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devendrasbeard · 3 years

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Only If For A Night

Prompt: They’ve had a few drinks Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier Rating: E Content Warnings: Drunkness, Drunk Kissing, Drunk Confessions Summary: Eskel is a private driver for a very famous and very successful fashion designer. Having seen the more private side of his boss, he eventually develops feelings for him. One night of drunken confessions can bring a massive change to their professional relationship.

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"My dear friends, acquaintances, sponsors and clients!" Jaskier's happy voice, amplified by several speakers around the small stage, echoed across the hall. "Thank you for gathering here tonight, so that you'll be the first ones to see, admire, and buy the newest designs from my Dandelions collection!"

A round of applause and excited gasps was heard as a group of androgynous models dressed in wonderfully flowy gowns joined Jaskier on the stage. The clothes were kept in a gender neutral fashion, the fabrics thin as if made of morning mist, but at the same time vibrant with colors, their ethereal vibe contrasted with black hemming at the edges.

"In the next hour the models will be available for you, so that you can get a feel of the clothes, talk about how comfortable of a wear these are. You can even try something on, if the models let you!" Jaskier continued into the microphone. "Just remember - these are real people, not coat hangers! I expect respect towards them and no stepping over any boundaries!"

Eskel stood at the far end of the hall, leaning comfortably against a wall, now and then taking a sip from his glass of water. The day was very hot as for late May, so he was wearing a simple white buttoned up shirt with short sleeves and some black slacks instead of his usual suit ensemble. He loosened the knot in his thin black tie, as he watched Jaskier walk down from the stage and fall into the embrace of his enthusiastic friends.

He liked watching Jaskier, his boss, from afar. Jaskier was fierce, flamboyant and bubbly around his friends, at events, and in front of the media people, but when he thought nobody was looking, his face turned pensive, sometimes even sad. That melancholic, brooding side of Jaskier showed up mostly in the evenings, when the lights went out, his friends went home and it was just him and Eskel driving him home. Eskel liked that side of him.

A few hours into the after party Jaskier approached him, hugging a whole bottle of bourbon to his chest. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes glistening, his elaborate hairstyle already mussed a little. "Fuck me if this isn't the best collection I've made so far."

Eskel nodded, trying to suppress a chuckle. Whenever Jaskier was tipsy, he forgot about any conventionalities and talked to Eskel as if he was his long time buddy, not his private driver. "It's really good." Eskel admitted. "Need my assistance with anything?"

Jaskier placed a warm palm on Eskel's chest, his bright blue eyes looking up at him. "I wanna go home, my head feels dizzy from all the hugs, fake kisses and congratulations."

"You're sure it's the congratulations and not the bourbon?" Eskel cocked his head, raising a brow in amusement.

"Hey!" Jaskier's long finger was now poking at Eskel's chest. "I pay you to drive me around, not to judge my life's choices."

"Let's go then, I'll drive you home," Eskel nodded and led Jaskier to the door, desperately trying not to wrap a protective arm around his boss' frame.

****

Jaskier ducked his head through the partition divider, resting his chin on his hands. The strong smell of alcohol mixed with Jaskier's flowery cologne hit Eskel's nose. "Do you like me, Eskel?" He whispered, too close to Eskel's ear.

Eskel shot him a quick glance through the rearview mirror, clearing his throat. "How do you mean?"

"Am I likeable?" Jaskier pouted and cocked his head to the side, to lay it on the cold metal frame of the divider. "Do you like me as a person? I know I am trying to be a good boss and I hope you're satisfied with the work you're doing here for me and that I'm not a pain in the ass for making you drive me around... But am I likeable as a person? Can you even look at me as a person and not your boss, slash famous designer?"

Eskel huffed, feeling goosebumps creeping up his neck. So today's drunk Jaskier's mood was philosophical. Through his last year of driving Jaskier around he's seen him in every sorry state - from being awkwardly horny after a hook up gone wrong, through being insanely euphorical and singing at the top of his lungs in the back seat, to being absolutely shit-faced, making Eskel stop the car every five minutes, so that he could get out and barf on the sidewalk.

But Jaskier asking him if Eskel liked him caught him off guard. What was he supposed to say to that? That ever since he started working for him, he wanted to wrap his arms around Jaskier and kiss him so hard he'd forget his own name? That his heart fluttered everytime Jaskier sent him that deep look and loving smile when they accidentally locked eyes in the rearview mirror? That he's been yearning to spend every second of his life with him? That he loved everything about him - his generosity, his laugh, his creative mind? This wasn't Eskel's place, he was just Jaskier's employee, yet he felt compelled to say something. "You're a good person, Jaskier." He tried.

"Then how come that on the day my newest collection premieres..." He stopped, interrupted by a series of hiccups. "Why is that, that people hug me and kiss me and yet..." He plopped dramatically onto the back seat and sighed. "Why am I yet again going home alone?"

Eskel sighed, a feeling of a thousand needles prickling on his skin. He wanted to pull Jaskier up and wrap him in a tight embrace and scream at the top of his lungs that he was there for him, always, forever! Instead he sighed again, turned to Jaskier for a second and asked, "Should I put your fave music on?"

"Yes, please," Jaskier mumbled. "Thank you, Esk."

****

"We're here," Eskel turned to Jaskier after he parked the limo outside of Jaskier's apartment building. "Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Jaskier smiled at him, sitting splayed all over the backseat, his hair a mess and his shirt already halfway open, giving Eskel more than a sneak peek of his thick chest hair and the several necklaces dangling on his torso. Eskel swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry, and then Jaskier leaned forward and whispered, "You can come upstairs with me."

Eskel's eyes widened, a hotness creeping up his neck. It was all he ever wanted, but he felt he shouldn't do it tonight, not with Jaskier in this state of mind. He had to think and be reasonable for them both. "Jaskier... You're drunk and tired, I don't think that's a-" A warm finger on his lips shut him up.

"That bottle of bourbon won't empty itself," Jaskier tried for a seductive smile which turned out pretty wonky, but still managed to tug at Eskel's heartstrings. "C'mon, just one drink? You can probably drive after one drink?"

Eskel huffed, his mind racing and trying to weigh all the pros and cons of the situation he's gotten himself into. Jaskier looked at him with pleading eyes, not saying anything, waiting for Eskel's move. "Okay, one drink."

They got out of the car, Jaskier propping himself up on Eskel's shoulder as they entered the building. "Good morning, Jerome," Jaskier addressed the concierge with a wide smile.

"It's midnight, Mr. Pankratz," the concierge rolled his eyes, the look on his face indicating he's seen Jaskier in this state more than once.

As soon as they got into Jaskier's penthouse, Jaskier moved straight to the alcohol cabinet, leaving Eskel in the middle of the spacious living room. Eskel looked around the place, admiring all the art pieces on the walls and various trinkets scattered around the furniture. But the view from the vast windows was what truly mesmerized him - he moved towards the glass walls, gazing down at the night city, so calm and otherworldly from here.

"Thank you for joining me," Jaskier's voice next to him startled him a little. "I really didn't want to be home alone tonight," he added quietly.

"No problem," Eskel smiled at him, noticing that now besides the bourbon bottle, Jaskier was also nursing a flask of red wine. He held both up for Eskel to choose his drink from. Eskel took the wine bottle and asked, "Should I fetch us some glasses, or do I just chug straight from the bottle?"

Jaskier patted his shoulder lightly, laughing too loud, as if Eskel told a joke, then hiccuped a little. "I'll get us some glasses, you..." he waved towards the sofas and armchairs, "you make yourself comfortable."

Eskel didn't get to sit yet when he heard the sound of breaking glass and a sharp hiss coming from the kitchen. He jumped up, leaving the wine bottle on the table and moved towards Jaskier.

"It's nothing, it's nothing," Jaskier was already kneeling on the floor, clumsily collecting the broken pieces of a wine glass. "Guess everything went too smoothly for me today."

The sigh that left Jaskier's lips sounded more like a broken whimper and Eskel's heart physically hurt at the sight of his famous and successful boss looking so small and pitiful in the middle of his kitchen. He felt like crying. "Leave it, I'll clean it up," he offered. "Maybe you should go to bed, lay down a little?"

Jaskier looked up at him, the gaze of his blue eyes unfocused. He pointed at Eskel with his index finger while standing up. "No, you-... You've promised me that one drink!"

"Fine."

****

Two hours later Eskel knew he wasn't going to make it home that night. The wine bottle in his hands was almost empty, and he felt slightly light-headed and dizzy, but not drunk. Jaskier, on the other hand, was already edging on wasted, his shirt now unbuttoned, cheeks red, his words incoherent and slurry.

"Y'know, I'm fully aware of my... My pre... my pry... My privilege," he blurted out, "but yet I give myself permission to feel miserable from time to time... And now is the day!" he gestured with his hand, in which he held the bourbon bottle, spilling a little on the table.

"Okay, I'll take this," Eskel grabbed the bottle from him as Jaskier plopped back onto the sofa.

"How do you know who's your friend?" Jaskier asked, his gaze focused on the ceiling as if he was trying to find an answer there. "People hug me and kiss me and invite themselves into... Into my life and then what? They want free stuff, they want contacts with my famous friends, they want..." He stopped and looked over at Eskel, his blue eyes sad and pleading, as if he waited for Eskel to give him a solution.

"Look for those who stick around when the lights go out, when the party's over... For-for those who ask you how you feel and not what you can give to them." He felt the hotness of embarrassment creep up his neck, his ears turning red. He was talking about himself and he only gave himself permission to do so because Jaskier was drunk and wouldn't remember it the next day.

"That's... wise," Jaskier nodded and reached out with his hand to pat Eskel's cheek. Then his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember something important. "You never asked me for anything."

Eskel cleared his throat, and turned his face away from Jaskier, to hide his unease. "I'm... I'm fine. I'm happy with my job."

"Yeah? What do you do for a living?" Jaskier asked.

That caused Eskel to chuckle, and Jaskier followed with his pearly laugh, although he didn't know what was going on, and in a moment they were both laughing loudly and snickering like children. Jaskier patted Eskel's knee several times before leaning back onto the sofa.

"Jaskier, I work for you. I drive you around, remember?" Eskel said, wiping tears of mirth from the corner of his eye.

"Right." Jaskier nodded. "I hope I pay you well."

"You're a good boss," Eskel smiled. They locked eyes for a long moment, not saying anything. Jaskier licked his lips subconsciously and Eskel had to look away, the sight causing a warm feeling to coil in his stomach. "Alright, boss, time to get you to bed," he cleared his throat. "I'll crash on the couch if you don't mind, can't really drive now."

"Oh no no, no sleepin' on couches in my house! I have guest rooms for guests!" Jaskier stood up abruptly, too quickly for the drunken state he was in. His foot kicked the table leg and he wobbled a little, losing his balance.

He landed in Eskel's lap, Eskel instinctively putting a protective arm over him to save him from falling over and onto his back. Jaskier grabbed Eskel's shoulder for balance and suddenly their faces were incredibly close. So close Eskel could smell Jaskier's cologne, now suppressed by the tangy scent of bourbon. He was so close that Eskel could see those tiny crows feet forming at the corners of Jaskier's eyes, he could notice his flared nostrils and the wet shimmer on his lips. He swallowed audibly.

"Whoo, that was close. Thank-... Thank you," Jaskier laughed lightly and squeezed his shoulder. In a silent reply, Eskel caressed Jaskier's back gently, so delicately as if he didn't want Jaskier to feel it. But apparently Jaskier did, because he leaned forward and pressed a soft butterfly kiss to Eskel's lips. He pulled away and looked Eskel deep in the eyes, while undoing his tie. "Could you... Can you, just for tonight, forget that I'm your boss?" he asked quietly.

Eskel looked at him wide eyed, frozen in place and unable to speak. But when Jaskier gave his tie one last slight tug, he was lost. He's been waiting for that little sign, for a nod of permission, and as soon as he got it, he launched forward, pushing Jaskier off his knees and pressing him down onto the sofa with his weight.

He kissed him, reluctantly at first, but when Jaskier let out the first quiet whimper of pleasure, Eskel was all lost on him. He pressed his lips to Jaskier's, with his eyes closed, trying to put into that kiss all that yearning and longing he'd felt for Jaskier for months.

Jaskier was under him, sighing and panting, arching into Eskel’s touch. Responding to every kiss with passion. Eskel moaned into Jaskier's mouth as his hands roamed under his already open shirt, caressing the soft skin on Jaskier's sides, skimming over his chest hair and slightly tugging at the multiple necklaces on his neck.

Jaskier sat up and fumbled with the buttons on Eskel's shirt, his now clumsy fingers too uncoordinated to undo them. He tugged desperately at the shirt, causing two buttons to pop off and fall to the floor. They both looked at them, Jaskier with a hint of embarrassment, Eskel amazed with Jaskier's strength. Jaskier pulled at Eskel's shirt and dragged him into another heated kiss. "Off! Just take that shirt off," he demanded between kisses.

As he stripped off of his shirt, Eskel noticed how Jaskier's eyes glistened and how he licked his lips lusciously, before launching himself at Eskel. He peppered his face, neck and chest with kisses, murmuring "You're beautiful" and "I love you so much" between kisses, making Eskel writhe with pleasure and whine with emotions, because he so wanted Jaskier to mean it.

"Can I take you to the bedroom?" Jaskier asked while tugging at the waistband of Eskel's slacks. "God, why is the belt so complicated?" He threw his hands up losing his balance and landing on the floor. Eskel reached out to help him up, only to be dragged down to the floor right next to Jaskier.

"Okay, bedroom it is," he laughed into Jaskier's mouth, who already managed to slot their lips in another heated kiss.

****

Eskel woke up with his head feeling very heavy, his mouth dry as if he'd eaten sand. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, taking in the situation. He was naked, with only the bedsheets tangled around his legs. Jaskier was sleeping next to him, lying on his stomach, one hand draped comfortably around Eskel's waist. He was equally naked, his perky ass sticking out from under the covers.

Eskel watched him mesmerized, noticed how beautifully lean and supple Jaskier's body was, he watched how he moved slightly with every breath... And then tiny bits of memories of last night hit him like a wave. He remembered the passionate kisses Jaskier showered him with, how unbelievably soft and pliant Jaskier's body was under his touch, he recalled the weight of Jaskier's cock on his tongue and how wonderfully he moaned Eskel's name with his hand tangled in Eskel's hair...

One part of him wanted to leave before Jaskier would wake up, spare him the awkwardness of a morning after. They never planned on something like that, after all they were boss and employee, they just let alcohol get the best of them. The other part of Eskel wanted to stay, to savour the moment of absolute intimacy and vulnerability between them. That other part wanted all this drunken mishap to turn into something more than just a one night stand.

