Kunidazai reunion sparking them finally, actually, truly getting together (cause they're idiots who have essentially been and old married couple for years and were the last to notice)? I think yes.

kunikida offering his apartment to Dazai, as his partners was in no shape to be lived in, after all the time that had passed with no upkeep and the time it spent in police custody, being milled through for any potential evidence. there was no way he could let him go back to it, not now, not tonight. Kunikida needs him close tonight.

Dazai takes him up on his offer. he doesn't want to be alone. he won't admit it, but he can't be alone, he doesn't know what it would do to him, what he would do to himself if he was left unattended. so he gratefully, while making jabs and cracking jokes at his partner, follows him home.

their night proceeds as normal, as it had for years of Dazai crashing with him. Kunikida cooks while Dazai sits up on his counter, rambling on and on about anything he can think of. Kunikida never realized how much he missed Dazai's voice until the relief of not cooking in silence hit him.

when they eat Dazai drags his partner to sit on the couch, even though Kunikida hates eating on the couch, knowing he would make an exception for him, just for tonight. they sit too close to just be friends, coworkers, partners even. their arms touch, their knees lean into one another.

when Dazai's finished with his dinner he lays a head in Kunikida's lap, turning on the TV, flipping through all of his partners recorded media until he finds the show they had been watch together, every episode that aired since he was arrested is recorded and unwatched. with blurry eyes he hits play. Kunikida's hand is in his hair and it doesn't leave.

they don't talk, they don't have to, they've talked enough. for now they just want to sit and feel each other's touch and hear each other's breathing. it's all they need.

its nearly 3 in the morning when Dazai finally starts to doze, he'd curled up into a ball, halfway in Kunikida's lap at that point, holding onto one of his partner's hands. Kunikida knows he should get them both to bed, he should offer Dazai the room and take the couch, that he should have the man some space after all he'd been through. but he aches at the thought of leaving his side, at being separated again.

but he doesn't even have to say anything, should have known he never had to, Dazai's always been sharp as a tack, his intuition, almost terrifyingly, even sharper.

His partner turned lazily in his arms, looking up at him with tired but knowing eyes. let's go to bed, they say. you don't have to go, you can stay, they assure. please don't go, they beg.

Kunikida breathes a long, heavy, sigh of relief.

"ok," he answers, before finally getting up after hours laid up on the couch, watching as Dazai continues to doze.

his heart aches with feverish heat. he'd missed him so much he had begun to go mad, had gone mad really, and now his partner was back, he was back and alive and mostly well, and now he was so relieved it ached in its own right.

he went about making up his bed for two, for Dazai, knowing he needed enough pillows and blankets for half a dozen people, but kept stopping to look over the back of the couch to make sure he was still there, still with him, that he hadn't been taken away again. by the time he's done he's probably crossed his apartment two to three dozen times, from his room to the couch again and again, before he's finally decided the room was good enough, there were enough blankets for Dazai to cover himself with and pillows to hide in.

when he goes to Dazai this time around, he kneels in front of him, carding a hand through his hair, tracing a thumb over his brow, to his nose, and then his cheek. his partner's eyes flutter open, a smile graces his lips.

"come on," he whispers, worried too loud a voice would shatter the delicate air of safety and comfort around them, "time for bed."

Dazai hums, getting up with a stretch and a yawn, much like a cat, before gingerly hopping off the couch and into Kunikida's arms, a false smile and air of cheekiness to him, hiding the ache Kunikida knew all too well resided in his partner's heart as much as it did his own, if not more. he holds him for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in his arms, before taking his hand and leading him to their room.

Dazai knows the drill. he goes to the other man's dresser and picks out a pair of his own sweatpants, ones he kept here for nights like these, and as per usual, one of Kunikida's shirts, gliding across the room, out into the hall, and into the bathroom.

Kunikida crawls into bed, feeling like he's been hit by a bus by the days events, and ends up half asleep by the time he feels Dazai crawling into bed next to him.

he expects to see bandages peeking from the borrowed nightshirt, to watch Dazai shield himself from the world, from his partner's touch, with a swarm of blankets, for Dazai to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for him to fall asleep first.

but tonight's different, so different.

Dazai's skin is bare where the shirt doesn't cover, his scars on display, each and every one of them, the burns, the cuts, the bullet wounds, the ones Kunikida has never one been able to decipher the story of. they're all bared to him, with no visible hesitation on Dazai's end.

when his partner climbs into bed he neglects the pile of blankets laid out for him, the pillows too. instead he lifts the comforter that's draped over the entirety of the bed, Kunikida included, sliding beneath it like it's natural to him, like he'd done it every night for months, years even.

he looks at Kunikida for a moment, silently asking for permission, which Kunikida cannot give fast enough, and then Dazai's in his arms, his own wrapped around his neck, nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.

Dazai pulls away, just a bit, Kunikida almost cries out, almost pulls him back in, but knows better. he lets dazai go, but he never leaves. he's moved just far back enough so they could both look each other in the face.

"I missed you," he spoke softly, his hands shifting to hold the blonde's face.

"I missed you too,"

there's a moment of silence.

"I love you." the words are hesitant, skittish even, like he's unsure of how Kunikida would take it.

"I love you too," he replies without a second thought. he loves his partner, he loves him, more than he knows what to do with, so much it drives him mad and makes him ache.

Dazai nods. he's thinking, Kunikida can see it on his face, his mind is going a million miles a second. worry flashes on Dazai's face, and Kunikida panics, goes to pull away, goes to give Dazai space, even if his own skin burns at the thought of parting with Dazai's.

but Dazai doesn't let him, he clings to him, "Don't go, please don't go, please," he begs.

his voice is desperate, so Kunikida doesn't. he watches his partners face twist and turn, watches as fear spreads across his brow and tears gather in his eyes, and he doesn't know what to do because this has never happened.

but than Dazai leans in, slowly, tugging Kunikida closer so they can meet in the middle. Kunikida feels his partners lips on his. he kisses him back. he can't decide if that was a foolish decision or not. It's soft, softer than either of them knew they were capable of, it's gentle and earnest and good.

Dazai stops after a moment, lingers in Kunikida's space before looking him in the eye once more, he doesn't speak, they don't need to. Dazai looks at him, tears running down his face, but he's smiling, he's ok. his thumbs wipe away tears Kunikida hadn't realized he'd shed. they're ok.

"I love you," Dazai mutter's again, speaking again before the other man can answer "Kunikida?"

"yes, Dazai?"

"don't go."

"I won't."

"promise?"

"I promise." its a foolish thing to say, but Dazai needs to hear it, hell, he needs to hear it, "I'm not going anywhere, so long as you promise me the same."

he hesitates, his eyes avoid Kunikida's for a moment, before returning from their shared gaze, "I'll try, I promise, I'll really try this time"

Kunikida nods, slowly moving to kiss Dazai's forehead, the brunette leans into it.

"I know you will," he whispers into Dazai's skin, "and I'll always be here when it's too hard to manage on your own."

there's silence again, but it doesn't feel wrong or heavy, its soft and warm and it feels right.

"I love you," Kunikida finally returns.

there's more silence, Dazai just looks at him, just watches, fingers playing with Kunikida's hair and drifting over his face until something clicks into place in the other man's mind, something nobody but Dazai could ever understand.

he leans in once more to kiss his cheek before he settles against Kunikida's chest, letting out a pleased huff as he curls himself into a ball, "goodnight," he muttered, almost instantly going still with sleep.

"goodnight," Kunikida replied, knowing Dazai wasn't going to hear him, pressing his own goodnight kiss to the top of Dazai's head before burying his face in the other man's hair (Dazai doesn't smell like his shampoo anymore. it makes something in him cringe. he tries and fails to ignore it).

it takes Kunikida a while to fall asleep, he's too busy running the night over and over and over again in his mind. he holds Dazai close and lets his fingers trace over scars, feeling over his too-thin frame, feeling each bone beneath his skin. there's so many thoughts rushing through his mind, to many fears, worries, anxieties, what ifs. what if I hurt him? what if I break him? what if I ruin this?

his thoughts are only stopped when Dazai gently nudges his head into his jaw, hands pulling Kunikida's off of him, holding them gently in his own (he should have known sleep wouldn't come that easy to Dazai).

he takes a deep breath, steadying himself and his mind, his partner's hands squeeze his gently, good, they seem to say, and sleep finally starts to pull at him once more.

he lets it happen, let's his eyes close and his mind go blank, knowing Dazai is safe, he's safe in his arms, he won't be taken away again. he sleeps knowing Dazai loves him, that he kissed him, that tomorrow they'll wake up like this, and maybe, just fucking maybe they can finally have this one happy ending.

Hypnotic

Pairing: phantom ghoul x fem reader

Summary: your friend had invited you to a ghost concert, little did you know that would kickstart something much bigger

Warnings: smoking?

——————————————————

You were chilling at your house listening to music when your phone started going off. You didn’t answer the first time but after the 4th time you check who it was. It was your friend y/f/n. You answered the phone since it must’ve been important.

“Hey what’s up?” You spoke through the phone.

“Hey bestie, do you wanna go to a concert with me later tonight.” Your friend asks.

“I don’t know, who are we going to see?” You asked. You weren’t too big on huge gatherings.

“It’s a band called ghost their a metal band I feel like you’ll like them, plus I got two out tickets so we will be up close.” Your friend explains as you listen.

You had to think about it. You did enjoy metal but not on a Wednesday night when you have work the next morning. Your friend kept asking until you eventually gave up and agreed.

“YESS, go get ready I’ll be there around 7.” Your friend said before hanging up.

7 will give you an hour to get ready. Not that you necessarily had to dress up, you didn’t want to wear your stained shirt and old grandma shorts.

You look through your closet for a while until you found a cute black dress. You felt a plain black dress would be a safe option for a metal band you didn’t know about.

————————————————————————

7 had creeped up fast, luckily you were finished getting ready by the time your friend had arrived. You and your friend were now currently on the way to the concert. On the way there your friend has been trying to explain who is who to you so you’ll have a better understanding.

After about 30 minutes you had arrived at the stadium. You still had yet to figure out who’s who. You two walked into the venue and went on a hunt for the merch booths. When you realized they were all around you and just crowded, you and your friend had decided to just go get food instead.

There weren’t many food options, you guys had a choice between hotdogs or nachos, neither sounded too appealing at the very moment. You decided to just get a drink. As you were standing there waiting you were looking around and taking in the atmosphere around you. As you were gazing your eyes found their way to a guy, perched against the building with two other guys who were smoking cigarettes.

You couldn’t help but stare, they were all so beautiful. One made eye contact with you. You guys stared at one another for a good two minutes before his friend had patted him on the shoulder and they disappeared.

“Damn that was weird.” You said loud enough for your friend to hear.

“What was?” She asked while eating her hotdog.

“Me and this dude just made eye contact and it felt weird.” You tried to explain to your best abilities.

It wasn’t weird in the sense as you felt awkward it was weird in the sense you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

————————————————————————

Once your friend had finished her food, the two of you made your way to the pit. You were surprised, you guys were literally close enough to touch the stage.

Their opening band was currently playing. They weren’t too bad, you actually quite enjoyed them.

Once the opening band had finished and announced ghost will be on soon, the stadium filled up really quick. You were now squished up against the barrier on the left side of the stage.

All of a sudden the stage lit up and music starts playing and everyone screams. When the curtain fell you were met with a very close view of the band. You joined everyone else in screaming.

During the song mommy dust a ghoul with a black guitar came up right in front of you. You didn’t know how to react, it was like he was starring into your soul. He starts to reach his hand out at you so you do the same. His fingers gently glide over yours.

You felt weird, like you were in a trance. It’s like you became hypnotic. You soon after snapped out of it when he pulled away to continue playing guitar.

————————————————————————

While the boys went back stage for a minute phantom wrote down his number and socials on a piece of paper before wrapping it around a pick.

When they went out and played their last few songs he kept planning how he was going to give it to you. By the end of the last song he was excited. They bowed while many fans were leaving.

You stayed there next to your friend. You were chatting with your friend when a ghoul came up to you and handed you something. You accepted it with a smile and watched him walk away.

When you and your friend had left the venue you opened it. You were shocked. You showed your friend and she freaked out too.

“YOU HAVE TO CALL HIM” your friend yelled at you.

“I don’t know..” you replied unsure. You didn’t wanna seem weird.

“He gave you his number! He wants you to contact him.” Your friend tried to reason.

“I guess I’ll call him…” you said still slightly unsure.

You picked up your phone and dialed the number.

After 3 rings a guy picked up….

React: "Return to Me" (from the POV of Someone Averse to RomComs, Part III): Wherein I Rename Bob the Builder

Bob has arrived at O'Reilly's (even Riley would have been a better name than Bob. I'm sorry-- I vowed to let the Bob name thing rest. I'm sorry, carry on Bob.)

He likes the restaurant, it seems, though he has to gird up his loins (metaphorically) before exiting the car. (Excellent choice on DD's part to make Bob muted and mumbling after the death of his wife-- unless ranting at a boardroom, of course.)

I see Bob passes waitress lady and Minnie Driver, nice nice.

Charlie's happy to set up his friend.

Bob decides he isn't happy to be set up, after all.

Gold.

"Matchy matchy, green squared." Cue "Aha ahahhaah ahoy ahee ahoo" noises from everyone but Bob.

Yeah, this isn't going to work out.

If you can't tell from Bob's polite smile, he's dying inside.

Let me better illustrate:

And a great touch (or should I say, purposed non-touch): Bob reaches for the jacket foisted upon him blindly, not wanting to engage... eye contact.

Charlie just said...

No, I have to restart that:

Charlie just said.

BOB'S A BUILDER.

REALLY.

YOU NAMED HIM BOB BECAUSE HE WAS A BUILDER--

Y'know.

I had patience with your name, Bob. I did. I was a generous soul. No more. Your name's Ben now. Live with it-- unlike Elizabeth (buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurn.) I'm not sorry, Ben, I'm just petty now. I made a deal with you and this happens. You should be ashamed Ben Bob. Bob Ben. ...Bobbin'? Bobben? ...Nah, I'll stick with Ben, easier that way.

Not Bob's date being unimpressed that he designed a building instead of owning it was classic.

Take that sick burn, Ben Bob.

Meet Cute After Date Is Moot.

Some of Bob-Ben's animation returns as he tries to place Minnie Driver.

"Do we know each other?"

"Uh..." she looks engaged for the first time, too. "I think so."

Benners makes jokes about an Irish Italian restaurant before date woman jumps in with "blah blah blah" hands at Minnie-- which Ben doesn't appreciate. And, obviously, neither does Grace/Minnie.

These names are getting to be a lot but I don't care.

Bob grabs Grace's arm before she leaves, asking for a cup of coffee to smooth things over but mainly to add an "I'm sorry" before it.

I'm likin' this bittersweet Minnie Driver, I'm likin' it a lot.

"No straw," he winks.

Minnie's likin' that a lot, too.

Bob's so caught up in his head that he doesn't even notice his phone ringing. A good portent for his future.

When he realizes he has a way to escape, Ben Bob bobs out of that booth so fast you'd wouldn't have known he'd been there. (>:DD)

He then walks half-way across the restaurant to oh-so-casually wait behind Grace the waitress... and catches her doing the ol' be-nice-to-your-waitstaff parlor trick: swap the waters and the Karen won't know.

Bob is delighted; Minnie, caught, glides away; and I'm having a grand old time.

Benjo Bobberino sets up his escape plan with Big Mike (again, those Arcadia bells are ringing. Yes, I know it's a common American thing to put Big with Mike, but still.)

"Oh, I bet that's refreshing." Bobcalifragilisticexpialadocious deadpans, staring at the bottled tap water and sharing a private joke with Minnie.

Ben nearly murders a hag when she continues her badgering (if his strained intake of breath is anything to go by); and covers for his friend's stupid jokes, smoothing it over with a handwave.

Charlie, my man, Benanas is doing you a favor here. Don't embarrass yourself too badly.

I see you, Bob Ben (returning to the classics) wanting to try Grace's favorite dish and getting fed up when date has the gall to call it fattening and ask if anything's not covered in oil.

"No-- some we boil in Swiss water."

Meet Cute got a hearty laugh out of Mr. Morose, who doesn't care if the table is confused and not chuckling along.

Karen literally pulled the manager card. Her name's forever stamped as Karen to me, bravissima madame.

Ben faking his way through the phone convo is *chef's kisses.*

Charlie knows. "Byyyyyyyye."

Grace runs over, trying to make sure she hasn't offended her patron; and Ben is way too eager to assure her that the Karen woman isn't his girlfriend or even a friend.

Mr. Alive and Bantery, thou hast sort of returned.

Grace hands him takeout-- "Mr... Atsuki"-- and I don't know if I've seen anything greater in 24 hours.

...Oh wait, I haven't seen anything else in 24 hours.

Someone else is touched, too.

You see, my mutuals, this here is second marriage material: not as breakable as the first lovely, lost wife-- she has a little spit under her tongue.

My man Robert Benjamin has a lot to think over.

Gotta end it there for now~

Enjoy!

Winchester's x Demon Sister! Reader

Warnings: Mention of burning alive, mention of torture and abusive past

"You know I find it hard to believe that you don't recognize your own Daughter," I played with the blade of John's hunting knife, "Were you that much of an absent father?" I looked up at the three hunters I hold hostage. my black eyes staring at them, a deadpanned look across my may face.

"I don't have a daughter!" he lost his cool fast. he yelled at me and I barely said anything.

