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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

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our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good.

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it.

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship.

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi.

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again.

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him.

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection.

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard.

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual.

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi.

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol.

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again.

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written.

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened.

Déjà vu?

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there.

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up.

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out. When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception.

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now.

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start.

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back.

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you.

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter.

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back.

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile.

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once.

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day.

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

712 notes · View notes

xreaderbooks · 1 year ago

Text

Paradise on Earth (20)

Chapter: 20. The Coastal Venture

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Summary: John B, Pope, JJ, Kiara, and You are on the way to help Sarah and retrieve the cross.

Warnings: language, violence, mentions of death and kidnapping

Word Count: 3.7k

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Chapter 19 | Series Masterlist | Navigation | Chapter 21

The heat in the torture chamber was going to make you stab somebody. You’ve never felt this suffocated before.

“Let’s address the elephant in the room,” John B announces and focuses his attention on you, “Y/n.”

“Are you fat shaming me, JB?”

He narrows his eyes at you, “You know what I mean.”

“Is this even an appropriate time to be talking about this?” You wonder aloud. He couldn’t seriously expect to get into this right now, you hadn’t even found a way to leave this hell hole without getting caught by the crew members and now, he wanted to talk about your controversial sex life.

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause if I have to keep thinking about what Sarah might be going through right now, I’m gonna go crazy.”

You brace yourself for the worst, “Oh God.”

He doesn’t say anything, he stays in his position on top of a stretch-wrapped box. “So?”

You glance to the side and back at him, “So, what?”

“We’re waiting,” He extends his arms outward to gesture to the crowded area of your friends. Kie took off her jacket and let out a breath, Pope was leaning his head against other containers listening.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, I’ve already apologized. Not that that fixes anything or takes anything back.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pope said. “What’s done is done, we have much bigger things to worry about but since we’re getting into it; I just wanna know what your thought process was-”

John B cut him off, “Or whatever the opposite of that is ‘cause you obviously weren’t thinking clearly.”

“Alright, you know what, no.” You got up from where you were sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the container. “I wasn’t thinking and at that moment I didn’t regret it because he cared about me, I’m not going to go into detail about how or what he made me believe about him ‘cause I obviously didn’t know him as well as I thought…”

“So he manipulated you?” Pope asked.

“No, not entirely,” You risked a quick glance at JJ whose gaze averted from your own. “He made me feel like he cared, I was hurt and felt neglected. I’ve always been a part of the Pogues but it always felt like I’m just John B’s sister to you guys like I’m only along for the ride. I don’t have much to offer the group, Rafe made me feel seen as ironic as that is.”

“That’s some bullshit, Y/n,” John B scoffed.

JJ steps forward, “John B.”

John B stares at JJ with pure annoyance, “I don’t see how you’re not losing your shit over this, you’re always going on about how she’s like a sister to you, this is some high-level offensive shit and you’re all chill?”

“She was right,” JJ shook his head. “This isn’t the time, alright? We gotta figure out how the hell we're gonna get out of this, you know these things lock from the outside? This is your fault and now we’re trapped in this death cage!”

“JJ, you’re not helping,” Pope was breathless as he spoke. All you knew was that there was not enough oxygen coming in to be wasting our breath on arguing.

“You don’t have enough room to talk right now, Pope, you said you had a plan, but what happened to thinking ahead?”

“I find your lack of self-knowledge disturbing.”

JJ laughs sarcastically, “Last I checked, you literally shot an oil container with the gat, remember that?”

“Oh my God, Shut up!” Kie who was perched on the highest stacked container, stretched her foot slamming it between the two boys against the other box parallel to hers. “Shut up! Pull it together.”

She removes her foot with a roll of her eyes landing on yours and puffing out a breath, mouthing the word boys to you.

~~~

“Hey Pope, how do you kill a snake?” JJ asks randomly.

You lost track of how long you’ve been in here, looking out of the metal panel of the vent/window, whatever it was. It had to be around noon.

“You go for the head,” Pope answers with exhaustion.

“Exactly, but the head in this instance, is the bridge. To take the bridge, we need maximum firepower and I happen to know that there’s an armory on this ship in case of pirate attacks.”

“Pirate attacks,” You mocked in a whisper. Kie gets up from her place on the ground and walks behind JJ, through the middle of the columns of boxes, nodding for you to follow.

“You lost me,” She said as she passes him.

“I’m talking knives,” He tells her.

You pat his arm as he continues his nonsensical planning, “Killing everybody here is not a plan.”

“You too?” He waves his hand dismissively, “Alright, we lost them. I’m serious, if we get to the armory, I’m talking AKs, pistols, knives, double barrels-”

“Are you okay?” Kie searches your face with sympathetic eyes. “John B shouldn’t have called you out like that.”

You shrugged, “Yeah, to be expected honestly. I’m more worried about how we're gonna get out of here, he can bitch at me later.”

You caught a glimpse of light shining on her face and follow the beam to where sunlight was peeking through, hidden behind a barrel of tubing. “Hold up,” You carry the heavy roll and place it on another one beside it.

“Guys,” Kie calls out to the boys who were now bickering loudly, “Guys!”

With a look, they come over to where you and Kie were determining whether or not you all could fit through another vent. It was bigger than the other one, you’d have to find a way to pop it out.

“What was that about a Swiss Army knife not coming in handy?” JJ pulls one out of his pocket and climbs on top of one of the rolls and begins to remove the screws. “Okay, we raid the armory, get weapons, roll back here, and plot the next move.”

That didn’t sound like a stable plan.

“The armory is on the third deck, aft, near the laundry room.” He instructs Pope and John B, “Let’s roll.”

“JJ, hold up.” Pope stops him before he can fully take out the vent, “I don’t think we should all go out there, it’s too risky.”

“Why?”

John B and Pope give each other an unspoken message, and your brother confesses, “I’m just gonna be honest, I think you should stay here.”

JJ had a puzzled look, “What?”

“I have Sarah that I’m gonna go after and Pope has the cross, also, if you go out there there’s a hundred percent possibility that you’re gonna do something stupid.”

“Okay, first of all, I think the correct terminology is ‘ballsy’, that is it,” He tries to debate but Pope pulls him down from his spot that was blocking the exit. “I’m a field player.”

John B shushes him, “If we go out there and we get in a bind, we need someone to look out for us. That’s what we need.”

That was the only way you figured he could convince JJ to stay behind with you and Kie, no doubt he felt a little betrayed by the boys.

“Okay, I get it, I get it.” He tunes out the rest of John B’s words, “I’ll be on ‘B team’.”

“I never said B team,” John B states.

Kie sputters motioning to you and herself, “Sorry, are you calling us ‘B team’?”

“Did ‘B team not just find our way out or am I totally tripping?” You say, looking between JJ and Kie.

Pope grasped JJ by the shoulders, “Just hang back and hold down the fort.”

“Great, looking forward to it,” JJ purses his lips. “You guys have fun, it’s your funeral, your game. I’ll be in here, on the bench.”

He backs away into the area the five of you were once suffering in, Kie grabs both Pope and John B and gives them, her last words of wisdom before sending them on their way. John B didn’t so much as give you a last glance before climbing out of the small window.

~~~

The lack of flowing oxygen in the container was concerning, you grew up with struggling winters and no electricity during hot summers but this felt like hell. Especially now with the conversation that you were witnessing.

JJ began to express his dream of traveling the world with the riches you were in the process of acquiring and surfing every coast he comes across.

“When all this is over, and we’re just rolling in the dough.” He speaks with half-lidded eyes, sweat beads down his neck with his head leaning against a netted crate. “I’m gonna get a new board, deck it out, and I’m gonna go on a surf trip. I don’t know where, but the world’s calling.”

You felt so faint and fatigued from the heat, yet the thought of JJ being excited about a future when all his life he’d been told he wouldn’t have one, made your heart warm.

“Name a place,” He tells Kie.

She rolls her head in thought, “Spain.”

“Then after Spain, South America, or South Africa.”

You raise a brow, “You’ll go to South Africa?”

“One of the South places,” He shrugs. “Then Micronesia maybe, and then… and just ride. Wherever the wave takes you, you know?”

“So that’s the plan if we were to get a ton of cash, that’s the dream. Surf trip?”

You watch Kiara as she asks and that’s when you notice, the hope in her heart that’s shining through her eyes, the soft smile as JJ describes the end goal of this adventure. JJ resembles the freedom and lifestyle she craves to escape the Kook life her parents have for her.

“Ripping jungle break all day long, bamboo hit, cooking a fish on the fire, and after that, you go back out and just hit the waves again. That’s the dream.”

Then, at the same time after listening to the blissful life of adventure, you and Kie respond at the same time. “Sounds perfect.”

Your and Kie’s eyes meet at your matching answers, the nonverbal confirmation that you both wanted it. You both wanted the dream and you wanted it with JJ.

Kie recovered faster than you did, “Got room for one more?”

JJ chuckles casually and taps your knee that bumps into your other one from the way you were sitting. The little tap gave you hope.

“You got your passport?” He sideglances you before asking her.

She grins, “You don’t have a passport.”

“Hell no, I don’t have a passport, that’s the Kookiest thing ever.” They laugh in sync, and your hope is gone.

Thankfully you hear a whistle come from outside the vent and you immediately jump up to open it, passing it to Kie who was right behind you. Pope climbs through, then John B, you were about to cover the hole when Pope stops you.

A girl wearing a workers cap pops up from the other side, “Jesus Christ! I kill you, John B!” she threatens your brother with a thick West Indies accent.

“Who is this?” Kie begins to panic.

“Just relax, okay?” He tries to ease her mind, “I told you I had a surprise. Remember I told you about the girl we met in the Bahamas that saved us?”

You took in the appearance of the girl standing above you and tried to match her face to the name your brother told you, “This is Cleo?”

“She’s gonna help us,” John B said more to Kie than to you. You wondered what it was gonna take to get John B to forgive you.

“Next time, ask me,” Cleo retorted.

John B and Pope updated you all on what happened when they left the container, the only thing they succeeded in doing was getting the crew's attention, getting Cleo on your side, and not grabbing any weapons on their way back.

“This is why I should have gone with you,” JJ emphasized. For once, you would’ve agreed with him, if only so that you didn’t have to sit through Kiara fawning over JJ.

“Let me get this straight,” Cleo cuts in. “You five, with no weapons, decided you were gonna hijack this tramp steamer on your own? Do you have any idea who these people are?”

She stares you all down like a mother scolding you for touching a hot stove, “Eberhimi, if he catches you, he’s gonna kill you. Dead. Cut off your fingers.”

“What about waiting until we get to port?” Kie suggests. “At least then, if something goes wrong we have a place to run.”

You shake your head, “We can’t wait, by now they already know we're here.”

“I’ve run this scenario over a thousand times in my head, our best chances are on this ship.” Pope adds, “There are fifteen crew members and six of us, three-to-one odds, that’s the best it’ll get. If we wait till we get there, they’ll trap us.”

“We have no chance,” Kie protests.

“There’s something else,” John B spoke, and by the look on his face- it had to be bad news. Your stomach sunk, and your mind immediately went to Sarah, Was she hurt? Dead? “Ward’s alive.”

The worst thing he could have said, your father's killer was alive, the peace you thought you had when he was dead was ripped away from you once again. There was no winning against him.

“He’s alive, and he’s on this boat. It was all a setup, blowing up the boat, the confession to Shoupe. Think about it, that was to clear Rafe’s name.” John B glances at you, “And he does what? Goes to the Druthers, and what’s on the Druthers?”

“Scuba,” You exhale your answer, your back hitting a corner of a box.

“Ward’s alive, he’s got the gold and the cross.” JJ’s boots slam down on the metal as he climbs off the crates he was hanging on to. “And Sarah.”

“Thanks for rubbing that in,” Kie looks up to the ceiling.

“He’s just gonna get away with everything again, huh?” JJ shakes his head in denial, “Not happening. We’re not watching this movie again, right, Pope? You said we need the win, and with her,” He points to Cleo. “We’re going to the bridge and we’re gonna take it right now.”

“Let’s do it,” John B nods.

“I’m with you, and I wanna be the one to take that bridge,” Pope agrees with a new fire in his eyes.

Cleo snickers, “He’s gonna take that bridge?”

“Yeah,” JJ defends Pope.

“He couldn’t even take me.”

You giggled at that, as much as you would like to believe in Pope, he would definitely need help.

“First of all, I was going easy on you.”

“I went easy on you,” With the knife in her hand, you would bet on her.

John B shushes them both, “Relax, both of you.”

JJ takes the silence as an opportunity to say his plan aloud, “If you’re with us, we can use that knife to hold it up against the captain’s neck then we go on the intercom and make him tell the rest of the crew to meet up in the forward hull. Once they’re in the same place, we lock them in there and we take back what’s ours.”

“I like it, it could work,” Pope concurs.

“Are you with us?” JJ meets Cleo’s eye to ask her seriously.

She takes a second, “No. This is stupid.” Cleo looks at you sharply. There was a man shouting orders from outside to check the containers, she hops onto the platform and opens the vent. She hops out, and you all hear her shout a name.

You were starting to think about how John B was wrong to trust her when you heard her tell the men that were trying to open the container that she searched it already. You all breathe a sigh of relief.

“She’s on our side,” JJ says. “Pope, you’re up, we’ll wait for your signal.”

Pope pulls the vent from the hole once more, climbing out. You watch as he follows Cleo with no trail before covering it up again.

You were getting anxious about how long it was taking, how long does it take to take over a bridge anyway?

“You think he’ll pull it off?” You ask Kie. Right as she opened her mouth to respond, the order from an unrecognizable voice was heard through the intercom.

“Repeat. All hands and all passengers report to the tween forward hull immediately.”

“Sounds like he did,” JJ responded. “Let’s split up, once they’re all in the hull, Kie, Y/n, and I will lock them inside.”

“Is that really a three-person job?” John B asks JJ.

You look at him suspiciously, “I’d go with you if you wanted me to, but...”

“Now is not the time guys,” Kie tells you both.

