts. This was a new sensation, taking your touching from "okay-maybe-friends-do-this-sometimes-I-don't-know" to "this-is-definitely-a-no-friends-territory," and both of you sucked in a breath.

He leaned his head next to yours, his lips reaching your ear once again.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, and I will," he whispered. A tingle spread throughout your entire body.

As he said those words that sent heat right to your very core, his hand trailed from your chest down towards your hips. He felt your waist all the way down to the grooves of your love handles and then settled on your hips. He gripped the sides of your body and you held back a small moan in the back of your throat.

If he stopped, you thought, you were going to absolutely lose your mind.

"Don't stop," you whispered back immediately. Realizing how urgent and needy you sounded, you added, "please," to the end of your demand.

In response, Ron hummed underneath his breath as he continued grazing his hands up and down your sides.

"I saw you dancing today, in the living room," he told you, his voice still husky with his lips pressed against your ear. His hands squeezed your hips once more and started to palm at the backs of your thighs. The material of your shorts was riding up underneath his grip, exposing even more flesh to his hands. "I've thought about doing this all day," he said.

One of his hands broke free and trailed up to your face as he cradled your cheek once more. You leaned into his touch, his thumb accidentally brushing against your lips. Having any part of him that close to your mouth drove you crazy, and before you could think of what you were doing, you lightly kissed the pad of his thumb.

You heard him draw a sharp intake of breath and then press even closer to you. Your back was digging into the handle of the dresser, but you couldn't care less about that right now. Instead, you focused on his thumb which was tracing the lines of your lips. You still weren't looking at each other, you noticed, as his lips remained hovering near your ear. Maybe if you looked at each other during this rare and complicated moment, the feelings would disappear and neither of you would know how to act. This wasn't something friends did.

Ron's thumb traced along your lips again and the hand that wasn't on your face was still caressing your hips and thigh. Deciding to be bold, wanting more, and needing more from him, you progressed past just kissing the tip of his finger. Now, when he pressed his thumb against the middle of your lips, you parted your lips ever so slightly.

His thumb entered your warm mouth, and he shuddered against you. At the same time, his warm hand transitioned from feeling your hips to fully grabbing your ass, kneading at the exposed skin under your small shorts. Your mind was drunk on him, and you were taking risks that you normally wouldn't have even thought existed in the light of day.

You swiped your tongue against his thumb that rested in your mouth, savoring the salty taste of his finger. Ron let loose a small groan, pressing against you once more. Sucking his finger more into your mouth, you massaged his thumb with your tongue. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt something hard pressing against your upper thigh.

This time, you couldn't help the moan that tumbled ungracefully from your lips. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

Suddenly, an explosive noise sounded from upstairs.

You and Ron froze. His thumb was still in your mouth, and his hand was still gripping your bum, but neither of you moved.

Another loud explosion followed the previous one, this time accompanied by cheers from Fred and George. As if flicked on by a light switch, the entire Burrow woke up.

You could hear feet stomping and doors slamming open as residents of the house awoke from their slumber. The sounds of Mrs Weasley yelling at her sons for causing such a ruckus hit your ears. Muffled shouting from other family members followed.

Slowly, Ron lifted his head from its spot next to yours and locked eyes with you. There was a deep lust there that you knew your eyes reflected.

"Y/n? Where are you?" You heard a voice, Ginny's you think, call from upstairs.

And with that, you and Ron sprang apart from one another. His hands left your body and you felt cold without him holding you. He took several steps away from you, his eyes not leaving yours until the back of his legs hit his bed.

Your eyes trailed down and you gulped as you saw a large bulge outlined in his pajama pants.

"Y/n!" Ginny called again. If she didn't know where you were, she was going to keep calling. You didn't want to move towards the door. You wanted Ron to say something, or do something, to get you to stay.

All he did was look at you, the lust still there but you noticed something else too. What was that? Your heart dropped as you felt him looking at you with regret. Regret. His gaze broke from yours and you felt hollow inside.

Before you could even fix your mussed up hair, you fled from the room. Your mind jostled with everything that just took place. Your skin was still hot from where his hands had touched you and you could still remember the taste of his thumb in your mouth.

That was the single hottest moment of your entire life, and he didn't say anything to stop you as you ran out of his room. What did that say about how he felt about you? A headache started to form as you let all of these thoughts bombard you.

Your mind was so full of chaos that you ran right into Ginny in the hallway.

"Y/n! Where were you? Fred and George let off another explosion testing products and it woke everyone up. We freaked out when we couldn't find you," she said as she gripped your shoulders.

Her voice barely registered in your brain, you were still too caught up in the moments before in Ron's room.

"Uh, I was, uh, in the bathroom," was all you said.

She probably thought you sounded drugged because everyone else was half asleep, so she assumed you were as well. In reality, you were the furthest thing from it. Ginny nodded, taking your arm and dragging you back up the stairs and into her room. Once there, Ginny and Hermione got under the covers again and soundly fell asleep. You lay down on your makeshift bed of blankets next to them, but you didn't close your eyes.

Your mind wandered back to Ron's room and the events that took place. You hadn't even confessed how you felt about each other, let alone had your first kiss yet, but you already had tasted his skin and let his hands roam over your body. And you had loved every single second of it.

You had no idea how you were going to face Ron tomorrow. How could you act the same around your best friend when he had heard the desperate moan you made? The desperate moan for him?

Pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, you tried to will sleep to happen. At least when you were asleep, you wouldn't have to worry about tomorrow. But alas, no such luck. So that night you stayed awake, rethinking the entire night with Ron and wishing more than anything that he would barge into the room and kiss you right now. But he didn't.

So you let yourself replay the moments with Ron, just wishing there had been more.

#Ron Weasley #ronald weasley #ronweasley #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fan fiction #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley imagines #ron weasley smut #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter references #harrypotterfanfiction #Harry Potter fan fic #harry potter smut #smut #fanfiction #fan fiction #hp

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Shadows of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 14

Shadows of the Dark Crystal by J. M. Lee because a new challenger approaches.

Last times on book: Naia is on a journey to Ha’rar with Kylan to clear brother Gurjin’s name and warn the All-Maudra about all these dark crystals. Due to bad life choices, Naia and Kylan went through the Dark Woods at night, saw all kinds of spooky nonsense, and then Naia dreamfasted with a tree which unspooked the woods. Then a four-armed figure with a mask burst out of a tree.

Chapter 16

A weirdo four-armed guy called urVa has Naia and Kylan for supper. I’m sorry, I mean to supper.

Why would healing the Dark Wood end in releasing a dangerous monster?

Asking the real questions, Naia.

The four-armed possible purple Gelfling-eating monster moves slightly so Naia immediately hucks a bola at it.

It shot from her hand, on target toward the monster’s narrow-set eyes - but quicker than she could see, the thing’s hand darted forth, snatching the center bola stone before it could make its mark. The counterweights flailed uselessly, spinning in open air, striking nothing.

Wow!

Reflexes!

The creature just kind of chuckles at this and finishes the slight movement, removing the wooden mask from its face. Reveaing whorled skin.

!!! Definitely an urRu, yup.

“Sounds like Gelfling breathings,” it mumbled in a voice that sounded like many tones all at once, speaking the Gelfling tongue with an unfamiliar accent. “That Gelfling urVa sees there? Two? Ah! The one who healed Olyeka-Staba.”

! The Archer! Hey, Naia, its cool. This guy is friend-shaped.

Apparently, urVa had come to the Dark Wood to try to help the Cradle-Tree but “seems the Cradle-Tree could be healed by Gelfling hand, or else by none.”

Hmm. That keeps happening. You have a funny way about you, Thra, making Gelfling the only ones who can clean up the messes the urSkeks leave.

Naia is still suspicious that there’s something vaguely Hunter-ish about this guy. Weird but good insight, Naia.

urVa tells the Gelfling that the wood is dangerous and invites them to come with him, in the most ominous way possible, for some reason.

“Come with urVa, for supper. Been a long time inside that tree... Very hungry.”

Surely you know how you sound, dude?

Naia even goes ‘hey supper sounds great but what d’you suppose are the odds that we’re going in the pot?’ to Kylan. And asks him if he thinks urVa is the Hunter.

The boy gets sassy.

“Since when do you believe the songs?” he asked. Naia felt her cheeks warm, but Kylan went on. “The Hunter is ruthless. He isn’t a trickster. If urVa were the Hunter that took my parents, he wouldn’t have given us a false name... He wouldn’t have spoken with us.”

Good points, Kylan.

Besides, they’re both exhausted by traveling and Naia especially by dreamfasting with a tree.

“Maybe... we should see where he’s going. Just to find out.”

Kylan hugged himself with a shiver.

“Do we have a choice?”

“Yes. Our other choice is to sleep here in the wood and see what other monsters come crawling out of it.”

Well, when you put it that way...

So they hurry after urVa through the Woods Formerly Known as Dark which is already making up lost time by sprouting a whole buncha new green plants. They’re able to catch up to urVa without too much effort because as an urRu he has one travel speed and that’s ‘i’ll get there when i get there’

He takes them to a dirt hovel covered in a curtain of “frothy”? vines in a smal glen that urVa has simply littered with chimes made out of every given thing strung up between all the trees.

He has an Aesthetic and I appreciate that.

The hovel itself was hardly more than a few ancient stones holding up a mound of earth. The dusty rocks that made up the entryway were dream-etched, reminding her of the doorways in Great Smerth, back home. urVa entered without a word, leaving the two Gelfling to follow of their own will.

Naia also sees “a satchel full of thin spears with feathers on the ends, each stick longer than Naia was tall” oh my god! She doesn’t know what arrows are!

Although, in fairness, Gelfling as a whole seemed to have skipped past archery in favor of throwing rocks.

“Hmm... Left the door open too long and time came in, I see. Ha-ha.” He waved a hand, clearing some of the dust but stirring up just as much in the process. “Apologies, little Gelfling, for the time inside. Had I been meant to be found, I would have been more prepared.”

I like urVa. He’s fun.

He busies himself boiling a kettle of water and adding stuff to it and basically making soup. Vegetable soup I guess.

“A Drenchen, aren’t you?” urVa said suddenly. “I remember Sog... yes, ah! And that little sapling, what was it? Smerth. I suppose it’s grown enough now to climb, hmm? Do the younglings dangle from its branches like alfen fruits?”

The thought was nearly comical. Naia said, “Not exactly.”

Little sapling? urVa, how long have you been treestuck??

urVa mentions that the great trees like Smerth-Staba and Olyeka-Staba are supposed to be pillars of the world and protectors of Thra but inevitably the shadows of the crystal (oh! Almost a title drop!) have fallen upon them.

“... but I must stay out of such things. Have for a long time, will for a long time yet...”

Darn urRu passivity.

urVa serves Naia and Kylan some sopu.

“Now, eat, eat, little Gelfling. Gelfling like to eat. Yes.”

Yes, exclusively Gelfling like to eat as a unique trait to them =P

Those powerful urRu brains, amirite.

Since Neech seems relaxed, Naia decides she won’t worry either and she consumes soup.

And the more time they spend hanging with urVa, eating soup, the less worried Naia becomes about the other shoe dropping. Because it would be a really long con for urVa to secretly be sinister at this point, right? I mean, I know he isn’t because show and because urRu but Naia doesn’t but it has to seem like this would be a really long way to go ‘haha foooooled you!’

“Do you live here all alone?” Naia asked. “In the wood?”

“No, no. Plenty of trees and rocks.”

I adore urVa.

Naia couldn’t tell if urVa was being intentionally obtuse, so she clarified: “I mean, are there others like you...”

urVa tilted his head and rubbed his chin with a big hand.

“Yes. But we all went our separate ways... after the separation. Divided, then divided again.”

Huuuuh so I know that the urRu would sometimes come to the Valley of the Mystics because the Wanderer was famous for spending more time wandering widely rather than popping back in. But it sounds like the urRu just all fucked off to do their own things most of the time. And the situation with them living together in the Valley was primarily for Jen’s benefit? To give him a stable upbringing of ten dads and minimize the Skeksis deciding to pop in.

Naia was mostly asking because she doesn’t want to be surprised by another four-armed monster showing up so she’s tentatively satisfied with the vague answer.

Kylan has been staring at the markings on the wall this whole time pops in to ask about a triangular emblem with three concentric circles within.

“It is a time, I suppose?” he asked, as if Naia or Kylan might be able to answer him. “Or a door? A time or a door or an awakening. Yes. Something like that.”

“Those aren’t nearly the same thing,” Kylan muttered under his breath. “Perhaps he’s not the Hunter, but he certainly may be mad.”

“He makes a good pot of stew, even so,” Naia replied with a yawn.

Its a tightrope to write a character who is not only incredibly wise but also kind of lost in their own mind because they’re missing half of it.

I also appreciate the dramatic irony where the readers, if they’re familiar with the movie, understand more or less what urVa is getting at.

I also appreciate Kylan’s annoyance with not getting a solid answer. And Naia’s more practical consideration. Good characterization. Best boy Kylan just wants some solid deets to write down. Naia is soup-somnolent.

She watches Kylan try to puzzle out the symbols while also wondering if she could get seconds.

Whats also interesting is that this symbol isn’t known to the Gelfling apparently. Its a hugely important symbol in the lore but the Skeksis have managed to keep it out of public knowledge.

“The Great Conjunction,” Kylan said, and then he stopped. Naia didn’t know what he was referring to or what the words meant, but she shivered. “When single shine the triple suns.”

“Mm,” urVa agreed, though he added nothing despite Kylan’s querulous expression.

Hah.

Instead urVa points Naia and Kylan to a pile of robes so they can get some sleep.

urVa is a good host because the Gelfling nod off pretty much as soon as they lay down.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Shadows of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Naia #Kylan #urVa #the Archer

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magicatnip · 4 years

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Chapter 1

Lyra examined the bracelet on her upper arm. It was made up of intricate whorls, like waves, or wild grass, and the gold shone like new against her tanned skin. A ruby, with a bloodred center and crimson edges, caught the sun. There were tiny facets and imperfections in the stone, and they kindled in the light like fire. But she found her eye inexorably drawn to the ruby’s heart. It was so dark and vibrant, it almost appeared to flow with lifeblood. This was a piece of jewelry worth more than a house. The deep red stone it contained was a Blood Ruby, and any fool worth their salt would recognize it for the unnatural glow, which many stories still spoke of.

Normally, Lyra hid the piece under long sleeves. Today, the weather was much too hot to bother. But she would not remove it. It bolstered her spirits, strengthened her, grounded her. On her forehead was a much more natural yet still valuable stone, the light green color of wave caps, which held light like an opal. Three small, perfect pearls rested to either side, all fused to a strand of White Silver thin as a hair. It was the sort of thing that any monied lady might wear, except that there was a spell wrought on it. It was from her mother.

Lyra drew her eyes back to the trail, to the sand and rocks and the greenery that increased with each step. There were evergreen trees as far as she could see, now that she’d reached inland. You’d never expect such, for the shore had the usual palm trees found on tropical islands such as this. The air also continued to grow cooler, though the sun was bright and golden as ever. Lyra inhaled deeply: pine needles, spices reminiscent of cinnamon and chai, sun-warmed wood, peat, and the ever-present salt from the sea, still not so very far. This was an ideal place to rest. Lyra walked a little ways off-trail. All that she saw was soft moss, however, fluffy and covered in tiny sprouts that looked likely to flower. She heard the occasional calls of birds, from high above in the branches, and, barely, the gentle chiming of running water. This piqued her curiosity, and she turned her feet in the direction of the sound, hoping for fresh spring water.

She was not disappointed. There was a small river, hidden amidst river grass growing so wildly that she could see barely see its glimmer. Looking back to keep the trail in-sight, and the direction of the sea, she followed along the bank until she found a spot where the grasses opened up. Half in shadow, a picturesque river flowed by, the ripples catching a ray of sunlight, and losing it again. Evergreen trees still stood round like pillars, and when she looked up, she could not see the tops, only a streaky expanse of shadow and sunlight. The needles of the trees closest to the bank were shaggy and gray as if covered in years of dust. The bark was red, curling like paper, and oozing sap that was a bloody red-amber. Lyra had never seen trees of the sort. They were beautiful, though the feeling that they gave her… As she examined the branches, twisting over each other like snakes, she wondered what they were. Some sort of pine, of cedar, or fir, if the needles were anything to go off of. Yet, the needles grew in pairs of 6, and up close, they looked not just gray; the young, growing tips were silver.

A cool, gentle breeze passed through, carrying the wintery scent of crushed pine needles, and a hint of frost, amidst green grasses, hidden woodland flowers, pure water. The needles shook in its passing, shimmering, and dust fell. Like a fine powder, it sprinkled atop the water and was carried away. Lyra turned her eyes lower, to the roots of the trees, and saw that some ventured past the water, into it, burying themselves deep. Sap rolled down the exposed roots, cooling and stopping as it reached the water. But as Lyra watched, a piece of it fell from far above, entering the surface with hardly a sound.

Lyra stared for a moment in mute wonder. Glancing around her to make sure she was alone, she sat on some cushiony, clean moss a couple of feet from the river. She removed her pack and bow, stretching her shoulders and feeling the sweat on her back. Her dark hair was in a braid, but strands were coming loose, and on her skin, she could feel an unpleasant grit of dirt and oil. So, choosing a place sheltered by the lowest of the branches, Lyra removed her shoes and stepped into the water, still clothed.

The water was bracingly cold, with warmer spots where the sun touched the slow current. It was only 4 or so feet deep, so she hunched over to submerge her entire body as the waves rippled past her. The water smelled of pine sap and snowmelt, so refreshing that she lowered her head to the surface to drink. It was cold enough to hurt her teeth, but she greedily swallowed a few gasping gulps. It tasted incredible, like life itself. She would fill her bottles with it, and make sure to come here again in her travels. How had she never heard of such a place before? You could sell such water. Not that she ever would. She didn’t want this place to become ruined. She’d keep its secret.

Lyra undid her hair, and it drifted like seaweed alongside her. In the sun, floating locks turned auburn, the color of an autumn leaf.

Her eyes widened as she gazed into the water. Among various-hued mosses, there were hundreds of droplets of water-cooled and hardened amber-red sap. Some were large and misshapen, others were tiny and shaped like perfect raindrops. The sun was beginning to angle through the needles, turning them also to amber. Soon it would be dark. Lyra tore her eyes from the breathtaking scenery, reaching for the soap she’d brought from her pack. It was of her own making and would not taint the water. Quickly and efficiently, she removed her shirt, pants, and smallclothes, and scrubbed off. She raised foam in her hair and rinsed it.

Her head breaking the surface, Lyra scanned the surrounding forest. Her knife was near, but she saw no cause to use it. As fast as she could move, she climbed from the water, grabbed a cloak, and wrapped it around herself. The sun was becoming darker and richer, and the air was perceptibly beginning to chill. She ought to make camp sooner rather than later.

Once she’d dried off and dressed in her usual practical but inordinately fine attire, she looked around the small clearing appraisingly. Animals would come to the water to drink. That didn’t seem safe to her. At least, not from the ground. Lyra smiled slightly, eyeing the lowest branches on the trunk. They were enormous, easily wide enough for multiple people to walk across. And they were 20 feet up. A challenge. Reaching again into her pack, Lyra brought out a rainbow-colored rope she had purchased from a merchant who claimed the feather-light material was strong as steel. He’d allowed her to hack at the rope to see for herself; not a nick.

So, she wasn’t worried it would break as she tied it to an arrow and sent it arcing into a branch with a well-aimed shot from her bow. The bark was at least a couple of inches thick; it wouldn’t harm the tree itself. But the arrow was sharp enough that she knew it would strike true, and stick.

Without further ado, she tied the rope to her waist, slung her bow and pack on her back, gathered her damp clothing and shoes, and began to climb. It was easy enough, with the rope to support her. The bark was also quite pitted, providing plenty of handholds for a canny climber. The sun grew brighter and less obstructed as she made her way up. Once she reached the branch, she climbed it like she had the rest, and stood. Around her, all she could see were needles, except for a patch that looked over some hills to the West, where the sun was descending now. The distant leaves glittered as if they were beaten from bronze.