Then Jaskier stirred next to him, waking up, pulled himself closer to Eskel's chest and murmured a soft "Good morning." He sat up, dragging one hand through his disheveled hair, taking in the sight of their naked bodies. "So... I guess last night ended up better than expected?" He shot Eskel an embarrassed smile. "Did we... You know. Go all the way?"

"I honestly don't know," Eskel admitted sheepishly, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the both of them. "Are you okay, Jaskier? You didn't go easy on the bourbon last night."

"I'm fine," Jaskier waved him off, but his eyes narrowed and he worried his lower lip and Eskel knew he was trying to recall what happened last night. "I hope I didn't take advantage of you?"

"Everything I did, I did because I wanted to," Eskel said firmly, though he felt the hotness on his cheeks and ears at the memory of their naked bodies tangled together and Jaskier moaning so sweetly into his ear.

"Yeah?" Jaskier scooted even closer to him under the bedsheets. "Care to remind me what did you actually do?"

Eskel exhaled deeply, feeling Jaskier's hot breath on his neck, making his own skin feel too tight. The memory of Jaskier's body arched beautifully under Eskel's touch flashed before his eyes, and he cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm pretty sure I sucked you off."

"Oh." Jaskier's face was painted with astonishment, but only for a moment. In the next he was already straddling Eskel's lap, braiding his fingers in his dark hair, looking him deep in the eye. "I think it's only fair if I return the favour now?"

Before Jaskier moved down on him, Eskel grabbed his hands and made Jaskier face him. "Listen..." he started, mouth extremely dry, more of nervousness than hangover. "You said some very weighty things to me yesterday, that I really wished were true... But I know this could be just the alcohol's doing." He huffed, pressing his eyes shut. "If it's not what you meant, or how you feel about me, I'd rather leave now."

Jaskier sighed, deeply, but he didn't lower his gaze. He intertwined their fingers and placed a kiss on the top of Eskel's palm. "I remember one thing vividly from last night," he said. "And that is feeling loved and wanting to give as much love as possible back." He kissed the fingers on Eskel's hand. "If you felt the same, I'd rather you stayed. Forever, if possible?"

------

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #eskel x jaskier #jaskel #eskel/jaskier #it was supposed to be a lighthearted fic about drunken shenanigans #what went wrong idek #hope you're ready for the FEELS #the pining and yearning #and pining #and yearning #and drunk jaskier

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kidslovecudi · 4 years

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Man On The Moon III: The Chosen - Album Review By “kidslovecudi“

Before I say anything about this album, let me say that I am so excited that Cudi is finally releasing new music! Speaking for all Cudi fans, we have all been waiting for new solo material from the moon man for the longest time and the few teasers he’s been releasing over the last year, with “Leader Of The Delinquents” and his collaborations with Travis Scott, (“The Scotts”) and Eminem (“The Adventures of Moon Man & Slim Shady”) have not been enough to fully satisfy us. With Man on The Moon III: The Chosen, Cudi fulfills on a promise to his fans he made years ago and gives us quite a lot to digest. However despite how fulfilling this record is, Cudi still manages to leave you on the edge of your seat wanting more and I personally can’t wait to see what he’s going to do next!

1. Beautiful Trip (Intro)

Produced by Kid Cudi, FINNEAS, Plain Pat, Emile Haynie & Dot Da Genius

And it starts...

2. Tequila Shots ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Kid Cudi, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

On this first track Cudi brings us back into the dark world of the moon man but this time with a new outlook. Referencing his previous works, Cudi aims to prove that he’s “not just some sad dude” and feels that despite his mental well being still occasionally being unstable he’s ready for whatever he has to face. What I loved most about this record was Cudi’s consistency. Throughout the years Cudi has mastered the art of having his own unique galactic sound that transcends through all of his music, despite the genre, and that sound is very present here. Along with his classic hums and hypnotic melodies, this track, known as the fan favorite, has the potential to be a classic.

3. Another Day ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Nosaj Thing & Take a Daytrip

When I first heard this song, I absolutely lost my shit. Cudi started this album off swinging and I was not prepared for him to go so hard. I’ve had this song on repeat quite a few times since I first heard it and along with the beat being absolutely sick, Cudi is rapping his ass off! My favorite part is when the beat breaks down in the second chorus, and I get hype as fuck every single time.

4. She Knows This ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by J Gramm, FnZ & Dot Da Genius

This song on first listen reminded me of a song by another of my favorite artists, called “The Let Out” by Jidenna but Cudi took it to a whole other level and isn’t as repetitive. Once the track speeds up Cudi goes even harder with even trippier sounds that will make you feel like you’re driving through space. One of my favorite things about this album is that a lot of the songs change in the middle keeping you that much more engaged in the whole song than to quickly digest it, like a lot of records on mainstream radio. On top of that his bars are on complete fire and it’s always great to see Cudi flex his rapping skill that a lot of people don’t give him credit for.

5. Dive ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer, Aaron Bow & Teddy Walton

Dive ends the first act of the album and serves as Cudi’s goodbye to his fantasy high. The guitar riffs at the beginning of the song is my favorite part and I wish they were made a bigger part of the song. However this song is classic Cudi, I initially thought it was missing something but after listening to it on it’s own a few more times, I feel like this song is absolutely perfect. It’s groovy as fuck and I think because it kind of ends so abruptly that it leaves a lot to be desired, but that also might have been Cudi’s intent, allowing it to serve as interlude of sorts. I loved the transitional elements through out the song, like when the bass comes in, his adlibs throughout the song and especially the echoing adlibs like, “MOVE, MOVE” “towards the end. It takes a few really good listens to fully enjoy the song as a whole, like it did for me but the more I played the album the more and more I fell in love with it.

6. Damaged ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

I loved the words to this song and the overall message that Cudi was trying to convey throughout the song, but the song itself didn’t do a whole lot for me until I actually found myself in a similar dark place. It’s one of those classic Cudi records that really makes you sit and reflect on your life and everything you’ve gone through, which was exactly what the song did for me. This song is where the album starts to slow down a bit and Cudi sings and raps about his trials and tribulations of being a damaged man and that sometimes his demons still come back and he has to deal with them. A common struggle most of us who’ve ever dealt with feelings of anxiety and depression all know too well.

7. Heaven on Earth⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer & DST The Danger

This song really didn’t do a whole lot for me but what I loved the most about it again, were it’s adlibs. Cudi really showed out with the adlibs on this album and that’s what made this song enjoyable for me. The song for me just sounded too typical to me but even despite that, it’s still a great track to vibe to, just not something I’d put on my favorites.

8. Show Out (feat. Skepta & Pop Smoke) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer & DST The Danger

Easily one of my favorite tracks on the album, when I first heard this, I completely lost my my shit and it was almost impossible not to turn my entire bedroom upside down. For one beat is absolutely sick and picks the tempo right back up. Cudi, Skepta and Pop Smoke’s voices are infectious together and everyone shines on this song without any one of them over shadowing the other’s performance. Definite a track to rage the fuck out to.

9. Mr. Solo Dolo III ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Kid Cudi, Audio Anthem, Dot Da Genius & Plain Pat

This song is trippy as fuck. From beginning to end this song takes you on an absolutely journey from the chords and the keys and there are no words to describe it. I remember playing this song while I was driving home from work on my scooter at night and man oh man, the vibes this song had was incredible. It made me feel like I was traveling to another galaxy. As a loner, this song really spoke to me and it made me feel like someone else understood exactly how I felt. My favorite part was his scream after the second verse. It made me feel free and liberated and that my feelings in that moment had been validated.

10. Sad People ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

This song is an absolute vibe. Cudi’s in his bag, back in his zone, as he said and my favorite thing about this song is the chorus. Cudi’s harmonies are absolutely incredible and my favorite part is towards the end of the chorus when the song takes on an eerie west coast like synth and it’s absolutely infectious.It’s like a dark B side to “Cudi Zone” from the first album which is one of my favorite songs by Cudi to this day. It’s songs like this that made Cudi the legendary moon man that he his, in the first place.

11. Elsie’s Baby Boy (flashback) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by E*Vax, Kid Cudi, Heavy Mellow & Dot Da Genius

This song sounded like a leftover track from “Speedin’ Bullet To Heaven” and despite how much negative criticism that album got, I absolutely love when Cudi dives into his alternative roots and I really hope he decides to dive deeper into it even further at some point. In this song Cudi sings about his relationship with his mother Elsie and his childhood upbringings. By this it in turn gave me flashbacks to my relationship with my grandmother and my childhood memories which all brought back happy and sad moments for me.

12. Sept. 16 ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Emile Haynie, FINNEAS, Plain Pat & Dot Da Genius

What I loved the most about this record was Cudi’s vulnerability. Cudi has a few rare moments on his albums where he actually sings about love and being in love and it’s always great to hear. Cudi’s such a hopeless romantic and I love when he let’s his guard down and expresses his feelings. This song takes me back to “Kitchen” on “Passion, Pain, & Demon Slayin’“ and though I love that song more, this song was definitely cooked in the same pot.

13. The Void ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Kid Cudi & MIKE DEAN

The most uplifting song from the album, this song takes me back to some of the vibes from the first album, like his song “Up, Up, and Away”. That was one of the songs in my high school days that made me fully accept myself for who I was, regardless of what people said and this song is just as motivating and uplifting. On the same wave of “Reborn”, Cudi sings about avoiding all negativity on this record and only focusing on the positive. I almost cried towards the end when he thanked us, his fans, for staying with him and never leaving him. It’s a very beautiful song, but I just personally feel like this song should have been the one to end the album or close to end because to me this track is a hard one to follow behind.

14. Lovin’ Me (feat. Phoebe Bridgers) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by William J. Sullivan, Charlie Handsome, Rami Beatz & Dot Da Genius

It took a little while for this song to set in for me but after it did, it made me want to cry. If you ever struggled with self-love or self-acceptance then this song is for you. What I loved most about this song was the message because it really hit home for me. It’s a beautiful anthem about finding happiness within yourself that I feel a lot of people will relate to.

15. The Pale Moonlight ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by E*Vax, Rami Beatz & Dot Da Genius

Wasn’t feeling this one all too much, but what I loved about it most again, were the adlibs. I loved Cudi’s multiple layering of his vocals throughout the song, especially the “la-la-la-la” parts. The sounds very remiscent to some of Cudi’s earlier music and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear this was a leftover track from “The End Of Day”.

16. Rockstar Knights (feat. Trippie Redd) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by Jenius, WondaGurl, MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

I’m not a big fan of Trippie Redd but I really fuck with his contributions on this song. This is another song where I really loved the chorus and I also love Cudi’s flow once his verse comes in. Cudi’s wordplay is out of this world on this record and it’s hard not to beat your head as Cudi delivers bar for bar for bar throughout his entire verse. Cudi really shines on this record with his skills as a MC and if Cudi ever felt he had anything to prove as a rapper, he definitely did that here. As the song ends it feels like Cudi just turned the spaceship on hyperdrive and took us along for the ride as he drifted further and further into space- Totally sick.

17. 4 da Kidz ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by WondaGurl, MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius, 18YOMAN & Take a Daytrip

A song dedicated to the “kidz” reminding us that we are not alone and this song is another song to vibe out to. With instructions from Cudi, to turn it loud if we need to, this song, on the same frequency as “love.” is another song where Cudi is speaking to us as our big brother and giving us a well needed pep talk. What I loved most about it was Cudi’s vocals on the chorus, especially the way he pronounced the “oo” vowel sounds. It was very reminiscent of a Baltimore accent which I always found comical in the best way which is one of things I love the most about Cudi. He’s not afraid to try different things or pull different things from his various influences despite the genre and on this record, he ties them up beautifully.

18. Lord I Know ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius, 18YOMAN & Take a Daytrip

Serving as the closer to the album and the man on the moon trilogy, this song is a classic Cudi hym that tells us that we’re not alone regardless of what we face in life. What I liked most about this song was the message, and that’s why I rate it so highly. In this song Cudi expresses being content with the path he’s on at life and after everything he’s gone through, it makes me happy to finally hear that he’s found peace within himself. The song/album ends with his daughter Vada saying, “To be continued” and I can’t wait to see what Cudi has in store for us next. I just have a strong feeling that all of us Cudi fans are about to eat REAL GOOD.

There’s been a lot said about this album, good and bad but I feel this album is merely a taste of what’s to come. Is this record my favorite? No, but what I can say is that it’s an ALBUM, meaning it’s not a group of songs that you can easily separate like many others. This is the kind of album where you have to play the whole thing all the way through time in and time again to really get what Cudi was trying to convey. It’s not a record that you can just play a few times and be done with, no, it’s a grower. There were a lot of songs on this record that I did not like at first, but after having some time to let them marinate, they became some of my favorites and it made me truly appreciate Kid Cudi as an artist because people don’t make albums like this anymore. There’s rare artists that are this detailed with the way the songs transitions, the interludes, and how copacetic the album is in it’s entirety. This album was truly a gift and I can’t wait to see what else Cudi has left up his sleeve.

Top Favorite Songs

Another Day

Dive

Tequila Shots

Rockstar Knights

The Void

Mr. Solo Dolo III

Listen For Yourself Here!

#kid cudi #man on the moon 3 #man on the moon iii #motm3 #album review #2020 #motmiii

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

the mountain between us | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Rating: E

Warnings: language, adult content, N*FW, description of a panic attack

Word count: 8.1k

Summary: In which the return to Edenbrook doesn’t go as planned, or: Ethan and Sloane get the hell out of Dodge Boston.

Notes: This story continues off my previous fic, waiting for rain , although this can be read as a stand-alone. It is a sort of AU of chapter 12, in which Danny has a separate funeral of his own (I mean, I get why PB wrote it to save time/redundancies, but I don’t see them somehow managing to secure burial plots right next to each other? Anyway, the wonders of fiction aside…).

------

She makes it to the diagnostic office with two seconds to spare.

The muffled thump of the door meeting the casing is like a gunshot, echoing in the quiet room. She stumbles past the table and over to the couch, trying to get out of direct line of sight. The leather creaks under her weight as she collapses onto the cushion. That constant undercurrent of dread builds into a wave, washing over her. Her hands start to shake and soon, the rest of her body follows suit. The faux-wood grain of the coffee table before her is the only thing in focus; the rest of the world is warped, as if she’s viewing it through binoculars. Her heart feels as if someone has a fist around it and is trying to pull it free through her throat.

“Stop… fucking… crying,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her cheeks. But her lacrimal glands pay no mind to her threats, nor does the rest of her when she begs it to stop panicking.

All this, she bemoans, over plastic wrap -- just a patient’s sandwich that he asked for her help unwrapping. But the moment she touched it and felt it crinkle under her hands, she was back in that tented room, shrouded by the thick plastic draped over the walls, sealed in and suffocated by the opaque sheeting, waiting and waiting and waiting to die.