“Fine, I’ll find Sarah and get the lifeboat.”

“We’ll meet you, load the cross, and get out of here,” Kie confirms the plan.

JJ climbs out first, John B after, then Kie, and You. You glance behind you to check if there was someone coming before walking after the rest of them. John B went his separate way as soon as you all made it inside the ship. You and Kie followed JJ to the forward hull, knowing you’d get lost on your own.

There are still a couple of crew members making their way inside, huffing and complaining as they went.

“How many?” JJ whispers to where you and Kie were pressed against the metal wall. You hold up three fingers as you counted the men walking. You heard Wheezie talking to Rose, and walking behind them was Rafe.

You almost gasped as you saw him, and moved your head out of sight. You were sweating from the nerves and anxiety of potentially getting caught as well as the heat. “That’s all of the crew,” You whisper to JJ.

“Except Ward, we need Ward.”

“We can’t wait,” Kie tells you both. JJ begrudgingly nods for you all to go ahead with the plan. You, Kie, and JJ push the heavy metal door shut, the crew members from the inside were pushing it to stay open. You plant your feet as you push against them, using all your strength, and JJ officially closes the latch.

You heard their footsteps run away from the door they were fighting against you. “There’s another door!”

The three of you bolt to the other side, the crew members were too late. JJ managed to close the smaller exit before they could fight against it. With no crew members to stop you, JJ found a lower ground where the cross could be.

You climbed down the ladder where there was a wooden box, the shape of the cross, was. A blanket was lazily thrown over it, you, JJ, and Kie uncover it.

JJ smiles at you both, “Surf trip.” He reaches out his hand to do your secret handshake, he had a different one with both you and Kie.

The ceiling began to open, and Pope was standing on top, Finding this cross was a huge step in the right direction, Ward may be alive but the Pogues were going to take back what was rightfully yours, one by one. Sarah, The Cross, your lives.

You, JJ, and Kie let out shouts of excitement as Pope pumps his fist in the air, “The time where people do shit to us and we just sit back and take it is over!”

With final whoops of encouragement, Pope rushes to the crane as you, Kie, and JJ prep the cross for him with the thick rope hooked on each side of it.

“It’s ready for you Pope!” JJ shouts at him.

Pope lifts the cross quicker than he should, you shout him a warning, JJ directs him to move the cross more to the middle but he moves it far to the left. The Cross swings at a barrel of wrapping, knocking it over.

“Too far, too far!” Kie exclaims.

You hear a faint, “My bad!” coming from inside the crane.

“Your other middle!” You told him. JJ helps him by moving the extra rope from the cross and guiding it to where it isn’t hitting the ‘ceiling’ until he finally had it in the air.

You and the others go back to the upper deck from the same ladder, passing where Pope was with the crane and the cross, making sure it was clear before moving forward in your search for the lifeboats and John B. You kept going until you saw a man who looked boiling mad.

“I don’t see him,” JJ said.

“J,” You called his attention as he was looking over for John B. You and Kie shared a concerned look.

The man pulls out a machete, “Of course, there’s more of you. Get down on your knees.”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” JJ speaks right before the man swung his machete down on JJ. He manages to dodge it and gets a hold of his forearm, pushing it onto the wall, you and Kie hold it down as JJ punches him. Kie lets go, and you open the metal emergency kit door, slamming it in his face, knocking him back.

Kie looks over to the lower level and calls for John B as JJ attempts to fight off the guy who’s two times his size. JJ gets shoved on the ground, his head hitting the floor, the man makes his way to Kie who had her guard down.

“Kie!” You yelled out her name as a warning and jump on the man's back, your right arm around his neck- choking him and your left arm pulling against his with his hold on the machete to keep him from swinging it at your friend.

You heard JJ shout at you, “Y/n, no!”

You couldn’t hold him back, he slams his back against the railing which meant that you would take the hit, your spine hit the edge making fall off his back and onto your feet. He then, with full force, elbows you in your stomach. You couldn’t breathe, he literally knocked the wind out of you and as he swung the machete at Kiara, she ducked and the blunt end of it hit you in the head and you went straight into the water.

JJ dove in after you, Kie kicked the man back and went in after him.

“Y/n!” Kie swam after you.

JJ held you in his arms, desperately trying to keep you afloat while also keeping himself up. “Y/n, c’mon, stay with me, baby!”

“John B!” He dully heard Kie shout. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he was struggling to keep you both up but he didn’t care how much his arms ached, he would make you sure you were alive.

“Y/n, please,” He begged. “John B’s coming alright? He’s coming, Kie!”

The lifeboat came around the corner of the ship in the distance.

Kiara continued to scream for John B to rescue the three of you. At the sight of you, unconscious in JJ’s arm, John B felt sick. Pope, John B, and Sarah cried out for you as Kie helped JJ swim with the weight of your body.

John B pulled you from JJ’s hold and into the lifeboat, JJ hovered over your body, “C’mon, Y/n.” He held your cold cheek in his palm, wishing- willing for you to wake up. The lifeboat stopped moving.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.

“We’re stalling!” John B pulls the string to start the engine back up again.

“You serious? We’re sitting ducks,” Pope panics.

JJ looks up to the ship and sees Rafe pointing a gun at the boat, you were all in. He moves his body in a position where he’s covering you in case Rafe starts shooting, while John B keeps trying the motor.

Miraculously it starts, and speeds away, as soon as you all were in the clear, everybody turns their attention back to where you lie, unmoving.

“I’m sorry, alright?” John B crouched on your left, holding onto your hand. “I am so fucking sorry.”

JJ was beginning to feel anxious, the start of an anxiety attack forming in his chest, “Wake up, Y/n, wake up!” He had both of his hands on your cheeks, shaking you ever so slightly. Your eyes shot open, and you were coughing out water. “There you go, cough it out, baby.”

~~~

The first thing you saw was blue, your throat felt raw from the salt water you unknowingly consumed, your lungs were screaming, and your head was throbbing like you had a migraine that was splitting your head open but the only feeling that mattered was the one you felt when you saw him looking at you the way he was right now.

His eyes held words you wished you could understand, tears appeared as if they were about to spill over, and they did as he grinned so wide, his cheeks wrinkled his eyes.

“No CPR needed, huh?” Kie commented with a smile.

You broke the intense eye contact you had with JJ and felt a hand in yours, you looked to the hand's owner and saw your brother. He immediately engulfed you in a hug. “I’m not, not talking to you again.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, JB,” You hugged him back with feeble arms, relieved that he was no longer upset with you. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re all good, lil’ P,” John B ruffled your wet hair before letting you go. JJ was mute as he beamed down on you.

“Hey,” Your voice came out small.

His lips parted, once again, in a bright smile “Sup?” He brought your head to his chest, grabbed a piece of cloth, and dabbed at the side of your head that stung.

“What the hell happened?”

“The blunt end of a machete,” Kie explained.

“Next time, duck,” Cleo joked.

You chuckled, “I’ll try to remember that next time, thanks.”

Way into the distance, on the ship you had barely escaped from, the members of the crew were hoisting the cross from the water. The plan you all thought would work, and was working, had gone wrong. You were left with nothing. Ward had the cross, the gold, and the retribution you all thought you had when Ward was dead is gone.

At least Sarah was now safe and with her people, you thought as you and the girls sat against a couple of palm trees along the shore of a remote island.

“Good job, guys” Sarah cheered for the boys as they brought in the lifeboat from the water.

“Anybody knows where we’re at?” JJ threw out the question you were all wondering.

“Deserted beach, unknown island,” Pope answered as he settled down next to Cleo.

“Plan A, huh Pope?” JJ leaned his forearm against the tree to your left, you looked up at him from where your head lay on Kie’s lap. “That went well.”

“This is the lowest we can go,” Pope said. “We literally have nothing else to lose, the cross? Gone.”

You sat up, letting the weight on your hands that dug into the sand as you listed another thing off. “The gold? Gone.”

“Seriously, if we had a nickel for every time we got beat up, I’d say we’re at a dollar fifty.” JJ reminded the group.

“That’s more than I got on me,” Kie commented.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better,” Said Sarah.

“Yeah, you’re right. But, we’ve had some good stuff happen.” Your head snapped to John B, wondering what speech of optimism he was going to muster up.

“Name some,” Pope told him.

“The boiler room, if the boiler didn’t explode, I wouldn’t have gotten away from Rafe. I couldn’t have gotten the zodiac and gotten us out of here.” He mentioned, and pointed to the lifeboat the newly branded ‘Zodiac’.

Cleo, who was to the right of John B, looked amused. “That wasn’t luck, that thing was gonna blow the second I stopped feeding it.”

“Stealing my thunder, Cleo.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay, Pope,” He redirects. “You’re related to Denmark Tanny, that’s crazy.”

“And I lost all of his inheritance,” Pope shut down John B’s next point. You knew where he tried to go with it, and you admired him for trying to keep the group's spirits high, but you were all literally on rock bottom.

You’ve accepted your fate, after your near-death experience, all that had bothered you before had drifted away just like you and that Pogues did. All except one, human-sized thing that was stuck on this island with you.

“You know what,” John B stood and faced the ocean with his arms out wide. “Guys, this is it. This is the Pogue life. We are in the Caribbean, it’s our own little slice of paradise, with my best friends- with my family. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”

You raised your hand and pursed your lips, “Can you say that again in like two weeks? When we’re still here, starving, and fed up with me.”

“Y/n, you almost died, the love’s gonna last a ‘lil while- don’t ruin the moment.” He put up a hand as if to stop you from speaking. “Look, while you guys were complaining about every little thing, JJ?”

The blond who was stabbing his pocket knife in the tree, paused after sinking into the bark, humming in response.

“I was looking at those burly lefts,” John B points to the waves forming on the water.

“There are some slabs out there,” JJ agrees.

“Kie, you see that?” John B attempts to persuade her.

She shakes her head, “No boards.”

“Well, we can bodysurf till we make some boards.”

“Lame.”

“They are tasty,” Pope refers to the ocean. “There’s nobody around, we could squat here for a bit. Kind of belongs to us now, huh?”

“You got a point,” You shrug. “Seven-way split.”

“Poguelandia. I claim thee Poguelandia,” JJ pipes in with a posh accent. You noted how he carved ‘P4L’ on the bark of the tree right below where his knife was embedded, emphasizing your ownership of the island. Then returns to his normal voice, “I like the ring of it, I’m gonna make a flag. It’s gonna have a chicken on it with a coconut bra, smoking a J, in crocs.”

The image of it came to mind and you laughed, it was a little blurry but you didn’t doubt that JJ would make a real visual as soon as he could find the materials.

“I could use a J,” Kie confessed.

“Can we vote on this?” Sarah asked, John B reached out to her and pulled her out of the sand.

“‘Til death do us part?”

You looked away from their little moment, slapping your hands together to get rid of the sand that got stuck, when you looked up a hand was extended out to you. The owner of it being JJ, you took his hand and allowed him to wrap his arm around you.

“What’s up?” You ask him as he guides you along the coast, away from the group. You looked back to where Kie and Pope were teaching Cleo the Pogue handshake, Sarah and John B were a couple of feet behind you and JJ.

“Just wanted to check in on you,” He let his arm slip off your shoulders once you were far enough away from the others.

Besides your severe thirst for water, the pounding in your head had gone from a blinding headache to a dull throb, and despite the fact that you were on a deserted island? You were well.

“I’m good,” You told him honestly.

“You cared the shit out of me,” He let out a sigh. “You know, earlier?”

“When I got knocked the fuck out?” You laughed. “Yeah, well, he was going at Kie and I couldn’t just not do anything.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you, dude,” He fiddled with your fingers as he was holding your hand. You wanted to know what he meant- what he truly meant- by that.

“You’d survive, J,” You playfully pushed his shoulder. He didn’t budge. “It would suck, losing your only form of amusement, all of you would be losing an asset to the team.”

He didn’t laugh, he was standing in front of you, his back covering the view of you from the group and openly searching the features on your face. Your neck was tilted upwards, doing just the same. You'd be lying if you said you didn’t expect something to happen right now.

The way his face was the one you saw when you woke up, according to Kie he jumped into the water the moment you were hit, the way he was looking at you then- the way he was looking at you now. Everything that happened between you in the past, it had to mean something.

“Y/n, JJ!” John B’s shouting broke through the tension around you and JJ. “C’mon, we gotta get started on provisions!”

“We’re going!” You shout back, though you weren’t sure it was loud enough. You step to the side to move past JJ, “We should go before-”

He took a hold of your face with both of his hands and you thought that he was gonna do it, he was going to kiss you. Instead, he kissed you on your forehead and said “I just need you to know that I care about you, alright?”

You flushed, “Yeah. I care about you too, J.”

“Not that I’m letting that happen ever happening again, but I didn’t want you to die without me telling you.”

“Right.” That was not what you were expecting, you had to admit that you were disappointed, knowing JJ had a difficult time expressing his emotions but when he acts like this it builds up your hope.

~~~

Before the sun went down fully, you all had started a fire with Pope’s lighter and dry wood. Everyone was surrounding the fire, just like you all would in your backyard. The only thing lacking was the beer and the lights that JJ had strung up when he bought ‘the cat’s ass’.

With the fresh breeze and ocean spraying on you, JJ exaggerating his side of the story on the ship, Cleo showing off her knife tricks to Sarah who had John B’s arm around her, Pope correcting JJ on whatever parts he got wrong, and you and Kie leaning against each other for warmth.

