#[ WORDS COMING STRAIGHT FROM THE USURPER'S MOUTH ] ; ANSWERS

[fallenusurper]

tactccladv asked:

minerva isn't going to ask anything dumb, don't worry. what she is going to do instead is pop up behind usurper to say the following: ❛y...you have such a pretty voice. ❜ misfit considered the a few possible outcomes to erupt from this moment. if he was going to snap, she'd be prepared.

ㅤㅤIt's lucky he isn't aware of exactly what she's talking about -- after all, why would he anticipate that anyone had ever heard him in such a rare moment? He was always very certain to make sure no one could be around to hear. He does still react to the fact that she popped up and suddenly spoke from behind him -- eliciting a curse from the usurper as he whipped around to look at the surprise visitor. Jeez, had he really relaxed that much that someone could actually sneak up on him? Maybe that shortstack version of him had a point...

ㅤㅤHe recognizes her, of course. Even with nearly only a couple years living on Mobius under his belt, he'd consider it crazy if someone couldn't recognize the rockstar. Her bringing mention to his voice of all things should make it easier to connect the dots on why she was talking to him at all, but..

ㅤㅤ" Ain't exactly the word I'd use. Pretty sure we ain't ever talked before, either.. " Well, maybe they had before her popularity started skyrocketing, and before he'd changed himself from being the mere copy he once was. That was years ago, though -- he knows he sounds different from then. " So unless yer sayin' ya overheard me with someone else 'n my voice was just sexy enough ya wanted more..? Gonna need a l'il more explainin' from ya, sweetheart. "

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest, smut, swearing, violence, masterbating

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.06

“It’s time to sleep, my sweet.”

Maitland switches from side to side on your large bed. “Why are we sleeping in here?”

“This is my new bedchamber, and I’ve missed you so much that I want you with me for the next few nights.” While you were in Winterfell, Aegon had your belongings moved to a larger room; the gesture was kind, but you liked your old one better. These chambers felt empty and somehow colder. And it was odd seeing your house banner hanging on the walls in the colours of Sunfyre rather than the traditional red and black.

Exhausted, you kick off your shoes and flop backwards onto the bed. Maitland was becoming more restless than normal, but that was to be expected; he was a child, not a fool. He could see how different everyone was around his father; he just didn’t understand why.

You returned to the Red Keep just over a day ago, and it felt foreign. Like you were an unwanted guest in someone else’s home. Aemond hadn’t even glanced in your direction, and you couldn’t stop thinking how different things could have been if you had never gone north. Would Lucerys still be dead? So many questions repeating themselves.

Should you have gone straight to Dragonstone and begged Rhaenyra for mercy?

Should you have taken Maitland and flown north on your dragon?

Should you have left the moment Rhaenyra was usurped?

Should you write to Jacaerys? You had grown rather fond of your nephew; however, nothing you could say could make up for what Aemond has done.

In the back of your mind, you knew there would be repercussions for Lucerys's death. You're pulled from your thoughts when Maitland yawns and starts to close his eyes. You take the opportunity to tuck the sheets in around him so he doesn’t get cold.

“Mother?”

“Yes, my love?”

He opens his heavy eyes and stares up at you, “Can we go and say goodnight to Father?”

—

As the door leading into Aemond’s royal apartment comes into view, you feel a coldness creeping up behind you, sending a chill down your spine.

“Father?” Maitland tries to run ahead, but you take his hand and keep him by your side.

“Aemond?” You turn to your sworn shield and, in a low voice, ask. “He did return just after sundown?”

“Yes, princess, I saw him returning to keep on horseback myself.”

You begin to tremble, the cold finally setting in and catching up with you. A chill so cold you even feel it in your bones. Hearing what sounds like a curtain moving, you step forward. “Aemond?”

He doesn’t answer, but something clatters nearby. Ser Arryk grips hold of the handle of his sword. “Go to the prince's bedchamber, princess. I shall return shortly.”

There were no words to explain the sinking feeling in your stomach; you felt a pull… something telling you to run. You pick Maitland up and rush towards the bedchamber. You almost jump back startled when you’re greeted with an enormous tapestry of Balerion burning Harren and his sons. It was beautifully made, but very disturbing.

You feel the coldness creeping up on you again.

“Maitland,” you whisper. “Get under your father's bed and do not come out unless I or Ser Arryk tell you so. Do not make a sound.”

When you let him down, he does as you told him.

Dragonriders and knights had done just about everything they could to ensure that the castle was safe, but it still didn't feel like enough. The room is dark aside from the burning fire; it’s only when you focus on it that you realise it’s been newly lit. Eyes fixated on the flames in the fireplace, you walk towards it but nearly trip forward when your foot catches on something.

“Ser Arryk!”

Tears of terror roll down your cheeks as you look down at the body of one of the servants. A hand suddenly covers your mouth, muffling your screams.

“Do not make a sound.”

Feeling the pinch of his blade pressing against your neck, you sob, “Who are you?”

“A debt collector. An eye for an eye, a son for a son.”

“Please, I don’t know where Aemond is.”

“I’m here for the kinslayer's boy!” The man turns you so you’re facing him; he is much taller and heavier than you expected. “His son’s life for the life of Prince Lucerys.”

“No, no! Take me, kill me! I am Prince Aemond’s sister-wife.”

“A wife’s not a son,” he says, gripping hold of your arm tightly. “It has to be the boy. Take me to him.”

“No.”

He throws you against the wall so hard you’re stunned for a second, pain radiating from your elbow hitting against the stone wall. You scream when the man swings his arm down, and his blade comes into contact with your palm.

“Take me to the boy!”

“He’s in his nursery,” you cry. “Whatever you want is yours; just spare my boy!”

“Lying bitch,” he slaps you hard across the face.

The door to the room bursts open, and several knights burst through the door. Ser Arryk points his sword underneath the man’s chin. “Keep him alive, brothers. Take him to the cells for questioning.”

—

You slam your unharmed hand against the table in the council room. An emergency meeting had been held. Before saving you and Maitland, Ser Arryk followed a trail of blood and found a bag with the head of your nephew Jaehaerys inside it. The brute’s not only tried to kill your son but had already put Helaena and her children through absolute misery.

“Aemond, where the fuck have you been?”

“I had another matter that needed attending.”

“Another matter?” You leap from your chair and storm towards him; Ser Criston puts himself between the two of you. “Jaehaerys is dead. Our son was almost killed, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Princess,” Criston starts to gently guide you backwards. “The trauma of what you’ve just—“

“This is all your fault, Aemond!”

“What would you have me do?” He snarls. “I could not have foreseen what was going to happen in my absence.”

Lord Jasper Wylde chimes in, “It seems some of the fault may lay with Ser Arryk, as he was the knight tasked with protecting Prince Aemond’s wife and son.”

“And without Ser Arryk we would both be dead.” You brush by Ser Criston and smack your hand against Aemond’s chest, not hard enough to hurt him but enough to gain his full attention. “You killed a child over something that happened years ago, yet you do nothing while one of the men who tried to take your son's head breathes. Do you only act when your ego is wounded?”

—

The view from the staircase overlooking King's Landing, located on the balcony of your husband's royal apartments, was quite spectacular. He now had the second largest room in the keep, after the king's.

“Where is he?” You knew from the heaviness of the footsteps that Aemond came back alone.

“Maitland is with the dowager queen; he is safe. Ser Arryk told me you were waiting in my apartment when we returned.”

Aemond had taken your son to the dragonpit to see Silverwing after the council meeting. You didn’t doubt for a second that the Kingsguard who had gone with them would do everything they could to keep Prince Aemond's son, his only heir, safe. Or the last thing they would see is Vhagar. In truth, you went to Aemond's apartment because the loneliness felt too consuming. Helaena wasn't talking to anyone, Aegon was drowning his sorrows away, and your mother could barely look at you. Her eyes would start to glisten with tears whenever she did.

“Are you afraid of me?” For the first time in years, you hear genuine emotion in his voice.

“I fear… that our story will end soon.”

He steps closer to you, so close that his breath is warm on the back of your neck. Aemond leans down slightly so he can whisper in your ear, “We have the most dangerous dragons on our side. We will use them to protect what is ours.”

“I don’t care about the keep or who sits on the throne. Helaena is suffering.”

“As are you, but you are strong—“

“Am I?” You spin fast to face him. “If our Visenya had lived, I do not think I’d be able to make such a decision as she did; no mother should ever be made to decide which child to save.”

“We will get revenge for our sister.”

Tears glisten in your eyes. Both Helaena and Aegon were beyond distraught, and Rhaenyra would be dealing with the same heartbreak over Luke. You were the luckiest out of all of them because you still had your son.

“Otto wanted you to join Helaena and the queen dowager for the funeral, but I told him no.”

“Thank you. Playing the role grandsire has assigned for the women in this family is the furthest from my mind, especially when we have enemies everywhere. I doubt the assassins needed much convincing.”

“It sounds like you're frightened, my love.”

“I am afraid; I don’t want any part in a war in which so many innocents are killed.”

“But we must. We will do things to protect our son.” Aemond says, placing a slow, deep kiss on your neck. “To protect each other…”

He was right, and that’s what scares you the most.

“We should not be at odds with each other,” Aemond kisses your neck again. “You are my wife; we should be one.”

It felt strange being so close to him; for years you had only performed a duty together, but now you needed Aemond; you needed him to make you feel safe.

Closing your eyes, you make a choice and meet his lips with your own. Although Aemond has kissed your neck, he does seem surprised. The kiss becomes more heated when your back is pressed against the stone wall. Aemond pries your legs open with his and presses his knee against your core, causing a moan to slip from your mouth.

“Won’t someone see?”

He smirks, “From where? Only the gods can see us so high up.”

Aemond moves his knee back far enough to slip his hand beneath your skirts. You bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your moans.

Your head was spinning; everything was confusing. Aemond was with his whore when you were attacked, yet you desperately plead for his touch like when you first married, and you were somehow convinced he truly loved you, and you him. Perhaps what you had was a twisted love only Targaryens could share, but at least the pain of it reminds you you’re still alive.

“Oh gods!” Your legs start to squeeze shut around Aemond’s hand as your orgasm grows near. He tilts your head back and goes to kiss you again but suddenly stops; his eye lingers on something. “What?”

Using his free hand, he brushes hair behind your ear, his intense glare burning into you. “Come, wife, we shall continue this inside.”

He withdraws his hand from your skirts and goes back inside, leaving you feeling confused and exposed.

—

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion; it takes you a moment to remember you are in Aemond’s apartments, wrapped up in his bedsheets. The sun has disappeared, meaning you’ve been asleep for some time. Nothing continued when you followed Aemond inside; instead, you just lay beside him on the bed in silence until the lack of sleep caught up with you, and your dream was… well, a dream. One that would probably reveal more than you like if you dug a little deeper.

Hearing hushed voices, you get out of the bed quietly and slip on your shoes, straightening out your dress.

“We will burn the stone—” Aemond stops talking when he notices you are awake. He and Ser Criston are sitting at a table with a map of the seven kingdoms on it; they are placing markers on the different houses to show who supports Rhaenyra and Aegon.

“Stone doesn’t burn, but men do.”

Aemond swallows thickly and looks back down at the map.

“I will see you at the King’s Counsel meeting in the morrow. Goodnight.”

Ser Criston looks between the two of you, as if he’s waiting for the prince to say something as well. Sighing, he gets up from his seat and points at your bandaged hand. “Princess, may I?”

You hold your hand up, and he inspects the bandages and frowns, seeing there’s damp blood on it. “One of the king's guards standing outside the prince's apartment will accompany you back to your room. I shall send for the maester to come and clean your wound.”

“Oh, thanks.”

See Criston stares at you for a moment; he looks as if he wants to say something else but holds back.

—

𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪��𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳— 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱. 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱.

𝘐𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵, “𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦.”

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮; 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵. “𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘳���𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.”

“𝘞𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮?”

“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘝𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺.”

𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘺. “𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵?”

“𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘮𝘺 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥.”

—

𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢; 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺��𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

“𝘐𝘧 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯!”

𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮. 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺. “𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘴 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘞𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥.

—

Sheaf after sheaf of parchments was scattered across the desk as Aegon quickly read them for himself and then tossed them away. The council meeting was tense as both Aegon and Aemond seemed to struggle with the concept that not everyone was on your family’s side of this war. They had been so certain that after the events of the past week, it would have been enough to persuade the houses backing Rhaenyra’s claim to change their allegiance.

“Grand Maester,” your mother stands when he enters the room. “Have any ravens arrived from OldTown?”

“No, your grace.”

Your mother sits back down looking disappointed. Daeron, your younger brother hadn’t replied to any of her letters since Aegon had become king, yet he has replied to any you sent. Discreetly you squeeze her hand under the table, and she gives you a small smile.

Looking at you, Maester Orwyl clears his throat and holds up a scroll. “A letter just arrived from Winterfell; it’s addressed to you, princess.”

He leans over and hands it to you. All eyes are on you as you nervously start to unroll it; the thought of opening a letter from Cregan makes your stomach twist.

You missed him.

“Perhaps the north has decided to back the rightful king,” your grandsire says.

Frowning, your eyes scan over the parchment multiple times; it was blank. Strangely, it makes you think of the dream you had when you fell asleep in Aemond’s bed. A wolf stalking a bird in a forest, but each time it’s about to pounce on the bird, it flies away.

“What does it say?” Aemond asks, snatching it from your grasp.

“Nothing, it says nothing.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Age of Adeline AU Pt 2

"No, uh... Linda, actually."

Kara stammers through her response with her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingers shake, reaching to fidget with glasses that she no longer has.

A dark brow lifts. "Linda?"

"Yeah, mom," Laurel drawls with a roll of her eyes. "Linda. The friend I've been gushing to you about for the past two months? Jeez. Hello, by the way."

Kara's granted a brief reprieve as Lena's swept up in a hug from Laurel, which rouses Lena enough to return the embrace with a smile.

"Hello, darling."

Their hug lingers affectionately. It allows Kara a moment to absorb the changes time has wrought. Lena's dark hair-- still long-- is sprinkled with gray. Her pantsuit is professional, and creased from a day of work. There are crinkles at the corner of her eyes, and slight laugh lines around her mouth.

She's as beautiful as the day Kara met her.

"Linda," Lena interjects, pulling away from Laurel to offer Kara a warm smile. "Please come in, make yourself at home. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"Oh, no, it's fine. Really."

Keenly aware that Laurel is her ride for the weekend, Kara strips out of her coat and carefully passes it off. She's going to have to be very very careful with what she says and does. She can already feel the magnetic charge she always felt around Lena, the force field that had drawn her in.

It had taken everything she had to pull away the last time. Kara could only hope she'd find the strength again.

---

It helps that Lena seems to take Kara's appearance in stride. If she suspects anything, she doesn't ask. Doesn't push.

At least, not until it's time for Trivial Pursuit.

"Oh, no!" Laurel cries when the box comes out. Her siblings, Lori and Leo, chime in. "No! It's just cruel at this point!"

Lena only smirks, and plunks the box down on the table in front of them.

"Forty-six game winning streak," she tells Kara with a smirk and the barest hint of a wink.

Kara feels her insides start to melt. She chuckles when the kids all gamely reach for the game pieces, even as they protest. When Lena hands Kara a pinwheel, their fingers touch, and it's like an electric current flows between them.

Jerking her hand back, Kara quickly comes her hair behind her ear, looking around surreptitiously to see who might spotted them. But no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Even Lena has moved on like nothing has happened, snatching the clue cards from Leo for a "proper" shuffle.

For the first round, Kara plays dumb. Answers sprout on her tongue for every question, but she swallows them down in exchange for something almost there, but not quite.

Until Lena issues fighting words.

"It's okay," she says when Laurel gives her teammate a conciliatory pat on the arm. She looks Kara straight in the eye as she says it. "We can't expect a librarian to know everything. Especially not an athlete like Mickey Mantle."

Oh. Oh, it is on.

From then on, Kara answers every question posed with rapidfire accuracy. Just as she suspects would be the case, Lena keeps up with her, neck and neck until the kids declare a sudden death round to put the game to an end.

"Who won the 1911 nobel prize in Chemis--"

"Marie Curie!"

Lena is just a hair too slow, when Kara blurts the answer. The room seems to freeze, as the kids wait to see Lena's response and Kara realizes she's broken the rules for answering before the question was fully spoken.

The Lena she remembers would never back down from a usurper. The Lena she remembers would never let it slide.

But this Lena does.

She leans back in her chair with a languid smile. "Well played."

Laurel and the others crow in delight at the realization their mother has been dethroned. Lena cackles as popcorn is lobbed at her and gets stuck in her hair, but her smile is genuine as Kara gazes at her.

For a single heartbeat, it feels as though not a moment has passed.

[jincherie]

kiss it better | jjk

~ COMMISSION FOR @cinnaminsvga​​ ~

✩ — pairing: jungkook x reader ✩ — genre: college/uni au, smut, cheerleader!jk, pining, borderline crack ✩ — words: 11.7k ✩ — rating: 18+ ✩ — warnings: koo takes a tumble, explicit sexual content; clothed sex, unprotected sex (not recommended), creampie, handjobs,light subby!jk, hand-holding during sex (potent), whining, thigh-riding, vaginal sex, minor hair pulling, public sex (sort of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light dirty talk ✩ — notes: out later than intended and a bit longer than intended !! whoops!!! i won’t/don’t charge if i go over the commissioned amount becayse that’s my bad!! but yeah. its been a hot second since i last wrote smut!! also none of my friends were awake to proofread this so….. apologies if it’s shit and has typos! its 2am! pls enjoy and lmk whast u think!!

When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

masterlist | — posted; 01.03.2020

TUESDAY, SEMESTER 2 WEEK FOUR

It’s a beautiful day, the sun has just come to peak out from behind the clouds that had earlier obscured its climb from the horizon, and the grass of the Biological Sciences Library courtyard glistens with raindrops left over from the brief shower that prefaced the sun’s belated appearance. Students are finally beginning to emerge from the safety of the undercover walkways and overhangs, venturing boldly to shortcut over the grass. University life resumes, and everything falls back into its place, all as usual.

“Yah, is that Jungkook? Wait what is he—”

Well, everything except for one thing.

A red and black-clad figure slams to a stop right where two students are sitting and minding their own business outside the café attached to the back of the library—there’s no time to say hello. The table rocks dangerously on its beaten, metal leg, the impact of Jungkook’s beeline almost sending it straight to the ground if the two others weren’t already seated there to catch it.

“OW!” Jimin is never one to be quiet in his complaints, all too happy to holler his outrage at the top of his lungs. As his oldest hyung would say, no attention is bad attention. “Hey you almost jammed my fingers!”

Startled as Taehyung might have been, his focus is quickly shifted to other things. His wide eyes scan Jungkook’s panting form, taking in the clothes clinging to him like a second skin and the beet red colour of his face and ears. It’s not hard to put two and two together, but what comes out of his mouth isn’t exactly the most pressing thing he wants to ask, “Jungkook, why are you wearing the female cheer leading uniform I gave you?”

There’s a somewhat crazed look that makes itself known in the youngest’s eyes. “AHA!” he throws a finger in Taehyungs face, accusing. “So you ADMIT it’s a female uniform! Taehyung, you ass, how could you!”

Taehyung’s face is a question mark and Jimin squints, confused and still huffy about nearly losing his fingers and his triple-shot iced caramel latte that he may or may not have charmed the barista into gifting him for free. He wants to know what is going on and he wants to know NOW, damn it!

“What are you on about?” he asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes his drink into hand to prevent any future risk of spillage. “Why do you look like that time you ran the half-marathon on a dare?”

Jungkook glares at him, but it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a puppy. “Be quiet and sip your drink,” he says boldly, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Jimin considers throwing a retort back but ultimately decides against, it, shrugging and doing just that. He doesn’t want it getting warm, after all.  

“Uh, yeah,” Taehyung says, sounding like he is a split second away from tacking on ‘duh’ at the end. “You asked me for a cheerleading uniform? I thought you knew some chick that needed a spare, I didn’t know you wanted one to wear.”

At Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression, Taehyung takes the liberty of continuing. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it? You look surprisingly hot in a skirt, your ass looks fine as hell. But you seem kind of angry so IN MY DEFENSE, how was I supposed to know? That you wanted a male uniform? You never specified so—”

While each word that came out of Taehyung’s mouth just seemed to rile him up more, a different look passes over Jungkook’s features at that comment. “Wait, my ass looks good?” He straightens, attempting to peer over his own shoulder to catch a glimpse. “I wonder if she… No!”

He shakes his head suddenly to clear those thoughts and get back on track, whipping that same accusing finger in Taehyung’s face once more and levelling him with a renewed glare. 

“Because of you, I just had the most humiliating experience of my life, and it was all in front of you-know-who!” His voice starts strong, but as he continues it shrinks to more of an angry whisper, his brows scrunched in a clear display of his displeasure. “I literally am about to commit seppuku.”

“Weeb,” Jimin utters at the same time as Taehyung asks, “y/n?” Jimin’s head whips up at the keyword. 

Jungkook’s fight has all but left him at this point, and he pulls out one of the metal chairs to slump in it, defeatedly. His ears are turning crimson again as he recalls the events that had traumatised him so, and he slams his head to the table with a groan, muttering to himself in a voice that sounds dangerously like a sob.

“—stupid, was so stupid of me. I never should have asked Seokjin-hyung for advice. For actually listening I deserve nothing short of death. I’m so embarrassed I’m gonna throw myself into the lake.”

“Don’t throw yourself in there, think of the fishes—” Taehyung says at the same time as Jimin squawks, “WHAT?! You got advice from Seokjin?! He knows who your crush is? Oh my god, you’re more stupid than I thought…”

It’s all Jungkook can do to simply rest his head on the grubby-feeling table, eyes unfocused as he stares into the distance and regrets almost every single decision he has made in his waking life. 

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“My roommate,” Seokjin says, in between gratuitous sips of his monstrously sugary drink. “I think I’m almost about to get him to crack.”

“I feel bad for him,” you say, not looking up from your laptop despite the urge to gorge on your own drink. You made a goal not to look like a goblin when you woke up this morning and sipping your drink at a reasonable pace is a good start. “Being stuck in close quarters with you all the time. No doubt he needs therapy by now.”

As expected, Seokjin ignores you. You wonder if this is how he has managed not to get usurped as leader of the Contemporary Poetry Performance Club.

(To condense a very long story— he didn’t take being kicked out of the Drama Club very well. That’s on him though, he probably shouldn’t have called the Club Leader a tasteless fool for ordering a salad with his Happy Meal instead of nuggets. But, you digress.)

“I think I’m getting close these days,” the male muses, not-so-subtly making a reach for the McDonalds apple pie you have resting on the table next to your laptop. You smack his hand away without so much as a blink, more than used to having to defend any and all food from his wandering hands by this point. He continues, unaffected by the rebuttal, “Like, really close. It’s not long before my unrelenting bastardous antics wear him down and he finally breaks, spilling all his deepest secrets and confessing his long-time crush on me, thus allowing me to bring this act of friends-to-lovers pining to a close and get to the steamy stuff. “

At his spiel, you finally look at him, sporting a concerned and confused expression, if not somewhat intrigued. “… Are you talking about Jungkook?”

Seokjin chokes on the long sip he’d begun to drag up the straw, indignance making his voice rise. “NO, dumbass, I’m talking about Namjoon! Although…” He pauses only to bring a finger to stroke his chin, like a villain straight from an episode of Lazy Town, “You know, I never thought I’d be one for that harem shit, but now I think about it…”

“Gross,” you groan, wrinkling your nose. Seokjin releases a villainous cackle and you have no choice but to raise your fist in promise. He gets the message and quietens down immediately.

“No, but speaking of that little twerp,” Seokjin quickly starts up again, placing his drink down on the table. You feel an ounce of regret, knowing that means he’s about to talk for a longer time than you’re ready for. “I’m close to breaking him too.”

“He told you who his crush is?” you ask, brows raising in shock. Seokjin lets out a great sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making you snort.

“No,” he grumbles, before brightening straight after. “But! I’m getting close. He came to me for advice this morning.”

At his words, you’ve now completely abandoned whatever you were doing on your laptop and are looking at him in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“Am not!” Seokjin denies, huffy. “He did! He wanted help making his crush fall in love with him, and so of course he came to me, Kim Seokjin, master of the heart and modern-day cupid.”

You pin him with a deadpan look. “Namjoon was out, wasn’t he.”

Seokjin’s glare is all the answer you need. He continues like you hadn’t even spoken in the first place.

“And since he so wisely came to me, of all people, and put his love life in my wise, gentle hands, I gave him the best advice anyone could possibly get.” The way his chest has swelled with pride and he’s looking all-too-pleased with himself doesn’t fill you with a good feeling. “I told him to play it smart, and use his assets.”

At first, you’re confused. “What, like… his cuteness? His endearing personality?”

“NO, dumbass, his assets! His ass! His thighs! His itty-bitty waist!” You think you hear him muttering something like ‘that lucky bitch’ under his breath, but can’t be sure. “Also, don’t think I missed you calling him cute, y/n. I’m filing that shit away for later.”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him, but the threat has long since lost its impact. He rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, we both already know exactly how 'peggable’ you think he is.” He takes a haughty sip of his drink like he knows he’s right, and you hate that he is. “It’s not the most incriminating thing I have on you.”

You make the strategic decision not to say anything and dig your hole deeper, and Seokjin seems pleased at your silent admit of defeat.

“Anyway,” he says again, smacking the cream on top of his drink down into the liquid with a spoon. There is some fallout, but that’s never stopped him before. “Kid’s dumb as shit but pure of heart. I’m interested to see whether he will actually take my advice.”

“He won’t for sure,” you scoff, returning to your laptop at last. “Anyone who takes your advice is guaranteed to have an empty head and quarter of a brain cell to their name. Jungkook is smarter than that.”

As expected, Seokjin squawks in outrage, and it harmonises with the ambience of dead silence in your corner of the library. He doesn’t let the topic rest for the remainder of the day.    

WEDNESDAY, WEEK FIVE

You think that the day Jungkook first rocked up to cheer practice at the gym a week ago at the same time you were coaching the women’s basketball team, is one firmly burned into your memory for the rest of your life. And, honest to god, you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Because the boy, in all his slim-waisted, sculpted-ass-and-thighs glory, had rocked up in a cheerleading crop top and skirt.

You have absolutely no idea why he decided to wear that to his first session after joining, but you do know that while the sight of him usually makes you drool, the sight of him in that made your brain cease all higher functioning and you, in essence, became a dog. You almost barked when you saw him, for real.

Even from across the room though, you’d quickly been able to gather that he hadn’t worn it on purpose (somehow), as his face flushed bright crimson and he quickly began to look like he wanted to neck himself in the middle of the gym. Yoongi, another bastard friend of yours who through a series of unfortunate events and regrettable decisions (for him) had become the cheer captain, had been insulted that Jungkook had shown up like that and “hadn’t taken cheer seriously”, and so had given him a punishment. Yoongi said that if he wanted to rock up in a skirt so badly, then for every coming practice he had to wear a skirt again.

Had you not been busy drooling you probably would have felt bad for Jungkook, as you did later when Yoongi filled you in. As it were, in the moment you’d nearly copped a basketball to the face for being so distracted. Regrettably, you’d had to turn away from Jungkook and back to your actual duties: coaching. 

Although with Yoongi being out for your blood, you have had plenty of opportunities in the past week to ogle to your heart’s desire. A real shameful amount, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Bora!” you call, watching the girl in question halt across the gym. “Fix your footwork or I’m gonna smack you!”

The girl rolls her eyes and turns away, flicking a ponytail of dark hair over her shoulder as she does so, but listens to what you say. The familiar squeak of rubber on gym flooring fills the air as she starts the drill anew. She has a tendency to get lazy and sloppy in her movements if you don’t ride her ass, and she knows it as much as you do.

“How did you even managed to get the coaching position?” Seulgi asks from next to you, her response almost cut off by a loud racket from the cheer side of the gym. It takes all of your willpower not to fall into the trap and look over. “I feel like people like you shouldn’t be in positions of power.”

You don’t even bother arguing with her since she’s technically right and you agree. “Sheer dumb luck,” you tell her, risking a glance to the side if only to give Yoongi the stink eye. “Actually, if you really wanna know, I only went for it because Yoongi wanted it and he did something that really soured my yoghurt and pissed me off. So I applied out of spite. I probably shouldn’t have gotten the job though.”

“Huh,” Seulgi voices, eyes unfocused. “Well you’re not too bad for a fake. The team has actually been improving since you took over.”

“That’s probably because you guys went through coaches so fast for a while that for like, six months you didn’t really have one.”

“Touché.”

The only reason the girl is on the sidelines in the first place is because she’d looked over at the wrong time and caught it just as Jungkook started one of the tumbling routines, getting it almost perfect on the first go and in the process flashing his pert ass to the air and any sorry beholders. He might have been wearing bike shorts under the punishment skirt he was modelling, and he might have traded the crop top for a singlet of reasonable length, but it was still a dangerous, nay lethal sight. You’d looked over at the same time so you knew why and how Seulgi managed to tumble and trip so terribly mid-drill. She rolled her ankle so bad that as she sits next to you right now with ice on it, it looks like there’s an entire boiled egg beneath the surface of her skin. It’s kind of gross but also kind of hard to look away from. 

Back to the topic at hand, there is just something about the sheer athleticism and heaven-blessed ease with which Jungkook backflips and cartwheels across the mat that turns you into a brainless slab of goo. You’re unsurprised that Seulgi got distracted and ended up hurting herself as a result of it.

The afternoon flies by and before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’ve finished riding the collective women’s basketball team’s ass for the day. As they disperse and leave the gym at a leisurely pace, you collect Seulgi and help her towards the gym locker room to get some fresh ice for her ankle before she journeys to visit the university nurse. 

The cheer squad has just about finished up their own practice, and one by one they begin to filter out of the gym. Yoongi waddles over to where you stand by the door, eyeing Seulgi with a knowing look.

“Got distracted at the wrong time, huh?” He asks, very much already knowing the answer. You give him a dirty look while Seulgi goes bright pink.

Yoongi adjusts the collar of his university sports jacket, puffing his chest out. “That’s our golden boy for ya,” he brags, sounding very much like one of the aunties and old women you find gossiping on the street near the markets. “He was born for cheer. It’s like he’s been tumbling since the day he was born. Probably even came out doing a backflip.”

You want to tell him to stop pulling shit out of his ass, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything when you agree so wholeheartedly. You’re saved from having to summon a response when in the next second, Yoongi gets the urge to turn and catches Jungkook red-handed on his way out of the gym. He seems in a hurry, moving almost like he’s trying to sneak out unnoticed, but halts at the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s holler when it breaches the air.

“Ah there he is— Jungkook-ah!” Even while calling out, Yoongi somehow still has an indolent, lazy drawl. “Good job today! Also, proud of you for committing to your punishment. Keep it up!”

The poor raven-haired boy had already looked somewhat mortified at being singled out amongst the students exiting the gym, but now as Yoongi finishes speaking and his big doe eyes flick to the side and take in you and Seulgi listening in, his face very suddenly and violently erupts into a blush.

“Th-thanks,” he squeaks, nodding, the tips of his ears darkening to match his face. His eyes are flicking from you to Yoongi in such a way he almost reminds you of a scared rodent. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and flees in the direction of the locker room. For his sake, you don’t ogle him as he goes. There’s a time and a place, and he seems so embarrassed that you’d feel bad for checking him out right now. 

“… He’s so cute,” Yoongi remarks a few seconds after Jungkook disappears out the door, gaze still trained in the direction he’d left. “No wonder I always look over and see you drooling, y/n.”

You agree with the first part, but honestly… you could have done without that second comment. You give him the stink eye to let him know just that, before tapping Seulgi and readjusting your grip in preparation to walk once more.

“If you’re immune, Min, you’re not human,” Seulgi says, cheeky glint in her eye. Your heart warms—you can always count on her to defend you in the face of life’s meanies.

SATURDAY, WEEK 5

It’s not often you find yourself making the long, arduous trek down the street to the apartment building where Seokjin et al. live, but it does happen on the occasion. If possible, you like to make the journey in the morning or the afternoon, because there is little to no cover on the path that takes you there and the only thing you like less than being in the sun when you don’t have to is sweating.