"Of course you do," I bent down to his eye level, "You just forgot about her in the fire."

~~~~~22 years before~~~~~

3rd POV

Marry had just tucked in her two latest pride and joys. today was their six-month birthdays and something about that felt familiar to Marry as she forgot about it. as she walked out of the room after kissing the twins goodnight, she dismissed the feeling.

Mary passes John as she leaves the nursery, he's on his way to put Dean to bed. Once all children were put to bed, the adults of the house decided that it was their turn to turn in fr the night.

About an hour or two later, Mary stirs in her sleep. the noise from the baby monitor keeping her from sleeping. he sat up ready to make her way to the nursery to see little Sammy and precious (Y/N). she walked through the hall and sees a dim light coming from the TV downstairs.

Mary looks into the room in which the baby duo occupied, just to see the silhouette of her husband standing over the crib both babies slept in. they hadn't expected twins so they had only used the one that Dean used.

"John?" Mary spoke up, "Are they hungry?" she queried.

"Shh." her Husband shushed, she took it as a sign that he had just managed to put the two tots to bed. Mary made her way downstairs to turn off the TV, once she made her way to the bottom of the wooded steps she saw the last thing she expected to see.

On the couch was her husband sleeping, but in the room was John putting the babies to sleep. Marry quickly darted up the stairs turning on the lights to her own death. John awoke to the sounds of his wife screaming.

John saw the sight of the fire in the nursery, he also saw Dean standing in the hall scared.

"Get your siblings!" he shouted at the poor child. as he ran down the stairs to call for help.

~~~~~Present day~~~~~

(Y/N)'s POV

"(Y/N)?" his voice shook.

"Ding! Ding! ding!" I stood straight, "We have a winner!" I pointed at him.

"Get out of her, you black-eyed bitch!" I heard Dean speak up from the end of the line.

"Oh Dee," I chuckled, "I am your sister, I'm just upgraded." I smiled, looking back down at the knife I'm now twisting in my palm.

"You're not my sister, you're just a girl I met at school." his voice turned down yet sterned.

~~~~~9 years before~~~~~

Another day, another motel, another school. I never knew why we moved around a lot. all I knew was that it was for dad's work. I woke up to a single-bed hotel room once again. why only one bed you may ask? well, my dad is a crossroads demon for Hell so he's never around, but when he is I get new marks on my skin.

I got ready for school, I put on a black sweater with a white-collar shirt underneath. I slid my legs into a pair of ripped black jeans and tied my dirt-stained white converse. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked to the school.

the day went by miserably slow. I was walking to the lunchroom, books safely tucked into my locker. I wasn't going to eat anything, I just had to be there. I felt someone's shoulder knock into mine.

"Sorry." I squeaked out, my frame folding into itself. I looked at the person I ran into. he looked to be a senior, 6' 7" and built like a chad.

"You think you can just push me around?" his voice boomed throughout the hall, making everyone stop.

"n-no," I stuttered. I felt my shoulder get grabbed and my back gets pushed up against the locker.

"I'm gonna make you pay for even laying eyes on me short stack!" he reeled his fist back, I closed my eyes waiting for the impact.

"You wanna think about that again?" a stern voice spoke up. I opened my eyes to see a familiar face, he had light freckles on his skin, dark brown hair, and an old leather jacket. he was always at every school I went to, and always managed to get the reputation of the bad boy everyone was scared of.

the giant quickly scurried off, leaving Dean and me in the same spot.

"You okay?" he looked at me.

"mm." I hummed, "Thanks, Dean." I quietly thanked about to make my way to the lunchroom.

"You know me?" he stopped me.

"Of course, you're always at every school I go to." I looked back at him, "Almost like you follow me." I smiled. most are scared of him, but when you see him almost every day for 13 years you tend to not be as scared.

~~~~~Present day~~~~~

Ever since that day he protected me from bullies and on occasion tended to my wounds caused by my father.

"That happens to also be your sister." I smiled at him. "I swear we crossed paths so many times. I was left to burn in a fire, saved by a demon instead of my own father, always in the same motel just one room over, in the same class as Sam, always saved by Dean, always kicked out by John, and always left behind for the wolves." I walked around them.

"The demon did this to you," Sam concluded.

"You'd think that wouldn't you?" I kneeled in front of him, my knife gliding across his jaw. "Sam it always was you, you were the one to push me over the edge."

~~~~~5 Years Before~~~~~

"You might have had Dean fooled but I'm not!" sam yelled at me. I was hoping Dee would be at their room so he could help me sew up a deep gash I got on my arm. a wound that was being held closed by an old tee-shirt. "I know you are one of those things that killed our mother!"

"Sammy what are you talking about?" tears of pain dried upon my face, but new tears forming on my face. how could Same think I'm a monster?

"Don't call me that!" he pushed me back a little from my shoulders. the harsh movement caused a sting in my wound, but I won't let any pain show now. "I hate you I always have! You're nothing but a monster!" he grabbed my uninjured arm and shoved me out of the room. I stood outside as he slammed the door in my face.

something changed in me that day. something big broke. I hated what I was, so I changed in that split second. my eyes turned black that night.

~~~~~Present day~~~~~

"You know you don't have to watch me." I stood up and looked in the direction of Crowley, the demon who found me burning. "I've been planing this since I was 17." I smiled, watching him disappear. I looked around the room, making sure that he was absolutely gone.

"Thank Lucifer he's gone!" I smiled, I quickly walked over to Dean undoing his restraints.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I may be a demon now, but I still care about you Dee," I said standing up hugging him after dropping the knife.

"I know." he hugged back.

"Dean are you crazy? She's a demon?!" I heard John yell.

"And you left your child to burn alive so it's not like you're all that good either." I went over to sam to undo his restraints too.

"How do we know we can trust you?"

"Well you never did before, so don't know." I smiled, crawling over to John's chair.

"Sam, get the Colt." I heard Sam listen to John.

"Wrong direction Sammy boy." I pulled the gun out of my pants while I stood up.

"So you planned to get the gun from us?" john stood up, facing me.

"no, I'll give it back once you guys are out of  here." I looked him in the eyes.

"She wouldn't hurt us, dad." I heard Dean speak from his spot near Sam.

"And how can we trust her?" venom leaked from the old man's words.

"Fine." I sighed, "Let's make a deal." I smiled at them.

"For what our souls, you might as well kill us now then." sam sounded angry

"No of course not. I'm a demon there for I have to keep the deals I make, I let you escape if you shoot me, not dead but in the shoulder."

"Why?"

"I don't want to hurt you guys, so I need to make it seem like you escaped on your own without my help."

"And you thought I wouldn't notice?" I heard crowly say from behind me.

"I'm not going to hurt them." I looked at him.

"No you were always too sensitive, it's the human in you." I threw the colt at Dee.

"And it what has kept me alive." I smile at him.

"It's what's going to kill you,"

"But you haven't killed me, I think that's your human side." he stepped in front of me.

"You better choose your next words very wisely," he advised

"If you wanted to kill you would have by know, face it. you care for me a little bit." he snapped his fingers and I was back in hell. in my room, well more like a holding cell.

"Argue with Crowley again?" a demon asked me from outside from my cell.

"Mmhmm." I slumped on the floor in the corner of the small cement room. just hoping that my brothers would come and save me this time.

Hi, love your metas and your fic. I think you mentioned somwhere that at the end of BD Aro was trying to prevent the fight. What were his motives? According to Edward, the Volturi are cowards, but I didn't get this feeling. Caius was begging for a battle, the guard vocally proclaimed willingness to die for the cause... hell, Jane had to be restrained from running to Bella and punching her in the throat. And I find it unlikely that their leader is less brave than them. Explain Aro's brain pls

Thank you so much! That’s really nice of you to say. And sorry for the late answer.

And explain Aro’s brain, whew. That is a very big question with a very long answer and this post will be a manifesto by the time I’m done. But you wanted Aro’s brain explained so manifesto it is.

So, before we go anywhere I have to make the distinction between Aro of the books and Aro of the movies. Those two are different people.

Starting with appearance, because casting does a lot for me and if a big deviation is made it better be like Ruth Wilson as Marisa Coulter, which is to say it better fit the character. Also, disclaimer, I think most of Twilight was miscast, and especially the Volturi. I’m forever dying at Caius looking like Lucius Malfoy. However, this is an Aro post, so we’re highlighting Aro.

Aro of the books is a twenty-something Greek with skin that has petrified and eyes covered in a milky sort of film, which totals to him looking perfect, as all vampires do, yet frail. When he walks it looks like he’s gliding. This is an otherworldly, ancient, inhuman being. He’s energetic and excitable, yes, but if anything that should add to how very other he is. Casting Michael Sheen is a clear signal that the movies were going in a completely different direction with Aro. Sheen is a great actor who played what he was given perfectly, but what he was given was a very different character.

In New Moon the book, Aro first rejects Edward request because this is Carlisle’s gifted son, and more, this is not what the Volturi do. They are not hitmen. It’s just a big no all around.

Bella enters, and the Aro she meets is a very polite and gracious man who’s delighted to see the human still alive, and pleased Carlisle’s son won’t be suicidal anymore. However, Edward fully intended to step into the sunlight in the middle of Volterra, specifically to provoke the Volturi, and he has broken the law with Bella. Further, Edward makes it clear that he fully intends to walk out of Volterra with his human still human, and that she’ll die of old age if he gets his way. Edward’s contempt of the law could not be more clear. However, Alice shows Aro that Bella’s fate is sealed, she turns or she dies. The law will be upheld. Aro is glad to hear it, and lets the Cullens all go home.

All in all, it’s a very tense occasion where Edward has put Aro in a difficult position, because he’s trying to force him to kill his best friend’s son, and Aro goes “YES THANK GOD” when Alice finally gives him an out.

New Moon of the movies was not this. Starting with the flashback (because I’m being thorough), Aro executes a lowly criminal himself.  I object to that, I think that’s a menial task and Aro doing it himself made the Volturi look less regal, not more. Cut to the present day, Aro rejects Edward’s request because he doesn’t want to waste his gift. We get the whole meeting with Bella, and Aro… well I don’t know why he does any of the things he does. This guy never mentions his friendship to Carlisle, tries to kill our plucky heroes three times in the space of one minute (one, gives Felix the order to kill Bella, stopped by Edward. Two, moves to decapitate Edward, stopped by Bella. Three, he’s about to eat Bella, stopped by Alice), and when he lets them go it feels terribly convenient.

This was a guy written to be the villain of the series, and it showed.

Cut to Breaking Dawn part I’s ending scene, and while I love the song choice for the scene, and fully agree that Aro considers misspelling Carlisle’s name to be a capital offense, the scene itself… we are presented with a villainous, power-hungry megalomaniac who’s just waiting to strike against the Cullens.

We then get Breaking Dawn part II, and I haven’t seen that movie in years but I remember the fight scene well enough. Aro kills Carlisle with the biggest grin on his face, and gives the go-ahead to his Volturi to kill the surviving Cullens and their witnesses.

Contrast that with canon, where Aro’s first words to Carlisle are «Nothing would make me happier than preserving your life today». Now, he’s making it very clear that this meeting will most likely end with Carlisle’s death, but he’s not happy about it. He’s certainly not going to kill him with a smile on his face and laughter in his heart.

The movies needed a hammy villain, and that’s what Michael Sheen played. It is not who Aro is, at all. And he’s not the only character this happened to, but again, this is an Aro post so I’m not going to start raging like Don Corleone about what they did to my boys.

So, with the movies firmly expelled from the post, let’s look at the Twilight series from Aro’s point of view.

Or, rather, we’ll have to start earlier because Aro’s decisions throughout the series are pretty clearly motivated by Carlisle. And that means considering, “why is Carlisle so important, anyway?”

Consider these things: one, Aro is gifted with the power of knowing every single thought a person has ever had. He knows your soul. Two, Aro is the leader of the supernatural world, he has been for over a thousand years.

How many friends does a person with that power and in that position have?

Three, who does Aro even come into contact with?

Starting with number three, for Aro it’s going to be 1) criminals, 2) Volturi guard hopefuls, 3) Weirdos like Laurent who are wasting Aro’s time.

(“But what about the guard!” Well, while we observe close interpersonal relationships between Aro and Jane, and Aro and Renata, and one can assume Corin to be close to the wives, the distinction between Volturi coven and Volturi guard remains. The guards are servants, in some cases beloved servants, but servants nonetheless. It would be inappropriate and weird for Aro to start slumming it with Demetri and Felix)

So, Aro doesn’t get out much, which brings us to point two. The people he does meet, and who are willing to entertain a friendship with the Volturi leader, are going to be people who want something. And that might work for some rulers, Louis XIV built Versailles specifically to make his subjects do this for him, but he had something to gain politically from that. Aro does not, his power is supreme without a need to tolerate brown nosers. More, with his own and Marcus’ gifts, he’ll know right away that he’s being used for power. He would get nothing out of it.

Finally point one, Aro’s gift. Say that we have a vampire who’s not a weirdo and who thinks Aro’s a cool dude. Well, the question now is, who would ever want a person in their life who knows all there is to know about them? I wouldn't want anybody to know every thought I've ever had, I certainly would never seek out a person to know me that deeply when I could just go find normal people to be friends with instead. Not to mention how incredibly unequal such a friendship would be.

In short, I don’t think Aro has any friends.

Enter Carlisle a very amiable person who cherishes Aro for his personality, and doesn’t mind having his mind read. Aro just found a unicorn. Carlisle on his end likes Aro so much that he lives with him for decades. Even if you want to read their relationship as platonic, that’s still a very strong friendship.

Point being that Carlisle is unbelievably precious to Aro, and so very unique. Aro has lived for over three millennia, and never met anyone like this before. There won’t be another Carlisle.

This in turn makes him willing to stretch as far as he can to preserve that friendship and, as the plot thickens, keep Carlisle alive.

Fast forwards to 2006, and Aro is sitting in Volterra minding his own business when Carlisle’s son walks into town demanding his own execution. He has not committed any crimes. Not only is assisted suicide not something the Volturi even do, but this would ruin Aro’s friendship with Carlisle. Even if Carlisle was miraculously understanding of Aro killing his son (which I can’t imagine he would be), this would never leave the air between them. Carlisle could never be around him again after something like that.

So, Aro turns down Edward’s request. “Stupid Volturi man ruining my dramatic suicide, I’ll show him who’s boss!” Edward replies, and runs shirtless into the sunlight. I’m sure Aro was just dying, you had “The Sound of Silence” playing as he stared into nothingness because how is this happening to him. A whiplash of an hour later, Bella is alive again, Aro is happy, we can be done with this now, right? Right?!

No, Edward says, we cannot be done with this. He’s still refusing to turn Bella.

And so we get that whole New Moon exchange where Aro very tellingly shoves the part where Edward WALKED INTO THE SUNLIGHT IN VOLTERRA under the carpet and out of the conversation (for comparison: Irina is executed for false testimony and Bree for breaking a law she didn’t know existed), and he even allows Bella to leave human when he could easily have bitten her himself to keep the Cullens honest. This guy went out of his way to be lenient and show the Cullens good faith.

And then a few months later Irina walks into Volterra, bearing memories of what is unmistakably a Cullen immortal child.

Aro may care for Carlisle, but this is the guy who killed his baby sister so he’d still have Marcus’ gift. He will bend far, very far, for those he cares about, but he will not break. It’s duty above love, Volturi above Aro’s personal preferences. An immortal child is not an offense that can be tolerated, and so it’ll be Didyme 2: Aro Kills Someone He Loves Boogaloo.

By now I think it should be quite clear why I think Aro was trying to prevent the fight. Battle would have meant Carlisle’s certain death.

(And that’s even assuming the Volturi won the fight. With Bella there, there was a chance the Volturi wouldn’t prevail. But even before Bella started showing off, Aro was very much hoping this wouldn’t be another Didyme situation.)

Thick As Thieves (Zuko x Reader)

-> In which Azula got her redemption arc and gets to be the cool aunt.

Zuko has been equally dreading and anticipating this day for months. The day his sister will finally be released from the asylum on a nearby island. She was continuously monitored and deemed stable now, safe enough to roam free again and insert herself back to society. His last encounter with her a few years back wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience so he doesn’t know what to expect now, will it go awry again? or has she really turned a new leaf? guess he’ll find out sooner than later.

His worries extend far beyond his own discomfort of facing his deranged and misguided sister because he also has others to worry about, he’s got his own family now. A wife, a daughter, and a son. His wife had briefly met Azula when she tagged along with him at one of his visits but he can’t say the same for the younglings. Izumi and Isao, the new beloved princess and prince of the Fire Nation, his pride and joy.

Being a father suprisingly comes natural to him despite his dreadful childhood and having no father figure to look up to. He learnt a lot from watching Hakoda though, he owed that man a lot. Especially now that the closest thing that he has to a father is gone. Uncle Iroh decided that he had done all he could in the material world and chose to ascend to the Spirit World, leaving his mortal body behind and letting his soul make a new home there.

It was a decision that Zuko supports wholeheartedly, but still sometimes he wishes that Iroh is still around to guide him with his wisdom. Now he has this world of ruling and fatherhood that he has to navigate on his own, hoping that he won’t mess it up.

“Love, are you ready?” Y/N’s gentle voice broken his train of thoughts, pulling him back into the real world.

“Yeah... just thinking about... things” He replied lamely, reaching out for her hand which she gives. He always love playing around with her fingers, the contact brings him comfort.

“Don’t get lost in your head too much, okay?” She said, giving him a tender smile.

He stares back at the love of his life appreciatively and gives her a sure nod.

“I just... I don’t know how to feel, it’s like i’m scared of expecting anything if it’ll just put myself up for a disappointment. You know how much of a wildcard she is” Zuko said timidly, looking small and more vulnerable than he has been for years.

“I know Zuko, this must be soo confusing for you, i’m scared too but we’re in this together right? I’ll be with you every step of the way” Y/N assure him, trying to subdue his worries as much as she could. Rubbing comforting touches at his shoulder.

“Spirits, Y/N. What did I ever do to deserve you?” He leaned his head back a bit so that he can nuzzle it into her stomach.

She hums, “I don’t know, you must be a hero or something with what a great catch I am” She grins teasingly, easing up the tension.