It felt right, you felt at peace, like you were home. John B was right, you wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

~~~~

Last Chapter of Season 2! What do you guys think?

Credit to @ steffi55 on wattpad for the idea to switch from JJ getting hurt to Y/n

Chapter 21

Taglist:

@jbassettjmaybank - @deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @loki-loveer - @rana030 - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @yunhobug - @syd223sworld - @strawberry--fawn - @mysticalavenuecheesecake - @itsmytimetoodream - @natashtessabeth12 - @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles - @chervbs - @or-was-it-just-a-dream - @newbooksmell777 - @afterzonee - @hana-1235 - @ilovesteveharrngton - @s1Ingwns

(if your name is crossed out that means tumblr won't let me tag you, I apologize for the inconvenience)

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satansapostle6 · 10 months ago

Text

Dangerous Men | Klaus Mikaelson

“Dangerous men make good pets.”

Regina makes a powerful friend in Klaus Mikaelson.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content

Chapter One: Cherry

Klaus Mikaelson watched like a predator stalking its prey. He knew he had more important things to be doing, but he couldn’t help himself. The way that girl danced was something he couldn’t explain.

He was under her spell in a way he’d never been with any woman before in his life. He never would’ve guessed that the devil could know heaven.

“Would you like a dance?”

Niklaus Mikaelson looked up, without consequence, as one of the girls working the floor of the club approached him.

“…No, thank you,” he shook his head politely, blue eyes locked on the beautiful dancer up on the pole with the long ebony locks and perfectly bronzed skin. “What’s her name?” he pointed, determined to find out everything he could.

“Cherry,” the young vampire informed him.

“No. Her real name,” Klaus insisted.

“But, Mr. Mikaelson,” the young woman began, “The club policy—”

“I don’t care about the fucking club policy,” he warned her, a threatening look in his eyes.

She immediately cleared her throat, terrified of the Original vampire.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry. Her name’s Regina.”

“Regina what?” he asked impatiently.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know,” the dancer apologized quickly. “You can ask Steve!” she provided.

Klaus Mikaelson grinned, finally having gotten somewhere. “Alright. I suppose I’m asking Steve.”

He found himself at the club until long after closing. After the customers cleared out and the dancers all made their way to the back, he waited patiently in front of the white Porsche parked out in the lot, the car he had found out belonged to Regina Lugo. She was outside within the next half hour at the most, lavish fur coat draped over her black dress.

Klaus’s eyes were fixed on the beautiful woman, cracking a darkly seductive smile as she dropped her arm, designer bag in her hand.

“Hello, love.”

“The club has security, you know,” Regina said curtly. “They stay until all of us leave”

Klaus chuckled, admiring her composure. “I’m not some customer asking for your number,” he told her patiently.

“Aren’t you, though?” she wondered.

It was becoming more difficult for him to contain his amusement. Regina was, of course, a beautiful woman. Beautiful in a different way than many of her coworkers. Her beauty was timeless, and sacred; there was something indescribably mystical about the darkness of her eyes and the natural cascade her hair.

“I don’t want your phone number, love,” he assured her, his voice nothing more than a suggestive purr.

“Then what do you want?” she asked him, still cautious of him. “Again, keep in mind, security.”

Klaus humored her, as if security could actually stop him.

“I’m not like all the others, you know,” he remarked, dangerous and debonair in his leather jacket. “I could actually give you what you want.”

“And what do you think it is I want?” Regina wondered, crossing her arms.

He smiled, understanding her skepticism of his character.

“Anything you want,” he promised, stepping closed as she just watched him, not quite disturbed enough by him to perceive him as an immediate threat. “I could offer you anything. Not just a spliff, or a Chanel bag.”

Regina looked at him with curiosity, pulled in by his confidence.

“Who are you?” she questioned.

“Niklaus Mikaelson,” he answered truthfully.

She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed as she tried to place him. The one thing Klaus liked about Regina was that she seemed resourceful, and strategic; she aimed to know everything about the world she was a part of, in order to thrive in it. Not necessarily conquer it, but thrive in it.

Her lack of trust in him, as well as her lack of enchantment, drew him in to her even more.

“You’re one of them,” she realized, looking into his dark blue eyes.

“‘One of’ what?” Klaus asked her coyly, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know exactly… But you're one of them. The ones who get whatever they want when they come in, week day or weekend. The ones who own this city,” she said thoughtfully. “And I’m not talking about through government, or corporations. You’re one of the ones who really own the city. Aren’t you?” she concluded.

Klaus felt himself genuinely impressed by her insight. She was smarter than most of the people in New Orleans, he gathered. She had put together almost all the pieces when most weren’t even aware of the puzzle.

“You’re a perceptive little thing, aren’t you?” he said softly, his undeniably handsome face only inches from hers.

She didn’t answer the rhetorical question. She didn’t seem afraid of him at all, like a little girl pressing her face against the glass at the zoo to see the pretty tiger.

“What are you, Niklaus?” Regina asked curiously. “A rock star? A millionaire? A gangster?”

The guesses she’d made were funny to him.

“Right question. Wrong solutions,” he assisted her.

“The club owners and some of the other girls are afraid of you,” she remarked, seeming to have deduced this completely on her own. “Why? I mean, it’s obvious you have some kind of money, and influence. But why?” she stared at him with curiosity.

“You’re a smart girl. Why don’t I let you figure it out for yourself?” Klaus encouraged her.

“And in the meantime?” Regina wondered, watching him as she observed everything about him.

He looked at her with sharp eyes as he made up his mind, determined to gain her complete trust. Her trust, he had realized, was something of value.

“Tell me something you want,” he told her, before changing his mind, “No. The thing you want. Something that can’t just be bought in a store… Something with character,” Klaus told her.

“Anything?” she questioned.

“Anything.”

“What if I wanted the queen’s jewels?” she asked him.

“Then I suppose you’d be getting the queen’s jewels, wouldn’t you?” Klaus said without a second thought.

She knew in the specific way that he’d said it that he was completely serious. This man could get her the queen’s jewels. Regina didn’t know how, exactly, but she could tell he could. There was a pause as she tried her best to test him.

“Carmela Soprano’s fur coat,” Regina decided, knowing the point she was making.

Klaus stopped with satisfaction as he eyed her, appreciating her sense of humor.

“That’s what you want?” he asked eagerly.

“That’s what I want,” Regina said with finality.

“Consider it done,” was all he had to say, before he completely disappeared.

Regina had no idea at all where he went, or how he had done it, but Klaus was just gone, nowhere to be seen as she was left panting softly as she tried to reason with her own mind as she quickly got into her car. There was something definitely strange about the man she’d met. What it was, she didn’t know.

All she knew was that everyone at the club had known who he was, to different degrees, and strictly referred to him as ‘Mr. Mikaelson’, even if he wasn’t in the room. Regina knew that it was impossible for people to just disappear into thin air, but she also knew that men with Niklaus Mikaelson’s influence may as well have been the gods of New Orleans.

She knew for sure that she’d made a powerful friend when she returned home to her apartment the following night to find a large, black garment bag hanging inside of her apartment, a note card hanging off of it bearing nothing but a set of initials.

- K.M.

Chapter Two

#klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #the originals #to #joseph morgan #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus x reader #klaus x y/n #niklaus x reader #niklaus imagines

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

Note

I love the steddie dynamic so much! What about one where the reader and one of the boys (you choose) are arguing with each other? How would Steve/Eddie react?

BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | crossing a line

summary: you and steve have a tendency to argue like you're teenagers again. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson word count: 1.7k warnings: a hint of angst, allusions to sex, barely proofread a/n: i'm so glad you like it because i simply cannot stop writing for them. let the steddie universe commence!

You and Steve had the worst tempers, Eddie concludes. He figures it's because you two have been together for so long. Where he was typically quiet in his anger — a little passive aggressive with a hint of cruel sarcasm — he was still a simple man. All he really needed was a kiss on the cheek and an apology and he was golden.

You and Steve were meaner. Louder. When you two were angry at each other, it’s like you wanted everyone else to know about it. It had to became everybody else’s problem too. It was all slammed doors and cold shoulders and silent treatments. You and Steve held grudges and tended to them like little pets — it was almost laughable how long you two could stay mad over something so little.

Eddie was careful, though, never to choose sides.

It was how this relationship worked after all. Everything was equal. Always. He doesn’t want to tip the scales.

So he stays mostly silent while you and Steve bicker back and forth about the latter boy missing date night. The dinner was tense enough, full of sharp jabs and one-word responses, but the drive back was somehow worse. Maybe because it lacked all the stupid little quips from the both of you. It was totally silent. Eddie even tried putting in your favorite mixtape, but it didn’t soothe the sulking girl in his backseat.

You barely even waited until the car stops to get out. You slam the door so hard it shakes. Stomping to the front door, you spend too long fishing for your keys in your purse because you're too angry to take a second to look for them. And when you find the key ring you miss the lock one, two, three times. They hear the bang of the shut door all the way in the car.

You don’t even look to see if the boys are following you.

Eddie sighs deeply, bringing his chin to his chest. He turns slowly to Steve who's sitting quietly in the passenger seat next to him. “Take a breath before you go in there, man. Alright?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the brunette boy shrugs with a jutted out lip. He smells like expensive woody cologne and wine. His eyes still glimmer with the faint tinge of alcohol on his tongue when he looks over at him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re upset,” Eddie corrects. “And she is too. So just… don’t make it worse.”

Steve doesn’t listen, of course. But then again, when does he ever?

They enter the house just moments after you. The two boys become silent spectators to your antics. Everything you do, you do angrily — you rip off your coat and throw it to the couch, you toe of your shoes so rough you scratch the backs of your ankles, you even fill up the dog’s water bowl with a scowl.

Ozzy doesn’t seem to mind though, as he laps happily at the fresh dish in the kitchen.

“There’s the tantrum we’ve been waiting for,” Steve comments to Eddie, purposefully loud enough for you to hear. You can hear the stupid sarcastic smile in his voice.

You’re about to storm off down the hallway, but that stops you in your tracks. You turn on your heels to look at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I just said not to make it worse,” the wild-haired boy sighs in annoyance.

“You were an hour late to dinner, Steve!”

“The meeting ran late!” he yells for the hundredth time, angered that you're still blaming him for something he couldn't control. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything else! We had to wait for you like idiots! The world doesn’t revolve around you anymore, you know that, right? You’re not King Steve, me and Eddie can’t just sit on our asses and wait at your beck and call—”

“Holy shit,” the boy laughs cynically under his breath. “You sound like my mother right now.”

“Oh shit…” Eddie mumbles to himself.

You’re practically gaping at Steve, wide-eyed in bemusement. “You’re mother?” you thunder once his words finally hit you. It feels like a fucking freight train.

Steve knows he’s crossed a line with that one. Your face burns hot, more so in embarrassment than anger — maybe a healthy mixture of both — and he feels the fire of it radiating off of you. He said it to hurt you, after all, but not that much.

“Okay…” he lilts with his hands on hips. He tries to smile, make a joke of it. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“Yes, it was,” you argue. When you roll your eyes, he sees how glassy they’ve gone, all shiny with unshed tears. You’re stomping off before either of them can comfort you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries to call after you.

“Fuck you!” you shout back.

Steve looks to Eddie then, with a sheepish chocolate gaze and a small “you were right” sad sort of smile. The latter boy just shakes his head. “You know just how to get under her skin, don’t ya, big boy?”

He tests the water as shuffles towards Eddie, trying measure whether or not he’s angry at him too. The dark-haired boy opens his leather-clad arms for him and allows Steve to melt into his hold. He’d figured as much, when Eddie was angry, you knew it.

Steve sighs against the boy’s shoulder, wraps his hands around his middle, and mumbles into the Metallica tee you'd gotten Eddie for Christmas the year before. “That’s what happens when you’ve been together five years, I guess.”

“So that’s what I have to look forward to then, huh?” Eddie jokes.

“Kinda. Yeah.”

He sighs. “That’s great.”

“You love us,” Steve quips at the boy’s disgruntled tone. He pulls back with a small smile and finds that Eddie's already grinning back at him.

“Yeah... I do.”

“I guess I should go and apologize,” the brunette huffs and parts from the other, looking like a kid that's being forced to do something they desperately don’t want to.

“That wouldn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Eddie responds with a nod, scratching at his stubbly chin to conceal his smile.

Steve finds you in the bedroom, of course, in the middle of peeling of your dress. The lace underwear you were wearing beneath it goes next. He feels like shit for not being the one to take it off of you first.

You know he’s behind you, but you don’t seem to care too much, or maybe you just ignoring him altogether.

You’re still bare as you rifle through the too large dresser all three of you share. It was organized once upon a time — the top three drawers for underwear, the middle for sleep shirts, the bottom for lounge pants — now it’s just a mismatch of all of your stuff. It didn’t really matter in the end, you ended up sharing everything anyway.

You pull on a pair of Eddie’s boxers and then an old, faded Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt. You don’t realize its Steve’s until it’s already over you and he sees you scowl about it in the mirror.

He closes the door behind him, but not enough to latch all the way, as he walks further into the bedroom

“Baby,” he starts.

You’re not having it. “Go away,” you grumble like the cutest little storm cloud.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I don’t accept your apology.”

“Baby, c’mon,” he says with a little laugh at your words. “I’m sorry.”

He takes you in his arms and holds you against his front so he can press his face into the side of your neck. You’re still frowning, but melting into his warmth with each passing second. He can feel you start to relax against him and you can feel his smile forming against your skin.

You convince yourself that you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. That's why you're letting him touch you. Not because he holds all of his love in his hands and radiates a gentle warmth that soothes you almost immediately. Obviously not.

“I can’t believe you’d do that to me,” you mumble into the quiet, fidgeting with your fingers beneath his arms.

Steve feels you lean your head against the side of his own anyway. His sigh brushes against your collarbone. “I promise I’ll try and call ahead next time—”

“I’m talking about you calling me your mom.”

“Oh,” he laughs against you and then stops when he feels you tense in his hold. It's not funny to you. He grows serious again. “I only said that to make you angry.”

“Well, it worked,” you murmur.

“I know it did,” he concedes and rises from the solace of the nook of your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder. It bobs with each word that leaves his mouth. “I’m really sorry. It was mean. I was totally out of line.”