Still, you make the trek today, even though it’s technically past the point in the morning where you would refuse. The heat starts to come anywhere from 8 to 9 o’clock, even earlier on the stinkier days. Call you lazy, but you stick by your own rules because they work and reduce your suffering considerably. 

Namjoon is one of your project partners in a random elective the two of you chose, and he was meant to give you a part of the assignment he’d been working on yesterday but, of course, forgot it. And then again today, when he was meant to drop it off on his way to work, he forgot it once more. So here you are, walking to his stupid apartment and preparing to break in because it’s due next week and you need his part to finish yours, damn it. 

Thankfully, air conditioning greets you the second you step inside the building and cools down whatever heat has managed to cling to your form from outside. Luck is on your side—no sweat today, babey! In a slightly better mood now that you’re out of the sun, you follow the path your legs have committed to memory to Namjoon’s apartment. 

Normally you’d rely on someone being home to let you in so you can ransack Namjoon’s room, but in his apologetic text he’d informed you that everyone is out and so with a great, big sigh you’d resigned yourself and dug the lockpicking set you received one Christmas out from under your bed. It’s heavy in your back pocket now as you walk down the hallway of the floor their apartment is on, already feeling like you’ve committed a crime. Before you can even throw yourself into thoughts of which tool would work best on their front door, you catch sight of something you most definitely weren’t expecting. 

There’s someone else in front of the apartment door, jiggling the doorknob and attempting to work it. You don’t know if they realise its locked and are trying their luck anyway, or whether they’ve yet to figure it out, but while their back is turned to you they have provided you with an excellent view.

Broad shoulders with tan skin peaking out from below a muscle singlet and glistening with sweat where their body catches the light. Dark curls are plastered to the back of their neck, arms out and a tattoo sleeve on one leading your gaze down its length. He’s very athletic, you gather of the stranger immediately, and you’re almost drooling at the way his bicep shifts and tenses as he tries the doorknob once more. Your gaze finally frees itself and scans over the rest of him; defined back, tiny waist, nice butt, thick thighs—

Wait. You know that waist. The sight of it bared by a skimpy cheerleading outfit is one you’ve committed to memory.

“Jungkook?” you say, feeling your stomach dip in excitement. Does it always do that when you see him? You can’t remember.

At the sound of your voice and how close it is, the male jumps in fright and lets out a noise eerily close to a squeak. He spins, slamming his back against the door and smacking a hand over his heart.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes closing and head falling back against the door with a thud. The sight is borderline sinful when combined with his damp hair and sweaty form, and your thoughts threaten to take a dangerous route before you reign them in. You smack your libido back in place— down, girl! “y/n, you scared the living shit out of me.”

A moment passes before his eyes snap open and the breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he’s looking at you like a cornered rabbit, cheeks already warming in his fluster. “W-wait, y/n? What… What are you doing here?”

Cute. If you could, you think you’d pack him up and put him in your pocket.  

You ignore his question only for the sake of asking him your own—much less incriminating as a choice. “Are you trying to break into your own apartment, Mister Jungkook?”

Instantly, as you’d almost come to expect at this point, his cheeks flush cutely. 

“Wh- I, uh…” he swallows and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “No! Kind of? I went for a jog earlier and Namjoon-hyung kind of… uh… he locked me out.”

As he speaks, you’re reminded of how much you actually like his voice. It’s smooth, melodious; even when its shaking slightly from nerves. Why is he nervous? The longer you stand in his presence the more curious you become. You kind of want to tease him a little.

You hum, a smile curling the corners of your lips and one of your brows raising.  “Ah, so he’s scorned both of us, I see. But fear not, little gumdrop!”

He’s staring at you in something akin to flustered bewilderment as you reach behind you and pull out your lockpicking kit, brandishing it like a trophy. “I have the solution!”

“…” He’s stunned into silence, it seems, but you don’t mind. The look on his face right now is super cute—you kind of want to pinch his cheeks. Okay, damn it, you can’t help it—you pinch his cheek and make a short cooing noise as you step past, preparing to help him break into his apartment. At least this way it feels less like a crime and more like a service.

(You sneak a sly look back at Jungkook as you pass him, and your heart squeezes at the sight of his cheeks flushing pink from your teasing action, eyes wide as they follow your form. This boy is gonna kill you one day.)

Usually you have a bit of trouble picking locks (you don’t do it often) but you crack this one surprisingly fast, and before you know it the door is swinging open and you’re letting out a noise of glee.

“Excellent!” you announce, before darting right in to search for what you came for. Namjoon left it conveniently on the dining table, so you dash over and grab the folder and USB before turning around to be on your merry way. 

When you return to the door, Jungkook is still standing there, tattooed hand pressed to the cheek you’d pinched – which are bright red, by the way— and his eyes somewhat dazed.

“See you at practice later, Jungkook!” you say, waving the folder to accentuate the farewell. “Don’t forget the punishment skirt! You look too good in it, it would be a crime to forget it.”

Once you’re done speaking, you turn back the way you’re walking, missing the facial expression that accompanies his flustered sputtering of a goodbye. Your stomach still flips in excitement as you retreat, a skip in your step, and you can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you ended up seeing more of Jungkook outside of practice.

WEDNESDAY, WEEK 6

You’re sitting in the campus sushi place, escaping the midday heat and grabbing something to eat, minding your own business. It is, though, a nice day and you don’t mind sitting back and just admiring it. This changes when a figure suddenly comes bolting towards you from a distance and nearly bowls you and the contents of your sushi container over.

“SEOKJIN!” you exclaim, barely having saved your food from a sudden and unfortunate meet & greet with the floor. You give him a glare strong enough to kill. “What the hell! My karaage chicken!!! Dude you KNOW they only make a certain amount of these per day, you almost made me drop it and I hadn’t even taken a bit yet! Honestly! You—”

“Shut! Shut up!” Seokjin grips you by the shoulders, giving you a shake; it makes your eyes lock-on to his flushed face, his breath coming in pants from his exertion. “Shut up I have something to say and it’s important!”

“Stop shaking me!” you cry, wriggling out of his grip and leaning as far back into your chair as you can to get away from this nutcase. “And what?! You finally slipped up and Namjoon found all the secret letters you write for him when you’re horny?!”

“No, better!” Seokjin makes like he’s going to grab your shoulders again and you smack his hands away. He continues, eyes alight with something akin to glee that makes him look just a little bit crazy. “I finally did it! I found out who that twerp’s crush is! You won’t beli—”

“What?!” you sputter, your gut churning for some reason. Is the sushi you ate off? “He told you? No way he would be stupid enough to tell you—”

“Hey!” the male cries, indignant. “I resent that! Also no, he didn’t technically tell me, but I have people on the inside…”

It takes a moment for you to scan through people in your head before it clicks. You gasp. “You bullied it out of his friends?! Seokjin! Taehyung and Jimin don’t deserve that!”

“I didn’t bully them! They told me of their own accord!” He points a finger at you in retribution. “Albeit, it was by accident, but I digress.”

You’re shaking your head, returning to your sushi and ignoring the odd sensations in your gut. “This is blood information, man. I don’t know if I can sit and be accomplice to—”

“It’s you!” Seokjin blurts, sticking his pink-haired head right in your face. “The twerp has a crush on you! Finally, at least one of my shipping dreams is coming true!”

You’re so shocked by the information literally thrown in your face that you honest to god almost drop your sushi, again. You stare at the male, mouth open, as you flounder to get some order back in your thoughts.

The first thing you think to say is—“What? No way. Your info is dodgy, man.”

“Look, I know you’re sensitive so I try not to say this often, but are you dumb, y/n?” Seokjin stands back now, hand on his hip.  The look he’s giving you isn’t impressed. “It makes so much sense! Why else would he sign up to cheerleading in a skirt to use his assets if it wasn’t on at the same time as whatever his crush does? Honestly, I should have seen it sooner—the way he goes bright pink every time he sees you and his eyes sparkle like an anime girl every time we mention you. I just thought he was scared of girls or had pinkeye or somethin’.”

You kind of want to smack him, but the rest of you is busy attempting to process all the information unloaded on you. Your stomach gives a giddy flip, and you decide it can only mean one thing in the wake of finding out that Jungkook’s mysterious crush is you.

Maybe, just maybe, you like him too.

…

You’re gonna pursue him. 

THURSDAY, WEEK 7

It seems that Jungkook has heard that his crush on you has been leaked, because you’ve been trying to track him down and confirm it ever since last week and he’s been avoiding you like the plague. You think you see him kicking up dust as he retreats as fast as his legs will take him around hallway corners when he sees you at the other end, you catch glimpses of him across courtyards as he spins and flees in the opposite directions. A part of you wonders whether its because he does indeed have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you know, of whether it’s because he doesn’t have a crush on you and is embarrassed that you might think he does. 

Well, you can’t know until you talk to him and it seems like you won’t be able to talk to him unless you ambush him in the men’s toilets or something. Which, by the way, isn’t something you’re going to do because even though your friends might be crazy, you’re most definitely not. 

It was even to the point that Jungkook missed the first two practices after you found out, and you have no doubt that he would have avoided you by missing even more had Yoongi not threatened him with adding a crop top to his punishment attire should he miss another practice. He’d showed up for the next one but every time he came within five metres of you he blushed and kept his eyes to the ground, fleeing as soon as he can. 

It’s a little bit frustrating, and he’s still cute when he acts all shy, but you really wish you could track him down just so you know whether its true or not.

Perhaps, with time, he’ll grow a little less skittish and let you get close enough to start a conversation. You just have to hold out hope that a moment will come that will allow you to start bridging things back together with the two of you.

FRIDAY, WEEK 7

That moment comes sooner than you expect when, just the next day, you round a corner alongside Seulgi, having just come from the women’s locker rooms, and walk straight into someone. It’s like walking into a brick wall and kind of hurts. You stumble and let out a sound in pained surprise, but manage to stay on your feet for the most part— the joy at that moment of success passes quickly when you become aware of the cool feeling seeping down your thigh and stomach.

Before even looking to see who you walked into, your gaze is directed down to see what was spilt on you— it’s light pink, and the sugary sweet scent that brushes your nose and sticky sensation that begins to make itself known on your skin are something you recognise instantly.

Strawberry milk.

You look up in something akin to horror, but the expression all but falls from your face when you see who the culprit is.

Jungkook stands there looking very much like a deer caught in headlights, drink carton crumpled and empty in his hand now that its contents are all over your front. As you gaze at him you watch the tip of his ears turn bright red, eyes wide and so unguarded you swear you can see the thoughts whipping through his mind beyond them. You also see the instant regret and mortification that washes over his boyish features as he realises what has just happened and who he has spilt his drink on.

“y-y/n—” he stutters, voice caught in his throat. Whatever he was planning on saying is quickly overpowered by an obnoxious voice from his side.

You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi was walking alongside Jungkook until you hear him speak, “Wow, you know what you were coming around that corner so hard and fast that this is on you, y/n.”

When Yoongi first started talking, Jungkook had seemed relieved, but now a sense of panic has taken over his features. 

“N-no! I am so sorry! This was my fault, I shouldn’t have had it open when I couldn’t even drink it yet. I just really like strawberry milk, and…” He’s so endearingly remorseful as he speaks, big puppy eyes looking apologetically into your own like he’s searching for any hint of forgiveness there to spare.

For a moment you’re absolutely blindsided by the way he just made your heart squeeze in your chest with how damn cute he is, but you recover just in time to catch it as the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face melds into something devious and fitting for his bastardly title.

“Right, he’s right, totally our bad,” Yoongi says, doing a complete 180 and bewildering both you and Seulgi beside you. “Wow, look at your pants, totally soaked through man. Here, come with me— it’s only fair we help grab you something to change into.”

“What—” you don’t get to finish before the cat-faced bastard grabs you by the arm and begins dragging you down the hall in the direction you came from. Seulgi and Jungkook remain in place, stunned by the turn in events. 

“Jungkook, head to practice and get them started! I want some pyramid practice, and then some tumbling from you and the others. Chop chop!” — is all Yoongi throws over his shoulder in dismissal, dragging you where you now realise is one of the other locker rooms. You gape at him as he walks straight up to the one that has been locked for months and opens it with a key.

Catching your expression, he shrugs. “Sometimes you just need a place of your own to hoard things.”

You don’t understand what he’s talking about until you step in and see a table in the corner near the doorway piled high with first aid supplies, twiggy sticks and energy drinks. Your bewildered subsequent scan of the room for more treasured objects is cut short when a lump of clothing smacks you in the face.

You just barely manage to fumble it into your grasp, unable to swallow your groan when you see what it is from the pattern alone.

“It’s the only thing spare,” Yoongi says, radiating true goblin energy. You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him right now but you don’t know where to look to disprove him. “Try not to get my cheerleaders too worked up.”

You have an inkling as to why he’s done this from his words, but can’t confirm it right now. You huff, moving off to one of the stalls. 

“If people get flashed, that’s on you.”

Ten minutes later sees you back in the open gymnasium with cool air brushing your legs that usually only get to see the light of day through rips in your jeans. You set your team to their tasks and drills already, so now you’re left alone with your thoughts. You know for sure now why Yoongi made you change into the cheerleading skirt.

Because ever since you walked out in it and nearly made him fall flat on his face in shock, Jungkook hasn’t been able to keep the blush off his cheeks or his eyes away from you for more than a few minutes at a time. You feel slightly empowered, contrary to how you thought the dangerously short piece of clothing was going to make you feel. 

You have a nice body, you’re comfortable admitting it, and the way that your unplanned flaunting of it seems to be affecting Jungkook… well it’s a nice stroke of the ego, you won’t lie, but it also makes your stomach flip giddily. God, you want him. You’ve always thought he was cute but ever since he joined cheer and rocked up in that skirt like a sweet, hot fool, it was over for you. He’s so… ugh.

Trucking through the practice of your team is, for once, a struggle. It’s so hard not to look over every few seconds to catch Jungkook when you can feel his gaze on you, and you know that once you give in you won’t be able to help being distracted afterwards. It’s a miracle you get through to the end of it while remaining sane. 

As your practice wraps up for the day, you allow yourself a glimpse to the side at last. What you see is a sweaty, panting Jungkook, the muscles of his arms straining as he holds up a brunette you vaguely recall as Tzuyu above his head. Wow, you’re actually a little startled at how much arousal just washed through you— is this normal? Maybe you’re more whipped than you thought. You don’t know.

What you do know, however, is that you want that boy, and right now especially you want to mess with him. Call it a con of being around such bastardous friends all the time, but you’re really feeling the urge. You barely manage to hold yourself back, marvelling at the animal he seems to reduce you to with just a flex of his bicep.

The practice for your basketball team finishes before cheerleading; Yoongi is a ruthless coach and relentless when it comes to formations and perfecting routines. More often than not their practices end long after yours. As your girls begin to filter out of the gymnasium, the cheer squad are still going. You make to follow after, but your name is called from the other side of the gym by a voice you recognise but know instantly shouldn’t be here. 

“y/n! Come here! Don’t ignore me!” Seokjin is the fiend in question, hollering at such an unmistakable frequency that you couldn’t ignore it if you tried. It’s like he’s followed in the footsteps of cats and has pinpointed the exact frequency that a baby’s cry is at, and is now using it to his advantage. You turn, wary, and see him waving like a dumbass. “Come here! Don’t make me pspspsps!”

Now annoyed, you stomp over if only so you can get within beating range. As soon as you reach a few feet away he ducks behind Yoongi though, so you don’t get to follow through on your caveman instincts to beat him over the head with a rock.

“What?” you ask, giving him a stinky look. “Are you like, stalking me or something? Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You can tell he wants to laugh, but his instinct to rile you up overpowers the humour of what you said. “You think you’re worth stalking? I don’t need to stalk you to know that your day consists almost entirely of eating, shitting, and staring at a certain ass.”

Well, he has you there. You shrug, “I’m a simple girl.”

Seokjin is momentarily bewildered that you didn’t rise to his bait and Yoongi chokes on his laughter beside you, the sound coming out squeaky. You’re glad someone is laughing, it makes your dick hard when people find you funny. Again, you’re a simple girl.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” Seokjin says. Apparently it doesn’t take him long to recover, and he’s already shifted topics. 

Yoongi, who had broken away to guide his team for a moment, chimes back in at the taller male’s comment. “It’s all apart of the keikaku, man. Everything is going perfectly. My golden boy is almost too fun to torment. I’ve tasted power and now I don’t know how to stop.”

“Who?” Seokjin asks, more out of habit than anything, before looking over to Yoongi’s minions and letting out a sound of realisation. “Ahh… Mister Jungkook.”

You swear you see the male in question, who is waiting his turn to begin the tumbling routine Yoongi has changed them onto, stiffen. You’re not sure whether it is a trick of the light or not, though, because in the next second he’s shuffling forward to second in line, juggling his weight from foot to foot with restless energy. His eyes are trained on his teammates flipping across the matts. 

“So you know too? y/n, you big-mouthed whore!” Seokjin exclaims, pinning you with an exaggerated look of scandal. Jungkook trips slightly in his step as he moves to the front of the line, barely a few metres away.

You don’t bother defending yourself, since Yoongi speaks before you can anyway. “That y/n likes Jungkook and has wanted to peg his cute ass since forever? Yeah, I know.”

The timing of Yoongi’s response is truly unfortunate. As he started speaking, Jungkook began his run up— and it seems that whatever snippet he heard as he started were enough to throw him off completely. He goes into the front flip kind of wonky, and you have a feeling of dread creep up as you watch him.

He doesn’t do the mid-air turns he is meant to, and instead goes to land after just one flip— the timing is off, though, and your breath hisses through your teeth and you physically cringe as you watch his ankle roll upon landing. 

“Ah SHIT!” he yelps, quickly dropping to the mat and removing pressure from his foot. You feel frozen as you watch, a large number of his teammates running over and asking him if he’s okay.

“Oh feck,” Yoongi says, checking his watch as he mutters to himself. “Shit. Okay we need to practice and only have the gym for another forty-five minutes, but he needs that looked at asap. Who…”

Barely a split-second passes before he’s looking right at you imploringly, with an inappropriately devious glint in the back of his eyes. 

“y/n, you’re free and you have first aid training right? Can you take him to get that wrapped and iced up?” He’s not even done asking you before he’s pushing you in the direction of the male currently curled on the floor. “That room should still be open— I forgot to lock it earlier.”

“Wait, I actually have—” you’re about to let him know about the mountain of schoolwork you have to catch up on, but of course he’s not having any of it. He’s already barking at his squad.

“Okay, everyone, back off and back to tumbling! y/n here will take care of our golden boy, we have the gym for the next forty-five minutes and we’re gonna make the most of it, damn it!”

Yoongi abandons you at Jungkook’s side, and at his command the rest of the cheerleader begrudgingly disperse— you think you catch a few of the female ones giving you the stink eye at their lost opportunity, and you know it shouldn’t stroke your ego but still it does. 

“I guess this is how the Kookie crumbled, huh,” you say, embarrassed that he could have heard all of what Yoongi said and attempting to cope using the classic— humour. 

Jungkook, who had turned his wide eyes and red face to you the second you started talking, now seems to be blushing harder. Evidently, for a number of reasons, he is mortified. It’s like he’s trying to hide behind the long curls that have fallen into his face. Needless to say, it’s not successful, and now both of you are embarrassed. One of you needs to take the lead.

But right now neither of you are wearing the pants.

“Alright, let’s get that looked at,” you say, wincing as you look at his ankle already beginning to swell. “Arms up.”

He obeys instantly and without question, and you’re torn between the primal powers within you wanting to both cuddle him and to drop your panties then and there. 

Getting Jungkook to a standing position while he can only use one leg is harder than you could have imagined, but you know that there’s no way you would have been able to lift him had he not helped you carry his weight. Once he’s upright and his arm is around your shoulder (still panting slightly and glistening with sweat, as you’re trying not to think about) you begin the arduous journey to the locker room Yoongi showed you earlier. 

Jungkook doesn’t really say anything during the trip there, and neither do you— except he has an excuse, considering he’s probably in a fair bit of pain right now. You don’t have an excuse, except that you’re trying desperately not to think about how you can feel each hard line of his body against you right now. It’s a whole-brain engaging kind of activity.

Thankfully, the room is unlocked as Yoongi said, and you grab a towel to lay across one of the cleaner looking benches on the far side of the room— just because its cleaner than the others doesn’t mean it’s clean, per se. You smile when you see Jungkook’s thankful expression.

“Right,” you say, staying in front of where he’s sitting for a moment as you shake your arms out; the boy really is just all muscle, honestly. “Pop your ankle up on the bench, and I’ll grab some ice and stuff to wrap it.”

Jungkook nods, obeying wordlessly. His cheeks still are tainted the slightest pink, and he’s making a point to avoid meeting your gaze. Fighting a smile, you move to Yoongi’s stash and grab what you need, spotting some high-end painkillers and immediately adding them to the pile in your arms.

When you return to his side, you seat yourself on the bench beside his leg— thankfully, they’re wide enough that neither your butt nor Jungkook’s leg has to be sacrificed for the fit. You go through the motions with him, poking and prodding and bending to assess the damage; it’s just a bad sprain, but damn if each watery look he gets at the pain doesn’t make you want to coddle him to death. 

Surprisingly, he’s still silent as you go about icing and wrapping his ankle. You contemplated filling the silence but you’re not good at chit chat or small talk, so refrain and settle for humming softly instead. Considering the rollercoaster of feelings he’s spun you through today, you’re almost disappointed that a wrap on his ankle is all that’s going to come of this. 

Which is stupid, of course. You know. You digress.

You’re still somewhat disappointed as you finish up, popping the excess bandage back in its container. “Okay! You’ll need to…”

You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and for once he doesn’t shy away from it— there’s something about them, the endless chocolate depths and the doe-eyed look, that completely disarms you for a moment. Blinking, it takes all your might to stop yourself from studying as you continue. “Ahem, uh… you’ll need to keep it elevated, when possible. Compressing it is ideal. Also, for swelling, ice it for 20-30 minutes every 2-3 hours for the first day or so…”

He blinks up at you, and you smile. “Any questions?”

Something intriguing crosses his gaze and he bites his lip, flushing slightly. Oh, he is doing a number on your willpower. You need to get out of here.

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, continuing straight away. You watch even more colour rush to his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “About earlier… when I stacked it… Was what Yoongi said true?”

Well. You were not… expecting that. For a moment you’re stunned into silence, self control hanging by a thread. “What… Yoongi said?”

Jungkook gives you a look like he can’t believe you’re making him say it. “That you, um…”

Humiliated but deciding to face it head on, you ask him with your own cheeks heating, “Are you asking about the pegging or the, uh… the liking you part?”

To your surprise, Jungkook chokes and stiffens in place, eyes shooting wide and face and ears going beet red. “I, um… I only heard the liking part…”

OH. Well. You kind of want to die, but… at least now he knows?

 …You’re gonna throw yourself off a bridge.

He must mistake the cause of your silence for something else, because he seems to panic. “B-because, um, I know you know how I feel, and it’s okay if you don’t um— I was just wondering—”

In the midst of his spiel, you take a seat on the bench, closer to him than you were last time. It only makes him grow more flustered before you press a finger to his lips to shush him. He gets the message and falls silent instantly, making your heart skip a beat at his ready obedience. God, are you an animal?! Really?!

“I was trying to track you down to confirm it, you know,” you say, shoving your embarrassment into a box in the far reaches of your mind. Time to swallow your pride.  “But you kept avoiding me.”

Jungkook’s eyes are still wide. “Oh… sorry.”

You smile at his soft, uttered apology. Testingly, tentatively, you shift your hand and rest it on his hip. His whole body stiffens once more, but its more in surprise than discomfort. “What would you do if it was true, hm?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s momentarily speechless. When your thumb rubs against the hard line of his hip bone, drawing a shudder, he jerks back into motion.

“Oh my god, you—” he’s dazed before he narrows his eyes at you, voice dropping to a whisper that’s somewhat tinged with hurt. “Are you teasing me?”

You manage to hold back the laugh but can’t help the smile that rises at his words. “I always get the urge to tease you, Jungkook, but it’s not to be cruel.” You lean forward, holding his gaze. “I probably never grew out of that kindergarten stage.”

It takes a second for what you said to sink in. The way that hope enters his eyes is so cute that you’re humiliated at the urge to squeal that rises. “So, you…”

It’s embarrassing to say the words out loud, especially considering the filth running through your mind right now, and you can’t quite bring yourself to. Teasingly, you bring your other hand to his thigh, brushing the edge of the skirt with your thumb and enjoying the way he shivers. “It’s embarrassing to say out loud, so if you want to hear it, you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

The soft, excited gasp he lets out emboldens you to carry out your next action— you move the hand on his hip, brushing your fingertips up the side of his slim waist before bringing them back down to rest over his crotch. 

To your complete and utter surprise, there is already some firmness there that greets you. At your curious gaze, he flushes pink.

“It’s the skirt,” he confesses, averting his gaze to your lap for the briefest second. “You look really good in it…”

Not that your ego needs more stroking, but you’re happy to let it happen anyway. You hum, beginning to move your hand— he stifles a gasp.

“I know,” you say, grinning. It’s ridiculous how your stomach flips, arousal beginning to trickle into your abdomen and ache in the apex of your thighs. “I could feel you looking at me. I caught you a few times, too.”

He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but the current situation doesn’t leave much room for dignity as it is anyway. Still, you can’t help but tease him some more, voice soft as you rub over his growing bulge and lean closer. “Do you always look at me, Jungkook?”

He squirms, a gasp slipping out before he attempts to send you a glare. “This is embarrassing,” he whines. You raise a brow, increasing the pressure of your hand, and he is quick to amend his response in a whisper, “…Yes.”

“And what do you imagine, when you look at me?” you ask, unable to deny the thrill running through your veins and lighting heat in your abdomen. You pause your ministrations only to move your hand to the top of his skirt and slip beneath the material. This time a moan slips out before he can stop it. “Is it things like this?”

He lets his head fall back against the wall, looking at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “Yes,” he admits, and for how readily he supplied the answer you reward him by slipping your hand beneath the rest of the layers over his hips and wrapping your fingers around his hardening length.

He whines— actually whines— and rolls his hips into your hand, thick thigh tensing beneath the grip of your other hand. The resulting wash of arousal that floods over you is so sudden it almost makes you dizzy.

“Oh, you’re a good boy,” you mutter it without much thought, but surprise filters through you when you feel his length twitch and flush with heat in your hold at the words. Ah— he likes a bit of praise, does he? You slide your free hand up his thigh, working the waistband of his skirt and bike shorts down until they rest just past the beginning of his thighs. It’s like you’re looking at a work of art, you marvel slightly— the curls that begin to trail down a little below his belly button, the sculpted line of his hip bones and the hints of his abs that show as his body tenses. You’re just one woman.

“Does it feel as good as you imagined, Jungkook?” you aimed to speak louder but it comes out sort of breathy. You trail your fingers down the tan skin of his abdomen before gripping the material of his bottoms and using the moment to free his length.

If you didn’t have such a firm grip on it, you know it would have sprung back against his stomach— you try not to let your surprise show, either, because you could feel that he was packing, but seeing it is another thing and your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. Jungkook’s chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you and hands bunching in the material of the punishment skirt. You stroke your hand along his length, pressing your thumb along the underside and relishing in the shudder it elicits.

“y/n,” he whines softly, face flushing as his cock twitches in your hold. Whether he’s forgotten you even asked a question or simply is too overwhelmed to answer right now, you don’t know. 

As for how you’re doing— you’re so turned on right now that in all honesty you don’t know what to do with yourself. A solution comes to mind quickly and you don’t have the usual self control you do to stop yourself. 

Mindful of his injured leg, you rise, keeping your grip on him as you do so. His lidded gaze follows you, soft gasps escaping him all the while.

“Give me your leg,” you instruct, relishing how quickly he listens. Presented with his thigh, you swing one of your legs over the other side of the bench and rest on it so that as little weight as possible is on his bad leg, your knees brushing his hips. As soon as you’re lowered, you can’t help but gasp and roll your hips— the only thing separating you and the smooth skin and hard muscle of his thigh is the thin layer of your damp panties, and the stimulation on your clit makes your entire core throb in arousal.

Apparently this is also one of the things he’s imagined, because Jungkook lets out a low, gasping moan and rolls his hips up into your hand— which, of course, makes his thigh muscles tense and shift, rubbing oh so nicely against your clit. You almost fall off from the jolt of pleasure that shoots up your spine, free hand shooting to grab his bicep, “Ah, Jungkook!”

He apparently has the sense of mind to support you by using the arm in your hold to reach and grip your hip. Generous amounts of precum have started to bead at his tip, and you drag your hand up his girth, collecting it on your thumb and smearing it down his length for lubrication. It elicits a whine, another roll of his hips, and like that you settle into a rhythm of sorts.

“y/n.” Each gasp and moan he lets out have to be specially designed to ruin you, you decide. He seeks your gaze with hazy, lust-ridden eyes. “Please kiss me.”

It’s a brazen request coming from him of all people, and you’re all too happy to oblige. You lean forward, the rock of your hips making you shudder, and connect his lips with your own— he’d sought your kiss as you did so, craning his neck forward and awaiting your lips. It’s a heated kiss from the beginning, given the situation— you don’t fight for dominance so much as assume it from the start. Each press of your tongue, graze of your teeth, has a new sound tumbling from his throat and into your mouth. It makes your heart race even harder than it already was.

It doesn’t take long for tension to begin to build in your abdomen, and you know if you’re already feeling it then he must be even closer. Not wanting this to end just yet, you force yourself to slow your hand down, breaking the kiss and shifting to press your mouth to his neck.

“Wh-what—” he gasps, shuddering as your thumb plays with his slit, rhythm slowed to a stop. Both of you are panting, almost, and you suckle a mark into the junction of his neck before pulling back with a grin.

“Surely that isn’t all you’ve imagined, Jungkook.” You lean forward, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth before pulling back— the way he chases your lips makes your heart squeeze. “What now? Be a good boy, tell me.”

Far from being embarrassed at this point and all but a slave to the haze of lust in the air, Jungkook’s breath hitches and he responds, somewhat tentative if anything, “… ride me.”

“Good boy,” you breathe, offering him a proud smile. He preens beneath your fond look.

You shift, and you think that he must have expected you to stand up fully and remove your clothes, or at least your bottoms, but to his surprise you simply shuffle up and reach beneath your skirt, slipping your panties aside and aligning his member with your entrance. You’re so turned on that you’ve soaked through your underwear, and you know you’ve smeared enough precum along his length that lubrication will be no problem. So you simply lower yourself down until his head parts your lips and begins to sink into you.

At the sheer size of him even as just the tip enters your cunt, you have to halt, gasping, “Fuck!”

If he wanted to respond, you don’t really give him time to; as soon as you get your bearings you continue sinking down onto him. There is a slight burn, of course, but you’re so turned on that it fades quicker than you can register. The sensation of him, the throb, his girth and the way he splits your walls, stretching you more and more as you seat yourself on him— it’s indescribable, and all you can offer is that it feels so good you swear tears are gonna prick at your eyes. From the look on his face, brows scrunched and mouth parted as a long, low groan slips out, you know it must feel just as good for him.

When the back of your thighs press against the top of his his and he’s fully sheathed in you, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind— this position has him so deep in your pussy that with each miniscule shift the tip of his cock presses against a spot that sends delicious jolts of pleasure up your spine. Honestly, if you weren’t so intent on seeing this through, you think you could cum from that sensation alone. 

Even as you’re in a mess of pleasure and a haze of desire, you can’t help but tease him some more. You clench your insides, rolling your hips— the sharp, lilting moan he lets out makes your stomach flip. “What now, baby boy?”

You hold his hips down with your hand, feeling them twitch with the urge to rock up into you. A long, drawn groan escapes him. “Do you want to see me? More of me? Or do you want to feel me?”

You take his hand into your hold and guide it up to your chest, slipping it beneath your shirt and bra to cup your breast. His breath hitches, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinks and attempts to clear the haze from his vision. You relish in the control you have over him until his thumb brushes your nipple and he pinches it, tweaking it instinctively. A moan tears from you, the shock of pleasure that results making you clench around him again; his free hand scrambles for purchase against your thigh, fingers digging in as pleasure washes over him in turn.