She considers it as a triumph when her husband lets out a scoff of disbelief, “Woman you are unbelieveable” Shaking his head at her.

“Part of the charm, love”

To that he can’t help but burst out laughing.

Oh the married life.

———————————————————————

Azula stood on her own two feet, no longer bounded by straitjacket nor in a wheelchair. She stood as a free woman now. She wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘free and changed woman’ because some things just scarred too deep too remove but the therapies she undergo definitely did some good. So was the time she spent away from the capital and from the expectations she used to bear.

Now she stands face to face with Zuko, all out in his Fire Lord regalia. It suits him, not that she would admit that out loud, her pride is still very much intact after all.

“Should I bow to you now?” Her voice sends a cold chill running through Zuko, despite being locked away it seems that his sister managed to keep the bite in her.

“According to formalities you should, but no” He replied, feigning indifferent.

“Whatever you say, Fire Lord Zuzu”

Zuko’s composure cracks at the sound of his childhood nickname combined with what is now his title, one of his eyes twitching in annoyance. From his peripheral vision, he saw Y/N raising one of her hands in front of her mouth to hide her growing smile and a laugh that threatens to escape.

Even the guards who are standing by and thus being a part of this reunion seems to have trouble doing their part after witnessing this exchange. The sound of giggling little voices reaches his ears, at this he softens and put his hands on Izumi and Isao’s shoulder.

“Now who might these be?” Azula said as she redirects her line of vision to the source of noise, raising both of her eyebrows expectantly.

“This is my children, Izumi my eldest....” Zuko said while patting her head lovingly then he moves to do the same to his son, “And Isao, her younger brother”

Azula’s eyes roamed over them, taking in every features as if sizing them up, then she stops when she reaches their faces. Molten gold meets its exact pair, a courtesy of the royal family (superior) gene pool if she say so herself. That eye color might as well be their trademark after all.

“Well hello there little ones, i’m Aunty Azula” She said as she carefully took a step closer towards them. The guards almost block her away but Zuko raised his hand to signal them to be at ease and let her pass.

Izumi shrinks back, scared but at awe at the same time at her aunt’s cat-like movement. It’s soo smooth she looks like she is gliding across the floor and now she’s in front of them in no time. She may be 7 but she’s old enough to understand things, things that she heard people say in a whispers about her aunt whom she never met before. And that is enough to make her reluctant.

Izumi looked to her right at her little brother but Isao doesn’t show the slightest hint of being unfazed. In fact he looks intrigued.

There was a small awkward silence moment before a huge grin bloomed on Isao’s face, making his puffy cheeks even more prominent.

“Hey there aunty! i’m sooo pumped to meet you” He said innocently, excitement oozing from his very being.

Azula is caught off guard by such a welcoming reaction, this is not something that she expected at all. She never even realized her inadequacy in dealing with children until she’s finally forced to face one. What’s the first thing that she should even do? feed them flaming fire flakes? use them as target practice? Agni, Zuzu better not do anything stupid like leaving her with any of them.

Y/N watched as her sister in law seems to be frozen in place, looking at her son as if he’s an alien being. Who knew that the great Azula will one day be stupefied at a mere interaction with a 4 years old child? well the more you know.

“Sooo... lunch, anyone?” Y/N said, a pathetic attempt to break the ice.

Azula just walked past them without a second glance. Making her way inside the palace that she once called home, with Isao tailing behind. Small feet attempting to catch up to her long strides. Zuko and Y/N shared a glance at each other, to which he just shrugs and they too follow after her.

———————————————————————

A week has passed since she came back and Azula is adjusting pretty nicely, well people still cower at the sight of her and most of them stay as far as they can but not that she mind that.

Well everyone except this little bugger called Isao aka his brother’s second spawn. He loves following her around and looking at her with those annoying big round eyes, think that would work on her too huh? too bad she hates children. He really doesn’t know what’s good for him.

Tonight they’re having a family dinner. To formally celebrate her coming back or whatever. At least the food is good. The mouth-watering scent of smoked sea slug, roast duck, komodo sausages, extra spicy fire noodles, and fruit tart filled the air. It’s starting to look more and more like a feast instead of a nice and quiet family dinner. Trust her brother to always make a spectacle out of everything.

Azula was minding her own business, scooping bits of this and that into her plate when the empty chair beside her got dragged back by a pair of small hands. Isao’s round face greeted her as she watches his sorry attempt at climbing the chair. Grumbling, she picks him up and put him securely on top of it before he hits his head on the side of the table or something.

“Thanks Aunty Azula!” He said, giving her his signature wide grin.

“Ughh whatever kiddo”

Azula turns her attention towards the head of the table where Zuko and Y/N are currently sitting, haven’t yet realized that their son has disappeared from his designated chair.

Azula clears her throat, that successfully got their attention.

“Zuko, Y/N would you mind giving some help over here? it’s trying to bond again” A hint of awkwardness creeps into her voice, face scrunching, she’s even shifting left and right in her seat.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “It’s got a name, Azula and he’s your nephew so play nice”

“B-but....” Before she could voice her protest, the couple has already turned their attention away.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, Isao’s curious stares burning into her.

Once she opens her eyes again, the boy is already stuffing his mouth full of sausages.

“I guess i’m stuck with you then” She said defeatedly as she watches him happily munching his food down.

———————————————————————

“You know you look exactly like your father when he was little” Azula said to the boy whom she’s babysitting, it pains her to even think about this. What were Zuko and Y/N even thinking when they decided that leaving their son to her care for the day is the best idea. Does she look like she’ll make a good nanny? Spirits, the audacity.

This carbon copy of Zuko is currently sitting beside the pond, with two little feets dangling in the water, creating small ripples here and there. The turtle ducks happily swam around him, waiting for him to throw in another good measure of breadcrumbs.

“Yeah I know that! Grandfather Iroh used to say that a lot” He said to which Azula scoffed and tsked under her breath, “Grandfather Iroh”

“Of course of course....” She said while lazily drawing patterns on the grass, “Good ‘ol Grandfather Iroh”

Isao stops his feeding session and crawled to where Azula is sitting.

“Do you know that my name means ‘honor’ or ‘meritorious’ ? How cool is that huh!? father picked that out himself” He said, wide eyed. Visibly bouncing in his seat while giving her this piece of information.

Azula lets out an incredulous chuckle as she shakes her head, “Of course Zuzu would choose something like that as a name, your father was obsessed with his honor” Drawling out the word obsessed to make her point clear.

“But I think it suits you, little one. So there’s that” She said giving him a shrug. That earned her a smile and Isao makes an exaggerated air fist pump, clearly pleased.

Azula reached out for the picnic basket that Y/N has earlier prepared for them, taking out the wrapped mochi and some tea. She then gives it to Isao, right on time as she hears his stomach rumble.

“Hungry are we? the mochi looks delicious but too bad the tea is already cold”

“Not to worry about that Aunty Azula! I got a little trick I can show you”

Imagine her surprise when fire sparks out of his fingertips, dancing on the bottom of the teapot, warming it quickly to a nice temperature.

“What?!?! how did you do that?” She said still pretty much in shock, watching as the fire slowly dies down.

“I once watched Grandfather Iroh do it, I haven’t figured out how then but now I can do it on command”

This boy really has no idea that he just executed a firebending trick perfectly didn’t he? warming up tea is a complicated form of art, it has to be done perfectly for the leaves and spices to fully release its essence. Such a raw talent in someone so young.

Come to think of it, even if he knows, he wouldn’t have thought about it too much nor dwell on it. If Azula got it right, Zuko’s eldest is a non-bender so Isao most likely or not has no experience in watching a firebending training.

“Kiddo, you can firebend? is there any other tricks that you can do?” Azula asked in an encouraging tone, this attitude is unusual coming from her but even she can’t deny that she has developed a soft spot for her nephew.

“I can create little fire here and there or warm myself up if I needed to but that’s all” Isao replied, looking her straight in the eye.

Azula hums as the gears in her brain is starting to turn, “Would you like me to teach you some things?”

Isao jumps up and down in excitement, this is all soo exciting! he is actually bonding with his aunt.

What an interesting turn of event indeed.

———————————————————————

They are in the middle of a rather pleasant dinner that night when Azula decided to break the news to her brother and sister in law.

“Do any of you know that your son is a firebender?”

The reaction that she earned is priceless, Zuko starts choking on his food whereas Y/N’s jaw dropped open, mouth forming a perfect O-shape.

“He hasn’t shown any sign of firebending abilities, we thought he’s a non-bender like his sister” Y/N answers for her husband because Zuko is still trying to clear up his air pipe.

“Firecracker, why don’t you show the trick that I taught you earlier?” Azula said to Isao, beckoning him with her fingers.

He excitedly nodded and turns to face his parents. He took a deep breath and concentrate, sparks of fire lights up from his fingertips. Slowly he guides the fire into forming a small circle in front of him, the circle then starts to take shape into a dragon, a fire dragon.

Y/N gasps as the shape becomes more and more prominent, flying across the dining hall but never too hot to burn anything. It’s an incredible thing to watch, she is indeed a proud mother. Even Izumi is enjoying the show, her eyes following the dragon’s every movement. Zuko is at loss for words, he can’t believe that his 4 years old son not only can firebend, but he’s damn good at it too. Azula may have discovered his potentials, but of course it’s up to him to mastered it.

Isao can only holds the form for 5 minutes before the fire burns out, after all he’s still young and has a lot more to learn, but that display is enough to make everyone clap their hands.

“Firecracker, you are marvelous! told you they’ll love it” Azula said as she moved one of her hands to tussle his hair teasingly.

Both Zuko and Y/N rushed from their seats to engulf Isao in a hug, Y/N peppering little kisses all over his face, meanwhile Zuko looks as if he’s high on cactus juice.

“Father, mother...stop....I can’t breathe” Little Isao complaints as he attempts to break free.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Y/N said as she bends her knees so that she can be at head level with her son.

“I want to do it right, mother. That’s why I learned some new tricks first before I showed it to you. I don’t want to accidently burn something” Isao replied.

“And you will do it right, son. I’ll make sure of it” Zuko said as he gaze at his son fondly.

“Yeah! you’ll be a great firebender, brother” Izumi joins in and smiles encouragingly.

Azula can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips. This is a scene that she and the palace walls never got to witness before, a loving and supportive family. Zuko has done it right.

———————————————————————

That night as Azula makes her way down the corridor of the Royal Wing and passes by Isao’s slightly ajar bedroom door, she can’t help but sneak a peek.

The little boy is being tucked to bed by his mother, Y/N who sensed the presence of someone else turns her head around and gives her a small smile.

“Would you like to wish him goodnight, Azula?” Y/N asks her, inviting her in with a nod.

Azula nodded back and let herself in, meanwhile Y/N stands up and gives Isao a kiss to his forehead, “Sleep well my little prince” Azula can hear her whispers the word softly.

After that Y/N walks out of the room. Azula took a few steps closer to the bed and sit at the edge. Hands rubbing comforting circles at his blanket-covered feet.

“You know you’re literally a mini Zuko but I like you much much better than him, firecracker” Azula said in a teasing tone.

“I’m glad you think so Aunty Azula because I like you too! people said you’re scary but I don’t see it, I think you’re a nice person”

Isao’s words got Azula holding back a choked sob, her eyes starting to get watery. No one had ever told her that she’s a nice person. People just see her as this monster, even her own mother.

Coming back here was a hard thing for her to do, she never had a home anyway or anyone to come back to. That does not comes as a surprise to her of course, her family is as dysfunctional as they come anyway. But this little firecracker proved her wrong. Maybe she too deserves to belong somewhere after all she’s been through.

Azula gives him a smile and a kiss to his head, “Sleep well, firecracker” to which she got a “Goodnight Aunty Azula” back as a reply.

As Azula steps out of the room and closes the door slowly, she turns around and came straight in contact with Zuko, nearly tumbling to the floor.

“Why you..” Azula started before Zuko puts a finger in front of his mouth in a shushing motion, reminding her not to wake up Isao.

Zuko made a motion for her to follow him and she did, they walk side by side along the hallway.

“He’s really fond of you, you know” He said, staring straight forward.

“Agni knows why, but despite him being your son he is actually.... tolerable” Azula said curtly.

“You know you should learn to express yourself better, sister. Some emotions won’t hurt you”

“Are you just gonna lecture me or is there a point to this conversation?”

“Fine, fine” Zuko said as he rolls his eyes in a childish manner, “Will you be Isao’s firebending teacher?”

Azula stopped on spot, “Did I just misheard you or do you actually trust me enough to train your son?”

“Hey, you’re a great firebender! no one can deny that. I can’t think of anyone better to be his master, your moral compass might be crooked but that’s what me and Y/N are here for, right” At this he earned an elbow shoved to his chest.

“You don’t have to be so abusive you know” He mutters.

Azula gives him a grin, satisfied that she caused him a slight pain.

“I’ll teach him, not because you asked me to, but because I genuinely wants him to be even greater. He’s got potentials, Zuko” Azula said, more serious than Zuko has ever heard her.

“Yeah I know that, he’s a great kid”

Azula and Zuko look at each other, sharing a silent understanding, and gave each other a nod.

Zuko reaches a hand out for her to shake, “Truce?”

With no hesitation, she reaches out her own hand and take it, “Truce.”

They both then part ways but before Azula turns around the corner, Zuko speak up again.

“Hey, Azula?”

She turns around and raised one of her eyebrow, silently asking him what.

“I’m glad you’re here.... welcome home” Zuko said, giving her a small smile before he turns around and walk to his chamber.

Azula stood in that same spot even after Zuko’s silhouette has disappeared. Contemplating to herself, before letting out a sigh and a smile that is actually meant for her brother despite him not being able to see it.

“I’m glad that i’m here too, brother.”

———————————————————————

A/N : I’m a sucker for Azula’s redemption arc so I can’t resist myself from writing this one. What do you think about it? would like to hear more from all of you darlings ♥️

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (5/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, depression, trauma, PTSD, some fluff 

Word Count: 2.3k  

Part Summary: After the hospital with Glory, Y/N falls into despair, unsure of whether or not the world around is real or Glory’s doing. Days go by and Spike grows frustrated as the Scooby Gang is lost on how to fix Y/N. So, he takes matters into his hands, doing everything in his power to bring her. 

Masterlist

"Bloody fix her!" I hear Spike yell at the others in the kitchen.  

I lay on the couch in the allusion version of the Summers's living room. All I can do is wait. Wait for the most-evil-big-bad to show up and take me away. I wait for this vision to end. Glory is messing with my head. I just know it. I'm still in her memories or worse, she dragged me down to Hell with her.  

"We can't, not yet at least," the imaginary Willow explains, sounding defeated.  

"We don't know the right spell, but we're not going to stop until we find it!" Tara assures, her tone carries a bit of hope in it. 

"What exactly did Y/N see when she entered Glory's mind?" Giles questions. "Perhaps that will help us figure out a solution."  

"Did she tell you anything, Spike?" The pretend Buffy inquires, her voice optimistic.   

"No!" The vampire shouts again. "You saw her! She won't even look at me, at any of us, and you think she told me everything?!"  

"Spike, we're just trying to help..." Willow mumbles, sounding mousey.   

“Yeah, since when do you care about Y/N or anyone of us for that matter?” Xander insults. 

“I don’t… ” Spike grumbles defensively. Then, he releases a deep sigh of frustration, “okay, look! The sooner Y/N is better, the sooner she can help with destroying Glory. Let’s pick up the pace here!” 

There's a prolonged pause and the allusion of Dawnie appears entering the room from the kitchen. She approaches me cautiously. Starring blankly ahead at the distant wall, the allusion of Dawn kneels beside me on the floor.

 "Hi Y/N," she mumbles, fiddling with the edge of her shirt nervously. "Do... Do you need anything? A glass of water? Some food? I... I can make anything you like!" She tells me with forced enthusiasm. "Oh, here!" She rises from her spot swiftly and reaches over me. 

Startled, I scream and fly up from my laid position. She's going to hurt me! She's a demon! She's going to kill me! She's going to drag me back to that place! All of the fire, the screaming, the pain! The others comes running into the room, the vision of Spike leading them.  

"I didn't mean to!" The fake Dawn urgently tells me, running to safety by Buffy. "I was just going to give her blanket!"  

The allusion of Buffy comforts her, "I know, you're okay! It's not you're fault. Y/N's just really fragile at the moment. We can't touch her or get too close, otherwise we'll scare her."   

Panicked, I shuffle my sight between all of them, waiting for one of them to charge at me. I curl up, bringing my legs close to my chest on the couch. Shaking, I can't find the words to speak. I'm afraid if I do they're retaliate and I'll be send back to the fiery place.   The figure disguised as Spike approaches me steadily, his hands up as a sign of peace. I don't believe it, not for a second. He's trying to trick me!   

He shushes softly, "it's okay Y/N. I'm not going to hurt you." 

I cower away, scooting to the farthest side of the couch from him. 

"You can also see people's energy. You can also see into people's minds, right?” He calmly moves closer until he's sat on the coffee table. “I want you to look into mine,” he instructs boldly, holding out his hand to me. 

I shake my head rapidly in a panic. No, I can’t do it again, not after what happened! Beside, my magic doesn't work in Hell. No, I saw it before. When the roots were attacking me, nothing worked. He's testing me. He wants an excuse to damn me to Hell. 

"I’ll focus only on the good memories! You told me that I can control what you see, right? If I remember that it’s all in my head and try hard enough! Let me prove to you that I’m really me and I’m not a threat to you!" The spirit disguised as Spike reasons. "Come on, use your powers, Love. Show yourself that I won't hurt you," he says in almost a plea. 

I hesitate, afraid of the repercussion if I do as he asks. He could show me more traumatizing images. I want to believe he's the real, do more than anything! If it were really him, it would mean I'm safe and truly out of Glory's nightmare. 