“I don’t know if I could ever forgive you,” you turn your eyes to the ceiling dramatically, a playful smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He knows your fucking with him now, but he goes along with it anyway.

“I think I could make it up to you,” he mutters against your skin, pressing wet, warm kisses down your neck and then peeling back the collar of your t-shirt to sprinkle them on your bare shoulder too. Your skin cools in the places where his lips leave you, causing chill bumps to rise in his wake.

“Well, yeah, that would only be fair,” you sigh dreamily, like you’re concocting a fantasy of your own in your head. Steve can only wonder what you’re thinking as you spin in his arms to face him, pressing yourself further against him.

His eyes grow heavier and he draws his lip between his teeth at the sheer expectation of what you might make him do. He’ll do anything you asked him to. All of it.

You still make him feel like a teenager in that way. In how he could have you all the time and still never get tired of you — how you feel, how you taste.

You know it, too. That’s why you get all breathy on purpose, wrap your arms around his shoulders and stand on the tips of your toes so your wine-coated breath fans against his jaw.

“I want you to…” you trail off but he’s already nodding anyway. He probably doesn’t even realize it. It makes you smirk. “…drive to Family Video and pick up every Molly Ringwald movie you’ve got on the shelf and have a movie night with me and Eds.”

Steve mourns the loss of the moment with a groan as he tosses his head back. “You know I hate those movies!” he whines dramatically, neck bare and adam’s apple bobbing. You grab his jaw in your hands and pull him to you so you can press a kiss to it. The skin is rough and stubbly with a five o’clock shadow.

“And I love ‘em. That’s why it’s a punishment, Stevie,” you tease, and tilt his face down so you can kiss the tip of his nose. He barely has the chance to respond to your touch when you peck his lips because you’re already skipping out of the bedroom. “Eds! Can you make some popcorn, please?”

have anymore steddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

#steddie x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #published by bug #st drabbles

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leclercsluvs · 6 months ago

Text

CL16 | Echoes of Sorrow

(part 2)

an: this is a continuation of the max fic i posted a few days ago :) this might be a little short. sorry about that warning: swearing, death, drunk driving, car accident word count: 1.5k

“Are you sure?” he asked through the door. His girlfriend had locked herself in, unable to believe the news she had just received.

“I just peed on three sticks. I’m sure,” she sighed. She wasn't expecting this, but she wouldn't change anything either. Initially, she didn’t think much of the fact that her period had started being pretty light, but when she started to get weird cravings like hot Cheetos dipped in strawberry yogurt, she had a feeling something was going on, so she went and bought a few pregnancy tests. Now, she had used three, and all three were positive.

A light knock was heard on the door. “Alex, can I come in? Please?” She was a little afraid of his reaction, but she needed to face it at some point, so she got up, unlocked the door, and turned around, facing the sink. She was afraid of bursting into tears if she looked at him. They had never talked about this. She heard the door open and the footsteps approach her slowly.

He took a quick look at the three tests lying on the sink. “You’re actually pregnant?” he asked. He wasn’t sure how she felt about this. “Are you keeping it?” He couldn't help but hope she was going to say yes. Starting a family with her would make his world so much better.

“I’m not sure,” she sighed, “I’m sorry.” She looked down, and he couldn’t help the fear that crept into him.

“Hey, look at me,” he said as he moved over and turned her head so she looked directly into his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he smiled, hoping his voice wasn’t full of the fear he felt. “If you don't want this, that’s totally fine, but if you do decide you’re ready to start a family, I’m here, and I will be, every step of the way.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She couldn’t stop the smile that unfolded. “You promise?” she asked hopefully. She had been let down before, and she didn’t want to end up taking care of a baby all by herself.

“I promise,” he assured her. “Now, how about I cook an amazing breakfast for you?” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek and led her to the kitchen.

“Oh yeah? And give me food poisoning?” she teased. She knew her boyfriend's cooking skills were lacking, to say the least.

“Wow, I’m hurt. How dare you?” he asked, making a fake frown and putting both his hands over his heart.

Neither of them could hold back the laughter since they both knew who was the better cook in the apartment. “I was actually thinking of inviting my mom to brunch and giving her the good news,” Alexandra said as she pulled out her phone and shot her mom a quick message. “I know you have some work to do today anyway,” she looked up at her boyfriend, “but if you get done early, maybe you could meet us somewhere?” Charles couldn’t stop the smile on his face.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said and placed a loving kiss on her lips. “Text me if I need to pick you two up somewhere,” he said and moved out of her way.

“I sure will,” she said as she picked up her bag. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, smiling, as she walked out of the front door, ready to meet with her mom.

Charles didn’t waste time and got to work on a new architecture project. The deadline was not too far away, and he needed to be done. His mind casually wandered every chance it got, and he couldn’t stop thinking about starting a family with Alex. He had wanted that for a long time; he just never had the courage to talk to her about it. If he had it all his way, he would have three kids. He had two brothers himself and wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved having his brothers when they were younger. Sure, they were annoying at times, especially his younger brother, but he would always love them. It was nice to have someone after their father passed away. Of course, their mother was still alive, and he could have talked to her, but when she one day would pass away, he would still have both his brothers, and he didn’t want his child to be lonely if he and Alex were to pass unexpectedly.

Instead of having all these morbid thoughts, he got back to work but still couldn't shake his thoughts from Alexandra. He really wanted to be there when she told her mom.

Alexandra was having the time of her life. She and her mom got their hair done, got their nails done, and went shopping. She still hadn’t told her mom the news. She wasn’t really sure how to start. They ended up in the park. They talked about everything and nothing, except for her pregnancy. That’s when she got a call from Charles. “Hi, what's up?” She was really happy to hear his voice, even if they had seen each other only a couple of hours earlier. “I’m good,” she could almost hear him smile, if not laugh. “Are you still with your mom?” He was definitely laughing. “Yeah, we’re just sitting in the park,” she said as she adjusted the way she was sitting a little. She wanted to ask him to join, but how would that look? “Mind if I join you?” he asked, as if he had read her mind. “I would actually love that,” she smiled. She couldn’t help it. She had been so afraid Charles wasn’t going to like this, and yet he seemed so happy about it.

Fifteen minutes later, Charles was in the park looking for Alexandra and her mom. He spotted them easily; she was the only one who wasn’t wearing a jacket. He was quite surprised she didn’t get sick more often, considering she rarely brought a jacket. It was a good thing he was wearing an extra layer of clothes so she could take his. “Have you told her yet?” he asked, a smile on his lips. If he knew her as well as he thought, then he’d bet everything she didn’t know how to.

“Not yet,” she admitted, looking at the ground. He brought her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “I was not really sure how to,” she looked up at him with an admiring look. No matter what happened, he knew he would always love her.

“Good thing I came then.” He let go of her but kept an arm around her waist. “Should we tell her now, or do you want to invite her over for dinner and tell her then?” he asked.

She thought for a little. “Maybe dinner is a good idea,” she smiled and nuzzled into him, partly to smell his cologne and partly because she was absolutely freezing.

Charles laughed and took off his jacket, giving it to her. “I was pretty sure you didn’t bring a jacket.” She smiled and put it on. It smelled like him. She loved it.

“Charles, would you like to join us? We’re going to eat lunch at a café not far from here,” Alex’s mom asked. He couldn’t say no, partly because it would be rude, and because he was actually starving.

They decided to just walk to the café since it was pretty close, and taking transport would just take more time. They reached the café just as Alex spotted a friend on the other side of the road. “You guys go in, I’m gonna go say hi!” she waved them in and looked to see if any cars were coming.

“Alex, it’s pouring down. Why don't you just text her?”

“Mom, I haven’t seen Lily in ages! I need to at least hug her. I’m already soaked, so a few more minutes isn’t the end of the world,” she said. It was a pretty valid reason.

Charles pulled her into a quick kiss. “Don’t take too long.” He quickly hugged her and let her move. There were still no cars, or so they thought. It didn’t seem like there were any cars, but just as she was in the middle of the road, a car came out of nowhere. Charles was the first to react, but he wasn’t quick enough. He couldn’t look, but he also couldn’t take his eyes off all the damage the car had done. He couldn’t see Alexandra, but he could see a pool of blood starting to form under the car.

As he saw the blood, he couldn’t keep it together anymore. He broke down crying as he heard a voice behind him. “There’s been an accident,” he could hear the horror and pain in the voice, “please hurry.” It was barely a whisper. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he couldn’t focus on who it was. All he knew was two things. One, he wished it was Alexandra. Two, he wished he would have thought of calling for help instead of just staring.

i've never actually tried to write something sad, so i don't know if this is even good. i do hope you like it. um i still have to write the last part for this little story

#formula 1 #f1 #formula one #charles leclerc #charles x alexandra #alexandra saint mleux #charles leclerc x alexandra saint mleux #cl #cl16 #formula 1 fic

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ctheathy · 2 years ago

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hey! Could I request a Reader x secret history tails who fall asleep alot they could be sitting on the bench in a park and reader just falls asleep or at his work table and tails just hears a tiny bang on the table and he turns around and readers just asleep with drool on the table😭

Secret History Tails w/ sleepy!Darling

Secret History Tails x Reader

Fluff Headcanons

Short Concept

Author’s note : Hello, Nonnie//Anon!! Of course you may, thankies for requesting =} Once again, my apologies in case it’s somewhat shorter than the average post. I’m just kind of lacking creativity on what to say, but I tried making it as long as possible. Hope you enjoy💞🌷

SH Tails from TSAA was chosen again aswell, as I do believe people have gotten mostly attached to the more recent behaviour of his.

The two of you are already implied to be in a relationship to begin with <3

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Insomnia mention • Pills offering

You already have to go through quite the draining sh1t by just dating this absolute menace of society. It’s always something new, hopping from one dimension to another, travelling through the multiverse itself, needing to blend in in some other universe’s reality; It’s ... Quite much for one single creature to handle to say the least, if not even too much. If anything, I can totally see the two tailed fox himself being rather restless when needing to go to bed for the night, and sometimes even failing to do so at all due to the paranoia getting to him. Because of this, your little habits of tiredness didn’t really surprise the mobian much, but this absolutely did not stop the fox from mentally freaking out over both your actual health and much less the idea of him being the cause behind all of it.

When the two of you are in a committed relationship, he becomes a fairly overprotective and worried lover over you and your wellbeing. He’s constantly checking up on you, questioning whenever you’re taking good care of yourself and making very well sure you keep up with your basic common needs for a healthy lifestyle. So when the thoughts drop in about him being the main cause behind your worn out presence, he is kind of an emotional wreck. He is literally close to ripping the fur from his Tails in a moment of unrestrained anxiety. It’s only when you gently hold his hands after preventing them from hurting himself in the pressure and quickly let him know that you just feel somewhat sleepy on a regular basis and just cannot help it at times that the tension has lessened slightly. He’s still worried about you feeling as tired as you do, however, the question whenever you’ve slept well the night beforehand always wiggling its way into the conversation or if it would perhaps be a better idea if you’d go right back to bed for the day instead.

He’d likely offer you pills for the night in his worry, confusing your state with something serious and damaging to you. You’re his precious beloved, he genuinely cares for your health and wants you to be okay on a daily basis, not just let it be ruined due to some poor sleeping habits. Though if you tell him you’re just fine laying on that--that hard and dirty table, he insists you use his tails as your own personal pillows, he can work just fine without them-!! If anything, the whole working thing may as well go to complete waste when it’s about you. He’ll pick you over his inventing each and every single time, just cancelling his plans for the day in order to sit down with your head in his lap, almost wrapping himself around your form completely and stroking your locks with love and care. Don’t even make me mention anybody who came by uninvited along those personal moments; he’s literally glaring daggers at them and sometimes even flipping them off outside of their view, the thought of them waking you up lingering in the back of his mind.

I can definitely picture him putting his work to the side to take daily naps with you aswell. He has quite the bad sleeping schedule for his own case, yet those have usually just fallen on dear ears. To himself, atleast. Please drag this little hypocrite to bed along with you. He’s one to literally force you to bed when the sleeping habits are shown enough of times, and although he’d refuse at first hand, I believe with a little bit of pushing you’d easily get him to lay right next to you. It’s not like the decision was that regrettable for his own self after a little while, anyways. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself in the spooning position, and the look of utter peace on his expressions honestly made it even a hundred times much more endearing than beforehand.

After a little while he calms down and starts to try accepting this demeanour as nothing more than normality. He tries letting out nothing more than a singular chuckle when he notices that you have fallen asleep in your chair once again. He does however, still tend to show concerns for your neck and any seeming uncomfortable positions in the process, but those again would easily be minimised by the softness of his tails laying right underneath you. And if anything, he’s honestly started to grow rather comforted by your sleepy nature, it giving him a sense of trust between the relationship and it seemingly having quite the positive effect on his own improved slumber rythm aswell; may that be through his calmed mindset when hugging you close when laying in his lap, or you simply just dragging him to bed right with you. Perhaps it’s not even all that bad to begin with after all,

Cause atleast now he has the capability of holding that lovely and soothing sleeping form of yours into his own arms

#secret history tails #mashed tails #sh tails #yandere tails #tails x reader #secret history tails x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader

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fickleminder · 15 days ago

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The Sphinx

Ancient Times AU. During his travels in the human realm, Satan learns of a treasure guarded by the legendary Sphinx. He resolves to defeat it in a battle of wits, but finds that there is more to this mysterious creature than meets the eye.

I wrote this for the Satan Birthday Collab back in 2022. It was on AO3 but I never posted the full fic on tumblr (only reblogged the event post). See here for commissioned art of this piece!