Your breath is coming a little faster now. Leaving his hand at your chest, you move it to drag up his neck before threading your fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck. Finding a firm grip, you tug his head back ever so lightly— it elicits a new moan that you haven’t heard yet, and you really begin to think this boy will be your undoing. 

“What do you want?” you ask again, rolling your hips once more. It isn’t fair of you, you know, since you can hardly think yourself from the sensations. “You want me to move, baby boy?”

He nods, attempting to speak through the moan caught in his throat. “Please… fuck me, y/n.”

Well, who are you to say no to that?

Happy to oblige, you engage your thighs and begin to rise— the sensation of him dragging against your walls makes both of you gasp, and you almost falter in your movements from the feeling alone. Gathering your wits as best as you can, you continue your movements, successfully rising and then seating yourself once more. Unable to withhold much longer, you roll your hips and begin to set the two of you into a rhythm.

You stopped paying heed to the noises escaping you a while ago, but you don’t doubt that the sinful sounds tumbling from Jungkook’s mouth as you ride him are a large contributor to the way the tension in your abdomen quickly begins to knot and bundle once more.

Even with as heavenly as it feels, it’s hard to keep up momentum when your thighs begin to burn. Thankfully, Jungkook has more than enough stamina in his thigh muscles for the both of you, and when he senses your fatigue, he brings his grip to your hips to hold them in place before rocking his own up and beginning to fuck up into you.

Needless to say, the pace he sets is much faster and much harder than the one you had. Swears tumble softly from your mouth at the change in intensity of pleasure as it shoots through you, orgasm already approaching much faster than anticipated. Your hands come to grip his on your hips with a cry of his name, knees turning to jelly. 

Movement against your hand surprises you, but not as much as the sensation of Jungkook’s hand shifting to thread his fingers with yours. You honestly feel your heart burst, and as he fucks up into you that bit harder you can’t help the way you clutch his hand like a lifeline, the sweet moment quick to pass but most definitely not forgotten. 

“G-gonna cum,” you gasp, eyes closing and allowing the slap of skin and Jungkook’s gasping moans to overtake your senses. You don’t forget to indulge him in some praise. “Such a g-good boy, making me feel so g-good.”

He whines at your words, and right as your pleasure approaches its peak you feel his hips stutter and slam up into yours harder than all the times before. The stimulation of that spot deep inside of you is all that’s needed to push you into the throes of your orgasm, and it washes over you more intensely than you’ve ever felt before as you clench and tense with a cry of his name.

Distantly, you feel his own grip on you tighten, and his hips still as they’re pressed against yours. Warmth floods your core, cock throbbing as he empties inside you, and you swear you hear the softest of confessions uttered to the air as he joins you in your high.

He comes down before you do, although you’re not far behind him, and for a moment you sit in place, panting and attempting to come back to your senses. He’s softened inside you slightly, but when you shift and clench on instinct as you do so, feeling cum slide down your thighs, he twitches  and throbs inside you.

Taken aback, your gaze whips to him and now that his shame has returned to him, he has the decency to blush. Well, apparently Jeon Jungkook’s stamina really is no joke. Maybe he really was born to be an athlete.

“Greedy. You want more?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and a thrilling mix of fear and excitement dances in his eyes.

“y/n—” he rasps, desperate. You slide off of him, making both of you groan, but return to your previous position on his thigh. He moans as he feels his own cum leak out of you and onto his skin. When your hand comes to wrap around his slick member, he jolts and whines.

“You wanna tell me what you said just before?” you ask, beginning to twist your wrist and stroke his cock ever so slowly. He shakes his head, whether at your question or the overstimulation, you’re not sure— you know it’s probably a bit of both though, considering he twitches in your hold.

“‘S embarrassing,” he murmurs, back arching as you increase your pace just a little. “Ah, y/n!”

“I see. You know, I think I can get you to cum again,” you say, changing tactics. 

Jungkook shakes his head, strands of his raven hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. “I can’t—”

“You should tell me,” you say, teasing lilt to your tone. He whines, rocking his hips into and then away from the sensations. 

When he shakes his head again, letting it fall back against the wall and baring the column of his throat to you, you jump on his acceptance of the situation. You pick up speed, rolling your wrist and moving in tune with the shifting of his body. It doesn’t take very long before his oversensitivity throws him into another orgasm, stronger than the last but dryer. The few beads of cum that escape seem ever so tantalising as they roll down his length, drawing your gaze.

“You gonna tell me now?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Jungkook slumps against the wall, breathing heavy and sweat glistening on his golden skin. He looks at you through heavily lidded eyes.

“It’s still embarrassing,” he whines, breathy in his exertion.

Right, well. You know what he said, but you want to hear him say it with his own mouth once more and you’ll stay here all night to make that happen if you need to.

Of course, it’s not until a while and another heated moment or two later that Jungkook realises this and gives in.

His confession is so much sweeter on your ears the second time, and of course, as promised, you reward him with your own. It’s worth it for the way it makes his eyes shine, you think. 

Jeon Jungkook really has you well and truly whipped. 

a/n: thank u for reading and i hope u liked it! im super excited to have completed my first commission and would really appreciate it if u let me know what u think by sending me an ask and liking & rbing this with ur thoughts!! i read & appreciate everything!! thank u !! love u !! peace out !! :D

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 35)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I know, I know, the gif is huge, so much bigger than I usually put in the chapters but c’moooon, look at him!

Anyways, hope you like this one. Love ya!

Stithulf is alive. Stithulf is alive. Stithulf is alive.

And you can remain between dead and alive for a while longer.

Shame threatens to choke you, but the relief seeps into your very bones and you allow yourself to forget what you ought to feel and revel in the freedom the bindings of your promises give you.

You distractedly nod your greetings to the few warriors that call your name in passing, but your eyes remain on Ivar as he speaks a few words with Hvitserk and Ubbe.

Toying with your wedding ring, you thank the Gods, both theirs and yours, for granting you what you asked out of them.

His survival, his return. Their victory.

And time.

Before long Ivar walks back towards you, tired movements of his arm on the crutch, while the other extends to you, expecting the touch of your hand on his.

You do not hesitate, but you do linger on it.

On the way his hand feels rough and warm as it holds on to yours, on the softness in his expression as he kisses your fingers, on the smile he offers you, a secret and something else written in it.

____

When you get to your room, you allow yourself to be lost in the heady feeling of having him back with you, lingering close in his embrace and kissing him until you can’t remember the cold that embraced you in his absence.

But, eventually, you need to put your feet back on the ground.

At your back Ivar leans against a table, pouring a goblet of mead for himself and you. You take a deep breath, turning around with your hands folded over your stomach, and your back straight.

“You didn’t tell me about what Freydis did.”

Ivar doesn’t look at you as he offers gruffly, “Would you have believed me?”

Your response is instantaneous, unwavering, “Yes.”

He finally turns his gaze to you, considering you in silence. You know he accepts the truth behind your words, but won’t admit it aloud. Instead, he shrugs,

“I wanted her to be the one to tell you.”

“Wanted to keep that conversation between just the two of you for as long as you could?” You press before you can keep the words from leaving your lips.

Ivar’s smile earns an edge of cruelty as he taunts, “Jealous?”

Oh, but you refuse to let him have this victory. So, you return the same kind of smile.

“She is. Of you,” You confess, a tilt of your head when you continue, “But you know that, don’t you? Very alike, Freydis and you.”

“I am not jealous of a slave.”

You never said anything about him being jealous of her.

“She isn’t a slave. And you are jealous.” You insist, unwavering. Ivar’s nose furrows in anger and something else, and with a small sound of exertion he stands up, walking towards you.

“What do I have to be jealous of, hm?” He asks, “I have you, and she doesn’t.”

But it doesn’t sound certain, it sounds accusing, and it irks you, that he may doubt it.

“Is that a question?”

Past the flare of rage in his pale eyes, you notice something else, something more fragile. And he presses, eyes wide, “Should it be?”

You search his gaze, almost offended that he dares question you, affronted at the idea that nothing you do is enough to prove to him that you are true.

But you don’t find cutting edges, or bitter accusations, or distrust, written in his expression, no. You find fear, you find the same lost look in his eyes as that night where he told you, I can’t help but think it a vision, a mirage, that once I get close enough will just vanish.

You drop your shoulders with a breath, and concede, “No, of course not.”

But when you turn around Ivar reaches for your arm, your wrist trapped in a rough hand as he makes you turn to face him once again. Dread grips at you, the possibility of going back to what it used to be.

Because the coldness in his expression is familiar, and so is the surge of anger in your chest.

“But she is still by your side, even now that you know she betrayed you,” His eyes search yours and his grip on your arm tightens momentarily. “Why?”

“Because I trust her, because…she regrets what she did.”

“And regret is enough for you?” His anger rises with his words, and his brow furrows as he says, “I don’t want her near you.”

You take your arm off his grasp with a forceful tug, and say, “It isn’t your choice to make, Ivar.”

Ivar’s lip curls into a snarl, a furrow of his nose, a glint in his eyes that speaks of wrath and the desire to control and command it all.

Voice low, almost a threat, he insists, “You are my wife, you’d do good to remember that.”

Narses’ words echoing in the empty room, “As the commander of your forces, as the man you’ll marry, I’m telling y-…”

And your response that left your lips like poison, “If you try using that to silene me, I fear you will not live long as my husband.”

And the same anger of centuries, the same pride of being told too many times you ought to do or be something other than what you are, make you meet Ivar’s eyes, not giving an inch, “And you’d do good to remember that if you wanted someone meek and obedient, you should have married someone else.

He doesn’t let you have a victory, but he doesn’t push for his own on this matter either, choosing instead to glare at you.

And turns out you are very alike, Freydis and you, Ivar and you. Because there is a part of you that since the night of your wedding has held on to this foolish, damning jealousy.

“Maybe you should have married Freydis,” You tell him, biting, “Have her do as you say, and tell you everything you want to hear. Since you were so quick to believe her words when she spoke against everything your wife tells you, I gather-…”

“I didn’t believe her,” You open your mouth to argue, but Ivar is quicker, “Not over you.”

“But she lives.” You reply, with more words asking the same question he did you: why.

“She lives because of you, because you love her. Because you wouldn’t forgive me if I killed her,” He offers, unwavering. Ivar tilts his head to the side, considers you before taunting, “Don’t assume anything other than you is what keeps Freydis safe from me.”

It is fear and anger what makes you look at him in a blend of disgust and something else, and you vow, “You won’t touch a hair on her head, Ivar. On your Gods and mine, if you hurt her-…”

He interrupts you with a mocking laugh. You hadn’t heard those in a while.

“You will kill me?”

“I will make you regret it,” You offer, not missing a beat. Your words to him as he asked whether you had forgiven him for killing those merchants come to your lips, this time not as anything else other than what you meant. “Don’t forget, you can hurt me, but-…”

“But you can hurt me too, I remember,” He interrupts, but there’s less edge, even if his resolve doesn’t waver. Ivar offers a quiet scoff, and with a small smile that speaks of an attempt at a truce tells you, “I listen, you just insist on thinking I don’t.”

And the part of you that is too alike him recedes, gives in, at the way he lowers the shield, exchanges the fighting stance for something softer. You lift your free hand to the side of his face, trace the scar on his cheekbone with comfortable familiarity.

Your voice is quiet, a promise, “Then listen to me now, when I tell you she deserves my trust.”

A moment, a breath, where his eyes meet yours seemingly in search for the answer to the question he hasn’t yet asked, before he presses,

“More than I do?”

“Never.” You vow, a small smile on your lips that Ivar doesn’t hesitate to lean down and taste against his own.

“Good.” He promises before he moves away from you and towards the bed.

Ivar sits down on the edge of the bed, one hand lifting an iron-encased leg to move it to the side, leaving space between his legs. He motions you closer as if your proximity were another step of the process, and you lift your eyebrows in question.

“My damn legs hurt, but I want you close. Get over here.”

You move to stand between his legs, but it seems you take too long, for he puts his hands on your hips and brings you closer.

Ivar’s gaze lowers to his hands, and he traces with his eyes as well as his fingers the belt that hangs low on your hips, asking quietly, “How was it? Ruling Kattegat alone?”

The argument isn’t over, the Gods know Ivar won’t leave an argument unfinished; but he does seem willing -eager, even- to forget it for the time being. And, if you’re honest, so are you.

“Wondering if now that I tasted power I look to usurp you?” You tease, your arms over his shoulders, fingers playing at the back of his neck.

Ivar chuckles quietly, and it still fills you with warmth to be able to make him laugh. You don’t think that will ever change.

“You won’t go to war against me,” He tells you in jest. But, because he cannot help himself, he taunts, “You’d lose.”

“I’ve been learning a lot from you, love, I wouldn’t be so certain.”

He smiles up at you, but there’s an edge of softness in it that grips your heart tight.

His hand lifts to your face, and Ivar brings you down and kisses you.

While the way he kissed you on the docks was hungry and desperate, bringing you as close as possible with a demanding grip; now he takes his time exploring your mouth, softly, languidly, and his hands take their time roaming over your body.

Instead of pulling back, Ivar lingers in the breath you share, brows pressed together and eyes closed. And he leans and claims your lips again, softly, quickly pulling back. And again, and again.

You smile against his mouth, unable to keep yourself from breathing out his name.

“You missed me.” He tells you, a dare. But you hear the question behind it.

“I did,” You reassure quietly, your hand on the side of his face holding him still as you press the softest of kisses on the corner of his mouth. “I missed you, Ivar.”

He lets out a small hum, either at your touch or your words. And it is a familiar sound. It is the same that left his lips when you kissed him on the night of your wedding, the same that left his lips when you told him you wanted him on the night that everything changed.

Gods, you love him.

The daze of the moment dissipates, and Ivar leans a bit back, though he doesn’t relinquish his hold on you, arms still secure around your waist as he looks up at you.

“Freydis betrayed you, you know it isn’t smart to keep her near.”

You absently trace the chainmail over his shoulder, as you think of your answer.

“Everyone I have trusted has betrayed me, I think. Even you, you put-…”

“Put chains on you and dragged you all the way to Kattegat, I know,” Ivar interrupts, exasperated. You chuckle at his frustration, and he brings you closer, his face against your stomach and in the way he tilts his head a silent command that you undo his braids. You smile, and get to work. Ivar continues, voice muffled against your dress, “But I have made amends, I have paid for it.”

“Have you?” You tease, and Ivar turns his head to stare up at you, the beginning of a smirk on his lips. “Because if one thinks about it, you have gotten exactly what you wanted.”

“But I’ve fought for it, I’ve earned it.”

“Earned me?” You ask, a tilt of your eyebrow.

He shakes his head, “I’m not answering that.”

It draws a laugh out of you, and you settle in the quiet peace as you continue working on his hair, his arms secure around your waist, his head a comfortable weight against you.

“You earned my…trust,” You confess, hoping he doesn’t notice the waver in your voice. If he does, he does not let it show. “And so has Freydis. You must trust my judgement, Ivar.”

“I do. But I also know you have a good heart, and you’d let someone escape Hel if they spoke words of love.”

“I’m not that naïve.”

“But you are soft.”

Your nails drag over the shaved side of his head, moving his hair back and also succeeding in making his eyes threaten to flutter shut.

“I know you don’t intend it to sound like one, but with each time you tell me that it sounds more and more like an insult.”

He shrugs, “Take it as an insult then. It is still true.”

The smile his words draw on your lips is exasperated and lovesick and so many things, but you still shake your head at him, disbelieving.

“Do you intend to insult your wife often?”

“My wife is…something else when she is angry, so I don’t see why not.”

The noticeable steps of a thrall somewhere behind you make you both come down from the moment of quiet, and Ivar stands up from the bed as you step away from him.

The thrall mutters the bath you requested be drawn is ready, and you turn to her with a smile.

“Thank you,” You tell her, before asking her, “Without lavender oil, right? It’s not for me.”

“Of course.” She promises, a bow of her head and she is gone.

“Lavender,” Is all Ivar says when you turn around, and you frown in confusion. He offers a thoughtful nod, as if he is just realizing something, “That’s what you smell like.”

Your heart does a strange thing in your chest, but you still smile up at him, even if it is crooked and foolish.

“Why am I not surprised you sniff me, Viking?”

He shrugs, unbothered, “You are the one that uses flowers to be perfumed for me.”

“I have used lavender oil since you brought me here.” You argue, the it wasn’t for you implicit in your tone, but Ivar’s smile only widens.

He leans closer and you stay frozen in your spot, and he runs his cold nose up the column of your throat, before dropping a kiss under your ear.

“I know.”

His voice, accented and low and his, right by your ear, makes your knees weak.

“J-Just go.” You tell him, stepping back again with a hand on his chest to keep him away.

____

Luckily not many were lost, and most of those who returned injured will be alright. You spend a while tending to the more urgent matters with the healers, but before long dusk threatens to settle upon you, and you return to your room.

Grateful for the warm water and cloth a thrall offers you, you shrug off the bloodied dress and clean the stain of blood and work from your skin.

The girl leaves you alone as you put on the clean dress, and as you work on the laces of it -as best as you can, having grown so unused to lacing your dress up yourself- you hear the door to your rooms open again.

“Love? Where are you?”

Hearing Ivar call you that never ceases to make warmth settle in your chest, a strange blend of joy and pride. It takes you a few moments to reply, too caught up lingering on the words you haven’t said yet.

“Back here,” You call out, hearing the characteristic shuffling of your husband crawling over the wooden floor. “My dress got blood on it, I needed to change.”

“You do know you don’t need to go back there, right?” He says, a blend of mocking and daring. “I have seen you naked before.”

The water of the bath growing cold around you, and alone in the room with Ivar you grit your teeth at how he offers you the linen to cover yourself, but stays more than a few feet away from you, arrogant and hungry.

“Yes, I remember.” You bite out.

Ivar chuckles, sending a shiver down your spine as if he were right behind you, even though he’s on the other side of the room.

“Oh, trust me, so do I.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” He calls out, a small grunt as he lifts himself onto the bed. “I’m sure you often wish you did, but you don’t.”

You walk from behind the wooden wall with a chuckle, but you stop short when you see Ivar on the bed, for the first time since you’ve known him with nothing but pants on.

Gods, imagining what he looked like was nothing compared to this, was it? Broad shoulders, strong arms, defined chest. Your eyes are greedily taking in the new sight, and your heart beats quicker in your chest. A rush of heat goes through you, because there’s a ring on your finger and it’s a reminder that he’s yours.

Your eyes linger on the ink traces on his skin, paths that curve sinuously over the arch of his strong shoulders, that travel down his arms and dare venture over his chest.

“What is it?”

Your throat is dry, and you have to force your eyes to meet his.

“I, um, I had never seen them before.”

“You’ve seen people with ink on them.”

You cannot help the nostalgic huff of laughter that leaves your lips, your lips curved into a side smile.

“When I was younger, I was warned by Frankian travelers of those Norsemen and how they tempted women away from their God with their bodies, with the…traces of ink on their skin. A part of me…clung to those warnings,” Your voice lowers, and so do your eyes, returning to the ink traces on Ivar’s chest. “Surrounded by Christians and Arabs, I would…fantasize about Viking men.”

And looking at him, you understand why those Christian women forgot their vows and their God.

Ivar grunts, settling better in his place and not meeting your eyes, uncomfortable.

“And the Viking you married is a cripple, not even whole,” He spits out, and your stomach tightens with dread and cold. “I’d say ask the Gods why they curse you so, but they don’t answer.”

Frowning, you step closer.

“Don’t say those things,” You chastise softly, “You are whole, and…and I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“I thought you didn’t lie to me, wife.” He snaps back, but it doesn’t have the usual biting cruelty, it is more…wavering.

“I don’t.”

“You’ll tell me you don’t wish I’d been born…normal?” There’s bitterness and something else in his voice when he confesses, “I do.”

“If you were any different you wouldn’t be you,” You remind him, standing by the edge of the bed, a question in your eyes. Ivar’s eyes fall from yours, but it is an answer, so you sit down, facing him. “You are who you are because of your legs, Ivar, as much as anything else. If you were any different, you wouldn’t be you, and I wouldn’t want you the way I do.

The smile he offers is short-lived and insincere, and your chest pulls tight. You lean closer but he still refuses to meet your eyes.

Your voice is hushed, but you know he can hear you, when you say,

“If you were any different, I wouldn’t love you the way I do.”

If you name things, you make them real. And real things are dangerous things.

But you don’t feel anything other than peace, at having finally said it. You’ve admitted it to others for so long, to yourself for even longer, it was time you admitted it to him too. Ivar deserved to know, maybe more than anyone.

He furrows his brow, questioning, hesitant. His expression trembles, but his eyes desperately search yours for the truth behind your words.

“Y-You…?” His words die, and there’s a fragility to him, a vulnerability that tells you of the hold you have on his heart, and it terrifies even you.

The hesitance to accept your words as true, the fear that somehow this isn’t real, the desperation for any reassurance that you love him; it makes tears sting at your eyes and your heart hurt deep in your chest.

Still, the words come easy, and they are a promise, a reassurance, a truth when you speak them.

“I love you, Ivar.”

He doesn’t give you time to dwell on the strange way his expression falls at your words, because he brings you closer and hungrily claims your mouth.

You cannot keep the soft sound of surprise and delight that leaves your lips, and you allow yourself to surrender to his kiss, to the heady feeling of him. Your hand falls on his shoulder to support your weight as he demands you move even closer with a hand on the back of your head.

Before long, you have to part for breath, but Ivar is insistent, claiming your lips again and again and again, each time with growing urgency, with a desperation that isn’t born out of lust but of…fear.

With your brow pressed against his and your hand on the side of his neck, you silently ask him to slow down.

You open your eyes, and take in the strangely pained expression on his face. Brows furrowed, jaw clenched tight, and hands that you both pretend don’t tremble as they cup your face.

“I love you,” You whisper, because you can, because you want to, because he needs you to. You cross the distance between you and kiss him softly, pouring all you feel for him in the gentle press of your lips on his. “I love you,” You tell him again, kissing him again, granting him in the soft and loving kisses what reassurance he was looking for in the desperate kisses he demanded before. “I love you,” His eyes refuse to open yet, and your hand lifts to the side of his face, fingers delicately tracing the scar on his cheekbone, hoping the by-now-familiar gesture can make him lose some of the tension that has taken a hold of him. His eyes finally open, and you smile. Voice quiet, you offer, “I love you, Ivar. More than anyone, more than anything, I love you.”

This time, when you lose yourself in him, there’s softness instead of desperation, even though the hunger and the want linger.

You meet his gaze when you pull back, hoping he finds whatever he is searching for in your eyes.

But before long your gaze returns to his bare chest, and the ink traces that roam over his skin. You lower your hand from where it rested on his neck to touch him, but stop yourself just a hair’s breadth away from his skin, your breath caught in your throat when you lift your eyes to his.

He grabs your hand, and moves you forward, pressing your palm against the skin over his heart.

And as if chains were broken, you now are free to trace with your fingers as well as your eyes the ink traces on Ivar’s chest.

You move closer, and drag the tips of your fingers over the figure of what looks to be a prow of a Viking ship, and follow the traces of the ink down the side of his chest, almost to his stomach.

His chest rises and falls quickly at your touch, and you when you lift your gaze back to his and find dark eyes looking intently into yours, you bite your lip to try to keep at bay a smile.

You were never one to hunger for power, but if power means this, if power means Ivar’s parted lips and quickened breaths, if power means making him tremble at the faintest of your touches; you understand why so many kill and die in search for power.

There’s a thrill, in having such power. A thrill that makes your own heart quicken in your chest, that makes you want to lean down and trace the paths of the ink with your tongue and your lips.

And because you’re the one in power now, you do.

You start near his collarbone where one of the thick lines curves from his shoulder, letting your breaths trace the skin for a moment before you kiss it.

Ivar lets out a shaky breath when your lips touch his skin, and that only encourages you to keep going. You move further down, a trail of kisses down the center of his chest, while your hands leisurely explore the rest of him, his shoulders, his arms, his sides.

When you lift your eyes to his face, not content in soft little sounds and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, finding yourself wanting to see the evidence of your effect on him written in his expression, you find pale blue eyes dark and hungry, focused intently on you.

You offer a side smile against his skin, and the ink traces are long forgotten as one of your hands ventures down his chest, trailing down his stomach and…

He grips your hand before you can go any lower, and you make a sound of protest as you watch him trap your wrist in his hand. You are petulantly upset that he stopped you, because he is yours, and you want to touch him, you want to show him that he most certainly can feel pleasure, and that you most certainly want to give it to him.

His hand at the back of your neck makes you look up at him, and he brings you to him with a certainty that borders on desperation.

His mouth claims yours urgently, and you answer the siren call, straddling him and surrendering to the taste of his kiss, to the feeling of his hands on you.

Ivar brings you closer and closer, sitting up so that as much of you is pressed against as much of him as possible, as if trying to make you one.

One of his hands lingers on your backside, grasping at you and bringing you closer, while the other roams over you. His free hand roughly cups your breast as he moves his lips down the column of your throat, and your back arches, his name a breath on your lips.

You feel dazed and yet you still feel the hunger, you still starve and want and ache.

Hearing you call his name makes Ivar slow down, and he pulls back slightly to look at you. His hand falls back to your waist and you instantly miss the touch.

His gaze meets yours, his eyes dark and his lips parted and bearing the mark of your kiss.

“I want you,” He tells you, gaze falling back to your lips. He steals another kiss, and when he pulls back, he repeats the words you told him, “However I can have you.”

____ ____ ____

I’m almost sorry for ending it like that btw, but I have my reasons and I think you can guess what those reasons are lol

I hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!

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[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame XII

Author’s note: I’m back after this chapter kicking my butt, I must have rewritten it three times until I was satisfied because it introduces many characters from the show and I wanted to get them just right. Not sure I’m happy with the result still, but yep, here it is. Enjoy lovelies!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 5347

Warnings: The usual

King Harald's hall smelled like a fishmonger's home, and it was as inviting as a slave trader's ship. Sitting down to a meal with the man, Ivar tried to contain his displeasure at being there. It had been on Hvitserk's face since their ships had treaded through the carcasses of dead whales in the bay. Both the brothers managed to set aside their poor manners when they came face-to-face with Finehair, but it lingered in the backs of their minds, just like the bad smell.

Ivar was able to ignore the pleasantries and idle chatter that Harald was currently speaking. He was much more preoccupied with the dark-haired Queen on the throne adjacent to the King. Astrid, Lagertha's shieldmaiden and bed warmer, was sipping from her horn of mead while giving Harald loving looks. They were practiced and disingenuous, but they did not explain how she came to be here. Clearly not of her free will, but Harald was too besotted to notice her veiled contempt.

To Ivar's left sat Freydis, introduced as his personal thrall. He had gauged for any sort of inkling of familiarity to pass between her and Harald, but alas he only seemed to have eyes for his new Queen. Freydis was too cunning to give away anything on her part, and that left Ivar wondering if she was as great a deceiver as Loki, or that she hadn't been sent by Finehair to begin with.

That put his mind back on Lagertha and Kattegat. She must have been the one to send in a spy. She only cared for Bjorn, and she wanted all of the other sons of Ragnar to perish just like their mother. That was how he saw it anyhow, but he knew his brothers would disagree. They weren't as quick to take up arms against Ragnar's first wife as he was, and that made him feel bitterly alone.

Freydis continued to shower him with compliments and attention, and he lent into the treatment. He needed to keep her close until it was discovered who she was working with, but he was also missing you. She was a strange substitute for your place, holding none of the similarities that had endeared you to him. He was still frustrated by you revealing your name to Heahmund as well, and perhaps this was his way of acting out against you. It was a petty move considering you weren't even there to witness this ongoing dance with Freydis.

"If you were to help me conquer Kattegat," Harald said, catching Ivar's attention. "Would one of you want to be King?"

Hvitserk sent Ivar a look as if to say 'It's a trap'. Harald was looking for humble allies who wouldn't challenge his bid to be King of all Norway. He must not have understood the sons of Ragnar, or he was coming from a place that underestimated them.

"It is our home," Ivar replied vaguely.

"Of course, I understand your attachment. Your father was King before, and then your Queen mother. I respect your family, but Kattegat is also too important a location for trade. I would need it to fuel my war and feed my army. Whoever rules Kattegat must accept that his lead is to benefit me, a mutual working relationship."

"I'm sure that could be arranged," said Hvitserk.

Ivar nodded. "We would be accommodating to your plight."

"And what of Lagertha there now? Perhaps she could make me a better offer?"

If Harald had any sense, he would have noticed his Queen's false looks of adoration had ceased at the mention of Kattegat's current ruler. Ivar gave a smirk that was meant for Astrid.

"If she had anything to offer, she would have already done so," He said, reaching for more mead. "Our army has the numbers. Lagertha will die. She is a usurper and coward."

Astrid had to hide her foul look when Harald took her hand in his, but even through her blank stare could Ivar feel her loathing. Harald continued to stroke her fingers as he spoke. "And how will she die? I do not doubt your heart or courage Ivar, but Lagertha is a shieldmaiden worthy of Valhalla. You cannot achieve a victory hand-to-hand."

Freydis grabbed his hand beneath the table, and he wanted to smack it away. The frustration he felt at himself for not being able to challenge his mother's killer in single combat would always be his greatest failure. He could outwit the legendary shieldmaiden, but at the time of her death, he feared he would not be satisfied.

"I have my own way of getting to Lagertha, but first we need your answer. Will you fight alongside the sons of Ragnar?"

"I count only two of you," Astrid piped up. "Are the sons of Ragnar not of one mind? Where are Bjorn and Ubbe?"

Harald planted an obnoxious kiss on Astrid's mouth before she could turn. "My beautiful wife raises a good question. Where are your brothers?"

"Bjorn is our half-brother," Hvitserk said with a shrug, "And his intentions will always align with his mother."

"And Ubbe is a traitor. He sailed with a handful of our warriors to Kattegat," Ivar said, glad for the lie. His mind slipped to you for a moment, but he shook it away. He had refused to bring you here in person, but even in thought, it was dangerous. You were a distraction that could cause him to make a mistake or have poor judgement, through no fault of your own.

"Then I'm certain Lagertha will be anticipating our assault," Harald said with a frown.

"But she won't have an idea as to when. She knows we will bring the fight to her, but we have the advantage of time," Ivar pointed out, and he could feel Hvitserk's questioning look.

Harald let out a laugh. "You remind me of why I fought alongside your father. I cannot refuse the offer to join with the sons of Ragnar and their army now. Let us share a horn and thank the Gods we have this opportunity to become Kings."

The men each took a drink from Harald's own horn, and Ivar could feel Astrid's eyes following it as it was passed around the table. She was more cunning than he would have ever accredited her to be, which made her a threat to their plans moving forward.

"Tonight you shall sleep in my hall, and tomorrow we can discuss plans for our army."

'Our army'. He certainly wasted no time in claiming their men for his own. Ivar smiled through his irritation. Harald was watching for his reaction. He wasn't so distracted by his new Queen to have lost all sense when it came to a possible enemy.

"We'll take you up on that offer," Hvitserk piped up after the stretch of silence had grown uncomfortable.

"I will have my thralls prepare a room."

Ivar turned to Freydis. "You will assist them."

"Of course, Ivar." She stroked her hand lovingly down his arm.

The sensation shot a shiver down his spine, a reaction he couldn't help. He hated to think he was as weak-willed as his brothers when it came to blonde thralls, but his wavering resolve was laughing at him.

The table began to disband with Harald dragging the unfortunate Astrid back to his room. Ivar and Hvitserk returned outside and began to walk through the streets of Vestfold to return to their men. Hvitserk's mind was buzzing, and Ivar knew his brother had a word or two he wanted to get in.

"We can't go to war against Kattegat with Harald," He started at the moment they were alone. "We'd be betraying our own people, and Ubbe is there with our warriors."

"I know that."

Hvitserk didn't like how short of an answer he gave. "And (Y/N)'s there too. Have you forgotten that?"

"Of course I haven't," Ivar barked back. "But Lagertha is still my enemy, even if you've forgotten that. I can't allow her to live."