Buffy quietly steps forward to protest the idea. “Spike, I don’t think-”

“Just let her try for Christ’s sake!” He snaps, standing up to face everyone. Clearly, he’s hit his boiling point with all the bickering. “You all bloody act like she’s a goddamn porcelain baby and you’re afraid of dropping her. She’s the most powerful whatever-the-hell she is I’ve seen in my hundred and forty-eight years on this planet! Now, shut up!” He finishes, sitting back down on the table with a dramatic huff. 

Calmly, he looks at me and requests again, “try it, Pet. I know you can do it,” he encourages softly. 

Slowly, I meet him gaze. It’s the first time since the hospital I’ve look at anyone in the eye. I’ve been afraid that if I look, I’ll see the red eyes that frighten me more than I can bare to say. Instead, I’m meet with the familiar emeralds. They’re fake. They must be fake. They’re a part of the allusion. 

“Please…” Spike adds almost inaudibly. He eyes peer at me, filled with what appears to be despair. Reaching out his hand again, he waits for me to take it. 

I don’t feel threatening energy radiating from him, at least not directly. Then again, I don’t know how well the demons mask their intentions. My chest rises and plummets as my nerves and mind warn me not to do it. Yet, my gut is telling me to at least try. My heart is telling me to give him, the allusion, a chance.

Steadily I ease my shaky hand out to interlock with his own. Our hands meet and our fingers glides between each other. Gently, Spike rubs his thumb over my hand, doing his best to ease the shaking by squeezing it. He stares into my eyes and gives me a sharp nod of confidence. His features, however, express uncertainty and worry. I feel a surge of energy, the warning before the storm. I blink rapidly as the sensation of falling consumes me. Then, my vision goes black… 

I’m sat in my mother’s old parlor on the rug as I read her my newest poem. She rests on the loveseat behind me, petting my head gently. I worry for her. Her health hasn’t been ideal in recent weeks.  I read to her, knowing how much it makes her feel better. All I do when I can find a free moment, usually when she’s asleep during the daylight hours, is write more poetry in hopes that it heals her ailments. 

“William, my love,” she groans, moving to sit up. She holds out her hand and swiftly I assist her. She mutters a ‘thank you,’ expressing a weak smile. 

I peer up at my mother admiringly. I feel the fierce duty to protect her. She’s my whole world, I love no one more than her. 

She caress my cheek, “you, my William, are my angel on this Earth. All I want, as my dying wish, is for you to be happy and settled.” 

“I am happy, Mother,” I tell her, truly content. “There’s no other woman I need in my life than you.” 

She grins, releasing a soft giggle. Oh how I long to hear her laugh. It reminds me of when she was healthy and thriving. Gently, she guides me to rest my head in her laps as I did when I was a child. Steadily, she brushes her fingers through my hair comfortingly. “Early one morning…” She starts to sing her lullaby to me. It’s our song. She’s been singing it to me since infancy. It’s brings me unparalleled peace. I adore her voice. I adore her. There’s no one else in the world I need but her. 

With a jolt, like bringing dragged out to see by a strong wave, I’m back in the Summers’s living room. I gasp for air as I settle back into my body, my senses returning to me. The energy surge slowly leaving my bloodstream. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for my words or at least a reaction in someway. 

Spike looks at me eagerly, a faint bit of hope in his eyes.  “Did it work?” 

Silently, I slowly move off the couch, standing to my feet. Spike leaps up from his position, causing me to jump a little. He frowns, disappointment returning to his face. Wrapping my arms around my body safely, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head up the stairs, discussion erupts in the living room. 

“What does this mean?” Xander questions urgently. 

“Well, did it work?” Anya adds. 

“Clearly it fucking didn’t!” Spike barks, followed by a thud and the sound of the coffee table dragging across the hardwood floor with a screech. 

“Spike!” Buffy shouts, “that’s not going to help Y/N!” 

“Screw this,” he curses, storming around downstairs. “I’m out of here! You lot aren’t going to do anything to help her! I’m going to find a way myself!” I hear the front door slam shut moments after. 

_______________________

Days later and I continue to lay in my bed as I have since fake Spike’s attempted to fix me. Alone and silently, I wait for the black smoke-like figures to come haunt me. Sleep is nonexistent because every time I try all I see are those red eyes starring back at me. They wish to drain me cold and consume my soul. The allusions of Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn take turns checking on me. Joyce worries and Buffy tries to get me to eat. Dawnie begs for me to return to normal. What is normal? I can’t remember what I was like before. There’s nothing waiting for me but the Hell I saw. I’m not okay. I’m slipping into an abyss of darkness. 

As night falls, the door to my room creaks open behind me, revealing a strip of light from the hall. Distant voices from downstairs linger in and I see someone cross in front of the light as they enter the room. I remain emotionless on my bed, facing the opposite wall. As a figure appears in my peripheral vision, I focus ahead blankly. 

“Hello there, Love,” Spike whispers, squatting at my bedside. 

I don’t react to his presence physically. Inside, I’m reaching out to him. I’m in a prison made up by my own mind. 

Spike hasn’t seen me since the day after the hospital. When I left the living room and he stormed out, he never came back to be exact. Fake Buffy told me in passing while she was bringing me food that he went away for a few days. I didn’t ask, she just told me. She went by his crypt after he hadn’t come around, he wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d be back. 

“I won’t touch you, promise! Yo don’t have to worry about that,” he assures with a frown. “They say you haven’t eaten since…” he shakes his head, refusing to speak of that faithful day. “You need to eat Y/N. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

He worries, they all worry. What will worrying get them? Why don’t they just put me out of my misery? When will this vision end?! 

“Y/N!” He whispers my name harshly, not to alert the others downstairs. “Come on, Love, I know you’re in there somewhere! I don’t know exactly what Glory did to you or what you saw, but you have to fight this! It was another vision! It was only in your head! Dawnie, Buffy, Joyce, they need you…. I need you….” He barely says the last part, looking down at his hands. 

I process his words, but everything is delayed. Time has been off since I awoke in the hospital or at least changed visions. In my head, time moves slower and the agony is more intense. I’ve missed Spike more than I care to admit, even if he’s not really here with me and it’s all in my head. I welcome the allusion. 

Spike rises from his position with a sigh upon receiving no sort of reaction from me. “I heard of a guru in India who’s apparently dealt with this sort of things before while I was looking for help amongst the covens in New Orleans. I only came back to see if you’ve improved at all...” He moves to step away toward the door. “I’ll check back in before I leave for India,” he informs over his shoulder. 

No, no he can’t leave me, not again! Please, don’t leave me. On impulse, I break free of my mental prison and grab Spike’s wrist. His head whips around as his attention lands on my hand. His eyes meet mine wide-eyed with amazement. 

“Stay,” I struggle to speak for the first time in nearly over a week. 

Spike places his hand over mine. He lowers to my level, knelling beside my bed. A bright smile of glee spreads across his face as relief relishes in his emerald eyes. He cautiously reaches up, cupping my face and I don’t cower away. I ponder the feeling of his touch, leaning into his palm. It makes me feel more alive than I have in days. When I don’t flinch away, he releases a soft chuckle of joy. Before we have the chance to talk, my vision goes black.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​

@hexmancia

Shopping

Javier Peña x GN!Reader

Word count: 1600 Warnings: soft!Javi, self-deprecating!Javi, one (1) mention of (rough) love-making

A/N: Day 5 of the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos​! ❤️ This takes place after season 3. Javi deserves some rest and lots of love!

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The streets of Laredo are bathed in colours, dozens of Christmas decorations adorning the shops and houses around you. Their lights are blinking in ever changing rhythms and festive music plays in the shops as you pass them, your fingers laced with Javi’s.

Javi never really cared about Christmas a lot since he moved away from his family. He hadn’t really celebrated it in the past years, too occupied with hunting down Pablo and then the Cali cartel.

This year’s Christmas is the first time he’s properly celebrating it in ten years.

Sure, the two of you would always kind of celebrate it together. But it was not enough, he knew that. He felt awful for keeping this away from you, knowing how much you loved Christmas. But he didn’t even have a break on the holidays. Work took him away from you for basically every day and it wasn’t really possible to celebrate a proper Christmas. But this year he was planning to go all out. Just for you.

Both of you have gone back to the States a few months ago, now that the Cali cartel had finally been shut down. You bought a house together and had decided to settle down, finally lay low and enjoy a life without danger lurking around every corner.

It took him a little while to get used to it, but now he’s enjoying it to the fullest. Every day with you is a blessing to him. He enjoys watching you dance around the kitchen in only his shirt and some undies while cooking. Gets lost in the way you scrunch your nose and frown, being the cutest thing he has ever seen, while being totally absorbed by a book. He enjoys doing absolutely nothing with you all day. You would lay in bed, your head on his chest, one leg draped over his lap and one arm laying in his stomach, gently caressing his skin.

These are his favourite days with you. In the past ten years he was never able to relax for a while, empty his mind and just lay around, not worrying about a thing. Now he can’t get enough of it. The two of you would talk about anything for hours, then make soft love, sometimes even rough if you’re in the mood for it. If you’re hungry you’d just order food, even twice that day because neither of you wants to move. You both relish in the presence of each other and he feels twenty years younger when he’s with you. He feels simply amazing since you two moved in together and it’s all just because of you.

Even back in Bogotá he could only go through it all because you were there to hold him together. Every day, when he came home, he would just hold you. Most of the times you were asleep already, but would snuggle into him and that was all he needed.

Your unique smell, the softness of your body against his, your quiet little snores, the gentle smile that you wore on your lips even while you were sleeping. All of you, it put him at ease and let him forget the horrors he faced every day. You were his anchor, and he was beyond grateful for having you in his life.

Now, as he walks next to you, one hand in yours and the other carrying several bags full of Christmas presents, he feels at peace.

He smiles at your expression of wonder and excitement, big eyes looking at all the decorations and things in the showcases, head moving back and forth, trying to take in as much as you can. The lights of the decorations make your eyes sparkle and he feels his heart swell with love and affection. It is a sight he would never tire of.

“Oh, baby, look at that!” you suddenly say, pulling him towards a showcase that is not decorated too much. Artificial fir branches hanging from the ceiling and laying in the showcase, adorned with silver baubles and simple white fairy lights. The two of you stop in front of it and Javi looks inside to see what you are so giddy about.

It is a black leather jacket, quite similar to the one he owns, but more modern.

You look up at him with a big smile. Both of you know his jacket is well-worn by now, old, the leather breaking in some places. And it got a little tight around the middle.

He looks at the price and gently shakes his head at you before pulling you away from the shop, further down the road. It is too expensive and he’d rather buy something nice for you. He wants to spoil you absolutely rotten after you had to waive all those years, because of him.

You pout but walk next to him, looking at all the other shops.

After a while you tell him to go look for a place to eat dinner at, that you would go back to that one toy store because you forgot something for your niece that you had seen in the showcase while walking past it. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before you go back and he turns to look for a restaurant.

Under no circumstances would you allow him to be selfless any longer. He had given you all he had, even when he was at his lowest and now, he wouldn’t stop this.

You enjoy giving him anything he needs and wants, the affection in his eyes would never fail to make your heart beat three times faster and your smile to almost split your face in half. He is your everything and you would spoil him just like he spoils you. He deserves it.

You know he will keep the old jacket as well. It’s still in rather good condition and would just need a little bit more care. But, and you admit that this might sound a bit selfish, you don’t want him to get rid of his little belly. It’s cute and soft and you love to put your head on it. You adore his laughs when you would blow raspberries on it and his shivers while letting your fingertips gently glide over the soft skin. It’s a sign of him finally getting the quiet life he deserves.

So you go back to that shop and buy the jacket. You don’t care about the price, all you can think about is the smile he would try to suppress at your stubbornness and the knowledge that he would be happy about the present, even if he won’t say it. But you knew. Because he would show you instead of saying it.

Around 15 minutes later you walk back down the street, looking around to see where he is. Javi stands in front of a Chinese restaurant a bit further down the street. You make your way over to him and then stand right in front of him, causing him to smile down at you before he gently kisses your lips. You hum and your smile widens.

“Got what you were looking for, mi amor?” He looks down at the bag in your hand and frowns.

“That doesn’t sound like a toy store. Hm, weird.” He stares at the bag and his brain rattles. The name, he had read it somewhere today.

When his brain finally finds the answer, he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“I did” you say, softly cupping his cheek with one hand.

His sighs and looks down at the ground.

“It’s too expensive. I don’t de-“ You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Baby, you deserve the world. You went through hell and back. And you still managed to spoil me and give me everything you had. You gave and continue to give me the world and under no circumstances will I ever let you be selfless again.” You gently kiss his lips and he closes his eyes.

“You didn’t have to…” he says and then opens his eyes again to look at you. They glisten with unshed tears.

“But I wanted to. I know Christmas is not about money and tons of presents. The past Christmases have all been wonderful still, because I had them with you. We could live in a shack, with no money whatsoever. No tree, no presents, nothing. And it’d still be the best Christmas because I’d have you. Because I know you love me as much as I love you. That’s more than I could ever ask for. But I want to gift you things. Because it brings me joy when you open them and you look at me like I’m an angel sent from heaven” you whisper against his lips.

“That’s because you are” he whispers back, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. You giggle softly.

He presses his forehead against yours, nuzzling your nose with his.

“I’m grateful for you. I know you know that, but I want you to hear it too. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Without you I wouldn’t be the man I am today. And I will be forever grateful for your gentleness, your patience and your love. You are an angel sent from above. And whatever greater power there is, they sent you to rescue me. And you did just that.”

Tears fill your eyes and you gently caress his cheek.

“We rescued each other, mi alma.” You say before pressing your lips to his.

-------------------------------------------

mi amor = my love

mi alma = my soul

As always, lemme know what you think, lovelies! ❤️

@absurdthirst​

Cardigan | Jon Snow

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end

Warnings: —

Words: ~3k

Prompt: Based on Cardigan by Taylor Swift. I’m not sure if that translates, but it’s all I listened to when writing this so there’s that. 

Note:  Want to be tagged in my future works when I post?? Link is in my Bio! ♡ Also, I like -- love Jon a lot...?? And I want more content, so feel free to request more Jon content. 

Winterfell was always unbearably cold, something you never got used to, despite living in the North your whole life. But despite the biting cold that left you feeling like you were seconds away from frostbite and minutes away from turning in a statue of ice, you loved it. You were enraptured by snowflakes that lazily glided down the sky, nearly iridescent when the faint rays of the sun would hit them. They’d land in your hands, melting within an instant, turning to small water droplets that would slip through your fingers. Your dark hair was a startling contrast to the white blanket surrounding you, your pale skin glowing in the light, making you look otherworldly.

  As a child you’d run through it, as wild as the direwolves north of The Wall, running through fields covered in ice, no rhyme or reason. A ferocious yell leaving your mouth just because you felt like it, not restrained by the obsession of being civil and proper. But you were older now, no longer that wide eyed naive girl, instead of running freely, you kept it hidden deep inside you, only visible in a glint in your eyes.

  You still often find yourself as far from Winter Town as you could, hiding away in the depths of the Godswood. However, instead of chasing imaginary battles against dragons, you chased shadows that were just as distant as your dreams. Their hair so dark it could be mistaken for black, but you’ve seen the sunlight hit it just right, exposing the soft and wild curls as a dark brown. Deep brown eyes bore into your soul, seeing right through every layer that surrounded you and hid your true feelings and ambitions. And his voice was deep, the Northern brogue only enhancing how hoarse it could sound, and sometimes when he spoke, you swore your whole body would tremble. He’d deny it over and over again, but standing in the Godswood, the crimson red leaves dancing around him and crowned by snowflakes, he looked beautiful.

  Some days you danced around each other, mimicking the movements of the Lords and Ladies in lavish balls neither of you would ever be let into. You moved towards him and he took two steps back, making declarations about how unhappy you’d be with him, how he’d never give you what you needed. But by the end of the night, when the sun was completely gone, the woods around you plunged into darkness, he’d crack. He’d stop fighting, if only for a moment, and allow himself to drown in you. He’d pull you so close to him that two blended into one. Your lips would meet in soft and slow kisses, stars clouding your eyes. And when you burned from the cold, ice numbing your whole body, he’d pull you even closer, if that was possible, lighting you on fire with a single smile.

  And it was nice, sneaking away from your parents and all the noise that surrounded you. Every stolen moment with Jon was built under a delusion that the outside world wasn’t real, an illusion that one day you could be more than an illicit affair. And each time you met, you told yourself that it was the last time, but you lied. Despite knowing everything the two of you built; every quiet moment under the stars, each second tucked away in the Godswood, and every secret glance would crumble until it was nothing but a ruin.

  Even with that knowledge, the day you watched Jon leave for The Night’s Watch stung more than ice ever could, burnt you more than dragon fire would have. And as you stood hidden away, watching him with tears threatening to pour down your face, you swore your chest was hollow. He gave you one last look, filled with longing, sorrow, and all sorts of other emotions. You wanted to be furious at him, scream and yell until everyone knew that he was leaving you behind. But you couldn’t. You’d seen the sad look in his eyes, the scars covering his body from the mental and emotional lashing Lady Catelyn gave him with just a glance. How beat down he really was, truly believing he couldn’t be anything more than a bastard. And despite how many times you drew stars around his scars, no matter how permanent the ink was, nor how many you drew, they would bleed again the second you two departed.

  So instead of making a scene, you just smiled sadly, wiping away any stray tears as you waved him farewell. To this day, your mother still doesn’t know why you cried so much that day.

  Shortly after Jon left, Lord Stark was imprisoned in King’s Landing, accused of committing treason against Joffrey Baratheon. And before you could register what happened, Robb Stark became King of the North and marched off to war. Then Theon came back, declaring that Winterfell belonged to the Iron Islands, forcing Bran and Rickon out of Winterfell. And you wanted to go with if only to keep them safe for Jon, but they didn’t even know who you were. And each day, you regret your decision to stay when the news that Theon killed the Stark boys reached you. Your parents were horrified, your brothers and sisters mortified, and you soaked your pillow in tears that night, knowing the news would reach Castle Black and Jon would be devastated.