The temple looks like any other strewn across the land: a rectangular monument with thick walls surrounded by tall stone columns and topped off with a gently sloping roof. A nondescript arch built into the front serves as its open doorway, an invitation— a challenge to those who dare to venture in and attempt to find the treasure hidden within.

It is said that the temple houses a stone that grants its holder a single wish, but no one has ever seen it and returned to tell the tale. While most legends situated the temple somewhere east of Thebes, its exact location is as fixed as the harsh desert winds it is surrounded by. And even if one manages to find it, they have to pass the trial of its guardian:

The Sphinx.

With the head of a woman, the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the tail of a serpent, this ferocious creature was rumored to test the minds of every treasure seeker that crosses paths with it. Failure to solve its riddle would mean certain death.

How exciting. Satan’s lips curl upwards in anticipation.

He’s heard the stories, he’s done his research, and now he’s ready to enter the temple. It’s all he has been thinking about ever since the locals first mentioned it in passing. The supposed wish-granting stone could be fake for all he cares; his one and only objective is to test his skill against the legendary Sphinx.

Satan strides inside brimming with confidence, his eyes focused, his mind clear, his nerves calm. Power thrums through his veins as he steels himself to face whatever lies ahead—

Except… there is no beast waiting for him.

What Satan finds instead is an unassuming woman scribbling away on some parchment, surrounded by small piles of books at a table. She looks up at his approach and sets her reed pen down with a pleasant smile.

“Hello, wanderer.”

“…Hello.”

Interesting. She doesn’t speak like a local, doesn’t quite look like one either. There is an unidentifiable accent in her voice, and her facial features hint at an ancestry not from this continent.

The woman stands and walks towards him with practiced movements. “Are you here for my treasure?”

Satan’s brain abruptly screeches to a halt. “Wait, you’re the Sphinx?!”

“If you were expecting a giant beast, I apologize for the disappointment,” she says in amusement. “I don’t know where all those stories came from, however there’s no one else here but me.”

Well, the Sphinx is still the Sphinx, monster or not. Satan regains his mental footing and forces himself back on track. “Yes, I’m here for the treasure.”

“Then you must first solve my riddle: What has four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?”

“Simple,” he replies with a self-assured smirk. “The answer is Man.”

The Sphinx nods once, the polite expression on her face unchanging. “You may proceed,” she announces, gesturing to the open door behind her.

Satan blinks. That was… anticlimactic. She didn’t even seem impressed or anything. Was that all there is to the Sphinx’s trial?

What are you playing at? He eyes her warily as he passes through the doorway, but she makes no move to stop him or try anything funny. Satan keeps his gaze locked onto her until he has to turn a corner.

He finds himself in a long corridor with torches mounted on the walls. At the end is a dimly-lit room, presumably where the stone is kept. Satan has half a mind to just turn back and leave, utterly disappointed by the lack of challenge. He’s tempted to burn this entire place down along with that fraud of a guardian, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check if that treasure is real first.

Four steps in, Satan’s right foot sinks into a trapped tile and everything goes black as a spear pierces him through the chest.

He wakes up back in the first chamber.

The spear is gone and the entire front of his cloak is stained dark red, but Satan already knows the hole in his chest has healed. He looks down to see his legs raised at an angle while the Sphinx drags him across the dusty floor.

She drops them with a startled shriek when he snarls at her, and backpedals as he jerks upright and transforms.

“You tricked me!” He roars, towering over her in his alternate form. Normally he’d be on all fours like this, but rearing up is worth seeing the color drain from her face. Around him, the walls start to shake dangerously with a low rumble. “How dare—!”

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy?” The Sphinx asks, schooling her face into a more neutral expression, seemingly getting over her shock. “It’s not just me you have to get through, this temple is a maze of traps in itself. I simply prefer to station myself at the door to greet treasure seekers like you— it’s only polite, after all.

No one’s ever made it past the first floor and their corpses end up back here, but you…” She looks him up and down with a curious gleam in her eyes. “What are you, a son of Typhon?”

Satan growls at the thought of his true father. The ever-constant wrath within him threatens to boil over, but he refuses to lower himself to using force. Conquering this temple calls for wit and strategy, a crucial milestone in his personal quest to prove that he’s more than a mindless rage machine. “I’m a demon,” he declares. “And it’ll take more than a measly trap to kill me for good.”

Something changes then. The walls go still, the Sphinx raises her chin and straightens her back. “In that case,” she says with a wide smile (a little too wide, the skin of her cheeks stretching as though she hasn’t grinned in a long, long time), “you’re always welcome to try again.”

It takes a month for Satan to get past the tiles. There had been clues hidden in the placement of the torches, hints to a clear path through the corridor. At the other end, the Sphinx greets him in the safe room between floors with:

“At night they come without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen.”

Satan arches an eyebrow. “I’ve already solved your riddle.”

“Yes, but I figured you could use a mental break from all the physical labor. Dodging all those traps mustn't have been easy,” she says with a cheeky grin. “Come now, you know you want to.”

“Is this part of your duties as well? Check in on treasure seekers to see how far they’ve progressed?”

“You’re the first one to make it here, so maybe some special attention is warranted.”

Satan gets it right of course, and the Sphinx offers him a small goblet of water before he proceeds to the next floor.

“Whoever built this temple should meet me in the ninth circle. I’ll make sure to give them a warm welcome.”

“You lasted much longer this time,” the Sphinx hums sympathetically, setting Satan’s limbs in place as his body slowly heals itself. It doesn’t matter if he retreats to the up-and-coming Devildom to recuperate or stays in the first chamber under the Sphinx’s watchful eye; the traps reset and the maze changes with every attempt. “Does it still hurt? How about a riddle to take your mind off the pain?”

“How do you come up with those things?”

She shrugs. “It just comes to me, I guess. Sometimes I hear a voice in my head telling me what to say. I’m not sure, but I think it could be…”

Satan senses it then, another presence in the chamber with them. Tuning the Sphinx out, he readies a spell to draw it out of hiding, but it disappears as quickly as it had arrived.

“Satan? Is everything alright?”

“…Yes.” The demon keeps his guard up and his eyes peeled, but the only things in his company over the next few hours are the Sphinx and the flickering shadows on the walls.

“What can run but never walk, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?”

“The river.”

It takes more than a little fall to put the Avatar of Wrath out of commission, but Satan’s ankle would beg to differ. At least he’s relatively unscathed; the temple hadn’t deemed him unfit to continue and teleported him back to the Sphinx.

Satan takes this opportunity to do some exploring of his own. From the bottom of the crevasse he had landed in, he conjures green will-o’-the-wisps to light his way and spends some time wandering behind the never-ending walls of the mysterious temple.

He doesn’t discover a convenient shortcut to the treasure, but he does find several alcoves with troves of everyday objects stashed inside:

Folded stacks of robes stained with black splotches of dried blood, arranged in neat rows and ordered from child-sized to adult, marking the decades (centuries?) in this cursed space where time stops. They don’t seem to be made from any cloth sold in the city marketplaces, and Satan deduces that the fabric must originate from a foreign land.

Little toys and personal artifacts, like combs and small dolls and crumpled parchments with half-faded symbols. Satan has studied the language of this continent meticulously and he knows that whatever those symbols are, they’re definitely not Greek. The accessories kept in an old wooden box are cheap and worn, but something tells him they’re more precious than any treasure at the end of the maze.

Travel packs, walking sticks, maps and coins and digging tools and weapons… Anything useful for surviving outside the temple has been sorted into organized piles of their own, scavenged and separated from other belongings discarded in a corner. Satan makes his way into a nearby room and isn’t surprised by what he sees: a plot of land lined with mounds of dirt, evenly spaced apart and each about the size of an adult human.

A graveyard in the basement, where the Sphinx buries fallen wanderers.

There’s an abandoned hole where an empty grave rests, presumably for the demon who came back to life. Said demon smirks to himself as he recalls the shock on the Sphinx’s face, and stifles a yawn.

Wait a second…

Satan holds his breath too late; sweet and thick, the odd-smelling gas in the air has already settled into his lungs, the toxins running through his body.

He doesn’t make it out of the room.

“How deep does this stupid temple go anyway?” Satan grumbles without any real heat.

“I can’t answer that. You’re making good progress though, so keep it up!”

Water and bread. That’s all the Sphinx has to offer him in this empty place, and yet she’s never looked more content sharing her food and talking to him. Satan can’t find it in himself to blame her; other wanderers don't normally get a second chance to stay and chat.

“I can’t leave,” she confesses. “I’m cursed to stay here and guard the treasure.”

“From what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, I think I’m supposed to make sure whoever finds it is worthy?”

“You must have seen it at least,” Satan insists. “So why don’t you wish yourself out of here?”

The Sphinx gives him a sad smile, and that tells him all he needs to know.

“…I visited Athens not too long ago, and sampled some of the wine sold by merchants there. Do you know how the farmers select the right grapes to ferment?”

Wine-making, cartography, the stars and constellations… Satan answers the Sphinx’s every question about the outside world, tells her stories from his time roaming the human realm, boggles her mind with philosophy and the complexity of demon politics.

It’s the least he can share in return.

“What can bring back the dead; make you cry, make you laugh, make you young; is born in an instant, yet lasts a lifetime?”

“Memories.”

The Sphinx stifles a laugh at the soaked demon sulking before her.

“Where did that fucking river even come from?!”

“You look like a wet cat,” she teases, unfolding some dry robes for him. “At least you—”

She goes still all of a sudden, her eyes glazing over. The voice in her head is speaking to her, Satan realizes. This was how the ancient magic of the temple communicated with its guardian.

“Oh, this will be fun.” The Sphinx comes back to herself with a barely-suppressed grin and turns to him. “Ask a question no wanderer has asked before, and I will give you the truth. Anything else, and the water you ingested will turn into poison or something.”

Satan gives her a flat look, as if to say really?

“Temple’s orders.”

“Fine.” He sighs, racking his brain for a solution. After a brief pause, he looks at the expectant Sphinx and something inside him softens. “How are you doing?”

She blinks, stares at him, and blinks some more. Upon learning she was the Sphinx, others had only wanted knowledge from her; answers about the creation of the universe, the meaning of life, the will of the Gods, but Satan… Satan was different.

This is the moment she knows their game will come to a close soon, but there’s no one else she’d rather lose to.

“…I’m tired.” The Sphinx dresses him in the dry robes with a grateful smile. “But I’m happy you’re here with me.”

Another alcove in the darkness, this time with more unfamiliar words etched into the walls.

It’s always the same three symbols, foreign as they are. Carved by metal or bone Satan doesn’t know, but he can read the despair and anguish in the deep and uneven grooves. There is an unseen method in the madness, the repetitive scrawls practically screaming Do Not Forget, the haphazardness a cry for help.

Satan is close to the end, he can feel it. Whatever happens after… He’ll need to be prepared.

“The less of these you have, the more one is worth.”

“A friend.”

“…You’re a little too good at this.” The smile that accompanies the Sphinx’s quiet praise doesn’t reach her eyes anymore.

The stone rests on a tiny altar in the middle of the room. It’s smooth and spherical and looks to be made of marble, completely ordinary if not for the faint golden glow surrounding it.

As expected, the Sphinx awaits Satan at the final trial.

Unlike her calm and composed demeanor during their first meeting however, she seems small and vulnerable now. Her lips quiver slightly even when she keeps her chin lifted, and there is an almost imperceptible redness in her eyes as she addresses him.

“I never imagined anyone would be able to make it here, so I don’t have a fancy speech prepared or anything. You have one last riddle to solve before the treasure is yours.” The Sphinx’s smile is strained, sad and hopeful all at once.

“I’m ready.”

“…What is my name?”

And something in Satan’s chest aches. A part of him wishes he didn’t know, not wanting their little game to end just yet. The temple’s maze is a pain to traverse and its traps are annoying, but the Sphinx has been a supportive constant throughout his journey. He’ll miss their talks and time together, brief as they were in the grand scheme of things.

But there’s a whole world out there for him to explore. There’s still so much he hasn’t seen, so much to learn, he can’t stay here forever. Besides, who says he can’t come back again sometime to visit?

(With the wish he plans to make, maybe he doesn’t have to.)

Satan has done his homework. He’s revisited artifacts collected from previous travels, dug up old manuscripts, worked through translations to uncover the answer that’s been forgotten everywhere except in the hidden walls of this prison.

“Your name…” Satan struggles to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, “…is Kirana.”

From the way she laughs in response, he wonders when was the last time someone called her anything other than ‘Sphinx’.

Kirana gives him the stone herself. She presses it into his palms with shaking hands, curls his fingers over it, her touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary. It’s like she’s presenting him with an award he doesn’t want to receive, but Satan has no choice but to accept.

“Y-you win,” she sniffles, smiling amidst the tears spilling over her cheeks. “Now make your wish.”

He cradles the stone in his hands, looks her in the eye, and says: “I wish you were free.”

For several precious seconds, all is still. Kirana’s face is slack with disbelief, Satan holds his breath, and it feels as though time has stopped around them.

Then the tremors start.

The walls shake, sand rains down on them, the stone and altar crumble into shimmering dust. Kirana’s frightened gaze darts all over the place, and that is the moment Satan knows they have to leave.

“Move!” He grabs her arm and yanks her towards the exit, practically dragging her along the corridors as the room caves in behind them.

The whole temple is collapsing. Satan curses and pumps his legs even harder. Despite her initial shock, Kirana keeps pace with him, fully trusting him to lead them to safety. They run and run and run, and they almost make it to the first chamber when her hand is abruptly ripped out of his.

Kirana falls to the ground with a cry, her foot caught by the cracked earth. She scrambles to push herself up, unaware of a large chunk of the ceiling falling directly towards her.

Satan doesn’t think. He lunges and transforms.

The green flames that envelop them don’t burn Kirana’s flesh. She finds herself caged by elongated arms tipped with sharp claws, and looks up to see feathers and bone and a horse’s skull crouched protectively over her. An armored tail flicks the hunk of rock away, shattering it harmlessly against the floor.

“Satan?!” She gasps.

The demon hoists her onto his back, feels her grab onto the mane of black feathers around his neck and shoulders for purchase while avoiding the horns curling from the sides of his head.

An unholy shriek cuts through the air as they resume their escape. Satan has the sense not to look back, too focused on getting them out safely, but Kirana can’t help herself and twists around.