"She's my enemy too, brother. I know you loved mother, more than I did. But you also have to know she loved you more than any of us. If you say she didn't then you're either not as smart as I thought, or you're in denial."

Ivar knew it to be true. He knew it all too well when growing up. Ubbe and Hvitserk were closer in age and always together, leaving him alone. All he had to do was let out one small cry and mother would forget about Sigurd, the brother he should have been close to. It was something he exploited at the expense of the relationships with all of his brothers. He had a lot to make up for.

"If we can find a way to unseat Lagertha from the throne, then there would be no cause to go to war."

Hvitserk halted in his tracks as they made it to the docks. The boards were stained red and slick with the blood and oil from whales. Many of Harald's fishermen couldn't be bothered to spare the sons a second glance. They were preoccupied with loading their ships, huffing and puffing through the stink in the air that was not so foul out in the open.

"Please tell me you have a plan to do that," Hvitserk said in a hushed voice that was almost lost to the wind.

Ivar smirked back. "I didn't bring the Bishop along just to annoy you. We just have to get him to Kattegat to kill Lagertha before our army can arrive."

"You're willing to place all our hopes on that Christian?"

"He would do it for his freedom. What's one more dead heathen to him other than another purified soul gone from this earth?" Ivar said confidently. "Yes, brother, I am as certain he will do this as I am that Lagertha is the one to have sent Freydis to me."

Hvitserk was about to comment but was interrupted by an approaching presence that commanded the attention of the crowd. The previously busy workers stopped to part for her, but she was not flattered by the gesture. She marched with purpose, straight towards them, and Ivar gave a half bow in mocking as she arrived.

"Your majesty," He teased. "Not come to plead for mercy on Lagertha's behalf I hope. I have none."

Astrid's look was as dark as her hair, but she set aside her grievances to settle whatever she had come for. "No, Ivar. I have come in the hopes to make a deal with you."

"Really," He said, airing out his skepticism. "What do you want?"

She stepped closer, almost in a threatening display that had Hvitserk reaching for his knife. His concern wasn't unwarranted, as she was a shieldmaiden to Lagertha. Astrid eased her intensity while placing her hands up to signify no harm. "I want you to smuggle me back to Kattegat."

Both Ivar and Hvitserk shared a laugh, but she did not falter. She must be more miserable with Harald than Ivar had gleaned, but that wasn't his concern. "Why would we do that? There's great risk involved for us. Harald is obviously quite taken with you, and we'd be making an enemy of him because you have reservations about sharing his bed."

"I have information for you, regarding that woman by your side, the thrall."

Ivar's back straightened and he looked to Hvitserk with curiosity. This was the answer they had been searching for. "What do you know of Freydis?"

Astrid smirked. "She's a spy, but I'm sure you've already gathered that. I won't say anything more out here. Harald still doesn't trust me enough to not have me followed, and I won't give up what I know without a guarantee that you'll give me what I want."

"When then?" Hvitserk asked and he sounded as impatient as Ivar felt.

"Tonight, after Harald passes out from too much meat and drink. Make sure that thrall of yours is kept occupied as well. I shouldn't have to tell you not to trust a spy, but you're men, and I've seen the way you look at her," Astrid remarked while giving Ivar a pointed look. "Don't let me down sons of Ragnar. Your father lost many things towards his end, but never his integrity. I suspect the gods instilled the same in you."

Astrid departed and a group of guards followed after at a distance. It appeared she was correct about her limited freedom, and after saying much, Ivar wondered what else she was right about. She had given them much to think on at any rate, and he tried not to feel slighted at the comment about his apparent weakness for Freydis' beauty.

"Can we trust her?" Hvitserk asked at his side. They both took a seat on the ledge of the longship that had carried them in earlier that same day.

"She's desperate to return to Lagertha, and she knew Freydis was a spy without us feeding her that information. We'll have to hear her out first, but I suspect she's being honest about this."

"But not about her intentions once she's back in Kattegat," said Hvitserk. "Harald is being played by us and his Queen. Guess he isn't about to be King of all Norway any time soon."

"Thank the gods for that. I want to be in faraway lands when that happens," Ivar said with a smirk as his brother broke into a laugh.

"Then I'm coming with you. You'd be lost without me."

"I would," Ivar admitted, and it had a sobering effect on Hvitserk, who grew quiet beside him.

Truly, he didn't know where his fate would take him, but he knew it would be better if his brother was at his side. And you as well. Ivar closed his eyes and recalled your face, your laugh, and your kiss. You would be a free woman by now, and he hoped you wouldn't be too cross with him about that little stunt next time you met. He wanted to see you this very moment, but the distance made that impossible. For now, he would have to rely on his memories and hope that Niorun would bless him with dreams of you.

ooOOoo

You were alone again. This was nothing new since arriving in Kattegat. You wish you could say you knew more about the city, but all you had seen was the four walls of Audhild's cabin. She had left to take another trip into the market, and you had come close to begging her to take you with her. It seemed she and Ubbe were of the same mindset when it came to keeping you out of trouble, and you had no doubt it was Ivar's doing. Even an ocean away he was still in charge of your life and it was as endearing as it was infuriating.

The first thing Audhild had done for you was provide you with new clothes. The loose-fitted secondhand frocks no longer befitted your station as a free woman. You were given wool leggings and tunics, along with a belt that cinched around your waist. Ladies didn't wear trousers back in England, and it was taking getting used to. You often found yourself tugging and adjusting at the fabric, all while Audhild would shoot you queer looks.

As thanks for her setting you up with new garments, you would cook the meals for you both. It was a favor to both of you really, because, after the first night of eating her dry bread and burnt fish, you didn't think your stomach could handle the pain. You had even managed to learn how to properly butcher a rabbit, something you had never eaten back home.

Ubbe would pop around from time to time to see you, as well as keeping you both informed about the ongoing situation with Lagertha. For now the ruling Queen was content to let Ubbe stay among the people, though according to him she never passed up a chance to bring up questions about Ivar. That let him know her guard was still up, and she did not yet trust the elder son of Ragnar.

While you were glad for the updates, you couldn't shake the wavering disappointment about your newfound freedom. All of your knowledge about the people of Kattegat came from the words of Ubbe or your host, and you hadn't even met Ubbe's wife yet. So far being a free woman didn't feel any different than enslavement, and the growing loneliness was what pressed you to venture out on your own from the cabin.

You waited enough time to be sure Audhild hadn't turned back on her way into town before throwing on a pair of fur-lined boots and overcoat. You had no plan on where you were going, only that you wanted to see something of this new land that wasn't the inside of Audhild's cabin. England was all flat plains and rolling green hills, but Norway was jagged mountains and dark forests with cold rushing rivers. It had never crossed your mind that you would be interested in seeing new lands, probably because as a nun your only travels would have been to other cities and villages across England tending to the sick and spreading the word of God.

You headed out with Ivar's knife tucked into your belt and began to take the path eastward. You knew west would take you the way towards Kattegat, that was where Audhild had gone. As tempted as you were to see the market, you knew it could land you into trouble to meet more of the Northmen while alone for the first time. Your only mission today was to better acquaint yourself with the land.

The breeze felt wonderful on your face, and you had forgotten the taste of breathing fresh air. It was earthy and damp here, not like the iron and smoke of York. The bit of frost that was on the ground crunched beneath your boots. Winter came earlier this far north. You could see it in the grey of the sky that spelled snow. You hoped Ivar and Hvitserk would return before the waters froze over and that they would be bringing peace with them. Absurd! Letting out a breathy laugh, you remembered fondly that Ivar wasn't a peaceful being.

You missed him. At night after Audhild was snoring across the cabin, you would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking of him. You didn’t understand what it meant, but your heart raced and your body grew restless at the mere thought of him. There was so much more that needed to be shared, and you were trying to compile everything in your mind so you would be ready for his return. You wouldn't call it love, not yet, but you knew you held affection for him and that put you at odds with your vows and God. In the eyes of the church, you were still a nun, though you hadn't thought of yourself as such for a while now. You still loved God, but you no longer wanted to be his bride.

"Oh!" You gasped in surprise when you realized you were somewhere new.

Your trekking had broken you out from the forest and out to a bank of the river. You could constantly hear it flowing back from the cabin, and you were excited about finding it. The water was crystal blue, and the surface current was slow and free over the rocks. A small house with a thatched roof sat by the shore, and there was a fire burning low in a pit outside. Someone was still nearby.

You started down the path towards the house while pondering who could want to live this far out from the town. You had thought Audhild was the furthest away. Hermits were common among the Saxons, so it wasn't unreasonable to assume the Northmen had their fair share. Not that you were judging them, in fact, it was for that reason that gave you the confidence to approach.

"Hello?' You called out as you rounded the fire. It was still warm, and you did the stranger a kindness by throwing a nearby log onto the pit. The flames immediately fed on the new fuel, spreading high into the air and sending a warmth through you that was welcome after your walk. You took another look around before kneeling down in the gravel to huddle closer to the fire. It seemed that no one was around for the moment, and that granted you the luxury of peace. Everything was so unfamiliar, every branch and rock different than what you had seen in England. You thought you would have missed home, or at least held a longing for it, but no. You couldn’t even summon a fondness for it now. What you missed wasn’t a place, but a person.

You became lost in the beauty of your surroundings that you didn't notice the stranger appearing from behind the home. He moved with impossibly quiet steps, and you weren't alerted to his presence until he was looming over you, blocking the light of the fire. You let out a yelp as you fell onto your backside in the gravel. The large man narrowed his eyes at you as you scrambled to your feet. If Ivar could see you now. He would be furious you had let your guard down enough to be snuck upon. Stay alive he'd said.

"Who are you?" The man asked, and his voice was softer than you expected.

"I'm Ólaug," You said, fighting the tremble in your voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here."

His head tilted to the side, watching you with a keen stare that you had only felt from Ivar. "What do you want? Did Lagertha send you?"

"No, I don't know Lagertha."

"You don't know the Queen of Kattegat, shieldmaiden and first wife of Ragnar Lothbrok." You didn't answer and he let out an insouciant giggle. "You're a Christian."

The way he said it made it sound awful, and you hated the way it made you feel. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes. It's your hair and the way you speak." The stranger started to sit down by the fire, a string of fish hanging over his shoulder. He dropped his catch at his side and pulled a knife from his belt, getting to work on cutting filets. "Sit down, betrothed woman," He pressed while pointing with his blade to the spot across from him.

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you deaf?"

You took a seat once more, but not because he had asked it of you. “Why did you call me that just now? Betrothed woman…”

“Your name, that’s what it means.” He continued to fling fish heads and bones into a pile, never giving you the courtesy of his attention.

Ivar had given you the name, and it suddenly clued in that it was made in jest. Bride of Christ was what he had first called you, and now 'betrothed woman'. You smiled to yourself, not entirely at odds with the moniker.

“How did you come here, Christian? You don’t look like a thrall.”

“I’m not,” You replied quickly, and you found that he had stopped his task of cleaning his fish to observe you. You did the same in return. He was older and battle-worn judging by his stiff movements when he had sat down. His light hair was wispy and tied back in one long braid, and his rangy frame was draped in a brown fur pelt. You thought his eyes were sad. “What’s your name?”

“Floki.”

You were sure Ivar had mentioned him in passing, but you couldn’t recall when. “Alright, Floki. I was a thrall, but I was freed recently. I came from York with Ubbe Ragnarsson.”

"Ubbe has returned? Then he has abandoned Ivar."

You didn't know what Floki's connection was to Lagertha, so you didn't correct him on his assumption about the brothers being apart. "You are close with the sons of Ragnar?"

"Of course. They are the offspring of the greatest man I've ever known and my brother. They are kin," He said and his face was alive with passion. "And you must be connected to them. Was it Ivar who also freed you after giving you that knife?"

You looked down at the weapon on your belt, feeling flustered. "How do you know about the knife?"

"I taught that crippled brat everything he knows. I recognize his skill and craft in that blade," said Floki shaking his head. "That boy, so much like his father."

"Don't call him a cripple."

Floki's eyes shot to you and there was that giggle again. "Oh, and you're defensive of him as well. Are you his betrothed woman?"

The fire you sat beside could never warm you as much of those words just then. You knew you were red up to your ears, but you tried to deny whatever he was implying regardless "I'm not his anything."

"Then why did he set you free?"

You hadn't even admitted to him that Ivar had done so, but he had already decided that was the truth. He was still as a tree, the fish forgotten in the long line of your conversation. You felt unnerved by him as if everything about you was exposed to him like a gaping wound, and you had never been so relieved to be interrupted when a voice called out from above the path.

"Floki!"

It was Ubbe, looking out of breath and panic-stricken as he dashed down towards you. A blonde woman was trailing behind him, appearing displeased to be dragged this far out into the bush. She must be the wife.

You and Floki both stood as Ubbe came to the fire. He turned to you first, and you anticipated a lecture. "Why did you leave Audhild's cabin? I'm supposed to keep you safe. You can't wander off when you don't know the land or its people well enough."

"I would if you let me," You retorted while feeling humiliation for being scolded in front of Floki.

"Don't fret Ólaug," Floki interjected while planting a firm hand on Ubbe's shoulder. "He's only concerned to find you here because he thinks I'll kill you like I did Athelstan."

Ragnar's monk. Your eyes widened with surprise and fear, all while the two men shared a grin and embraced.

"Thought you'd gone on to lands unknown," Ubbe said to Floki as they parted.

"The Gods brought me home. They have something for me to do here yet," He said while looking back at you. "She is Ivar's woman?"

Ubbe turned to you with a grin and you looked down, not liking the attention. "You'll have to ask him. He's in Vestfold with Harald."

"Planning on Lagertha's demise then."

"Is that a problem for you?" Ubbe asked, becoming serious.

"Lagertha has been my friend for a long time, but your mother was also. She had such a connection to the gods." Floki's head pulled up to the sky as if a string was attached tugging forth to some greater presence. "Neither of them should have ever suffered over Ragnar. A great King and a true Viking, but a poor husband. Something I hear Bjorn has inherited."

You noticed Ubbe's face flush, and he brushed his hand down his neck. "Well, I know Ivar is set on revenge, and I don't know if there's anything that can change his mind."

By then Ubbe's wife had caught up to their circle, and you got the impression she wasn't pleased to be left behind. She was dressed in a thick red robe with fur trim, and her long hair was twisted onto her head like a crown. You wondered if all the women of Kattegat were blonde and beautiful, and you ran your fingers through your short hair. Ivar had said it was ugly when you first met. Vanity had suddenly become a trouble for you and you didn't like it.

Ubbe must have noticed you staring at his woman, and he quickly brought an arm around her to introduce her into the group. "Ólaug, this is my wife, Margrethe."

"Hello," You greeted, and as you waited for her reply, she took one long surveying look at you that ended with her nose wrinkled and her mouth puckered.

"Hello," She said shortly.

You wouldn't be making a friend out of her anytime soon, and you weren't bothered by that. She was as unpleasant as she was gorgeous, and Ubbe sent you an apologetic shrug for her frosty demeanor.

"I need to get you back to Audhild's before she wonders where you are," Ubbe explained and you nodded.

You were ready to conclude your first adventure, but you decided that you would want to speak to Floki again. He seemed to know a great deal about the sons of Ragnar and everything else that went on in Kattegat, and you wanted to poke his brain for more information that could help you grow as a free woman. You turned to the older Viking and squared your shoulders.

"Can I come back to see you?"

Floki laughed at a dazed Ubbe. "See, she's curious. I expected that from any woman of Ivar's."

At the mention of him, Margrethe recoiled further into Ubbe's side and sent you a scathing glare. You stared back at her with vacant eyes until she became uncomfortable and craned her neck towards the woods. Her escape.

"Betrothed woman," Floki interrupted, taking your hands in his massive ones. "You are a Christian, and I hold no love for your God or people. I've killed hundreds of your kind, and one who held the love of my King. But you have sailed on our ships and left your lands, and came out free on the other side. Our gods favor you as much as my dear Ivar, and I will speak to you again."

"Thank you," You whispered.

He smiled back for a moment, and you thought the perpetual melancholy that surrounded him had lifted in a brief respite. It returned as he dropped your hands, and he started to flick his wrist back and forth in a waving motion. "Now leave me alone. All of you."

Ubbe tugged on your coat sleeve to get you moving, and when you turned to join him, you spotted Margrethe up ahead.

"Sorry, she's not always like that," He insisted as he noticed your look.

No Ubbe, you thought, she most certainly was always that way, but he was too besotted with her looks to realize. Whatever was going on in his marriage wasn't your business, and you kept quiet by his side as he led you back to Audhild's cabin. You were impressed that you could have remembered the way if Ubbe hadn't been at your side. Something about the nonlinear path had felt familiar, and you were already looking forward to walking it again.

Your last thoughts before you slept were of Ivar, an ocean between you and with so much more to say. You wanted to tell him about Floki and talk with him about his mother. You wanted to be back at his side. He was such a large part of where your life had turned, and now that he had left you alone in this strange place you felt brittle and forgotten.

You refused to be overlooked as another Christian brought into their midst or condemned for being Ivar's woman when you weren't even sure if that was your place. Whatever your feelings for him were, they meant nothing if you couldn't secure your own station among the Northmen. That night you vowed to God, their gods, and yourself that you would become strong of heart and embrace your new life alongside the heathens. All life came with sacrifice and war, and whatever nightmares you would be forced to face, you would conquer them.

Taglist

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[wackapedia]

The Silver Dragon

Peasant! Jungkook x Reader, Daechwita! Yoongi x Reader

Historical AU featuring the whole OT7,Moderate violence, Treason, Royal family drama

Word count: 3.6k

a/n: This was so fun to write i keep surprising myself with the sh!t i come up with

You were taking your morning walk while being followed by your entourage. Your silk hanbok shimmers under the bright sunshine shining down on Hanyang, Joseon’s capital. “Good morning, my lady!” A group of scholars led by Kim Taehyung greets you. “A good day to walk within the palace walls, am I right?” He comments, a sly smile graces his handsome face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He laughs as he tightens his grip on his books. “Oh, nothing, my lady! Have a good day.” He rushes before whispering “please don’t let us catch you scaling the palace walls again, my lady. Your brother, the crown prince already threatened to kick us out if we try to cover for you again!” He pulls away and bows gracefully. You have been sneaking away from the palace lately, disguised in peasant clothing. Court life has been extremely boring, you were looking for an adventure. As a daughter of a king and a concubine, you played a little role in running the kingdom. You were to be married off to someone to strengthen ties with the kingdom and expected to rear sons. Your life would be over before it began.

You and your entourage arrive at the palace’s main courtyard where you see your brother and his troops preparing their horses and cargo wagons. “Are you going somewhere?” you approach your brother. “Yes, we are going to Gyongsang. There are rumors of rebel troops stirring there. Haven’t you heard?” he speaks while securing the saddle to his horse. “Ah is that so? I wouldn’t know the latest rumors, really…” You try to be nonchalant. “You’ve been sneaking out of the palace for a while now, I’m sure you’ve heard a couple of rumors out there?!” he slams a leather bag, startling you. Aigoo, everyone’s out to get me today! You thought to yourself. “Yah! You think I won’t find out?” his hands are on his hips now. His troops try their best to avert their eyes from the royal quarrel. His captain, Park Jimin, who had witnessed this several times only rolls his eyes. Your brother leans closer to you. “I had you followed last week. I know you’re meeting someone. A peasant boy. y/n, This is no time for playing around. Something big is going to happen very soon. I know it. So you better start taking your life seriously.” He mounts his horse and instructs his troops, turning back on you. “Something big?” You wonder to yourself. --- Later in the day, you return to your quarters. There is no other way to pass the time than to do embroidery or read a book on poetry. You’ve memorized every single poem in all 12 volumes of classic poetry in your little bookshelf. You sigh to yourself as you pulled out the last book tucked at the corner of your shelf. 

Classic poetry volume 13 

Your eyes widen at the book’s header. Since when did classic poetry get a 13th volume?! You flip the pages to find it empty, except for the last page, which contained a single stanza.

“The moon will sink twice And the silver dragon will rise Bearing the black stone And will begin the rise of Joseon”

You rush to visit the royal shaman, bringing the 13th book with you. “What does this mean?!” Tossing the book to Hoseok, one of the royal shamans in training. He was nodding off on his desk while studying. Your sudden intrusion startles him, causing him to bounce from his seat. “Huh what?!” he clutches his chest. “Classical poetry only has 12 volumes. Why do I have a 13th one?” Hoseok flips through the pages of the book to find it empty. “My lady, this is just an empty journal…” You take the book from his hands, startling him again. He’s right. Even the title had disappeared. You repeatedly flip through the pages, getting more aggravated. “My lady, are you alright? You're scaring me…” “But there was something here!” You yell. “Silver dragon bearing the black stone!” What does it mean? Hoseok stares at you for a minute before reaching for his brush. He writes down the words in his elegant handwriting. “i-I’ll see what I can find about this…. For now maybe you need to take a rest, my lady. You seem unwell…”

You didn’t have the appetite for dinner that night. You took what you could from the food served to your quarters, wrapping them up before getting dressed in your peasant disguise and sneaked out of the palace. This was your first time leaving at night so you were a little nervous but you made it anyway. Walking through the muddy pavements of Hanyang’s peasant city, you make your way to the familiar hut you’ve always visited when you sneaked out. Jeon Jungkook’s house. Well, it’s not really his, he shares it with several orphaned kids and some around his age. “Kook..?” The hut was dark and quiet, only one candle illuminating the small room. You let yourself inside before spotting Jungkook, the peasant boy you loved, raiding through his chest of belongings. “Y/n?! What are you doing here? its late!” he was evidently surprised. “I really wanted to see you. Plus my brother is travelling to Gyeongsang. Is that a bruise on your cheek?!” You rush to cradle his face marred by a dark bruise on his cheekbone. He smirks before saying “Oh princess, you should see the other guy.” “Who was it?” “Seokjin.” “Again?!” You tell him off. This no longer comes as a surprise to you as the two always bicker at almost any petty topic they choose. “Y/n, what are you doing here?” Jungkook’s tone suddenly went serious. He was unwrapping the cloth that was tied around a long item. He tosses the wrapping to reveal a sword. “Why, what’s going on? Where are the kids?” You look around the empty hut. “Where did you get that?!” “It belonged to my father. Y/n, Listen to me. I need you to go to Seokjin and ask him to take you with him. He’s headed to Gwacheon. I will meet you there as soon as I can.” “What? What’s going on? I thought we were eloping together?!” “There’s no time to explain.” Jungkook puts on a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder and a bow on the other. He blows out the candle and pulls you out of the house. “Do as I say. I will find you in Gwacheon.” He pulls you in for a quick kiss before winking and running to the other way. It was dark and the pathways were empty. During the short walk to Jin’s house, you didn’t encounter a single soul. It scared you. “Jin?” You knock at the wooden door of his tiny hut. It was dark. He was probably asleep. “Seokjin, its me. Kook sent me, and asked me to come with you to Gwacheon?” You were unsure of Kook’s instructions. There was no answer. You pried the door open. The house was completely dark except for the moonlight streaming through the holes in the hay roofing. He wasn’t there. His things aren’t there. He already left for Gwacheon. Confused and tired with all the fuss going on, you walked back to the palace, climbing its walls, and walking straight to your quarters, not bothering to hide from the royal guards. You slept a dreamless sleep.

You jolted awake by the sudden noise from outside your chambers. There were muffled screaming. And then silence. You were too scared to move. You wrapped yourself with the blanket, staying perfectly still on your cushion. The door suddenly slides open, revealing a man in light armor. You don’t recognize his face nor the sigil he wears. “Please get dressed, My Lady. The king summons you.” He gently closes the door, giving you privacy. His calm tone almost makes you forget you were afraid. You carefully rose and got dressed. The sun gradually brightens the sky, illuminating the main courtyard of the palace. The courtyard was littered with dead royal guards, blood staining the stone ground. Horrified, you tried to scream and run but the calm man grabs your arm. “Please don’t. You have nowhere else to go, Lady y/n. everything will be alright.” His calm demeanor fails to rub into you this time as he pulls you up the stairs to the King’s throne hall. “Who are you?” you ask your captor. “I am Kim Namjoon. You have nothing to worry about, my lady.” He points you toward the throne hall. His graceful movement indicates that this man is of noble birth yet he is not familiar to you at all. There were only a few candles lit inside the throne hall. You feel yourself being watched by several pairs of eyes lurking in the dark corners. Sunlight finally enters the throne hall. The wide doors facing east accommodates the sun rising from the edge of the roofed gates of the royal palace. Warmth crawls from its doorstep toward the high platform, up to the Phoenix throne and the stranger sitting on it.

His silver hair glows under the morning light. His skin, smooth and pale like porcelain, marred by a scar down his right eye. By his feet, a pool of blood gathers. The blood of your father, the king, lying headless at the edge of the platform. Your hand flies to your mouth, failing to mask the shock and disbelief. Tears begin to gather at the edge of your eyes, spilling as you blink. Your knees threaten to give in, but you try to hold firm under the scrutinizing gaze of the usurper sitting on the throne. The silver haired stranger descends from the throne platform, walking towards you. His dark robes, moist with blood, cascades behind him almost elegantly. “Your majesty, this is lady y/n, princess of Joseon, Daughter of the deceased king Seondaewang and Concubine Cho.” Namjoon announces. “Ah, the informant!” He stands close to you. Too close. His eyes are pitch black. His pretty face almost distracts you from the bloody hand that tries to reach yours. Informant? “Who are you and what do want?” Your voice trembles with hate. “He is your king-“Namjoon tries to explain. “He is a murderer!” You lash out, pulling your arm from his grasp. The silver-haired man presses his tongue against his cheek before grabbing you by the neck, pulling your face dangerously close to his. “If it wasn’t for this pretty mouth, we’d never know your dear brother had left the capital. I owe you my gratitude." His thumb traces your lip before forcing your head to the side and releases his grip. You come face to face with Jeon Jungkook, wide-eyed, bruised and blood-stained face failing to hide the fear in his eyes. His breathing picks up. “You! How dare you!" Your anger clouds your judgement, tears continuing to spill from your eyes. “Y/n, I didn’t mean for any of this.. I told you to leave with Jin! I told you I would find you!” His pleading falls on your deaf ears, blood rushing through your veins.

“Yoongi!” Namjoon calls the murderer’s attention. A royal guard runs up the stairs, huffing and puffing upon entering the throne hall. “Jimin?!” You call out to him. He briefly glances at you before kneeling in front of the man named Yoongi. “Your majesty, the crown prince and his party has heard of your attack and are on their way here.” Yoongi humorlessly chuckles. “We must prepare to welcome your brother, Princess y/n!” “Where are they now?” Namjoon inquires. “They are in the city.” Jimin reports. Yoongi paces around the throne hall, the soles of his footwear paints bloody footprints on the floor. His fingers pinch at his lips before growling and unsheathing his sword. The ringing of his blade cuts through the silence of the room. He tosses the scabbard to the stone floors and marches toward the throne room’s doors upon hearing the rush of horses at the gates. The palace gates are thrown open, revealing your brother and his small band of troops. The crown prince was terribly outnumbered.

“Min Yoongi!”Your brother screams from across the courtyard. Yoongi stands proud at the top of the stairs, his sword glimmering under the sun. Your eyes shift upon the realization that your brother has called him with his full name. Do they know each other? Your brother continues to march toward the foot of the stone stairs. “How dare you double-cross me?!” “Looks like I double-crossed the double-crosser first…” Yoongi descends gracefully to the courtyard. His men rushes to follow him out. You slowly step out of the throne room, squinting at the morning sun.

“The deal was to assassinate the king, not attack the palace!” Your brother angrily spat. He was too late when he realized you were there, listening to his confession of treason. “y..y/n…” Yoongi laughs and looks up to you from the bottom of the stairs. “That’s right my lady! Your brother, the crown prince asked me to have your father killed! His royal ass couldn’t wait to sit on the throne!”

Oh your poor father. He raised the hand that eventually had him killed. Your father may not have been the best, but it was never right to... Your knees gave in. Your vision blurs. Your throat dries. You don't realize you were letting out a scream of agony. Jungkook tries to break your fall, grabbing your arms before your knees hit the solid ground.

Sounds of steel clashing against steel ring through the palace. Your eyes look up to the sky, bright and blue. The sunlight was obscured by Jungkook's face, eyes full of worry and regret. "Jagiya, breathe. Look at me. Look at me!" His palm lightly taps your cheek, slowly bringing you back to consciousness. Your vision begins to clear. You raise your hand to grip his shoulder. "Can you stand?" Jungkook's muffled voice inquires, as he carefully supports you up. His eyes remain on yours as you take in the battle ensuing below. The sounds feel so far away. Its like being underwater.

There was so much blood. The blue robes of your brother were darkened by blood, belonging to him and his opponent. The crown prince was pinned down by Yoongi who was holding his thin sword against the prince's neck. The royal sword has been abandoned, away from it's owner's reach. The only thing stopping Yoongi from ending the prince is his palm, pressing against the sword. The prince's other hand digs through his robes and procures a knife, which he quickly raises to stab Yoongi repeatedly on his side.

Your hand grips the material on Jungkook's shoulder. A silken twine of a bow. His half-empty quiver of arrows rest against his back. Ripping the bow from him, you do not feel yourself thinking. The next thing you know, an arrow lodges in to someone's head.

The crown prince falls backward upon impact.

You could not stop yourself from nocking another arrow, pointing it toward the silver-haired man. His onyx eyes stare into your soul as he crawls from the bottom of the stairs, clutching his bloodied torso. The string draws as far as the bow allows. You take a deep breath. A muffled voice calls your name. The bow is pulled from your grasp. But the arrow releases anyway.

Your vision blacks out.

----

You wake up with a jolt, immediately sitting upright on the cushion, bunching up the thick covers wrapped around you. The maidservant who had just entered was startled to find you awake. She hurriedly leaves and returns moments later, carrying a pitcher of water. Soon, Jungkook enters the room, a jolly smile plastered on his face upon seeing you. "Jagiya!" He takes your hand in his. "How long has it been?" Your other hand puts down the empty glass. "Two days. I was so worried about you. Do you remember what happened?" He softly asks. You were surprised to remember everything clearly. Your brother's confession, the swordfight, the arrow that killed him, and the arrow that missed because of Namjoon. You nod your head, answering Jungkook's question.

"Where is Yoongi?" You ask. "He's still weak but he's recovering. He lost a lot of blood." Silence takes over between both of you. Carefully, you slip your hand away from Jungkook's grasp. "We're done now, y/n. We can leave this place. Live in a little hut on our own, you and I, away from here. Like what you've always dreamed..." Jungkook breaks the silence, voice filled with hope. "We can leave as soon as you're well..." "I'm not abandoning my people, Jungkook." You firmly state, staring him straight in the eye. "What?" "I'm staying. I need to-" "You know what he'll do to you, right?" Jungkook's voice begins to rise, laced with anger and confusion. "He'll kill you! Or he'll marry you, and you'll end up dead all the same!" "I will not run away from my duty! I wont betray my kingdom." "What about me? don't you love me anymore?" He stands up from beside you. "We were never meant to be, Jungkook." You sit up at the edge of the bed. "Is this because i'm a peasant? Y/n i did all these for you! So you could be free from your royal duties and we could be together!"

"I cant leave now, jungkook! My father is gone and my brother had him killed. If I wont care for my kingdom, who else will?"

"Y/n you're not making any sense! Please think this through!" Jungkook kneels before you, fisting your skirt and crying into it, begging you to choose him. "Please leave, Jungkook."

A few days pass. Jungkook never came back. You guess he's left to return home to Sangju, or wherever he pleases. You spent your days recovering inside your chambers, your maidservants waiting on you. On the fourth day, you decide to summon Namjoon. "He's well, my lady. He gained consciousness this morning." He respectfully answers. "Where is he? May I see him?"

Namjoon takes you to the king's quarters, where Yoongi was staying. The blinds on the window were drawn all the way up to let the sun fill the whole room. He lay peacefully in the middle of the bed, a thick blanket bunched from his waist. His midsection is wrapped with clean gauze. His body is loitered with scars, but the rest of him is as smooth as porcelain. You took in his peaceful state, his breathing steady, and his kind features.