  But then worst of all was when the Bolton’s came to Winterfell after murdering Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and any remaining Stark soldiers at The Red Wedding. They swept into the hold as if it was always House Bolton’s, quickly getting rid of any signs the wolves ever lived there. Statues were torn down, flags burned, and anything with a wolf destroyed. Then came Little Finger with Sansa Stark, marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton, who proved to be worse than his father in every way possible. And every time you saw the fear and desolation in her once sparkling blue eyes, you died a little on the inside. You wanted to help, but what could you do. So you just watched, millions of words caught in your throat.

  But then the dark storm that drenched you in heavy rains that nearly swept you away, bringing lightning that nearly stuck you and thunder that frightened away all your sanity suddenly cleared. Warm and bright daylight washed over you, as bright and powerful as a Dornish sun. The sun burned out any signs of rain every being there, the intense heat drying out the water left behind. Suddenly the leaves grew back, more vibrant than ever, and wildflowers in every shade possible blossomed overnight.

Jon came back.

He came back with an army to reclaim Winterfell and the North for House Stark. And he won. Miraculously beating back Ramsay Bolton’s army with the help of the Knights of the Vale brought by Sansa after she escapes from Winterfell. After the battle was won and the dead collected to be buried or burned, the Lords and Ladies of the North gathered with the Wildlings that fought for Jon in the Main Hall. You’re not sure what happened, you weren’t allowed in, too busy trying to return to your old normal before you lived every day in fear.

But what you do know is Jon walked in that hall as a bastard and walked out a King.

You should’ve been elated, beaming so brightly you could’ve been mistaken for the sun. But you were petrified, petrified that you’d spent all these years missing Jon, only for him to have moved on. Scared that all those nights you flipped between crying, reminiscing, and cursing his name would’ve been wasted.

So you hid like a coward. You buried yourself in anything you possibly could, taking on any task no matter how big or small. And it worked for a while, the pain in your chest every time you saw his wild hair and deep brown eyes in your mind wasn’t as raw when you were elbow deep in dishes. But late at night, when you had nothing but your thoughts, he was there. Every second you’d lie awake because whenever you’d close your eyes, he was there, haunting you like a phantom.

So here you are now, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots as you approached the clearing in the Godswood. You moved towards the place you avoided for years, looking for the one person you wanted more than anything but could never have. Except maybe now you could. And maybe you were just sleep deprived, delirious in the brain from the lack of sleep, but you wanted nothing more than to see the face that’s haunted you for years, at least one more time. Because even if he sent you away, you could have a new image to see in your dreams.

Standing in the center of the clearing-- your clearing, it brought a twinge of hope, a warm feeling washing over your body as your heart raced, possibilities and what-ifs running through your head. He isn’t the shadow he was all those years ago, both there and not at the same time, no, he’s too real for that now. Standing in the center of the snow filled clearing, surrounded by barren trees and crunchy leaves that are scattered on the ground, he looks too regal to be compared to a shadow. The heavy fur cloak, similar to the one Lord Stark had worn, and Robb after him, looked good on him, framing his broad shoulders and strong posture. And maybe you were biased, but he wore it the best out of all the previous Lords and Kings of Winterfell.

You're at the edge now, unable to move any closer in fear of breaking the spell he cast on you. But then he turned and your eyes met, his gaze like flint, catching you on fire in an instant. His skin was paler than ever, cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold. Long unruly curls have been cut shorter than it had been all those years ago, contained by a small bun near the nape of his neck. He was older, more scars marring his visible flesh, but it was him and he was real.

You stare at him and he looks back, neither of you doing anything else.

And you swear the world paused, time standing still has you tried to comprehend that he was really here, and not a figment of your imagination. He wasn’t a delusion you created to cope with the lowest points of your life.

He was real.

You were running. And so was he. Within a second, you met in the middle, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him, lifting your smaller form off the ground as he spun you in circles. The heavy cloak was warmer than you’d initially thought, the expensive furs immediately warming up your frozen skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on so tightly because you were afraid he'd slip through your fingers as he did all those years ago. The very tips of your fingers bury themselves into his hair, pulling it free from the leather cord that kept it back. And this moment was better than anything you could’ve envisioned, his smell: leather, sword polish, and something woody, more enthralling than you remembered.

He sets you back on the ground but doesn’t release you from his embrace and you didn’t pull away. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, it was light and airy and happy, something you hadn’t been for years now. There was a glimmer in your eyes, the same one you’d seen reflected in Jon’s eyes so many times before. Your face hurt from the grin that was on your face the second you met in an embrace and he mirrored you, leaning his head down, resting his forehead against your own.

“You came back to me,” you whispered, moving your hands from his neck to hold his face in yours. As if to further convince yourself that he was here, with you at this moment. Thumbs trace his cheekbones, running over the scar that followed his right cheekbone.

“How could I not?” he replied, his raspy voice low and husky, much older than the boy of seventeen you said goodbye to.

“I hoped you would everyday, but I-- I couldn’t--” your voice trailed off, the words getting caught in your throat.

“But now I’m back.”

“And now you’re back,” you replied, looking up at him with a soft smile. The seconds tick by, silence swallowing you whole as you just bask in his presence, memorizing each new mark on his face. 

“I missed you.” Your voice cut through the silence as your eyes grew wet, glistening tears that shined like ice in the sun falling down your face. Jon catches them as they fall, wiping them away with a single swipe of his thumb. And then the small distance that was left between the two of you closed as your lips met. And it was warm and soft and gentle and happy. Everything you missed from your life, returned in a single instant. And it’s like all the sleepless nights, the tear stained pillows, and the fear and horror you’d endured through the years that was muffled by the coming of daylight was completely washed away. The only thing on your mind was Jon and his lips on yours.

He pulled away, but only just enough that the tips of your lips would brush against each other’s and his breath fanned across your face. You kept your eyes closed, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“You were always there with me, gods I could never get you out of my head,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. A shiver overcame your body, starting from the very top of your head until it hit down to your toes. A good tingly sensation that disappeared with him, but also returned with him.

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me, Snow.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. It was like drinking a sweet berry wine the Southerners were so fond of or having a sweet tart that you stole from the kitchen. The sensation was addicting. The world could crumble around you; Cersei Lannister could march her whole army on Winterfell and Daenerys Targaryen could swoop down with her dragons and burn everything to the ground. But it wouldn’t matter, it would never matter to you. Not if you had Jon.

“Marry me,” the words left his mouth nonchalantly like he hadn’t just proposed marriage. Your eyes snapped open, looking at him, shock and excitement mingling in your wide eyes.

“What?” Your voice was shaky and unsure, hiding the pounding of your heart and the nerves in your body.

“Marry me, be my wife, and rule the North with me!” he exclaimed, much more confident in his words as they echoed around you, forever imprinted in the trees in the Godswood. And you couldn’t help but compare him to the old Jon you knew, the one who would never dare utter those words to you. Not that you didn’t want him to.

“You're crazy,” you breathed out, laughter and disbelief lacing each word. And he laughed, it was loud and warm and made your stomach twist in the best ways possible.

“Maybe, but I’m crazy for you. Why should I wait when I’ve loved you since I was a boy who didn’t even know what love was,” he said, weaving his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as physically possible. And the scene was similar to all the previous times you stood in this spot, too intertwined in each other to care about the world. Except this time tragedy didn’t hang over you like a storm, this time there was nothing but bright skies and sunlight.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “I’ll marry you.” A beaming smile overtook your face, banishing any negative emotion that lingered on your face. At that moment, Jon wore if anyone ever asked, he’d say he has been to the South. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because the smile on your face and the vibrancy in your gleaming eyes was brighter than the sun could ever be, warming him to the very core. You leaned forward, sealing your promise with a kiss as you got lost in him, over and over again.

And when I felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favorite.

                                                   o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@stuckupstucky​ 

There Can Be Peace

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: Sometimes the Mandalorian just needs space to talk and a place to be at peace.

Warning(s): None

A/N: This was based of of this post by @swimmingbyrd​. I read it and absolutely had to write a little thing based off of it. Hopefully this helps bring it to life a little more! 

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You can feel the ache of exhaustion settling into your bones with every step that you take across the metal floor of the Razor Crest. The child rests in your arms, slowly but surely giving in to the pull of sleep as you hum softly and mindlessly to him. There’s no tune, just the gentle vibrations of your voice bringing the little one closer and closer to rest with the help of your careful pacing. It’s become a routine at this point, and there’s something so serene about it all that makes you want to freeze and save the moment every time.

Letting out one last little yawn, the baby’s head finally falls to your shoulder. His big brown eyes close, and he wraps his hand around the collar of the shirt you wear, completely asleep. Your heart swells at the sight, and you don’t immediately put him to bed. Instead, you keep humming to him and walking with him, just wanting to hold onto him for a little longer. Before you’d come onto the Crest with the Mandalorian, you’d never seen yourself as the maternal type, but here you are, caring for this strange little creature like he’s your own.

It’s not what you imagined for your life, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let out a soft breath, your humming coming to a stop, and you step in front of the little one’s pod, leaning down to gently lay him inside. It takes a little bit of work to uncurl his fingers from your shirt, but you’re grateful that he doesn’t stir as you free yourself from his grasp. You take great care covering him with his blanket and tucking him in, making sure that he’ll be nice and warm while the Crest glides through cold open space. Before you leave him alone to rest, you gently stroke his ear with your finger, smiling at the sleepy chirp that comes from the baby at the touch.

With the little one taken care of, you have another job to do, one that’s much more difficult. Climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, you shake your head when you find Din still sitting in the pilot’s seat, staring out the viewport as the ship glides through hyperspace. You walk up behind him, resting a hand on his pauldron. His gloved hand immediately comes up to rest on top of yours, gentle and warm in contrast to the cold beskar steel. “Come on. We’ve got a few hours before we come out of hyperspace. You need rest,” you murmur.

“I’ll be fine up here. Go get some sleep,” he replies. “Did the little one get to sleep alright?,” he asks. You know what he’s doing with the question: trying to change the subject to keep you from pressing him. It’s an old tactic though, and one that you can see right through.

“He’s fine. And you should be asleep too. Now let’s go,” you implore him. He shakes his head, but you stop him before he has a chance to continue arguing with you. “It wasn’t a question, Djarin. Now will you please get up so we can get some rest?”

He huffs out a sigh, and you grin in triumph knowing exactly what it means. He lets go of your hand, and you take a half step back as he rises from the chair. Nodding in the direction of the ladder, he urges you forward, and you make your way back to the hull of the ship. Once he’s joined you, he makes quick work of removing his armor, gloves, and boots, leaving him in his base layer of clothes and his helmet. With the beskar in a neat pile in front of the weapons cache, he turns out the lights, leaving both of you in pitch darkness.

Even with your sight lost to you, it doesn’t take you but a second to find him. He wraps his arms around you when you’re finally close enough, holding you to his chest for a moment. But then you separate from him a bit, just enough for you to be able to reach up and release him from the last barrier between you. You place the helmet on a nearby crate, but then return your focus to Din, smiling gently as a soft, tender kiss is placed on your lips.

As much as he tries to hide it, you know he’s tired. You know it by the way that he leans into you, letting you bare more of his weight, and the way he tries to stifle a yawn by burying his face in your hair. You’ve been around him long enough now that there’s not much he can get past you.

“I don’t know why you do this every time,” you tease him quietly, keeping your voice low to avoid waking the child, “You know it’s a losing battle.”

“One day you’ll give up,” he whispers in reply. He knows you won’t.

“Not in a thousand lifetimes,” you tell him, shaking your head and pressing another kiss to his lips.

You lead him over to his cot, then, and together the two of you work to find a position that’s comfortable on the tiny bed. It’s small, but you’ve found a way to make it work, tangling your legs together and letting him sleep with his head on your chest. His unruly curls brush against your collarbone, and with one hand you run your fingers through them, trying to work out the tangles left behind by the helmet.

As he lies there with you, Din wraps an arm around your torso. His hand works its way under the material of your shirt, where he traces gentle patterns into the skin of your ribcage with his fingers. It’s always tender, soothing touches between you, something that took him a long time to be truly comfortable with. He’d been loved by the Mandalorians growing up, but it was a tough kind of love, different from the way that you love him now. He didn’t realize how much he needed this softness until you came along.

You’ve relieved his soul in a way that he could never thank you enough for.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating softly against your sternum. He’s quiet and hesitant, and so you remain silent, giving him room to say the words swirling around in his head without any interruption or insistence on your end. He’ll say what he needs to or he won’t speak any more. You leave it up to him.

“Sometimes I think about it,” he whispers, “and I never like what I come up with. Things are better with you here. And I know I still keep myself closed off sometimes and I argue with you about things…” He trails off then, letting out a soft breath. You still don’t speak or push him, letting him find the words that he wants. It always takes him a moment, but you’re patient.

“I love you,” Din finally whispers, his voice trembling just slightly with the words. You know how hard it is for him to say them, because he’s lost so many of the people he’s let himself love over the course of his life. You know he’s determined to keep you and the child both from suffering that same fate.

Your hand slowly comes down from his hair until you cradle his stubbled jaw with your fingers. He tilts his head to look up at you and carefully you capture his lips in a tender kiss. He immediately reciprocates, are there are more words in this silent contact than he could ever hope to eloquently speak aloud.

“I love you too, Din,” you finally whisper. And with that any tension left in his body seeps away, leaving him completely relaxed as he lies there with you.

It’s there that the two of you stay for a while, neither of you aware of the passage of time. The only thing that matters is the warmth of each other’s bodies and breathing each other in. It’s in this state, between sleep and awake, that you and the Mandalorian both find peace. A peace that you give to one another and couldn’t bear to live without.

---

Permanent Tags:  @theforceofdarkandlight @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73@lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934  @lavenderl3mons @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-tidal-wave @forever-rogue @flower-petal-blooming@fleurdemiel145  @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pynch-bug@pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels​ @paryl​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @agentmoonshine1​ @randomness501​

Mandalorian Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @adlerorzel-blog​ @mrsparknuts​ @deputytrash​

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.��

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

Unconditionally

Warnings: none but maybe some sexual tension

Word count: 2.7+k

Author’s Note: because everyone deserves to be loved unconditionally; sorry not sorry for this; part 1 of ?; enjoy!

Your heart quickens inside of your chest when you lay your eyes on him. You take in his disheveled chestnut brown hair and wide smile. His coffee colored eyes crinkle as he smiles at you.

“Pedro, this is Y/N,” Kendrick says as he pats Pedro’s shoulder. “She’s the writer I told you about.”

Pedro nods once and holds his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Your hand had been shaky but once it was inside of his grip, your nerves calmed. You smile back saying, “nice to meet you too.”

You feel his thumb rub over the back of your hand, a gentle and calming gesture. It made you feel at ease, like he knew meeting him had sent your nerves into overdrive. When he let go of your hand, you suddenly felt cold, alone. Meeting people for the first time was unbearable for you but you knew you had to do it. Especially with big star on the small screen actor Kendrick Sanders – an African American gay male – as one of your best friends.

You spent the rest of the night with a few other people you knew, occasionally lifting your eyes to find Pedro in the crowd. You wonder if you were more extroverted would you have talked to him more or just simply thought he was another friend of Kendrick’s; someone you’d only come across now and again.

You don’t see Pedro again until a Christmas party Kendrick hosts six months later at a swanky hotel in lower Manhattan. You’re dressed in a tea-length red dress with a light black jacket. You are making small talk with someone when Kendrick approaches you.

“He’s here,” Kendrick says as he pulls you aside.

You raise your eyebrows. “Who?”

“Pedro.” Kendrick smiles as he laughs.

“I don’t care,” you whisper back, but part of you did.

“Oh! Come on Y/N! I saw you looking for him at my birthday party after you sheepishly walked away from him.” Kendrick sips at his drink. “You should go say hi.”

You roll your eyes, “he probably won’t remember me.”

Kendrick smiles even wider; his eyes seem to twinkle. “Who knows. Go say hi.”

Your eyes travel across the ballroom and they land on Pedro’s form. He has a beer bottle in one hand and the other in the pocket of his trousers. He’s nodding his head and smiling, listening to whoever grabbed his ear for a conversation.

“Go,” Kendrick hisses from behind you.

“I don’t like you.” You hiss back.

Kendrick laughs. “You do. Go for it girl.”

You sigh as you straighten your jacket and begin walking over towards Pedro. Getting closer to him you realize he’s talking to Brie Larson. You stop and turn around.

Kendrick is right there, and he turns you back around, “go. Don’t let some blondie stand in your way.”

You swallow. “Kendrick. No.”

“Yes.” Kendrick says as he places his hand on your back, moving you forward. “We’ve been friends for years now Y/N. I know the look in your eyes when you want something, someone.”

“I don’t like you.” You repeat.

“You do.” Kendrick says as you two are mere feet away from Pedro.

Your heart’s pounding loudly in your chest as you take the last few steps toward Pedro. He must have seen you out of his peripheral vision because he looks up and over at you. He smiles, one side of his mouth is higher than the other. His mustache is thinner but he’s still the same Pedro you met months before. Without any hesitation he moves away from Brie and walks over, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Kendrick, towards the open doors leading to the balcony overlooking the city on a surprisingly mild winter evening.

You feel his thumb over the back of your hand. It calms you instantly.

“Kendrick said you’d be here.” Pedro finally says when you two are outside.

Wait. What?, you think. “He did?”

Pedro nods. “I asked who was going to be here. He didn’t mention you until I asked him specifically if you were coming.”

Your eyes dart back into the ballroom. You see Kendrick smiling at you and raising his glass. You didn’t know if you were hateful or thankful, maybe both. “He didn’t say you would be here,” you say finally finding your voice.