Lyra sat and took a blanket from her pack, rolling the end up for a pillow. She laid this out along the branch, then contemplated a fire. If any time called for Feyrin’s Flame, it was this, she thought. She’d just have to stop by her procurer’s shop for more sometime in the near future. Lyra fished a small box from her pack, a simple golden coffer about the size of the palm of her hand. Inside was an innocuous brown powder. Lyra took a pinch of the powder - a few pinches still left for later - and snapped her fingers. An unearthly violet flame jumped to life, and she held it for a moment, watching it bob and glow, creating only a gentle, hot-but-not-too-hot feather-like sensation on her skin. She set it down on the tree. It enlarged slightly and continued to flicker happily. It was not very bright, only illuminating a few feet around, and the warmth was as if it were her own, personal little sun. She felt it saturate her.

Feeling camp was properly set up, and peering down every so often to watch for unwanted visitors, Lyra set about making herself a tisane, and dinner. Her pack had a few near-bursting bags hanging from the sides of it, and these were full of mushrooms, herbs, berries, and other woodland bounties she had gathered as she passed through the forest. No one could starve in the woods at this time of year, right before the harvest.

She set about warming a simple foraged mushroom and garlic soup in a pot, and then a tisane made from rose hips, violets, lavender, marshmallow roots, and the pine-flavored spring water. She poured carefully, from a tiny, one-serving pot. The water’s surface created its own mist, a rising vapor that she inhaled deep into herself. She took a sip, burying her face in the fog, eyes closed, and felt like she could taste the whole forest harvest in that one cup. For a moment, she felt that she was a part of the forest, as surely as any leaf, branch, or root.

Lyra slept well that night. She had always loved sleeping in trees, far above any of the world’s danger or trouble’s. Up here, there were only air, wind, leaves, birdsong, and glimpses of sky amidst gray-and-silver needles forming a stained glass work of art. Still, she unraveled bells and draped them down the trunk. If anyone or any animal tried to climb it, the sound would wake her. So she slept without fear.

And when she roused during the night, she hardly knew if she was truly conscious. It was not the bells that woke her. The world seemed to have turned foreign and dream-like. She had slept to a world of bronze and gold; she had awoken to a land of white and silver.

Moonlight touched the needles, the bark, transforming them to precious metal, and the river below became a thing of even greater wonder. Its surface was dazzling moonlight and a backdrop of the indigo night sky, sprayed with stars, all rushing and shifting with the water. As she watched, moonstruck, a figure rose up in the water. Lyra saw only her silhouette, and she seemed to shine like the moon, then change into darkness. Her white hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall, barely visible as it turned to a white halo around her. She looked over the water. And then unerringly up, looking right at her with eyes the color of pearls. As Lyra froze, the spectral figure bent to pick something up out of the water. She held it in her hand, and it caught the moonlight, became a little moon itself. As it winked, she was gone, like a star at dawn, and indeed, the sky began to lighten and the moonlight to fade as Lyra found herself drifting into sleep. She lay down, pulling her blanket’s warmth over her. She forgot.

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kamari333 · 5 years

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I had to actually look back to see if I made any tumblr posts about these guys. I couldn’t find any??? So I guess this is my oppertunity to scream about these absolute fucking bastards.

Now. Um. Forewarning: I don’t actually know a lot about the original dreamtale. Or, I don’t keep up with it, at least. I read the first origin comic (and a bit of the cream ship comic) one time a while ago and... i dunno. found it lacking? I liked the premise but there was something distinctly missing in it for me. So these headcanons are more like an AU (an AU of an AU, surprise surprise, I’m on my shit again XD) that I thought up to help me enjoy the concept more when writing it. I’ve been calling it ‘Dr33mtal3’ in my head, but a friend named it ‘Dryad Dreamtale’ so either of those names work.

So. Dream and Night are tree spirits shaped like skeletons, born of the tree of duality to be its guardians. They were made to be more like monsters to better protect the tree and put its power to use.

Now, plants and gods (and especially god-plants) have very different ideals, morals, and expectations than mortals and humans and monsters. Dream and Night are half plant/god, but they are also half monster/mortal, so they cannot relate entirely to their tree mom or completely understand her. Likewise, she could not completely understand them. Thus, the twins understandably had a stressful, dysfunctional childhood and have long lasting mommy/daddy issues.

They also suffer from significant other kinds of trauma inflicted on them by their villager guardians.

So they are both psychologically fucked up.

They both have “wings” and “tentacles” but Night hides his wings and Dream hides his tentacles. Night’s wings are smaller than Dreams.

they aren’t actually tentacles though. they are roots and vines. because they are tree spirits. using those roots/vines, they can directly soak up energy and water. likewise, the “feathers” on their wings are actually leaves (except near the base and ridges, which are more like flower petals). they use these leaves to breathe in ambient emotions.

when injured, they bleed resin. that goop on nightmare? excess sap/resin he’s overgenerating thanks to consuming so many apples.

usually only strong internal emotions would make them do that. its only because of such strong internal emotions that nightmare continues to do that even after a thousand years.

i think that, being plants (which are terribly spiteful and innovative creatures) night and dream can control the consistency and nature of their sap and resin. dream keeps his sweet and sugary at all times, but nightmare switxhes between spicy-like-ghost-pepper-in-the-face caustic and rubber, and mild maple syrup, depending on his mood and how much he wants the person he is touching to hurt.

i think that dream is both terribly selfish and painfully selfless all at once, both kind and cruel. i think he is a very seelie fae who will never break a promise, but will not let you go unpunished for breaking yours. i think he has no problem breaking your legs if it means saving you from something else. dream will happily beat someone within an inch of their life, then nurse them back to health, if he thinks for a moment it is for the greater good.

nightmare goes to great lengths to make people hate him. at the end of the day he is as disgusted with himself as anyone else, but he does it and will keep doing it because if no one fears him, they will destroy him. nightmare is a terrible unseelie fae, but he will never speak an untrue word or break an oath once struck. it is not in his nature. he will rule with an iron fist, but he is just as capable of selflessness as he is of cruelty.

i think dream is so concerned with the big picture he sometimes forgets little details. i think he is the type to take in strays before he has a home to keep them in. he befriends ink and ink makes him a multiverse home to keep his people safe in. dream then takes it upon himself to make sure it stays operational, despite eventually accumulating a city’s worth of people in what was originally a 4 bedroom townhouse. lucky him that ink has his back, continually expanding as needed.

i think nightmare is far more artistic and clever than folks give him credit for. i think he enjoys making things. i think he is the type of man to take great pride in building everything he has himself. his castle is made out of his own power: stone made of his own resin, hardened into amber; wood grown from his own bones; tapestries woven of textiles made from his own leaves, pets, and processed wood. his castle of black amber is constructed of his own blood, sweat, and tears, lovingly handcrafted art for him to live in. all natural. all his. (such a shame he never got around to furnishing all of it, having only enough time and drive to do the first floor with how long handweaving the carpets took; such a shame no one noticed or cared because the fear for their lives overshadowed any awe they could have had upon seeing the delicate craftsmanship of the arching ceilings and looming statues).

i think dream and night both love fresh water and sunlight. they get incredibly sleepy if its too hot or too cold. they are terrified of fire, squirrels, fungi, and insects. they dont like birds much either. they easily get jealous of other plants (comically so, to the point of sassing or threatening or passive-aggressively insulting non-sapient rose bushes or fica or succulents they come into contact with). they are scared of mistletoe (being a plant that eats other plants, kinda).

i hc that dream with faint dead on his feet if he gets too scared, and nightmare screams like a white girl in a horror movie.

i like to think that because they are trees, they have a “season” (like heat, but for trees) where they are very pro-affection. their leaves turn pink and they involuntarily cover themselves in pink pollen that drives nearby creatures’ libido into overdrive. neither brother likes this, so when their season hits they hide away so nobody notices (night because he does not want to seem weak, dream because he does not want to inconvenience anyone else).

i like to headcanon that a holdover from their human attributes means each brother can only formulate one set of sex organs. i’ll give you a hint: nightmare is trans in my hc (be gay do crime). he takes great pains to make sure nobody knows this.

i like to think that both brothers hide all of this, hide all of their tree-ness as best they can, and instead hide behind the aspects of being an angel and a tentacle abomination in order to throw off anyone who might look for weaknesses. so nobody knows what they really are.

These are all superficial HCs of course. The big thing is that i wanted their natures to be... more complicated than simply good and evil. They believe and say that they are guardians of positivity and negativity (and in a way thats true), but only in its most simplistic of forms.

Dream is the aspect of Giving: he radiates pollen and magical influence to embue those around him with his power. He can give them emotions. He eats positivity, thats what sustains him, but his power is to give. He could just as easily give his people bad feelings as good ones (not that he knows this). However, Dream only knows and cares about giving positivity. So he does. He leaves his magic and influence on the souls of anyone who will give him the oppertunity, and once the door is open, he will continually feed them his power to make them happy. He will eat/breathe that happiness, converting it to energy, perpetuating the cycle.

But unmitigated mania has its drawbacks. There is a price to be paid in the end.

Nightmare is the aspect of Taking. He takes and takes, taking the emotions and energy of others for himself. He can even take the entropy out of an injury to heal a wound. Nightmare can take positivd feelings out of others, but for some reason his body doesn’t like him doing that and makes him sick/hurt. He has a much easier time taking negativity, draining away the hurt and fear and exhaustion, leaving a calming emptiness behind. Nightmare cannot process or use everything he takes for himself, needing to expell it as a waste product. He converts negative feelings (and the wasted energy disipated through entropy) into energy, which lets him continue his taking.

You cannot fill a hole that is already filled, after all. You must empty it first.

These two aspects are neither good nor evil in and of themselves. There are good and bad things about them. But these aspects have been oversimplified and misinterpreted by those around the twins that even they themselves do not fully understand what it is that they are.

and i think a story about them coming to understand themselves would be so much more interesting than a simple story of good vs evil.

#kamari333answers #kamari333headcanon #dr33mtal3

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starswordartblog · 4 years

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For @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober day 13: Grow. Boy did this one grew out of my control, but I swear it gets to the prompt in the end.

Nathan lived in a cave. Well, it could barely be considered a cave actually, it was more of a room-sized hole within the rockier parts of Fortune Forest. But it had enough space for Nathan to sleep and store his stuff in, and was also conveniently in front of a river, so he settled there. His father had taught him the basics of living in the wild, and his magic was enough to drive away any creature that could harm him.

Close by were the taller cliffs and a waterfall too, good for baths and washing things. It was during those chores that he found Uni, little more than a month after settling in.

Nathan loved baths, or at least he loved being in the water, swimming and splashing around. It had been peaceful there every day so far, so he felt okay to let his guard down and relax for a while.

So he was really not prepared for when a body fell on him.

He fell into the water and swam away from the thing in a panicked reaction, but quickly had to get back to surface to gasp for air and cough up the water he had accidentally breathed in. To worsen his terror, he realized the creature had come right to his side.

He kicked away, scrambling to get to the river's margin, his terrified scream coming out as just a raspy noise. In that time, he finally got a good look at the thing, or at least its head, which was the only part of its body above water, much like Nathan himself.

Oddly, its hair was also much like Nathan's, the same short and spiky cut currently hanging down due to being wet, but in a sky blue color in contrast to Nathan's blond. There was a big horn on its forehead, with a rounded tip, and both that and the rest of its skin, that looked scaly like a fish, were a greyish green color, full of brown spots. Its dark eyes were wide open staring back at Nathan with a blank expression.

Since the creature didn't attack, Nathan's fear lowered, which meant there was plenty of space for anger now.

"Hey! You scared the hell outta me you creepy fish! Why did you fall on me!" He screamed while shaking the thing by its shoulders, stopping when it let out a small squeak, its mouth a little open now, gaze still fixed on Nathan.

Nathan let go, having felt something weird under his hands. Over the kid's shoulders were small, delicate brown fins, contrasting against the blue and white fuzzy mark that covered it neck to shoulders, like a puffy cloud.

"Did, did that hurt?" He asked, realizing he must have squeezed those little fins. The thing didn't fight back and looked like a lost kid, so he started to feel bad. "Sorry. Geez, just don't sneak on people like that again."

No answer.

"...You're creepy, you know that?"

"...at?"

"Hey, so you can speak!" he pointed accusingly. "Just say why you fell on me then! I've never seen anyone else here!"

The thing finally turned its gaze away from Nathan's face. It slowly raised its own hand (it had those apparently, regular human hands) from the water, and began looking from hand to hand, slowly stretching some fingers and closing the others, until they were both in the same shape. Then it stretched its arm towards Nathan to complete the gesture.

"Are you copying me?"

"...me?"

"You are! Man, I don't get this! Fish don't copy people! What are you after all?" He asked, shaking his arm in frustration.

The kid didn't answer, only shaking its arm the same way. Then it did it with more strength, splashing more and more water.

Was it playing? Nathan wouldn't mind that. Weirdness aside he thought having company here could be pretty fun. Better than the other kids in town telling him he should stop living like an animal. Although this kid was a fish, or some magical creature, maybe that's why it was okay with this. Nathan loved magical creatures since his father was one, so he was determined to figure out what this one was, and maybe be friends?

He did want a friend. It was lonely there, without his dad.

He grinned, and splashed some water on its face. It didn't even flinch, but stopped moving. Then it copied Nathan again, splashing some droplets on him.

"Stop just copying me, I'm always gonna come up with something stronger!" he scooped a handful of water to throw on its face, then dove, wanting to do a surprise attack next.

They frolicked like that for a long time. Nathan's surprises didn't work well because the fish kid was good at following him, but it also seemed too confused to do anything but that, so as far as Nathan was concerned he was winning.

He didn't realize when, but at some point its face had finally changed too.

"See? That's way less creepy, you're smiling now," he said, pointing at its face. Fish kid stared at his hand for a moment before bumping his own index finger into his. It reminded Nathan of something he'd seen the men in town do sometimes, so he turn his hand into a fist, and sure enough fish kid did the same so they could bump them, laughing.

"Man, that was fun. I still got no clue what you are though. Do you know? Are you human?"

"...uman?"

"Nope, still just copying. Maybe that's your magic? Is there magic to copy things? Maybe I should ask the old men in town, they might know."

He got out of the water, looking for his clothes, and hoping the other kid wouldn't complain about him being naked. His father always told him to have his clothes on around other humans, though he didn't understand why, but fish kid wasn't human so it was fine, right? Also, it was its own fault for sneaking in when he was taking a bath!

He still scrambled as fast as he could to get dressed. Thankfully, they had played for so long that his clothes were already dry from his washing earlier, he didn't even have to use his magic like he usually did.

He turned to call his new friend, "Alright, let's- Whaaaat?"

Behind him, fish kid was now floating. Just a little above the ground, and Nathan realized that, while most of his body was humanoid and the same size as his, it didn't have feet, just two bright blue fins in their place.

"You can fly?"

"..fly?"

"Yeah, fly!" Remembering the kid liked to copy him, he jumped a few times to see if it would get the point, and it did. Its fins kicked up the air behind them and propelled the kid a little higher in the air, almost as if it was still swimming. Nathan was overjoyed, and the kid's smile eventually grew as large as his.

"Guys I found a flying fish!" Nathan screamed as soon as Olden's bar came into view, immediately getting looks from plenty of the dudes drinking there.

Of the mage elders that watched over Fortune Forest, Olden was the one responsible for the mage children. People said that it made no sense then that he managed a bar at the same time, not that Nathan knew what that meant. He did dislike the place and the smells and had even been forbidden from getting a lot of their drinks, but all of civilization was weird to him, so he wasn't sure what it all meant. What actually mattered is that Olden was a great mage and knew lots of things.

"Hey, who the hell is that, kid?" Said one of the dudes around, pointing at the fish kid. "You made some weirdo friend in the woods?"

"Yeah!" he said cheerfully at first, then his eyebrows twitched once he realized the insult. "It's not a weirdo! It's a flying fish!"

"It's, very clearly not a fish," another dude pointed out. "I mean, he's dead-eyed like a fish, sure," he snickered, "but it's just a kid wearing your coat.

"Oh yeah," Nathan said, remembering he had lent the kid his coat since it didn't have any clothes. He pulled the upper part open to expose its shoulders and fins. "See? It's got them on the feet too!" he pointed them out.

The men blinked a few times, looking up and down at the creature, until the first one that had talked rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it, you're just pulling another prank on us. You shoved some poor kid on a costume because we didn't believe your father was a bird-dog that time."

Nathan grit his teeth, face burning with anger. "He wasn't a bird dog, his wings had scales, not feathers! His feathers were on his tail, that’s what I said!"

"Alright, everyone stop shouting," said Olden, beating his staff on the ground and coming out from the counter. "So Nathan, who is this?"

"Don't know, it fell on me from the waterfall, I thought you would know what it is," he scowled, crossing his arms, clearly in an awful mood after what the other men has said.

The man scratched his long beard, his eyes narrowed. "Well I'm afraid I'm not sure, the forest has never transformed children like this. He can clearly fly, so perhaps he was already changed and got lost from somewhere far away. But strangely enough, I can't feel much power from him. Even though physical changes like this are sign of an overflow..."

Nathan stared agape at the old man for a moment as it clicked.

"Wait, you think this is a mage? A human mage?"

"Human enough. Magic changes people in unique ways, you must get over that if you want to make it as a mage, boy. I've never seen a race of flying fish in the forest in all my years here, so it's more likely that this one is special. We should get a better check on him, to be safe."

Aceno's hospital was one of the few in the country specialized in magical issues, a perk of being next to a legendary forest full of mages. Olden took Nathan and the fish kid there, hoping to get more information on his condition. Even the staff was baffled at his existence though, and could only say that his vitals and magical power seemed stable, so it was likely that he had transformed by someone else's spell instead of his own power running out of control, and thus should be safe.

They apologized for not knowing how to reverse the spell, Nathan didn't know why though. He looked cool that way. But no one cared when he said that.

They had just left the exam room when the room next to it opened, and from it came two mages Nathan already knew.

"Old man Old, whatcha doing here?" Mirian greeted the elder mage with a cheeky smile, but was interrupted by her sister shouting.

"Unicorn boy?"

Moira stared with eyes and mouth wide at the fish kid's horn.

"Wait what?" Nathan had only talked to Moira a few times, even though she was actually his favorite mage of those he had met so far (at least before fish kid). To his despair her sister was a jerk and they were always together, so it was hard to approach her. But he did know she loved unicorns, some kind of magical creature that was, actually just a horse with a horn, and sparkly? He didn't see what the big deal was. "What do you mean, he's not an unicorn, he's a fish!"

"Unicorn fish boy?" She was still in shock, and maybe also in awe? It was kinda fun to watch. He finally understood it was because of the kid's horn.

"God, what have you done?" said Mirian, hiding her face in her hands, "I can't believe this is how today ends."

"What do you mean, mean girl?" he scowled.

"How do you think genius here broke her leg, idiot?"

He blinked, and finally took a good look at Moira. Her hair and clothes were dirty and she had a few scrapes on her arms, but more importantly, said arms were holding crutches, and one of her legs was enveloped in a big white thing.

"That's a broken leg?"

Moira gave a small laugh, her cheeks red. "I went a bit too far in the forest. Thought I'd seen a real one this time."

"Geez, if you were going to climb the cliffs you should have called me, I wanna see what's up there too," Nathan pouted on their way home. Olden had returned to the town, but all the kids were from the forest itself so they could walk together for a while, slowly due to Moira’s current state.

"Aren't you seeing how it ended up," Moira retorted, "and I didn't plan it, it was in the spur of the moment. I saw something shine atop them, and saw something going deep in the forest with a clopping noise, so I thought I should chase them. It was probably just a beast though."

"That sucks."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, I did make a magical friend," she said, pointing her head upwards. Ever since they left the hospital, a white bird had been flying over them. The few times it had come down, Nathan saw it had a red forehead.

"That bird is magical?"

"Yup, it's a siren pigeon, they follow injured people. Their touch calms you down, and their cries frighten the animals around. This one protected me back then."

Mirian bent down to stare straight at Nathan with a sinister smile. "Actually they just want to be safe to drink the person's blood," she added.

"Whaat?"