She doesn’t remember what terrible joke she made about not being a fan of tuna, nor does she remember the trip from the oncology ward to here, several floors down. None of her friends must have seen her, because none of them have followed her in here, at the ready with their hugs and assurances, suffocating in their own loving way.

“You’re the worst… person on earth,” she whispers, clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off another round of tears.

“Sloane?”

She glances up to see Ethan stepping into the room, his mouth crumpled into that familiar frown of worry -- the one he’s worn ever since she returned. He says her name like it’s a question, as if she has the option to shake her head no and become someone else. It’s a tempting idea. Her reply is at the ready, as natural as breathing now. Not that she’s doing a very good job of doing the latter.

“I’m fine.”

“I see that.” Though the words should be harsh, his tone is anything but -- weighed down by all the concern in the world, it seems. His gaze roves over her, observing and diagnosing her like the specimen she is, walking through Edenbrook’s halls once more. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, more to himself than to her.

“Correction: my second. First was in the supply closet. Decided I wanted a change of scenery.”

Although it’s a struggle to get the words out, her audience doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks.

“Please.” The plea is whispered into her clasped hands. She tightens her grip, trying in vain to stop the tremors working through her.

Ethan crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, giving her the illusion of space by twisting at the waist to look at her. In blocking her view of the hallway, he also blocks them from seeing her. His hand comes to rest on the space between them, a show of support that doesn’t make her feel crowded or trapped. She could kiss him right now, if it weren’t for the whole world-feeling-like-it’s-falling-out-from-underneath-her sensation. Her lungs ache with each choppy, shallow breath she drags in.

“I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

Untangling her laced hands, she reaches down and rests her hand atop his. With a gentle motion, his fingers shift to nestle alongside hers, grounding her with the pleasant warmth of his touch. With her eyes closed, she focuses on the smooth breaths he takes, mimicking them as best she can. Seconds turn to minutes, marked only by his murmured phrases of assurance and his pulse, sure and steady under her palm. Gradually, her breath begins to ebb and flow, rolling in and out of her lungs in languid sweeps.

She opens her eyes. The office fades into focus. The track lighting is still too bright, so she turns to Ethan. The sympathy welling in his eyes almost makes her want to shut hers again. His gaze tracks over her in a fitful dance; he’s mapping out each tear that stains her cheeks and neck.

“I’m okay,” she tries this time.

His eyebrows scrunch down as he studies her.

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not.” Sloane leans forward and rubs at her cheeks. If she puts her hair down, she could maybe make it to the bathroom and wash away the evidence before a staff member notices. “Have you thought any more about Aurora’s proposal?”

“The one you two dropped on me at the private memorial we had on Tuesday morning? No, I can’t say that I have.” Shaking his head, he pinches at the bridge of his nose and sighs. “God, Sloane, I don’t want to talk about the hospital. I don’t give a damn about it right now. I only care about you.”

The cushion creaks as she shifts, uncertain how to drive the conversation away from her. She goes with the best tactic: avoidance.

“Well, thanks, then. But I should go. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ve got to pick up some labs and check up on Mr. Evans and see what Baz wanted from--”

Ethan puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, once, then again.

“Stop. Stop worrying about everybody else for a second.”

She snorts out a humorless laugh at that. “I’m serious,” he continues, pressing on her shoulder and urging her to look at him. “I know that you practically begged Naveen to let you come back to work, even after I told you no, but I think you need to give yourself more time. I think you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I was stuck here for three days, and then stuck at home for another four. I’m done waiting around. I can only take so much medical leave. And I can’t just… sit at home cowering in fear.”

“So you thought doing it at work would be better?” he asks candidly.

“Fuck you.”

Sloane jumps to her feet and rounds the table, leaving him to throw his pity party for her all by himself -- then freezes. Outside the glass walls, the hallway is teeming with people. Nurses and orderlies and patients mill about, pushing gurneys and cleaning carts and wheelchairs. Several nurses at the station spot her and then, like marionettes on shared strings, turn towards each other at once, their chins tipped low as they converse. She feels like a zoo animal, on display for the hospital to ogle at.

“Go home, Sloane,” comes Ethan’s voice from behind her. His footsteps drag across the rug as he approaches. “For another day or two, at least. Please.”

She turns from the hallway and brings her arms around her chest to hug herself tight.

“I… it’s no walk in the park there, either. Being there alone is frightening enough, but when everybody’s home, they walk on eggshells around me. Even Jackie, who I can always count on to be a certified bitch, has been coddling me. It’s... I hate being home. It’s like they’re too afraid to say something that might -- I don’t know, offend me? -- so they don’t say anything at all. It’s like living with a ghost, except I’m Bruce Willis in this scenario.” She stops short, figuring she’ll have to explain that one, but he holds up his palm to keep the synopsis at bay.

“I understand your reference. You know, I have seen a film or two.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

She tries for the usual smile that wants to form when making fun of his limited pop culture knowledge. Her bravado falls away, though, as he comes to stand close to her. His arms cross over his chest, as if attempting to keep his hands to himself in front of their audience. “You know what it was like for me,” she continues, “being in that room, doing nothing--”

He cuts her off, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze.

“That isn’t what I saw. You stood by Rafael’s side. You helped him when you yourself couldn’t walk without falling over. You lost every semblance of control during the worst moment of your life, and you still were able to relay the changes in your symptoms. You saved Rafael’s life--”

“That was all Tobias and the team’s--”

“You know as well as I do that patient care is more than an antidote in a syringe. You think that if we’d stuck him in a room alone, away from you, or inside one of those glass boxes that he would still be alive? Think again, Rookie.”

The passion and heat in his voice, along with the return of her nickname, sends a tingle up the length of her spine. “I watched you struggle to be by his side. I watched you have all your faculties ripped away. Which is why I’m so worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Ethan--” she starts, but he barrels right over the deflection attempt.

“If you had a patient who was experiencing the same symptoms at work, would you tell them to get over it? Would you tell them to push past their fears and their anxieties, in order to stay on the clock?”

Her lips purse at his point, knowing that he’s right. But she doesn’t want to let him win this one.

“Doctors do a lot of things they tell their patients not to. We’re the biggest hypocrites of them all.”

“No, I think that honor falls on politicians,” he quips.

The little laugh feels foreign in her mouth. She can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up in response to the noise.

“I have an idea.” She raises a brow in interest, spurring him on. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you’d like. We can leave today, spend a long weekend away. We’ll swing by your place, pack you a bag, and go.”

“And you think we can just… leave? Slack off on our duties like that? What about our patients?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a smirk.

“You’re talking to the person who does the scheduling. And I happen to know your boss wouldn’t mind. My boss has been not-so-subtly sending me couples vacation rentals after seeing our appearance on national television.”

Taking a deep breath, Sloane considers the offer as he watches her, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. That tingling sensation returns, banking higher and higher within her.

“Okay,” she agrees, hating how her heart beats a little faster at the brilliant smile on his face. “I like the way you think. Let’s go.”

------

Within two hours, they load up Ethan’s car and make their way out of Boston, Jenner wiggling happily in the backseat.

The city center gives way to the urban sprawl. That soon becomes overtaken by suburbia and its penchant for shopping outlets and tract housing. Sloane can’t help the sigh of relief that comes when they reach Medford and the city skyline drops away in the rearview. They leave the coastal lowlands of Massachusetts behind, heading north along the interstate and up into New Hampshire. Though she packed a bag with what little information he gave her, she’s curious still when they stop at a food truck for lunch.

“You realize you could hit the navigation screen on the GPS, right?” Ethan points out. “It’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.”

“That’s cheating. I thought you taught me to be a better doctor than that.”

“No, I taught you how to be a smarter doctor. Besides, you’re the one knowledgeable about technology.” When she doesn’t immediately outright ask, he settles back in his chair and pets Jenner when she approaches for attention. “All right, then. Diagnose it.”

Sloane’s fork pauses on its way to her mouth. She shoots him an incredulous look, but when he simply cocks an eyebrow, she takes the bait.

“We’re headed north. At first, I thought Maine, especially with what you suggested I bring, but we’ve gone too far west now. It wouldn’t make any sense to make a big right turn and head east. And we’re not going as far as Canada, because you didn’t tell me to bring my passport -- which I do have, by the way, though I’ve only gotten to use it one time.”

“I know,” he tells her. “There’s several photos of your semester abroad on your Pictagram page.”

“Those photos are from my senior year of undergrad. That means you scrolled for quite a while, Dr. Ramsey.” It’s impossible to miss the blush burning along his cheeks and up his ears. Sloane tips her head to the side, eyes wide, her words teasing: “Were you that interested in Stockholm?”

“It’s a lovely city.”

That thick, bottom lip of his ticks up in a grin. The little cafe suddenly feels too warm for her, but she resists the urge to tug at her sweater.

“Right. So, not Canada. I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in what New Hampshire or Vermont have to offer, other than maple syrup and hiking. Ooh, and Ben and Jerry’s.” Twirling her straw wrapper around her finger, she looks him over for another minute before giving up with a shrug. “Nope, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Some dedicated physician you are.”

His grin widens as the balled-up wrapper hits his chest.

------

They leave the interstate behind after entering Vermont.

Instead, the state highway takes them through the proper countryside. When the satellite radio fails to connect, Sloane steals the aux cord and plugs in her phone. Ethan’s protests quiet down soon enough when, instead of the pop drivel he expects, Nat King Cole croons out of the speakers.

The Taconic mountains roll along beside them, as if shielding them from the outside world; Sloane appreciates the gesture. Clusters of horses and cattle float along in their fenced-in pastures, the grass rippling under a light wind blowing off the mountains. Towns seem to sneak up on them as the road curves through the valley. Tiny stores and tiny gas stations and tiny churches, Johnson’s Hardware and Morgan’s Jewelry and Lee’s Drugstore line up along the roadside. Hanging signs advertise berry farms and local maple syrup, their arrows pointing up into the hills. Then the highway curves again, and the towns disappear from the rearview.

Sloane watches it all from her reclined position against the center console, her hand in Ethan’s as he drives. Jenner’s wet nose bumps against her cheek when the Boxer mix demands affection. Though they swore off it back in Massachusetts, they talk about work, which leads them to medical articles, which leads them to the inaccuracies in medical dramas. Serenading about her need for a Sunday kind of love, Etta James joins them as they cross into New York.

It doesn’t take too long before the feminine voice of the GPS announces that they’ve arrived. Sloane does a double-take at the welcome sign as they pass it.

“Wait -- isn’t this where that horror movie was set?” she asks.

“The film took place in Maine, actually.”

“How are you suddenly an expert on horror movies from the late nineties? And how did I not know that? Did I finally find your film niche?”

“My friend forced me to attend his Halloween party in high school,” he admits with a sigh.

They pass by the shops and bars and restaurants that line Main Street, all the brick facades and rugged decor blocking the view. Locals and fellow tourists clog the sidewalks, meandering in and out of the storefronts as they enjoy the afternoon sunshine. Eventually, the buildings fall away, and the world is filled with nothing but a cloudless sky and clear water that stretches wide beyond the guardrail. Just over a stretch of land, Lake Placid burns a deep blue in the sunlight.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the sights, but shifts her attention back to the man in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, now I have to know: what was your costume?”

“A doctor,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

She chuckles at the image of a teenage Ethan in his white coat and his patterned tie, swimming in his tailored shirts and trousers, lecturing his friends on the risks of alcohol poisoning.

“Oh my god, of course you did. Did you at least dump fake blood on yourself or something?”

“No.” His brow crinkles as he glances over at her, confused. “Why would I have done that?”

“To look scary.”

A smirk appears on his face at the idea. “Right. And what did you dress up as when you were sixteen?”

“I’m pretty sure I went as Daphne. My girlfriend Ruby went as Velma.”

“What, you didn’t douse yourself with fake blood?”

“Honestly, we should have. That would’ve looked badass.”

Ethan shakes his head at her, but she can see that smirk of his hasn’t disappeared. Turning off the main drag, he takes them down a one-lane road that winds back into the wilderness. After passing the town lodge, the occasional driveway and accompanying mailbox are the only signs of human life among the towering pines.

The house is tucked back off the road, a pretty little cottage painted robin’s egg blue. Two rocking chairs frame either side of the front door. Once Sloane releases her, Jenner darts out and takes full advantage of the lush front lawn, sniffing along the shrubs and tree line. Leaving Jenner to her exploring, Ethan hauls in their bags with Sloane following behind. The rustic decor leans too far towards kitschy for both of them, but she finds the log bed frame and large, dramatic painting of a howling wolf charming. The real draw, though, is the wide back deck, where the sea of trees parts to offer a stunning view of the lake.

It’s the perfect place, she decides later while sipping from her second glass of scotch, to watch the sunset. From his position, Ethan seems to agree. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they spread out across the porch swing. Bundled up in scarves and blankets to ward off the evening chill, they watch the sky turn from blue to orange to black. The stars, when they fade into view, are thrown into sharp relief against the night. It’s almost dizzying to be able to see so many.

It reminds her of back home, of lying on Ruby’s hood in her grandparents’ driveway under the pretense of looking for falling stars, but actually making out under the cover of darkness.

Curled up atop their feet, Jenner sighs in her sleep; Sloane mimics the noise, stretching out against Ethan. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his lips against her temple.

“Do you remember the Stevensons’ house down in North Quincy?” he asks, continuing before she can respond, because he knows that she doesn’t forget a patient. “This place reminds me of that. But the desire for peace and solitude makes a lot more sense to me, now.”

She shifts in his arms to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“It reminds me of where I grew up, in this one-horse town in Virginia.” It’s a detour of the conversation he wants to have, but she can’t help but avoid talking about That for just a little while longer. “I mean, really, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My grandparents lived there for sixty years, though, so that was home. When I was nine, my mom dropped me and my brother off at their house and never came back. So, it became our home, too. They took us in and let us have the run of the land -- which was easy to do, since we were surrounded on all sides by mountains. I was happy there -- happier than I’d been with my mom. But I spent a lot of time daydreaming about living in the big city, going to all the college parties that I saw on television, and travelling the world.”

His grip tightens around her. “And then you didn’t,” he murmurs.

“No, I didn’t,” is all she says, knowing he’s replaying her deathbed confession in his head, just as she is. “Though I blame that more on becoming infatuated with this diagnostician who wrote all these amazing books, and who inspired me to go to medical school and one day become one of the country’s greatest doctors.”

“What do you mean?” At her hum of confusion, he clarifies. “You already are, Sloane.”

Tears spring to her eyes at his declaration, but she hides them by burrowing closer into his warmth.

“But yeah, despite growing up in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice to be there again. I mean, you can’t get views like this back in Boston.” She waves a hand towards the thick spread of stars above them.