You stood motionless in the middle of the room, almost afraid to disturb his sleep. Namjoon whispers something to him before helping him to sit up. You were content to see his onyx eyes filled with life as they settle on yours.

"Ah there she is! My life saver!" His voice harsh from sleep. Namjoon settles himself at the corner of the room. "Didn't Namjoon tell you that you were my next target before you passed out?" You say, trying to impose yourself. "Before we passed out." He immediately corrects you. "I heard all about it. I like my women feisty. Gets me hard even when I'm losing blood!" He cackles loudly, before wincing at the pain in his midsection. He takes his time to recover. Namjoon makes no move to help him this time.

Once Yoongi recovers from his fit, Namjoon clears his throat and moves closer to the bed. "My lady, we have a proposition for you." Yoongi looks annoyed at Namjoon. "Are we doing this right now?" he asks. Namjoon gives him a look, eventually making the silver haired man sigh in exasperation.

He takes his time to gather his words as you wait patiently for him. He finally musters his words after a good while. "Princess y/n, I am asking for your hand in marriage-" "I accept." You reply, proud and plain. "Now before you protest- HUH" Namjoon's eyebrows almost reaches his hairline, unable to hide his surprise. "Great. Give us a moment, Namjoon." Yoongi huffs, both in relief and in exasperation. His loyal adviser quietly leaves the room.

"I'm not surprised, really. Its something you would do- accepting my proposal." Yoongi laughs a little to himself. "You know nothing about me." You counter his attempted familiarity towards you. "You know nothing about me as well and yet you accepted." He replies, sensing your hostility. "Because I wont let you ruin Joseon." "I have no plans of ruining Joseon. I'm here to help make it a better kingdom" "With methods of tyranny?" Your voice threatens to overpower. He takes his time to think. "Y/n, do you know why my men are from the peasant class? They are tired of being slaves of the rich yangban class. Your father had no plans for change, your brother was even worse." He calmly answers. "So you think they have you instead?" "No. The people have you. They have hope in you. There are rumors of the princess leaving the palace, bringing food for the hungry under the guise of a peasant. This gives people hope. They have placed their trust in you. I knew the moment you pointed that arrow at me that you are the hope of this kingdom."

You thought back to the days when you sneaked out to meet Jungkook. He lived with orphaned children. On your next visit, you brought food for them, and every visit since. It all felt like a lifetime ago. Those little things that didn't matter to you happened to mean so much to those who were really looking hard.

Yoongi slowly gets out of bed and kneels before you. You let him take your hand as he procures a ring made of black jade stone, putting it on your finger.

"If you ever double-cross me, Min Yoongi, I will not hesitate to kill you." "Yes, my queen." He bows before you.

a/n: What are your thoughts let me KNOWW!!  there was a lot going on in this fic oh boy

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 2.1 - Back to Reality

Dennis and Barry didn’t speak much for the rest of the weekend, after their night out at Depot. It was clear that something between them was withering in a way that was rather unexpected, but neither of them could articulate. Barry, however, was closer to understanding it. It was the same sensation that he always felt after a circuit party, or an orgy, when he was back in the quiet house again. He was back in reality. The party, the club, the sex, all of that was just fantasy, it couldn’t penetrate him. He couldn’t allow it to penetrate him. But when he saw someone like Samuel, or Parker, who not only allowed that energy to flow through them, but lived and breathed it, all he felt was restless. Like he’d done scuba diving, with all of this protection, only to discover other guys he knew had gills. That Dennis had intruded on that rather sacred experience, injected his own kind of order and justice and control into it only made him feel more sour, more disconnected, more jealous of what he could be, if he hadn’t chosen all of this.

Dennis, on the other hand, was feeling usurped. Annoyed that Barry had dragged him to that party, annoyed that he had challenged him when it came to Kyle and threatening to tell his father, annoyed that he felt bad about it, most of all. He’d done the right thing, he was sure of that. Kyle shouldn’t have been there, he was too young. It was illegal. Pretty much everything that was happening in that club was illegal, in fact. But Barry had put him on the defensive, a position Dennis hated, since he was very careful to always maintain a moral high ground. He felt like he needed to defend something that ought to be obvious. The fact that Barry apparently disagreed only made his own values feel more slippery. 

Barry dealt with the frustration by going to the gym, and stopping off at a gay sauna on the way back for a little action. Dennis dealt with it by making calls to the health department, the liquor control board, and the police department, reporting the myriad of violations he had witnessed at Depot on Friday. Neither of them felt satisfied, by the end of it. The energy that Barry was craving just wasn’t there, like it had been at Depot. The guys were all too nervous, too embarrassed, mostly older closeted men with wives in the suburbs. It only made Barry feel more hemmed in than before. Dennis kept getting the runaround from every agency he called. They would seem interested, and then as soon as he mentioned where he had been and they confirmed the address, the person on the other line would go quiet, say that wasn’t their jurisdiction, thank him for his vigilance and hang up on him. Only once, with a police officer, did he manage to get a little bit of info out of him. “Look, the folks you ought to talk to are down at Precinct 27. They handle everything in that neighborhood.” Frustrated, and again feeling like he was running into some bureaucratic red tape he hadn’t expected, he decided he’d pay a visit to the precinct sometime in the next week, and get some answers there. Surely they would have a more difficult time dismissing his complaints in person.

Monday came for them both. Dennis headed for the hospital--Monday was usually a day for appointments, and getting his surgeries for the rest of the week planned out and organized. Barry headed into the office, dreading it more than he had in some time. He’d hoped that seeing Samuel and having a chance to blow off some steam would have helped soften the blow of being passed over for a promotion, again. Instead, he just felt caught between two worlds, one unsatisfactory foot in each. He couldn’t invest himself entirely in his job--it bored him to death, and he didn’t understand how Dennis could stand being so normal all the time--but if he didn’t, he’d never get the respect there he longed for. Each time he saw Samuel though, it was like looking at some amazing being. He was so free. Sure, his life likely wasn’t easy, but it seemed effortless and fun and exhilarating in a way Barry’s had never been. It also terrified him, all the same, and he hadn’t even been able to hack an hour on the dance floor on Friday. He got settled in his office, and got caught up on his email for the first couple of hours, before the usual Monday morning meeting was due to start.

This is what he was dreading the most, of the entire day. He showed up a bit late, took a seat towards the far end of the table. Evan Ternbull, his current boss, was sitting at the front, and off to his left was Richard Carlisle, the man that Barry privately considered his rival, but they had never spoken more than a few words to each other, since Richard was a relatively new hire, and they’d been working on different projects.

“As you know,” Evan said once getting everyone in order, “I’m going to be transferring over to a new project team in a month or so, which I know all of you are so disappointed to hear about. I’m happy to announce today that Richard here will be stepping up into my role and overseeing your team for the remainder of your project. As you know, Richard is relatively new here, but he comes with some great outside experience, and I am very confident that he will be a great project lead.”

The folks around the table clapped for Richard, who stood up, looking a bit sheepish. How old could he be, really? Twenty-five, twenty-six? Slender, twinkish but clearly straight, Richard got up and introduced himself, talking about his wife, and about the baby they had on the way. The table clapped again, and Barry tried to mask his scowl as he clapped along. Part of him felt a bit bad now for feeling so entitled to the position. Dennis and he were doing just fine with their incomes, and he knew that kids were expensive--one of many reasons he’d never wanted one. But as soon as that sympathy popped up, he pushed it back down. Just because he was straight, just because he was “starting a family” didn’t mean he was entitled to more money than him. It didn’t mean he was entitled more respect.

That was it, wasn’t it? The respect. He didn’t feel respected here. He didn’t feel respected at home, even. Dennis loved him, sure, but did he respect him, really? Did it feel like a relationship between equals all the time? It didn’t. Barry would goad him, and half the time Dennis would just dismiss him out of hand, refuse to even engage, like fighting with Barry was simply beneath him. Like he knew that no matter how dissatisfied he might be, he’d never leave him, because he liked the money, and the lifestyle, and Barry’s own job here couldn’t afford it. 

He could barely focus for the rest of the meeting. After an hour, he faked a phone call, and retreated to his cubicle to think. Mostly, he stared at the little business card that Hugh had given him, and thought about what on earth “Broker” might mean. Someone in the drug trade, apparently, if Hugh worked for him. So much of that conversation had been...weirdly cryptic, but Hugh had been right about the central proposition. Barry was unsatisfied with his life, and more hemmed in he felt--by Evan, by Dennis, by Richard now--

“Hey, Billy, right?”

He was startled up from his thought, looked up and saw Richard looming in the doorway of his cubicle. The meeting was over apparently--was this the first thing he’d thought to do? Hunt Barry down?

“Barry, actually.”

“Oh shoot, sorry man. Everything alright? You zipped out of there in a hurry.”

“Yeah, just the husband, you know. Everything sounds like an emergency to him.”

Richard laughed, “Yeah man, I get it. Hey, Evan told me that you were on the shortlist for the position, and I just wanted to let you know that he thought you would have been a great choice too, and he wants you to keep throwing your hat in the ring, alright? He just didn’t think that this position would be a better stepping stone for me, since we’re at the tail end of a project, about to ship. He knows that wouldn’t have been a challenge for you.”

Barry’s face was growing a bit heated. Evan thought so, huh? Then why wasn’t Evan here telling him this? Why send this cherub faced little shit to come apologize on his behalf? “Sure thing, I understand. Besides, you got the growing family to feed, right?” Barry said, stretching his mouth into something he hoped was a smile and not a sneer, and from the way Richard’s face lit up back, he must have managed well enough. They chatted a bit about Barry’s current duties, and then Richard moved on to the next member of the team.

That settled it, then. If nothing else, he would have his curiosity satisfied. If it was a service that could make his life better, than great. Why care that the info came from a drug dealer? He pulled out the card Hugh had given him on Friday--it was rather simple. All it had was a name, Ian Miller, the word “Broker” below it, and on the bottom of the card, a phone number. He picked up his phone, and gave the mysterious number a call.

***

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[bexterbex]

A Soul To Mend His Own | Ch. 39

[Gif by @cloudyfacewithjam​]

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 39: No But They Can Try

You finished breakfast and bid the lieutenant a good day, sending him off to go get rest. You turned to the general. “So what is it that we are learning today?”

The general was over on one of the walls preparing a giant screen that you didn’t know existed. “It has been requested by the Supreme Leader that you take some finishing lessons.”

“Finishing lessons?”

He successfully brought a video to the screen. “Yes, along with your diplomacy lessons the Supreme Leader has requested that you take finishing lessons or etiquette lessons. You are to be a refined lady, an empress. He has made it clear that you are to succeed in the areas he does not.”

He started the video or lack of video as it seemed to be an audiobook.  

Ch. 1: What is Best Society?

Ch. 2: Introductions

Ch. 3: Greetings 10 min

Ch. 4: Salutations of Courtesy

Ch. 5: On the Street and in Public

There wasn’t much discussion as he had talked about with the lieutenant. You both just sat back and listened, rather you listened and he worked on his data pad. After the fifth chapter, you had enough of listening to rules of etiquette, so you decided to strike up a conversation in hopes of ending the lesson.

“Why is it that I am learning this and you are working on something else?”

“Because I am not going to become a lady. That is your job, my job is to make sure that you are learning what you are learning. I am currently working on my other job of running the First Order. Just because the Supreme Leader has assigned me to be in charge of your care and your lessons does not mean any of my other duties have ceased.” He still failed to look up from his data pad.

“I thought the Supreme Leader ran the First Order?” You were digging for something.

The data pad hit the redhead’s lap in frustration, but before the words you suspected that he wanted to say came out of his mouth he answered, “of course the Supreme Leader does, but there are many, many duties he cannot do himself and so he leaves them in the very capable hands of others.”

“I sense some hostility in you general. You don’t have to keep it from me that you wished he would do more or that you did less.” You were looking at the man rather pointedly.

“The Supreme Leader and I knew each other before he became the Supreme Leader. At that time we were both competing for the previous Supreme Leader’s good graces. Ones that he never really gave out. And then the Supreme Leader usurped him. I was afraid that because of our past grievances that he would just put me out, but he looked past that and saw the greater good I could do for the First Order. He gets the glorious title of Supreme Leader and the ability to supersede anyone that questions him, but I get to make the First Order into a legacy that outshines the Empire.”

The man sitting next to you loved what he was doing. Married to his duty. Has the love of creating a great empire of his own.

“I’m sure he’s thankful, even if it just means he doesn’t have to do all of the paperwork. In my lessons of the Empire, Vader and Tarkin had a similar relationship. Maybe not as vicious as your relationship has been, but a parallel none the less. I am thankful, from what I have seen from the Supreme Leader, he is much more an intimidation tool than he is a leader.” You were being honest with the man, after all he really has only kept things from you because of Kylo’s orders.

“That he is. He is very effective in leading Stormtroopers. They gladly follow him into battle. And not just because he will kill them, but because the enemy focuses on him, and it is almost a guaranteed win if he is with them. You saw him in training, but seeing him on the battlefield is something else entirely. He becomes the human embodiment of rage and destruction. Which unfortunately can transfer back to damages on board the ship.”

“Is this what you meant by needing to ‘brace ourselves’? I understand that he is quick to anger but isn’t there something that we can do about it?”

“If I knew the answer to that m’lady I would be the richest man in the galaxy. Yes, that is partially the reason why I said it. The other reason is that any time an issue is about you, before or after he met you he becomes even more unstable, more unpredictable. I may have known him for years but I have no idea what he will be like when he gets here.”

“I see, so are you suggesting that I should be scared?”

“No, m’lady just prepared.”

“Prepared for what? You just called him unstable and unpredictable.”

“Prepared for the unexpected, occasionally and I mean rarely he surprises me. The last few times that has happened it has been about you. So just be prepared for anything.”

You didn’t know whether to find his words comforting or horrifying. You could already see that Kylo was unstable. You glanced down at your wrist, to the faded Ben Solo. You wondered if the unstableness was Kylo or Kylo’s struggle with Ben. You had seen him almost kill a man who spoke and thought ill of you. What would he do this time because you did it to yourself, accidentally but to yourself?

“I believe it is time for lunch,” said the general.

You then went about ordering and eating lunch in the dining room, not really talking about anything in particular but just light conversation. He then escorted you down the halls to the large conference room that you usually met in for your lessons. This time the room was filled with generals and admirals and holograms of generals and admirals. You took a seat next to Hux, who was sitting across the table from Pryde. Phasma was on guard in the corner of the room in her silver armored glory. You wondered when would be the best time to apologize.

“As you all know the Supreme Leader will be here in a matter of minutes. He will give us the rundown on his mission, and maybe his next plans. He is currently not in the best of moods so brace yourselves. Everyone,” said Hux.

The room went about idle chatter for a few moments before you heard loud footsteps coming down the hall, and some screaming too. If the door had hinges you would have guessed that it would have slammed open. He stalked in with the Knights of Ren filling in the back of the room along with Commander Pyre.

You saw Ap’lek eye Phasma up and down with hostility, almost assessing whether or not he could take here out now. But he then turned to face the Kylo on the other side of the room. You could see Phasma’s body language change, she was now ready for an attack.

Your attention quickly shifted to Kylo, who seemed to refrain himself from slamming his palms on the table, but just barely. His clothes were slightly singed in various places, he and the knights seemed to have some light mud on them as well. They look as if they have come straight off the battlefield, Pyre even had scuffs on his gold armor.

“Skywalker is dead.”

There was malice in his voice. You could sense the anger and hostility that radiated off of him in dark waves. His own personal storm cloud.

The other generals and admirals around you lifted their heads in what seemed to be acknowledgment and relief.

A balding general whom you have never seen before spoke up, “And what of the scavenger?”

In an instant, he was on the ceiling choking. His chair had been thrown back and clattered to the ground. He was crying out, gasping for air.

Kylo’s head turned quickly to you, assessing you. He moved swiftly from the front of the room and grabbed you by the arm pulling you up and out of the room. He was grabbing your arm so tightly you were sure that it was going to bruise. He did not stop until you were both in your chambers.

You were scared.

“I have half a mind to kill her.” The helmet was still on.

You were confused, “to kill who.”

“Phasma, you were under her care and she let it happen.” He then abruptly took the helmet on and backed you into a corner. “Why did you do it? Are you that unhappy with me?” His voice was still laced and stitched with anger.

You were frozen in fear.

His eyes were almost black. You could literally feel the anger that was radiating off of him in the electricity in the air. Or was it the Force that you were feeling?

His hand slammed into the wall next to you. “Answer me!” He was yelling, his voice dripping with fury and rage.

You thought you were going to die.

His other hand hooked itself under your chin and yanked your face upwards while he stood over you menacingly.

No, you knew you were going to die.

You trembled out, “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to.” Your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes were wide in fear.

“What do you mean it was an accident? How could it have been an accident?” He was still yelling.

“I wanted them to stop.”

“What to stop?” He was a tiny bit calmer.

“The lights.”

“What lights.”

“The lights I saw every time I closed my eyes since you have been gone.”

His face shifted slightly, you could see the concern start to brew in the cauldron of his eyes. “What did these lights look like?”

“They were red and blue and they were fighting. Every time I closed my eyes I could see them.”

The hand that was under your chin shifted to caress the side of your face. “Tell me more.”

“There was also an ocean, I don’t know where it was but it was big. I haven’t been able to really sleep since you have been gone.”

“All you wanted was for them to stop, and you didn’t realize what was happening?”

“Yes, and Phasma saved me. I had ordered her to stay away from me. I wanted to be alone.”

The hand then shifted down to your neck. It rested there. “Why did you want to be alone?”

“I feel like a songbird in a cage here. People constantly telling me what to do, say and think. I am watched 24/7. You give them orders to tell me, without telling me anything. I wanted to be free, if only for a few minutes.”

The hand shifted back up to your face, his thumb ran over your lips. “You are a beautiful songbird Kitten.” He then drew you in and kissed you. You missed this, oh how you missed this.

When you broke apart, “but kisses won’t fix this.”

“No, but they can try.” He leaned back in to kiss you. Pushing you into the wall, eventually, his kisses started to roam down to your neck, “no, but they can try.”

[dottiechan]

Spare bunk

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Word count: 2008

Warnings: TCW S7 spoilers below cut

Summary: After discovering a strange signal at the cyber station on Anaxes, Captain Rex calls an old ally for help.

Having just arrived back to Fort Anaxes from the Separatist cyber station, Rex feels drained. Drained might actually be a poor description of what he is going through – being overwhelmed by all his newfound feelings might be a better way to capture his inner sufferings. Sufferings he cannot share with anyone truly. No one who would understand, no one who would fully believe him.

Because he knows Echo is alive, damn all who think otherwise.

Tup, Dogma, Hardcase and Fives are all gone – no more than distant memories and smiling faces on holo images tucked away carefully in crates of 501st military gear and equipment. Cody is injured, moaning incoherently in his sleep while his face is scrunched up in pain despite all the kolto circulating in his bloodstream, with Jesse and Kix tending to him, watching over him.

There’s General Skywalker, of course, but one need not be Force sensitive to feel he’s reluctant, filled to the brim with disbelief and concerns to his own. And the Bad Batch may have proven themselves as allies and warriors, but none of them knew Echo. None of them would share his pain, feel his grief, and support his blind hope.

There is one another, his mind reminds Rex as he sits alone in his barracks, the white-blue shells of his armour lying discarded on the floor more carelessly than how he usually leaves them, knees hugged tightly to his chest. Another who’s survived the Citadel, another who was broken by the loss of Echo, so broken she walked straight out the Jedi Order, maybe even the Republic. Another who could potentially help, potentially understand. Also across the Galaxy, probably, but that is beside the point. Rex is aching to hear her voice, feel her compassion, feel like something, anything that isn’t just plain miserable. Anyone who says clones are engineered to not be afraid, to focus only on duty, can go straight to hell according to the Captain.

Rex moves slowly, not trusting his limbs as he unravels himself, plants his feet firmly on the ground as if he didn’t trust his own body. He pushes aside the pieces of his chestplate to fish out the utility belt underneath. There’s an encryption only he and her know, the one he constantly aches to use and yet never once dared to actually use to make a call. Now there is no hesitation in his fingers as he keys it into his holoprojector and waits for you to answer on the other end.

...

Sskoora growls, but you know him well enough to decipher the meaning behind the Trandoshan’s hisses – the one he emitted just now is the equivalent of a sigh, and you know you’ve won when the hunter brushes past you to enter the cockpit of your ship.

“Scorekeeper won’t accept droids as Jagannath points. A waste of time; a hunt not worthy of our time and our talents.”

But your old friend is already entering the coordinates of Fort Anaxes into the navicomputer and you can’t help but smile softly. He isn’t like most Trandoshans. He is a seasoned warrior, but he has honour, and the friendship you established over the last year after surviving the harsh sands of Tatooine together is one you will cherish until you die. Your attachment to Sskoora is yet another reminder why you kept failing as a Jedi. And another is waiting for you at the end of your destination.

“I owe you one, old friend.”

“You owe me a hunt,” he corrects you calmly, his red scaled face a mask of perfect tranquillity.

“Find the burliest rancor by the time we’ve rescued my friend, Sskoora.”

The Trandoshan wants to say he knows it’s about more than just Echo, more than just a friend lost and found again. He knows you want to be reunited with your mate, but he keeps his mouth shut. You’re still young in his eyes, and he will respect the rashness of youth just like the wisdom of old age.

“The burliest I will, little hunter.”

...

When a Trandoshan appears on the ramp of the ship that just landed in Fort Anaxes, all the perimeter guards are on alert, guns aimed and ready to fire. Until a Jedi appears behind, waving her arms to show their harmlessness. It takes General Skywalker to break the state of emergency, but the great hunter seems to be regarded with distrust even afterwards. Anakin is upset when he finds out why you’re here, but he cannot truly be mad. He stalks off in the night after showing you the direction in which Rex’s barracks are. You bring back too many painful memories – the Citadel, the way you got out of the Order to live your life, the same way Ahsoka did. You don’t blame him for not wanting to speak to you more. So you send Sskoora back to the ship and ask him to prepare for a fight, pacifying him enough to know his preparations for the hunt will quell any desire in him to cause trouble. And then you take a deep breath and go, trying not to reach out with the Force so eagerly to where you suspect Rex to be. The man you so innocently loved as a Jedi, and then agreed to let go for the sake of the Republic.

You’re not a Jedi anymore. And though you wish nothing more than to throw your arms around him like he used to allow you, what you truly wish is to make him happy, to console him, to trust him when no one else does. You tell your little heart beating so fast that the man asked for your help only to bring Echo back, not for any other reason, and the sour lie helps you restrain your emotions as you enter the dark building.

“I got your message. Rex?”

You can sense him – his anguish and thoughtfulness draws your focus immediately, but you cannot see him until he moves. He’s partly in his blacks, the circular emblem of the Republic visible on his chest. His kama and boots are on, however, and you’ve caught him in the act of fastening his belt around his hips.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come, if I’m honest.”

“Oh... I can wait outside, if you’d like.”

“With our shared history?” Rex snorts, shaking his head. “You’ve seen more while you were still a Jedi.”

“A fair point,” you admit, usurping a bed and perching on top of it cross-legged. “Why weren’t you sure I’d come?”

“That message encryption we cooked up was during... well, you know,” he sighs, sitting across from you as he fidgets with his bracers.

“Yeah. I know,” you breathe, voice quiet and strained.

It was during the prime of your love, before you both agreed to put an end to it for the greater good. Not long after, the mission to the Citadel came, and all your hopes of ever loving him again where shattered by the most painful decision you’ve ever had to make. Echo was a friend, a member of your weird little family, and you realised you were tired of losing them all one by one under your command, as you led them to countless battles knowing full well many of them would die. Echo’s death was the last straw, the awakening you needed to stop being a hypocrite by enslaving an army of clones and spouting wisdom about the wrongness of oppressing the weak.

You never lost hope and you never stopped helping wherever you could, wherever the Republic would still let you, but you mostly did it for the same reason you didn’t delete the encryption from your datapad all this time – Rex. It is well beyond your capabilities to say no to the man, to do anything that would harm him, anything that would go against his beliefs. Even if those beliefs in the GAR and the Senate had shaky underpinnings at best these days.

“I haven’t seen you since you left,” he says suddenly, eyes not rising to meet yours, but voice so full of suppressed yearning that it makes your head spin.

“I hope you understand why it had to happen this way, Rex...”

“You never told me. So no, I don’t really. But you’re not a Separatist, so I wouldn’t mind hearing you out.”

“I left because of you.”

“Me?” he asks, looking up with a face full of shock that makes the corners of your lips lift into a small smile that disappears quickly from your face. Rex’s eyes chase after it, wishing it lasted more than that split second.

“In a way, yes. I refused to be part of an Order that would willingly enslave you and your brothers, forcing you to fight in a war you have nothing to do with. And I don’t see a way winning would make your situation any better. You’re men, and yet you’re treated as property. So much for the Jedi values.”

“It’s the Senate, not the Jedi,” Rex argues back meekly, knowing your words to hold more truth than he’d like to admit.

“Well, now I’m not bound to either. Speaking of being bound, I have a spare bunk on the ship... Sskoora takes up two, but the top bunk is all free,” you joke, trying to lighten both your moods momentarily. It works for a little while as Rex snorts, shaking his head a little as he concentrates on slipping his gloves back on.

“Sharing sleeping quarters with a Trandoshan sounds fun, but I might just pass on that.”

“You could share mine. Captain’s quarters are quite spacious, you know. More comfortable, less... Trandoshan, I suppose.”

“Now that is a tempting offer. Think you could extend it to the end of the war?”

“Let’s just extend it until we find Echo now,” you sigh, both your moods souring considerably as you think of your friend. “You really think he’s out there?”

“It was his voice. I know it. It couldn’t have been anything else.”

You slowly stand and sit next to him, casually letting your elbows touch. When Rex doesn’t pull back, you let your shoulder lean against his, a small encouraging smile gracing your lips as you lean closer. “I believe you. We’ll find him tomorrow. I’ll help. Even if the Republic does not want me to. You just send me the coordinates, and I and Sskoora will be there on Skako Minor to back you up.”

Rex, struggling with his tears at the prospect of seeing Echo again, and moved by your devotion to him, stares at his fingers and nods. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

“I never stopped doing that, and I never will. Oh come here, you,” you sigh, drawing him in for a hug which he gratefully accepts. Despite all the heartache, the war, the constant terror the Galaxy lives in, you find peace in Rex’s arms, and he in yours. It’s both extraordinary and just so natural at the same time, your minds joined in a synchrony you’ve terribly missed. Even if he cannot feel it through the Force, there’s a bond that intertwines your fates so much that there is no escaping one another.

“There was a time I would have scolded you for even suggesting something like that, you know. About the spare bunk thing. But now all I’m saying – no, all I’m asking – is that you hold onto that question until we find Echo and win this war. And then I’ll say yes, if you still want me. Stars know I’m more than ready for that.”

You nod against his shoulder, letting your heart rejoice at the notion that the man you used to love, the man you still do, has grown so much in your absence. Maybe your separation was not for good, but only a temporary setback, a lesson for you to learn that there is no life without one another.

“I’ll be waiting patiently until then. Like I have been all this time.”

[fallenusurper]

Filled out partially for the gag and partially to measure how much they share that same brain cell (still fascinated by how he has the same jealousy level but it manifests differently)

...

[ootori-sibs]

Kyoya's second shot

Episode two: The shadow council

The week passed without anything notable happening, Haruhi and Tamaki were a lot better with public affections, and it truly disgusted Kyoya, Haruhi didn't even seem to care that much about the king's affections- always seeming so disinterested in her godly boyfriend.

But that would soon change, he could get Tamaki the love he deserved. It was Friday after all, and everyone he'd emailed had agreed to show up. He watched the other hosts gathering their stuff to leave after he'd gone over the budget and weeks profits with them, he felt a fizzy sort of feeling- excitement. It was the first time in literal months he'd felt like this, usually he just felt sickened or hollow. He was almost excited to feel excited! He knew being evil would make him feel better!

He only had twenty minutes until everyone arrived, so he quickly made his way down into the second hall, it was still huge, but a lot more modest then the main hall. He set up a table, with a chair for everyone, making sure to set seating arrangements that would be the most efficient for how each person could contribute to the discussion. He set up his whiteboard, read to present his ideas in slideshow format as he was used to with the hosts- it truly was the best way to convey information to dummies. He even lit candles instead of using the chandelier, he knew the first thing to being an effective villain: presentation, and he knew that candles would go a long way to presenting his plans- especially considering his demographic. Of course he needed to accommodate the more morally correct party that would be attending, and the best way he saw to do so were via the snacks served at the meeting; chocolate chip cookies, small garlic crackers, apple slices, and some watermelon treats he'd picked up from a commoner store- specifically for the commoner.

Before he knew it, there was a shadowy figure in the corner of the room. Kyoya sighed, staring right at it. "Step out of the shadows would you Nekozawa, I hope you're not planning to usurp my title." He joked calmly, causing the mage to jump, not expecting to have been spotted so soon.

"My, my, Ootori-san, awfully perceptive aren't you?" Nekozawa sculked out of where he was hidden, heading slowly towards the table. "I'm intrigued to know what you have in store for this meeting of yours, not to mention finding out exactly who else you've invited." He sits down in his designated seat, looking over the snacks that had been presented.

Kyoya chuckles at that, inspecting one of the watermelon treats he'd picked up. "Well-"

"The president of the black magic club meeting with the school demon lord? Now this is a scoop." Ah, Komatsuzawa was here. Kyoya glances towards him, nodding curtly.

"You were looking for a conspiracy, were you not?" He questioned, knowing all too well the answer. "Sit down," he invited, gesturing to the designated chair set out for the head of the newspaper club. He watched as the Akira took his seat, looking around curiously and clutching a little clipboard. "You don't need to take notes, I will provide transcripts after the fact."

"Yes, well, I would like to take notes of simple details I note during the meeting, I know you'll be doing the same Ootori, I don't doubt the hypocrisy but I resent the businessly attitude towards your scandals."

"It's not a scandal until it's published, Komatsuzawa." Kyoya raised an eyebrow at him, knowing too well how he would have to reign this boy in. Akira wanted nothing more than to expose Tamaki for whatever he could, and Kyoya refused to let that happen.

"I hope you know I lied to my brother's face for you, why didn't he know you'd invited me to a meeting, what are you planning?" Chika Haninozuka stood there, still in his karate outfit, hands on his hips. When he noticed all eyes were on him, he began to walk towards the table, looking around.

Kyoya smiled. "Thank you Chika, I appreciate the lie." He gives a small bow of his head, knowing that lying to an older sibling was nowhere near the pain Chika made it out to be. "To answer your first question; your brother would be highly disapproving of my plans. He- and that goes for all the other hosts- cannot know what goes down at these meetings. Understood?" That last part was spoken to all of them, and it was a clear threat. He had mirrored the tone he'd heard his father use on his own underlings many many times.

Clearly it worked, he saw all three of them freeze in place, eyes like frightened animals. Kyoya felt something, a rush of… power. This must be how his father, even his brothers, felt every day- Kyoya had to have more. He felt a smirk resting on his face, going to grab his black book when he heard the door behind him open.

"Oh, uh- am I late? Sorry I had to get changed first!" Here came the commoner, Arai was running just a little late, but Kyoya was just glad he was here. He watched in amusement as his other guests' expressions turned from surprise to confusion at the sight of the commoner they'd never seen before.

Kyoya himself just smiled and gestured to the commoner's seat. "Not to worry Arai, we wouldn't start without you." He watched the poor boy take a seat and went straight for the watermelon snacks as predicted, Kyoya took a quick note before the meeting.

19:19 - Everyone has arrived, the meeting shall begin. The commoner was late. Chika made Honey aware that he was staying late, but did not provide the real reason.

"So," Kyoya began, hands tucked behind his back, "I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you all here today?" There was a resounding murmur of curiosity and Kyoya continued. "Well I'm sure you're- nearly all of you at least, are familiar with my-" he coughs a little pointedly at that, "interests?" He watched both Umehito and Akira exchange a look, almost looking concerned, and he sighed, before turning to Chika and Arai, who both have no clue what he means. "Well to put it lightly, as much as I see her as a friend and equal: Haruhi is my enemy." That was the most honest Kyoya has ever verbally been, and he watched in what was almost fear, as each and every one of them clocked on to what he was saying

"Oh now that's one hell of a scoop!" Akira really couldn't keep his damn mouth shut could he? Kyoya shot a simple death glare at him, but was quickly distracted by the sight of Umehito pulling out one of those little wooden cursed dolls. Kyoya sighed for a second time.