Pedro sips at his beer, shrugs his shoulders. “How have you been?”

“Good. You?” You ask as your eyes glide over Pedro’s nearly six-foot-tall body.

“Glad I get a break for a few weeks. Go back to Chile and visit my family.” Pedro looks you over. “What are your plans for the holidays?”

“Not sure.” Which was the truth. “Finish writing the pilot for Kendrick’s show. Maybe work on the book I’ve been writing.”

“Book?” 

“Yes.”

“What’s it about?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. Tell me. I love to read.”

You sigh and rest against the railing. “Woman loses her daughter; decides she wants to teach English aboard to get away from everyone’s sad stares. Falls in love, gets kidnap, finds herself. Yadda yadda.” You didn’t want to bore him with any more details.

“Interesting. I request the first copy now.”

You smile, “I’ll make a note.”

“Any plans to see your family?”

You shrug, “I really haven’t finalized anything but yes, I probably will see them.”

“Where are you from?”

“Midwest.” You give him a vague response. He doesn’t need to know everything.

“So you’re a transplant to New York?”

“Yes. A few years ago. An old friend from college wanted to come out here for a summer internship. She knew I wanted to write and told me to find one too, so I did. I met Kendrick during that summer.”         

Kendrick had been starting out as an actor on a television show, which you had interned on. You two became fast friends and you had moved up to writing for the show instead of being a measly intern. Eventually a few other shows had hired you out to help them, so you had moved on but kept in touch with Kendrick. Then at his birthday party Kendrick told you about his idea for a new show and he wanted you to write the pilot, and the entire season, which would consist of six episodes for now. You were meeting with Netflix in January to pitch it to them.

Music drifted out the doors and greeted your ears. The melody was soft and slow.

Pedro places his empty bottle on a tray as a waiter walked by. He then held out his hand, “wanna dance?”

You swallow at his outstretched hand. “I’m not much of a…”

“You’ll be fine. Come on.” Pedro says as he wiggles his fingers.

You grab his hand and let him lead you back inside to the dance floor. He gathers you in his arms. One hand resting on your back as he takes your right hand into his left. Your free hand travels up his arm and rests gently on his shoulder. You keep your gaze focused on the top three buttons of the black dress top he is wearing, for you feel if you look into his eyes, you’ll become jittery and clammy.

Seconds tick by before Pedro whispers, “do you want to have dinner with me?”

You tense up in his arms. Him asking you to dinner – what in the…?

“We can wait till January. No rush.” He says lightly.

You don’t trust how your voice will sound if you speak. You nod your head and hum a “mmhmm.”

He laughs lightly as he removes his hand from your back and places it under your chin. He lifts it slowly, making you look into his eyes. His thumb strokes your jawline, he then strokes your cheek, causing you to blush.

You drink in the look he’s giving you. One of smitten and kindness. His look, his touch calms you. When other men have looked at you this way, your heart had always quickened inside your chest but with Pedro it’s the complete opposite. You think of a saying you’ve heard before – when you meet your soul mate everything is calm. Could Pedro be…? You don’t complete the thought. You were just two people who knew the same guy, yet the same guy was trying to set you two up.

“Ever been kissed under the mistletoe?” His voice is soft, interrupting your thoughts.

“What?” You then process what he asked. “Uh, no.”

He lifts your chin slightly more, revealing to you he had stopped dancing and moved the two of you under the mistletoe hanging above your heads.

You return your gaze to Pedro. Not sure if you are wanting him to plant one on you in a room of people both of you have either had or are currently working with. You swallow as you open your mouth, but Pedro stops you by placing his mouth on yours.        

His lips are soft and gentle. His mustache tickles your upper lip and you want more. You could get lost in his kiss; you want to get lost in his kiss. If there weren’t others in the room, you’d probably ask him to take you right then and there.

Pedro pulls you closer to him as he pulls slightly away from your lips.

“Pedro,” you whisper, your eyes still closed.

Pedro traces your swollen lips. “Y/N.”

You open your eyes and look at him. You want more, need more. Dare you ask him for more and without a second thought you say, “again. Please.”

Without stalling, he complies and merges his mouth with yours again. This time he keeps an arm wrapped around you and uses his free hand to cup your cheek. His fingers travel into your Y/H/C hair as you become greedy.

Your hands are on the lapel of his jacket, keeping him in place as your lips move against his. You take the risk and push your tongue against his lips, and he opens them, letting you get a taste of him, a taste of the beer he was drinking before. You don’t want this kiss to end, you don’t want to wait to January, but you know you must. You reach up with a hand placing it on the back of his head, your fingers threading themselves through his soft locks of chestnut brown hair.

Pedro gives into your kiss, into your greediness. He’s just as greedy. He wanted more after the first taste. Was a little afraid to ask but glad you wanted more, and he gave you more without question.

You’re the first to pull way but you’re still wrapped in Pedro’s left arm. You reach up and trace his swollen lips. You want those lips all over your skin, you want to feel the prickliness of his mustache along your skin, sending shivers down your spine, and goosebumps across your flesh. You want him all to yourself.

“January can’t come soon enough,” you breathlessly say.

He smiles, “agreed.”

-------

“When’s the date again?” Kendrick asks for the umpteenth time.

You roll your eyes. “Friday night.”

“Where is he taking you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you are wearing?”

“I don’t know.” You ground out.

Kendrick sighs. “He tell you what you need to wear or, you know, give you any hints.”

“He said it’s nice.”

Kendrick purses his lips together. “So dinner at least.”

“Yes.” You sigh as the two of you walk out of Netflix’s headquarters.

Once outside in the mild California January air you finally face each other, hug and giggle. Netflix had just said yes to Kendrick’s show and wanted to start filming as soon as March. You had already begun working on the fourth episode because over the holiday break you had plenty of time to write and think about the kiss you had shared with Pedro.

You two had exchanged numbers and kept in contact. Sending texts to each other, even Facetiming here and there. He had finally told you a week ago he was returning to New York City and told you he was taking you out this Friday evening. You knew you would be back in time for the date.

“Somewhere nice,” Pedro had told you. He had said nothing else.

Now Kendrick squeezed you before letting go. “Let’s go shopping.”

“For what?”

“A new dress. For you, for your date! We are in Los Angeles. Let’s go down to Rodeo Drive.”

“Fine, but nothing too racy, or revealing! I am not putting out on the first date however…” your mind wondered off to the kiss you and Pedro had shared at the Christmas party.

“However?” Kendrick asks.

”No. I am not putting out on the first date. Especially since it’s Pedro.”

“The man of your dreams,” Kendrick says over your voice when you mention Pedro’s name.

 You laugh. “Whatever Kenny.”

 “Hey!” Kendrick says teasingly. “I hate that.”

 You smile. “I know.”

Both of you walk down towards the parking lot relishing in the fact you both had just scored a show with Netflix, and you were going on a date with Pedro Pascal.

On Friday evening, back in the bitter cold of a New York City winter, you stand looking at your reflection in a floor length mirror. Your makeup was light, not too heavy. Your Y/H/C hair was wavy and went down just past your shoulders. The dress you and Kendrick had decided on fit you perfectly even with the few curves you had and wasn’t too revealing. The lavender color was beautiful when you first laid your eyes on upon the dress hanging on display inside the first store you and Kendrick had walked into, and once you had tried it on, you didn’t want to try anything else on.

“Perfect dress for the perfect date,” Kendrick had said once you stepped out of the fitting room.

You had looked yourself over in the mirror and did a 360. Yes, it was perfect.

The dress was tea-length, the kind of length you preferred. You were never one for short skirts and tight, revealing clothing. You rarely put yourself out there and it was partially because you were an introvert through and through. You enjoyed sweatpants and baggy shirts and hoodies. Even Kendrick knew you weren’t one to put yourself out there, yet he had become one of your best friends and pushed you further in your life, in your career then you could ever believe.

Now you smooth out the silk material before turning around and grabbing your wristlet which had your phone, some money, a spare lip-gloss and a condom at Kendrick’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You had hissed at Kendrick when he handed one over to you.

“Always be prepared sweetie,” Kendrick had said with a smirk.

“I am not putting out…”

Kendrick had raised his eyebrows. “You never know. The way you two kissed at the Christmas party…honey, you two should have gotten a room that night!”

You had slapped Kendrick’s arm playfully and felt a surge of heat go off throughout your entire body. “I hate you.”

Kendrick had shrugged then placed the condom in the wristlet. “You love me, and you’ll love me even more when you use it.”

“I will not be thinking of you when I use it.”

“Good. Don’t.” Kendrick had said with a laugh.

The doorbell chimed throughout the apartment you shared with your old college friend. She was at work but had wished you luck before leaving. You hadn’t even told her who the date was with and you planned to keep it that way.

You smile as you walk from your room down the hallway to the front door. You open it and are greeted by a smiling Pedro in a black suit, with a white top. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in his hand.  “Come in.”

Pedro walks into your apartment and with his free hand he pulls you to him and kisses you deeply.

You moan lightly as you wrap your arms around his neck, returning the deep kiss. Oh, god, how you’ve waited more than long enough to feel his lips on yours and to feel his arms around you.

Pedro pulls away and presses his forehead against yours as he breathlessly says, “I’ve waited a month to kiss you. Was counting down the days. I don’t want to go that long again.”

“Me either,” you absently say as your fingers weave themselves through his hair. Wait. What?, you think as you slowly pull back. “Pedro…”

“I want to date you, only you. I’m ready to dive into this.” He looks at you as he strokes your cheek. “Are you?”

More than ever. “Yes.”

Chapter Two

No longer lonely (Jackie/Jan) -Katheriney

Jackie was not very old when she first fell in love, maybe 16, and like most first loves she fell hard. She wasn’t prepared to be feeling so strongly about another person. Of course she thought she had been in love before. She had boyfriends in the past and convinced both them and herself that she was head over heels in love, but that was nothing compared to the fire in her heart that she felt now.

Her family had just moved and her junior year of high school had not started as great as she imagined it would. She had no friends and didn’t really know how to make any. She had the same friends throughout her entire life and now she felt as if she were thrust into isolation in this new town. 

She had somehow made it the first quarter with no friends. She dreaded going to school. She sat alone at a stool by the window to eat lunch and didn’t speak up in her classes. But, all the silence and loneliness ended when the new quarter started. It was the second term of her french class, so it was surprising that there was a new face in the classroom. The girl oozed confidence. Jackie’s teacher told the girl to go sit at her table. Jackie was not happy about this because she had enjoyed having the table to herself, but she smiled up at the blonde girl when her teacher motioned her to wave. 

“Hi,” the shorter girl said briskly to her, setting down her purple book bag and taking the seat next to hers. Jackie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to respond, so she didn’t. She took note of the girl’s wavy blonde hair and purple miniskirt riding up as she crossed her legs. She made herself look away from the short skirt. She didn’t know why she wanted to look so bad, but didn’t want the girl to catch her staring at her lap.The teacher stood from behind her desk and walked the small distance to the board to start the lesson for that day. “I’m Jan,” she whispered from beside her. She had gotten a lot closer since the last time Jackie had looked over, so when she did turn her head towards her they were almost nose to nose. She jumped a bit and Jan laughed at her.

“Jan, is there something funny about les contes that I don’t know about?” The teacher turned towards the girls and put a hand on her hip. 

“Nope, sorry ma'am.” With that the teacher made her way back to writing and explaining. 

Jan bumped her shoulder. Jackie assumed it was an accident, so she pretended she didn’t feel it. Jan decided to shake her arm to get her attention instead. “What’s your name?“ 

“Jackie,” She said as softly as possible as to not get in trouble. 

“Hmmmm.” Jan leaned her head onto her hand. “You don’t look like a Jackie, maybe an Esther or a Nadia. No! I know! You look like a Leila!”

“Jan! Can you at least pretend you’re paying any attention. You know you need this class to graduate.” The teacher spoke to her. 

“Yeah yeah, of course, sorry.” Jan leaned down to her bag and took out a notebook and a pencil. “I’ll take notes, promise.” Jan flashed a smile and the teacher seemingly believed her, but Jan was not taking notes. She was writing a message for Jackie. 

The teacher and I don’t get along if you haven’t noticed. I barely pass her classes. Why haven’t I seen you before, Leila? Are you a freshman? -Jan

Jackie slid the notebook over to herself and started to write. 

I’m a junior, actually, not a freshman. I just moved here in August. -JACKIE

I think you mean -Leila and I like your glasses by the way -Jan

Of course, that’s what I meant. Thank you, I like your hair. -LEILA

And just like that the bell rang, making Jan grab her notebook and shove it in her bag before booking it out the door. Jackie felt like she had been forgotten already. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the classroom. She saw Jan standing in a huddle of football players and cheerleaders. So, she was one of those girls. No wonder she had left her so quickly. She couldn’t risk being seen with Jackie in these public hallways.

Jackie went about her day as usual. She went to her two classes before it was lunch time. She took her time to get to the cafeteria. Once she got there she sat in her usual seat by the window and took out her lunch that she had packed that morning, a salad and fruit. She was about to dig in before there was a plop in the usually vacant seat beside her. She turned to see Jan sitting with her hands in her lap and a smile on her face. “Hey, Leila! You do know only weird people sit in these stools, right?” She tugged at her arm and gestured for her to grab her lunch. “C'mon, you can come sit with me!” Jan linked their arms and together they strutted across the cafeteria to Jan’s table full of sports players and pretty girls. Well, Jan strutted. Jackie just shuffled along with her, holding her lunch. “This is Jackie. She just moved here and she’s in my french class.” Hearing Jan say her real name after so much time took her by surprise. She was sure the girl forgot and really thought her name was Leila. 

“Hi Jackie, I’m Jaida. You can take this seat by me and Heidi.” Jackie gladly took the seat and Jan sat next to her. Jaida had on a football jersey that was so big that is was obviously her boyfriend’s. Heidi had a short bob with a bang. 

Conversations continued around her. She didn’t feel quite comfortable enough to insert herself into them, but listened and smiled and nodded to anyone that addressed her. Jan had long since finished eating and was obviously getting restless, constantly looking over to Jackie before turning her head back to her other friends. Jan moved her hand off the table and to her lap. She kept her head towards the football players on the other side of the round table as she slowly slid her hand from her lap to Jackie’s. Jackie froze mid bite before realizing what she had done and stuffing the strawberry into her mouth. 

“What’s your next class?” Jan asked her, but she didn’t realize she was talking to her, so Jan squeezed her thigh a little to get her attention. 

“Oh! Umm, I don’t have a class in the next period.” Jackie stammered out, trying her very best to sound normal.

“Great, do you wanna go to Starbucks with me? I’m going through withdrawls.” Jan asked and Jackie could only nod. Jan took her hand back and Jackie almost whined. “Let’s get a head start if you’re done eating." 

"I am!” So Jan stood from her seat followed closely by Jackie. Her friends said goodbye to both of them. They smiled and whispered among themselves. It made Jackie self conscious. She felt like they saw Jan’s hand. She wasn’t sure if it was friendly or flirty, but if she were like that with her friends they shouldn’t care if she did it with her. So, what were they whispering and giggling about. 

She got into the passenger seat of Jan’s orange kia soul. Jan threw her bag into the backseat and Jackie did the same. After plugging her phone into the aux she started to play an Ariana Grande song that Jackie couldn’t name. 

They started on the short drive to the coffee joint. The music helped fill the silence, since neither girl had spoken up yet. Jackie played with her hands and kept her eyes focused on the road. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I think I may have gotten the wrong impression of the situation.” Jan spoke clearly said calmly.

“You haven’t made me uncomfortable. What did you think the situation was?” Jackie asked, finally turning to look at the girl who had her left leg up and one hand in her lap. She looked so relaxed behind the wheel, unlike Jackie.

“I thought you were into me because you were staring and flustered. Did I get the wrong impression?" 

"No, I am definitely into you.” Jackie said and just like that she had said it. There was no turning back. 

“Oh.” Jan turned the car into the Starbucks line. “Thank god. I thought I was going crazy and making things up.” Jan sighed and turned to a wide eyed Jackie and smiled at her. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Jackie let slip out.

“Oh yeah?” She said as she paid for both her coffee. She said a thank you, took her coffee, and went on her way back to school. She switched the hand she was steering and let her free hand rest on Jackie’s thigh once more. Jackie took a shaky breath, so Jan slid her hand around to rest it on her inner thigh. Jackie subconsciously spread her legs further to encourage Jan up on her exploration. Jan took the invitation and glided her hand further up and squeezed just enough to get Jackie to squeak, begging her to just touch her where she needed it. Jan removed her hand all together and used it to turn into an empty parking lot close to the school. 

She put the car in park and turned to see Jackie sitting there all pretty there, looking like she had already been fucked. Her hair was tousled. Her lips were parted. Her pupils were blown wide. Jan just wanted to eat her up. She held the girl’s chin in her hand guiding her towards her as she slid a hand up her leg and rested it on her waist. Jan leaned in to kiss her softly. She grasped her waist making Jackie gasp under her touch. Jan slowly slid her hand down her stomach. She broke the kiss long enough to make sure Jackie was sure she wanted this. Jackie frantically nodded and spread her legs before leaning forward to kiss her again. Jan did as the girl wanted and lifted her skirt and applied pressure over her lace panties. “Mmm lace?” Jan teased. 

“Yeah, ah, do you like them? Ah, that feels so good.” Jackie moaned softly.

“Oh, baby, they are so beautiful.” Jan pushed the panties aside and started pressing small circles to her clit. Jackie basically screamed at the direct contact and lifted her hips towards her. “Woah there, princess.” Jan taunted as she pushed her hips back down to the seat. 

“I’ve never done this before.” Jackie blurted.

“Honey, I’ll make you feel good. If you’ll let me, I’ll make you scream for me.” Jan promised her

“Please, please, please, Jan, please make me feel so good,” Jackie begged.