Moira giggled. "They're just birds, it’s not like they drink enough to hurt you. Also the blood was already outside me anyway, I’d rather it helped someone."

"I, I see," he said, watching the bird above them in a whole new way. "There sure are a lot of creatures out there, huh."

"It's fun, isn't it?" She smiled. "It's your time to tell your story now, though. Who's your new friend?"

"Oh, right." The fish kid had been quietly behind him all this time, hands on his shoulders. "I don't know much, he fell on me by the waterfall and we became friends. He doesn't talk but he likes copying me, and follows me anywhere. I thought it was some creature from the forest but the old man think it's a mage who turned half fish? I don’t really get it."

Moira bent her neck back as much as she could while on crutches to look at the kid. "Really? Did you get lost in the forest too, boy?"

The kid didn't answer, but slowly slid his arms down against Nathan's body, fully leaning on his back now.

"Huh?" Nathan turned his head to try to look at him. The boy rubbed his cheek against him.

Moira laughed, "that's a weird hug, but it seems he likes you. You're taking him back with you?"

"Yeah, I like him. And the old man said it's better to keep him close to where he was in case someone's looking for him. He's gonna look around the towns to see if anyone's missing a kid too."

"Don't think a transformed kid just 'went missing'", Mirian muttered.

"Huh?"

"Well," Moira interjected loudly, "I'm sure he's gonna fit right in with the rest of us anyway. It's, bad that he can't say his own name though, we can't just call him 'boy' forever. Maybe we should give him a nickname."

"That's true, huh." Nathan took another look at the boy happily slumped against him. His horn stuck out a lot from that angle. "Oh! How about Uni? You called him an unicorn boy, and the old man said he's unique."

Moira gasped, "that's a great name!" She turned to the other boy. "You like it, Uni?”

He didn't answer. Nathan poked his cheek.

"C'mon, copy her, why do you only do that to me? It's your name she's saying, Uni! Uni!"

"...uni! Uni!" He replied, with less hesitation the second time around, rubbing his cheek on Nathan's finger. "Uni! Uni!"

"I think he likes it!" Nathan grinned, and noticed Uni immediately copied the grin.

"Yeah!" Moira had a big smile too. She stared at them a little more before giggling. "You two look like brothers already."

"Brothers?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're going to live together even."

"I don't get it, what's a brother?"

"Uh? Oh, I guess you didn't know what sisters were last time too. It's the same thing, girls are sisters, and boys are brothers. It's when you have the same parents, and grow up together."

Nathan remembered her words, from weeks ago when she had introduced him to Mirian. "We don't have the same parents though." He was adopted though, would his dad also adopt Uni if he asked? He didn't like fish that much, at least as food, but maybe that meant he'd be okay raising one as a son? He couldn’t tell. "But I guess we will grow up together, huh."

At least if they didn't find his parents, and Nathan knew how hard that was. Lots of kids around the forest, including Moira and Mirian, didn't have parents either, though Nathan didn't know the reasons. The elder had once said that the world was harsh, and that's why the mages of Fortune Forest should treat each other as family and help one another. They didn't feel like family though, always calling him a liar and laughing at things he didn't know. The kids were fun to play and fight with, but not nearly as much as his dad, who could make a lesson and a game out of anything and enjoy it so much his laughter shook the forest.

Uni was different though, right? He liked Nathan, and was learning everything from him. That was a lot of responsibility, he was too young to be a dad! But Moira said something about that too, didn't she? An older sister was not a parent, she didn't know as much as the adults, but because of that, she also understood better how the younger one felt. That made them closer as they learned and worked on things. That's what it meant to grow up together.

He thought of him and Uni with identical grins on their faces.

"That would be nice."

2 notes · View notes

angrypixie-sarisa · 4 years

Text

The one where he’s back

Piedras rodantes pt. 22

Sam xMexican!Witch!fem!readerx Dean (polyamorous)

Summary: Guess who’s back? Souless Sam, bby!

Warnings: cursing, both english and spanish.

You were dreaming, you were sure you were dreaming. What else could it be? Sam was back and you were laying with him on your couch, he was laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest, speaking softly. I missed you; you heard him say as he passed his fingertips through your side.

“You’re not here.” You whispered to him. To which he pressed light feather kisses onto your chest. Tears started to form in your eyes. This is a dream, it’s just a dream.

“You’re not… you can’t… you…”

“Y/N.” Your name rolled out of his mouth, the syllables sounded bittersweet as they repeated again and again.

You started to open your eyes. Your head was pounding, your mouth felt dry and your eyes were definitely watery.

“Mi cabeza.” You whispered. You blinked a couple of times, the tears streamed down your cheeks. As your vision adjusted, you made out your surroundings. The roof you were looking at had already peeled away most of the paint. Light came through the windows that were barely covered by planks of wood. Everything was covered in dust. The furniture smelled old and looked old, but the most noticeable thing was the bed you were placed in. It squeaked however the mattress felt knew and the covers and pillow too. You took your time, placed your palms against it as well as your soles. Your right foot started to tingle.

Who do you belong to? You heard someone’s breathing, making you sit up. Your breath hitched as you let out a shaky breath. There was a figure sitting at the edge of the bed, not facing you. All the familiarity was gone; your memory brought back the shape of the body but something felt off. That could not possibly be Sam Winchester.

Sam turned around; still sitting in the mattress you were placed on, smiling at you, without his usual warm glint. He intended to wrap a hand around your ankle; his empathic soothing face almost equal to the real Sam’s and you almost gave in, almost.

“Don’t touch me!”

He opened his mouth maybe to explain, maybe to lie but that groan wasn’t his. You realized you two weren’t alone in the room. And as you felt happy you also feared.

Dean woke up, groggy, he felt heavy and stupid and he was having a hard time focusing his view. When his vision cleared off, his gaze immediately landed on his brother as it sloppily followed your scared body behind him.

The younger Winchester was no longer paying you attention as he focused on his brother.

“Hey, Dean.” He said. He gave him a few seconds to react, before he chuckled and stood up from the bed.

“I was expecting uh… I don’t know, a hug, some holy water in the face, something.” You tried to get up the mattress as well, but the journey to the edge of it was long, exhausting and nauseating.

Sam turned around to give you a glanze. “Careful, you could still fall and I think you won’t appreciate that.” The tone on his voice was sweet and soft, however a voice in your head screamed DEAD and you could not ignore it.

“So I’m dead?” Dean asked, focused on his brother, who laughed at the guess of the situation.

“This is heaven? Yellow eyes killed me and…”

“Yellow eyes?” Asked Sam.

Yellow eyes? Well Dean had to be more specific with that, you knew plenty of demons with yellow eyes.

“That’s what you saw?”

“Saw?”

“You were poisoned, both of you. So whatever kind of crazy crap you think you’ve been seeing, it’s not real.”

You held your breath and for the first time, you and Dean locked eyes. You both wore confused expressions. He scanned your figure, taking in the way you were hugging yourself. It was different than when your arm ached, it was as if you were comforting yourself from something. Maybe a nightmare.

“So then are you real? Or am I still-?”

“I’m real.” He moved so he could look at both of you. He talked and looked like Sammy, but something felt off. He didn’t feel like Sammy.

“Here, let me save you the trouble.” He murmured. And the way he said it, it sounded angry, as if it was such a pain to do whatever he was planning on doing next.

He took out a pocket knife and cut his forearm, revealing his red thick blood as it streamed down the limb. Next he opened a package of salt and poured some in a plastic container with holy water in it, taking a sip in front of your eyes.

“All me. That’s nasty.” He said once he was done.

Dean stood up, with an effort, not taking his eyes off of his so called brother. You tried to get up as well, but whatever poison they had used on you, it was really potent. Your legs still felt like jelly, but you still made the effort to at least sit at the edge of the bed.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, hurt present in his face.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He neared him slowly at first before hugging him tightly, but the hug didn’t last long.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. You were gone. i mean, that was it. How the hell are you-?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Was it Castiel?” Your voice sounded raspy, you cleared your throat several times but it was no use.

Both men turned to you, intensity in their eyes. “You tell me, I’ve been calling. Cass hasn’t answered my prayers. I don’t know where he is.”

You shared a look with the older Winchester. You didn’t know if Dean had any communication with the angel anymore but you knew for certain that Cas always answered your prayers.

“I mean, I was down there. And then next minute is raining and I’m lying in that field, alone. It’s kinda hard to look for whatever’s saved you when you have no leads.... But i looked. I mean, believe me, I looked.” Sam said, stealing glances between the two of you.

“For weeks.”

Your body tensed. It was his shadow you saw the other day at the coffee house. It was his scent the wind blew at you at the street or park. He had been there the whole time.You were not paranoid all this time, you were not going insane. All those nights crying your way into sleep, crying in someone’s shoulder, they were because of him. Your jaw clenched and suddenly you had the strength to get out of bed and stand on your own feet. Your steps might had stumbled for a second, nonetheless you were standing straight and firm, looking fiercely at the man who caused you so many pain after his so called death.

“Wait, weeks? How long have you been back? How long have you been back, Sam?” And as you could see, you were not the only one angry at him.

“About a year.”

“Hijo de tu pinche madre. You’ve been back practically this whole time? And you didn’t think of calling? ¡¿No se te ocurrió algo más que dejarme como pendeja llorando mientras te estabas pavoneando por quién sabe dónde, haciendo quién sabe qué?!” You furiously walked to stand in front of him as you grabbed him by the collar of his flannel and tugged him down so he could look at you.

“You let me think I was going crazy. You let me think I was mourning so bad I was seeing you everywhere. ¡Y ahora resulta que el puñetas hijo de la chingada estaba jugando conmigo! ¡¿Por qué?! ¡Dime, por qué, o te juro que te arranco esas uvas que llamas huevos, pinche cabrón de mierda!” With the end of every sentence, you shook him, trying to see something else than that feigned startled face. You even considered kicking him in the nuts and you would’ve had, if Dean hadn’t pulled you away.

“¡No, suéltame, chingada madre! ¡Le voy a meter un vergazo, le voy a meter una putiza!”

“Hey! Hey! Calm down!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! ¡A ti también te voy a putear no más porque me dijiste que me calmara!”

“Hey! Easy! What do you mean going crazy? You saw him?” He had locked your arms tight at each side of your body with his arm, while his free hand was placed gently on top of your head. The gentle touch felt weird given the situation, but you hadn’t realized you started to cry.

You took in shaky breaths; you bit your lip so you wouldn’t break into sobs. You breathed in another shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah, sometimes. At the grocery store, I always felt observed or when I went for a coffee, heck, I even thought I’d seen him nearby my shop.” Dean turned towards Sam, who still was watching you were you left him.

“You were here the whole time. What did you lose the ability to send a text message?!” Now Dean had the chance to show how devastated he was as well. His brother was never dead and he hadn’t bothered to go and find him. Hell, find Bobby, find him, find his girl, the loved ones he left behind. Instead he was running around doing who knows what and playing mind games. It wasn’t fair, if you hadn’t blowed up he might as well had and instead of him trying to hold you back it would be you holding him back.

“You finally had what you wanted, Dean.”

“I wanted my brother!” He felt you tensed up, he still wasn’t sure if letting you go was the best decision.

“We wanted you alive!” He completed. If he wasn’t planning on letting you go just yet, he at least could speak for both of you.

“You wanted a family.” Sam’s voice; it was his voice, it sounded so calm, it was alien of him and it was what was bothering you the most.“For long time, maybe the whole time. I know you. You only gave it up because of the way we lived. But you had something, you were building something. Had I showed up, Dean, you would’ve just run off.”He sighed.

You felt Dean gulp, his arm tensing around you. You were both so hurt and angry. Sam’s eyes locked with your wet furious ones, then he looked at his brother and then took you both in.

“I’m sorry. But it felt like after everything, you deserved some regular life.”

“Yeah. But what about Y/N, Sam? Maybe I deserved a regular life but what-”

“About me. My life wasn’t regular and you know it. So why wouldn’t you come to me? You were fine lurking in the shadows. What, hoping that I wouldn’t get over you?” You were still taking deep breaths, but Dean felt that it was safer now to finally let you go, so he did. He took a step back, processing all the information.

Sam took a step in your direction.

“Don’t come near me. You can easily explain from where you are.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I wanted to come to you, many times. But you guys became friends and when i made up my mind it was too late. I couldn’t let Dean live his life and have one with you anymore. Not if I wanted him to have the chance and I wanted him to.”

“So you settled with making me go crazy.” You scoffed, glaring daggers at him. “Charming.”

“I know. I settled for -as you said lurking in the shadows- and watching you from afar and you almost caught me sometimes.” he paused. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart softened a little at his words. The tiniest bit. Your head was still thinking death and resentment.

“I’m gonna find whoever brought you back and give them a good demonstration of how much pain I can be able to inflict.” At that, he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t expect less.”

“Wait, so what have you been doing?” Dean came to stand next to you. His brother sat on the edge of the bed again as he explained, paying you more attention now and always stealing glances at you.

“Hunting.”

“You left us alone and were flying solo?”

“Not solo.”

“What?” You both asked in unison.

“I hooked up with some other people.”

“You were working with strangers?” The older Winchester didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“They’re more like family.”

“Yeah, sure. The only way they could be your family is if…” You started, then trailed off. His expression changed. This whole time you were looking at him, analyzing his face, his corporal language. The whole time he had been honest or at least it seemed like it.

“They’re here.”

He went and opened the door of the bedroom, walking out of it with you following behind him.

There was an empty room or hall that had a big doorway towards what seemed a dining room, which had a table with scattered papers all over it, guns, knives and people around it.

Auras, everywhere. That’s what you saw next. The poison had your abilities numbed but now they were back in the game and it felt as if it was the first time you had embraced them. There were colors everywhere, reds, oranges, deep blues and lots of yellows.

“Why is there so much yellow?” You whispered. The brothers gave you an odd look.

The woman that was the nearest to you turned your way and extended her hand. “Hey.” You looked at her hand and hesitated. Lucky for you, Sam stepped in, handing you a pair of leather gloves. You questioned him with a look but took them gladly. Once you had them on you shook her hand.

She nodded with an awkward smile in her face. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“You shouldn’t, it’s just better this way, I am not in the best shape yet.” Dean casted you a glance. You knew he had questions, as maybe everyone had, but for now they had to wait.

Next she shook Dean’s hand. “My God, you have delicate features for a hunter.” She said.

“Excuse me?”

“Dean, Y/N, Gwen Campbell.” Sam introduced you.

“Glad to meet, Sam’s been going on and on and on.”

“This is Christian.” He pointed at the one in front of you.“And Mark. Campbell.” He pointed at a guy at the far end of the table.

“Campbell? As if in…” Your voice was nothing than a whisper then, it was still dry and all that yelling did it no good.

“Like in, uh-” Dean started.

“Like your mom.” Christian said, before handing you a bottle of water. You smiled at him, thanking him with a nod while Sam explained the genealogy.

“I thought all mom’s relatives were gone. And i’m sorry, it’s just, you know… Why didn’t we know about any of you?”

“Because they didn’t know about you.” You were immediately flooded by a greyish blue, you couldn’t see anything but the color. You resisted the urge to throw up as you turned around to where the voice had sounded.

“Not until I brought you all together.”

“Samuel.”

“Come here.” Both men hugged. At least you thought they were hugging.

Sam’s hand landed on your, compared to the size of that giant, tiny shoulder. He squeezed it gently then you turned your head to look him in the eye. But all you could see was that damn color. He cleared his throat. “Are you alright?” Then the color changed. It was pure grey, changing light to dark and then light again, over and over.

“Guys, give me a moment with my grandsons.”

“That’s a great idea.” You said, following the footsteps out of the room.

A hand caught your naked wrist, making you hiss and turn to get rid of the touch as the nausea intensified. “Back off!”

Dean saw your eyes, they were clouded grey, no pupil in sight. What was happening to you? He frowned and cleared his throat. He then saw your figure relax as he said: “You don’t have to go.”

“I think it’s better that she does.” Sam said.

“What is wrong with you?”

“No. He’s right. I need um…”

“She needs to recover, alone.” he completed.

“I’ll be in the room. I’m… Sorry, I shouldn’t have… Sorry, Dean.” With that you made your way towards the room. You knew their cousins were silently asking Sam questions, but he still made sure they left you alone, the less energy the quicker you could adjust to your abilities again.

++++++++

You were lying in bed, holding your head in your hands, taking deep breaths as the color dissipated. The nassau was gone, but that only meant your senses were next, You could already hear the conversations.

First it was the Campbell’s. They were talking about you and how Sam had told them that you were a witch, which yes, it made them nervous. That’s why when you had yelled at Dean they had panicked, trying to resist the urge to grab their guns and point them at you. But then you apologized and that was what threw them off. They still didn't know what you could actually do, they thought of you as a regular witch, however they trusted Sam’s word when he had told them they needn’t worry about you.

Then you heard the conversation between granpa and grandsons. You were poisoned by Djinn. Apparently Sam was doing his job as a hunter too well and ended up pissing them off, so they targeted you and Dean. Great. Anger boiled up beneath your skin again. You were already heading out when you heard the calls of the older Winchester. When he saw you emerge from the room he opened his mouth to explain, but you cut him off.

“I know. Let’s go.”

“Y/N, I think it’s best if you sit this one…” Sam said as he kept up with your pace, landing beside you.

“No way. If those bastards were ever to get near the perimeter I could sense them before they could put a single foot in the porch I would know.”

“Damn, having a witch in the team looks like fun.” Gwen whispered to Christian and you heard him agree with her, though Mark didn’t sound so excited about it.

“Thank you.” You called before turning to look at them. Your eyes weren’t gray anymore and you could see their auras without clashing on you.

“You also seem like fun.”

Lucky for all of you, Lisa and Ben where fine when you arrived. A little shaken and serious when Dean told them to pack their bags. Even more when they saw Sam was back. That’s when Lisa turned her gaze towards you and in that moment the past jealousy and space between you two disappeared with one single unspoken question. Are you okay? You gave her a stiff nod, before gulping and excusing yourself. Your senses were still sharp, you figured you were far more useful outside the house rather than inside.

Thankfully, you didn’t stay there for long. Dean tooked them with Bobby’s and you and Sam tagged along. Both you and Dean wanted to see the reaction on Bobby’s face upon seeing the resurrected. Pinche nazareno, you thought every time you stole a glance at him.

Lisa and Ben were already heading upstairs. Ben casted you a look, asking if you were to tag along. You shook your head but gave him a reassuring smile. Before they could disappear completely you took a book out of your bag and handed it to him.

“Here. It’s better than Bobby’s collection.”

He took the book and inspected the cover, then he thanked you and disappeared upstairs with his mom.

“Heroes of Olympus?” Dean interrogated you.

“Why do you have the book with you? How does it even fit in that tiny bag?”

“I assume you’ve never read Harry Potter or watched the movies. The briefest explanation is that Hermione has a spell that practically expands the insides of her bag and I wanted that as well. And that book is great, so don’t come after me.”

“One single book can’t be better than my collection, how dare you?”

You sighed. “Bobby, your spanish is better than your collection.”And for what seemed like a long time, Dean cracked a smile again. He knew you had helped Bobby with cases and research and that you both kept in touch. He couldn’t help but imagine more ways you would sass the hunter. But as soon as the smile came it left as he reminded why he was there.

“So…” He said as Sam appeared at the door and the look at Bobby’s face was not what you both were expecting.

“Hey, Bobby.” Sam said, nonchalantly. Instead of a wild, hurt expression, the hunter simply acknowledged him with a nod and by his name.

You bit your lip from the inside and took a deep breath. “Hijos de su puta madre.”

“Yeah.” Dean said while nodding and glaring at the hunter. “Ditto.”

“How long?” Dean asked. You were all at the living room, you sat between Sam and Bobby. Sam’s hand rested on your knee as the other one bounced up and down. You were newly mad again, not only at him but at Bobby as well. You couldn’t stand his touch on you, so you moved aggressively your knee out of his touch.

“How long?” Dean asked again, more impatiently as his father figure got distracted with your treatment towards the resurrected.

“All year.” Bobby admitted in defeat.

“Ah, que bonitos.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“And I’d do it again.”