"Look, I didn't want it to come to this, but something must be done-" -or he was going to lose his goddamn mind, that part stayed silent. "So I've come up with a plan, one that will benefit all of you in both the long and short term." The moment their own benefit was brought up, each of their eyes went wide, greedy for more than they had- all except the commoner. Typical.

Arai had frowned, crossing his arms slightly. "I'm sorry, could you explain how Haruhi is your enemy? Sorry again if I sound dumb, I'm not quite understanding..?" Oh of course, Arai couldn't have any way to be aware

"Well you see, Haruhi has a boyfriend. That boyfriend just happens to be-" Kyoya attempted to explain, being completely interrupted by Nekozawa, rude as usual.

"- Souh-san, president of the host club and the person Ootori-san's been in love with for the past...year? Year and a half?" He pondered the maths quietly, Arai's eyes widening with every word.

He turned to Kyoya in mixed shock and indignation. "You want to steal her boyfriend? If you knew him longer why didn't you ask him out?" ...commoners are so daring…

There was complete silence from the other three, hell- even Kyoya himself was shocked into silence. His rage was very quickly reaching it's point, fists clench. "Oh. Oh I'm sorry, why don't you go up to the guy that never shuts up about 'making every woman happy' and tell him you've been in love with him from the day you met him? See how that goes?" He let out a hefty sigh, taking his glasses off and running a hand through his hair. "I didn't even know he was bi until he started asking for advice on how to confess to her." That was probably the most painful of Kyoya's life that evening, that stabbing pain was unbearable yet he couldn't say a thing to Tamaki about it.

He put his glasses back on to see poor Arai shaking like a terrified feral cat, maybe he'd been a little snappy with his words… he looked around to see everyone else wide eyed too. "...my apologies, I'm not sure what came over me just then." He coughed awkwardly, switching his slideshow on and pulling out a pointer to help demonstrate. "Let's just get to the matter at hand shall we?" He smiled.

The plan was simple and they all had a part to play, poor Arai clearly had a lot of objections but was too shaken to voice any of them, Kyoya would have to discuss it with him afterwards. The snacks were gone pretty fast, luckily Kyoya managed to take a couple for himself between explanations, surprisingly the watermelons were the most popular- most folks there never having tried commoner's food before. Akira seemed more than excited to have so many opportunities to publish articles that were sure to go viral across the school and maybe further, Umehito was definitely up for some spooky happenings, the moment Chika heard he got to fight Honey and win he was on board, and Arai… if Kyoya was honest, Arai was probably just too frightened to object. He was definitely the weakest party there: Chika could kill him easily, Nekozawa had more than enough 'power', Akira had all the connections he could ever want, and Kyoya… was an Ootori- not to mention being a high ranking person in Ouran if his own volition. Even one of them had enough money to completely ruin Arai's life, and enough spite to do so if pushed. It really wasn't all too fair on him.

Two hours had passed by the time Kyoya finally finished laying out the details of his plan, at least the main overview. Turns out, without Tamaki to reel him in, Kyoya's plans can get a little over detailed- that was where the devil was after all. He smiled, putting his pointer away. "-and that would be where we part ways. Any questions?" He looked at the four of them, waiting for someone to say something, Chika visibly frowned, raising his hand.

"How does this help us at all?"

Kyoya knew this question was coming and he relished in its arrival, clicking to the next slide, with a picture of each of them, labelled with what they would get. "Well it's obvious what I get, but what you get, Chika, is both victory over your brother, but the knowledge in which you'll be annoying the crap out of him." As a younger sibling himself, he knew full well what that sparkle in Chika's eyes meant, the tiny Honey clone was more than on board. "For Nekozawa; to chance to exercise your powers and befriend Tamaki like I know you've been failing to do, trust me- it's alright." He chuckles a little, they were in similar situations, albeit Umehito's was a platonic one. "For Komatsuzawa it will be publicly, I know how you've wanted it so much, not to mention you're finally getting permission to cover the host club- isn't that what you'd asked me for?" He knew he was right, and he knew that Akira knew he was right. He was giving the boy what he'd previously denied him. "And for you Arai…" he chuckled, "our little commoner friend here gets his childhood sweetheart. It's clear you still have feelings for her." He couldn't help but smirk as Arai's face turned pink.

"I still respect her more than that!!" He squeaked out, still trying to pretend he had pride. All Kyoya had to do was raise an eyebrow and he sank into his seat.

Kyoya gave a curt bow. "Alright then, that would conclude our meeting. We're all in agreement of what we're doing, those of us with tasks will complete them by next week, when we will meet again- this time over video call." He watched them all stand up and prepare to leave, staying silent until they were all almost as the door. "Farewell then, I'll see you soon."

21:46 - The meeting has concluded, everyone has agreed to their parts. I will now stand by for Nekozawa's part to be completed.

He made his way home after clearing up, or rather, he made his way to the limo. His bodyguards wrapped him in his blanket the moment he sat down, making sure he was alright. He appreciates that someone cares about him, even if they're paid to do so, so he let them have the remaining snacks from the meeting. They seemed happy with that, so he let his mind wander on the journey home.

Next thing he knew he was laying in bed, it was late at night, he must have fallen asleep. He looked to his side to see a bowl of commoners ramen with a note explaining that the cooks had already left for the day. Kyoya sighed, taking the bowl over to his sofa, slowly eating his food. It was a cold night, but this cheaply made food was strangely comforting to him.

He gazed out his window, the moon was high. He was usually awake at this time, sure, but it felt different now- it felt almost lonely. The dawn of a new day felt so far away now, and the arms of his beloved friends felt further. He knew he was doing them wrong, but he couldn't see any other way to keep himself afloat. He had to be happy again, he had to. This was just how he was going about it. But the sinking guilt, the swallowing loneliness enveloped him gently but mercilessly, and he couldn't breathe for realisations.

His friends might never forgive him, he may become ostracized from the only community he's ever really had, and for chasing happiness no less. His methods were underhanded and his motives were wicked, his family might finally be proud… but Fiyumi at least would not. His loving, caring sister… would she be mad at him? For being unable to sacrifice his own happiness for his friends? Would she call him stupid? Selfish? Would she tell him he deserved all the pain and guilt he felt? He felt she would be right. He's done nothing but plan yet, he hasn't hurt his friends in the slightest. But he still felt incredibly guilty, incredibly empty…

He looked down at his bowl of ramen, it had gone lukewarm. He sighed and put it down on the table, laying on his side. He could turn the lights off, he could turn the heating off, he could turn off so many things, but he couldn't turn off his own thoughts, he couldn't turn off his tears.

[where-dreamers-go]

“Part 2 - Protecting The Document” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. And we’re back with a continuation of the Riley Poole x Reader series! After finding The Charlotte, it’s time to convince others that the Declaration of Independence is in danger. Team up with your friends Ben Gates and Riley Poole for more adventure.

Check out Part One. 

Word Count: 8,580)

Washington D.C. — J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building

“Man….I’m still sweating from being in there.” You said, pulling at your clothes.

“Well, you said that you didn’t want to be sitting in the van alone because you’d look suspicious,” Ben reasoned as the three of you walked out of the government building.

“I know. I know.”

“Relax. You haven’t done anything. Besides, you have the most innocent face between the three of us.”

“Hey,” Riley whined as the three of you walked outside.

Equally spaced trees lined the sidewalks ahead of you. Heading back towards the van the three of you were a little put off by multiple visits to government buildings. The cold and concrete that gave off the essence of aloof.

“Is it really so hard to believe that someone’s gonna try to steal the Declaration of Independence?” Riley asked, peeved.

“The FBI gets ten thousands of tips a week. They’re not gonna worry about something they’re sure is safe.” Ben answered, hands shoved into his jean pockets.

“But anyone that can do anything is gonna think we’re crazy.” Riley stopped before reaching the street. “Anyone crazy enough to believe us isn’t gonna want to help.”

“We don’t need someone crazy. But one step short of crazy, what do you get?” Ben asked, turning to the two of you.

Riley laughed, “obsessed.”

“Passionate.” Ben corrected and turned back to go to the van.

“So…,” you glanced over at Riley, “we have to find someone who loves the Declaration?”

“Obsessively.” Riley murmured.

. . .

National Archives waiting room.

Quiet halls and cushioned chairs. It was like waiting in a dentist’s office for your name to be called. The three of you sat in identical wooden chairs, lined up in front of a wall; although yours was beside an end table. It was hopefully the last stop for the day. You did have work to do to bring in the money somehow. That day just happened to be dedicated to an immensely important document. 

“Excuse me.” Ben reached across Riley to pick up a black and blue pamphlet off of the receptionist’s desk.

70TH NATIONAL ARCHIVES ANNIVERSARY GALA

Ben opened the bifold to find it was an invitation. Details were scripted in smaller font.

Huh, you thought, my friend from (school) invited me there.

The door in front of all of you opened, the assistant peeked out.

“Doctor Chase can see you now, Mister Brown.”

“Thank you.” Ben said, raising from his chair.

“Mister Brown?” Riley asked in a hushed tone.

Ben leaned in closer to whisper, “The family name doesn’t get a lot of respect in the academic community.”

“Huh. Being kept down by the man.”

The men walked passed the dark wooden door before you.

“A very cute man.” Riley stopped abruptly.

You peeked between your friends.

That is most definitely not a man, you thought.

The three of you stood in front of a large desk, already on routine as you were all acknowledged.

“Thank you.” The blonde woman hung up the telephone. Presumably, Doctor Chase.

Well, this is going to be fun, you thought, watching as your friends stood straighter.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she greeted. “And good afternoon.” She repeated as you moved over to Riley’s right hand side as you were given an extra chair to place beside the pair in front of the desk.

You smiled.

“Hi.” Riley half-bowed.

“Abigail Chase.” She reached over to shake hands with Ben.

“Paul Brown.” Ben introduced himself as. All the while Riley watched, a bit on his toes.

“Nice to meet you.”

She then shook hands with Riley.

“Bill,” Riley fumbled, barely.

“Nice to meet you, Bill.” Doctor Chase said formally before turning her attention to you.

“(Random name),” you said, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you, (Random name).” She returned her gaze to Ben. “How may I help you?”

Ben immediately pointed at her and stated, “Your accent. Pennsylvania Dutch?”

“Saxony German.”

“You’re not American?” Riley asked, eyebrows pinched together.

“Oh, I am an American.” She said, walking back to her chair. “I just wasn’t born here. Please don’t touch that!”

You spun around to see Ben’s fingers already a hair’s width away from a small display.

Dude, really? Tell me you didn’t. He always has to touch, you thought.

“Sorry. A neat collection. George Washington’s campaign buttons.” Ben pointed at the two rows of about a quarter sized buttons. “You’re missing the 1789 inaugural, though. I found one once.”

Doctor Chase nodded with a soft smile. Impressed, perhaps.

“That’s very fortunate for you. Now, you told my assistant that this was an urgent matter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben followed suit as all of you took your seats. “Well, I’m gonna get straight to the point. Someone’s gonna steal the Declaration of Independence.”

She did not say a word in response. Finally looking to Riley for any other explanation.

There was a long moment of silence before Riley spoke up, “It’s true.”

Doctor Chase looked down.

“I think I’d better put you gentlemen in touch with the FBI.” She said.

“We’ve been to the FBI.” Ben quickly added.

“And?”

“They assured us that the Declaration cannot possibly be stolen.” Riley answered tiredly.

“They’re right.”

“My friends and I are less certain.” Ben countered. “However, if we were given the privilege of examining the document…”

Doctor Chase gave him a look to which he challenged with one of his own.

Here we go, you thought as you leaned against the arm of the chair.

Ben continued, “we would be able to tell you for certain if it were actually in any danger.”

She leaned back in a stance that read: humor me.

“What do you think you’re gonna find?” She asked.

You held your breath.

“We believe that there’s an…encryption on the back.” Ben nodded, satisfied with his word use.

“An encryption, like a code?” She glanced between the three of you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Of what?”

“A…cartograph.”

“A map.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A map of what?”

Riley adjusted his jacket as he put his head down. You on the other hand, tried not to move a muscle.

Ben had definitely met his match with this one.

“The location of…,” Ben cleared his throat, “…of hidden items of historic and intrinsic value.”

Doctor Chase was leaning over her desk at that point and glanced up.

“A treasure map?”

“That’s where we lost the FBI.” Riley smiled, finally looking up again.

“You’re treasure-hunters, aren’t you?” She looked between the three of you with narrowed eyes.

You and Riley turned towards Ben as you both shifted in your seats.

Flippin’ explain, Ben, you thought.

“We’re more like treasure-protectors.” Ben corrected to the best of his ability to scramble the last stitch effort.

“Mr. Brown, I have personally seen the back of the Declaration of Independence, and I promise you, the only thing there is a notation that reads, ‘Original Declaration of Independence, dated’…”

“‘Four of July, 1776.’ Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled and said, “but no map.”

You could sense as Ben fully looked over at you and Riley. The pair of you refused to meet his gaze. You were more than positive that the two of you were mentally chanting for Ben not to say what you knew was coming next.

Exhaling, Ben still remained silent for a few more precious moments before opening his mouth again.

“It’s invisible.”

“Oh. Right.” Doctor Chase whispered.

You outwardly cringed.

She thinks we’re nuts, you thought, wanting nothing more than to go home.

The lady asked many questions and had an arsenal of sass.

“And that’s where we lost the Department of Homeland Security.” Riley sighed, his gaze at his feet.

There was more uncomfortable silence in the room as three people clung onto hope.

“What led you to assure there’s this invisible map?” She asked.

“We found an engraving on the stem of a 200-year old pipe.”

“Owned by Freemasons.” Riley piped up.

“May I see the pipe?”

“We don’t have it.”

She leaned in closer and asked in a hushed tone, “did Big Foot take it?”

OKAY, you thought, done.

“It was nice meeting you.” Ben stated as he stood from the chair.

Doctor Chase eyed your best friend with humor and interest.

“Nice to meet you, too.” She said.

You quickly rose out of your own seat, ready to leave.

“And, you know,” Ben said, gesturing to the Washington buttons. “That really is a nice collection. Must have taken you a long time to hunt down all that history.”

She smiled once more and the three of you left her office with as much dignity as ones could muster after failing to have one person believe your story.

Ben lead the way out and soon into the large open area where historical documents were on display. Visitors walked and stood around in their own worlds. Their conversations were white noise.

Would anyone believe any of you? Just one?

Sighing, you walked alongside Riley, shoes almost shuffling across the reflective floor.

“If it’s any consolation, you had me convinced,” Riley said to Ben.

“It’s not.” Ben answered from two paces ahead.

“I was thinking, what if we go public, paster the story all over the Internet? It’s not like we have our reputations to worry about. Although I don’t think that’s exactly gonna scare Ian away.”

“But at least people would know.” You stated.

Three of you stood in front of a glass case, gazing down at the one thing that needed protecting and could lead the three of you to the next clue to the Templar’s treasure. Light shining around it for easy viewing.

“183 years of searching, and I’m three feet away,” Ben sighed and looked to the pair of you. “Of all the words written here about freedom, there’s a line here that’s at the heart of all the others.” He looked down to read, “‘But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty to throw off such government and provide new guards for their future security.’ People don’t talk that way any more.”

“Beautiful, huh.” Riley murmured with crossed arms. “No idea what you said.”

“It means, if there’s something wrong, those who have the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action.”

Quiet filled the space between friends, history spoke loud enough to be heard by those willing, and thoughts were fixed.

Ben exhaled.

“I’m gonna steal it.”

“What?” You and Riley asked in the same moment.

“I’m gonna steal the Declaration of Independence.”

Ben walked off in long strides as Riley laughed before seeing that Ben was still moving forward.

You and Riley quickly exchanged looks of growing horror.

“Ben?” Riley called after his friend.

The two of you fast-walked across the floor and passed everyday visitors with growing anxieties.

. . .

Steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

With a heavy heart, you sat beside Riley on the hard concrete steps. Figuring out that your shared best friend wanted to steal and have it be the Declaration of Independence was not easy to digest.

Ben stood before the two of you with his idea stubbornly set, the Washington Monument as his backdrop.

“This is…huge.” Riley stated from your right, hands together. “It’s prison huge. You are gonna go to prison, you know that?”

“Yeah, probably.” Ben said with hands on his hips and accepting his fate.

“So that would bother most people.”

“It sure as heck bothers me,” you spoke. “Why risk it?”

“Ian’s gonna try and steal it. And if he succeeds, he’ll destroy the Declaration.” Ben reasoned. “The fact is, the only way to protect the Declaration is to steal it.”

You stared off into the distance. Bright blue skies and few white clouds made for a beautiful day. Beautiful and a recklessly tiring day. You didn’t even know what to do with your hands at that point, wanting to curl up in a chair or hit your head against a wall. You had options.

“It’s upside down.” Ben sat down on Riley’s right, “I don’t think there’s a choice.”

“Heh, Ben,” Riley stood up with gesturing hands, “for God’s stakes, it’s like stealing a national monument. Okay?” He had pointed across the reflective water. “It’s like stealing him.” He gestured behind Ben to where Lincoln’s statue sat. “It can’t be done. Not shouldn’t be done. It can’t be done. Let me prove it to you.”

You looked to Riley and said, “I’ll buy you dinner for a week if you do.”

Ben made a noise in his throat.

. . .

Library of Congress

Tall curved ceiling, circular room, and reading material for eons.

Each of you had gathered more than a handful volumes, which took longer than your feet would have liked. Pouring over and through various pages, arguments were being built silently. Having found an unoccupied area, the three of you had been scanning and reading for more than an hour.

You and Ben sat opposite Riley, who had since placed his glasses on as he stood. Ready to prove his point with a blue pen in hand, he meant business.

You sighed quietly to yourself as you rested your chin on your hands, ready to listen.

Have his eyes always been that blue?

Ben nudged you under the table before giving you a knowing look as you glanced over at him.

You retracted, shifting your eyes because there were multiple possible reasons for that look. Grumbling, you flipped back a page in one of the volumes that sat beside your elbow.

“Okay, Ben, pay attention,” Riley whispered. “I’ve brought you to the Library of Congress. Why? Because it’s the biggest library in the world. Over twenty million books. And they’re all saying the same exact thing: listen to Riley.”

Ben sat quietly as his friend annunciated each word.

“What we have here, my friend is an entire layout of the archives. Short of builders’ blueprints. You’ve got construction orders, phone lines, water and sewage—it’s all here.” Riley lifted up documents as he named them. “Now, when the Declaration is on display, okay, it is surrounded by guards and video monitors and a little family from Iowa and little kids on their eighth grade field trip. And beneath an inch of bulletproof glass is an army of sensors and heat monitors that will go off if someone gets too close with a high fever.”

The sensors would definitely be problematic, you thought.

“Now,” he flipped the page, “when it’s not on display, it is lowered into a four-foot-thick concrete, steel-plated vault…that happens to be equipped with an electronic combination lock and biometric access-denial systems.” Riley stood straight, satisfied with his argument.

“You know, Thomas Edison tried and failed nearly two thousand times to develop the carbonized cotton-thread filament for the incandescent light bulb.” Ben spoke calmly.

Here we go, you thought.

“Edison?” Riley asked quietly.

“When asked about it, he said, ‘I didn’t fail, I found out two thousand ways how not to make a light bulb.’ But he only needed to find one way to make it work.” Ben handed over a book with a small thump. “The Preservation Room. Enjoy. Go ahead.”

Ben intertwined his hands together, eyebrows raised in waiting.

Riley gingerly took the book and sat down to have a look.

“Do you know what the Preservation Room is for?” Ben asked.

“Delicious jams and jellies?”

You smiled as Riley peered up for a moment.

“No. That’s where they clean, repair and maintain all the documents and the storage housings when they’re not on display or in the vault. Now, when the case needs work they take it out of the vault, directly across the hall and into the Preservation Room. The best time for us, or Ian, to steal it would be during the gala this weekend when the guards are distracted by the VIPs upstairs. But we’ll make our way to the Preservation Room, where there’s much less security.”

Ben rested back with a hand covering his growing smile.

The Gala? You thought as you lowered your arms onto the table, looking between your friends.

“Huh….Well, if Ian..” Riley flipped a page in the book. “Preservation…hmmm…The gala, huh? This might be possible.”

“It might.” He nodded.

“Oh, boy.” You sighed.

“Mmm, no dinner,” Riley mumbled.

“Nope. Not even a piece of gum.”

. . .

The three of you had about a week worth of preparation in about a day. There was a lot of detail work to be completed ahead of time, however the group of you were managing well.

A day after leaving the Library of Congress and you all had your work cut out for you.

Riley was out in the subway working his electronic magic to give him eyes into the National Archives’ security feed. Needing to gain a recording of an empty Preservation room and its hallway that lead into it. Couldn’t let Ben be seen. Riley would be the eyes overseeing it all.

Earlier, Ben had advised you to call the old friend of yours from school who had invited you to the Gala prior to going to the Arctic Circle. Ben needed you for backup and as a lookout while out on the VIP floor. It would be easier for you to already have guest access regardless of the amount of security.

“Ben, I’m not the kind of person to ask…to…to be a tag along. They like that I don’t do that. I like it too and I’m not getting someone else involved with illegal activity.”

“They won’t be involved,” he said. “They probably still want to spend time with you. They know you love history. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“And they had already invited you over a month ago, right?”

“Darn you.” You said with a deadpanned expression.

He smiled.

You grabbed your phone and headed out to your own apartment down the hall.

Your stomach twisted at the thought of what you were doing.

“Darn it.” You called your friend as you sat onto the couch.

The entire phone call consisted of letting them know you were back in town, asking how they were, and if they still needed company to the Gala. It was extremely last minute, you knew and expressed as much. Luck on your side, they were more than happy that you could join them. No one else was free that night as it turned out.

After the call, you texted a quick message to Ben and Riley, how you were a plus one at the Gala.

Tossing your phone onto the couch, you walked to your room. It was time to take out your formal wear after all. That would be the easiest part of your day. Grabbing supplies and materials to bring over to Ben’s apartment to set up where you all would examine the Declaration without contaminating it was next. List in hand, you just had to find what you already had and buy the rest. Thankfully, out of the three of you most of the supplies did not have to be bought.

Late into the afternoon, Ben organized papers of information he already knew he needed. Scans of the Silence Dogood Letters sat comfortably in a folder. Book opened and microwave meal heated, Ben was reading up on the Declaration’s encasement. He was in charge of getting it out safely.

You stood on furniture as you secured plastic sheets to the ceiling. It was then that you sort of wished that the ceilings were a tad lower.

After eating, Ben went out to grab some photos of the custodial services ID card at the National Archives building. He was not away long, soon he had returned and was using Adobe Photoshop to create his own ID. All the while you were trying to keep the multiple plastic sheets from overlapping too much. Sometimes one just had to be off angled instead of hanging straight down to the floor. At least Riley had a good laugh at your minor complaints while he brought in the EDS suits and air filtration system.

Over at Ben’s apartment, again, you were setting up the final touches.

“I’ve been in the art club. I’ve been in FBLA. I got this.” You said, giving yourself a proper pep talk. “Plus I’m a perfectionist…”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Ben said as he wrote a note to accompany the campaign button.

“Oh and this is my vacuum cleaner not yours. So don’t even think about it.”

A desk sat surrounded by plastic sheets, each sheet clipped together at their seams that reached to the ceiling. Admittedly, you had to go out and buy more clips. You kept the table lamp still on the desk. Riley had shown up earlier to help set up the two large lights above the setup to see everything and anything clearly. A handheld blue light and all of the liquid treatments you all might need alongside extra glasses cluttered half of the desk.

By nightfall, Ben was cleaning the Washington’s campaign buttons and testing how to reveal prints. All the while he allowed you to raid his snacks. You deserved it.

It was very nice of him to gift Doctor Chase with the last button she needed, but also something more as what was planned for the Gala.

“Hey, don’t touch anything on that table until tomorrow. Got it?”

“Will do,” Ben said, giving you a quick hug before you left.

All that there was left to do was get ready for the next day. The day of the Gala when the three of you started your plans. Setting off the heat sensors around the Declaration of Independence was first.

. . .

The skies were dark and the gala indoors was bright as day.

As of more than two hours, you were already with your friend, the one who invited you to the gala. You thought the red carpet leading up the stairs was a bit much, however you at least enjoyed your time with your friend. Enjoying one another’s company without needing to spend every second talking. There were a lot of attendees and donors dressed in their finest. If it hadn’t been for the plan, you probably would had liked attending a decorative gala.

You had an earpiece in one ear to hear both Ben and Riley. You had thought against it with the microphone, however the three of you realized that you really needed to know what was happening and when to leave. So an earpiece you had.

Avoiding Doctor Chase the entirety you were present was a dance in stealth. She knew you by a fake name, your friend who brought you as a guest knew who you really were. You wanted to avoid any mishaps and awkwardness at all costs. That was one of your main priorities along side keeping an eye out for trouble and being the closest one that could help Ben if he needed.

As with most parties, you were introduced to people. This time you vaguely remembered names. Your mind and attention was elsewhere. Although you hoped that you would not need to remember their entire names for the future.

Era themed costumes of the orchestra were a highlight. They played beautifully, the overhead lights shining over them. You stood beside a table draped in white cloth as your friend sipped at their beverage.

Spotting movement in your peripheral vision, you peered over. Ben entered at the opposite end of the room with two tall glasses in hand as he made his way further in.

You turned on your earpiece.

Ben walked towards Doctor Chase with his head held high.

“Is (Y/N) there?” Came Riley’s voice.

“Yeah,” Ben peered over at you from across the groups of mingling people, seeing as you put a hand behind you back—a signal. “Their earpiece is definitely on.”

“Who’s with them?”

Ben cleared his throat as he reached Doctor Chase.

“For you.”

“Oh, Mister Brown.” She said.

“Doctor Chase.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Is that that hot girl?” Riley’s voice cut in. “How does she look?”

It took a second, but you stopped yourself from making a side comment. There was no need to have your generous friend asking why you were talking to yourself. It was not the time for that. Although it wasn’t time for Riley to be asking those sort of questions either.

“I made a last-minute donation. A big one,” Ben continued.

“Well, on that subject,” Doctor Chase added, “thank you for your wonderful gift.”

“Oh, you did get it? Good.”

“Yes, thank you. You know, I really couldn’t accept something like that normally, but…I really want it.”

“Well, you needed it.”

“Come on, Romeo,” Riley piped up, “get outta there.”

Your friend beside you was whispering something about some man’s tie as you were peeking over at Ben and Doctor Chase. Riley was right, Ben needed to get-a-steppin’.

“I have been wondering, though,” Doctor Chase said, “what the engraving indicated on the pipe that Big Foot took.”

Are they flirting? You thought, as your friend introduced you to a pair of smiling donors.

“Hi.” Another man’s voice came into your ear, “Here you go.”

“Oh, Doctor Herbert,” Chase spoke, “this is Mister Brown.”

“Hi,” said the taller man also approaching Doctor Chase with two glasses.

“Hi there.” Ben greeted shortly.

“Who’s the stiff?” Riley asked suddenly.

You snickered. Earning a raised eyebrow from the people around you, you waved it off with a shake of your head and a cough.

“Here, why don’t you let me take that?” Ben asked as he delicately took ahold of the glass’ base from the lady, “So you can take that off his hands.”

“Thank you.”

“A toast, yeah? To high treason,” Ben declared. “That’s what these men were committing when they signed the Declarations. Had we lost the war, they would have been hanged, beheaded, drawn and quartered, and—Oh! Oh, my personal favorite—and had their entrails cuts out and burned!”

There he is, you thought. Perhaps a little much. Just a little.

You fully turned to see Ben for yourself. He indeed had his glass held high between a lady and gentleman. Ben then continued.

“So, here’s to the men who did what was considered wrong in order to do what they knew was right.” He nodded. “What they knew was right.”

In roughly three seconds he downed his drink.

You could sense his anxiety from where you stood. None of you knew how the night would turn out. Saving and protecting the Declaration from Ian was top priority. What happened to the three of you was up in the air.

“Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

In quick strides, Ben had finally left the party with the two glasses. Only one was needed. Ben went onwards to the next stage of the plan. Out of sight.

You hoped that the men’s restroom was unoccupied given the science experiment he was about to conduct.

“This better work.” Riley said.

Ben was alone. Any news from him would be given as it developed, hopefully. Extracting Doctor Chase’s fingerprints was vital to getting anywhere near the Declaration. To saving it. Stealing it.

As a waiter passed, your friend offered you a drink again, but you declined. You wanted a clear head even though your worry was increasing. You planned on drinking plenty of water when you got back to the apartment.

“How does it look?” Riley asked.

“It’s working. It’s working…” Ben answered in a hushed tone.

Thank goodness, you turned your gaze back to the musicians.

“Unbelievable.” Riley muttered.

The musicians struck up another song while you were waiting as Ben was undoubtedly making his way out of the restroom. He was following each step perfectly, as expected. There was some sort of sliding mechanics that sounded in your ear, but not much after that.

“We’re in the elevator.” Ben said.

You breathed a sigh of relief. Your friend offered you a strange-looking appetizer but you graciously declined. They only laughed.

“Okay. I’m gonna turn off the surveillance cameras. Ready?” Riley’s voice kept you both constantly updated. “In five, four, three…Now.”

You bit your lip, eyes downcast to the waxed floor.

“Ben Gates,” Riley announced, “you are now the Invisible Man.”

Hearing your best friends’ voices in one ear and a party-gathering in the other was definitely a way to spend your night. Thankfully, you did not mind…half of it anyway.

“I’m here.” Ben’s voice announced.

“Give me the letters for her password. What do yah got for me?” Riley asked. “Hit me with it.”

“A-E-F-G…L-O-R-V-Y.”

“Anagrams being listed. Okay. Top results: ��A glove fry’. ‘A very golf’. ‘Fargo levy’. ‘Gravy floe’. ‘Valey frog’. Also ‘Ago fly rev’. ‘Grove fly a’. ‘Are fly gov’. ‘Era fly gov’. ‘Elf gov ray’.”

“It’s ‘Valley Forge’.”

“‘Valley For…’. I don’t have that on my computer.”

“It’s ‘Valley Forge’—she pressed the E and L twice.”

Well, I’ll be darn, you thought as you shifted your weight onto your other leg. You were more than a little antsy, but at least you weren’t hounded with conversations.

Door movement sounded in your ear.

“We’re in.”

“Hello.”

You could only imagine what Riley was seeing on his computer through the security cameras let alone what Ben was seeing in person. Breathing a sigh of relief, you knew that at least things were going perfectly according to plan.

“Ben you’re doing great,” Riley said.

Your fingers fidgeted against the table cloth.

That’s a lot of bolts screwed in, you thought as one of your ears was filled with the noise of a small power tool.

“Ben, pick it up. You got about one—”

You frowned.

“I lost my feed.”

“What?”

“I lost my feed, Ben. I don’t know where anyone is. I-I have nothing. Ben, I have no—Ben, I have nothing. Get out of there. Get out of there now.”

The room seemed to grow intensely warm and your hands became uncomfortably clammy. You needed to go. You needed to leave.

“I’m taking the whole thing. I’ll get it out in the elevator.”

“What are you talking—? Is it heavy?” Riley asked.

Scrambling to grab your phone out of your hidden pocket was proving a bit difficult. Hands shaking, you were doing your best to keep your breathing in check.

Deep breathes, you thought even as you felt your friend’s eyes on you. Taking out your phone, you looked at it, not giving them a chance to see it. Staring at the small screen, you waited a few seconds as you pretended to read.

Zip bing bing

Zip bing

Sounds of glass shattering made you jump. It didn’t sound right.

“Is everything alright?” Your friend asked.

You nodded, “I have to go. My family needs me.”

“What was that?” Riley’s voice asked in your ear. He could not see what was happening around Ben.

  “I have to go. My (family member) is calling me again for technical support.” You rambled out quickly.