Jan pulled her lacy panties down to her knees and used her thumb to circle her clit, rubbing two fingers over her entrance. She used her other hand to hold her down. She slipped a finger into her slowly and only halfway before Jackie was grasping her wrist. “Want me to slow down, baby?” Jackie nodded. Jan removed her finger, but continued massaging her with her thumb. Reaching her head down, she started to lay kisses along Jackie’s neck and collarbone. She pressed her palm firmly over her and Jackie squirmed and mewled in her seat. 

“I’m gonna cum.” Jackie panted into Jan’s ear.

“Let go for me, pretty girl.” And she does. She shrieks and shakes. Tears trickle down her cheeks. Jan wipes them away. She tucks Jackie’s dark hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead. She gives her time to catch her breath before letting go to start the car. 

“Wait!” Jackie grabs Jan’s arm to keep her from switching gears. “Where are we going?” She asked her all doe eyed and cute.

Jan can’t help but smile at her. “School. You need to get to class on time." 

"So do you.” Jackie whispered. 

“I already skipped last period. It wouldn’t hurt to skip another, but I don’t wanna be a bad influence on you.” Jan replied.

“You skipped class to be with me?" 

"Of course I did, baby.”

Jackie may not have known that she was only going to fall further and further for the girl sat next to her, but she did know that she had never taken to anyone as quickly as Jan. She knew that Jan would be at the forefront of her mind firing every minute of every day.

Jan let her off at the front door telling her if she ran she could make it to class in time while she parked. She waved and did as she was told. Jan was right. She did make it on time.

Thunderstorm Ι Ch. 4 Ι JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Werewolf!au

Word count: 7, 535

Warnings: Characters in a less than healthy state of mind, violence, slight body horror, an addicted to cigarettes Jungkook (don’t do drugs, kids!)

Summary: An accidental encounter triggers a series of events that shatter your monotonous life. A new relationship starts to develop, following the stages of a thunderstorm.

Note: Written under the influence of beautiful music

1   2   3   4

Chapter 4: Downpour

      Dull light seeped into your room through the sheer curtains hanging on the window. Raindrops drummed against the glass in tune with the quiet music flowing from the radio. Gray clouds diffused the sunlight, painting the world in desaturated hues of its former colors. The forest just beyond your back yard oozed with thick white fog. You lay in bed awake for what seemed like hours, watching the night fade away.

      You heard a door creak, followed by quick footsteps against the hardwood floor of the hallway. A beat of silence and then the muffled sound of dishes rattling reached you. You listened to your roommate prepare herself a bowl of cereal and sit down to eat with the quiet voice of the weatherwoman to keep her company.

      “… ranging from 5° to 10°C during the day, however temperatures will drop below 0° in the evening and we might even be getting some snow for the first time this season.”

      You rolled over in bed, glancing at the clock on your night stand. Your head sank back down into the pillow. Porcelain clacked against stainless steel in the sink and water started flowing from the faucet. Once she was done, your roommate padded back down the hallway and went into her room.

      With a sigh you pushed the covers off of your body. Cold air immediately crawled over you, rising goosebumps in its wake. The hand that previously rested on your stomach started gliding up the length of your body, across the valley of your chest and came to a stop at the junction of your neck. Underneath your palm your jugular throbbed vigorously with the memory of your intimate dream in mind. The skin of your throat, although clear, tingled with the ghosts of a dozen love bites, left behind by the lips you very soul yearned to capture. You closed your eyes, reliving for the umpteenth time the way your fingers would run through his thick hair, blunt nails grazing his scalp ever so gently as lithe sighs tumbled from his mouth. His hands held onto your waist tightly, pressing you against a hard body that felt oh so hot to the touch. His satin skin felt heavenly gliding against your own.

      “Jungkook…” you whispered when his sharp canines grazed against a raw patch on the side of your neck. He only hummed in response and squeezed you harder. His tongue running the length of your collarbone was the only warning you got before he sank his teeth into the fleshy swell of your breast. Your hands tightening in his hair and the tiny whimper that reached his ears stopped him before he got too carried away. Your whole body was tingling. The pain from the shallow bite made the adrenaline spike in your system.

      You sighed again, covering your hot face with your hands. You almost felt embarrassed about how much you enjoyed that dream. It was so vivid you could still feel him if you concentrated. Turning your imagination off for now, you rolled out of bed.

      You listened to the monotone beeps of the barcode scanner as you tried not to focus on your wet socks. Your old sneakers had lost the battle with the weather once again, causing your feet to become soaked in the cold, invasive rainwater. The person in front of you had rolled up to the register with a heaping cart full of absolute garbage. As you scanned bottle after bottle of cheap alcohol and copious amounts of snacks you couldn’t help but think that this kid was preparing to throw the biggest party his teenage-self had ever attended. He’d walked up to you with a wide grin and a hand already offering his ID to prove that he’d just recently become a legal adult. Coming around to the last few items, you peeked up only to see him excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet, staring intently at the goods you were tucking into the big paper bags to your right. His bill came up pretty steep, but he was more than happy to throw two hundred dollar bills on the counter, telling you to keep the change. You watched him wrestle the bags into his arms clumsily and run out the door after waving you goodbye. You dropped the $9,50 inside your tip jar as you started to wonder when was the last time you got that excited about something. You glanced at the clock on the wall and figured you still had a while before your shift ended. With a sigh you propped your hip against the register and reached into your back pocket for your phone. Yara’s number was the first one to show up in your history and after a few short rings she picked up.

      “Sup?”

      “Hey, I’m working. Can you talk for a bit?”

      “Uh-huh,” her voice sounded kind of muffled “gimme a sec, I got some brushes in my mouth.”

      “Yeah?” You giggled

      A rattle sounded on the other end “I’m doing my makeup. What’s up?”

      “Do you want to hang out later?” you cringed right after the words left your mouth “I don’t have much to do after my shift ends.”

      “Sorry hun, I already have plans with that one guy. I mean you’re welcome to tag along, but you might not enjoy it as much as I will.”

      You immediately knew what she was talking about. The guy in question was someone from one of Yara’s classes and she’d had an eye on him for a while. It was nice of her to invite you, but the thought of her not-so-subtle flirting in public made you want to hide.

      “Yeah, I’ll pass. You two have fun.”

      “Thanks!” you were just about to bid her goodbye when she chimed in “Why don’t you call Jungkook?”

      Your heart skipped a little. Why? Because you were afraid that he won’t pick up, again. You didn’t feel like going through the mortification of having to leave a stupid voice mail only for him to never call you back. Yara took your silence as hesitation and continued.

      “Y/n how long are you going to pretend that you don’t like the guy?”

      “I’m not. I do like him;” Your voice was small “I just want some feedback from him.”

      “I’m happy you admit it at least.” Yara’s tone softened “You know there’s nothing wrong in asking him, right?”

      “Yeah, but I’m afraid of rejection.”

      “That’s fair. Still, you’ll never know for sure unless you ask him.”

      You nodded your head, vaguely registering that Yara couldn’t really see you. The conversation had reached a point at which you didn’t want to respond and Yara knew it.

      “Okay, bye. I’ll see you at university.”

        “Bye, hun. Do you want me to call you tonight?”

      “No, it’s fine. Call me if something happens.”

      “Of course.” Yara knew to reach out to you in case of an emergency “I’ll see you later.”

      And with a click the line went silent. Outside thunder rumbled in the distance and the sound of raindrops against the windows of your shop softened.

      Just a couple of customers came in after that. The first one wandered around the aisles for a while, leaving wet footprints everywhere, and left once the rain started to subside. The second one entered shortly after the first, bought a chocolate bar and left without sparing you a single glance. You waited around for several more minutes before fetching the mop. In the midst of scrubbing the white tiles with admirable vigor your hand slipped on the handle and you fell face-first into the rack in front of you. Multiple packs of cigarettes, lighters and other accessories tumbled to the ground. Cursing under your breath, you watched the shelf wobble dangerously, but thankfully manage not to fall. The commotion caused the items that didn’t fall out to topple over instead. With a huff you shoved the mop back into the bucket and pushed it aside. You were going to be stuck rearranging merchandise for hours.

      Perched on a step ladder, you reached into the very back of the top shelf to try and get the last few boxes of cigarette filters. You’d managed to put almost everything back by the time your shift was over. Glancing over at the clock you figured that as per usual Yoongi would be arriving late. You hugged the stacked boxes to your chest and proceeded to place them back on the shelf in neat rows.

        The little bell above the door jingled.

        “Hello.” You greeted blindly

      By the sound of slow footsteps, headed for you, you assumed it was your coworker finally showing up. Placing the last item in its place you were just about to speak again as the footsteps came to a stop. The words died in your throat when you felt a pair of hands smooth up your thighs and curl around your hips. You flinched at the contact, turning to look at the person behind you. Turning around, you were surprised to see Jimin smiling up at you. Without a word he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off of the step ladder.

      “Hey.” He mumbled, not letting go of your body. In fact, he tried to pull you closer, which you countered by pushing your hands against his chest.

      “Jimin, what are you doing here?”

      “Oh, I was in the mood for something sweet and just happened to stumble upon you.”

      Oh, he was in a mood all right, you could tell just by the look in his eyes. His naturally dominant nature was practically radiating off of him, nailing you in place. It was going to be difficult to get out of this situation, you could feel it.

      His fingers played with the hem of your shirt as his gaze dropped to the sliver of smooth skin, peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of your shirt. All of a sudden you felt terribly exposed in your normally conservative work uniform.

      You cleared your throat and made a move to create some distance between the two of you. With a final squeeze, his hands parted with your body.

      “So, how have you been?” You tried to ease the tension with small talk as you speedily walked up to the register. Jimin languidly followed suit. You could hear his footsteps approaching behind you while you pretended to scrub the glass counter with a small rag you managed to find inside your pocket. Unbeknownst to you, your back was left completely exposed and Jimin wasn’t about to pass up on that opportunity. A chill ran the length of your spine when you felt his arms close in on either side of you, hands coming to rest on the surface in front of you.

      “I’ve been good.” He whispered and you hated the way your body trembled at the feeling of his breath against the shell of your ear. “And you?”

      “M-me too.”

      All of your self-control betrayed you in the face of his close proximity. Your hands started shaking when you felt the faintest brush of his hips against your ass. All of your senses were overcome by his scent and the warmth, radiating off of him. You almost felt gross about the way your body immediately reacted to his advances, without giving you the chance to think about it. He dipped his head into the curve of your neck, hot breath gliding over your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing with difficulty and trying your best to stay still to minimize contact. Jimin breathed a soft chuckle and your heart flipped. A dark, deep seated desire to give into him started to slither its way out of the cracks of your consciousness. You felt entranced, as if someone had taken over your mind for a long moment before the rational part of you jumped in. Giving into Jimin was the worst possible thing to do right now. You parted your lips, swallowing a big lungful of air to try and clear your head. Just as you were about to speak, the bell on the door jingled, piercing the atmosphere around you.

      You jumped as his arms quickly dropped from your sides. You turned just in time to see Yoongi walking in with his sights already set on Jimin.

      “What are you doing here?” your coworker jumped straight to the point

      Jimin grinned innocently “Nothing illegal, hyung.”

        Yoongi was staring Jimin down with a stern look on his face and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something you didn’t know.

        “I’m, uh, I’ll go change.” You mumbled awkwardly and started to back away. Neither of them payed you any mind, frozen in a silent face-off.

      The staff room door clicked behind you as you leaned against it. You waited there for a few seconds, trying to hear if they started talking now that you were out of the picture. You quickly gave up, figuring that at best Yoongi would tell Jimin off and make him leave. You were half way through pulling your jeans over your ass when you heard your coworker throw in a few expletives, but when you paused to listen in, the conversation became indistinguishable once again. With a huff you shoved your uniform inside your bag.

      “Shall we head out?” Jimin offered once he saw you walk out of the door and you just nodded begrudgingly.

      “Yeah, Jimin you can go ahead, I need to have a word with y/n for a sec.”

      You were surprised that your coworker butted in and came to a stop once you reached the register. Jimin just shrugged and walked out without any objections. Yoongi waited until he was out of sight before he turned to you.

      “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into, but don’t mess around with Park Jimin.”

      Straight to the point, huh? You could feel your face heating up with the embracement of being caught red handed. Of course Yoongi had seen the little stunt Jimin pulled earlier. Hell, a lot of people probably saw, considering you were in plain sight of the huge windows. You could maybe play it off and blame Jimin for the whole situation, but the truth is you made no move to push him away. Knowing that it was partially your fault stung worse than the embarrassment of being caught. Yoongi’s sharp eyes held no sympathy for your unfavorable position.

      “I assure you, he’s not what you think he is.” He continued “Stay away from him.”

      You looked at him confusedly. For some reason the ambiguity with which he spoke made your hair stand on end.

      “Now, go out there and tell him to fuck off.”

      “But why didn’t you-” You tried to protest, but he cut you off sharply.

      “Because it’s not my place to intervene. He needs to hear it from you.”

      You stared back at him with a sour expression even though you knew he was right. He wasn’t going to budge and you needed to sort your own problems like an adult.

      “Come on now, get lost.”

      You sighed and headed out without saying goodbye. You could feel his eyes on you until you exited the store and rounded the corner. Once you were out of sight, you spotted Jimin leaning against the exposed brick wall of the neighboring building. He had his hands in his pocket as he stared off into the night sky. The last slivers of sunlight were becoming extinguished by dark and heavy rainclouds. The lamps lining the street started to flicker on. You eyed Jimin for a second before shoving your fists into your jacket pockets and walking up to him.

      “I love it when it rains.” He stated simply once you were within earshot. You watched his profile as he inhaled deeply. “Are you driving tonight?”

      “Yeah.” You lied

      He turned to look at you. The streetlight reflected off of his skin, making his features look sharp. You squeezed your fists tighter. The look in his eye was taunting, like he saw right through you.

      “Let me walk you to your car then.”

      It wasn’t a suggestion. Out of nervous habit, you bit down on your bottom lip.

      “No, thank you.”

      “Why not?” He retorted, taking a step toward you “It’s dark, something might snatch you up.”

      “I’ll be fine. It’s just around the corner.”

      Jimin’s gaze dragged slowly down your rigid frame. He smirked when his eyes landed on yours once again. This whole situation was all too entertaining to him. With a few long strides he closed the distance between you. Before you could step back, his hands came to rest just above your elbows. He cocked his head to the side and pouted when he saw you frown.

      “Y/n…” he mumbled in a raspy tone “We’re both adults, right?”

      You stared up at him wordlessly, breath hitching in your throat when you saw him lick his lips.

      “I really like you.”

      “Damn, you sound desperate.”

      You jumped away from Jimin immediately. You turned just in time to see Jungkook rounding the corner with a cigarette and a knowing smirk hanging on his lips. He walked up to Jimin and got right in his face, tucking you safely behind his back in the process.

      “Fuck off, Jimin.”

      As he spoke, he blew smoke in the elder’s face, making him flinch back and cough into his hand. Jimin glared at Jungkook, taking a few steps backward before turning on his heel and taking off down the street.

      You watched the whole thing go down with bated breath. You were expecting a much bigger commotion to ensue after Jungkook stepped in so aggressively, but Jimin surprised you when he simply ran off. You stared after him until his silhouette was no longer visible.

      Turning around to face you, Jungkook exhaled a deep sigh. The smoke from his by now almost burnt out cigarette swirled around you, making you sniffle. You watched intently as his expression softened once your eyes met. Without a word, his hand closed around your forearm and you fell into his chest. His arms squeezed around your shoulders and you couldn’t hold back from hugging him back. Jungkook rested his chin on the top of your head and breathed a sigh of relief. You blinked once, twice and it felt like an eternity before he finally spoke up.

      “Don’t do that. Please, stay away from him.” You felt his heart pound against your cheek as he spoke. His plea sounded soft and shaky. Not really knowing how to respond, you just squeezed his waist tighter. It felt so good to embrace him like that, you never wanted to let go. His warmth, his scent, his heartbeat, everything about him made you feel safe. Jungkook felt you nuzzle into him and it made him chuckle lightly. His hand smoothed over your hair soothingly before he pulled back to look at your face. You didn’t realize you were smiling until he grinned back at you and a soft blush bloomed along your cheekbones.

      “Let’s go, hmm?” he offered quietly

      “I’d like that.”

      His hand slipped down the length of your arm until your fingers intertwined. His skin was dry and cold, but the feeling of it made warmth blossom in your chest. Jungkook gently tugged you closer to his side as you strolled down the street. You happily watched the way your footsteps seemed to match his perfectly while he would occasionally steal sideways glances at your pretty face.

      “I kind of want to wander around for a bit. Is that okay with you or are you too cold?” Jungkook asked softly.

      You turned to properly look at him. His otherwise pale face was dusted pink at the tip of his nose and cupid bow. You didn’t know if it was the look in his rounded eyes, but you suddenly felt bold.

      “I’d like to spend some more time with you, too.”

      Jungkook immediately grinned at your confession, a light laugh rolling off of his reddened lips.

      “I’m relieved to hear that. Honestly, I’ve been missing you lately.”

      Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t allow it to choke out your next question “Where were you then?”

      You watched him carefully as the question seemed to catch him off guard. He smiled tightly and broke eye contact. A few deep breaths passed through his lungs before he was ready to speak.

      “I… You could say I’ve been dealing with myself.”

      He glanced back at you and you didn’t seem satisfied with his answer. You could tell that he was tiptoeing around the truth by the way he avoided prolonged eye contact. His hand unconsciously tightened around yours. You realized that it was making him uncomfortable, but the mystery that was Jeon Jungkook was plaguing you for far too long and you couldn’t let it go that easily. He chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to make up his mind. Your attention was suddenly diverted when you saw a pointed canine sink into the flesh of his lip. It wasn’t impractically long, just sharp enough to become noticeable. Although Jimin’s canines were more pronounced, Jungkook’s seemed eerily similar. You found yourself running your tongue along your upper row of teeth to see if it was more common than you thought, but yours were dull, flat almost. You stared at his mouth in poorly disguised bewilderment until you noticed him looking. His lips pressed tightly together as you slowly looked up to meet his eye.