“Why?!”

“Oh, I would love to hear that. Why would you let us go through this again, Bobby?” You asked with a feigned sweet tone.

He turned to look at you and you batted your eyelashes, though the gesture looked more fierce than flirty with the crooked smile you wore.

“Because you got out, Dean. You walked away form the life and I was so damn grateful you got no idea.” He said, then he turned to you. “And I gotta admit, you, you took me by surprise, you were more straightforward than Sam was. You came and explained everything before he did. Heck I scolded him after we talked. But he said you had already met Dean. Forgive me for being selfish, sweetheart, but as I said, I’d do it again.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Of course.” It was the only thing you could say. Of course he chose happiness for Dean. But hadn’t anyone thought about telling you to keep it a secret? During that time you weren’t even friends with Dean, you both hated each other. But then it hit you. Would you rather have Sam and lose Dean? You clenched your fists and jaw at the question. No. Because that was not Sam.

“Do you have any clue what walking away meant for me?”

“Yeah. A woman and a kid and not getting your guts ripped out at age 30, that’s what it meant.”

“That woman and that kid… I went to them because you asked me to.” The older one blamed the younger.

“Good.” Said the hunter as Sam remained silent.

“Good for who? I showed up at their doorstep half out of my head with grief. God knows why they even let me in. I drank too much, I had nightmares.”

You stood up, you couldn’t bare anymore sitting beside him. You took in the picture as you walked around the room, arms crossed, glaring here and there. Bobby, you knew, was a little ashamed, but you couldn’t believe Sam wasn’t the one arguing with his brother. Dean had told you about their dynamic before and this wasn’t how he usually reacted to conflict.

“I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books trying to find anything to bust you out.”

“You promised you’d leave it alone.” The resurrected said, calmly.

“Of course I didn’t. Sue me.” He turned to the hunter on his right. “A damn year? You couldn’t put me out of my misery?”

When you glared again at Sam he was already looking at you. You felt cold beneath his gaze, you shifted and started to walk again. As you moved closer to where Dean was standing you saw spots of red and blue all over the place except one spot, where his brother was sitting.

You had enough of yelling for the day. So you left the living room and went upstairs. Just as you were to knock on the door of the room it opened.

“Ay, perdón.”

Lisa smiled softly. “It’s alright. You wanted to come in?”

“I wanted to check on you guys.”

“That’s you, Y/N?” You heard Ben’s voice. Both Lisa and you laughed softly as she stepped back to let you in before heading down herself.

“So how’s the book?” You asked as you sat down on the floor next to the bed where he was laying.

“Honestly, I couldn’t read it, yet.”

You hummed. “Having too much in your mind, kiddo?” The only response was a sigh before the room fell in silence. That’s when you picked up on the conversation at the end of the stairs.

“You can’t outrun your past.” That was the older Winchester’s voice.

“You’re saying goodbye.”

Ah, no. No matter in how much pain he was in right at the moment. The past was past. He didn’t know the Djinn were coming and he didn’t have a way of knowing. That wasn’t something he could control. More importantly, how the fuck did he think his family would remain safe if he wasn’t there to protect them? They could be at risk with or without him. You were already sensing the topic of the conversation and it made you mad.

“Listen, Ben.” You said as you retrieved from the conversation of the couple. The kid sat up on the bed so he could look at you.

“Things are tough right now. It’s a rough patch, but it’s only that. So please, I’m asking you to never be one of those guys who thinks his loved ones are safer without him than with him, because that’s a bunch of crap. You know what that is?”

He was at lost of words, he didn’t expect the conversation to go this way, but he didn’t need to answer you. “That’s giving up. Because if you really love someone you make things work. And if someone ever dares to give up on you without even trying, I want you to fight. Not them, but fight for you. I want you to fight and dodge everything life throws at you to put you down. You hear me? What would happen if Dean and I couldn’t get to you? I want you to know how to defend yourself and your mom.” He kept nodding at everything you said. Your gaze and your words were so intense it was hard not to pay attention to them. He saw you dig in your purse until you took out a long dark wood box.

“What’s that?”

You sighed. “This is something I want you to have.” You opened it so you could reveal the knife that was inside. “Look, I need to talk to your mom and to Dean about this but, if they say yes, it’s yours.”

“Wow.” The kid’s eyes glinted in excitement. You took it out of its carved velvet spot and handed it to him, offering him the carved wooden handle that was the same color as the box. It was your catch-it-all knife, the blade was made of silver and it had special carving on it. You rarely used it, but it would be a lie to say you hadn’t taken the lives of some monsters you couldn’t befriend and decided to engage in a life to death fight.

“What does it mean?”

“That I can’t tell you until they approve of you having the knife. If they do, Ben, this isn’t a toy, okay? This is only for special situations when your life or your mom’s or both are in great danger. If they’re threatened that’s when you get to use it and I hope you never get to. But I’d rather have you know how to handle a knife and not using the skill than having you needing to use it and not knowing how.”

He nodded again, understanding how serious the topic was. “The box has compartments with the polishing and sharpening kit.”

“Where did you get it?”

At that a proud smile was drawn on your face. “I made it.”

“You did?”

You nodded. You heard the conversation stop. It was a matter of time for Lisa to come back.

“Listen champ, I’ll talk to them. And I’ll also show your mom how to use it, why leave her out of the fun? For now, you hold on to it for me, but only if you promise to explain everything to your mom and not take it out without her supervision. Understood?”

“Yes.” He put the knife back on the box and closed it before hugging you.

“Thank you, Y/N.” You returned the hug, playing your favorite game of who can have the tightest grip. He always won.

“You’re welcome, champ. You’ll be out of here before you know it, I promise.”

+++++++

You returned to the crumbling house you had woke up at. Dean entered demanding a plan. Seeming as there wasn’t one and everybody thought of him in particular as lacking some practice, it was a matter of time before he took them out of the condescending looks and gave their asses something to do.

“Can you handle a gun, sweetheart?” Mark asked you.

“I can, but I don’t need one.”

“Oh no, look if you hunt with us then you hunt like us.” Gwen stated.

“Really?” You crossed your arms, meeting her amused eyes.

“So you’re saying that me having an ear on the perimeter, shadow travelling to surprise the Djinn and moving objects to make it even harder for them to move around won’t come useful in the hunt and make it, perhaps, a little easier?” You left the room speechless. Gwen broke eye contact and even took a step back. “I don’t want you to fear me, but I’m not in the mood to tolerate stupid boundaries.”

“What’s shadow travelling?” Christian asked. Dean was grateful that you explained it a few days ago to him.

“You don’t know what it is?” You scoffed, taking off the leather gloves that you had wore until finally you were your fabulous self again. While you tossed them on the table you added: “What kind of hunters are you?” You placed your hands on your hips and turned to the older Winchester as he gave you a sly smile; you winked at him. You got his back and he got yours.

The plan was you would three act as bait and the stage was none other than Dean’s home. You and Dean watched as the Campbells took more opportunities to sass their way back to something like dignity.

“Really, golf?” Sam asked when he looked into the closet.

“It’s a sport.” His brother defended.

You crossed your arms. "Damn, you certainly have a lot of opinions, don't you?"

They all turned to look at you, already annoyed. You shrugged mentally, you were already annoyed by them when they started acting so condescending by the lifestyle Dean chose.

“You can keep staring, it ain’t gonna make it less true.”

“Yeah? What about you?” Christian asked.

“Me? Pft, easy, I voice my opinions when someone asks me to or… You know, when someone I didn’t ask feels the liberty to comment on something they don’t have the right to.” There was a long silence that filled the room. You could tell Dean was smiling and everyone else was frowning and with all the sincerity in your heart you could say that you didn’t give a fuck.

“Well, seems that everything’s taken care of here. I’ll go check around the house.” As you made your way out, you high fived the older Winchester.

Samuel turned to Sam and Dean as he said: “She’s a real charm.” To which Dean shrugged but Samuel saw Sam’s smile. He had never seen him smile before and certainly not at a woman that wasn’t in the room.

You went to Mark who was sitting in a van parked in front of the house. He was looking at the surroundings with a telescope.

“Hey. You’re seeing the same thing I am?” You asked him quietly as you sneaked a glance at a certain tree you both had your eyes on. “Couple of Djinn, there.”

You nodded. “Yeah, they were some near the neighbor houses as well. They won’t come nearer.”

“Yeah, we better tell’em. It’s a lost cause.”

You nodded to yourself, deep in thought. “Or…”

Sam kept sneaking glances at you as you talked to his cousin before heading inside. When you crossed the door you instantly looked for Dean, but couldn’t find him just yet.

“Hey.” He called out to you before you could search for his brother.

“What’s up?”

You seemed reluctant to near him and tell him, but in the end you did. Your anger had calmed down for the most part. But he still wondered if it had extinguished entirely.

“They’re Djinn surrounding the house, but they won’t come nearer.” To that, Christian and Gwen joined the two of you.

“They already know we’re here?” Gwen asked you. You nodded. “Mark thought of calling it off, but they’re already here. What guarantees do we have that they won’t attack once we lay our guard down? So I thought….”

“What’s going on here?” Samuel asked, who came out of the kitchen with Dean on his side.

“Y/N says the Djinn are here, but…” Sam started.

“They won’t come closer.” You finished. He smirked.

“They feel outnumbered.” Samuel contemplated.

“You wouldn’t be suggesting we leave you alone, right?”

You shrugged. “It’s the only way to get rid of them as fast as possible. I mean if they’re already here, that’s half the job done. Now we just…”

“Get rid of’em.” Dean completed. You nodded. Everybody hesitated, the only ones that were sure the plan might work were the brothers an you. Sam had to push a little bit to convince them to leave you three alone. And if he was being honest with himself, he felt curious at how you would develop in a active hunt. In the end, they were convinced enough to move just some blocks away so they could reach if something went wrong.

When the sun went down, they made the first strike. And boy, did they put up a fight. The brothers went straight for killing. You figure it was something their minds were already determined to. You however were like them on their first years of hunting, although your methods had more success than theirs. That combined with the fact that the monsters didn’t know you well enough to grow a grudge on you. The only grudge they could hold on you were your acquaintances. Of course, every monster hated hunters. Yourself had hated them for quite some time.

“Y/N, watch out!” Sam warned you, but he couldn’t get to you, he was getting cornered. You dodged the hand that intended to grab your wrist.

“Not today.”

The girl you were fighting kept trying cornering you and walked menacingly at you, making you take steps back.

“Where’s Dean?!” You moved the couch in front of her when she made an attempt to attack you.

“Sam?!” A lamp landed on the girl’s feet, making her take a few steps back.

“Oh, little witch, are those parlor tricks the only thing you can do?”

“I’d prefer not to pull the big guns on you. You know, girls gotta watch out for each others backs not attack them.” Was that a corner behind your back? She slammed her hands at either side of your head, amused with the cat and the mouse roleplay.

“Sorry, dear, not this time.” Before she could dose you up, you shadow traveled and reappeared behind her, kicking her knees and twisting her arms behind her before tying her hands and running to help Sam. However, Samuel had already gotten to him.

“Thank God.” You whispered, ignoring the snicker that escaped the grandpa’s lips.

“And Dean?”

“Already working that poison off. They’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. This guys are tough, and it appears that so are you.” He patted his grandson on the shoulder. “You got a good one, son.” And you couldn’t help it, a blush grew on your cheeks despite the stoic face you managed to maintain.

+++++

You were leaning on Sam’s new car, watching as the brothers had a conversation inside. you could eavesdrop if you wanted to, but you had a feeling what the resolutions of the conversation was. Dean was staying.

The brothers came out of the house, walking towards you.

“Hey. Keep in touch.” Dean told his brother.

Sam nodded saying that he would. You went to hug his brother, patting his back when he started patting yours.

“You’re gonna go with him?” He asked not so quietly.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, if he convinces me, maybe I will.” The older winchester scoffed and looked at his brother.

“Good luck with that.”

“I’m already working on my speech.” Sam shooted back.

“I’ll see ya around, Winchester.” Before you could step back, he reached and clasped your forearm in his hand.

“Before you go. Lisa told me about the knife.”

“Right! Sorry, I was meaning to talk to you guys about it. What do you think?”

“What’s there about to think? Absolutely not.”

You took in a deep breath. “Well, would you keep an eye on it for me? I’m itching to get home.” You were kind of disappointed by his answer. You knew why he didn’t want them to have it. Guns and knives symbolized the work of a hunter. To give them one, it just seemed like they were already starting on the job. But that was not the case. Either way, that was something you wanted to come back once you were fully charged and your head didn’t threaten with exploding.

He nodded and let your arm go. Then he watched you disappear into Sam’s car and drive away.

The whole car drive was filled with silence. It was the perfect opportunity to talk about all that happened but Sam knew you were tired. And as much as you were mad at him, he knew you could’ve used the moment to talk, hadn’t you been so worn off. So he waited until you arrived at your home. Either way it wasn’t that far from Dean’s.

He walked you to your door, figuring if you would invite him to go inside or send him on his merry way back to his cousins and grandpa.

“So what do you think?”

You paused, key in hand and halfway through the keyhole. “I don’t know. It’s a huge thing what your asking me, Sammy.”

“Y/N, look at me.”

You raised your head and met his gaze, your nose bumped into his, slightly, you hadn’t notice how close he had gotten.

“Damn, I missed you.” He closed the distance between you two, his lips meetings yours in a short kiss that was replaced by a more intense and deepened one. You felt his arm snake around your back, pulling you closer while his other hand rested at the back of your neck, holding you in place. And kiss after kiss, the hunger grew. You had missed him so much, you let yourself enjoy that hunger, you let it consume you completely and fought his tongue with yours, pulled at his lip just as he had, played with his hair in your hands, let yourself explore every muscle of his body again. Just as your hand landed on his chest, that gray color assaulted you and numbed you again, for the briefest moment, before the voice inside your head screamed and begged you to understand. DEAD.

You pulled away, heaving and trembling.

“No. You can’t just expect me to forgive you just by kissing me.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Give me some space and time, without you, to process all of this. To make a decision.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead you occupied yourself by opening your door and running inside, eager to put some space between the two of you.

“I-”

“Hasta pronto.”

Tag: @anathewierdo

#piedras rodantes #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural imagines #supernatural imagine #angst #angsty #sam #Sam Winchester #sam x reader #sam x reader x dean #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader

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preacha69 · 4 years

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The Osprey at Hard Water Lake

By John Norwood

I slowly backed my red Chevy truck down the boat launch of Hard Water lake tucked way back in woods off Highway 8. Once at the water’s edge, I hopped out and pulled the green 10 ft Kayak I borrowed from brother-in-law from the bed of my truck and set it down into the murky water of the lake. It was a beautiful day to be out on the water. The sun shone from a brilliant blue sky interrupted by puffs of white clouds, ever moving and changing shape. My friend Chris pulls up with his family in tow. The five of us push out into the lake and start paddling out past the massive, Spanish moss-covered, cypress trees that appeared to have been growing there for hundreds of years. Chris calls out to the group and says, “hey, let’s paddle over to the dam first.” In agreement we all started paddling as fast and as hard as we could across the middle of the shimmering lake. Half way out, I found myself struggling to keep up, along with Chris’s daughter Becky. We both started falling further and further behind. As I slowed down, I began to look around the lake and I noticed something off to my right in the distance. There was something big perched in the top of one of the large cypress trees. It was too far off for me to tell what it was, but it was big enough to know it was worth investigating. My heart leaped at the thought that it might be the majestic bald eagle. Wouldn’t that be something. I have never seen one in real life, much less get a picture of one.

I eagerly began to veer off toward the bird leaving my group behind. As I began to get closer, it appeared to me to be some sort of hawk, not the eagle I had hoped for, but exciting none the less. I knew if I paddled fast and straight toward him that he would fly away before I could get close. I had to convince him I was not dangerous or interested in him. I slowly made my way closer and closer, but before I could get in range for a good picture, he flew off into the distance. Shoot! I missed my chance.

Disappointed, I began paddling my way through the tall cypress trees that grew thick along the edge of the lake. I didn’t get very far before I noticed another big hawk-like bird sitting on the limb in front of me. I started taking pictures and working my way closer without going straight at him. I got a few decent pictures before he too flew away. I kept paddling onward along outer edge of the trees and then I saw it, a huge nest sitting in the top of and old dead cypress tree. Perched on limb underneath the nest was a large Osprey.

The Osprey looks very similar to a hawk. They are both in the raptor family. Osprey are also sometimes called sea hawks, river hawks, or fish hawks. Their diet consists largely of fish, though they have been known to eat small rodents and reptiles. Ospreys are found in nearly every continent in the world. The average wing span of an Osprey is 72 inches across. They nest near bodies of water that provide them with adequate food supply.

I quickly grabbed my camera, and as I zoomed in to take some pictures, I saw the head of another Osprey poking up out of the nest. What luck! I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I paddled around closer and closer constantly shooting with my camera while the large Osprey closely watched every move I made. His dark brown feathers stood out against his white breast. I paddled by the nest being careful not to get too close. The sun was off to my left and not to my back which would have been preferable for taking pictures. I made my way past the large nest taking pictures as I went. After getting a number of what I hoped would be good pictures, I continued on toward the back of the lake looking for my companions.

I made it to the back of the lake, but I didn’t see my friends anywhere. The water was now turning green with algae, or scum, as we call in Louisiana. I found myself getting hung up on stumps. Fearing getting stuck deep back up in the swampy area, I decided to make my way back up to the front of the lake. I figured on my way back out I could get some more picture of the Osprey nest from a better angle since the sun was now at my back. Once in sight of the nest, I started making my way meandering through the trees, some of which had thick leafy branches close to water. I was getting close. I paddled between two small cypress trees that were growing close to the tree where the nest was located. As the Kayak glided between the trees, I ducked my head beneath the limbs and heard a loud ruckus in the tree above me. Something screeched and fell through the tree stopping just over my head. I quickly reversed course and backed out to see a medium sized bird trying to catch himself from falling. It was a green heron fledgling. Once again, I grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures. There were several in the tree, but I couldn’t see the others clearly. The little guy who fell was now just above my head. I watched him for a little while taking pictures whenever he would poke out from the thick brush.

Finally, I paddled on towards the Osprey nest. As I came out into the open water I knew the nest was there somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. I thought, once I get around this tree it should be visible. I carefully paddled past the big tree expecting to see the nest on the other side, but it wasn’t there. What the heck? Where did it go? Wait, you don’t think? I looked straight up over my head and there it was. The big tree I was looking around was the tree the nest was in. I had accidentally positioned myself directly underneath the nest. The large male Osprey was sitting on the same limb underneath the nest looking straight at me. I could see clearly the large curved talons gripping the branch. If he was to attack me, those things would certainly do some damage. I leaned back on the kayak and started snapping pictures. Part of me thought, you better back off before that thing comes after you, but another part thought, I’m not going to ever be in a better position to get pictures like this.

After a couple of minutes, I began to slowly ease back, stopping every few seconds to shoot. In the process I managed to capture some of the best bird pictures to date.

I made my way back to the landing where my friends were all waiting and we loaded up and headed home. It was a good day.

If you are looking for a good place to go kayaking around central Louisiana, Hard Water Lake is a good one to visit. I’ve been twice, and have seen not only Ospreys and Green Herons, but I’ve also seen Eastern Kingbirds, Egrets, Ducks, and Mississippi Kites. The scenery alone is worth the trip. Now on to my next adventure.

#birding #photography #kayaking #outdoors #adventures #Osprey #preacha69 #Louisiana #Hard Water Lake

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noonaduck · 5 years

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BTS - Sweet Dreams pt.4

Pairing: OT7 x reader Genre: Fantasy AU, fluff, smut(?), angst words: 1323 Summary: Eight dreams and eight powers, tied together. Would they fall or would they rise? Y/N had seen dreams about seven men as long as she could remember. Namjoon was a regular guy who worked in a small bookstore. Jin has finally reached his dream and opened his very own cafe. Yoongi was a heir with future which was already planned for him. Jimin and Hoseok were partners in everything what they did in their life. Jungkook was an artist with complicated past. Taehyung was a knot which bonded them all. Together they all were a circle with awakening powers. - ch. is edited with minor changes. 3. < 4. > 5.