Large paws, magnificent wings, a serpentine tail… An unknown woman’s face stares back as a giant Sphinx holds up the crumbling walls to buy them some time, her translucent body resembling the deadly beast in other wanderers’ descriptions. She doesn’t follow them, and the last thing Kirana hears from her sole companion over the years is a mournful howl until she finally vanishes from sight.

Satan channels a surge of magic in his final sprint, bracing himself to smash through the invisible barrier that traps Kirana, but the temple lets them pass without issue and the chill of the nighttime air hits them like a charging ox. Only when the demon deems them a safe distance away does he slow to a stop, letting his passenger slide off and catching her when her legs give out.

Kirana’s gaze is fixed on the mountain of rubble they had narrowly escaped from. Satan croons and nudges her shoulder with a bony snout, curling his body around hers to stave off the cold and soothe her tears.

She isn’t crying because she thought he wasn’t going to come back and see her anymore, he realizes. She’s crying because she knew she was going to die once his wish had been granted. If someone else had succeeded and wished for something else, this temple would have been her tomb.

“It’s… It’s s-so quiet…” Kirana hiccups between sobs.

Satan knows he has succeeded. He’s proven his mettle, conquered the temple and defeated the Sphinx, but now, under the stars, in the middle of the desert, all he feels is hollow as Kirana shudders in his embrace.

#writing #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me satan #obey me oc

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viscardiac · 2 years ago

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A season left of summer - XII

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐗 𝐎𝐂

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: “But know this,” she rose an eyebrow. “I think Ceryse Hightower a poor match for the prince.” “And should Aella, a babe, suit him better?” He shook his head with a smile, pulling Visenya closer. “She just might.” “Let her be. Soon, Lady Ceryse shall give him an heir to care for, and this shall be long forgotten.” “I do hope you’re right,” Visenya sighed, leaning on his chest. But I don’t think you are, she thought.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.869

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: childbirth

𝐗𝐈𝐈 - 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

It was odd for Queen Visenya to see her son pacing about the garden of the manse without his wife in tow. She often walked with him, using him to steady herself. She was sure he thought the same, but her room has no place for men right now, and it was best he stayed there. He wouldn’t stop pacing, pausing only to pick apart some plant impatiently. Patience had never been his virtue, after all, and he would only make Aella more nervous.

She’d decided it was best to keep him away. Busy was too strong a word, she wouldn’t call that busy, but away. His humours would only sour the room where he was, and none of them needed that in the moment. The midwives had been called in the early morning, before the dawn, though the queen was surprised it wasn’t needed before that. When the dark moon had set in, she knew it would be soon, though not as soon as she expected. Aella had been restless for a day or two, already, when her water broke.

Now it was an hour past noon, and there was nothing new to report. She heard no screams, no rushes, and so, she assumed everything to be fine. If there was any trouble, she was to be called at once. It hurt to wait, but that was all that could be done. To everyone who wasn’t personally bringing the child to this world, it was nothing but a wait.

“Why is this taking so long?” Maegor complained, stopping for a moment to cross his arms and stare up at the general direction of the princess’ rooms. He had been making faces all day, as if it would solve anything

“It’s only been a few hours. It’ll take longer,” she huffed, trying to actually get something done and read while they waited. “There’s no telling how much. Try to busy yourself.”

“This is absurd!” Maegor insisted, throwing his hands up.

“Absurd is my lack of patience in this moment. Insisting about it will not make anything go any faster. Aella is fine. Let nature do its work in peace.”

He only moved further away, complaining under his breath about things neither of them had any control over, and resumed his pacing and the mindless destroying of plants. Queen Visenya minded her book, trying to ignore the incessant mumbling. But then she heard something break faintly in the distance, followed by screaming, and then a long scream. She raised her eyebrows at it, and even more so when Maegor stopped his pacing to pay attention. They couldn’t make sense of what was said, but she continued her read on the presumption they would be warned of anything new. Queen Visenya heard no further screaming, taking that as a sign that the babe would be born soon.

A while later, however, one of the maids showed up, apologizing shyly for disturbing her. She got up and moved further away with her, hoping Maegor hadn’t seen anything. It could not be anything to worry about. It was best not to provoke Maegor unless necessary.

“Is there anything wrong?” She asked, maintaining her composure. The maid scrambled around before answering.

“No, Your Grace, but… yes.” She stumbled upon her words, but she didn’t seem grave, just worried. Maybe it was something minor.

“What happened?”

“Her Grace has locked herself in her rooms. She allows none of the maids or the midwife in. The midwife says she was progressing well, but in the turn of a moment, her grace has took hold of the sword,” the maid answered, looking down.

Queen Visenya frowned, looking from the maid to her son with the corner of her eyes. Of course. He had to find a sword to make everything difficult. She took a deep breath in.

“What sword.”

“The smaller valyrian one, Your Grace. The one His Grace keeps in the princess’ rooms.”

She ran a hand through her face, annoyed, and approached her son with a shigh. Maegor could cause trouble even when he had no idea how, and he could find a way to resolve it too. That was his wife and his son and his mess. Queen Visneya had her arms crossed, a stern look directed at him.

“Your presence is required.”

“Is it done?” He seemed to light up for a moment, and she sighed in response. Maegor took it as a no.

“Your wife has locked herself with Dark Sister. I believe not.”

***

“She can’t be serious.”

“Aella is in labor. It doesn’t need to be senseful to be serious.” Queen Visenya had the midwife in tow, and Maegor stared from her to the double doors between them and the princess.

The midwife said the princess had decided that the broth brought to her was "evil". Maegor was inclined to believe it was indeed evil, because it seemed absurd that his wife would just lose her marbles like that. Aella had then proceeded to shun everyone out of the room, livid. When they insisted at least a maid should stay, she had pulled the sword out of its sheathe and pointed it at them all, threatening to open them neck to navel. Maegor ran a hand through his face, the other on his waist, trying not to laugh at it. None of the women knew she had no idea of how to actually use the sword. Of course.

"We tried to convince her to open the door, to no use, Your Grace. Her Grace insists no one will be let in."

"How far along is she?" Queen Visenya sighed, shaking her head whil Maegor tried very hard not to laugh.

"She was just short of the pushing stage, Your Grace. It should take no more than a couple of hours until she is done. But it’s been a while now. There’s a possibility she is already in it."

Maegor took a deep breath and knocked on the door, swallowing the laugh. Apparently, someone had to talk sense into his wife. Apparently, him. He leaned against the door, knocking again when there was no response. But there was still no answer. He could hear her pacing on the floor some times.

"Aella, I know you're inside!" He called out, only to be welcomed with another scream.

"GO AWAY!"

Oh. So she really was out of her right mind.

"If you don't open this door for the midwife I am going to be forced to break it open."

"LEAVE OR I WILL GUT YOU UP LIKE A FISH!" She screamed back. Visenya laughed through her nose. He looked at his mother from the corner of his eye, thinking it very unfair she could laugh and not him.

"That is a colorful one," she shrugged.

"Aella, you have thirty seconds before I break this door open and take Dark Sister from you."

There was no response as Maegor counter down the seconds in silence, raising and lowering his fingers to keep the right track. At the end of thirty, there was still no response, no unlock, nothing. He had no habit of making empty threats, though, and the door was replaceable. The lock was old, it wouldn't take much. He slammed against the double doors once, with all his weight, that wasn’t little. Then again. And once more. They then burst open.

He didn't think he'd be seeing his little wife actually point a sword at him in anger anytime soon, and if that was any other moment, he would have had her where she stood, if not for his own lust, to remind her of who was in control. Her grip was shaky. Poor. Decent enough to convince the maids she had any clue of what she was doing, holding in the right places, but she wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds were it a real fight. Her arms were overextended in front of her, her posture was wrong. Maegor stepped closer.

"Leave!" She ordered, as if she could order him. "I will cut you."

He stepped closer once more, and once again until the tip of the sword touched his stomach.

"Cut me then. Go on."

She pressed the blade further onto him, cutting through the layers of cloth to reach and pierce his skin. And she continued to press it further on. Maybe she required blood to appease her. His gods would approve. But that was no time to shed her more blood. He grabbed the hilt, pulling it from her hands and tossing it aside with a loud noise while the maids watched.

“This is quite enough, now,” Maegor bent down, to face her at eye level. He could see fear, he could see anger, he could see something primal and twisting under the surface. “Why are you terrorizing your maids?” Not that he was opposed to terrorizing maids, but that was a terrible time to do that. His son needed to be birthed.

“I don’t want them. I want to be alone. They only bring me bad things. I don’t want them.” Aella stepped back, to which he stepped foward, raising a hand to cup her face. She seemed to relax mildly.

“You need them.”

“I don’t need them, I can do it alone.” She stated, both her hands on his forearm, her eyes pleading. “I don’t want them.”

“The midwife, then,” he sighed. “I want to know everything is fine with my son.”

“Only the midwife.” Aella gripped harder at his arm, nails digging on his skin, the same primal thing moving just under the surface present in the way her face hardened, her lips pursed. “Only one.”

He nodded, moving away, but Aella held him in place, nails breaking his skin slightly. Maegor ran a hand through his hair, looking down at his wife as she winced, breathing hard and gripping at him even harder. It seemed he wasn’t going anywhere. It was better not to disrupt her even more. He turned his head to the door call the midwife with the hand she wasn’t holding, taking a deep breath. It seemed like he was staying there.

“Close the door,” he ordered when she came in. Aella laid her forehead on his arm, breathing in, breathing out, and he turned back to her. She seemed to be pushing, and he looked from her to the midwife with some measure of panic. It was safe to say he had no idea what he was doing. Labor was no thing for men, he was out of place standing in the middle of her room, being held in place. “The midwife is going to see you.”

She nodded, breathing in. It was strange enough. He expected screaming as she pushed, something resembling the unfathomable pain he had been told about. There was none of it. There was a long moan as she winced, though, using him as support.

“Help her to the bed, Your Grace,” the midwife asked, but Aella shook her head fast, face sill down.

“No. No, no bed. I hate the bed. No bed.”

“A chair, then?” She frowned, her eyebrows knit together. Aella nodded again, though not as enthusiastically, and not letting go of Maegor's arm.

He put his other arm over her shoulders, half helping her, half carrying her to the same pretty chair she had been on most of the time. Aella sat on the edge, letting go of him to bundle her silver-gold hair in a messy bun. It went down her back again, messy and wet at the hairline. He swallowed when he saw the blood dripping down her legs, staining the fabric or her nightgown the same as he did months before. But now, the blood was hers. There was too much more at stake.

The midwife knelt between her legs, and Aella pulled the fabric up to her hips so she could see what was happening. She touched her belly, parted her legs further to expose what looked like the top of a head. Aella winced again, breathing hard in effort.

"Push, your grace," she instructed, calmly, looking up at her. The long moan was back, and Aella gripped at the edges of the chair. "Push every time the contraction comes, you understand?"

Aella nodded, still pushing. Maegor stood watching, just as out of place as he'd felt moments before. There should be maids there, not him. He couldn’t do anything there, and feeling useless wasn’t something he was use to. It was unnerving. The midwife got up and turned to pick up the cloths she had laid out to be used next to the bed, as they would be necessary soon and the maids were outside. Aella sank on the chair, slipping willingly and slowly to kneel on the floor, looking for whetever the most comfortable position was.

He could do nothing but watch as the minutes flew by, and even so, the time seemed to go by too slow as the labor progressed. Every inch of movement seemed to last hours, in expectation, in worry. He allowed himself to be relieved when the midwife informed him the bleeding was within the expected. Soon a head came out, and as his wife kept pushing, a shoulder followed, and then the other onto the clean white cloth and into the midwife’s hold. As if the child was being made on the spot, some ritual he had never been meant to see.

"Another push, Your Grace," she instructed, and Aella did as told, breathing fast as the last of the child left its mother into the world. She was tired, but her resolve wouldn’t fade, and nor would whatever it was that crept underneath her skin. Sorcery. It had to be sorcery, he decided, trying to make sense of the scene. Nothing could cross between the world of the living and whatever lied beyond like that, in blood, in effort. He had seen what sorcery looked like on his mother’s hands, and that should be what sorcery would look like on his wife’s.

Maegor never got to see his child fully. The midwife held them, and the view was obstructed, but he didn’t dare move. Aella knew full well the babe was out of her when it did. When the child was fully out, still connected to her by the umbilical cord, she took a deep breath in, and the child seemed to do the same, in a cry he could only describe as lazy. But before anything could be said, Aella practically tore the child from the midwife's hands, hands like claws pulling the large babe to her chest. She pressed the child against her skin, looking too relieved to feel it against herself, as if separated from her babe for too long. Against her breast, the child slowly ceased crying, and she held it closer. Maegor could see the small fingers move to grab at her hair.

"A boy, your grace," the midwife turned to him at last.

He made his way to Aella, who sat down on the floor with the babe, one step at a time. Maegor knelt beside where she now sat, seeing no further than the bundle of fabric and the hands that grabbed at her. He could hear his wife shush the boy softly, eyes half-lidded, and seemed to retract when he approached, but softened once again when he moved the cloth to see the child's head laying against her nightgown. He ran his thumb on the delicate skin on his cheek, asking himself if getting exactly what he wanted would always feel like that when it happened. Dangerous. The babe sighed, and so did his mother in mirror.

"What are we to call him?" He asked, turning Aella's face to him with the tip of his fingers, as if she would break. He had thought of every name available, and yet, none seemed to come to him. She looked from him back to the babe on top of her, holding him tighter. The boy looked even bigger when next to her small frame.

"Viserion. After the Queen," she decided, placing a kiss atop her son's head, and feeling the same kiss on her head.

"Viserion, then." He nodded, then turned to the midwife. “Send for me when it’s finished.”

The midwife nodded, and Maegor turned to leave, one step at the time, as if still waiting for something to happen. When he left, closing the door behind him again, he was faced with a dozen expectant faces, from his mother to the maids. It felt even more out of place. He should be the one receiving news, not giving them.

“All is well,” he sighed, turning to his mother, who still waited for more details he wasn’t even sure how to word. All he knew is that he had a son, and both him and his wife were alive. “My son will be called Viserion as per his mother’s wish.”

Queen Visenya nodded approvingly, watching as Maegor walked away with her eyebrows up. That was not the reaction she expected.