“Your file didn’t list your grandparents as contacts.”

The invitation to talk about her past lies in the proverbial space between them; she takes it.

“They passed within a few months of each other when I was seventeen. They left what little they had to me and my brother, and I used that to get to college.”

She tells him about the farmhouse and how it would become so big and lonely; and the vintage, rose-patterned sofas that would collect dust; and the little kitchen at the back that would never smell of fresh coffee and banana bread again.

She doesn’t tell him about how it felt like being abandoned all over again.

Time has healed the wound’s edges, but it flares to life on occasion. Over the years, she’s learned to sit with the grief, to take long moments to study it and inspect it and move through it. It’s how she knows, despite the horrific tragedy at Edenbrook, that she’ll be okay. Maybe not right now, or next week, or next month, but someday.

From inside, muffled through the French doors, comes Gladys Knight singing about life’s ups and downs. Sloane closes her eyes, focusing on the song and on the steady brush of Ethan’s thumb as he strokes her arm. Across the dark expanse of the woods, a whippoorwill calls out, its warble echoing off the water.

At some point, she stirs to the sensation of movement, of warm lines of pressure along her back and behind her knees. Ethan is talking to Jenner in that low, gravelly voice of his, as if trying not to wake her. Before she can tease him for it, the blanket of sleep wraps around her once more.

------

After a lengthy argument on staying in bed versus exploring the town, Ethan takes the loss with a surprising amount of grace.

Oh, he grumbles a bit as he tugs on his sweater and makes several comments on how proper vacation etiquette does not include rising before nine a.m. But once she gets him downtown to the farmer’s market and gives him the task of finding the ugliest souvenir for her to give to her roommates, he perks right up.

Under a stretch of white tents, card tables are laden with wares and plants and produce. Buckets of brightly-colored croton and chrysanthemums flare against the white tablecloths. Necklaces, fishing lures, and welded sculptures glint, swing, and jingle, catching the attention of passers-by. Wines and cheeses and honey are bottled and wrapped and canned, their labels touting how local, how fresh, how organic they are. From somewhere along the thoroughfare comes the smell of hot apple cider as it drifts between the stalls.

Sloane is marveling at a collection of wind chimes that she has no use for whatsoever when she feels a hand settle on her lower back.

“I found it.” There’s a strange sense of pride in his voice as he lifts a nondescript, brown paper bag up for emphasis. Jenner knocks her body into his legs, as if reminding him of her role in the game. “Alright, well, technically Jenner did.”

“What is it?”

“As per your request, the most hideous object known to mankind.”

“I don’t think I was that--”

“Fine,” he concedes, “known to this region -- or state, at the very least.”

Out from the Lake Placid News’s crumpled pages comes a tankard of a coffee mug with Don’t confuse your GOOGLE search with my Medical Degree! printed along the side. Then, stamped underneath as if an afterthought: Adirondack Mountains, NY. Sloane stares at it with a sort of horrified amazement.

“It’s…” she trails off, unable to form words.

“I know,” Ethan agrees, turning the mug around to read over it again. Looped around his wrist is another smaller bag.

“What else did you get?”

“That one’s a surprise.”

Jostling the tote bag on her shoulder, she gestures to the cork sticking out. “I bought us some wine to go with dinner. C’mon, show me what you bought.” It may sound like she’s whining, but she’s not.

“Are you unaware of how surprises work?” he questions, raising a brow at her insistence.

“Okay, fine.” She lets the topic slide, grinning and rolling her eyes at his desire for secrecy.

Reaching towards him, he answers in kind by sliding his arm through hers. They spend the rest of the morning strolling through the stalls together. He buys a nice bottle of bourbon for Naveen; she buys a little box of self-care items for Sienna. When Sloane comments to the shop owner on the pretty photo printed around the candle, he mentions that it’s his own photograph of a nearby trail.

“It’s a short hike, no more than three miles roundtrip,” Terry tells them as he wraps up her gift. “You pass Lake Placid Lodge and keep going about four, four ‘n a half miles, and the trail is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.”

------

Terry was right.

It’s impossible to miss the trail, given that four-hundred feet past their cottage, the road dead ends in a gravel semi-circle. Two boulders and a single post mark the trailhead: Kiver Mountain, 1.4 miles. After dropping off their purchases and changing into more terrain-friendly shoes, they set off on foot from the cottage.

Despite autumn’s grip on the foliage above, the last vestiges of late summer remain on the forest floor. Thick, leafy undergrowth makes the trees appear as if swimming in a downy sea of green. The hike’s elevation gain is slow and steady, which Sloane is grateful for, considering that eighty percent of her exercise comes in the form of running up and down hospital hallways. The other twenty percent is spent with ‘the boys’ in their dungeon gym that hasn’t seen the wet side of a paint roller since the Clinton administration. The views there, however, certainly make up for the lack of decor.

It’s the same view she’s enjoying now, what with Ethan in front of her. There is something to be said about wearing the proper apparel for such an activity, she’s finding.

“Sloane?”

Her gaze shoots up just as Ethan twists to look over his shoulder. “Were you listening?”

“No, sorry, I was--” she fumbles for something to say. The altitude must be getting to her, she reasons, because the next words out of her mouth were about to be ‘staring at your ass.’ “--um, I thought I saw a… snake.”

“They’re usually more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“You’ve never experienced me with a snake before.”

“I’ll make sure to warn them of your presence if I see one, then.”

“All snakes in the surrounding area just gave a collective sigh of relief.”

Her poor attempt at humor earns her an exasperated sigh, though she does catch the chuckle that follows. Ethan keeps talking, but she doesn’t really hear him. Mostly due to the fact that Jenner and he keep going, while her attention is caught by a small, branching path through the trees.

It’s been a long time since she spent a weekend away from the city. When her friends spent fall break camping or borrowing a friend of a friend’s uncle’s boat to cruise around on the lake, she stayed holed up at her desk, studying and outlining. Her first copy of Diagnostic Principles looks like she closed it around a rainbow, what with all of the colorful sticky notes peeking out from the pages. That same copy moved with her through every dorm at Duke, all the way across the Atlantic for her semester at Karolinska, and then at every off-campus apartment at Johns Hopkins.

After she left for college, the closest she came to the wilderness were the views on her Pictagram feed, or the nature documentaries Aurora likes to watch. Here, as Sloane pushes past bristly limbs, the scenery stretches out before her, live and in full-color. Drenched in sunlight, the valley stretches wide to whatever direction she’s facing. A trio of birds swoop down from above her, heading towards the staggering shelves of trees that line the distant hills. At the furthest edge, the blue shadows of the mountains melt into a spatter of gray clouds. It’s all very picturesque, so much so that when she hears a noise on the path behind her, she expects to turn and see a frolicking deer.

“Did you not hear me calling your name? What are you doing?” Ethan demands, his jaw firmly set as he looks her over. Trotting along beside him, Jenner sniffs at the ground, unaware of the impending argument. Sloane hops down from the outcropping she climbed for a better view.

“Sorry, I was--”

“You shouldn’t go off on your own like that.” The heat of frustration burns along his reprimand, surprising her with its intensity for such a small offense. “This isn’t a walk around the block back home. I was-- you can’t disappear on me like that.”

Sloane tries to let his tone roll off, but she also isn’t going to roll over for him. She sucks in a breath and mentally counts to five.

“Wow, okay. You’ve never fought me before about something so absurd. What’s this really about?”

In an instant, the fire is gone from his eyes. Ethan wipes a hand across his face and over his jaw; he gives his head a little shake, as if rousing himself from the spell of anger.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the blue of his eyes burning cool now. “I hoped that if we got away from the hospital that…” his words trail away under the birdsongs echoing around them.

Sloane takes Jenner’s leash and motions for Ethan to keep moving up the trail. She gives him an encouraging look when he glances over, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. The gentle slope becomes steep stone steps that they trudge up, climbing higher and higher, wary of the loose ones that wiggle under their feet.

“I thought that I would get better at this,” he finally says.

“This?” she prods.

“At coming to terms with what happened. And not just with you, although that’s a large part of it, obviously. But when Naveen was sick, when he was damn near death, I could still work. I could still be Doctor Ramsey. But when you…” he swallows and shakes his head again. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “I was terrified, and I think some parts of me still are. But when I was in that lab with Travis, and I saw him lying on that bed near death, I felt vindicated in some horrible way. I was happy that he was in pain, for what he did to you.”

“Ethan--”

“He refused to give me any information,” he bowls over her attempt at reassurances, his voice strained. “Then he begged me to ease his suffering. It was his dying request and I walked away. As someone whose friends he had killed and injured, I can compartmentalize that. But as a physician, how can I continue treating patients? How can I work with them when I not only failed, but refused to ease another patient’s suffering?”

They reach the top and step out onto the cliff.

Over the edge, purple-tipped shrubs choke the rock shelves that stagger down the cliff until they reach the forest floor below. The valley dips low before them, cradled by a long line of mountains in the distance. They roll along in a lazy sort of wave, deepening to a hazy blue the farther they stretch. True to its name, the water of Lake Placid is calm and still, reflecting the foliage’s vibrant array of colors, fuschias and reds and oranges peppering the mountains that flank the lake. Pale crags of rock decorate some of their peaks, so bleached from the sun that they almost look like snow.

Keeping a firm grip on Jenner’s leash, she breaks the silence they’ve fallen into.

“Unfortunately, you suffer from something incurable.” At his answering noise of interest, she wraps an arm around his waist and hugs him close. “You’re human.”

His hand sweeps across her back, holding her tight.

“I’m sorry.”

She shoves down her need to use humor as an emotional crutch by mentioning this must be a record number of apologies for him. Instead, she lets her head rest on his shoulder.

“What for?”

“For burdening you with my problems, which pale in comparison to what you went through. It’s not fair to--”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, hugging him tighter for a beat. “You can’t work through the trauma if you discount it like that.”

“You sound just like Naveen.”

“Smart minds think alike.”

Her heart squeezes at his familiar, half-formed huff of laughter. They spend a good length of time at the top, enjoying the peaceful view and watching clouds roll in from the west. Eventually, her stomach growls and he teases her about doing strenuous activity on an empty stomach. Jenner leads the way as they start back down the trail.

The two boulders and trailhead sign come into sight just as the rain arrives.

Fat raindrops plod the canopy above, drumming through the leaves and onto them. Ethan lets out an undignified yelp when cold rain lands on him, prompting a full-throated laugh from Sloane. They race down the path, sprinting between the boulders and down the road. Jenner barks with excitement when she tugs free of Sloane’s grip and barrels ahead of them.

They reach the cottage, Jenner at his heels when Ethan rushes inside for towels. He makes it to the hall closet before realizing that Sloane isn’t following. Retracing his steps, he returns to the little porch and finds her standing out on the front path. Her arms are stretched out beside her as the rain soaks her clothes and hair. He sets the towels down on the rocking chair and approaches her, raising his voice to be heard above the downpour.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s silly,” she answers with a shrug. Contentment and grief coat the words; it’s an effort to push them free of her throat. This close, he can see the rivulets of water running along her trembling lips. “But I was waiting for this. It’s been sunny every day since… and all I wanted was for it to rain.”

It’s not difficult to recall her angry words as they drove away from Danny’s funeral.

“It’s not silly.” Reaching for her, he takes her hand and guides her under the porch and out of the storm. “Silly would be how I worry about you constantly now -- that if I leave you alone, or you go off somewhere without me knowing, that it could happen again. I’m terrified, Sloane, of losing you again. Every patient room you step into could lead to another disaster, and it might be another one that I can’t fix.”

He keeps busy while he talks, picking up a towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. With another he dries her hair; his fingers clench and release the wavy strands like he saw her do a lifetime ago in their shared hotel room.

“It’s why I’ve been keeping tabs on you this week,” he says with no small amount of embarrassment. “Why I’ve been following you around the hospital. It’s how I knew to go to the office yesterday. And I know that’s awful and overbearing of me, and I understand on every sensible level that you’re safe. But there’s that one percent of something that keeps me at it.”

Sloane reaches up for the towel in his hands and tugs it away, letting it drop to the ground. He cups the back of her head and settles her against his chest, right against his heart where she belongs.

“I’ve spent enough years being a cynic and a pessimist, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Ethan clears his throat, swallows, and steadies on. “But when I held your hand that night, I didn’t think about what the next hour would bring, because I wasn’t sure if that next hour would include you. And to have to stand there and watch you -- you, who’s always brave in the face of death and danger -- accept your fate in those last hours, that scared me more than anything.”

“I knew it would hurt more if I begged you all to save me.” She feels the shaky rise of his chest, the tension of the muscles as he goes rigid at her words. “But I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Her cheeks are wet with tears -- whether his or hers, she isn’t sure. “I -- my grandma, we didn’t make it to the hospital in time before she passed, and she died alone, and I know that hurt my grandpa more than anything. So I’m glad you were with me.”

When he speaks, the passion and heartache in his tone unfurls something in her chest.

“I don’t want to waste what time we have left. I’m tired of playing pretend. I’m tired of holding myself back. I don’t know what to do, other than tell you that I care about you, and that I want to be with you. And I know it’ll be messy, and I don’t have all the answers for how we go about it, but I know that I want you so goddamn much, Sloane, that I don’t care anymore.”

Gripping his wet shirt, she pulls him down for a kiss. He answers in kind, his lips dragging against hers; his hands come up to frame her face, to keep her close as he drops another kiss, then two, then three against the corner of her mouth. The roar of the rain turns to a muffled drum as they fumble their way through the door and down the hall.

The bedroom is lit only by the tall windows, reflecting what weak sunlight manages through the cloudy sky. A wall of fog floats between the trees, blocking out the rest of the world. Sloane leans down to the nightstand and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Honeyed shafts of light fill the space, warming the room with their glow.

Ethan peels their wet clothes away, stripping the both of them bare. His lips cruise every inch of her damp skin; she shivers at the cool, stagnant air of the bedroom, then again at the heat of his mouth as he kisses her shoulder, her breast, her belly. He guides her to the bed and she sinks onto the soft mattress, the sheets smelling of them: his soap and her shampoo, his aftershave and her lotion. It’s a scent she wants to wake up to every morning.

“I never got to take my time with you,” he laments as he lays her down. Goosebumps follow in his wake as he runs the backs of his knuckles down her throat. He cups one breast and then the other, brushing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipples. Mesmerizing, he thinks, of the sweet noises she makes and the way her hips shift in time to his touch.

“We’ve got time,” she assures him, her fingers trailing up and down his ribs. She’s unable to hide her grin when he squirms, obviously ticklish around his sixth and seventh rib. Lifting up onto his knees just enough to capture her hands, he presses her to the bed and takes a long moment to admire.