[ gifs belongs to their rightful owners]

Jungkook's Pov. He could feel feather light lips on his own. They moved gently and whispered their secrets against his own. He could feel soft locks tickling his face. He heard small giggle coming from her lips. He did not want it to end. Hot flesh against each other, bodies moving in sync. He was about to burst... Loud noise jolted him awake. He was alone in his studio apartment and he could hear yelling coming from downstairs. Next door, or would you say under floor neighbors, were back at it again. They either were having the loudest arguments ever or wildest sex you could imagine. Pounding of bed and female's moans told what it was this time. It was useless to try to sleep anymore. Jungkook's apartment was more really like a loft than a small studio apartment. He had two floors on his own. First floor was same open space, if you did not count bathroom. He had open kitchen which was connected to his big living room. Everything was decorated in black and white. Full wall length windows were located on west side of the space. On the second floor was two bedrooms, another bathroom and finally the most important room of all, his studio. He was an artist and successful one in fact. He wanted to think that it was purely because of his talent but deep down he knew it wasn't the whole truth. Mr. Jeon, his father who has passed away now, was one of the most famous and promising artists of his generation. So it was no surprise that his son had took after him. Because he was son of famous Jeon, of course the son would rise as well. His fathers dead has been such a tragedy, atleast that was what everyone has said. They did not know his father's real nature after all . His fathers art style was rather abstract full of colors and shapes. Jungkook painted mostly realistic black and white ones. One of his first jobs was at his friend's dance studio where he had wanted him do some graffiti on his studio wall's. It was one of rare works which he had made with some other style than black and white. Jungkook curses and pushes covers over him, you would think that with this expensive apartment would come silence, but no. Usually he would sleep like a lug but when it came to that girl even little noises would end his sleep. He felt over sensitive around her, even tough she wasn't real. Jungkook has came long time ago into conclusion that the girl was just reflection of his desires. It had been so long time when he had dated anyone. Main reason was that he couldn't be sure would the other person like him because who he was and not because his reputation and status. It surely has nothing to do with how awkward he felt with the idea of dating. He sits up on his bed and looks around him. His room is decorated with black and red, which are his favorite colors. His bed is made of dark wood and his bed sheets are white with red decorations. His walls are plain and white and there is no other wall decorations except one big painting which does not seem to fit in. It is painting oh his fathers's. Like many times before his eyes can't help but draw towards it. The painting looks like someone has poured all the imaginable colors over each other and each of them competes over your attention. To be honest he hated that painting a lot. But it also reminded him of his father, so he did not bare to take it of. Black and fluffy carpet covered almost his whole floor. His working station was located on the right wall next to his small walk in closet. The table was full of his papers and you could barely see his computer under them, even tough he spent more time gaming on that computer than doing actual work. Finally he stood up and headed towards downstairs, he could really use a coffee. Jungkook hymned while he waited his coffee to pour. He was leaning on the bar counter when his phone begun to ring. Caller was unknown. He hesitated little but after a while he pressed the green button.

''Hello, who is this?'' He asks. ''Is this Jeon Jungkook?'' Female's voice asks from other side of line. ''I asked first.'' Jungook was persistent. ''My name is Y/N L/N, and I'm looking for Mr. Jeon to ask would he be interested about having and interview?'' Female answers. ''Mr. Jeon was my father.'' He grumbles in annoyance. ''So this is right number indeed.'' Y/N sounded happy. ''I'm sorry which media you represented again?'' Jungook asks. He is so tired of journalist who thought they knew everything about him and his work. He was so ready to turn one of them down. ''I did not say it yet. Well actually I'm not from any big media house. I have my own independent blog.'' Y/N tells. ''So a small fish, huh. I'm not interested sharing my views with big companies and and surely neither with some small ones.'' Jungkook could feel himself turning cocky but he did not care. ''Not even when I know truth about your fathers dead?'' Y/N sounded rather serious. Jungkook freezes and tightens his crib around the phone. ''What do you want?'' He had to force all the words from his mouth. ''Like I said, I want to interview you. If you agree, I will forget what I know.'' Y/N answers calmly. She was way too calm for his liking. ''Where and when?'' Jungook asks and tries to calm down. ''I text you the address.'' She says and hangs up the phone. Little after that his phone peeps for sing of message. *

Y/N's Pov. You hated to hit so low, but sometimes girl got to do what girl got to do. You looked old news articles on your kitchen table and rubbed your forehead. You had crossed Jeon family's secret by accident. Mr. Jeon had killed himself driving out from the bridge right into cold and icy river ten years ago. At least it was an official statement of the case. Documents which were on your hands stated otherwise. You had bought old looking suitcase from yard sale even tough the seller had told that he wasn't able to open it. He had just bought a new house with low prize and found some of the old owners items. He had decided to sell them alongside with his own useless items. You were no by any means going to buy anything at first but then you saw the old suit case with low prize and with the owners story, your curiosity got best of you. When you got home from yard sale You had broke the lock with small creativity and some tools. You were truly surprised when the case finally opened. It was full of crime scene photos and some hand wrote notes. It seemed that the suitcase belonged for some old police officer who had continued to search the case even when it was closed. You had also found Jeon jungkook's and his mother's phone numbers inside of the case and you were still surprised when Jungkook had the same number in use after all this time. His mother's number wasn't in use anymore which you had tried at first to call. You had never seen the man's face but you were quite sure that he was famous among art people, like his father was. You had pocked ice with stick when you had said that you knew the truth about his father's dead. It seemed that Jungkook at least suspected that there was something more in his father's death than just a simple suicide. Like curious creature that you are you had took the bait. All what was left is wait to tomorrow to come.

#bts fanfic #bts fantasy au #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #bts au #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #BTS jimin #BTS jungkook #bts hoseok #BTS suga #BTS jin #bts #bts namjoon #bts taehyung #kpop smut #fanfiction

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trojantoast · 5 years

Text

“The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame” (pt. 2) - Zutara Week 2019

Day Two “Speaked” - part two of seven

“What if the world dies with the sunrise?

Baby it’s all right we’ll be up all night

What if we’re unmade when the stars fade?

Keep me going till the night turns into the day.”

- “Until the Night Turns” Lord Huron

@zutaraweek

_________________________

Sometimes Katara wished she wasn't a night person.

She could feel the moon fall below the horizon as she fluffed her pillow again. Her wide windows were open, letting the night time breeze flow in between the mesh of the mosquito net. The fabric flowed gently like sails, barely seen in the darkness. Sleep had not come easy, more so the opposite, for the entire night the waterbender had laid awake.

Usually, she used this time to get things done, let that be paperwork, research, or relieving the healers at the hospital in Ba Sing Se. Then she’d catch naps wherever she could during the heat of the day. But, she was on vacation, and had purposefully not brought any work with her.

Katara wrapped herself in the cool silk sheets, and snuggled deeper into the feather pillows. This was the most comfortable bed she had inhabited in recent memory. There was no denying that. The ocean whispering outside and the sound of night animals provided a comforting atmosphere. Yet, sleep escaped her. She blamed the almost full moon. Though the real culprit, though she would never admit it herself, was the man sleeping in the room just a thin wall away from her.

If she was quiet enough she could hear his breathing. If she stayed still she could reach out and feel the blood pumping through his veins. The habit was one she picked up from healing him after Sozin’s comet. She would be so attuned to his heartbeat those lonely, scary, days and nights that the simplest shift would wake her from slumber.

So it was second nature to sink into his strong, though uneven, breaths. Her mind wandered far away, and also sat empty. Though awake, she was at peace.

Was it creepy that she was using her bending to spy on him? Probably. But, knowing his heart was steady, when at one time it barely beat at all, made waves of comfort wash over and smooth out the edges of the day. So Katara listened, and watched the sky outside lighten slowly.

Hours before dawn, she was stirred from her trance when he abruptly rolled to the side of his bed and stood walking quietly to his door. She followed his footsteps until they faded away.

The sun had always woken Zuko the minute it rose above the horizon, but it couldn't wake him up if he never fell asleep in the first place. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and he longed for nothing more than to sink into his dreams and wake up in the morning refreshed. But his mind had other plans. Like fall leaves in the wind, moments and images flew through his head. Everything from what he wanted to eat tomorrow, to budgeting meetings, to the bed he laid in. His thoughts ran together like water droplets on metal. He craved chicken so he thought about the food budget for the palace, which led to his budget compared to that of various restaurants, which lead to an inn he had stayed at once, which led to a conversation a few months ago with the palace tailor that then made him think of the sheets. His sheets sent him down a spiral about trade with the earth kingdom which made him think about the colonies, soon he was considering politics and alliances.

He could really use some of his uncles tea. These night time thoughts where common back in the capitol, and he would usually sneak down to the kitchen and follow the recipe Iroh had left him. He had gotten better at brewing it over the years, but he still couldn't do it right without the directions. Then bringing the pot back up to his room he usually pen his letters to Katara.

But he had stupidly left the recipe at the palace, and Katara was asleep not a foot away from his own headboard. He needed another option.

His mind decided to wonder to his correspondence with the woman just on the other side of the wall. Zuko wrote Katara the most out of the group, and the letters were often very long. He asked her council on a lot of decisions, and was known to send entire transcripts of meetings so she could be completely informed, she gave advice that always work. In turn, Katara would rant to him about a particularly challenging patient, or earth kingdom noble who ticked her off, and Zuko would do his best to be helpful, suggesting new ideas, or consulting the palaces extensive medicine scrolls. The letters where she was particularly puzzled with a medical case where some of his favorite to read. Sometimes the letter cataloged her entire thought process from hypothesis to conclusion. Some letters were deeper than others. During the harder parts of Azula’s rehabilitation Zuko had been so immersed in the darker parts of his mind he watched himself speak in spiraling language about that happier parts of his childhood, as well as the more violent moments. The ink in those was often smudged with tear drops.

There was a bond there, an intimacy, Zuko couldn't quite explain.

He laid in his bed for a while longer, until his chi stirred with the nearing dawn. Since sleep had escaped him, Zuko decided on a walk.

The dock faced the north, with a panoramic view of the open ocean, setting the stage for both the sunrise in the east and its setting in the west. It was blocked by a barrier of rocks that broke the waves, creating a calm lagoon. If you were feeling more adventurous, on the other side of the slick stones was a beach, with large waves that crashed on the grey volcanic sand. It was the best piece of real estate on the island, with acres of empty forrest for privacy. Only the best for the Fire Lord and his guests.

Strips of clouds crossed the sky, revealing the fading stars through their thin bodies. The sky paled with the promised sunrise. Zuko let his feet be gently batted around by the incoming tide. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the dock, worn wood cool under his touch. The night air chilled his bare shoulders, and made his loose hair tickle his nose. The young Fire Lord’s mind was at peace, unlike in his bed, but he was alone. So he welcomed the soft footsteps that approached him from behind.

“I brought tea.”

Zuko couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest when she sat next to him and set the cup into his hands.

He glanced over at her, but in the gathering dawn he could only make out the white of her bindings peeking out from under a loosely tied tunic, and her wild hair eclipsing the sky behind her.

“Surprised to see you up this early.” His eyes lingered on her gently.

“Oh I'm usually getting ready for bed around now, actually.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” a giggled escaped her lips, “I get my best work done under the cover of darkness.” She wiggled her fingers for effect, “after all wasn’t it you who said, ‘you rise with the moon, I-”

“-rise with the sun, yeah, yeah.” Zuko leaned back on his hands and stared at the clouds above, “but, Katara, really? It’s almost sunrise.”

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “So you couldn’t sleep?” she changed the subject with ease.

“Not really, I couldn't shut my mind off.”

“What were you thinking about?” she prompted. The sky had grown paler and her features slowly illuminated.

“What do you think of my robes?” Zuko remembered a particular strand of thought that had itched his brain.

Katara tucked one leg under the other, turning to face him completely, her expression was open and her tea cup rested in her hands, “The formal ones? Or your every day ones?”

“The formal ones.” Zuko clarified, “The other day I was being fitted for new ones, and the tailor asked me if I had any suggestions, but nothing came to me.”

“Well…” she considered it for a while, “they’re alright, a little stuffy for my taste. Oh, and you could definitely lose the shoulder spikes.” she added as an afterthought.

“I would have to agree.”

“They’re a little… intense.”

He laughed at that. The conversation then followed a sort of lazy, meandering, pattern. The pair rambled on about robes, as well as a myriad of other things. Zuko only halfway listened. He took part in the conversation. It was so easy to talk to her, even if every glance sent his heart fluttering.

He was more focused on the blue of her eyes and how they crinkled up when they laughed and how her hair kept falling in her face and how she ran her fingers along the edge of her now empty cup as she talked and how her gaze kept drifting back to the sea. And he relished in the moments when he would stop watching her for a moment and realize she was watching him too.

They had to have been sitting there for hours. Their tea cups abandoned beside them, they laid on their backs admiring the now vibrant pink clouds.

Katara was pointing out interesting shapes with childlike enthusiasm. Zuko’s arms rested behind his head and he followed her tan hands as they gestured to the wide sky.

She had settled her head on his chest, right below his beating heart. Warmth radiated from where her cheek met his bare skin, just inches away from his blossom of marred flesh. He longed to never move from this position. Zuko didn't quite understand what he felt towards her, but seeing her dark hair curl around his lightning mark, a wound he would receive a thousand times over, just to see her safe. He knew that whatever he did feel, it was deep, and complicated, and made his heart leap and ache and open wider than it ever had before.

“Hey, Zuko?” Her voice was quieter, and her hands now rested on her stomach.

“Yeah?” he whispered, sleep tugging at his eyelids. He felt her shift, and her hand ghosted over the pendant at her neck he couldn't see, but knew was there.

“Do you ever dream about your mom?” an edge of exhaustion crept into her words.

He thought hard about her question, though he was just as tired as Katara’s voice betrayed her to be.

“Yes, all the time.”

There was silence on her end, then the quietest words of all, barely heard,

“If you could change things would you?”

It was his turn to reach up, touching the ruined skin below his eye, he traveled down to his chest, his fingers intertwining in her soft hair. He felt a shadow of the pain of his sister’s strike, the ache of his mother disappearing in the night, the feeling of not being able to look his father in the eye after returning home, the feeling of her in his arms, the first time they had stood on this dock, so many years ago.

“No.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the calming presence of sleep wash over him. He felt her breath even out as well and he slipped into his dreams, bare back pressed against cool wood, and the sun rising triumphantly over the sea. Gentle words tickled at the edge of his consciousness, like the opening line of a sweet dream.

“I love you.”

________________________

inspired by this beautiful piece of fan art

#zutara week 2019 #zutara week #zutara #zuko #katara #Avatar The Last Airbender #zutara fanfiction #fanfiction

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koreanboyswriting · 5 years

Text

In Translation Pt. 7

Genre: Smut, Fluff, and ANGST

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Words: 6.2k words

❌Warnings: graphic depictions of sex❌

You’re in LA with the boys finally for the AMAs, will you both have your dream vacation or have to separate forever??

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Last night you had fallen asleep after Jungkook had gone down on you wrenching every single climax out of your body, you giggled and kissed until you fell asleep, your wrap dress discarded on the floor. Jungkook must have gotten up early this morning and gone back to his bed. And while you understood it, you were still sad that he had left. Before you had time to fully wake up a woman walked into your room, a makeup carrier box in her hand. You blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what was going on as she came over to the side of your bed and pulled you up by the hand.

“What’s going on?” You asked sleepily, stretching out your arms above your head.

“We have interviews to go to today as well as the Jimmy Kimmel live stage. I’ve been sent to help you get ready and do your makeup, we don’t have much time, but we do have a long day so please let’s get moving.” She pulled you up and pushed you into the shower. While she was gruff, she was also nice and took care of you as you went through your routine. She was gentle but firm and you didn’t realize how much you needed her there until she was helping you blow dry your hair while you mentally sorted through everything in your suitcase.

When she was finished, she bowed her head and left the room, before she was all the way out you called out to her, “Wait!”

She turned around her long black hair swinging around her like a curtain, “Yes ma’am?”

You felt sheepish, like a kid who needed their hand held, “Can you help me decide what to wear?” You asked as you turned in on yourself.

She smiled and walked over to your closet and opened it. While you were in the bathroom, someone must have come in and unpacked your suitcase into the closet. It was weird but still appreciated. She spent some time looking at all the clothes, taking a five second glance at each one. Finally, she pulled down a black silk shirt, some dark wash jeans, and a pair of black kitten heels. “Here,” she said thrusting the clothes into your hands, “Simple but classy, you’ll likely be caught a few times in the background, you need to look nice but unassuming.”

You dipped your head in thanks, “You’re amazing, thank you.” She smiled again, looked you up and down and then left, clicking the door quietly behind her.

The next two days went by in a blur. You didn’t understand how the boys kept moving, you were surviving off Redbull and enthusiasm, and they just kept going nonstop. They were never tired of seeing their fans, they never said no to an interview or a picture and somehow, they didn’t get a single stress pimple. The first day wasn’t too bad, the interviews were fine as you spent most of them in a chair right behind the camera, never needing to step in much except to help the other boys. Namjoon was speaking English effortlessly. Jungkook held your hand in the car on the way to events and sent you little winks during the interviews when he thought no one was looking, making you flustered and red. The boys were on a high when they got to the Jimmy Kimmel lot, there were girls circling the entire block and next five, the line seemed to never end and their screams echoed in your ears inside the car as your convoy of black vans made their way up to the main building.

You had changed out of your heels and put on some tennis shoes and a leather jacket as the air turned cool with the setting sun. The boys performed a couple songs and came off the stage sweaty but exhilarated. You were standing by the car as they sat on the curb on the side of the stage for a moment catching their breath. A girl screamed out J-Hope and he turned and smiled at her sending her a finger heart and then they slipped into the van, all giving you their version of a greeting. Jungkook was last and helped you up into the car with a hand on your waist before entering himself. Long after the car had pulled away and you could no longer hear the screams of girls and boys in your ears, the sound of a cameras shuttering still rang there.

The second day was just like the first, your makeup lady was there and helped you pick out an outfit, again. She laughed a little this time at your embarrassment but picked one out anyway, but you opted for your white adidas this time from the start because you already knew today was going to be hectic.

The first stop of the day was a radio show. The interviewers were nice but odd. They asked the boys shallow questions and severely underestimated their knowledge of English. They looked to you often once they recognized you as a translator, but the boys already understood they were just unconfident in their speaking ability, so you would mouth the words sometimes or encourage them as they spoke by nodding. Namjoon was already fantastic and helped them as well. You had forgotten how entitled Americans were, the radio show had made no effort to have anyone there who spoke Korean, nor did they try they just expected BTS to do all the work and that was definitely telling. Sometimes the interviewer would pointedly ask you a question as if the boys couldn’t understand him at all, but you just smiled at Namjoon and he answered the question easily. The interviewer turned to face him, his face aflame. Thankfully they weren’t all that bad.

The next interview was scheduled for thirty minutes after the first, giving you guys just enough space for travel time. You were all loading into the van again in the alley behind the radio station, the front flooded with fans trying to catch a glimpse.

You were walking behind all the guys as they filed into the van when you tripped, Jungkook turned around and caught your arms so you didn’t slam your face into the concrete. The boys all looked at you really concerned until you started laughing.

“Oh my god, I’m such a klutz I’m sorry!” You said between laughs. Jungkook just smiled and shook his head helping you up. He winked at you, his hands lingering on your waist, when you heard the sounds of a camera shuttering again. You looked around but all you saw were the corners of buildings and trash leaning against full dumpsters. You shook your head and took Jungkook’s hand to help you into the car.

After the next interview, the boys took a couple pictures posed on the California streets, looking like models in matching Calvin Klein outfits. The night was spent at the James Corden set, with you laughing at the boys as you watched them play Flinch with Corden. Taehyung was of course competitive as always, but you were surprised that Jungkook didn’t match him. He just giggled and went with the flow, sending you smiles as you waited backstage.

The boys and you were having a late dinner with the management team after the show. You were shoveling rice into your mouth, unpreoccupied with anything going on except your empty stomach.