“Are you not staying?” She asked. Maegor shook his head, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Let her be. She wanted to be alone.”

#a season left of summer #oc/aella #maegor #maegor i targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #maegor x oc #house targaryen #asoiaf #pre asoiaf #asoiaf ocs #asoiaf oc #viscardi writes

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dragonologist-writings · 2 months ago

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Title: Crossing Paths Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous, Pathfinder: Kingmaker Rating: G Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Knight-Commander Piper Chanterelle, Queen/Baroness Mercury Primm Additional Notes: Crossover Word Count: 1.3k Summary: The Knight-Commander of Drezen and the Queen from the Stolen Lands form an alliance.

read below or here on ao3

Mercury sits cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a mosaic of notes and drawings spread out all around her. There are diagrams, maps, descriptions of experiments, endless calculations. It’s a lot for even her to try and make sense of, and she’s been at it for hours. The author was clearly an expert in just about every field of magic and science there could be, and while Mercury is quite confident in her own skill, she’s not that good.

Though maybe good isn’t the right word, not for this. The further Mercury delves, the more unnervingly clear it becomes just how few moral restrictions the author had. Mercury understands now why the Commander is so insistent on secrecy.

Still. It is fascinating.

She picks up another stack of notes and begins sorting them, careful not to damage or misplace any of the loose papers. She can’t begin to imagine the years of effort that went into this. Getting basic physics to work at all consistently between different planes is hard enough, but these are attempts to quantify things that Mercury has never even heard of, let alone experienced. And for good reason, she admits, her gaze passing over a map of the Worldwound. The damage this kind of knowledge can wreak…

Her thoughts are interrupted when the door to the study creaks open, and Mercury quickly holds up a hand to stop the person entering from treading on the notes strewn across the floor. “Hold up- if you’re going to come in, I need to clear a path first.”

Knight-Commander Piper freezes in her steps and looks around the room with wide eyes, taking in the organized chaos.

“Wow.”

The surprise is understandable; Mercury knows she’s never exactly been tactful, but even she knows that commandeering somebody else’s headquarters so completely is probably an overstep. Mendev hadn’t even requested she visit at all; they’d asked for advisors and diplomats, all of which Mercury had been happy to provide. But when word came that the fabled Knight-Commander was discreetly looking for somebody to help with a mysterious research project, one which surely involved the infamous Worldwound and discoveries beyond mortal comprehension? Mercury knew then that she had to show up in person.

Luckily, Piper was gracious enough not to comment on the lack of protocol and had offered Mercury free reign of her study, a decision which she may now be regretting. Mercury laughs sheepishly as she pushes back a loose lock of her violet hair. “It looks a right mess, doesn’t it? I didn’t mean to completely take over your office, I swear, there’s just- so much.”

“Oh no, don’t apologize. At least somebody is getting use out of this place.” Piper leans against the doorway, and Mercury notes with appreciation that she’s careful to avoid rustling the papers with her long skirts. “So…do these ramblings make any sense to you?”

“Some. Not as much as I’d like.” Mercury twists in place and points to the different areas of notes. “Those are the more scientific entries- I can follow those, for the most part, and what I don’t understand yet I’ve at least dabbled in, and know I can figure it out. But those are definitely more arcane in nature, and I may need to confer with some outside sources. The good news is that all the documents are extremely extensive, so I’m pretty sure that given enough time even the more obscure areas are-”

“Is there anything about souls?”

Mercury pauses. “There is, yes.” She glances at the stack that she had set aside to tackle later, for there are some fields of study that set even her on edge. “Is that what this whole investigation is about?”

“I’m not trying to replicate anything, don’t worry. I’ve seen the destruction- nothing is worth going through that again. I just…” Piper looks down, hiding her face behind her long silver hair, and nervously rubs at the bracers on her arm. “I couldn’t make heads or tails of it when I looked. I’m a good hand at magic, but this is far from my area of talent. And I admit, the smartest thing for me to do would probably be to burn all this stuff and be done with it. But if there’s an answer in here…”

She trails off, and Mercury has to prompt her to continue. “What kind of answer?”

Piper sighs. “Areelu once thought she succeeded in pulling a soul back from the Abyss. She told me later that it was a failed experiment, but…I just want to know. Even if all comes to nothing, knowing might help make sense of it all. If I really…” She sighs again and shakes her head. “Maybe it won’t help, but it will be better than wondering.”

Mercury has no idea what this woman is talking about now, but she does understand that need to know something. That drive has caused plenty of trouble of her, true, but she can’t say the desire itself is something she regrets.

“I’ll do my best. I want to help, and besides-” Mercury claps her hands together and looks at the mountain of notes around her with delight. “I can’t resist a good mystery.”

“Thank you,” Piper says quietly, her gaze turning distant for a moment. She gathers herself quickly, however, and her expression brightens once more. With a twinkling laugh she says, “It’s truly a wondrous stroke of luck that Drezen’s newest ally turned out to be so knowledgeable.”

“Oh stop, you’ll make me blush.” Mercury chews her lip, thinking hard, then adds, “Although if you really want to speed the process along…could I take some copies of all this with me when I return home? You understand I can’t leave the kingdom for too long, and there’s just not enough time while I’m here…”

Piper considers the request for a moment. Mercury would understand if she said no- she’d be terribly disappointed, yes, but she won’t begrudge her a certain amount of precaution.

But Piper doesn’t say no. Instead, she says, “I’ve heard some rumors about you, you know. You’ve had your own share of odd experiences.”

Mercury tilts her head, wondering where this is going. “Very true.”

“The rumors say you could have had immortality, but you turned it down.”

“Do they?” Mercury takes a moment to give an obvious once-over to the obviously magical aura which surrounds Piper, her gaze lingering on the woman’s extremely visible Azata wings. “That would be a lofty achievement for a mortal. Whoever heard of such a thing?”

Piper’s mouth pulls briefly into a smile. “Certainly not I. So, is it true?”

Mercury considers explaining the whole Lantern King vs Nyrissa thing, but…well, it’s a long story, and the details aren’t the relevant part here. “It’s a simplification, but true enough.”

“Why did you refuse?”

It’s not a hard question to answer, and Mercury has been asked often enough. “Immortality doesn’t interest me. I can see how eternal time is tempting, but it comes at the price of perspective. I’ve never been traditional, and I imagine that after centuries and centuries your life has no choice but to become tradition.” She nods once more to Piper’s wings with an apologetic grin. “No offense.”

“None taken. I stumbled into this whole thing, really. But after everything I’ve seen, a few centuries of boring peace sounds blissful.” Piper studies Mercury for a few more moments, then nods. “Go ahead and take the notes. Somehow I don’t imagine you’ll be tempted to use them for anything…nefarious.”

“Wonderful!” Mercury exclaims, and her mind is already racing off to form plans of study. “I’ll send constant updates, and let you know immediately if I learn anything interesting. And don’t worry, there will be no world-breaking while I’m on the watch.”

“Glad to hear it,” Piper says, giving Mercury a small bow. “In that case…I’d like to formally and sincerely say that I look forward to our partnership, Queen Mercury.”

“As do I, Knight-Commander Piper.”

#fanfic #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #pwotr #oc: piper #oc: mercury #crossing paths

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cloudbattrolls · 5 months ago

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Low Expectations

Ullane Wistim | An Alternian Motel | One Night Prior

Ullane sat on a slightly worn chair in the cheap but serviceable motel room Arty had insisted she stay in, staring at the white-painted wall.

The paint was flaking a bit. It could probably use another coat. But it wasn’t too run-down, at least.

She put a hand to her face, unable to keep using the wall to continue avoid thinking about what had happened with her, the artifice, and Glasya.

What a mess.

She couldn’t even blame Arty for it. She didn’t know how much of what it had said to Glas was true, versus their rebuttals, but…it seemed like at least some of it had been.

Glasya hadn’t wanted to hear it. They’d mostly been offended that Arty hadn’t believed they meant well.

She knew the purpleblood did care for her, aside from all their jokes. They’d shown it to her repeatedly, and despite their irreverent attitude, she trusted them.

From what it sounded like they’d said to Arty…it had some grounding for its lack of faith in them.

She was sure Glasya hadn’t meant to…hurt it? Annoy it? It was hard to tell how it had been feeling, especially after it had calmed down so quickly.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Good intentions didn’t excuse harm, and when they’d refused to take responsibility…

Then there was…her own part in things.

A construct. One that really did have a full range of emotions.

Feelings it had kept out of her sight for her comfort.

She couldn’t tell herself that it was what they were supposed to do. She knew that wasn’t a good enough excuse anymore.

She sighed. She owed Arty an apology. It might be creepy and unsettling, but since it was a full person after all…she couldn’t pretend it was any different than being awful to Thrixe, Cheran or Ashe.

Where was the security system? It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate having time on her own to think, but she knew what she needed to do now.

She took out her phone and called it, but the line went dead.

She sighed. It clearly didn’t want to talk.

Why should it? It had just been given ample proof that trolls did not respect it or its feelings. Not when it was at all difficult for them.

Just like how some highbloods only respected lowbloods when it was easy.

A wave of shame washed over her, but she took a deep breath as she rose from the chair, the old material creaking slightly. Even if she messed this up, she had to try.

Even if its troll body wasn’t around, one of its smaller ones would be.

She walked out into the motel hallway, her door auto-locking behind her with a click, and went down to the lobby.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of careful searching, she noticed a silvery spider in a corner near an armchair, innocently perched on a web.

She sat on the chair, gripping the arms tightly.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly, not wanting any other trolls around to think she was crazy, and knowing Arty’s hearing was very keen.

“I was bad to you. Had my reasons, but that isn’t an excuse. I should know better by now.” She muttered. “Shouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of treating you with respect. Not after what you’ve done for me and…tried to do, keeping your feelings away. Acting like nothing bothers you, because you didn’t think I cared.”

She sighed.

“I didn’t.” She admitted. “Won’t pretend I did. I do now. Understand if you don’t believe me - you’ve no cause to trust what I say - but wanted to say it anyway.”

She took a deep breath, forcing her madly twitching tail to slow down to a dull beat against the chair. Why was this so nerve-wracking? It was just an apology.

Because she knew she should have done better. She should have believed Glas. She should have noticed how Arty avoided her and tried to hide what it was like unless she approached and asked first.

She hadn’t wanted to. She’d refused to believe it was anything more than a very complicated machine with realistically simulated behaviors.

It was, in a sense. But she knew what she’d seen. No machine had a point in simulating that it felt disrespected. Trying not to care that it didn’t believe anyone could love it for who it was.

Trying. Not simply flicking a response on and off. She’d seen how it covered it with a laugh, brushing it off.

Too painfully real.

It deserved better from her.

She didn’t know how long it had been - some minutes, probably - when a polite tap on her chair roused her from her shameful stupor.

It was Arty, in its Dyanni body. It looked politely curious, and held a sandwich in its hand. One that smelled fresh and warm with roast beef and horseradish sauce, steaming slightly.

Her digestion sac wanted it badly as she realized she was hungry, and she stood up. It nodded at her and beckoned for her to follow with its free hand.

Slightly baffled but willing, she followed as it went in the elevator and pressed a button that said…R?

It quickly brought them up several floors…

She realized it was the roof. The door dinged and it stepped out onto a small hand-rail enclosed area, the sky just starting to turn into the lighter hues of early morning, though there was still time before the sun made a reappearance.

Arty handed her the sandwich and skipped over to the railing, leaning out slightly over the edge.

It let her eat a few ravenous bites, and then it spoke.

“It’s fine, Ullane. Don’t let your guilt make you think it’s a big deal. I mean, look at Glasya. They’ve known me longer than you have and they don’t care. I shouldn’t expect any different.”

Her insides twisted.

“No.” She murmured, then took another quick bite. “It’s not right. I’m a lowblood, considered by some a mutant; I should know better.”

Her tail flicked, its tuft currently dark-colored like the rest of her hair from disguise tech.

It looked at her curiously.

“I understand your beliefs, you know. You’ve worked with and made constructs, so you have good reason to feel how you do. I know it would be difficult to keep seeing me as a person.” It said with a wave of its hand. “I won’t ask that of you.”

“I…” her voice cracked. “You really think so little of me.”

It blinked. “I think that of most trolls. Look at Glasya. The moment I ask them to consider that I feel like they’ve been lying - when they clearly are lying on purpose about other things because they don’t want to admit what they’ve done by accident - it becomes all about their pride.”

It hummed a moment, then continued.

“You’ve apologized, and that’s nice, but I know it’s mostly out of guilt. Changing how you deal with me would be hard. So, I won’t ask. To make it easier on you.”

Ullane ate a few more bites of her sandwich in silence.

“I…yes, it’s guilt.” She sighed. “Not only guilt. I’m not a good person, you’re not wrong, but…I don’t want to be this way.” She said, voice cracking, hating herself for her weakness.

“For selfish reasons, yes, my own guilt, but because I saw you feel, and I…I knew then you deserved better. I knew I was wrong. That even if it was difficult, even if I made more mistakes, I had to treat you better. For your sake too.”

Its ears rose, its teal eyes wide in surprise.

Ullane ate the rest of her sandwich in silence. It was delicious. She had trouble enjoying it.

“Hm.” It finally said a minute later, expression neutral now. “Well. If you really want to treat me better…I suppose we can try.”

Ullane smiled, relaxing slightly in relief.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely. “For the chance.”

It shrugged, then turned back to look at the growing dawn colors in the sky.

“So, you like beautiful things too.” She said, trying to strike up a lighter conversation.

It snorted.

“Yes.” It said with amusement as she flushed slightly yellow. “I don’t have quite the same sense of beauty as trolls usually do, but it’s there.”

“If…would you like to talk about it? What you enjoy?” She said cautiously.

It blinked.

It looked up at light blue sky this time, not merely out.

“Everything.” It said. “It’s all connected. All the world, the other worlds, all of this has unfolded and changed so much since it began. Life took so long to happen! And look how much you’ve done since.” It shook its head. “Terrible. Bewildering. Wonderful. The planets tremble. Even the stars burn differently sometimes.”

Ullane felt her skin chill with both fear and awe.

“You’re…so old…”

It gave her an eerie smile. But not a threatening one.

“In theory. But who knows how long the universe might last yet? Maybe I’m still young.” It mused. “Comparatively speaking. What’s billions of sweeps when there could be trillions to come?”

The doctor felt a bit dizzy at the very thought, gripping the railing.

“Don’t worry about it.” It advised her. “As you can see, I have fairly troll-like concerns in this body. As much as I’d rather not sometimes.” It shrugged.