Bizz zing

“Who’s shooting?” Riley asked through the earpiece.

Bizzing bizzink

“Are you still there? Ben?”

“I’m in the elevator. Ian’s here. There was, uh, shooting.”

“I hate that guy.”

You breathed and said to your concerned friend in front of you at the table, “They were calling when I was getting ready. They expect me to see what’s on screen. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” They said, watching as you stepped away from them.

“Thank you again for inviting me.” You shoved the phone in your pocket and consciously kept your pace even.

“Of course.” Their voice trailed behind you.

Once you were out of the main room, you took quick strides to where you had entered. Eyes trained forward. There would be no distractions nor obstacles. You were leaving with a lot of cardio exercise.

Your heart soared as you exited the doors and were greeted with the crisp night air. It helped after using stairs. Going down the steps in seconds, you made your way around the building. Shoes padding along to the rapid beat of your heart.

Finally at the back of the building near the employee entrance, you focused your sights on the familiar apple colored van. Sanctuary. You did not have to keep a slow or steady pace while outside. No one else was around.

“Riley!” You called out as you finished crossing the empty street. “Open up,” you hit the back doors.

A door swung open, Riley’s relieved and anxious face greeting you.

“You’re good? You heard everything?”

“Yeah,” you hopped inside and closed the door behind you.

“Ben needs to get out of there,” Riley said going into the front seat, headset still on.

“I know. Freakin’ Ian.”

Immediately, you spotted an extra pair of shoes and socks you had given Riley to hold on for you. They weren’t difficult to spot on the shelving of the van, everything else was tech. You proceeded to change shoes.

After removing your earpiece and placing it amongst Riley’s belongings, you stood between the two front seats. You leaned on the driver’s chair as you looked out the window.

“Thank you for bringing my shoes.”

“Sure.” Riley looked up at you, “Uh, have you worn that before? You haven’t worn that before.”

“I don’t exactly wear formal wear around the apartment, Riley.”

“It’s nice. You look…you look nice.”

“Thank you.”

Both of you were looking out the windows then. Waiting for your best friend to exit the building safely.

“Where do you think Ian is?” You asked.

“Don’t know. Ben just better hurry up.”

“Yeah.” You did you best to try to reign back and calm your breathing. “Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” You kept your gaze out the windows, no sign of movement. Yet.

“Ben. Where are you?” Riley asked, tapping his shoes from the driver’s seat. Hands tapping atop of the wheel, he was more than a little tense.

You gave his shoulder a light squeeze. It was hardly enough to give you comfort given the situation.

“Where are you?” Riley sung uncomfortably.

Riley’s head turned to the left. He had spotted Ben making his way onto the dark street. The brunette turned the key and started the van. Lights illuminated the pavement.

All while your gaze was set on blonde hair and a dark formal gown.

Oh, crap, no, you thought. No, no, no.

Again, Riley looked out the side window as he set his hands on the steering wheel. There was a pause in his movements.

“Ben, the…uh,” Riley sunk in his seat, “the mean Declaration lady’s behind you.”

You maneuvered to stand behind the driver’s seat and out of sight. Your hands clinging to Riley’s shoulders. You turned around as Ben had opened the back door to the van.

“Just get in here, dang it,” you hissed to Ben.

“Hey.” The voice of Doctor Chase entered the night.

Ben shut the back door.

“No,” you dropped your forehead against the back of the driver’s seat.

The three of you needed to bail, leave, haul butt out.

Why did she have to follow him out? Why?

“What are they saying?” You whispered.

Ben was using up valuable seconds. Precious time.

“Stop chatting and get in the van.” Riley said through clenched teeth.

They were still idly chitchatting. You weren’t sure how long you and Riley could last being quiet in the van.

Sirens sounded off from the National Archives building.

You cursed mentally. A lot.

“Oh my God,” Riley murmured.

“Oh, my God! You did not…?” Doctor Chase’s voice carried over into the van.

You stood up straight and just then proceeded to lean over the chair as your heart sank. That and basically everything else seemed to crumble.

The sirens continued to blare loudly into the night.

“Security! Over here!”

Riley leaned forward to look out the side window.

“Security! Over here! Security!”

“Ohh,” Riley sunk back into his seat.

“Crap, she knows?” You cringed.

There she was, out there knowing exactly what the three of you did.

Click

You and Riley flinched.

Ben had opened the passenger door and was hastily getting inside.

“Go.” Ben stated as he shut the door.

Riley took off his headset.

“We can’t just let her go!” Riley pointed outside.

“We can. Go!”

Doctor Chase continued to make her way, not fast enough, towards the building with the document. The document you were certainly going to get in trouble for.

“Lady,” you said. “They can’t hear you fr—.”

“Wait. No, hold it. Hold it!” Ben stretched out his hand as the three of you watched a blue food truck headed straight for Doctor chase.

It was then that your stomach truly dropped.

The van came to a screeching halt in front of her.

“Oh, bad. Bad, bad, bad!” Ben was out of the passenger’s side in seconds. As he rounded towards the hood, shots were fired out of the blue van and onto the hood. Ben ducked to safety.

Just as men were grabbing for Doctor Chase, shots came to the driver’s side of the van. You and Riley ducked as glass shattered. The driver’s window broken.

“That’s…” Riley’s voiced as he sat up.

“Go! Go!” Ben had already made it back into the passenger’s seat.

An innocent life on the line and the Declaration of Independence, Riley put the van in drive. Slamming on the gas pedal, he made a U-turn on the empty lanes.

Staring out the windshield, you could hear sirens passing near the building.

“Once we catch them what do we do?” Riley asked, hands at ten and two.

“I’m working on it.” Ben answered.

“Right turn, right turn.”

You clung to the driver’s seat as your shoes did their best to stay in one place.

Close behind the food truck, horns sounded ahead. They turned right, dodging a trash truck. Riley did the same.

“Eeee,” your left shoulder hit the inside of the van.

But that was easier than what you saw in front of you. Construction work on the road.

“Ah!” The bouncing of the van was enough to loosen your grip on the seat and the next time the van’s tires made contact with the ground, so did your side with the floor of the van. “OW.”

“You okay?” Ben asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you clambered up to your feet. Only to fall back down with the next bump in the road.

“Skidding, skidding, skidding.” Riley’s voice narrated as the jolts and bumps subsided.

A tight grip onto the passenger’s seat, you stood up.

Outside, the food truck’s back doors swung open.

“Whoa!” You exclaimed as you watched Doctor Chase on the left door as it moved above the road.

“Oh, no.” Ben leaned forward.

“Holy Lord.” Riley stared as he focused on driving.

Of all of the things that could happen to the three of you, you hadn’t thought of someone dangling over the street in the middle of a car chase.

You all ducked as one of Ian’s men started shooting at the three of you, bullets ricochetting off of the van.

This was an entire different level you had not been planning on this morning.

The shooting stopped and Ben climbed into the back of the van. With the whole seatbelt in hand, he slid open the side door and leaned out of it.

You stood behind Riley’s seat again, holding on to the chair with a death grip and with feet planted to the flooring.

“Get me next to her,” Ben shouted.

Riley swerved onto the oncoming lane as you were more than prepared to snatch Ben back into the van, just in case.

The door of the food truck hung above the double lines of the road as Doctor Chase hung from it. Pavement passing underneath her each millisecond.

Riley drove up beside her as Ben was in view of her.

Two loud, deep horns alerted you to look out the front windshield.

“Riley!” You shouted as you saw the white bus approaching down the lane you were all in.

The food truck’s brakes hissed and Riley affectively swerved all of you to the left, out of the path of the bus. As soon as the bus was passed, Riley steered the van close to Doctor Chase once more. Ben stretched out of the van as he reached for her. Their hands touched, but the door swung closed, taking her away.

“NO! Ah!” Her cries carried out as the door swung back towards Ben.

Come on, come on, you pleaded.

“Abigail!” Ben called as they were soon close enough to grab onto one another. “Come on. Jump.” The pair of them fell back into the van as gun fire resounded, Ben slamming against you to where you were squished into the corner between the van’s interior and the front seat. Luckily, Riley kept an organized pile of blankets and soft items right behind his seat.

You turned in time to see Ben leap over Doctor Chase’s form and immediately shut the side door as Riley took the next street with screeching tires.

“Ohmygod,” you pulled yourself up to stand.

The streets were calm and quiet.

Ben moved to kneel in front of Doctor Chase as she sat. They both appeared to be unhurt.

“Are you all right?” Ben asked her.

“No! Those lunatics—!” Doctor Chase said, frazzled.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“You are all lunatics!”

“Are you hungry?”

“What?” She tilted her head at him as her voice raised in pitch.

“Are you all right?”

“Still a little on edge from being shot at, but I’ll be okay. Thanks for asking.” Riley answered, still driving as he looked back.

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the feel of the fabric was grounding in a way.

“Yeah, well, I’m not all right. Those men have the Declaration of Independence!” Abigail exclaimed looking from Riley, to you, to Ben.

“She lost it?” Riley shouted, both of you turning to look back at her.

Ben meanwhile reached over to one of the shelves where Riley kept his assortments of cords and wiring. He pulled out a large tube that might hold art prints or posters.

“They don’t have it,” Ben said as he unscrewed the lid and tilted to reveal its contents. The Declaration of Independence. “See? Okay? Now could you please stop shouting?”

It was safe after all.

How’d I miss that?

Your shoulders relaxed about a good three inches from where you were holding them.

“Give me that!” Doctor Chase went to snatch the document from where it peeked out from the container.

Ben was quick to pull the document away from her grasp and pointed at her.

“You’re still shouting. And it’s really starting to annoy. You’d do well, Doctor Chase, to be a bit more civilized in this instance.”

You watched as he sat down to properly close the lid as another cylinder of a maroon color leaned against him.

“If this is the real one, what did they get?” She moved closer to him. Closer to the document.

“A souvenir. I thought it'd be a good idea to have a duplicate. It turned out I was right. I actually had to pay for the souvenir and the real one, so you owe me thirty-five dollars plus tax.”

“Genius,” Riley snickered happily.

“Who were those men?” Doctor Chase asked.

“Just the guys we warned you were gonna steal the Declaration.” Ben looked to her.

“And you didn't believe us.” Riley pointed out as he continued driving.

“We did the only thing we could do to keep it safe.”

“Verdammt! Give me that!” Abigail shouted as she attempted to snatch the document again out of Ben’s grasp. She failed.

“You know something? You're shouting again.” Ben said calmly.

“I'm pretty sure she was swearing, too.” Riley piped up.

“Yup.” You added.

“Well, we probably deserve that.” Ben sighed in the passenger’s seat.

“After what we just went through, I have a few choice words too.”

You leaned against the chair more. Tired of standing as you were, you already had Doctor Chase beside you and sitting next to her was not something that would help with your discomfort. No one else was supposed to be involved. After the sneaking around, shooting, car chase, and saving Doctor Chase; you were more than antsy. Relieved that you all saved her and the document, but antsy. If she tried anything on you in some weird attempt to get the Declaration or change Riley’s driving—there’d be a brawl in the back of the van. Well, there was a lot of technology back there that wasn’t yours…so, perhaps not. You hoped. It didn’t seem realistic either nor anything you would want to do.

“There is not a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence.” Doctor Chase sighed, visibly done with the entire situation. She sat close, just behind and just between the front seats.

“And there's no chance anyone can steal this,” Ben shook the containers that held the Declaration, “either. I leveled with you one hundred percent. Everything I told you was the truth.”

“I want that document, Mister Brown.”

“Okay, my name's not Brown. It’s Gates. I leveled with you ninety-eight percent.”

“Wait a minute, did you just say ‘Gates’?” She looked at him closely and then towards Riley who kept his head trained forward. It was after she glanced over at you that she then whipped her head in Ben’s direction again with hand gestures. “Gates? You're that family with the conspiracy theory about the Founding Fathers?”

“It's not a conspiracy theory.”

“Per se.” Riley said.

“You know what? I take it back. You're not liars. You're insane.”

“Gee…thanks,” you looked back to the woman before returning to watch the open road.

You couldn’t wait until the three of you got back to the apartment, but there was the speed bump called Abigail sitting beside you. Closing your eyes, you hoped that the drive home would be a little shorter.

It didn’t help that she also knew what the three of you intended to do with the document. She wasn’t too fond of treasure being involved or stealing the document, or…basically every little thing you all had done and were intending to do. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“You can't seriously intend to run chemical tests on the Declaration of Independence in the back of a moving van.” Doctor Chase said, her tone strict, again.               

“We have a clean-room environment all set up. EDS suits, a particulate air filtration system, the whole shebang.” Riley explained in ease. The confidence was admiring.

You smiled.    

“Really?” Doctor Chase asked.

Is she impressed? That’s new.

“We can't go back there.” Ben said.

“What? Why not?” Riley asked.

Call it a feeling in your gut, call it knowing your best friend. Your jaw set.

“What,” you slowly turned your head in Ben’s direction, “did you do?”

He shortly explained, while adverting eye contact, what he had done.

“What?” You exclaimed.

“A credit-card slip?” Riley took an audible breath. “Dude, we're on the grid. Do you have an—They’ll have your records from forever. They gonna have my records from forever. (Y/N)’s records—”

“I know. I know. It's only a matter of minutes before the FBI shows up at my front door.” Ben.

You groaned, slumping against the headrest.

“What do we do?” Riley asked quickly and firmly as he drove.

“We need those letters.” Ben said.

“What letters?” Doctor Chase asked, curious.

“You know, get off the road, ta-take a right.”

“What letters?”

. . .

Having done exactly as instructed, Riley had parked the van off the road on green grass by some water. It was dark and quite honestly, you had no idea what part of the city you were even in. Riley had moved onto the passenger’s seat, leaning his arms out of the rolled-down window. You had taken the opportunity to sit in the driver’s seat, happy to sit after brushing off shattered glass of course. Doctor Chase sat at the opening of the side door, watching as Ben paced a new path in the lush grass.

“What letters? You have the original Silence Dogood letters? Did you steal those, too?” She asked.

“We have scans of the originals. Quiet, please.” Ben said, pacing back and forth in front of her.

“How'd you get scans?”

“I know the person who has the originals. Now shush.”

You leaned your head against the seat, wondering when you’d all be back on the road. It wasn’t a mystery where you all had to drive next.

“Why do you need them?”

“She really can't shut her mouth, can she?” Ben asked Riley and you. Not receiving more than a hand gesture and a shrug, he turned back to Doctor Chase. “I'll tell you what, look. I will let you hold onto this if you'll promise to shut up, please. Thank you.”

He had given her the document, his annoyance and anxiety reaching it’s peak. His feet carrying him in small circles again in the grass.

“Ben, you know what you have to do.” Riley said.

“I know what to do.” Ben turned back to the van. “I'm just trying to think of anything else we could do.”

“Well, not to be a...nudge, but you do realize how many people we have after us. We probably have our own satellite by now.”

Ben went for another lap, turning away.

“It took you all of two seconds to decide to steal the Declaration of Independence.”

“Yeah, but I didn't think I was gonna have to personally to tell my dad about it.”

“Guys!” You shouted, leaping out of the seat as Doctor Chase took off at a run with the document.

“Hey, not cool! Not cool!” Ben caught up to her in no time and grabbed her.

You and Riley stood beside the van, watching as your friend handled the situation, but still on standby.

“Let me go!” She struggled until he did as she asked once he had the container in hand.

“Okay. You're let go. Go, shoo.” He gestured for her to leave.

“I'm not going. Not without the Declaration.” She grabbed the cylinder again.

“You're not going with the Declaration.” He yanked it out of her hands and slung its strap over his shoulder.

“Yes, I am. I'm not letting it out of my sight, so I'm going.”

“Wait. You're not going with us with the Declaration.”

“Yes, I am.” She tugged on the strap, pulling him to her.

“No, you're not.” Ben said, very close to her face.

Good grief, at this rate she’ll never leave us alone, you thought. Strange and alarming considering their constant tension.

“Look, if you wanted to leave me behind, you shouldn't have told me where you were going.”

Wha—?

You groaned, also hearing as Riley threw his head back against the side of the van.

“I wanna go home,” you grumbled to yourself.

“Take me with you,” Riley murmured.