“Y/n?” You turned at the sound of your name, your mouth full of food. Jin snorted at your face of confusion and you blushed swallowing thickly.

“Sorry, what was that?” You scratched the back of your neck and Jungkook patted your thigh reassuringly, your cheeks lit up again, but you didn’t look at him.

“Well, since you have been such a huge help, we thought it would be nice if you joined the boys at the award show tomorrow evening.” Manager Sejin said with a smile after he finished.

“Wait, are you serious?” You said loudly.

Manager Sejin laughed, “Yes I’m serious.”

“Oh my god!” You swallowed again, “I would love to go!”

They all laughed at your surprised face as you sputtered trying to find words. When you all got back to the hotel Manager Sejin disappeared into his hotel room barking orders to his assistant, his phone pressed to his ear. The work never ended for him. Once on your floor the boys all disappeared into their rooms, their faces exhausted. You turned to go to your room but Jungkook grabbed you by your chin and kissed you. Jungkook then pushed you into your room with his palm lightly on your chest until you got to the edge of your bed, your feet bumping against the wood bedframe.

Your body immediately warmed in wanting, you were never going to get tired of him. “Aren’t you tired baby?” You whispered, your hands caressing his face.

“Not when you look like that love,” He smiled lazily at you, his beautiful brown eyes piercing right into yours as he captured your lips with his.

There was something different about tonight though. It wasn’t like it always was; the tearing of clothes, and aggressive needing to be closer and fuck each other to oblivion. Tonight, it was slow and easy. Jungkook kissed every inch of your skin, going down on you till you bit your lip to keep from screaming his name. Then he made love to you agonizingly slowly until he was breathing hard into your ear and whispering your name like a prayer. When you were both spent you collapsed onto his chest, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, and you covered it with lazy kisses until Jungkook flipped you over and took you again until your body was shaking.

You both just laid there for a while, talking until your words became incomprehensible and you fell asleep on Jungkook’s perfect chest. He waited until your breathing was slow and even before he whispered three words into your hair and kissed the spot lightly. He fell asleep shortly after thinking he wanted nothing more than this.

You woke the next morning in a daze, you turned to your side expecting an empty bed but there was Jungkook looking like a Greek god. There was a tiny bit of light filtering between the blinds and casting little shapes on his face, his mussed-up hair looking adorable. You leaned over and pressed a feather light kiss on his forehead. He turned over and barely opened his eyes but smiled anyway.

“Why are you so far away,” He said, reaching out for you, his hands opening and closing like he was a baby. You laughed and straddled him kissing every feature on his face, until you went down his neck and licked a tender spot and nipped it lightly with your teeth. His breath hitched and he flipped you over, pushing his dick into your heat. You stopped breathing, trying to control the need ballooning in your chest.

“You have so much control over me,” Jungkook growled into your ear.

“Same here,” You breathed as Jungkook’s eyes were mere inches from your own. “Now go put some pants on before I decide I don’t wanna have any control.”

Jungkook laughed throatily and grabbed a pair of his sweats from the other night off the floor and slipped them on. You watched him from the bed the sheet held around your body admiring every plane of his body.

Jungkook turned around and smirked, “Enjoying the show?”

“Immensely,” you said. He laughed, and you could hear the signs of the other boys getting up and banging around the suite. You made a face and jerked your head towards the door and Jungkook pecked the top of your head before slipping out the door.

You spent a couple minutes brushing out your messy hair and throwing on some clothes before you joined the boys for breakfast. You all sat around the table and the boys talked about how excited they were for the night, when you remembered that you were not at all equipped for an award show.

“Crap, I need to go shopping, I have nothing to wear!” You laughed, thinking about where you could go around the hotel that you could actually afford.

“I want to come!” Taehyung said.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Okay, but we’re going to the stores I want to go to first!” Taehyung laughed and nodded his head.

“Wait, I want to shop too!” Jimin pouted in Korean.

“Okay, but no more. I don’t know if you guys haven’t noticed but you all together draw a crowd.” They all laughed in agreement.

“Wait, but I want to go too,” Jungkook said looking at you with lusty eyes and you almost just said yes because of that when Namjoon interrupted.

“Jungkook, you can’t, you said you would work with me and Yoongi on that song.”

“Oh, crap, sorry I forgot about that but yeah okay.” He responded.

“It probably won’t be that fun anyway, don’t worry about it. You’ll all see the dress tonight anyway.” You said to reassure Jungkook.

You had lied. It was a lot of fun hanging out with Jimin and Taehyung. They had endless energy and pushed you to try on things you would have never even thought of. Taehyung’s style was funky and artsy and he kept finding all the dresses that were short and abstract and all had cool collars of a sort. Jimin was the complete opposite, his style was more classic and edgy. He kept pulling out silk strappy gowns in all black, almost always with a small train. You liked them but you did not really feel like yourself in all of the dresses. They were all wearing you, not you wearing them.

“Guys, I just don’t think I’ll be able to find a dress.” You said coming out of the dressing room, wearing the silk robe the store had hanging on to the wall. You pulled back the thick curtain and Jimin and Taehyung were holding up the most beautiful dress you had ever seen. It was floor length and red with a halter neckline and a thigh high slit in the thick rich fabric. You grabbed it excitedly and slipped it on in the dressing room. It hugged you in all the right places and felt like it belonged on your body. You beamed at yourself in the mirror and pulled open the curtain to show Tae and Jimin. Their jaws dropped and Jimin started slow clapping, you laughed and turned around to look in the mirror again and admired yourself before you looked at the dangling tag. You pulled it around and frowned at the zeros that continued on the designer tag. You looked at the boys with a disappointed look on your face and were about to open your mouth to tell them you couldn’t afford it when Tae held up his hand.

“Don’t even continue to say what you were going to. It’s on us.” He said, looking smug while Jimin beamed.

“No way. It’s too much, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” You said, shaking your head.

“Well, you’re not asking, we’re offering.” Jimin said plainly.

“Guys…”

“Nope, it’s decided.” Tae said.

“But—”

“Excuse me,” Tae said in his low voice to the store lady who was trying not to stare at us the whole time while we argued in Korean.

“Yes?” She responded quietly, shocked at being addressed.

“We would like to buy this dress,” said Tae slowly.

She nodded and walked quickly over the register and began pulling out a large box and tissue paper with another associate. You just rolled your eyes and walked back into the room to take off the dress. When you came out the workers grabbed the dress from you politely and began packing it up as Jimin browsed the racks as if he was seriously considering buying one for himself.

You cleared your throat lightly and he jumped, you stifled your laughter and looked resolutely at the register as he hurried over. The associates packed up the dress and Tae handed over a thick silver card that just looked rich. After the lady swiped his card and watched him sign the receipt, she handed him, recognition lit up her eyes.

“Wait aren’t you in that Korean boy band BTS?” She said softly, in her crisp voice.

“Yes,” said Tae in his low voice while he blushed, and Jimin just smiled proudly.

“Well good luck on your performance tonight! We’ll definitely be watching!” She said in a normal voice now sure of herself.

They thanked her and walked out onto the street with you, Tae holding the large bag over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ll get tired of that,” said Tae quietly.

You just smiled at him. Their constant modesty would always astound you. All of you got into the in SUV that waited just at the end of the block and Tae put on his old jazz playlist. Jimin closed his eyes and smiled and moved his head ever so slightly to the coalescing instruments. You watched them and smiled to yourself. It was crazy how much all of them had come to mean to you in such a short time. They felt like an extension of your family, each a crucial part of your life. And their character never wavered, whether it was behind closed doors or in front of millions and it was shocking.

Once you got back to the hotel, Deok-su guided all of you up to the suite. You thanked the boys for a hundredth time and they just waved you off and went to shower going through the throngs of people without a second glance. The main living room and kitchen of the suite were bustling with their style and makeup team. Their stylists were steaming their suits and arranging all the pieces on individual racks with each of the members names on them. All of the racks had different variations of cool black outfits as well as their stage outfits with sparkles and bright patterns. You slithered between the people and into your room and sighed heavily as you dropped the large bag onto your bed. You sank onto the mattress right when your makeup lady came out of the bathroom and smiled at you from above. You jumped up and hugged her.

“I’m so glad you’re here! I was just starting to get worried about how I would do my makeup.” You hugged her for a little longer than necessary and she chuckled and guided you into the bathroom. The vanity was already set up with all her makeup tools spread out, much more than she usually had too. All of it was arranged so neatly it looked like a makeup counter. The lipsticks arranged in colors, the brushes snuggled neatly in the compartments on the black rollout bag, and a large box that was open displaying different eyeshadow palettes, blushes, bronzers, and highlighters.

“So, what are you going for tonight?” She asked you in her melodic voice.

“I’m thinking maybe old Hollywood glam. Finger curls and a red lip?” You said unsure if that was the right direction to go in, but she just smiled and nodded as if she had been thinking the exact same thing.

Your makeup lady was so careful and neat she reminded you of a monk, always calm and serene, albeit she was much younger. She listened as you talked absentmindedly and asked short questions here and there with genuine interest, which was unusual for you to hear. You talked about how excited you were to see your brother tonight since Manager Sejin had sent him and your mom and your dad tickets to the show. All they needed to do was make the short drive from Pasadena to Los Angeles and then they would finally be less than 1000 miles from you. After your makeup lady was finished curling your hair with the large curling iron, she raked her fingers through the curls and massaged in serum until they were large and flouncy. She then took careful measure to smoke out the eyeshadow along your eyelid and then paint a sharp black wing of eyeliner over it. She bronzed your face and made your skin look flawless before she painted your lips red and announced you were done. You rushed away from the mirror not wanting to look at yourself until you were all made up.

You walked over to your closet and closed the door to change into the nicest pair of panties and matching bra that you had brought and walked out. You unwrapped the dress with careful reverence and admired it as you slipped it over your legs the buttery smooth fabric the nicest thing that had ever touched your skin. You slipped the straps over your shoulders and grabbed the heels before walking into the bathroom again. Your makeup lady stopped packing up her things and helped you zip it up as you slung your shoes over your feet. When you faced yourself in the mirror you were unsure of who was looking back at you.

You had always had some semblance of self-confidence, but you never thought you had looked amazing until now. The makeup was highlighting every plane of your face in the exact way it needed to and your hair was shiny and soft on your shoulders which looked feminine and delicate in the red dress. You couldn’t even think of your insecurities when everything you were wearing was there highlighting your beauty. You looked at your makeup lady and hugged her tightly trying to keep the tears from your eyes as she hugged you back. After pulling yourself together you grabbed your phone and slipped it into the little clutch you brought and walked out of the room, sure you had taken the longest.

When you walked into the main suite the stylist and makeup teams were still bustling around, some of them touching up the boys makeup as they munched on snacks and others packing things up and running them out to the car like their life depended on it. You looked around for Jungkook eager to show him your new dress when he came up behind you, his lips on your ear.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he whispered, “I’m tempted to not let you leave this hotel room, but a woman this gorgeous deserves to be seen.” You flushed, the heat from your face radiating throughout your whole body. You didn’t even have words to say you just turned over your left shoulder and looked at Jungkook. His face was inches from yours and his eyes were locked on yours and the look that passed between you was all that needed to be said. Once you realized you were in a room fool of people you snapped out of it and stared at your toes. In your strappy shoes. Until Jimin came over and grabbed your hands and twirled you around.

“Wow!!” He said as you laughed, and he continued to twirl you until Tae caught you. He grabbed your hands and held you at arms-length and admired you.

“Gorgeous.” He said simply.

“Really?” You asked and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Really.” Namjoon confirmed before Tae could.

“I mean not as beautiful as me, but she’ll do.” Jin joked, causing them all to laugh.

Deok-su then appeared at the open door with Sejin who nodded at Namjoon, sending the boys into motion. They all filed out of the room and Jungkook grabbed your hand and guided you out of the room. You and Jungkook arranged yourself into the back of the elevator and Jungkook drew hearts in the palm of your hand as you descended down to the lower level to go out the private exit. Instead of the usual black SUV a long limo waited for the band in the quiet alley, the boys cheered and laughed and Yoongi made his way on first leading the rest of the boys who followed in excitement. Deok-su and Sejin took up the SUV that waited behind the limo leaving the boys to party with you and Dae who winked at you from the driver’s seat. Jungkook danced around in the car with the boys and you laughed watching how excited they were for the night. When Jungkook finally plopped down next to you he grabbed your hand and placed light kisses on it while you grinned. When he looked up and caught your eye, he pressed a light kiss on your lips and the boys all pretended not to notice. Dae pulled the car up to the celebrity entrance of the Microsoft Theater, which was loud yet still at the same time. You could hear the distant screams somewhere, but the heavily guarded street was quiet as all of you exited the limo and thanked Dae, joining Sejin and Deok-su.

A team of security led the way through a back building to the large white tent that held the red carpet. Sejin talked curtly to the boys the whole time as you passed through until you were outside facing the throngs of screaming fans, most of them holding signs for BTS or their faces on large cut outs. The entrance to the tent was lined by barricades and the procession inside was slow. A man came up to your party and checked BTS off on a clipboard and beckoned his assistant who took down yours and Sejin’s names and gave each of you a lanyard with a pass dangling on it. The security team left you there and Deok-su joined them, their tall figures marching away. Inside the tent you could see blinding flashes of light that never stopped and shouts from fans and photographers all begging for the attention of the celebrities who strutted along the carpet. Your stomach kept churning and you kept looking over the boy’s heads at the impending crowd. Sejin looked down at you and clasped your shoulder giving you a reassuring gaze and you tried to calm yourself down.

When it was their turn the boys walked onto the carpet to screams and shouts from everywhere all at once as you and Sejin followed at a safe distance to be kept out of the pictures. They slid into their easy formation: Tae on the left end, followed by Yoongi, Jin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok finally at the right end. You beamed seeing all of their bright faces excited by the attention and respect. They moved along to each stall of photographers and you and Sejin stayed together at the edge of each one as they smiled and posed. When you were all ushered off by the helpers Sejin whispered to you that both you needed to leave and take your seats, you nodded and started to walk away as Jungkook turned around quickly and you winked at him as Sejin ushered you out as they walked the interview part of the red carpet. Once you got inside the half-filled venue, an attendant took you to the upper level and you saw your family sitting front row on the balcony and ran over to them knowing immediately where your seats were. You rushed into your brothers arms and tried not to cry as he hugged you tightly both of your parents on either side rubbing your shoulders.

“Enjoy yourself, y/n.” Sejin said as he smiled and turned to walk away.

“Wait, where are you going to sit?” You asked concerned.

“Back at the hotel conference room, the work never stops. I will see in the morning.” And then Sejin left with the attendant.

After Cameron was satisfied that your hug was long enough, he relinquished you to your parents and they peppered your head with kisses until you all sat down to catch up. You told them all about how much fun you were having with BTS and how connected you felt to your Korean heritage living in Korea and of course how tasty the food was all the time. They told you about what you had missed back home in Pasadena, which was mostly just Cameron gossiping and talking crap about your old high school classmates, but you just laughed along and your parents were so excited to be at the AMAs they didn’t even scold Cameron for cussing.

After about thirty minutes of you catching up, you didn’t realize that the theater had filled up and almost every seat was filled except for seven all together in the front. That’s when they came strolling in amidst thunderous screams from the crowd all around you, most from Cameron. You laughed and cheered along as they smiled and waved on their way down to their seats led by the same attendant who helped you. Once they sat down and the stage lights came on the cheers finally died down and you caught Jungkook’s eye as he was looking around and he waved in your general direction causing ARMY to surge in a burst of excitement, the wave just as much for you as it was for them.

The entire night was spectacular. You and Cameron stood up and danced to all of your favorite songs and you held your mom’s hand throughout the event just because you wanted to be as close to her as possible. Your dad had his hand on the back of your seat and having the weight there and his presence was all you really needed. You all stood and went crazy when BTS performed DNA and so did the crowd. And after that you slipped out of your seats and down to the main floor. You told your parents goodbye and promised you would see them soon and held on to Cameron for just a little longer before you hurried backstage. You walked through security effortlessly with your badge and even got to walk by Camila Cabello and Shawn Mendes without fainting. When you found BTS they were in their changing rooms calming down after their performance. Their makeup team was blow drying their hair and dabbing their foreheads when you walked in.

“Hey!” Jungkook shouted and beamed at you when you walked in the door.

“Hi,” you said shyly, feeling small in the mess of people. You stayed by the door leaning against the wall as several celebrities came by and introduced themselves. You translated some of the longer sentences they said to be useful and so Namjoon didn’t have to shout over the noise just after performing. When the makeup team was finished primping them, they all got up and made their way to say their goodbyes. You followed them on their way out Jungkook at your side this time. He kept brushing your hand as you walked or setting his hand on the small of your back to guide you through a certain area and you fought to keep your emotions from showing on your face. It was fun, almost, knowing that you had this little secret between the two of you that no one but the boys and a some select team members knew. You both kept sneaking glimpses at each other and smiling when no one was looking, and after the group of you finished saying goodbye to everyone on the way out you slipped into the familiar black SUV that waited on the curb.

When you got back to the hotel the boys did a quick Vlive with the champagne and snacks that were set up for them in the cleaned main living area. Jungkook didn’t down his drink on camera but ran behind you to gulp it down after they finished. You thanked the guys for the amazing night and retired to your room. The sudden quiet of your room was a startling change from the entire night. Your back was facing the door and Jungkook took the opportunity to come up behind you and caress your neck and back. You sighed as he kissed the back of your neck, pressing light kisses down and in between your shoulder blades as he slid the zipper down your back.

“I’ve been dreaming about taking this off all night,” he whispered.

The smooth fabric straps slid down your shoulders and Jungkook closed the gap between you and slid his hands under your bra to unclasp it and caress your breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers until they hardened and you felt the rest of your body perk up with the arousal. He closed the space between you, and you could feel him through his pants in your ass and all you wanted was all of him. You sighed and turned your head over your left shoulder and met Jungkook’s lips with your own. He kissed you fiercely and you spun around to face him fully and he pulled down the rest of your dress and picked you up, and you locked your legs around his waist. He nipped at your bottom lip and explored the inside of your mouth with his tongue before he slammed you onto the bed and ground his hips into yours. You pulled at his shirt, untucking it from his pants and pulling it over it his head and ran your hands over the perfect planes of his chest before leaning up and licking his right nipple. He groaned and ground his hips into you harder as he left painful hickies on your lower neck.

“Jungkook please, I need you now.” You breathed, pulling at the belt on his pants.

Jungkook didn’t even find a witty response he just pulled a condom out of his pocket before unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants quickly and rolling on the rubber. He picked you up and scooted you up the bed and teased your clit with his two pointer fingers, sending chills throughout your body. He rubbed the spot agonizingly slowly and just when you were about to beg for more, he pressed his tongue into your hole, licking up and down your lips before flicking your clit with his tongue over and over until you were about to cum. You whimpered and Jungkook used his fingers to flick your clit while he sucked on your heat, the added pressure sending your body spiraling, and right before you could call out his name he removed his fingers and tongue and slid into you effortlessly, the fullness sending you farther over the edge. And he rode out your high as he fucked you slowly and passionately until he collapsed on top of you whispering beautiful words until you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When you woke in the morning something felt off, the bed beside you was empty and the hotel room was loud. You found some pajamas from your closet and slipped them on, finger combed your hair quickly, and put the thick cotton robe over your pajamas for good measure. You grabbed your phone off the side table and inhaled deeply before you walked out. You expected the boys to be bustling around for some event you had forgotten about but the scene you walked in on was much different. The boys all sat around Namjoon’s open laptop on the dining table arguing loudly over what was there.

“Guys, what’s going on?” You said quietly.

They all fell silent, Jungkook sat there opening and closing his mouth but no words were coming out. You walked around the table and lightly pushed your way forward through Yoongi and Hoseok to see the computer screen. Several tabs were open on the browser with similar titles. The one they had open was on TeenVogue and the black letters at the top seemed to scream in your face off the screen, “Jungkook of BTS has a secret beau!” You moved Namjoon’s hand from the mouse and scrolled through the article, there were blurry pictures of Jungkook when he caught you in the alley before you got into the car. You clicked on the next tap which was from Koreaboo.com, the title read: “Jungkook’s Secret Girlfriend” and HD photographs of you and Jungkook holding hands into the restaurant you went to together followed. Your heart started racing as you clicked on the next tab and an article from Soompi came up with pictures of you and Jungkook talking on the red carpet the night before followed by photos that they had zoomed in on and cropped that you had been in the back of. Every article had more pictures from moments when you had thought you both been alone, the most incriminating one featured you and Jungkook in an alley behind one of the radio studios with his hand on your back and your faces inches from each other.