Frizzled from the rain, her strands spread across the pillow and dampen it -- no doubt the one that he’ll end up being forced to sleep on. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and shoulders are more pronounced in the yellow light. There’s the scar along her inner thigh from climbing over chicken wire to feed the hens, the burn mark on her inner arm from fumbling a hot pan of cinnamon rolls. He kisses the sharp cut of her cheekbone and the soft skin of her stomach, reveling in every facet of her. He takes a deep breath, and then another; they feel like his first real ones since approaching the window of that damned room.

Her hands, along with the rest of her, squirm underneath his hold.

“Ethan.”

He doesn’t ask what she’s demanding; he takes one of his hands back and urges her thighs apart, pressing the heel of his palm against her and circling her wet heat. Her response is almost as erotic as the act itself; her knees jerk up, her muscles stuttering as her body rolls into his touch. Her freed hand snakes down her body to circle his wrist, her nail digging into his pulse point as she directs him how she likes. Increasing the pressure, Ethan can feel his cock growing harder as he watches her enjoyment. He’s too enthralled by her; his grip loosens on her other hand. In a flurry of movement, she’s got an arm around his neck and hauls him down to her for a messy kiss. He retaliates by changing gears; he slides two fingers inside her, delighted at the strangled moan that escapes her.

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the smarmy grin on his face.

“Yes,” Sloane breathes out. She rolls her hips down when he curls his fingers and strokes her with all the precision in the world. “Yes, it’s good, it’s--” the words are lost to the crest of another wave as it pounds through her. She squeezes his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping him where she needs him, and croaks out his name as she comes.

He eases the glide of his fingers, but doesn’t stop until he’s got her climbing again.

“God, you’re still so tight.” He nuzzles the arm she has planted against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-tinged skin. Her fingers dig into his flesh in time with his thrusts. “So responsive, all for me.”

“Please,” she begs, “please, Ethan, I need--”

In a flash, he slides down her body, scoops up her hips, and drags the flat of his tongue across her. Sloane cries out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth. His knees ache as he kneels before her and worships, coaxing hymns from her lips until she’s dragged under once more. Ethan eases her down from her high, running his fingers up and over her hip as her equilibrium returns. He rouses from his own arousal-induced haze at the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair.

“Come here.”

He goes, without question, into the circle of her awaiting arms. She meets him with a messy kiss, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. His blood pulses hot underneath his skin, knowing she’s tasting herself on his lips. One of her curious hands skims along his stomach and down to wrap around his cock.

“I want to make you feel good, too,” she murmurs, stroking him with a quick, little twist at the base, her thumb swiping across the swollen head. He barely holds it together, clenching his jaw to keep from thrusting into her hand like some horny teenager. “I… ever since that last time, you’re all I think about.”

“It’s the same for me,” he admits, too many emotions bubbling to the surface that he isn’t comfortable with declaring right now. Pressed against the long line of her body, he feels the vibration of her laughter when it comes, ringing through the room.

“Well, yeah, that too. I was mostly talking about when I masturbate, though.”

“Oh.” The word tumbles out before his brain has a chance to catch up and say something suave. It gets another giggle out of her, though -- and he finds that the taste of her laughter is even better than the sound of it. “Christ, Sloane,” he groans when he breaks their kiss, “tell me what you need.”

“You,” she says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he were stupid for expecting another answer.

Ethan slides an arm across her back, cradling her close, needing to feel her against every inch of him. He pushes into her soaked heat, his breath escaping him in a moan when she digs her nails into his shoulders. Giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch, he nips at the soft skin of her breasts, pleased with the rosy marks that bloom from his attention. One of her hands drifts down to his ass and squeezes.

“Move,” she begs.

At her command, he does; he wraps his free hand around her hip and uses the leverage to drag his cock in and out of her with short, heavy strokes. Her legs come up to encircle his waist, her body rocking up to meet his. The new angle is sweeter, deeper than before. Sloane gasps at his next thrust. Words fall free from his lips, nothing more than murmurs of praise. She writhes and keens underneath him; he has enough wherewithal to slide a hand down between them, knowing exactly what she needs. The rhythmic clenching of her sends him overboard with her, the both of them are dragged under the warm sea of pleasure. He pulls out and collapses next to her, nestling close when she slings an arm across him. The room spins around them as they wait for their breathing to turn to normal.

As his heart rate slows, he finally hears it: the rain, beating steadily against the tin roof, a cocoon of white noise that shelters them from the outside. Before he can speak, he hears another familiar sound. Sloane rubs her nose against his shoulder and chuckles.

“What was it that you said about strenuous activity on an empty stomach?”

His laughter echoes through the room. After some poking and prodding, he manages to convince her to get out of bed and meet him in the kitchen. Ethan is reprimanding Jenner for dancing around his feet and gathering ingredients when she wanders in, dressed only in his button-down and a pair of wool socks. He manages to not whack his head against the upper cabinets, but only just barely.

“Hey, you never showed me what you bought.”

He follows her finger to the little brown bag, still sitting on the bar where he dropped it off earlier.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says.

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she replies in a sing-songy tone.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

He watches her sift through the tissue paper and lift the object out. The snow globe catches in the kitchen’s recessed lights. Inside the glass is an overly-contrasted photo of Lake Placid, looking out towards Whiteface Mountain and the surrounding Adirondacks. “I figured you could add this to your collection.”

Sloane looks up in confusion. “My collection?”

“When I visited your apartment, I noticed the one you had from Stockholm on your shelf. Now, the next time you travel, you’ll know what tacky souvenir to buy yourself.”

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” she teases.

Setting the snow globe down on the table and away from Jenner’s interested nose, she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms around his waist. The kiss she gives him is gentle and sweet, her lips curled into a smile as they press against his; he wishes for a thousand more. “But that’s a good idea. Too bad I didn’t get one in Miami.”

He switches on the gas stove, glancing back at her with an impish grin.

“We could always go back.”

“You know,” she hums, “I like the way you think.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

There’s probably a reference to something recognizable in here, but the only one I can think of is a line from an Alan Jackson song (don’t ask, I’m just having fun).

#open heart #choices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart fic #Kaila writes things #f: the mountain between us #also if you read this after 9/23 I did some minor editing on the backstory part because I forgot it's canon that MC has a brother

139 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jeongguk; a royal exchange (02)

feat. the rom-com college!jeongguk x princess!reader au no one asked for

she’s the man!au where the princess impersonates her brother yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement.

notes: p.2 is a straight up roll of pure crack and fluff. lil sexy for like .2 seconds. super self indulgent and inspired by the princess diaries. princess is stressed the whole time and we live to see her suffer

w.c: 7.1k

01, 02

“I’m sure this is probably the hundredth time you’ve heard since you’ve landed, but welcome to Illyria! The palace welcomes you to your new home away from home.”

“Ho-ly,” Jeongguk slaps a hand in front of Taehyung’s offending tongue, in case swearing is forbidden on royal territory. Wouldn’t want their scholarships taken away over Taehyung’s potty mouth.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoseok, sir?” an exchange student from a university in New Zealand (yet Korean-born, ironically) pipes up, “why does the infrastructure of the building look like that?”

The student is referring to the ravines of gold metal that stream the walls of the palace. While the architecture is classic, the sheen of the metal definitely gives it an air of regality.

“Good question, Namjoon. The castle is wired and designed after our main export, Illyrium. The element was discovered in the early 1850s in what is now the ruins of Oros,” Hoseok quips brightly, patting the stone affectionately. “It has a conductivity percentage of 106% percent, more than silver. It is also quite durable.”

Namjoon’s deep laugh echoes throughout the pavilion, “I was just asking because it makes the castle so beautiful. Thank you.”

Jeongguk takes the time to snap more pictures of the castle, switching between his Sony and his phone. He zooms in on a low balcony overlooking the terrace they landed from. A figure rolls into his shot, stumbling barefoot with a ruby silk robe swishing between steps. You’re tired, sleep-laden as you clutch a snow white mug between your two hands, leaning your elbows against the metal bearing. You’re staring at nothing and everything, glazed over your backyard that seems to stretch on for eons.

“You’re right,” Jeongguk marvels at your visage between his lens, “absolutely beautiful.”

“Can I please get a better assignment, Jimin?”

“Your highness,” Jimin frowns, following after you, “you love teaching the exchange students, what has changed?”

“Exactly, Jimin,” you sigh, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Jimin’s nose nearly bumps into yours, “nothing has changed. I teach students every quarter, the same subjects every time. It’s not to say that I don’t love teaching,” you exhale, blowing into Jimin’s honeycomb bangs, “but can’t I have a more challenging assignment? Conversing with dignitaries, renovating the town square, I’ll even do culinary!”

Your poor secretary squeaks, pushing up his rose gold iPad to carve some distance between you two. “You-you know those jobs aren’t suitable for a Princess,” Jimin cuts himself off once he sees your eyes soften in defeat, “b-but! I’ll see if Hoseok would be willing to take on another class? And maybe we could arrange a presentation to the King in regards to your proposals?”

“Right,” you smile sadly, folding your arms and stretching the tight blazer your mother forced you in, “as if another Google Slideshow will impress him.”

Jimin squeezes your shoulder, as if he could tell you all the things he could never say through body language. “Showtime’s in two minutes, your highness.”

You nod, making haste to the large double doors that lead to the main living room. Normally, the scholarship program’s presentation is done in the throne room, a big show of bravado and an ego booster to your family. However, this particular class is entirely post-grad and under ten students, so you figure they were placed in a more intimate area for the sake of comfort.

Jimin pulls a lint roller out of nowhere, careful to catch every bit of dust that dares meet your presence. You tug uncomfortably at your collar, and give the signal to the door bearer. You fight the urge to flinch at the usual bombastic announcement.

“Introducing, the Princess of Illyria!”

The students and staff are bowing when you enter, and you send a look to Yoongi, who only offers you a lazy smirk. It’s a look you’ve feared since childhood, an explicit tell that he knows something you don’t. Nevertheless, you tack on a smile, standing in front of the ten students who are still dutifully lowered. You have to hand it to them, the undergrads would already be turning heads to get a peek at the princess.

“You may rise,” you voice floats. As mother always said, your voice must replicate a dandelion seed, bouncing in the wind.

The student directly in front of you elevates, a pair of doe eyes taking his sweet time to appreciate the view.

Jeon Jeongguk gives you a lazy smirk, mirroring your brother’s. The smile evaporates from your face, taking in the handsome man that you lived with for two months over two years ago. His eyes have certainly not lost their spark, but his hair is trimmed and showing off his forehead. A Sony camera wraps around his neck, held tightly by a strong pair of hands. He’s even dressed brightly, wearing a navy blazer over a plain white tee and a pair of dark jeans. Something twinges in your heart when you see that a familiar pair of black combat boots remain.

Jeongguk is the first to break eye contact, deciding to at least pretend to care about Hoseok’s presentation on the flatscreen. An overplayed video about Illyria’s history drones on, while Hoseok and Jimin are exchanging schedules in between. You’re sure that Jimin is passing on your word about choosing not to teach this quarter, and now it’s personal.

This urges the students to take seats on the couches, while staff floats around with various pastries and refreshments.

Your family takes their respective seats, and you fight the urge to pinch Yoongi as you hiss, “You knew about this?”

“Surprise,” Yoongi sing-songs, munching on a linzer cookie. “I handpicked all the students.”

“Couldn’t give your sister a heads up?” you snap hotly, making sure no one was looking as you pop a whole cream puff in your mouth.

“Sorry,” Yoongi leans over the shell of your ear, “Your hot ex-roommate is here, just wanted to let you know before you eat the dessert table.”

You mouth a fuck you, taking a stab at him under the table with your heeled foot.

After Yoongi’s not-so-subtle reveal of each other’s identities in a crowded Chinese restaurant two years ago, you’ve since cut off all contact with Jeon Jeongguk as you resumed your life as Princess of Illyria. Simultaneously shocked, but not surprised due to the obvious hints of suspicion, Jeongguk had forgiven your lie and allowed you to leave in good spirits. You remember leaving him at the front door of your dorm, hugging you warmly and bidding you safe travels.

It confused you, because it would've been easier to leave if Jeongguk had gotten angry at the complete breach of trust and kicked you out.

Hoseok is now presenting a slideshow of the intended schedule and itinerary for all students. You’re now glaring at the back of Jeongguk’s head, trying your damn hardest not to shove three brownies in your mouth in the presence of guests. Your tiny dessert spoon picks pathetically at the measly crumbs, and Jimin is urging you to smile from his position opposite you.

“And as always, our lovely princess will be conducting our class on Modern Illyrian Anthropology and will be organizing your field studies!” Hoseok practically shouts across the room, where you’re sitting wide-eyed with your family. You feel Yoongi reach over to dab the crumbs off your lips, enjoying your suffering.

You shoot a look at Jimin who was supposed to take care of things, and he gives you a pained expression that reads don’t fire me.

With a tight-lipped smile and feigning ignorance to Jeongguk’s interest in you teaching, you reply to the expectant students, “It’s always a pleasure to teach, I promise to not bore you with Illyrian history, that’s Hoseok’s job.”

“Hey!” he scrunches his nose, then turns to the students who are hiding their giggles, “Better get on her good side if you want a nice field assignment.” he warns good-naturedly, giving you a mock glare.

You suppose giving Jeongguk a field assignment far, far away from the castle.

After the long-winded presentation and a handful of brochures, the royal family is escorted out to retire for the day. As the youngest in the family you're the last one to leave.

Out the doorway you hear Taehyung utter, "That's her? What a babe!"

As to not arouse suspicion, it takes longer than anticipated to get a private moment with Jeongguk. No one but Taehyung and Jimin know of your circumstances, and it is to remain that way due to the fact that you and Yoongi committed fraud, royal or not.

Jeongguk is a quiet student, surprisingly. Choosing a seat by the window, he spends most of your classes doodling and looking out the pavilion. As stimulating as Namjoon and Irene’s questions are, you’re a little disheartened at the fact that Jeongguk has made little effort to talk to you, even if it’s as impersonal as classwork or office hours.

Today Hoseok’s teaching, and that gives you ample time to work out where you want to assign the students for field study. You’ve shaken off Jimin for now, and you’re currently roaming the halls with your phone, checking off your schedule.

Called the Museum of Modern Illyrian Art for Namjoon … check.

Sent staff to the villa in prep for the kiddies’ weekend getaway … check.

Sent e-vites and physicals to the Genovian royals … next.

Find a quiet corner to stress cry before 2:30—

A hand flies out of nowhere, grabbing your waist roughly and throwing you in a small room. The hand clasped over your mouth swallows your scream as the door shuts tight.

The captor turns on the singular lightbulb, grinning at you like a madman. “Hey Princess—what the fuck!”