“I live in the same building as Ben.”

~~~~~

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Two - Protecting The Document. I hope you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing it. I’m excited to move on throughout the story of the movie National Treasure. How do you think relationships will change now that the friends’ plans have be altered? Let me know! All the best!

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle 

PART 3

[meereens]

@asoiafrarepairs [a weekend in the stormlands]

argella durrandon x rhaenys targaryen

Argella Durrandon had been alone, watching the sunless waters slosh below the great seaward wall like black wine when the rider came. Maester Oswald was the one to inform her, with eyes as flat as his voice. Her father would not have sent only one man forth to proclaim a victory. Time slowed as she descended from the battlements, the wind lulling her along as it blew the ends of her dagged sleeves forward. Gold sleeves, gold fabric like the banners that had been raised so proudly when her father left to combat the invading horde. The man who had beaten the Dornish as a green boy and killed a green king before her lifetime rallied the men of the Stormlands easily, their brassy shouts melding with her own as all cheered his valor. He had placed a gauntleted paw on her shoulder and told her to keep Storm’s End from falling into the waves in his absence. He had given her a garrison of two hundred to aid in the task. 

Most of those men were in the courtyard now, the life sapped from their faces. Ser Harrold looked eons older than six-and-twenty, while Ser Brenwyl on his right had transformed his wide mouth into a straight line. At least they could stand each other’s company again; the other day she had found herself compelled to break up a heated game of dice, suggesting she would hand the instruments of their fun over to the sea god and his minions. The new face in the center drank from an offered wineskin, stroking the flank of his chestnut courser with his other hand. Its legs were caked with mud. He stumbled into taking a knee once Argella stood a hair’s breadth away from him. 

“My princess.”

She lifted a hand. “Rise.” 

He obeyed and glanced over at Ser Haldrick Cole.

“Ser Morrey, say your piece,” the commander said. If he had said it already, every soul presently assembled would have known before her, from knight to meandering washerwoman. Janson, the old, limping master of horse had crawled out from his post ahead of her to hear what had befallen their people’s champion. Ahead of her, his daughter, his heir, who should have been there to raise the gate. Ser Morrey heaved a breath, but Argella cut him off. 

“I assume my father is dead.” 

“Yes, Princess.” He seemed relieved to not have to say it to her himself, earning a quick glare. Small wonder her father had fallen if he had such yellow-bellies rotting his ranks.

“And what of his army?”

“The battle was done as soon as he was.”

They should have pressed on. Did the lords who had wet their beards with mead in her father’s hall and supped on pheasant swallow their oaths as well? Truer men would have fought for their homeland, for their king’s memory, for her. The battle was not yet done, not for as long as a Durrandon breathed; did they intend to serve her up on a golden plate? She raised her eyes from Ser Morrey’s apologetic ones and scanned the yard, a parade of statues swaddled in plate and mail, eying her in turn. Someone in the front started hacking, an ugly, feline cough that lasted long enough to disrupt the boiling in her veins. 

“You may speak on it more, ser,” she prompted.

“We met the enemy on the hills south of Bronzegate,” he began. “They had the high ground, but we had the numbers. Near twice as many men, and far more knights besides. It was drizzling as we closed in, by midday, storming. Your father’s bannermen wanted a delay, but he must have known the storm would ground the Targaryen monster. The rain blew from the south, blinding their men. He gave the command, and thrice we struggled up the steep and muddy slopes. It must have been night by then, or else the darkest day. As we broke through to the center, the dragon emerged.” 

Argella inhaled slowly. The dragon sicced on their hills was the same beast that had laid waste to the kingswood, incinerating Lord Errol. Lords Fell and Buckler had ridden back to warn her father of the creature and the queen who held it in thrall, the woman mated to her own brother. 

“It was impossible to see at first, hidden by the line, and with dark grey scales like the clouds overhead. The murk of the storm masked its true size as well, though it could fit a garrison on its back. Rhaenys Targaryen blinked, and the van went up in dragonflame. Panic set in, horses screeching, but your father did not yield. I fought until I heard shouts that he had been slain. By Baratheon, they said. Our spirits had been broken.” 

Her body would make no room for a yoked spirit, nor would her spirit permit useless grief. 

“Is yours broken still, Ser Morrey?”

He paused before answering. “Truly? It depends upon what happens next.”

“Then I shall tell you,” she said simply. Her father had possessed a deep, booming voice; thunder in a man’s throat, her mother called it. He could command any room by clearing his throat, a yard by uttering men! Hers was low for a woman, rich in timbre, but it had yet to capture the attention of an army. It had yet to inspire awe. She breathed deep within her and addressed not only Ser Morrey but all gathered under the white-and-grey marbled sky. You are my people, she thought. For as long as we last. 

***

She was the Storm Queen now, the first there ever was, in a world where another queen controlled the skies. Argella insisted on accompanying Ser Haldrick to watch the men drill with bows, spears, and crossbows. The grey-scaled dragon would fly hundreds of feet above their heads, armed with an intelligent rider as well as a flaming gullet. He knew as well as she did that their weapons’ chances of making meaningful contact were slim to none. Since she had barred her gates, however, maintaining the hope of a chance against the Targaryen threat was paramount. 

Privately, as they sat with a tankard of ale between them, Maester Oswald had invited her to speak in candid terms. 

“My terms are always candid,” she had said. “I would rather die a queen than live a wife.”

A row of men launched their spears into the air. Eight out of ten struck their makeshift targets in the belly. When the host approached, would her father’s killer ask the queen to spare her for her useful womb? Another row lined up to aim, spears at the ready, when a large shadow passed over the ground. She saw heads lift, heard the wonder worm its way through the fear as the shout rang:

“Dragon!” 

Slowly, her eyes made their way up until she was craning her neck to see. An overgrown gargoyle, that was what it resembled from afar, with its massive batlike wings. It dipped down long enough for her to catch a glimpse of its lizardine foot, gnarled and wicked, before it rushed higher. The beast abruptly took off for the top of Storm’s End’s sole tower, completing a lazy circle as Argella’s spine prickled from her vantage point. The beast was by rights an ungodly mishmash of creatures, yet moved fluidly, sinuously. When it brought itself low, sailing back toward the courtyard, she could comprehend it in full. Ser Morrey had been wrong about its scales. No dark grey, they were instead a varnished silver. She caught herself; mulling over a monster’s appearance as it prepared to cook her in her gown would not do. “To me!” Hitching up her skirts, she ran across the raised wooden platform without bothering to take stock of Ser Haldrick behind her. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest as she made it to the corner and went down the stairs to the yard itself, where the dragon still hovered. Her men had not broken out of the spell the sight of it had put them under. “To me, to me! Inside the tow—”

“I have come to parley!” Yelled Rhaenys Targaryen. 

She turned around, incredulous. The queen was visible on her dragon’s back, hands gripping two spikes for leverage. Her long, loose hair was a strange silvery color that could have been plucked from the moon, and it flowed effortlessly as she slid off her mount like it was ice. She wore ringmail but no sword, the black belt dangling from her crimson tunic empty. 

“Your intentions were not clear,” Argella said. 

She inched closer toward her with raised palms. “Forgive me. It is difficult to wave a flag whilst maneuvering a dragon.”  

Ser Haldrick caught up to her and edged his body in front. “I am the queen,” she reminded him. “I need no aid in this matter.”

“Of course.”

The dragon’s tail thunked against the ground, as if it were a bored child that wanted to leave because the sweets were elsewhere. Her crossbowmen had their weapons trained on it, poised. If she gave the command, some of them would hit their mark. Whether they could pierce through the shining scales once the bolts sprung free was another matter, and another still was the issue of the creature’s proportions reducing them to needles in a giant’s side. She crossed her arms. “Parley.”

Queen Rhaenys beamed. “I believe you know of the terms my brother offered forth. That you would marry Orys Baratheon, your dowry starting with the lands east of the Gods Eye. Massey’s Hook would come too, and the woods and plains from the Blackwater south to the Wendwater and the Mander’s headwaters. King Aegon would be your liege lord, and you would be Lady of Storm’s End. The sea is beautiful here, like the night sky,” she added, unexpectedly. “You can wake up to it for the rest of your life.” 

“I will wake up to it for the rest of my life regardless, should you kill me in a day,” Argella said. Rhaenys’ smile must have been stuck to her face, since her words did not tear it off. Being the Lady of Storm’s End meant being the lady of a usurper, come to rip her crown off her head and her gown from her shoulders. The queen could not dull the truth any more than she could sweeten the circumstances. “Orys is pleasing to look upon, and well-muscled,” she said. “He is a man in the summer of his life.”

“Then perhaps you should have married Orys Baratheon instead of your brother.”

She took the slap gracefully. “There are worse fates.” 

“Did he kill my father himself?” 

Rhaenys sighed. “Yes. Regardless, this is your way out.”

Out of a fiery death. 

Argella pictured the slight woman riding her beast to the top of the tower again, this time to meet her. She would call upon the wind to send such a gale that it could sweep the dragon up inside it and spit it out somewhere far away, or the sea to rise up and absorb all the flame it had to hurl. The Storm Queen would stare the dragon queen in the face and bare her teeth. The Storm Queen would not flinch. 

“You may take my castle,” she said slowly. “But you will win only blood and bones and ashes.” 

“While you could remain living in your castle should you cease talk of ruin.”

Her eyes locked onto Rhaenys’, surer than ever. Lightning ran through her gaze, a blue lightning strong enough to pierce through scales and char the flesh beneath. 

“Ruin is what you have brought to the Durrandons already. May you choke on ours sevenfold.” 

Instead of moving to leap on her dragon and commence the assault, Rhaenys moved closer. “You will not bend the knee?” 

She was looking down on Rhaenys, at the bridge of her nose. “None of us will. Down to the last man, we will resist you.” 

Whip-fast, she darted up and laid a kiss on her cheek. Argella glowered as the woman stepped back, bouncing on her heels.

“Farewell then, Durrandon.” 

Later, as she mused, she realized she did not know if she had meant it as a goodbye to her or her House.

[madsmikkelsenschesthair]

Blood of the Dragon ch.13

Björn Ironside and Freyja/Reader aesthetic 💕

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any(?)

A/N: Y’all I’ve been so busy with work. It’s taking up too much of my time but I’m back for a bit. Anywho, I don’t have the “Keep Reading” line thing because I’m on mobile. Hope you understand.

Björn ate breakfast with his brothers and Aslaug in silence. His mother returned to her earldom while he stayed behind in Kattegat and settled here with a woman named Torvi who already had one son from another earl. It had been almost six moons since he last saw Freyja and it still hurt to think about her, nothing could fill the hole she left behind.

“When will Freyja come home?” Ivar asked breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Aslaug and Björn’s eyes met both of them thinking the same thing. “It will take awhile for Freyja to return” she answered and reached for more bread “she is living with her father now and as customed, she will taught the Westorosi ways and one day she will invite us to her coronation”

The cawing of a raven made all of them look up, it was perched on the windowsill flapping its wings, on his claw was a scroll. Björn shot up from his seat and took it, the wax seal of a red dragon visible. His brothers and stepmother stared at him. It was Hvitserk that noticed the red seal and he was on his feet, his face excited.

“Is it Freyja? Read it aloud! No, let me read it!” The rest of his brothers soon joined in his excitement, all of them crowding around their big brother except for Ivar who struggled to get up until Björn motioned him to stay seated and sat next to his younger brother.

“To the sons of Ragnar and his wife” he began to read aloud, “we hope all is well in Kattegat and you are well with health. I write good news. Ragnar Lothbrok has been found” He frowned. His father had been in Westeros this entire time, Björn looked at his brothers and stepmother and he saw they were all thinking the same thing he was. “He was held hostage until his captor, Renly Baratheon, was killed by Her Grace Y/n. I would like to know if you want to send for him, Ragnar wishes to go alone but he is no condition to do so. Signed King Rhaegar Targaryen First of His Name”

The very thought of returning to Kingslanding after so many years, made Bjorn both nervous and delighted. Nervous because he would be reuniting with his father but delighted because he would be seeing Freyja again. At the bottom of the letter in her scripture it read, Much love and kisses from your beloved Freyja.

Bjorn couldn’t wait to see his Freyja. He had so many stories to tell her and many presents to gift her. To be fair, Björn was more excited to see Freyja than his own father, as bad as it sounded.

“Can we go with you?” Ubbe asked, his brothers stared at him hopefully.

“I’m afraid not. This will be a long and dangerous journey. You all need to stay here with your mother”

Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd’s faces fell but Ivar didn’t hold back from expressing his disappointment. “But we want to see Freyja. We haven’t seen her in almost a year!”

It was true. Freyja would be growing more, her loveliness blossoming and growing into her woman’s body. Has her attitude changed? Was she still as wild as ever or was she being trained in the lady arts like the highborn she was? His brothers and Freyja had been close since infancy, one look at their eager expressions and Björn’s eyes went to his stepmother.

“Can they come with me?”

Aslaug smiled, shrugging. “I don’t see why not? These few months will be lonely without my sons but I cannot leave Kattegat. You may go” The boys let out cheers of excitement and began to talk about the gifts they were planning on taking to Kingslanding. While his brothers went about Kattegat searching for the finest of things they had, Björn wrote to his mother asking if she wanted to come and to King Rhaegar notifying him they were on their way. A few days later, with his mother, her people, his brothers and their people, Björn set sail to Westeros all of them eager to see the little princess again.

_____________________________

Freyja and her stepmother were in her room braiding Freyja’s hair, she had said she didn’t want the usual Southern braids Freyja had seen the ladies wearing but simple ones. Cersei had agreed, she placed the golden circlet on her head and smoothed her hair, Freyja’s face went bright when she saw her reflection in the mirror.

“I look like a princess!” She grinned, her smiling eyes going to her stepmother. Lately, Freyja had been spending more time with her stepmother and father. Cersei taught her how to behave, walk, and talk like a queen and even once invited her to have tea with her and the ladies in waiting. Freyja sat up straight, nibbles on her food, and made polite conversation. At dinner time though, Freyja always caught Ragnar staring at her as if he was waiting for something to erupt out of her like lava, fire and ashes. It was strange.

Cersei kissed her hair, “You are a princess and one day you will be Queen”

There was a gentle knock on the door and her stepmother went to open it. It was Maester Luwin red faced and breathless from running up the stone steps and he was holding a scroll tied in a white thread. “From Björn Ironside, Your Grace” he said and then bowed his head when he saw Freyja, “My Princess” Cersei’s once bright and warm face turned sour and cold. She snatched the scroll from him. Freyja was nearly in tears, her Bear had sent a letter in return.

“I thought it was His Grace that wrote that letter not me” she snapped, nearly ripping it open. “So why is it you’re handing it to me, Maester?”

Maester Luwin bowed his head again apologetically. “My apologies My Queen but this letter is not addressed to you or the King but to the princess”

Freyja quickly jumped from her chair. “I shall read it then” Her stepmother sucked in her lips but she handed her the letter. The girl unrolled the parchment paper and began to read with eager eyes.

‘Sweet Freyja,

we hope that Kingslanding welcomed you with open arms and you are enjoying your new home with your Father. A lot has changed since you left but that is a conversation for when we arrive. My brothers and I will be sailing for Westeros to see you and fetch Ragnar. We will be reunited once again, my sweet girl.

Much love,

Bear’

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back, a smile spreading to her face. “They are on their way here”, Freyja rolled the paper again and handed it back to her stepmother, “they will be here in time for Yule”

Cersei and Maester Luwin gave each other confused looks and then stared back at her. “Yule?”

She nodded. “Winter Solstice. We celebrate the coming of winter and give thanks to our god Odin. Don’t you celebrate, stepmother?” Freyja winced. She had forgotten how different these Westerosis were to her people. It was a silly question now that she thought about it. Their confused expressions didn’t go away. “It is the longest night of winter and we put up wreaths, mistletoes, and decorate trees, we give each other gifts, sing songs and in the morning as the sun goes up we ring bells to scare away the demons”

Cersei glanced at Maester Luwin and then smiled again at her stepdaughter. “That sounds like a lovely tradition, little dove but we don’t celebrate Yule”

Freyja’s eyes lit up again. “Maybe it’s something I can share with my people. Something from home to my new home. You will love it, Stepmother”

The Queen agreed that she would and ordered Maester Luwin to find out whatever he could about Yule and its traditions. Freyja ran to her little stepbrother and told him about what a wonderful new holiday they will be celebrating. Uncle Tyrion managed to find some books about the holiday and from there they began their preparations. Freyja ran up the King’s towers all excited to tell her father and Ragnar about her plans to introduce such a festive holiday, she was about to knock on the door when Ragnar’s desperate voice stopped her.

“I need you to help me on this journey, brother” he said. “I need a few of your men. I want to go to England”

Rhaegar sighed. “Why do you want to go to England? What unfinished business do you have waiting for you?”

Ragnar went silent, thinking hard probably about his next words. Freyja gently pressed her ear against the door to hear better. “I just...have to go to England...I cannot say what it’s for but I also want my sons to join me”

“I cannot help you if you can’t tell me why you’re going to England” Rhaegar’s tone went stern and sour, “I am not risking the lives of my men for unknown reasons”

“I risked my life for yours. I took your child and kept her safe!”

“We were at war with Robert Baratheon!” Her father shot back “I was usurped! My crown ripped off my head, my only heir in danger with a dead wife! Completely different situations!”

Freyja’s body froze and her mouth went dry. Her father continued, “You wanted to die with me in war! You’re not a war with no one but yourself. I can see right through you Ragnar Lothbrok”

The men were silent and Freyja wondered the same thing her father did; why did Ragnar want to go to England? A chair scraped the floor and footsteps were heard walking to the door. Freyja quickly went back to the stairs and made it seem she was just walking up when Ragnar opened the door. His face expressionless but it immediately went up in surprise when he saw her.

“Little dragon! What are you doing all the way up here?” His anger and request forgotten.

Freyja managed to fake smile, “I wanted to tell my father about Yule, I’m introducing our holiday to the Westerosis”

Ragnar touched her braid, his fingers then traced her golden circlet. “What a lovely idea” he kissed her head, “By your leave, my lady”. Ragnar walked past her, defeated his eyes telling another story. The joy of introducing the holiday was gone and Freyja was left alone confused and staring at the dark stairs.

_______________________________________

Word of a new holiday spread fast and it didn’t take long for the little princess to decorate the castle with wreaths, ribbons, pines, mistletoes and the sweet scent of what she called “Yule log”. A rolled chocolate cake with sweet filling decorated with two little leaves and two “red berries” as little Rob called them but these berries were to not be eaten they were only for decoration.

The preparation for Freyja’s fourteenth nameday also began in the midst of all of it. The finest dressmakers in Westeros came to Kingslanding with designs carefully packed in their trunks, lords and ladies from different lands arrived except the little princess’s mothers family and another family called, “Tyrell”. Freyja was on her best behavior, surprising her father and uncle, she courtesied like the princess she was, ate like a Queen, and only stuck her tongue out once at her ugly uncle. With all the excitement there was still a tug in Freyja’s heart whenever she looked around for Ragnar and could not find him. Fenrir was a great comfort and little Rob but Freyja wanted to see Ragnar’s smiling face, laughing at anything “heathen” she would do.

One very early morning she woke up to a pounding at her door and in came her ladies in waiting along with her stepmother’s ladies. Fenrir barked angrily, Freyja held him back by his fur.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped and the ladies only bowed apologetically. “Have you forgotten who I am?!”

“Forgive us Your Grace,” a lady answered and the others went to her trunk or her wardrobe, “but the Vikings have arrived”

Freyja let go of Fenrir and pulled away the covers off of her, a burst of excitement flowed through her veins. “They’re here?! Are they really?”

The lady nodded. “Your father Freyja climbed out of bed in such a hurry that she almost forgot her stepmother’s and Septa’s lessons. Her whole body shook and her face hurt from smiling, the ladies could only give each other side glances. She couldn’t wait to hug her boys she had so much to tell them, so much to show them. As soon as they were done Freyja didn’t wait for anyone else, she told Fenrir to follow her and the pair ran down the stairs Freyja clutching Thor’s hammer in her hand. All those lonesome feelings and homesickness came back to her.

Her family was waiting for her at the docks, from a distance she saw many, many boats sailing their way and Freyja recognized the shields and colors. Her stepmother’s face was hard, little Rob looked frightened and hid behind his mother’s skirts, Viserys didn’t want to be there, her father looked noble and welcoming as always but once again no Ragnar.

“Why are you so happy?” Little Rob whispered to his stepsister.

“My family came back to me” she answered with a grin on her face.

Little Rob’s face went from frightened to confused. “But we are your family, Y/n”. His septa shushed him before Freyja could answer. Her smile started to fade, her King Father noticed and it broke his dear heart.

Björn and his mother looked at the small figure with white hair standing next to the queen. A dark shadow sat next to Freyja and it took Björn a moment to realize that it was her direwolf grown up with his puppy phase gone. He wondered if Freyja’s curiosity and wildness left her. His little brothers were in awe at the beauty of Kingslanding and very excited. They were also fighting over who was going to hug Freyja first especially Sigurd and Ivar. Shoving each other to the point where they were going to throw each other overboard. Björn put a stop to it before it got dangerous.

The ships docked soon and Freyja could no longer contain her excitement, she took off in the direction of Björn and Lagertha ignoring her parents protests. She would get a scolding later but right now she did not care, she jumped into her Bear’s waiting arms hugging him like her life depended on it.

“Sweet Freyja, little dragon, you have grown so much! Look at you! You’re becoming a woman!” Björn exclaimed hugging his child tighter.

Lagertha smiled at them and wrapped her arms around them both, the boys joining them. Freyja felt like her whole world lit up again, she was reunited back with her boys, with Lagertha and their people. Home came to her, and she was smiling tears falling down with a familiar tongue speaking to her. The tongue of the Norsemen and their Gods. She hugged all of them and never wanted to let go, her family came back to her and watching with disapproval next to Rhaegar was Ragnar Lothbrok. His reunion with his sons and ex wife would not be so welcoming.

Björn, a man known for his strength, was crying. His little Freyja was no longer a child but he held her like she still was that same little girl that danced with him during feasts. Or the one that welcomed him every time after a raid like now; running to him and hugging him.

The princess was surrounded by so much love from her boys and Lagertha, all of them asking questions.

“Why haven’t you been writing to us as much?”

“You’re a princess now! Do you have a room to yourself?

“Is it true your wolf attacked your Uncle?”

“You’re as beautiful as ever, will you dance with me at your Nameday feast?”

“Do you still pray to our Gods?”

“Are you still good with a sword and ax?”

“Are they treating you well?”

Hvitserk couldn’t keep his hands off of her hair, it felt softer than it was back when she lived with them. Freyja blushed at her boys, they were so handsome and taller now especially Hvitty. His touch made her blush. Ivar grew envious of his brothers.

“Come” Freyja said and took Lagertha’s hand, “we must go back to my family. They are waiting for you.”

@mellxander1993 @faeeiiry @blonddnamedhandz @-thatgirloverthere- @lettersofwrittencollective @weirdpotatosstuff @shelbi-percifull @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @colie87

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Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 7: A Force to be Reckoned With

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: The warning on the side of a box of cigarettes reads “WARNING: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, May Complicate Pregnancy, And May Lead To Your Girlfriend Breaking Up With You Unexpectedly”. Steve didn’t listen to the warning.

Word Count: 5,730

Warnings: Language, drinking, smut (fingering, “just the tip”, very light somnophilia, dubcon, dirty talk, etc.)

Masterlist / AO3

“Please, I don’t know anything about it,” the man pleaded. There was a slur to his words from where his teeth were bashed in, a nasally tone due to his crushed nose. Blood poured down his face and was spit into the air as he spoke. Hands tied behind his back, the man kneeled before Steve, his cries echoing on the brick walls of a run-down abandoned brewery in Bushwick. 

The low-tier Hydra lackey had already given Steve all the information he knew about Hydra’s involvement in Loki’s business, as well as Loki’s current location, and now he had no more use for the poor guy.

Steve pulled his pistol from the back of his waistband, checked to see how many bullets he still had as the man started begging for his life.

“No! Please don’t kill me, I—”

The shot reverberated in the small space and Steve’s ears rang with it. Blood splattered on his shoes, his pants, his hands. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, the carton almost empty. There were only two left, and he had gone through the rest earlier that night.

He had been doing so good, too, having quit a few months earlier. Sure, he replaced the habit with another. Sometimes his jaw ached from the amount of peppermint gum he chewed, but it dulled the craving for nicotine. However, this entire situation with Hydra—it was too stressful. He had bought two packs from the bodega the second he got back into Brooklyn a few days earlier, and he had gone through at least five since.

Steve found the situation with Hydra to be annoying, if he were being honest. They’d found out the Hydra men sniffing around Loki’s club were small-time guys, and after getting information out of several of them that first night, they had been through several more until they learned that Hydra was trying to usurp the deal with Loki. Several Hydra members had gone to lunch with the man to try and convince him. Apparently, Loki hadn’t made up his mind yet.

Loki would be for Tony to handle, however. Stane wanted Steve back at the Vineyard now that most of the problem had been dealt with. 

Patting around in his jean pockets, he turned to Sam. “Got a light?” He left his lighter in his jacket, in the car outside.

Sam tossed him a plastic lighter and soon he was blowing smoke towards the body still leaking blood all over the concrete.

“Finish your smoke break and let’s get to work,” Sam snarked, stepping forward. 

“We sending him upstate?” Steve asked.

“Nah.” Sam kneeled before the man and pulled on a pair of latex gloves, handing a pair to Steve as well. “Dumping in the East River.”

Steve smoked while they finished the job, barely taking the cigarette out of his mouth as they pulled the man’s teeth, cut off his hands and feet, and got rid of any personal identifiers the man might have. Ash fell on the floor into the pool of blood, and when Steve finished, he cautiously took the cigarette and put it out, careful not to get blood on the filter so as to avoid DNA evidence linking him to the crime.

Once they tied up the body and stuffed him into a big enough trash bag, they hauled him into the alley where they car was parked and stuffed him in the trunk. After a quick cleanup inside the old brewery, Sam drove them east towards the river while Steve smoked his last cigarette. 

Once they threw the body off the dock into the black waters, the chemical smell of the treatment plant stinging their noses, Steve bummed a cigarette off of Sam on their walk back to the car.

“Wanna grab some something to eat before you have to head back to the Vineyard?” Sam asked, pulling out onto the street.

“I need to meet Peggy,” Steve answered. “Drop me off at my place.”

“You got it. She still on your case?”

Steve scoffed, remembering the last time he complained to Sam about Peggy a few weeks before. “Yeah, but for a different reason.” Last time, she had been mad about him cancelling a dinner date when Tony needed him one Friday night.

“What is it this time?”

He took a long inhale of the cigarette, voice tight as he said, “She’s mad I have to be at the Vineyard.” He blew out a puff of smoke out the window. “Not that I can control that.”

“Man,” Sam huffed a laugh, “Peggy’s a nice girl. She is one classy lady, but I gotta tell you, you doesn’t get it.” Steve knew this—he was painfully aware that she didn’t understand the demands of his lifestyle, that they lived drastically different lives. The mob came first, that was a rule ingrained into him since he was a child, rooted in his soul like the gang tattoos scattered across his skin.

“I know that,” Steve muttered. “I don’t know how else to explain to her about the mob without incriminating myself.”

Sam clicked his tongue, shook his head. “She’s way too strait-laced for you. You need to get rid of her before she becomes a problem.”

Steve flicked his cigarette butt out the window. “I’m not gonna just let her go.”

“Then she better wise up and dump your ass. She’s way too good for the likes of you.” Although Steve wanted to snap at him for the jibe, he chuckled good-naturedly and bummed another cigarette.

By the time he finished the cigarette, Sam was pulling up in front of the apartment he and Bucky shared. “Thanks for the ride, man,” he said when he got out.

“Yep, see you later.”

With that, Sam drove off and Steve hurried upstairs to change. He called Peggy on the way up.

“Steve?” Peggy asked, a little drowsy. It wasn’t too late, only a little past nine, but she was probably already sleeping because she worked the next day.

“Hey, Pegs,” he greeted her as he finally reached the fourth floor of the building. “I’m back in the city for a bit, just for tonight. I know it’s late but I wanted to see you.”

“What?” He could hear her shifting in bed. “You’re in New York?”

“Yeah, at my apartment. I can be at your place in twenty.” He fished his keys out of his pocket and managed to get the door open, flipping on the lights in the living room and going straight for his bedroom.

“Steve, it’s late,” she sighed, and he could tell she was annoyed with him.

“I just wanna see you,” he said in a softer tone, hoping she would be convinced. “C’mon, I won’t keep you up late. Promise.”

“Fine,” she muttered, although she still didn’t sound pleased.

Before she could say anything else or change her mind, he said, “Great! See you in twenty.” And then he hung up. He got ready as quick as he could, changing into clean clothes and dabbing some spicy cologne on his neck, grabbing a half-empty pack of cigarettes from Bucky’s room, and then he was out the door. To calm his nerves, he smoked through half a cigarette on his way downstairs. 

He rode his motorcycle to Peggy’s Manhattan apartment, and it was a pain in the ass to find parking. Once she buzzed him in, he took the elevator up and she greeted him at the door with a tight smile. She wore a long robe and slippers, and her expression was not too pleased.

“Peggy,” he greeted her, taking her into his arms. She placed her hands on his chest, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she pushed him away.

“Steve, you smell like cigarettes.” She wrinkled her nose and walked into her kitchen. He followed her in. “I thought you quit smoking.”

“It’s been a stressful few days, Tony’s had me all over the five boroughs and I’ve been having—”

“All over, hmm?” she interrupted, turning an accusatory eye on him. “You’ve been all over New York City for the past few days and the only time I hear from you is tonight?”

He took a deep breath to relax himself before he said something he would regret. “Peggy,” he tried calmly, “It’s been nonstop. I just haven’t had the time to come see you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You never have the time to come see me, Steve. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“Pegs, don’t be like that—”

“You’ve had time to go to Martha’s Vineyard for the past few weeks. Don’t tell me you don’t have time!”

“That’s different, I’m there for work—”

“Steve, just stop.” She held up a manicured hand, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your excuses anymore. If you wanted to make this relationship work, you’d make the time.”

“You just don’t understand!” he exclaimed, voice raising in frustration.

“Then enlighten me,” she said coolly. He hesitated—he really couldn’t tell her about the Mob, about how involved he really was. She scoffed at his silence. “I thought not.”

“Peggy, c’mon.”

“I was offered a job in London,” she said, “With MI5.”

His jaw dropped, and he quickly closed it and concealed his surprise. “And?”

“And, what?”

“And are you taking the job?”

She sighed, drumming her fingers on the counter. “I will most likely take it. I was hoping you would come with me.”

“That’s ridiculous, Peggy. You know I can’t do that.”

Her lips pressed together. “I told you I wanted to move back eventually. I told you I wanted you to come with me, to make a family there. I was hoping we’d be on the same page by now.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And you know my entire life is here. You can’t just expect me to up and move across the Atlantic.”

“No, you’re right. I suppose that was naïve of me.” She sounded disappointed in both herself and him.

They were silent for a moment, and finally he asked, “So what, then? You’re just moving? What about us?”

“I’ll stay if you give me a reason, Steve…” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you love me?”

“I want to be with you,” he said immediately, more to avoid answering the question.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said with a sad smile. “Steve, I think that’s it for us.”

He couldn’t believe this. “That’s it, then? We’re over?”

 “I’m afraid so,” she said with an almost patronizing tone.

Frozen in shock, he simply looked at her, waiting for her to laugh, to say it was all a joke. He should be angry, he should yell at her, should hit her—although he wouldn’t, because Peggy’s the type to fight back and knock him flat on his ass with a few practiced moves. But he wasn’t angry, he only felt empty inside. He hadn’t been expecting this, and in his stupor he didn’t know how to process his emotions.

After almost two minutes of wordless staring, he couldn’t take it anymore. Turning on his heel, he walked right out the door, slamming it behind him.

He got back on his motorcycle and to his apartment, where he sat at the kitchen table and drank an entire bottle of rum before passing out on the sofa several hours later.

Bucky had been having the best time with Y/N over the past three days. Being with her was better than he could have imagined. They were still friends, still joked around the same as before, but now he got to indulge in her body whenever he wanted. She was always so soft, so sweet, so responsive to every little touch. It thrilled him to teach her, touch her in ways she had never been touched, to make her come again and again until she was crying from it.

While he had plenty of plans on how to train her, he hadn’t acted on many of them yet. First, he wanted to take his fill of her, get her comfortable with his touch. It wasn’t really a burden for him; he got off on touching her and taking her whenever, wherever he pleased, particularly when it made her squirm, push him away, and deny him until he convinced her to give into him.

On that first day, they went out on her father’s sailboat, and when it got warmer in the afternoon, she took off her white sundress to reveal a red bikini underneath. While she was laying on the deck sunbathing, he got down beside her and started kissing along her neck.

“Not here, Bucky,” she had whined, trying to push him off. “A boat could come by, anyone could see!”

Well, he just wasn’t having any of that. He pinned her down while she struggled, pushed the crotch of her bikini bottoms aside and rubbed her pussy until she was coming, growling filthy things in her ear the entire time. “You don’t say no to me, doll—it’s best you learn that now. If I wanna fuck you in public where anyone could see, then you’ll lay back and take it. If I wanna show you off to other sailors, show ‘em what they’re missing, you’ll let me with a smile on your face.”

After she came the first time, he yanked down her bikini top and sucked on her nipples until she was coming again, sensitive and soaking wet. In her post-orgasm haze, her body was limp and pliant, and he managed to peel off her bikini and tossed it over the side of the boat. She had complained, pouting and ignoring him until he forced himself on her another time. He was a force to be reckoned with, and she was learning that quickly.

Plus, he wasn’t about to miss out on an opportunity to rub sunscreen all over her naked body. “Don’t want you to burn up, baby,” he cooed sweetly when he rubbed lotion into her breasts. When she scoffed in disbelief, he pinched her pretty little nipples until she cried out.

They got back to the house at nightfall and she was sleepy from the sun. She didn’t fight him when he ushered her into the shower to wash the sunscreen and salt off, allowed him to soap her up everywhere. At that point, she was too exhausted to fight back, resigned that he was going to play with her body as he pleased.

After the shower, she was tired enough to go right to bed, but Bucky had to take calls from Steve and Tony about the situation in Brooklyn. They spent a stressful three hours planning and strategizing. It was almost worse not being there in person to take care of business, instead having to handle everything from six hours away. Once the call ended, he went up to her room and climbed into bed right next to her, falling straight to asleep.

It felt unbelievably right falling asleep with her in his arms, waking up curled against her.

He awoke midmorning, his hard cock pressed against her ass. Wondering if he would be able to wake her up by barely touching her, he ground against her until he was almost ready to come. Although she was slightly responsive, letting out occasional sleepy moans and weakly pressing her hips back against him, she hadn’t woken up. Of course, she had always been a heavy sleeper. 

The thought of her sleeping as he used her body to satisfy his arousal pushed him over the edge quicker than he would admit, and then he was coming in his boxers and she was settling onto her stomach, pushing her face into her pillow and sinking back into sleep.

He spent most of that day holed up in the office on the phone with Steve, and then Sam, and then every other guy in the Brooklyn Mob who was involved in the Laufeyson deal. Then he was on the phone with connections he had all over Manhattan trying to determine how many businesses Hydra was infiltrating uptown. And then a whole other problem came in that Sam wanted him to deal with and it never ended.

During that time, Y/N took the dog for a walk and worked on some painting while sitting on the patio set. She was glad for the break from him after the long day on the boat and the night filled with dreams of him. She made Bucky lunch and brought it to him in the office, and he pulled her down onto his lap and demanded a kiss from her. She was saved by the phone ringing again, and she quickly squirmed away while he answered it.

She spent the rest of the day at the pool doing swimming drills. Since they had been at the Vineyard, she had been slacking in her swim training, and if she were truly going to be on the team at NYU, she would need to be in top shape. So far, her father hadn’t said anything against her going, and classes started in a few weeks, so she had to assume he was allowing her.

That night, Bucky made them pasta for dinner and then they watched a movie, but an hour in, Steve called him. By the time he was off the phone, she had fallen asleep and it was past midnight.

The next three days went exactly the same way, with fleeting touches from Bucky when he found the time, cornering her against the walls when they happened to be in the same room with her, kissing the daylights out of her when he got the chance, but it always ended too soon with another phone call and more responsibilities. 

She really didn’t mind—it gave her time to focus on training and painting and relaxing, even if his occasional touches lit her up from the inside out. But he still intimidated her, and she didn’t know what would come next. Every time he got his hands on her before, he was pushing her past another boundary, forcing her into things she didn’t want. It caused anxiety to well up inside her every time she saw him, so she was glad he was somehow so busy with business—too busy to pay her any mind, granting her a lengthy reprieve. 

But Bucky hated it. He needed to get his hands on her—he craved her touch, her smell, her sweet little sounds. On top of that, all this mob business was frustrating to no end. He had no idea how he was so busy with this stuff when he was an entire state away. 

By the end of the week, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was too antsy, and even though it was past midnight and she was fast asleep, he had to do something to take the stress off. 

Stepping lightly up the stairs, he slipped silently into her bedroom. She slept on her back, one arm thrown across her face, silver moonlight spilling from her window onto her skin. 

Bucky considered letting her sleep, but he was feeling so deprived of touch, so he decided to rouse her with his mouth on her pussy. By the time she woke up, gasping and fisting her hands in his hair, she was soaked and on the verge of orgasm.

“Bucky!” she cried, tugging on his scalp in an attempt to pry him away. “What are you—” she was cut off with a gasp when Bucky nibbled gently at her clit and slipping a finger into her cunt. She came on the spot and, despite her protests, he pushed her through two more orgasms before he pulled away. 

When he was satisfied and she was incoherent from pleasure, he wiped his chin off with the back of his hand. “Good morning, darlin’—or more like good night.” He greeted her with a cheeky smile. She blushed furiously and hid her face by throwing her arm across her head again.

“What the hell, Bucky! What time is it?” she whined softly, voice muffled by the flesh of her arm. That was the first time he had put his mouth on her, although he had suggested it before, but it came as a shock to her all the same. She still wasn’t used to him touching her like that, but he tended to do whatever he wanted regardless of how she felt.

“It’s almost one in the morning, sweetheart.” He leaned over her and pried her arm away from her face with one hand, then gathered her hair in the other and pulled her into a deep kiss. He groaned, “I missed you earlier, so I’m making up for it.”

She whimpered into the kiss and tried to push at his chest. “I wanna go back to sleep,” she said into the kiss. His bare cock dragged along her stomach and her body stiffened, not knowing what he had planned. Every muscle in her body was sore from her orgasms, and she couldn’t even feel her legs.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered, laying them on their sides facing each other. 

“No, it’s too late for this,” she sighed, high-pitched and sleepy.

“Just for a little while and then you can go back to sleep,” he promised. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He knew he had tired her out, so he would be content to just make out with her until he came—and he probably could come just from that. So he kissed her gently, deeply, his tongue licking into her mouth and tangling with hers. The kiss was so sweet it made her toes curl, made her squirm against him.

His mouth tasted like her—and although he had made her taste herself off of his fingers before, it was somehow more potent coming from his mouth after three consecutive orgasms. Heat flooded her core, and even though she was exhausted, she felt her body still had more to give.

Bucky knew it, too. He could always tell when she was worked up again, and soon he was helping her grind her pussy wantonly on his thigh, her hands fisted in his hair. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her hips and ass, dipping past the swell of it to play with her perfect little pussy. She was dripping again, soaking his entire leg, and he loved it. He could never get enough of her.

“Here, baby,” he repositioned them so her leg was slung over his waist, their hips aligned. His cock dragged along the inside of her thighs, and she gasped and tried to move back.

“Wait!” she said, panicked at the thought of him taking her virginity right there. “We can’t!”

“Don’t worry,” he told her, voice gravelly. “I’m not gonna fuck you—yet.” He pulled her back into him and now his dick was settled right against her pussy, not at the right angle to enter her, but she could still feel every inch of him, so hot and hard and smooth. “I just want to feel you, baby.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered, “I’m not ready yet.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he reassured her, rubbing gentle circles on her back before tugging her into him and moving his hips against hers.

He kept her close with his iron grip and forced his mouth onto hers in her shock. It was tempting, the way her pussy felt against him, impossibly wet, slicking up his entire length as he glided his cock through her folds. The tip bumped against her clit and she mewled, and then he took her hips and grinded her down against his shaft as he thrusted forward again.

The shaft of his cock rubbed against her clit with every drag and it was driving her crazy, her pussy so oversensitive already from Bucky’s mouth. This caused her to shove him away a little, whimpering. “It’s too much, Bucky,” she cried, face scrunched up in pain and pleasure, “Bucky, please—”

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he cooed, kissing her forehead. While one hand continued to stroke her back, his other travelled down and shifted his cock. He was going to move away or reposition them, but then the head of his cock caught at her entrance and he moaned at the sensation. “Oh, baby, you’re so wet.” He could slide in right now with barely any resistance, just take her and make her his, come deep inside her and—

“What are you doing!” she cried as he nudged his cock again against her. “Stop, Bucky!” She struggled to get away, but his arm around her kept her close, pinning her arms against her sides with barely any effort.

He hushed her with soft words. “It’s okay, baby, shhh, you’re such a good girl.” 

But as he moved his hips forward, her entire body tensed and she sniffled. “Please don’t, Bucky, I don’t want this.”

“But you do,” he assured her, still rubbing the head around her entrance. It was slick with both their fluids, his cock blurting out precum against her folds every time he thought of taking her virgin pussy. “Your pussy is so wet for me.”

“Not yet,” she whimpered, burying her face in the pillow, still trying to struggle uselessly. “I don’t want it yet…”

He paused, considering this. Sure, he hadn’t planned on taking her virginity yet—he was going to wait a few more days, see how it went. But she just felt so good, and he was so wound up from yesterday. Was it better to get it over with now?

In the end, he decided to compromise. “Just the tip,” he suggested, “I’ll just put in the tip, no more.”

“No, Bucky—” But he had already decided. 

He eased the head of his cock into her pussy, only just, and she was already so tight and hot around him that he could barely control himself. Taking a minute to breathe, he closed his eyes, focused on keeping his hips still.

She whimpered. “Bucky, it hurts.” His cock was thicker than the fingers he had used on her thus far, and he was stretching her uncomfortably. The stretch, combined with how sensitive she was, and the fact that she didn’t want this yet, brought tears to her eyes, which fell onto the pillow below her.

Yet still the heat in her pelvis remained, her traitorous body tingling all over, her pussy endlessly producing more wetness. The pain only added to the flame like lighter fluid, dangerous yet addicting as her nerves screamed for something more.

Finally, he pulled out, then pushed back in, then repeated the motion, barely fucking her. She whimpered through it, matching his groans of pleasure. His hand worked the rest of his cock to bring him to the edge. He kept the thrusts shallow, careful not to go too deep or past the head of his cock—this was already overwhelming enough for her, and he was content to save her virginity for another day.

“Your pussy’s all mine, darling,” he growled in her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you hard one of these days, ruin you for other men. You’re mine, you understand?” He would never let her go, not now. Every taste he had of her only added to his obsession. She belonged to him, his to use, his to do whatever he wanted with.

She sniffled again, and when she turned her head, he saw her crying, pretty eyes rimmed with red, cheeks glistening, and she just looked so beautiful. In the back of his mind, he wondered what Steve would think of this, what Steve would think of him using her like this, taking what he wanted, just like Steve did to him.

Then his thoughts wandered to how he and Steve could use her together, how they might corrupt her, what other ways they could make her cry so pretty for them—

And then, he was coming. He pulled out of her just at the last second, spilling his come all over her pussy.

Involuntarily, she let out a shaky moan at the sensation of his come on her, hot and sticky and only adding to the insufferable wetness all over. Bucky smirked at this, at her reactions—her body loved what he did to her, even if she couldn’t admit it.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered, running his fingers through his come and through her labia. He massaged all over the outside of her cunt, rubbing his semen into her swollen skin. Sticky fingers travelled to her clit, rubbing at it with quick and intense strokes until she was coming herself, letting out a cry thick with tears.

She sobbed more once she was done, ashamed of her body’s reactions. He only pulled her onto his chest, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, whispering reassurances that she was a good girl, that she had made him feel good. He comforted her until she fell asleep on him, and he soon followed her into slumber.

Steve woke up that morning, head pounding, and he knew that a shower would be one of the only things to help his hangover. He replayed the previous night in his mind while he stood under the hot water. Peggy had broken up with him.

He had spent the entire night before thinking she would call him up and tell him it was all a joke, that she didn’t mean it, that she wasn’t going to move to London and leave him. Now, it was morning, and she hadn’t even texted him.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect, and he certainly hadn’t been very attached to her, but she was an easy part of his life, simple and consistent. Sure, he had never intended to seriously commit to Peggy, but he hadn’t planned on ending it any time soon, either. He figured that maybe they would just fall into place, that somehow their relationship would work itself out like it was meant to.

Maybe this is what was meant to happen, he mused as he dried himself off.

It still stung, though.

And now he had to go back to the Vineyard and babysit Y/N. That was almost worse. If he were able to go out to a club tonight and find a rebound, maybe this would all heal quicker, but he was stuck at Martha’s Vineyard with her and Bucky for the next few weeks.

Well, at least there was Bucky, he realized, his mood lifting a little. He and Bucky could start up again—Steve always loved it when they were on. But he knew Bucky never wanted anything serious with him, so he always ended things eventually.

For now, though, he could let himself enjoy it.

With that brightening his mind, he got dressed and shaved, dabbed on some aftershave, and slicked back his hair. He collected his bag he had brought and was out the door in no time. After stopping by the bodega for a coffee and a pack of cigarettes and a few packages of mint gum, he got on the road.

 He had almost six hours to mull over the predicament with Peggy while driving. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got—for no discernable reason except that his ego was hurt.

Peggy was good for him. He knew that. Sure, he didn’t make enough time for her, but he had explained before that he had work responsibilities that he couldn’t speak much about. She seemed to understand in the beginning, but now it wasn’t enough, apparently. Now she needed more from him.

That got his blood pumping, his fingers gripping the steering wheel hard, a bitter taste in his mouth. He only got more and more worked up throughout the drive, and by the time he was pulling into the house at the Vineyard, he was twitchy, furious, needed to get his hands on something and do something physical and let out all his energy.

Bucky would be a nice outlet, he thought as he unlocked the front door and entered the house.

He was about to call out for Bucky when he heard something strange from upstairs.

A whimpering moan, high pitched and breathy.

Closing the door quietly, he creeped upstairs, not intending to alert anyone. He had a few guesses as to who it could be, and none of the options pleased him. Perhaps Bucky brought a girl home. Perhaps Y/N had a boyfriend here. Regardless, someone was getting their ass kicked.

As he reached the landing and crept towards the hallway where the noise was, another gasp came. “Bucky!” He recognized the voice. It was Y/N, and she was calling out for—

He opened the door to her bedroom slowly and froze at what he saw.

Y/N was on her back in the middle of the bed, the sheets up to her waist, her pert breasts exposed. Her head was thrown back, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, hair messed up. Under the thin white sheets, she was grabbing something—someone. 

It was the shape of a body, dark hair positioned right at the juncture of her legs, moving enthusiastically. Wet sucking noises sounded from under the blanket, and then Bucky groaned into her pussy, and she shook violently, her entire body tensing up and then releasing almost rhythmically.

Steve couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his throat, alerting the occupants of the bed.

Both Y/N and Bucky startled at the exact same time, and as she tried to grab the sheet to cover herself, he popped up from under the covers, the sheet thrown behind him. He was naked, hard cock pointing almost accusatorily towards the girl in front of him. Steve’s jaw clenched when he saw Bucky still had two fingers buried in her cunt, and he actually had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to avoid knocking Bucky out right there. 

Bucky’s jaw dropped when he saw Steve, eyes wide in shock. For several long, tense moments, it was silent, only the sound of her rapid breathing filling the room. 

Finally, Steve spoke, voice laced with barely contained rage. “Either of you care to explain to me what the fuck is going on?”