You looked up in horror at Jungkook and his eyes were full of pain before he buried his face in his hands. You were about to walk around the table to him when manager Sejin burst in the door his face aflame.

“Y/n, you need to leave now! You’re fired.”

111 notes · View notes

the-unknown-storyteller · 5 years

Text

Journals

(Universe by @linkeduniverse)

Summary: Almost every Link of the group owns a journal in any shape or form.

____

Although Wild is usually the one, running around with a journal in his hands or strapped to his hip, there are several Links in the group that do the same thing.

Time keeps a journey log filled to the brim with hundreds if not thousands of notes and letters for when he can return to his lovely wife. He keeps everything neat and organised with dates added to every page. Some paper pieces look a lot older and weathered down than the others, slight crinkles at the edges and a faint yellow tint to where water had hit the paper a long, long time ago.

Still, Time keeps every little note that he has written, both on bad and good days and keeps them safe for Malon. So that she can read and feel what he's seen and felt. That thought alone makes long nights around the campfire a bit easier to go through, a bit more bearable when he simply can't sleep, haunted by the ghosts of times long past, and needs a distraction strong enough to make them go away.

Wind is often seen going through a small sketchbook, a smile on his lips or a happy glimmer in his eyes. His sister had given it to him before he had parted with her and his grandma. Most of the drawings are just simple sketches of seagulls or ships, usually from a very far away perspective.

One could also say that those were just some random lines with a slight resemblance of some bird and walnut shells. There's only so much a nine-year-old can do from on top of a watchtower and with references that constantly move around. Wind loves each of them, nonetheless. Sometimes he adds a sketch or two of his own because coming home empty handed is a no go. His sister would be so disappointed. Thus, he draws and draws and draws for his little sister at home, eager to see her smile when he shows her all the things he's seen on his journey.

Legend, on the other hand, owns a journal with a much more practical purpose. With years and years of traveling experience under his belt, he knows that it's important to keep track of everything, dimensional pockets be damned. Food, potions, supplies like bandages and thread. Everything goes into his journal as numbers and dates. Although, it would be a lie to claim that he only writes lists and plans of how to make the rations last longer when they're in a pinch.

Hyrule once caught him extremely early in the morning, writing a short story from the perspective of a painting. Which had sounded kind of silly back then and he only got a few sentences in, but from what he had seen, it was very well written and he'd love to read more of it. Hyrule felt like he would get to know Legend better if he did. But the way Legend whipped around and scrambled to pack his book away with this kind of shocked and scared expression on his face made Hyrule not want to push his friend.

Sky’s journal is more like a folder, holding together multiple pages, most of them bright and colourful. A normal notebook wouldn't have worked all that well for how he wants to use it, so he had decided to get a piece of leather and a band to wrap around a few times. He then filled it with paper that’s thicker and sturdier than normal one, since it has to be able to withstand his paints and chalk. Sky paints when his heart begins to ache for the past.

When he gets homesick, he sits down, looks at the sky and starts working. As a result, his book is filled with sketches of clouds, so soft that you believe they might fly away any moment now. Urged forward by a gentle gust of wind.

On good days, he uses either pastel sticks or aquarelles. His hands work slowly and lightly with relaxed but still precise movements, similar to how a feather falls gently to the earth. Sky takes his time on those days and enjoys every line he lays down and every colour he manages to blend smoothly.

On bad days, he uses charcoal and dark oil paints. His lines are vicious then, threatening whoever decides to dare look at them. There's anger and despair that flows into the colours. His hands move fast and with such force that he's once broken a brush of his.

Those days are messy and impatient with harsh and jagged lines and barely any white space left behind. When looking only at those pieces, no one would be able to tell that he's also the one behind the cloud paintings that speak of such gently and careful hands.

In all of his paintings, there's usually a Skyloft flying in the distance or at least a single red feather hidden somewhere. That same feather is burned and charred on the edges on those rare days when Sky’s heart feels rotten.

Lastly, there is Hyrule. He's a big mystery to everyone, at least his two journals are. One of them is so incredibly thin that there can't be more than twenty pages in it. It looks barely used, too. The spine is pristine and barely broken in and there are next to no scratches on the soft, light brown leather cover. The only part of it that betrays any kind of usage are the miniscule gaps between pages in set intervals. So it must have been at least opened once or twice.

His other journal, though, is loaded with whatever Hyrule has decided to put in there. Pages warped and wrinkled, making the cover expand and bend itself outwards. A band wrapped around it multiple times, similar to how Sky does it, keeps all the pages from spilling out and onto the ground.

Next thing is that they barely get to see them too. They're usually hidden in Hyrule’s bag between potions and bandages and tools like a knife and a pair of scissors that look incredibly sharp. Sharp enough to cut through thick rope with ease which confuses the others. Why have an extra pair of sharp scissors when you can slash through everything just as well with a small knife? It would make sense if he uses it for mending his clothes, but no such thing. Because they barely get to see the scissors too.

Additionally, Hyrule disappears every two days for several hours, he walks away from them as soon as they’re finished setting up the camp with quick and light steps. Today is no different.

“Got something important to do. Don't worry about me, I'll be back in a bit”, he yells back, making his way down the hill towards a forest nearby.

When Warrior notices the two journals in his right arm and the pair of scissors in his left hand, he immediately perks up from where he is putting down wood to get a fire going. He's intrigued and the tingling in his hands is slowly receding, too. He's sold.

“We might not have enough fire wood for the whole night, I'll go and collect some more”, Warrior says, slowly backing away from the others, some of whom shout a distracted thanks.

As soon as he is out of sight of the group, he ducks down beneath the grass that stands tall above him and goes to follow Hyrule who's detoured from his original path and takes a sharp right. He disappears behind some large boulders.

Warrior stands still for a few seconds. Listening. Waiting if Hyrule suddenly changes his mind and goes back, possibly catching him in the process. But all he hears are light footsteps that move away from him. A small grin grows on his face. He shakes his right hand a few times and runs towards the boulder, taking quiet shuffling steps around it.

Before he even gets to turn around and take a peek, he can hear a quiet and gentle voice, that is undoubtedly Hyrule’s, talking.

“This one won't do. I’m sorry but you're just too small, even if you are quite beautiful. Give it a few days and you'll be the prettiest of them all, I'm sure of it. I can't just go and snip you now-”

Warrior peeks his head around the rock and is quite confused by the pureness of the scene that unfolds before him. Hyrule is standing there in a crouched position, the pair of scissors in his right hand. The other holds the very thin journal, opened at what appears to be a random page. The other book lays next to Hyrule’s right foot in the soft grass.

There is this kind adoring look on his face, which also radiates calmness and contentment. Warrior can see that he is still talking to whatever interesting thing is on the ground there. What is he talking to? A bug? A worm? No, why would someone want to “snip” a worm? He doesn't get it and he can't see form this far away.

Hyrule gets up and shuffles over to another patch of grass, repeating the same process of talking to the ground. This time, though, he makes a careful cut with his scissors and lays whatever he's found into his journal. He clamps it shut and opens a new empty page. Then shuffle, crouch, talk, snip. He repeats that process a few time and each damn time Warrior can't see what it is that he's putting in his book.

Warrior’s chest is burning with vicious curiosity now and he can no longer stand still. He taps his foot a few times, before he thinks that it doesn't matter and sprints over to where Hyrule is standing. He’s taking the leather string off of his book, back turned to the approaching storm.

“Just what is it that you're collecting in there?!”, Warrior cries out and startles Hyrule badly. Both of his journals fall to the ground...

..and a dozen, a hundred dried flowers and flower petals spill out and onto the ground. They both stand there for a second, frozen. Time stands still.

Warrior is staring.

Hyrule is staring back.

Warrior takes in the sight of the dried flowers.

Then, Hyrule’s body comes back to life with a start when he notices some dark blue hydrangea have crumbled upon impact. He crouches down and picks up the once delicate flower petals with gentle hands.

“I'm sorr-”

“It's okay. They weren't all that important anyway.”

They both know that's a lie. Warrior can see it in the way his shoulders are hunched forward, in the way his hands form a small bowl, as though he is trying to protect the remaining pieces.

“Why are you always so secretive about this?”

Hyrule looks up at him with a questioning look. “Hm? Oh. Well, none of you have ever asked about it and I didn't feel like telling you.” A short pause. “You see, I've done this ever since I've started traveling. It’s always felt like something that was mine and mine alone. It’s a useless and stupid sentiment, but I still held onto it. I don't really mind, though, if everyone found out about it. It's just a small hobby. I would take one hour out of my day and collect flowers to press them and put them into my scrapbook.”

Warrior sits down next to Hyrule, who has started to put everything back to where it belongs. “But why?”, he asks.

“I guess… I just like the process of it and what you get at the end. I've travelled a lot, not as much as Legend, of course, but I've come around quite a bit. And every time I get somewhere new, I am awed by what I'm seeing and encountering and I think ‘I want to keep a piece of this with me’. Pressed flowers were the easiest solution to that.”

There's silence once again, save for the quiet rustling of the flowers. Warrior takes a deep breath.

“Would you mind...?” He gestures at the sad pile of broken hydrangeas. “I'm sorry for ruining them and would like to know the story. If you're willing to tell me, that is.”

Hyrule glances up at him, sees the sincerity behind his apologetic smile and huffs.

“I guess it couldn't hurt to share just a few.”

#journals #linkeduniverse #linked universe #hero of hyrule #hero of warriors #hero of the sky #hero of time #hero of the wind #hero of legends #addison writes

179 notes · View notes

hookaroo · 5 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (45 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Thursday)...

Zzzzzzzz…

Shave day.

Killian had only to close his eyes to be transported back there. That dreadful hovel with its table of pain. Those callous hands dragging a dull-edged blade along his jaw. And nothing ahead of him but more suffering. No hope.

Focus on the differences. Warm, soft bed, no splintered, uncomfortable wood. Blankets and a gown instead of cold nudity. The din of automation replacing the scratchy ring of imprecise steel. Similar pungent disinfectant but less decay, less blood and pain and fear. And, most important, gentle touch. No intent to hurt or degrade. Only meticulous, loving care from the one person on Earth he trusted without reservation.

“Holy crap,” teased Emma, “I think we need to get Whale to put a sign on your door warning that there's a handsome pirate inside.”

Knowing that he still looked like a wreck despite a neatly trimmed beard, he played along for her sake. “And what would its purpose be, to entice eligible nurses inside, or warn them away from his jealous bride?”

“I don't mind them looking,” smiled Emma. “What's the point of having a gorgeous husband if a girl doesn't show him off every once in awhile?”

Killian clenched his teeth as a wave of violent shivering overtook him; to a casual observer it would have appeared as if he were suddenly chilled to the bone despite climate-controlled surroundings and the layer of blankets draped atop him. Through nauseating pain, he heard Emma lay aside the razor and felt her grip his elbow in solidarity.

Whale remained hesitant to classify them as seizures, stating that the corresponding brain activity did not match any known convulsive disorder and responded to none of the anticonvulsant drugs they’d tried. Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility of eventual development into actual seizures, as most of the slave fatalities had experienced just before their deaths.

Killian had managed to catch snippets of conversations, grave tones and sobering words that betrayed what they seemed to be trying to hide from him. He would probably have guessed on his own, anyway, with his worsening state mirroring the course of the slaves who had preceded him in death. Sometimes he was able to comprehend what a shame it was, for him to have survived so long only to succumb now, when peace had returned to his home. In those moments he tried to take solace in the thought that he'd been granted more cherished memories with his wife and daughter, without a threat hanging over them, when he could focus on lavishing them both with the fierce love he felt for them. Emma would remember. Hope... he liked to think she would.

None of that mattered in the moment, though, as quivering muscles shocked every single inflamed nerve ending into high gear, enveloping him in a fog of inescapable agony.

Emma met his watery gaze with a sad, stiffly calm smile, and he read the desolate grief in her forged reassurance even as he realized that the attack was finally subsiding.

"Morphine?" she asked quietly, but he shook his head. Hope would be coming by for a visit soon, and he wanted a clear mind for her.

Her grip on him relaxed by degrees as some of the tension drained away from his body.

“I'm so sorry, Killian,” she whispered. “If only we could somehow bring magic back. I might not be able to stop these attacks, but I could at least heal your wounds and prevent some of this pain.”

She sniffled and before Killian could summon the breath to respond, she continued,

“It doesn't make any sense; I mean, we thought it was related to the Vocivore, but maybe we're wrong, ��cuz it seems like we should have found something by now…”

“I have something to report about that,” came Regina’s voice from the doorway. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Emma turned with a weary expectancy, and Regina stepped inside. She was the very picture of classic irritated aloofness, but she did glance at Killian and say,

“Sorry for barging in like this.”

"You found something?" demanded Emma, and Regina stopped at the foot of the bed. Her scowl could whither the blossoms off an apple tree.

"It's those damn pigeons."

"The... pigeons," repeated Emma slowly. In his mind's eye, Killian saw a ragged pink feather coated in slime; white, powdery droppings splattered on chancel cobbles; black and amber irises reflecting nothing but pure animal instinct. He heard the trilling cooing that had been the quiet backdrop for many a scream, memories as clear as if the blasted birds were right there in the room with him.

"Those ridiculous pink pigeons, Sheriff Swan," Regina confirmed, completely oblivious to Killian's uneasiness. "I cannot fathom how, but they're the ones responsible for the magical shielding. Pesky vermin."

Emma looked unconvinced, and Killian wanted to agree, but considering how the birds seemed inextricably linked to the Vocivore's presence, perhaps the idea wasn't so farfetched.

"Regina, are you sure? They're just dumb birds. How can they possibly block magic?"

"I'm... still working on that," admitted the queen. "But I know I'm right. Did you hear about those hooligans who set off the fireworks in front of City Hall this morning? Right in the middle of an inter-realm council meeting?"

"David filled me in, yeah; said he thought it was some Lost Boys from the Wish Realm."

"Well, as disruptive as it was to the meeting, it was a hundred times worse for our feathered friends. They took off like their tails were on fire and made for the Enchanted Forest or... Madagascar or somewhere; trouble was, they're too stupid to remember that for long, and they were back within 10 minutes. But in that time, there was a brief window in which I could almost access my power; it was there, just on the edge of awareness, just out of reach." She made a growl of frustration, both hands tightly fisted. "I thought for a second that the shield was collapsing for good, without us having to do anything about it, but wouldn't you know, we're stuck with our usual luck again."

Regina looked like she'd rinsed her mouth with lemon juice as she continued ranting. "The first bird to come back, while we were still searching the area for any unexploded fireworks? A pigeon. A fat, iridescent pink pigeon. And that's when I made the connection."

"Well, I've been saying we needed to get an exterminator, but just because you saw one doesn't necessarily prove that they're the culprits."

"I think she may be right," Killian said with another shiver. "They were... fairly strongly bonded with the Master. Sometimes would even ride on its shoulders." He cringed as the haunting outline of the beast filled his imagination, complete with winged companions, its tentacles pulsating as they reached toward him....

"And we have only recently started noticing them around Storybrooke," added Regina. "Just about the same time as magic failed. They’re remarkably distinctive, and I remember being surprised the first time I saw one."

"I don't see the connection," Emma began, still doubtful. "But it can't hurt to check it out. So say it is the pigeons. What's the next step?"

"That's the bad news." Regina glanced at Killian in apology. "It won't be a quick fix. Short of poisoning them, or making the town somehow inhospitable to birds in general--both of which are options that I can't see our critter-loving neighbors approving of--we're down to trapping and relocating each one individually, or trying to figure out what exactly gives them the ability to block magic. And either way, it's going to take time." She folded her arms, waiting for questions, but Emma and Killian were quiet, mulling over the situation. "I've tasked Robin with the job of bringing one to me for study. Don't tell your mother."

Killian was only half listening as a whole movie's worth of scenes replayed in his head. Pigeons, pigeons everywhere. He felt foolish for not noticing their conspicuousness before, but, of course, he did have other things to worry about at the time.

He felt his spirits sinking impossibly lower as the consequences of the news took shape. No quick solution would mean no magical healing. He'd be stuck in this infernal hospital, recuperating in the conventional way, spending whatever time he had left uncomfortable and in pain. Somehow, the Master had managed to orchestrate continued torture for him; even in death, it was having the last laugh at his expense.

"Pigeons," scoffed Emma. "Pigeons and a crab. Who would have guessed?" Seeming to sense Killian's dark musings, she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Sorry, Killian. This sucks."

"They must have evolved together," muttered Regina absently. "Developed some kind of symbiosis; they shield the Vocivore, and it gives them, what, shelter? Protection from predators?"

"Blood," realized Killian suddenly. The inspiration had come out of nowhere, a thought buried deep within his subconscious that had burst unbidden into full awareness. He'd only ever seen it out of the corner of his eye, with no attention to spare, his own misery and how long he'd been given before the next Session at the forefront, always. But there they were. Pink bodies fluttering to earth, a writhing mass behind him as he left the church, squabbling among sticky smears and warm pools, dipping dainty beaks, plunging belly-first in some macabre bathing ritual…

Then outside. They would be strutting through the gutters, congregating near fresh corpses while his tunnel vision kept him limping in the direction of Z's cottage, never truly seeing how beady little eyes sized him up even as blood-crusted heads burrowed into decaying flesh in search of more nourishment.

"Um... what?!"

Killian returned to reality to find Emma and Regina staring at him with matching expressions of revulsion.

"The pigeons, they... they seemed to fear the noise and, f-for the most part, remained in the rafters... during..." He hesitated, winced, then carried on with great effort. "But afterward... the Master didn't care about the stains on the floor, yet I never saw fresh blood when I first arrived. I... I think the pigeons... consumed it."

Killian thought he might vomit. Both of his visitors seemed to share the feeling.

"Okay, that's... disgusting."

Regina gulped and plastered on a weak smirk. "So. ‘Carrion’ pigeons. I wonder if their feathers are just stained, then, or if they turn pink from some substance in the blood they eat, similar to flamingos."

"Gross," moaned Emma. She took a sip of her bottled water. "But hold on a sec. If they're so fond of... that... then why did they make their way all the way to Storybrooke? There's way less... that... around here."

"Guess they can do without it. Or maybe they live off roadkill out here."

"Overcrowding?" suggested Emma, answering her own question. "Better nesting sites?"

"Would have made an intriguing Exchanges topic." Killian cringed at the thought. "Had I known to ask."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the trio, until finally, Regina grunted her irritation at the whole thing.

"Well, I can try to confirm all of this once I get my hands on one of those little pests. Guess it's good to finally be getting some answ-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Hook, get your Thank-You cards ready; I've just-" Dr. Whale paused when he noticed Regina in the room. "Oh. Your Highness."

"Victor."

Whale caught Killian's glower and smirked. "What's that look for?"

"I'd explain but I'm still recovering from that utter shipwreck of a salutation."

"Sounds like you're feeling better. Guess I'm wasting my time, then, working around the clock?"

"Did you have something to tell us, Whale?" Emma's feigned irritation fooled no one--it was obvious she anticipated more important news.

"We've had a bit of a breakthrough, thanks to the data gleaned from you and Detective Jones." The physician held up a cautionary hand. "Results look promising, but this is by no means a sure thing, and there's no guarantee of long-term success. We'll of course continue to tweak it as we go along, but for now I think Killian could benefit from an initial dose as soon as possible."

"You think you've found a cure, then?" clarified Regina.

"A therapy," he corrected. "To slow the degeneration and maybe, eventually, reverse it. Tested on some lab animals, then this morning on two rescued slaves who were near death. They seem to be doing better." He pulled a hand-labeled vial from his pocket and set it on a table with a flourish. "The FDA would burn my license and probably toss me into prison for this. Good thing none of us officially exist."