You grimace, putting down your switchblade that was dangerously close to Jungkook’s jugular. “What the hell, Jeongguk! I could’ve killed you!”

“Dang, princesses are something else nowadays. Where on your body are you hiding knives?” Jeongguk marvels as if he wasn’t ten seconds away from being dead!Guk, patting down your lavender pantsuit in a way that’s highly inappropriate. “What are you, Ty Lee?”

“Self-defense secret,” and under your breath you add, “and Mai’s the one who hides knives. Ty Lee’s the acrobat.”

The grin easily returns to the tall boy’s face, burnt eyes shining against the naked bulb. This is the most emotion you’ve got out of him since classes started, and it’s doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach. “So, come here often?”

“To the storage closet?” you snort, “not particularly.”

“And where’s a place I can go that you do come often?”

“My office hours,” you deadpan, “in which you haven’t visited, by the way. As a friend and as a teacher, I’m insulted.”

A low whine erupts from his throat, and he leans against the shelves, long arms spread across the three-ply toilet paper. “But your little secretary’s always there. It’s awkward when we’re not alone. I don't know if I should act like a friend or a student. Speaking of, where is he?”

“Ah, Jimin’s getting Starbucks.”

“Lit, can you tell him to pick me up a pink drink?”

“No,” but you send a text to Jimin anyway. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I’m supposed to be coming back from the bathroom,” he air-quotes, “AKA, running around the palace until I can corner you.”

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your blazer.

“Are you annoyed at me?” and for a second, Jungkook’s eyes betray a hint of vulnerability. “Am I being too forward? Or do you not want to catch up? I don’t know, I figured you’d be excited to see me but you’ve just been so busy.”

“Jeongguk,” you put a hand on his shoulder, ceasing the rambling. He opens his mouth to add more, but you squeeze his bicep. “I’m not annoyed at you. I’m annoyed at the situation. I’ve missed you,” you offer him a shy smile, and he returns a small, hopeful one in return, “but you’re right, it’s been really busy with the usual duties and I’ve been a little on edge with keeping things together without letting any secrets out.”

You’re also confused as to why you’re still harboring feelings for him, but that’s another secret you keep to yourself.

“Well, your duty is doo-dy.” Jungkook huffs, but is placated by your confession. “Don’t worry Princess, I’ll think of something.”

A knock startles the both of you, and Jeongguk squeaks, brandishing a plunger in defense. With a dainty finger, you push the plumbing tool back to the ground, as the knockings did not stop.

“Ohmygod—am I going to be beheaded for kidnapping the Princess?” Jeongguk panics and checks his phone, realizing his bathroom break turned into a straight up game of hooky. “Do you guys still behead? I mean if you’re pulling out knives from who knows where—”

“Guk, relax,” recognizing it immediately as a code between you and your brother, you swing the supply closet open.

Yoongi looks between the two of you, gauging the situation. When he notices that no, you two did not just romp between the 3-ply and were in fact only talking, he huffs. “Losers,” he mutters under his breath, hiding a grin as he leaves you two to splutter.

It’s already well over twenty minutes past your class time, but Taehyung just wouldn’t shut up.

You can’t blame him, he’s thrilled that you managed to snag him a field study with your personal couture designer. He’s lit up like a good boy on Christmas eve, getting his present early. He’s gushing about how excited he is to use authentic Swarovski crystals and rub noses with the fancy fabrics.

“I’ll make you the perfect dress for the upcoming gala, Your Highness.” Taehyung’s vibrating in a manner you never imagined on a human before.

“Thank you,” you reply awkwardly, “I’m sorry, but what gala are you referring to?”

He shrugs, “I’m sure there’s a gala you have to go to sometime. I’ve just always wanted to say that, makes me feel special.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk is sitting on your desk, heels bumping into the mahogany. With a stiff jerk of his head, Tae’s lips morph into an ‘O’ and he finally gets the hint, bowing to you and scurrying off.

“Y’know, his fashion’s kind of eccentric.” he nods over to the excessive fur lining on Taehyung’s slippers, “I’d make sure your designer keeps a close eye on him.”

“And what do I owe the pleasure of your presence,” you click, “twenty minutes after class?”

Jeongguk has the audacity to roll his eyes, rolling his head back to crack out the stiffness. “The chamber choir, really?” he exhales, dropping the itinerary you spent the better half of your nights preparing.

You raise your eyebrows, “What? It pertains to your major.”

“For the past six years all I've done is eat, sleep, and breathe music,” he says, and you’re suddenly reminded that you had a glimpse of that version of Jeongguk two years ago. A slave to the music, as much as he loved the subject, it sometimes felt like a tether that weaved far too deeply under his skin. “Can’t my field assignment be something different? More eclectic?”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“In fact, I do.” Jeongguk lolls his head to the side, chestnut bangs falling softly. “For my field study, I want to shadow the Princess’ duties.”

You slam your hands down, standing up so you’re nearly nose-to-nose with the young man. “Are you crazy? Do you want Yoongi and I to get caught?”

“Listen, I’ve thought about it all throughout class—”

“—what? You didn’t listen to my lecture?—”

“—and today in class you mentioned that you graduated with a Master’s in Public Affairs, because in fact I always listen to you,” Jeongguk presses a finger to your lips when you try to cut him off, “and lo and behold, one of my minors was in public affairs! What better way to get more experience in the business when I have the master right in front of me?”

“I don’t know, Guk,” you try, mulling through all the possible situations and horrors that could occur because of it.

“Princess, we’re killing two birds with one stone!” Jeongguk pleads, giving you the puppy eyes, “not only do I get a far better field study assignment, but it’s far better because I get to spend more time with you!”

You hate how absolutely weak you’ve become under his gaze. In the span of less than three weeks, Jeon Jeongguk has re-entered your life like he never left. He wanted to spend time with you. The selfish part of your brain says you wish the same. Who are you to deny such a simple desire?

“Fine,” you spit out, putting up a front and pretending to be annoyed, “but you better not get all huffy around Jimin.”

He shrugs, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Worth it.”

“You’re different,” Jeongguk states bluntly, actively ignoring the way Jimin tries to push between you two. Jeongguk continues to press into your shoulder as you weave through the gardens. You’re picking flowers for a specific theme arrangement and pattern. A diplomat from Spain is coming and he is bringing her young daughter. You've heard that she’s recently taken in interest in constructing flower crowns.

“Well, two years can do that to a person,” you reply airily, dropping a tiger lily in the wicker basket Jeongguk insisted on carrying.

Having Jeongguk follow you around like a duckling is fun, to be frank. Jimin is no longer hyper-focused on you, forcing him to spread his attention between you and your overly-attentive student. Jeongguk can’t attend every single one of your events because some of the information’s sensitive, but when he does it makes your job feel less of a job and more like a fun group project.

Like when you and Jeongguk would stumble in the farmer’s market every Sunday morning, hungover but aching to fill your bellies. You two were walking zombies, forcing yourselves out of bed to feed yourselves. But it was always fun because you were together, whenever it was Jeongguk’s turn to pay, you’d sneak in more KitKats for yourself. Whenever it was your turn, Jeongguk would smuggle more cartons of banana milk.

“No, no. It’s not that,” your friend admonishes instantly, “your personality’s still the same, even though it was Yoongi-fied. Your heart hasn’t changed,” you turn your head sharply towards a field of carnations, concealing your flush. “I mean, you’re more confident.”

“In other words,” Jimin pipes, looking up from his iPad, “an air of regality.”

You scoff, putting a hand on your hip and looking expectantly at the two boys. “You’ve changed too, Guk,” you reason, shaking your head. “Old Jeongguk wouldn’t be wearing white dress shirts and shoving princesses in closets.”

“You shoved the princess in a closet—!” Jimin starts, having half a mind to cancel the field study all together.

“Well, Old Jeongguk didn’t have a chance to really get to know you,” Jeongguk twirls a baby’s breath between his fingers, tucking it in-between your ear. “That’s New Jeongguk’s job.”

“So, you’re the Princess’ head of security,” Jeongguk tilts his head to look up at the slightly taller man, his visage covered by a pair of shades. The bodyguard is never really present, only when citizens enter the castle or you’re out of town. “You know you’re inside, right?”

The man only slightly inclines his head to acknowledge Jeongguk’s prodding. Hmph, he looks like a talker.

“If you’re her head of security,” Jeongguk leans closer, trying to avoid any further attention to his conversation, “do you know where she hides her knives? Because sometimes she wears those tight pencil skirts and I can’t help but wonder—”

“That’s classified.”

“Alright, where do you hide your knives—”

“Also classified.”

“Jeongguk,” you relent, sliding your footrest next to your throne, “leave Seokjin alone and come here, please.”

You can’t blame him. It’s always been a pastime of yours to ruffle Seokjin’s feathers, but you must admit that meeting with citizens is a long and frankly, boring process. The routine is fairly simple, the citizen bows and offers something for the table, and in return you lend your ear and offer assistance if possible.

“For your table, Your Highness,” the next citizen bows, carrying a foil-lined tray filled with fresh baked bread.

“Smells delicious, Bertrand.” you beam, ripping open the tin to snatch a hot slice off the top. Rosemary and thyme are egg washed atop the brown bread, and you proffer a piece to Jeongguk, as you could imagine the poor guy is as antsy as ever. “And may I introduce you to my student, Jeon Jeongguk? He’s studying my diplomacy for his field study.”

Bertrand tips his head, “Lucky you, she’s a true leader.”

Jeongguk nods shyly, nibbling on the crust. “Truly an honor.”

Jeongguk offers to bring the gift to the table with the other offerings across the room, and you nod, conversing lightly with Bertrand. His worries are simple enough, he feels pressured by a catering request from an Illyrian Duke, and wishes to serve a party fit for a royal. In resolution, you offer to send a palace chocolatier and chef to help with the preparations. Jeongguk returns to his seat next to yours just as Bertrand leaves. He pulls up his iPad, feigning notes that he should be writing while observing you.

The next citizen hobbles over, holding a large ivory wicker basket covered by a beige tarp. “For your table, Your Highness,” they bow, “I hope you like omelets.”

If you weren’t on the throne with an audience of one-hundred, you’d be delivering a very confused expression, coupled with panic. “May I?” you inquire, forcing a smile as you lift open the tarp.

In the basket there are two small jars of marmalade, and one huge chicken sitting fat and proud that its skin overflows between the gaps of the wicker. Its head twitches in your direction, barely turning because its neck is hugely bulbous with excess weight. Its beady little eyes mock you. It smells fear.

“Her name’s Dixie,” the citizen supplied helpfully.

“Holy shit,” Jeongguk whispers next to you, but not soft enough for it to not echo in the throne room, “Dixie, you are a thick chick.”

“Jeongguk!” you exclaim, which causes the whole room to reverb at your shrill cry.

Of course the chicken has to freak out, flapping its wings and freeing itself from the confines of its package. The animal dives for you, and you press yourself as much as you can against the throne. Jeongguk knows no bounds, throwing himself in front of you to catch the large bird. Feathers weave unto his umber tresses as the bird meets gravity, Jeongguk unable to calm down Dixie.

It’s more or less a wild goose chase (chicken chase?) after that, Jeongguk follows Dixie down the platform and around the throne room. The citizens and staff are clutching their stomachs in laughter, endeared by the young man following the chicken. Jimin is laughing and slapping Seokjin’s shoulder, his face breaking in an unabashed smile.

And you can’t help but laugh along with them, trying to smother your giggles by covering your face with a silk fan. You peek over the thin fabric to see Jeongguk looking especially concentrated on his mission. It wasn’t like the chicken was going to escape the throne room because the doors are closed, but surely it will be a workout as Dixie’s a trooper and isn’t going down without a fight.

“Don’t worry Princess, I got this!” Jeongguk’s voice reassures you from the far edge of the throne room. He’s taken a break, but the glint in his eyes show he’s committed to catching Dixie as she scuttles in circles.

He flashes you a breathtaking smile, all gums and pearly whites as he runs a hand through his wavy locks. Your smile falls slightly, and you clutch your fan tighter at the realization. Oh, you are besotted.

“Hoseok’s had me on my back about teaching a full class before your weekend getaway but I’ve long decided,” you lift your chin haughtily in a way only princesses do, jutting out your lip in confirmation, “that you should enjoy the time you have here. Summer’s almost over. You all should get a headstart on your packing so you can get to the beach early.”

Your class erupts into hoots and hollers, the Powerpoint presentation about the minerals of Illyria long abandoned. Two months have already passed, and in a couple weeks they’ll be saying their goodbyes. A twinge of sadness hits you as you relish in your students’ happy smiles. As each semester passes, each group leaves something behind you’ll never forget. This summer, as much as you taught them, you’ve learned a lot from them as well.

Students are already starting to pack up, but Namjoon’s butt is firmly planted in his seat, raising his hand. “Sorry, I have a question.”

You smile goodnaturedly, already used to his usual spiel. “I can email you the Powerpoint and we can go over whatever you want on Monday.”

“Ah, no. I was wondering if you were coming with us,” Namjoon mutters sheepishly.

You’re surprised, even moreso when Irene and Yerin insist that you should go. “Yes, you have to go!” Yerin bounces in her seat.

“Oh,” you blush, “I can’t. I don’t normally go on these things, wouldn’t it be weird to have your teacher at your party?”

“Hell no!” Yerin gasps shamelessly. It’s one thing you liked about this class, after class is over, they always managed to make you feel normal. Maybe it’s the closeness in age and education, but they remind you so often that you’re still young. After all, they weren’t Illyrian, and while outside of class they put on the whole shebang for you, it didn’t take long for them to get comfortable around you. “We can show you what real college life is like! We can roast barbeque on the beach and tell scary stories!”

Taehyung snorts, already halfway out the door, “I’m sure the Princess doesn’t wanna see you shitfaced in the ocean.”

You placate Yerin with a small smile, “I have to work after this, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Namjoon walks up to your desk as the rest of the students file out. He runs the spine of his journal along your desk, “Prince Yoongi and Hoseok will be there too, if it makes you feel any better. Hope you can come.”

The room is soon vacated, leaving you and your Star Student alone.

“‘I’ll see what I can do’, really?” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, plopping himself atop your desk. Your eyes snap to the way the dark denim cords around his thighs, and you make a deal of slamming your laptop shut. “C’mon, of course you wanna come. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Not really,” you admit. “I used to really like spending the weekend at the villa. I loved getting to know each class and know what it feels like to be like you guys,” you downplay yourself, stuffing books and electronics in your briefcase. “But ever since we roomed together two years ago, I can’t bring myself to go anymore. It’s not the same when you’ve actually had a taste of it.”

Jeongguk’s eyes soften at your confession. You could feel that he wasn’t prepared for your honesty, and you don’t blame him. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I leave in two weeks, you know.”