“It would be so helpful to not have a sense of identity or feelings. But I’m stuck this way.”

Ullane couldn’t find words. She grappled with how little she truly she understood of the artifice, even though it had let her examine it before.

So much to know. So much for her to learn to accept.

It turned away again, leaning more over the railing, ears alert.

The medic took a deep breath.

No matter how difficult it might be, she had to try.

#cloud writes #ullane wistim #guardian artifice #speaking of Ullane. more Ullane.#also the blender.

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tauforged · 9 months ago

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what it is i think is that a vast majority of people simply do not want to accept that their actions align with “Bad People” but rather than look inward and genuinely examine whether their actions might be harming others, they’ve preemptively decided that no, i’m not capable of hurting anyone because I Think I’m A Good Person TM, so it must just be literally everyone else that’s in the wrong. it’s this idea that only bad people do bad things that makes interpersonal conflict as a whole so insanely fraught with difficulty even in the most clear cut of cases, because in general most people’s kneejerk reaction to being told that something they did without thinking actually hurt someone else is to be SO hurt by the implication that they’d do so willingly that they wholly forget about the fact that they’ve done very real harm. it’s the same shit i’ve had to reckon with my entire life growing up in an abusive household, for example. like. did my mother put locks on the kitchen cabinets and keep obsessive count over what got eaten by whom, to the point of interrogating me and my sister over why there are only two yogurts left in the fridge when she counted them this morning and there were three, with the intent to cause me to compulsively hoard food in my bedroom so i could eat in peace, even well into adulthood? no! she was frustrated because snacks were getting eaten faster than she was buying them and she felt like she was wasting money. but you can understand, naturally, that what her reasoning for doing it was ultimately does not matter — what matters is that she to this day refuses to accept that she did anything wrong or apologize for any of her actions, because in her mind, intent matters more than impact, because the gravity of the impact is not felt by her. to her, it’s a source of frustration and annoyance that she keeps catching me with stashes of food where it doesn’t belong, but that’s it. she doesn’t think about how mortifying it is as a child to have your parents belittle and berate you for daring to eat food that was in the house you live in. she doesn’t care about the fact that my food anxiety gets so bad that there are days when i’d rather wait until my shift is over and eat in the privacy of my car than deal with the crushing stress of eating in the same office as my coworkers. it never occurs to her how painful it is to have people i love and trust cook for me because they love me and want me to eat well, and to be so afraid of eating in front of even them that it just becomes another source of dread. you know? becuase she cannot feel my trauma as intimately as i do, it’s far more convenient for her to accept that i’m spiteful and difficult and holding a petty grudge against her for doing something harmless, than it is for her to internalize that just because she doesn’t understand WHY these things make me feel the way they do, doesn’t make the feeling any less real. and it’s the same way for people who don’t want to admit that the behaviors they consider ‘harmless’ could be deeply upsetting to others. to take that into account would make them feel bad, and they’ve decided that instead of either trying to change their behavior OR admitting that their own entertainment is more important to them, they’re just going to convince themselves and everyone around them that the people expressing their hurt are overreacting, or spiteful, or only doing it because they have some bias, or are mean spirited or a myriad of other excuses.

it’s a lot of words and verbal meandering because the way i think is i just ruminate on something until i can excavate the proper wording i want to use, since it often escapes me right away — but what it speaks to is ultimately a lack of conviction. you want to behave selfishly, but you cannot bear the thought of anyone at all even for a MOMENT thinking of you as ‘selfish’, because that’s Bad and You’re Not Bad. but you also don’t want to change your behavior, because that would still mean that you CONSIDERED Doing Something Bad and that might as well be the same as actually doing it in your mind, which makes you uncomfortable. so instead you come up with justifications as to why the selfish action is Good, Actually, to make yourself feel better, and to refute anyone who happens to say “hey, isn’t that a little selfish?” because they simply don’t understand, selfish is a Bad Person thing and you are a Good Person who doesn’t DO Bad Things. a complete and utter inability to contend with the idea that somewhere out there someone might dislike you for a valid reason, because your entire sense of self worth is propped up on the idea that you alone are uniquely Good and thus can ONLY do Good Things (because of course, doing Bad Things will automatically turn you into a Bad Person)

it’s much less “everyone can do whatever they want” and much more “everyone has to agree with me on everything because i don’t have the self confidence to imagine myself as a good person without constant approval from everyone i interact with” . it’s anxiety run rampant in the worst way. and tbh it just makes me feel sorry and frustrated in equal measure.

or at least that’s the most logical way i can think of to rationalize this sort of behavior in a way that makes sense to me. i’ve been this person and it sucked LOL it’s a miserable way to go through life and it can seriously stunt one’s growth as a person. but the only way out is through and nobody’s going to make that change for you, you have to recognize what you’re doing and consciously make an effort to try and be better… which isn’t easy. so a lot of people don’t. but what can ya do LOL

i know i keep saying i’m done with this and then circling back to it but tbqfh i just have such a hard time wrapping my mind around the cognitive dissonance at play here. perhaps it’s the autism but i simply cannot imagine making one particular ideological stance my entire online personality and then immediately turning around and contradicting it the moment someone brings up a reason as to why they disagree that can’t immediately be written off as Being A Hater

#this is literally just me vomiting my train of thought onto a post this is NOT like. proofread or anything.#but i feel like i need to get it out because like. does it make sense? am i making sense??? i don’t know.

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yikimiki · 3 years ago

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thinking so fucking hard about loser/stoner eren and popular/mean girl reader............ how she'll tease him and bully him at school but when they're fucking its always the opposite way around........ he has such a grip on her and shes so whipped for him that the pent up teasing just comes out during sex and he is just being so mean to her

This is a different au from the other loser eren asks — aiming more towards stoner!eren x popular!reader!! Also this got really long?? It’s a mix of headcanons and drabbles so hold on

warnings: smut, dirty talk, mean dom eren, rough sex, crying, creampie, multiple rounds, spanking, hair pulling, mentions of drugs (weed), degradation, use of “bitch”, “slut”, “whore”, “cocksleeve”, no prep, ass play, size kink, dumbification, mentions of spitting, dubcon (just to be sure)

No but imagine... Eren is this outcast, unbothered type of guy that doesn’t give a fuck about the social hierarchy of college or whatever. For some sick and twisted reason, you are particularly interested in him — there’s something about his baggy clothes, long hair under his cap/beanie and his “fuck everything” attitude that gets you going. But you can’t really show that you’re attracted to a complete loser like him, it would ruin your reputation, so you have to pretend as if you love teasing him, mocking him. Which, like, it’s totally funny.

It works for some time, until you are alone in a room with him. It happens in some weird college party that you almost didn’t go to, when you decide to take a break from dealing with your drunk friends and find shelter in a bedroom somewhere. It takes you some time to find one that it’s not locked or... being used, but eventually you open the door to find Eren, just scrolling through his phone with a blunt hanging from his lips. This time, considering it’s just you and him, you skip the provocations and ask him what he’s doing alone in there, you sit next to him in bed and listen as he complains about some friend that dragged him to that obnoxious party.

“I was just passing some time before I found an excuse to leave,” he says, locking his phone and putting it on the nightstand. The smell of weed is filling the stuffed air, and Eren takes another hit before putting his blunt out. “And what are you doing here? Got tired of ruining everyone’s night and decided to ruin mine?”

“It’s always more fun with you.” You smile, one hand landing on his shoulder. Eren tenses under your touch, bright green eyes trying to see if you’re just making fun of him again. Still, there’s something else burning at the bottom of your irises that he has never seen before, something that makes his stomach clench in anticipation. “Besides… now I have you all to myself.”

“What are you getting at?” He asks, but his voice sounds lower, eyebrows furrowed in doubt. You two are close, so much closer than ever before, and he can feel your gentle breathing on his lips when you lean closer. His heart picks up, and his hands are fighting to touch your body. “If this is some sort of prank, I swear—“

“It’s not a prank,” you whisper, looking down at his lips. Eren swallows dry — it’s funny: even after months of teasing, this is the clearer reaction you’ve ever received from him. “Can I kiss you?”

Eren has never heard you ask for anything — especially from him. It takes him some time to warm up to the idea (and to make sure you’re not just fucking with him again), his cock stirring awake in his baggy pants, before he gives you a curt nod. You smile, leaning in and joining your lips in a heated kiss.

And you swear you have the upper hand for some time. You sit on his lap, run your fingers through his hair and watch as he becomes pudding under your touches — just groaning and sighing against your lips as his rough hands squeeze your ass, making you grind your pussy down against his hard cock until you’re soaking through the fabric. But then something in the air suddenly switches and Eren is turning you around, trapping you beneath his large body as his lips eagerly move down to your neck, hands practically tearing your top open so he can suck on your tits.

You whimper and ask him to slow down, but he’s not really listening at this point — if you’re giving yourself to him, he’s going to make good use of his time. Especially when he thinks you should learn one thing or two about how to properly behave, about not always getting what you want, but what you deserve after teasing him for so long. All those months of pent-up frustration are getting to his head, turning into a power trip as he notices that he’s so much stronger than you, that he can do whatever he wants and you’ll just have to take it. And he’s gonna make sure you’ll take it all.

In no time, you’re completely naked, clothes mindlessly thrown around the room and Eren is looking at your body like he can eat you whole. He asks you to “Turn around,” as he takes off his own clothes, and your surprised at the eagerness in which you follow his command. You don’t know what’s going on with you — all those bitter comments you’d throw at him are now long gone, barely a ghost at the back of your mind when you feel him shuffle closer to you. Eren pulls your hips upwards, presses your face down against the mattress and spanks your ass so hard you swear you see stars.

“Eren!” You cry out, both from pleasure and surprise. “What are you—“

“Shut up.” His hands come down against your ass once more, making you whine. “You never fucking stop talking, such an annoying bitch.” Your skin burns as he lays down more hits against your ass cheeks, your hands helplessly holding onto the bedsheets. “This is what you wanted, uh? Wanted me to snap, to treat you like the needy whore you are.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. Your pussy is so aroused that you just feel yourself dripping down your thighs, the coldness of the air making you shiver. You never needed someone as much as you needed him. “Eren, fuck me,” you sob.

His large figure leans over you, one hand yanking your hair back as his face stops next to yours. You can feel his cock — huge, throbbing, heavy — in between your sensitive ass cheeks, and the notion that he’s about to stretch you out so wide makes you whine. “Didn’t fucking listen, why don’t you get some fucking manners and try again?”

“Please, Eren, f-fuck me,” you utter, arching your back against his cock. You never noticed how big and strong he is, but now that he’s towering over you, you have no choice but to feel yourself shrinking beneath him. “Please, please.”

He scoffs. “Needy bitch,” but he releases your hair and pushes your face down against the mattress, using his free hand to align himself with your dripping cunt. “Not so fucking chatty now, are you?” You barely have time to answer before he’s pressing his cockhead against your pussy, your hole fluttering around his length as he continues to push in. Eren is huge, definitely the biggest you’ve ever had, and the lack of prep only makes you feel the stretch even more. “Shit, look at this tight fucking cunt,” he breathes out. His hands are squeezing your ass so hard you just know it’ll be sore in the morning, but you don’t care. “Can’t believe you kept this from me for so fucking long.”

You have half the thought of apologizing, but you can’t do it when he bottoms out. By the time that his cock is fully inside you, you can barely utter out an incomprehensible string of “S-So huge, E-Eren— too much— fuck, so big, I can’t take it, I can’t...” before he’s moving his cock in and out of you.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asks, spanking your ass once again. The noise is so much louder this time, your moan following it shortly. “Fucking annoyed me for months just because you wanted to milk my cock like a desperate little whore,” he seethes, grabbing your ass forcefully as he drills into your soaking cunt. Eren is going hard and fast, so much so that you feel as if your brain is rattling inside your head, tits bouncing against the mattress as he continues his unforgiving pace. “Always knew you were a slut, I just didn’t know you’d be so fucking— shit — so fucking insufferable.”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whine, tears streaming down your face because of how good it all feels.

He scoffs. “Not yet. But you’ll be sorry.”

And boy how sorry you are. You had no idea that Eren would have that ridiculous amount of stamina, but you don’t even know how many times you’ve cum by the end of the night. Eren fucks you full of his cum again and again, spanking you and pulling your hair every time you misbehave and can’t keep it in like he tells you to — because “you’re such a dumb bitch, can’t even listen when you’re full of cock”.

He makes you cum on his fingers, on his cock, on his tongue, even makes you desperately grind against his thigh to get yourself off just because he likes how dumb you look. He fills every whole he can — spits in your mouth, fucks your throat, fingers your ass as he’s fucking you from the back and promises that next time it’ll be his cock. He’s just so mean, so revengeful of every time you annoyed him that he can’t be nice even if he tried. It’s just too good to have almighty little you turned into a stupid slut for his cock, crying and begging for him to fill you up one more time.

“Listen to me,” he hisses, making you turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over, barely able to find his with your orgasm building up again. “This is all you’re fucking good for,” he says, and his cock throbs inside you. Eren’s cum is seeping down your thighs, coating his length and making his slide easier as he continues to pound inside your abused cunt. “You’re made to be a cocksleeve, this pussy is made to take my cock. Do you understand?” You agree with a whiny yes. “Gonna stop fucking annoying me now? You can just ask and I’ll fuck you whenever you want, okay?” You nod, only half there, and for the first time that night he calls you “Good girl,” before stuffing you full of his cum again.”

Anyways???? Idk what came over me but yeah. Popular girl reader that is a complete slut for loser eren when theyre fucking. I rest my case.

#eren smut #eren jaeger x you #eren yaeger headcanons #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x reader #eren x you #eren headcanons #aot smut #snk amut #attack on titan smut

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