As Killian stared at the little container of clear fluid onto which, suddenly, all of their hopes were pinned, he was struck with unexpected anxiety. It was all well and good when there was nothing that could be done, his fate seemingly sealed. Now that there was a reported chance, he wanted nothing more than for it to work. He wanted to live, to be a husband and father, to watch Hope grow and be there for her. The vial represented that future... and what if it didn't work?

Whale took Killian's silence as reluctance, and he sighed. "Yeah, I can't guarantee its safety either, or provide you with a list of possible side effects. Just that for you, with your weird, extra barrier that we still don't entirely understand, I'd like at least the first few doses to be administered directly into the CSF, and we do know the risks and side effects of lumbar puncture. But, well... listen, if it were me or a loved one in your position, I would still say that we need to try something, because the risks don't matter once the condition becomes terminal. Make sense?"

"None of that is in question," said Killian slowly. Then he flashed a short, tired smile at the physician, radiating self-deprecation. "Believe it or not, I actually do trust your medical expertise. I was only... praying for its success, I suppose."

Whale looked genuinely touched, for a fleeting instant. But soon enough his cocky demeanor was back. "You're right: I'm not sure I do believe it. I'm gonna take that admission as another symptom and then we can just carry on the way we always do."

He tossed some forms at Emma, ordering,

"Read and sign for him. Assuming you want to go through with it, we'll be back shortly to perform the procedure."

He left in a swirl of white lapels, muttering a polite farewell to Regina on his way. The queen turned back to Killian and Emma, wearing a slightly uncomfortable grin.

"Well. Good news, then. Or, a seed of hope, at least." She brushed invisible dust off her jacket and made other I'm-about-to-leave cues.

"Yeah. Thanks for filling us in about the pigeons." Emma glanced down at her phone, and a tiny frown creased her forehead. "Although you could have just called me."

Squirming, Regina blustered,

"I... thought the news would be better delivered in person. And... well... maybe there's a... small part of me that wanted to see how Killian was doing."

"That's most appreciated," said Killian. "Thank you."

Regina nodded stiffly, shot an, "I'll keep you informed," then exited.

Killian gritted his teeth through another bout of shivers--thankfully shorter this time--and when he could open his eyes again it was to find Emma watching in sympathy.

"Hope that's over with for now. You don't wanna be doing that while they're trying to stick a needle into your spine."

Throbbing and aching, Killian grimaced. He needed a distraction. "Everything okay, love?" he growled. "You were rather tight-lipped toward the end there."

It was then that he noticed the tear tracks staining her face.

"Emma?"

She lay aside the consent forms and wiped at her cheeks. "I've been so scared, Killian. Starting a month ago, but it hasn't stopped even with your rescue. I... well, Whale's been pretty pragmatic about your condition, and... truth is... I was starting to prepare myself to lose you." She caught two droplets before they had a chance to fall. "I mean, how horrible is that? You aren't even gone yet and I'm coaching myself to start saying goodbye."

She started to reach for his hand but stopped and gripped his wrist instead.

"That's human nature," he pointed out. "I've been doing it, too."

Her eyes glistened with sad questions. "We didn't... I mean, Whale thought that..."

"No, no one's told me anything; not before now at any rate. No one had to."

Emma leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, brushing back some stray hair as she murmured,

"I'm sorry, Killian. Shoulda known better than to give up so soon."

His eyes found the vial, which Dr. Whale had left on the table. "Do you think it will work?"

"It has to," she said simply. "If nothing else, to give us more time. And you know... Whale's kinda the expert at this sort of thing, even if his attitude leaves something to be desired."

Killian was tiring rapidly; it had been one hell of an afternoon, and this was the most he'd participated in a conversation since his rescue, if not longer. But he still had one final question before hopefully catching a nap between interruptions.

"Whale mentioned 'data,' gleaned from you and Jones. Did I hear that correctly?"

Emma waved a dismissive hand. "Just a couple of tests he did on us; no big deal."

"You subjected yourselves to becoming his laboratory animals, all on my account?"

"And to help the other rescued slaves." She flashed him a twinkling grin, which softened into loving fondness. "But... yeah, mostly for you."

"Thank you, Emma, truly."

She graced him with a quick kiss, saying,

"You're welcome, and like I said, no big deal, and that's all we're gonna say about that." Noticing his heavy eyelids, she smoothed an eyebrow and then sat back. "We better do that paperwork before you fall asleep. Want me to hold it up so you can read it, or I could read it aloud to you..."

"Don't bother about it, love," he murmured. "You can read them yourself if you'd like, but I think we both know that there isn't much they could say that would change our views on the matter."

Killian cast his eyes on Hope's artwork once more before succumbing to his weariness. Perhaps it would guard his dreams and bring positive thoughts from here on out. Because now that he had a fighting chance at survival, healing his psyche had suddenly become that much more important, and it would most definitely be a longer road than the not-insignificant path to physical health.

Would he be up to the challenge?

________________________________________________________________

AN: Well, obviously I failed to get this posted quickly enough. Blame @cocohook38 and @lillpon for killing me in their own wonderful ways :) Less than 36 hours til I’m on the plane to Ireland!!! Sorry to make you wait for the conclusion! It’s really not that long of a trip, though. I should be back to somewhat functional by July 10 :D

I’m looking for some milestone that gives me an excuse for “Winter Whump” to have lasted this long... XD The closest I’ve come is that I probably had the first inklings of what the premise would be sometime last summer, as sign-ups for the event closed June 30, 2018. So the final chapter will be released approximately 1 year later. *Shrug* Best I can do.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #ouat regina #dr whale #hospital #pigeons #lillpon found the clues #anyone else?#:D #vocivore ltd #if anyone is a star wars fan #and read the expanded universe novels #the idea for the pigeons came from the ysalamiri #from the thrawn trilogy #lol

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madammuffins · 5 years

Text

Fairy Summers

Fairy Summers is a short story request by @vhum for my 300 follower celebration.

It is a World of Make Believe AU featuring Chelsea x Puck told over a series of summers as they age together and maneuver through life’s struggles, fantastical and mortal.

I will be uploading in parts just for easier reading. Also, playlist.

CW: Contains coming-of-age themes, familial abuse situations.

~*~*~*~*

Part 1 ♣ Part 2

~*~*~*~*

Part 3 is a Montana Summer, Chelsea is now 9 and we see her family situation evolving as well as her relationship with Puck

~*~*~*~*

"I don't hate you, Mom." Brown eyes dropped to muck covered mud boots. "I know it's not your fault we're out here, and I know the family will understand." She rolled her shoulders to try and ease the ache, shuddered when the rake knocked against her leg leaving a wet brown mark against her pale skin.

"Oh good. Good, Chellers." Susan pushed a strand of dark hair that had fallen from Chelsea's ponytail back behind her ear. "I had worried you'd be mad about not being able to... you know, see everyone this year. I am just so glad you've learned from your earlier tantrums that those kind of outrageous-"

"I was just upset, Mom." Chelsea's eyes dropped to the hand that was still clenched around her arm. She wondered, briefly, if she'd have bruises.

It didn't matter out here on the farm though. The farm she couldn't ever leave now. The farm she was trapped in. The farm she was indentured to. The farm she'd be held prisoner in. Between the pigs and horses and cows and fence mending and irrigation repair no one would notice a few more fingerprint bruises on her arms or welts on her legs. No one could hear her crying to the chickens when she collected eggs out here either. Or the tadpoles in the river out on the East side.

A hell and a haven.

"I can understand that." Susan released her grip. "Perhaps we had spoiled you taking you to the island so much. Every year, every summer? Such an expensive trip for such a small child."

Chelsea kicked at the gravel beneath her, leaning on the rake now. The sun beat on the back of her head and neck uncomfortably. "When I finish the chicken coop can I walk down to the c-"

"You are too young to go to the store by yourself."

"Mom-" Chelsea stopped at the glare.

A quick snap of Susan's head, the chill radiating off her body. The frigid square of her posture; shoulders up, eyes widened, fists clenched, jaw set, legs spread.

"I. Said. No."

Chelsea nodded, eyes down, shoulders hunched. "Okay. Right, sorry. I shouldn’t have-"

"Why would you push me like that when your grandfather has just passed away? Why would you even try to-" Susan's body withered, hands tangling in her bun. "Why would you do this to me? You're supposed to be a good girl. I took you in because your parents died, nobody else wanted you and this is how you repay me?" The sorrow burned away with every word, anger fueling the older woman. "You know what, you can go one ahead and muck the horse stalls now."

"What?" Chelsea dropped the rake. "But that's Max's-"

"You wanna talk back, ungrateful child?" Susan smiled, cool and collected now, “you can polish the tack too while you're at it." She paused, hand on a cocked hip, the other cupped her ear as she tilted towards her ward. "Oh, what's this? No more smack talk? Nothing to say keiki? That's what I thought." Susan turned away. "Get it done before dinner." She crooned over her shoulder, "Or you don't get to eat tonight."

“Yes, Mom.” Chelsea bit the inside of her cheek clean through, tooth meeting tooth through the flesh.

She turned on a swift heel, spitting blood into the dirt as she spread new hay out on the coop floor, billowing her shirt off her back as she crouched down and backed out of the small wood enclosure. The hens screamed at her, pecking her bare legs. The two roosters paraded, watching with careful disdain. She eyed them but they didn’t hold her worry. The fuzzy legged brown and black zebra striped hen did. A vicious laying feather duster to-be who’d taken to crowing and eating any of the unfertilized eggs.

Easily the most vicious of the bunch. Chelsea had a few scars on her calves and hands to show it.

Latching the door she stored the plastic rake, grabbing the wheelbarrow, shovel, and metal forked rake instead. Horse stalls required heavier equipment. She paused at the cows watering trough midway, taking a handful of water and splashing the top of her head, dunking her hat, letting the water douse her shirt and shoulders. Dribbles fell soothingly under the fabric and trickled to her jean shorts, soaking into the denim, offering some form of relief she knew would become muggy and stuffy.

Soft nickering greeted her as she positioned her wheelbarrow, carefully setting it aside as she grabbed the hanging lead ropes and twisted them into makeshift halters. The horses were easy enough to grab with the right kind of manipulations. With a smile she leapt up onto the tack trunk and stretched back behind the grain shelf to where she hid the sugar cubes. A sharp smack at her backside made her yelp, lose her balance, fall hard on the ground, elbow hitting the metal body of the wheelbarrow.

"Max." She ground between clenched teeth, peering up at her brother.

The jerk laughed with his pubescent cronies. "Mom told me you got in trouble today. Don't know how something so small has such a big, smart mouth."

"Whatever." Chelsea wiped off her butt, wincing as her elbow popped.

"What were you reaching for back there anyway, idiot?"

"Mind your own business, stupid." She hissed. "Just let me muck the stalls alone." Her eyes drifted back to her secret stash.

Later. She promised the roan gelding as his muzzle roamed over her t-shirt and shorts snuffling for his treat. When Max isn't around, when I'm done. She looped the halter over his ears and nose, letting the big beast follow her past the boys, using the giant red flecked animal as a barrier.

"This is boring." One of the boys yawned. "Let's go to the store."

"Yeah." Another piped up. "She's just a baby, no fun to pick on and no fun to watch."

"Alright." Max shrugged, picking up his bike from where he dropped it. "Let's go."

Chelsea watched the boys speed off as she latched the gate, something ugly that had been bubbling in her stomach calming as the distance grew. A big head shoved against her.

"Alright, Tory." She laughed, pushing him through the cry of her aching elbow. "Lemme get the others."

"No need for that, Country Girl."

Chelsea didn't bother hiding her joy, flinging herself into the noticeably taller fae, tangling her arms around Puck; knocking them back into warm, dusty fur.

"You came!" She pushed at the Chestnut mare holding the both of them up, rubbing her withers in apology. "I didn't know if you would and-"

"I promised." His voice was sincere, the laugh that danced in the words still present. He pushed her away, "Why are you crying?"

"It's been awful." Chelsea admitted, following him out to the corral where he let the mare loose. "Ever since Grandpa died Mom's been just... so much worse. And..." She swallowed hard. "Max too?" She blinked, "Dad's the only one who is nice to me anymore. Sometimes it feel like we're trapped here together. He's not healthy anymore either. It's his heart and cholesemal. He's gotten a lot bigger." She held her hands out at her sides to demonstrate.

Puck frowned, "What do you mean Max? What's he doing?" He watched as Chelsea looped the halter over the last horses head, stifling a hiss at the swayback and hobbling gait.

"Oh, don't mind ol' Gremlin." Chelsea pat the greying face fondly. "He used to be a race horse till he went lame. Rode him too hard Grandpa said. He was up for the butchers block to be dog food but Grandpa had a soft spot. Mom doesn't like the dead weight but he's in good shape considering."

"That's cool." Puck jumped down to follow her out into the sun, "Max?"

Chelsea tsked. "He's just... touching me a lot more? Like today he..." She blushed, "He spanked me in front of his friends." She growled. "I really don't want to talk about-"

"Put this under his mattress." Puck shoved a thorn into her hand, glaring into her eyes. "If he does anything like that again this will poke him throughout the night until he repents. If he continues it will get worse until it draws blood and spreads across his body like a rash."

"Puck!" Chelsea gasped, "I can't do that!"

"You aren't." He snapped his fingers, "I am. Now, let's go play. The chores are done, I wanna show you some stuff. Montana is great! There are things here that I haven't seen in a while!"

~*~*~*~*~

"So that's an Alven!" Puck leaned in close, pants rolled up above his knees.

"Where?" Chelsea leaned back on her knees, eyes scanning the running stream frantically. "I don't-"

Puck's hand landed roughly on the top of her head, "Do you see that bubble floating on the surface?" He guided her vision. "Right there, inside of it, the barely there thing? You can just see it when the light hits just like- That! Yeah!"

"I see it!" Chelsea gasped, "It's so pretty!"

"Eh, you're prettier." Puck grinned toothy and sharp at her blush. "Sometimes they wear Otter skins to stay hidden. Maybe beaver skins here in the North like this, I don't know if you guys have otters."

"Oh, I don't know either." Chelsea frowned as she climbed the rivers bank back to their sandwiches and snacks.

"Anyway, if you're really nice to them they'll help you with protection and healing. They like to dance at night." Puck took a bite of his fruit. "Fish eat them though."

"That's not cool." Chelsea managed between swallows. "Why do they live in the water if they'll be eaten?"

"They'd dry up on land. You saw it. Just a wispy invisible thing." Puck waved his hand. "Not a thing of substance. They need the night and the moon and the water like you need your soda and oxygen." He swallowed rough, "Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow. It's about time for your mom to start hollering for dinner."

Chelsea nodded, gathering her food and handing it to the fae. "See you tomorrow, same time?"

"Same time." He winked, then blinked out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"No." Chelsea crouched further down, ignoring the creeping coolness of water over the butt of her shorts, "You gotta get further down. You can't tell me you've never caught frogs?"

"Not like this!" Puck grumbled. "I just have to ask back where I'm from. It's different. The things out here are so much less... compliant."

"Compliant." Chelsea snorted. "Now that's a word."

"Just because I'm smart-"

"Yeah, a smart-ass."

"You can't say grown up words!" Puck toppled into the stream, sending the frogs scattering.

"Oh man." Chelsea groaned, falling back with her friend, laying down in the water. "There goes the lesson. Now what?"

"Well, we could have a new lesson." Puck sat up, dripping to look over the pasture to the horses. "Teach me to ride them like you do."

"My mom will see you if I do that." Chelsea's eyes widened.

"I can make it so she doesn't." He promised. "I can make a lot of things happen that she doesn't have to notice."

Chelsea frowned for a moment, pulling a rock out from the bottom of the riverbed and cleaning it before putting it back. "Like you do with my chores?"

"Like I do with your chores. Hey, by the way, did you do what I said with that thorn?"

She blinked, fingers busying themselves with the hem of her shorts, "Alright, I'll teach you to ride the horse."

Chelsea laughed as the fae leapt up with a shout, "The curved back one?"

"Gremlin isn't fit to ride." Chelsea pointed out. "But Tory is. He's big, but he's a nice boy."

"Ahh, the black brown one was my second choice." Puck stuck his lips out in a pout but followed as Chelsea approached the red roan.

"Free's too stubborn for a new rider. Especially bareback."

"You're the expert I guess." The fae shrugged, then grinned as he rubbed his hands over the roans dusty coat. "Man he smells so good."

"I'm glad you think so." Chelsea ran her fingers over Tory's neck to his face. "Now, blow into his nose really slow."

"Uh... What?"

~*~*~*~

Chelsea let out a shuddering breath. "I really shouldn't be here, Puck." Her grip tightened around his fingers.

"I mean, it's just a corner store." Puck snorted, pushing the door open, gaze darting to the bell that chimed their entrance.

"Mom said-"

"She won't know, and what she doesn't know won't hurt her." He pulled the human down the candy isle. "Let's grab stuff, my mortal. I've got cash- real cash." He cut Chelsea's protest off.

Chelsea frowned, watching her dark haired companion load his arms with goodies. Convincing herself. Because Mom didn't know, did she? She didn't know Chelsea wasn't working on the irrigation. She didn't know Chelsea wasn't on the farm.

She didn't know.

Puck turned a corner, returning with large sodas and a wry grin. Chelsea smiled, fingers snaking around a Whatchamacallit. She could do this. She could be a kid, she could enjoy this wild abandon at least once.

~*~*~*~

The cemetery maybe was a weird place to meet. Puck had suggested it and Chelsea didn't have any second thoughts about flying there on her bike as fast as she could. But wandering the tombstones, the air holding a chill that promised Fall was approaching, it whispered of scarier things.

In the back of her mind she couldn't shake Puck's warning; the creatures out here are wilder. Chelsea rubbed her arms against the chicken skin that washed over her.

"Oi, Chelsea." The fae waved as he created the incline. "Why are you wandering way-"

"Are there ghosts?" Chelsea sat on the edge of a burial plot. "Do human spirits linger?"

Puck blanched, his grip on their snacks tightened. "Y- you know. I don't know." He sat beside her, at a distance. "I don't deal with that, it's not what our family does."

"Do you think..." Her voice dropped deep, "do you think my parents-? Back on the Island there are stories about-" She sucked in a breath. “It was a car accident. Mom says no one wanted me, but I know they did. She took me to court. She sued the family, the whole family, to have me. My real mom and dad had a living will, it just wasn’t legally recognized. It didn’t have the right signatures.” Chelsea wiped at a stray tear. “They died in a car accident that I was in. Why did I-”

Watery eyes turned to the horizon, ignoring the way her young friend watched her, scrutinizing. He breathed deep, setting the food down. Chelsea leaned into him as he pressed his body against her, his arm looping around her shoulder, her head falling to the crook of his neck. Slender fingers rubbed against sun warmed skin as her shoulders shook in quiet cries; a trick learned from harsh scoldings and long, lonely nights.

"I don't know about your parents. I don't know about ghosts." He whispered under the protective tree, old and exuding a peaceful kind of magic. "I know your parents must have been great people and I'm sorry you lost them."

Chelsea sniffled, "Why are you even here?"

The words were cold and curt, cutting Puck quick. "Because you're my friend."

"I'm just a stupid mortal." He winced physically at his own word being used against him. "I'll die just like they did one day."

"I love you." Pucks grip tightened, the words rushing out of him with vehemence. "I'm never leaving you. One day I’m going to marry you."

"You can't."

"And why?" He leapt up, defiant to the tips of his hair. “Fae do it all the time, stealing away people and keeping them.”

"I'm too young." She leaned back to watch him, wary and guarded.

"When you're older then." Green eyes rolled.

"What if I have a boyfriend?" A smile touched the corners of her mouth.

"I'll beat him up." The fae crouched, looking into Chelsea's face all youthful earnest and baby innocence. "I'll marry you. I love you. I'll punch anyone who tries to take you from me. I’ll take you away from this one day, and keep you and we can dance every night like my parents do and I’ll take you flying when I’m stronger and introduce you to all kinds of different fairy creatures. If you want to?"

Chelsea tilted her head, staring long into those emerald depths until she nodded.

The wind carried away her whispered "Okay."

~*~*~*~*

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