      “What?” You blurted out dumbly and he just shook his head. The pace of his footsteps didn’t falter when he retrieved yet another cigarette from his back pocket. You watched the flame of his lighter cast a yellow light to his features for a brief second then flicker and die. He inhaled the fumes deep into his lungs. You were almost mesmerized by the way smoke poured from his lips and brushed past his cheekbones.

      “I needed to figure some shit out?” Jungkook’s next attempt at explaining came out sounding uncertain. He glanced back at you. “I had to decide how I feel.”

      The last line piqued your interest.

      “About what?”

      “About a lot of things.” He looked ahead as he took another drag from his cigarette “About…you, too.”

      His hand tightened around yours and you could almost feel it close around the heart hammering in your chest. You fell silent. You wanted to pry further and ask more questions, but the rapid pounding in your ears drowned out your words.

      Your legs were moving on their own as you tried to keep up with Jungkook who was sucking the life out of his cigarette faster than you thought a man was capable of. The store windows lining your peripheral soon faded as you crossed a couple of walkways and found yourself at the entrance of the town park. The place was nothing spectacular with long winding stone paths going across fields of withered grass and trees with nothing but bare branches to flaunt. You stared up at the intricate curves in the iron arc that was once part of the park gates. You followed Jungkook past it and down the main path obediently. Thin fog swirled around you while rotting wet leaved squelched underneath your old sneakers. You stared straight ahead as you tried to make up your mind. You wanted to continue this conversation so badly, you couldn’t let the opportunity slip, but you were suddenly tongue tied. By this point you were convinced that your feelings weren’t one sided and now was the chance to have Jungkook confirm it verbally, but you were afraid. Until now, you’ve only just come to terms with the feelings part, but you didn’t exactly know what that implied. Something told you that if Jungkook was willing to pursue a relationship, that would mean long term commitment, like really long term. You actually couldn’t picture yourself with anyone else beside you and you barely even knew the guy. Never in your twenty-something years on this Earth have you ever looked at a man and thought “I could grow old with him.”. Until you encountered Jungkook it seemed alien that a person you meet in your twenties could be the one you spend the rest of your life with. And the rest of your life was such a long time too, you didn’t think you could ever be prepared to make a decision like that. On the other hand, your chest clenched painfully at the thought of just letting him walk out of your life. Your hand squeezed his weakly.

      You watched the old lake come into view. As you approached its murky waters you had already made up your mind.

      You stopped abruptly when you reached the edge. Jungkook wasn’t expecting it and tugged on your arm once before also coming to a stop. Those tall old post lights lined the edge of the lake and you happened to be standing underneath one of them. You knew Jungkook was looking at you questioningly, but you needed a moment to compose yourself before facing him. You watched the wind ripple the surface of the water as you breathing steadied.

      “How…” you started quietly before turning to him “How do you feel about me?”

      Jungkook immediately recognized the look in your big glossy eyes and it made his heart skip a million times over. Electricity violently zapped the surface of his skin, spreading from the point where your fingers were still intertwined. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, making his breathing heavier. You looked pale, timid and vulnerable under the fluorescent lights. Jungkook felt like he was holding your fragile porcelain heart right in his bare hands as you had unknowingly given him permission to do with it whatever he saw fit. He swallowed once, twice, but not a single syllable rolled off his tongue, even though the answer to your question was quite simple to him. In his head he repeatedly chanted that he was taking way too long to respond. Oh, he would be one hell of an idiot if he chickened out now.

      The tiniest movement beside your face caught his attention briefly. A small white speck was floating down from the sky, crossing the lantern’s light only to melt on your shoulder. Another one followed shortly after, and another, until Jungkook realized it was snowing. Thousands of tiny snowflakes dusted over the both of you, some disappearing into the ground and others getting caught in the loose strands of your hair. Jungkook was positive that he had never seen a prettier sight than your worried face with a halo of melting snowflakes framing it.

      He yanked you into his frame by your hand. You flinched at the sudden disturbance, but your body moved toward him regardless. His hands rested gingerly at the top of your hips, smoothing over the wrinkled material of your jacket. He seemed hesitant, but the soft look in his eyes soothed your racing heart.

      “I have very strong feelings for you.” He finally muttered and it made him cringe at his wording “Shit, that sounded weird. What I want- … what I meant to say is that I like you very much.”

      You couldn’t stop the grin that overcame your features. He was too cute as he got flustered and stumbled over his words a little. Nevertheless, Jungkook’s expression mirrored yours.

      “Yeah, me too.” You whispered when he pressed his forehead to yours.

      “Can I kiss you? I want to do it properly this time.”

      Your whole body was warm with giddiness and it felt like your cheeks would crack with how wide your smile had gotten. You nodded lightly, afraid that words would ruin the atmosphere that had started to form. Jungkook looked at you for a moment longer before his eyelids dropped and he leaned in closer. His mouth brushed yours lightly at first, testing the waters before diving in deeper. His lips tasted of cigarette smoke, but nothing could describe the feeling of completion that filled your chest once they pressed against yours fully. Your fingers slipped up his shoulders and neck until you could bury them in the hair at the back of his head. He pulled you flush against his front, clasping his hands at your lower back. His lips moved slowly against yours, sighing every now and again when you tugged at his hair. Your whole body was tingling, waves upon waves of relief and happiness washed over your anxious heart as you could finally feel his hair underneath your fingertips, his skin against yours and his scent surrounding you. Cigarette smoke had never tasted so sweet, mixed in with something that was so distinctly Jeon Jungkook it made your soul flutter. He never tried to slip his tongue into your mouth, instead his kisses were chaste and gentle. It had been so long since you’d been kissed properly, but somehow your body seemed to naturally react to Jungkook’s touch. He held you close, his warmth seeping into your body and crawling up to your face, tinting your cheeks a shade of pink.

      His lips finally detached from yours, but he wasn’t ready to part with you before giving you a few more pecks. When he pulled away, your eyes finally cracked open, only to find him already smiling fondly down at you. By the time you separated, a significant amount of snow had piled up on top of his head and it made you giggle once you noticed. Jungkook quickly caught on to what you were laughing at and shook his messy hair abruptly, making the snow scatter around him and into your face. The cold snowflakes stinging your skin as they melted only made you laugh harder and Jungkook joined in with a soft chuckle of his own.

      “Man, you’re pretty when you laugh like that.” He mumbled more to himself, but you managed to catch it. You just stared into each other’s eyes with stupidly wide smiles, just feeling content and warm in the other’s embrace even as cold wind howled past your bodies.

      “Do you want to come watch a movie at my place? I’m not ready to let you go yet.” Jungkook asked suddenly and there was no hesitation in your mind when you agreed.

      Safely tucked under Jungkook’s arm and lost in sincere conversations, you walked the two miles over to his house, which you found out was only a few streets away from yours. Stepping over the threshold, you were immediately struck by the strong smell of timber and cigarette smoke. Jungkook slipped his boots off by the door and you followed suit. He helped you hang your damp coat up to dry and led you down the narrow hallway straight into his living room. His house was dark, walls painted in dull shades of beige and gray, hardwood floors a deep brown and old heavy wooden furniture filling out the space. The living room had a semi-modern disposition with only a countertop separating the kitchen from the main area. The place was also oddly cold, like it had been vacant for a while. Jungkook flicked a switch, flooding the room with pale yellow light that didn’t make it much easier to see what with how weak the lightbulb was. You stood awkwardly with your hands clasped together in your flimsy sweater and thin socks, enduring the cold and doing your best to disguise it. Jungkook seemed unbothered as he walked past you and into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

      “Well,” he started once he downed his glass “make yourself at home. I know it’s not much, but that’s what I have to offer.”

      You quickly shook your head because your own house was nothing spectacular either. You didn’t expect a university student like himself to be living in a mansion after all.

      “It’s fine, it’s just-” you hesitated when he looked up at you questioningly “I’m kinda cold?”

      Jungkook paused for a second, as if processing the information, you’d just presented him with and what it entailed. You just stared at him in silence, shifting from one foot to the other until it finally clicked for him.

      “Oh, I don’t have central heating.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly “But, I can get you something to wear?”

      You nodded gratefully and he disappeared down the dark hallway to presumably fetch you something warm from his bedroom. While you waited, you wondered what his room might look like. He didn’t look like the type of guy that owns a lot of stuff, judging by the minimal personal belongings scattered about his living room. He returned with a black hoodie, one you recognized he’d been wearing around campus a lot. You quickly pulled it over your chilled body once it was within your grasp. The garment was brushed on the inside, warm and cozy as it fell down to the middle of your thighs. You rolled the sleeves a couple of times to uncover your hands and Jungkook chuckled.

      “You look tiny in my clothes.” He said jokingly

      “Don’t flatter yourself. This thing is oversized even on you.” You shot right back, feeling playful. Jungkook let out a breathy laugh as his hand came to smooth over the top of your head.

      “What kind of movie are you feeling tonight?”

      “You’re the host, surprise me.” Your snarky replies seemed to break up the awkward atmosphere and ease the both of you.

      “Horror is far too cheesy for me to even suggest it…” he tapped his chin, pretending to ponder over his options “I guess we just have to watch Iron man.”

      You snorted unattractively at his suggestion

      “Iron man? Are you 10?”

      “Hey, it’s not my fault it’s the best movie ever!” He put his hands up in defense and grinned “Besides, have you even seen it?”

      “You got me there.”

      “Don’t knock it till you try it.” He seemed genuinely excited to watch it with you and it was contagious.

      “I’ll go ahead and download it on my laptop then.” He turned to go but then paused and turned back to you “I- uh, I have a roommate... Do you mind watching the movie in my room instead of the living room? I don’t want to disturb him when he comes home later.”

      You nodded with a smile. “Is it a problem if I hang around here for a little longer?” you asked, gesturing toward the kitchen

      “No, not at all. Do you need anything?”

      “I was wondering if I could fix myself a cup of tea?”

      “Sure, kettle’s on the stove.” With that he walked back into his room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

      You wandered into the kitchen. The cold hardwood floor matched the rest of the house and you thought about how impractical it was if something were to spill on it. As promised, an old aluminum kettle was sitting on the gas stove. You lifted the lid and peered inside, only to find some stagnant water at the bottom of it. You made a face, but washed it out nonetheless. Now filled with fresh tap water, you placed the kettle back on the stove. You fiddled with the switch a little bit to try and adjust the flame, but it was either too strong or too weak, so you just settled with the stronger one and left it at that. You propped your butt on the counter and started looking around. The kitchen was fairly clean, but clearly old and worn out. The fridge to your right was starting to turn yellow and the cupboards above you, albeit nicely crafted wooden pieces, were probably extremely squeaky. You looked around the items, placed on the counter. Next to the knife block and underneath the rack of hanging utensils you found a wooden box with the word ‘TEA’ engraved on the lid. While you looked through the various flavors, you absentmindedly noted that Jungkook didn’t own a microwave. Plucking out a bag of mint tea, you turned to face the hallway to his bedroom. You’d poured enough water for two cups of tea in the kettle, but you didn’t know what kind he preferred, nor where he kept all his cups.

      “Jungkook?” you called out as you settled by the stove once again.

      You heard some muffled footsteps before he poked his head out from around the corner.

      “I don’t know where the cups are.”

      Jungkook walked into the kitchen fully and you noticed that he had changed into a black shirt and some sweatpants. He walked straight up to you and reached for the shelf right above your head. The smell of clean laundry hit you once his chest was in your face. Until now you never noticed how much the cigarette smoke covered up his natural scent. It was clean and sweet, girly almost, with the slightest hint of cologne, but it somehow suited him. Only after he’d placed the cup on the counter did he notice how close he had gotten to you. You blinked up at him as he seemed surprised for a second. Without a word, he swooped down and captured your lips. It was your turn to be surprised, but it didn’t take long for you to melt into him once his hands circled your waist. This time his kisses weren’t as gentle. He was bolder, pushing a little harder against you and even sliding his tongue along the seam of your lips. You timidly parted them for him and he immediately went to work. The taste of cigarette smoke was persistent on his tongue, but it did nothing to dampen the satisfaction you felt as it slipped into your mouth. Jungkook hoisted you onto the counter behind you and lodged himself between your parted thighs. He was getting really daring now, breathing harder and letting his hands wander down to the swell of your hips and ass to pull you flush against his torso. Adrenaline was spiking high in both of your systems and you started to feel excitement buzzing in the pit of your stomach. His lips separated from yours to move into the junction of your neck. He yanked the collar of his hoodie down to expose more of your skin as he heatedly kissed up your throat. You couldn’t stop the gasp that slipped past your lips at his ministrations on your sensitive flesh. His body reacted to the noise and you felt his hips push a little harder against yours. Your legs squeezed his waist as your hands tried to find purchase in his hair. You could feel the shiver running down his spine every time your nails scraped against his scalp. He was focusing on a spot that made you whimper quietly, sucking and licking the skin there to make you release more of the sounds he’d become so fond of.

      Before you could get too carried away however the kettle beside you started whistling loudly, startling the both of you. Jungkook quickly pulled away from you and reached over to turn off the stove. The sound persisted for a few more seconds before dulling down to a quiet wheeze. He rested his hands on top of your thighs that were still hanging loosely on either side of his waist. The two of you stayed silent for a while longer, just locking eyes until Jungkook started to crack up.

      “What?”

      “Sorry about that.” He managed in between breaths and you had no idea if he was apologizing about laughing, or the kettle, or what, but you just joined him in cackling. He helped you hop off the counter and held your hands until you both calmed down. While you were busy catching your breath, he picked up your abandoned tea bag and dropped it into the mug he’d retrieved for you earlier. He grabbed the kettle from the stove and carefully poured the boiling water into the cup.

      “How do you like it?”

      You didn’t know if it was the aftermath of your make out session or something else he had in mind, but you completely misunderstood his implication. Your face flushed. “Huh?”

      “What do you like in your tea?” Jungkook chuckled.

      “Oh, um, I drink it plain.” You fiddled with your fingers awkwardly “Do you want any?”

      “Nah, I don’t like tea.” When you turned to look at the box on the counter, he clarified ���That stuff’s my roommates. He won’t mind.”

      Jungkook handed you the hot steaming mug and motioned toward the hallway. You followed him closely on the way to his bedroom. The corridor was also fairly bland with only dull beige paint and three old wooden doors decorating the walls. Jungkook pulled open the first one on the left and you could feel the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke seeping out. His room was cold, dark and surprisingly empty. There was a double bed pushed in the corner of his bluish-gray walls, a small night stand under the window, an old desk and chair and a chest of drawers where you assumed he kept his belongings. The clothes he’d worn earlier were draped over his chair and the covers of his bed were disheveled, but apart from that there was nothing else to give the room some character. There were no pictures of family or friends, no posters or books, not even general everyday stuff a person might leave around his room. It honestly looked like he’d just moved in, which was unlikely. You stepped in and looked around even though there wasn’t much to see. Jungkook’s laptop was sitting on his desk, a chunky piece of electronic with all sorts of colorful blinking lights. You’d never seen one quite like this and to be honest it was the second most interesting thing in this house aside from its owner. Jungkook moved his chair at the foot of his bed and placed the laptop onto it, ready to stream the movie.

      “Hey, do you mind if I open the window?”

      “Is it the smoke?” Jungkook chimed up “Sorry about that too.”

      He walked over and pulled the blinds up. The window opened up with a creak to reveal the already snow-covered street. It wasn’t anything severe, but it had probably piled up about an inch high. In the patches of light, provided by the street lamps, you could see it was still snowing significantly, without showing any signs of stopping. Cold crisp air flooded the room, making you shiver gently and grip the hot mug between your palms tighter. A pair of built arms wrapped around your middle from behind. Jungkook’s warm chest pressed into you, compelling your body to relax into him.

      “I’m glad I get to spend this moment with you.” He rested his chin on your left shoulder and looked out the window too. “This is my favorite time of the year. I always get excited when it starts snowing for the first time.”

      “It’s lovely.” You confirmed fondly, feeling so domestic already. It felt like you’d known Jungkook for ages and this level of intimacy was only natural. His hands smoothed over your sides, enjoying the feeling of your curves underneath the material of his hoodie. He breathed in, inhaling your soft scent and basking in the satisfaction of finally having you in his arms. He never wanted to let go, and frankly, you didn’t either. His closeness alone was enough to wipe your mind of any worry. You pulled the mug up to your lips and sipped on the scolding beverage. Mint tea, a snowy night and Jeon Jungkook was easily becoming one of your favorite combinations. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your neck and moved away from you to close the window.

      “You might catch a cold, get in bed.” He said.

      While he pulled the blinds closed once again, you placed your mug on his night stand, next to his ash tray and crawled under his pale gray covers. They were recently washed and smelled pleasantly, but it felt kind of weird to be laying in a different person’s bed. Jungkook owned a single pillow so you settled to occupy only half of it. When he turned to look at you, you tapped the empty spot beside you with a sheepish smile.

      “Damn, I’d kill to have you waiting for me in bed like that every night.” He grinned, making your heart skip. While he went to turn on the movie, you thought that you, in fact, would also love to have him in bed with you every night. As the opening credits started rolling, Jungkook scooted closed and wrapped his arms around you. Your own arm draped over his stomach as you settled into the blissful comfort of his warmth and affection.

      About forty minutes into the movie you couldn’t resist his steady heartbeat lulling you into the most peaceful and fulfilling slumber you’d had in months. The nearly full mug of mint tea started growing cold on the night stand, forgotten.

Note: It’s about damn time I posted... I’m still having trouble with my computer, but I somehow managed.