“I know.”

“Can you at least try to come, for me?”

You lift your head up to reach his eyes, looking equal parts nervous and vulnerable. You’re suddenly thrusted back to two years ago, cornered in your dorm room where Jeongguk was upset at the thought of hurting him, lying to him. You didn’t want to hurt him, or yourself.

But as Jeongguk’s large hand reaches across the desk to your smaller one, you don’t think to pull away.

“Your Highness!” Jimin interrupts the two of you, and Jeongguk snatches his hand back with a glare. Jimin ignores him, looking breathless as he leans against the door of your classroom. “Your 3 o’clock is ready. We have to hurry if we want to get through the crowd.”

With one last look, Jeongguk excuses himself, brushing past Jimin with a gruff “Bye, Princess.”

“Today’s not your day to meet with citizens,” Yoongi mumbles next to you, looking disapprovingly at the way you wait for the next citizen to approach you.

Seokjin holds the crowd off as you converse with your brother, who looks ready to leave to the villa. He’s dressed in a plain white t-shirt, foam slides and baggy slacks. If it wasn’t for the family crest proudly presented on his right breast pocket, he could easily be mistaken as the average citizen. “Mother insisted,” you reply shortly, growing more irritated by the second.

“Really?” his brows disappear under his bangs, “because from the way she said it, you were looking for work.”

Caught, you turn away from his watchful gaze. “I have a problem, okay?” you say stiffly, “I needed a distraction.”

“Alright,” Yoongi shrugs, leaning close to your ear to murmur, “where’s the dead body?”

You slap his arm, “Yoongi! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“At this rate, it looks like you’re wasting yourself away.” Yoongi replies bluntly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “C’mon, Loverboy was all pouty in my room not too long ago. Don’t disappoint him.”

With that, Yoongi turns on his heel and walks off. Citizens bow at him like dominos as he exits, your break definitively over.

Whatever is blooming between you and Jeongguk, is and never will be fair to the both of you. In your eyes Jeongguk isn’t the type to settle, not relationship-wise, but life-wise. He wanted to grow and cultivate his art, and taste freedom every step of the journey.

You weren’t freedom or growth, and you could only hope he realizes that before you become too selfish.

“Your Highness?” you break out of your reverie when a young woman your age looks at you shyly, “My name is Wendy. I didn’t get anything for the table but, I got you a caramel macchiato.”

She brandishes a venti iced caramel macchiato, condensation dripping from her fingers. Your face lights up, accepting the caffeinated drink. “I really needed this!” you perk up immediately, taking a sip and letting the cool flavor soothe your tastebuds. “Thank you, Wendy. What is it that you request?”

“Advice,” she admits, a blush creeping from her neck. She looks down at her work boots, caked in grime. “I’m an engineer who works in manufacturing Illryian technology.”

“We are eternally grateful for your service to this country,” you reply evenly. Engineers are highly revered in your country, as your economy is dependent on their brilliant minds.

“But I have fallen in love with a man who is under my station, and wishes to find work elsewhere,” she bites her lip, her eyes growing glassy. “I haven’t told him my feelings yet, however I’m also worried for my family who finds men like him to be unworthy of an engineer like myself.”

“Ah, bound by duty and expectation.” you reply grimly, “a rock and a hard place, huh?”

“Yes, forgive me for my crassness. I felt as if you would understand my predicament.”

Putting your drink down, you reach for her hand. Oil and dirt cake her fingers, and she attempts to pull away as to not soil you, but you hold on tighter. “Tell him how you feel, Wendy.” you whisper, a conversation so intimate it’s only proper it be for her ears and her ears only. “Whether he leaves or not after you tell him is his decision. However, I assure you it will hurt far more if you don’t give yourself a chance.”

Her voice cracks, “But what if it doesn’t work out?”

You start to feel a little teary at her candor, and you run a thumb over her palm. “Then you’re one heartbreak closer to happiness. Nevertheless, you are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that.”

Wendy finds the strength to squeeze your hand, and you belatedly realize that if this piece of advice was personified, it’d be slapping the shit out of you.

“You came!”

Hopped up on bitter caffeine and potential regrets, you stand in the living room well past midnight, party in full swing. Jimin trails behind you sans iPad, feeling lighter in a pair of trunks and a black tank. A playlist of Namjoon’s organizing is blasting from the surround sound, coupled with the flatscreen television projecting an intense lap of MarioKart. Irene and Taehyung are shoulder to shoulder, concentrating on getting that Mushroom Cup. The sliding doors that lead from your villa to the beach are cracked open, wide enough to hear the conversations the other students are exchanging.

It was always nice to have your villa occupied like this. Less empty, more familial.

Yerin is the first to greet you, throwing her arms around you and smelling like seasalt and vodka. She’s drenching your clothes, clad in a yellow polka-dot one-piece. “This weekend’s gonna be killer,” she whispers in your ear, causing the hairs on your neck to rise. For a petite thing, she really wastes no time cutting to the chase.

You detach yourself, holding up a bag of pastries. “Snagged some munchies for your inevitable drunk crash,” you smirk, placing the container on the kitchen island.

Yerin gapes, red tinted lips mouthing an ‘o’ at your language. “You’ve been hidin’ out on us, haven’t you Princess?” Yerin then brushes past you, ready to get her fingers on the confections. You’re over her shoulder, pointing out both Illrian delicacies and pastries she’s familiar with.

After Irene snags the Mushroom Cup they’re joining you at the island, lips coated in powdered sugar and jam. The girls laugh when some powdered sugar gets into Taehyung’s hair, Irene patting him a little too hard on his bangs.

“You’re here!”

You whip around to see Jeongguk sliding the glass doors hurriedly, bare feet slapping across the tiled floor to reach you. He’s dripping wet, ocean water rivering around his body. Your eyes can’t help but follow the flow of the cool liquid, finding purchase between the planes of his chest and honeyed abs, glowing from the heat.

Three years of your life were spent studying preparation and execution for war or nuclear threat. Unfortunately, at this very moment you feel way more prepared for war than Jeon Jeongguk standing in your villa, looking like that.

Instead of the usual pleasantries, you hold up a leather wallet. “You left this in the classroom,” you chide.

It’s a baldfaced lie. Somehow, Jeongguk’s wallet had conveniently ended up in your office between reams of paper. The bastard himself has the audacity to feign surprise, coral lips gaping in relief. “Wow, Princess. Totally not a ploy to get you to come here.”

“Right.”

“Give it here, I’ll drop it off in my room.”

“Wait, wait!” you hold up both your hands, centimeters away from Jeongguk’s pecs. You’re nearly eye level with them, and you force yourself to look up at his smug face. “You’re dripping wet on the tile! Your feet still have sand you heathen! Do not get our carpets dirty!” you hold the wallet to your chest protectively, “where’s your room?”

He tilts his head adorably, droplets flecking from his slicked back mane. “Third door on the right.” he doesn’t dare to argue with your sudden passion to keep your villa clean.

You nod, “go enjoy the water. I’ll be right out.” You don’t give him a chance to reply, kicking off your sandals as you reach the cosier part of the villa. Soft carpet meets your toes as you pad off to the guest bedrooms.

Jeongguk managed to snag the corner room, albeit smaller, it’s a single with a full mattress. You see his Superdry backpack open on the floor, its bottom worn with the white lining peeking through. Despite only arriving in the afternoon, his fresh scent is palpable. You drop the wallet on his desk, and you notice that his laptop’s still on.

The Macbook Pro glows confidently, his screensaver revealing a photograph of you on your balcony.

“Snooping around, Princess?”

You whip around, seeing Jeongguk appear fully clothed, running a towel over his hair. He is no longer dripping water or sand, but he still smelled like salt and fire. He nonchalantly closes the door behind him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed.

“You know it’s illegal to take unsolicited pictures of royalty, right?”

“And who should I answer to, hm? The Princess?” he teases, face blooming from the fluffy white towel.

You’re not upset about the picture, he knows that. But there you sit, slumped over his desk, looking forlornly at his picture of you.

“I’ve locked the door,” Jeongguk pipes up, looking at you worriedly. “Yoongi mentioned that the room’s are soundproof. He said you looked upset today. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

The room feels smaller, swallowing you whole. You’re tired from today’s events, both emotionally and physically. Jeongguk is having nothing of it, reaching between the two of you to pull the arms of the desk chair, wheeling you between his thighs.

“Jeongguk,” you start, “why weren’t you mad at me when you were right? Right about me hiding something from you.”

His brows furrow, “You made a sacrifice and protected your brother. Why would I be mad at that?” he says honestly, “sure, I was upset at first. Who wouldn’t be? But you did it out of love.”

You smile wanly, knowing that there wasn’t going to be a chance that he’d be upset at you. It was out of your devices. “I wanted you to be mad,” you admit, wringing your fingers between your skirt, “it would’ve made it easier to leave.”

“It would’ve, wouldn’t it?” he replies, his voice cotton soft. “After you left, Yoongi wouldn’t let me talk to you on the phone. Said you needed time. But I got him to tell me stories about you, stories that made me realize that I missed getting to know you.”

It’s then you feel the weight of today express itself onto your cheeks, the wetness dampening your skin. You feel his thumb brush away the tears.

“Tell me,” Jeongguk requests softly, “tell me what you really feel.”

You let your head collapse in his hands, relishing the warmth and comfort it brings. “I feel hurt. And confined.”

“More,” Jeongguk bids, his other hand squeezing your thigh, “let it out, Princess.”

You are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that.

“I miss acting like fools at the grocery store, falling on top of each other half-asleep.” Everything tumbles out shamelessly, like a waterfall. “I hate how frustrated I am when you call me Princess, because while it is my title, it turns me on in the most devastating way when you say it.” you drop your head in the crook of his neck, embarrassed to see his reaction. “I want to laugh with you, hold you, I want you, so badly. But I want you to be happy, to make music and art, and travel the world to find your muse,” you shake your head, pushing yourself away from him. “I feel so stuck here, I can’t hold you back when you’re free and—”

“That’s enough bullshit,” and he’s kissing you, a clashing of teeth that has you sensitive and reeling. His hands grasp your cheeks, and you’re stumbling in your chair as the wheels make moves on their own. You squeak against his lips before you’re wheeled back to the bed. Hot hands pull you forward to teeter your body onto the bed, keeping you in place.

The man in question breaks apart, but close enough that his lips brush against yours when he speaks, “I’ve never kissed a princess before,” Jeongguk says wryly, cupping your cheek, “but if you make one more gripe about freedom and your stupid self-righteousness and I’ll stop.”

A pure, unprepared whine escapes your lips, shame be damned.

“You’re my muse,” he plants a kiss on your forehead, “I bothered Yoongi for weeks, working tooth and nail for that scholarship,” a kiss on both your nose, “you’re what it means to feel free.”

And that’s all it takes for you to surge forward, toppling over him until he’s pushed against the headboard. Capturing your lips with his, you catch droplets of saltwater and a flavor that’s so distinctly Jeongguk, feeling high off the taste.

Your skirt rides to your waist, your underwear damp from the ocean and arousal. You straddle him, feeling so unbounded and free as Jeongguk lets you do what you’ve both wanted to do. With a roll of your hips Jeongguk grunts, forehead pressed to yours. “Princess,” he rasps, meeting your thrusts, “we have until Christmas to do this, no need to rush.”

Wait, Christmas?

Jeongguk grins, kissing away your surprise. For now, you’ll ignore the burn between your thighs. “Before we left today, Yoongi and I asked the King, your father, if he would consider extending my scholarship for a full semester. I mentioned that Yoongi and I had some unfinished projects from undergrad,” he pecks your lips, “and he’s going to help me produce a full album for my final thesis.”

“That’s amazing!” you cheer, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so proud of the two of you!”

“Mhm,” he nuzzles your neck, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin, “can’t produce anything without my muse around, so I’d say Illyria is the perfect location.”

Your fingers thread into his damp locks, and you feel your heart swell with happiness. Here, under the gaze of the beautiful boy who wanted to offer you his heart and his world, you felt free.

extra.

It takes the strength of both your hands to pull Jeongguk in the storage closet, but it isn’t like he’s putting up a fight anyhow.

“Come here often?” you drawl, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Impressive,” he chuckles, “usually it takes you an hour to shake Jimin off ya. It’s only been thirty-five minutes.”

“I just wanted to show you something funny,” you pull up your Instagram, and play the featured video. While it was posted weeks ago, it started to pick up traction after Yoongi liked the post this morning. Jeongguk is dashing around the palace, sweating bullets and cooing “c’mon Dixie!” to the sprinting chicken in the throne room.

“You’re viral!” you giggle, “you put Illyria on the social media map!”

Under the lowlights, it’s still easy to see Jeongguk’s skin has gone placid. “If I ever hit it big, that shit better not haunt me,” he groans into your neck.

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “every famous person has a backstory. Aubrey Graham had Degrassi and the Yodeling Wal-Mart boy–”

“Are you really gonna compare your boyfriend to the Yodeling Wal-Mart kid? Tell me what you really came here for,” And like a teenager, Jeongguk reels it back in, winding his hands around your waist. He gives you bedroom eyes like it's a session of Seven Minutes in Heaven, “so, we’re gonna make out or what?”

#jungkook #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeongguk #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #jjk #royal au #college au #bts x reader

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issabangtanfic · 4 years

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[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 6)

Masterlist

Synopsis: When for once rich doesn’t rhyme with Christian Grey.

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

I jolt awake after a loud thud, yanking my face off of my pillow. I look around, my vision blurry and dark at first. My door has been slammed open, a familiar ball of energy beaming at me.

“Tadayimaaaaaaa!” She sings. She walks in, but what I her stomping, the sound so loud in my head it feels like she’s wearing boots made of concrete. Groaning, I let my head plop down before she drops her full weight on me.

“Hi, babes!” She squeals, wrapping herself around me, crushing me under her body. Oh god, my head.

“Sidney, please.” I groan, blocking my ears. I hear Juno’s paws scraping the floor and soon enough she’s barging in, barking at me and jumping onto my bed.

“What do you mean 'Sidney, please'? We’re back!” My roommate says, slipping off of me only to start shaking me generically. I’m going to throw up. Juno pokes me with her nose, trying to find a way to lick my face hello.

“My head.” I mutter, flipping onto my back painfully. Juno barks again, and her wet tongue s all over my eyes.

“Juno, stop.” I mutter, grabbing her head and lifting my chin, trying to keep my face out of her reach. Our Labrador is way too excited to see me.

“Juno, lay down.” I hear Sidney order, and the frantic licking a fidgeting stops. At least she’s well-trained. When I open my eyes, Juno is lying next to me, tail wagging happily, tongue hanging out. Such a good girl. I give her a head scratch.

“I thought you’d be happier than that.” Sidney says, pouting at me. My babe is all tanned.

“I’m kind of hungover, and I had a rough week.” I reply, my voice straining. I open my arms for her.

“Gimme a hug.” I invite. She lays down next to me, hugging me and resting her head on my chest.

“I just can’t deal with the screaming.” I murmur. Juno barks and licks a long stripe across my face. Ew.

“Juno!” I scold. She resumes panting, and Sid giggles.

“She can’t help herself.” She says.

“How was France?” I ask her.

“Merveileux!” She exclaims. “Especially the men.”

“Did you practice your French kissing?” I joke.

“Mais oui oui oui!” She sings. I gasp.

“Did you? You bitch!” I utter. She told me she hadn’t done anything like that! And I believed her! She props herself up on one arm, looking down at me with a face-splitting smile.

“I know, get your arse out of bed I’ve got to tell you all about it.” She encourages. I don’t like that idea.

“10 more minutes.” I beg, hugging my other pillow. Sidney sighs and slips out of my bed.

“You have to tell me why you’re so tired.” She mutters. I close my eyes.

“Mmmmh.”

“Alright, I’ll come back in an hour. Should I make some tea?” She says once she’s at my door.

“That would be lovely, thanks.” I reply. I love that girl.

“Juno, come on!” I hear her call, and feel Juno jump out of my bed. Sidney closes the door of my bedroom and lets me sleep some more.

By 10 am I am still tired but figure out I really have to get out of bed at least. I drag myself out of my comfy covers and go brush my teeth and freshen up. Once I’m fully awake, I take some time to quickly call my mom. I haven’t talked to her on the phone for a while, and I’m supposed to call her every night but haven’t been able to with the insane week I just had. After that, I right an e-mail to Fred, detailing my encounters with Mr. Jeon and asking to pull out of the projects.

I meet Juno in the living room, and she jumps me again, knowing very well this morning’s reunion wasn’t a real one. It’s not a real one until I’ve given my baby girl tons of kisses.

“Hi, Juno!” I squeal, giving her good scratchies behind her ears. I kiss her forehead and she tries to lick my face.

“Hi baby girl. Hi.” I coo, letting her put her paws on my shoulders and hugging her tightly. She wags her tail happily.

“I missed you too.” I tell her. Oh, my big baby. She’s always so sweet and loving.

“There’s your tea.” Sidney says, coming out of the kitchen with a cup I her hands. Dog cuddles and tea? See, Sidney’s return is definitely making things better. I need her so much.

“Thank you so much.” I gush, taking the cup from her hands. I follow her to the living room and we both sit down on the couch.

“Juno.” I call, patting the spot behind me. She jumps up on the couch and lays next to me.

“So, how was France? You met someone?” I ask, and She starts telling me all about her two-week long adventure in France.

“So, yeah. That’s the tea on France.” She says in conclusion. Wow, I wish I was as daring and spontaneous as her. She really did some crazy stuff back there, and she was by herself. I’m always scared she’ll end up in dangerous situations, but she always comes back from her adventures with a big smile and tons of stories.

“Now I need to hear about your new guy.” She purses her lips as a sign of anticipation. I frown.

“My new guy?”

“The one who sent you all these flowers.” She says, throwing a glance at the two flower bouquets on the kitchen counter. Have I not thrown these away?

“Oh, no.” I roll my eyes.

“Who is he?” She asks.

“A client.” I sigh. “Before you ask, yes he is cute. Hot even. Smokin’ hot.” I add quickly, watching her eyes light up like Christmas.

“He’s most definitely a 10. But he’s a boor.” I inform her. Her shoulders sag and she pouts.

“Is he?”

“The flowers that you see are for the times he had to apologies to me.” I explain, and she frowns at me.

“What did he do?”

“He made advances to me.”

Her eyebrows meet her hairline. She glances at the flowers again.

“And you said no?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?” She utters, looking horrified.

“Because he knows he’s hot. He’s arrogant, full of himself, and decided we had to have sex because he could tell I find him hot.” I explain to him.

“Ooooooh.” She says in realization, almost going cross-eyed. “I see.”

“At first I didn’t do anything about it because I had to have that contract if I wanted to keep my job. But after yesterday…” I add, peaking her interest. She goes serious.

“What happened?” She asks me. I tell her everything about my encounters with this man, from him making me cry on our first meeting, to him forcefully driving me home, and to his brother assaulting me sexually. By the time I’m done she’s on her knees, one hand on her heart, her jaw almost touching couch.

“Jesus Christ, Maya. That is so messed up.” She breathes, her facial expression one of pure shock.

“I know.” I say, leaning onto her, circling my arms around her waist and resting my head on her thighs. She starts stroking my hair.

“I needed those contracts but I’m sure Fred will back me up if I decide to drop him.” I tell her, twisting so I’m looking up at her face.

“Well,” She punches the palm of her own hand. “You tell me if we need to beat up anybody. I still have that cricket bat.” She declares. I chuckle.

“Nah. He’s already old news.” I reassure her, leaning onto her and laying my head on her lap.

“Should we go for drinks tonight? It’s Ben’s birthday, remember?” She proposes. Ben is her younger brother, also a childhood friend. He’s turning 23.

“Yes, I was going to propose Zaap.” I retort.

“Olala, how fancy of you.” She hits me with her French accent again. I chuckle.

“Well, it’s a special occasion.” I shrug.

“Alright.” She says, slipping from under me and rising from the couch, letting my head hit the couch. This is just as comfy.

"I’m taking him for lunch, you wanna come with?” She invites. I snuggle Juno. She’s such a good pillow.

“I won’t be operational before 3.” I mumble, already falling back asleep.

“Okay, fine. You walk Juno, then.” I hear her call from the stairs. I really don’t feel like it, but I don’t want to lay around all day. Another quick nap and Juno will motivate me to get going.

I jolt awake from a dream of a nightmare after what feels like hours. After taking time to wake up and prepare myself a light sack, I throw on some gym clothes and decide to go on a run. That’ll not only make up for my lack of movement throughout the day, but it’ll be a great opportunity to clear my mind. Next Monday will be a fresh start. New clients, new projects, same old Maya.

I receive a call on my way out, and realize it’s Fred when I see the caller’s ID. A sudden fear grips my heart. I have been confident Fred is going to be on my side, but in a small, unused part of my brain a voice echoes, asking ‘but what if he’s not?’. I muster up the courage and take his call.

“I thought you said no work on weekends.” I joke as a greeting.

“I lie. I’m always checking my mails; I just don’t reply.” he retorts dryly. Is he mad? “Did Mr. Jeon seriously do all that?”

“Yes, he did. I can’t work with him anymore.” I reply, trying to sound as composed as I can.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” He says, almost reproachfully.

“Well, we need this contract.” I murmur.

“No, we don’t. And even if we did, you have the right to stop anytime if you fear for your safety.” He retorts. Oh, I love my boss. He makes our company the ultimate safe place.

“It’s in the contracts we make them sign, flower.” He reminds me. Contract? I didn’t make Mr. Jeon sign anything. I didn’t even charge him for the consultations! Fred is going to kill me.

“I know.” I mutter.

“I know I can be harsh sometimes, but I’ll always protect you guys.” He says more softly.

“I know, Fred.”

“I don’t want to scold you. I just feel bad you had to go through this. I’ll talk to that sleazy Mr. Jeon. Consider yourself free of any obligation.” He promises, lifting this heavy weight off of my shoulders.

“Thank you so much, Freddy.” I beam at my phone.

“Don’t call me that.” He snaps. “Try to rest now, Maya. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Cheers!” I exclaim, and Sidney, Ben and I raise our glasses and cling them together. Before going to Zaap, Ben came over for dinner, so we’ve been drinking since then. Sidney and Ben are starting to have the Asian glow, so I decide to start taking pictures before they pass the point of no return.

The Zaap is packed tonight, even for a Saturday night. Thank god, we booked our own table.

“Happy birthday Ben!” Sidney yells in her brother’s ear.

“Happy birthday, baby boy!” I add, wrapping my arms around his neck. Sidney and I sandwich him between us, each of us giving him a loud smooch on one kiss.

“Guys, for god’s sake.” He moans, but he’s smiling. “Enough.”

You would think it’s weird for a 23 year-old to spend his birthday with his sister and her best friend, but Ben moved to London for class three weeks ago, so he doesn’t really have any friends in the city. I’ve known him for two decades now, so this basically a family party.

We chat all night long, unable to hit the dancefloor given how packed it is. Then we get to the gifts, and has his big sisters, you best believe we spoiled our boy. He sees his new phone and his two new watches, and it’s his turn to give us loud smooches.

After several Cosmos, I head to the bathroom for a quick emptying. After pushing my way through the compact crowd, I finally reach the loo, guarded by a security guy.

As I walk in, I nearly bump into the person stumbling out of the Men’s bathroom.

“Oops.” I say in surprise, looking up at him. Mr. Jeon lays his cloudy eyes on me.

#jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #bts jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts smut #park jimin #bts jimin #kim namjoon #bts namjoon #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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sunca · 4 years

Note

Hey congrats on starting your writing blog !! Could I request Narancia with 2 and 87 from the yandere prompts? Maybe in like a school setting of sorts? Thank you in advance!! 💕

"𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎"

Yandere Narancia x reader(Yandere Prompts)

2. "Please pay attention to me."

87. "What do I need to make you love me back?"

~~~~~~

Scenario.

Warning : Death, blood, gore, physical violence, curse words, kidnapping, mentioned of stalking, yandere stuff, a bit of lust.

Count : 4030

Thank you. I appreciate it. (•-•)\💖

Sorry for the wait. I've been busy these days but as soon as I finished those stuffs, I went straight down to writing and fixing this.

Please accept this art as my apology. Long hair, fancy Narancia is a must and reader as a small chibi.

Requests still open. Thank you and I hope this brings satisfaction to you.

Sadly, I couldn't post this with read more. ;-; Forgive me.

I almost forgot. Recommended song for this.

Anson Seabra - Stay with me

~~~~~~

Sleepless nights and those stares which hunted you in the darkness. You tried to sleep soundly as much as you could but those nightmares picked you like a marionette and made you dance as they willed. Traces of fingers on your skin offered the ecstasy of waking up. Only to have chills rushing on you. Sweats and tears tainted on the mattress. The warmth of another person, the breeze would steal every night. The welcomed window with a broken lock in your view. An orange wrist band disappearing into the leaves of a nearby tree.

You hid your yawn with your book from your teacher. She shot a glance at you but you just tried to hide between your shoulders. Dark circles lingering around your eyes as you tried to wipe your tears away. You once again looked down at your book to greet with an x and its long lost number. y and z waiting for their soulmates. Numbers running around on your page playground. A discontented sign falling down along with your tense shoulders.

Slender fingers rested on his cheek. His chin stood gracefully on his palm. His captivating purple eyes sojourned on your back. You who couldn't concentrate won't be able to detect his enthusiasm for you. He planned to open his heart for you today. He could only wish it would go well. He can only wish. The echo of the bell rolling into the class directed his attention to turn to his dear friend.

Fugo closed his book and let it rest for a period. His hand reaching for the lemon coloured lunchbox and water bottle. Narancia then get attracted to your magnet but blocked by a girl who stood between you two. Narancia looked up to see her lunch box held tight to her chest. She then build up her courage to ask him to spend his precious time with her. He leaned back. Creating more space between him and her. Showing uninterested body language. A single worded rejection. His feet walking on your yellow path. You getting up to get some space from people, stopped in your tracks when he came into your view.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Nothing to do at lunch. Right? Come join us! You've been busy with that club and activities. I missed you," he whined with puppy eyes. You being your dithering self because of restlessness. "Sure," You replied with a small puff and smile, blinking your fuzzy vision away. His gleaming smile blinding you so easily. "Great! Let me grab my lunch box fast! Wait here!" He gleefully replied and headed back to his seat. A soft smile staplered on his cheeks.

The three of you sitting under the unfixed clouds. A baby tomato rolling under your fork. You listened to the back and front between Fugo and Narancia. This bickering was bringing out more headache for you. Then suddenly, Narancia wrapped his arms around your torso and faked a cry. "(Y/N)! See? Fugo is making fun of me! I just don't understand math and he's calling me 'stupid' again!" You let out a tired sigh and patted his head. "I'm calling you stupid because you are! 33×12 is 36? Oh. What a genius! How many times do I have to teach you that?!" Fugo looked as if a strawberry now. His face all red because of rage.

"Oh, Fugo. By the way, did you heard-," Narancia looked up at you. His hands not retreating back from you but holding more tightly. You were focused on Fugo and letting him know about the new series he caught upon. The two of you would buy the book together or inform each other about the news related to that series. You and Fugo having interest in a same subject once in a while. Narancia was not getting any of it. His eyebrows fusing.

"(Y/N)! I burned my hand the other day!" He put his hand in between you and Fugo's eye contact. You just nodded and patted him again but didn't stop communicating with Fugo. Narancia's hand slowly drafted back to your shoulder. Tears welding on his eyes. His cheeks swelling. He then slowly fell onto your lap. His hands closest to his heart which was aching for you. Both Fugo and you stopped in track. You looked upon a teenage boy in tears, sulking like a baby and resting on your lap.

"Please pay attention to me, (Y/N)."

His voice shaking. You felt bad for not giving him the attention he deserved and run your fingers through his hair gently. Narancia has always been like this whenever you ignored him a bit. You didn't want to speak it out loud but it slipped through. "Aww~ my baby," you wiped his tears away. Narancia started sniffing and sobbing. You picked him up by his shoulder and he sat up. "Don't cry. Don't cry~," Mischief in your sugary voice. "Aww~ There. There," you comforted him with a hug and caressed his head. Fugo scoffed and focused on eating again. Turning his gaze away from the two of you.

After a minute or two, the door to the rooftop swung. A pair of canary preying you in. Burgundy hair combed back neatly. His sharp jaw ready to slice anyone in two. His flawless face shining like silver. Turtleneck white sweater revealing his ravishing physique. Black jeans hugging his slender and long legs. The papers in his grip rustled as the breeze flowed in.

Once he saw you, he stormed up to you. You looked up at Kevin, your club's president. Narancia, on the other hand, didn't want Kevin to come and destroy his paradise, and he knew Kevin would be a bad new for him. As soon as he saw Kevin, Narancia glanced to you. Narancia didn't expect and want this to happen but here you are, looking at a boy other than him.

"Oh, Kev! What brought you here?" You greeted him and drew back your hands. Narancia didn't bother to move from your side. Fugo twisted his neck to look up from his lunch to your target. Fugo repositioned himself since he saw who was it and listened to hear whatever Kevin had to say. "(Y/N), Mrs. Smith said you made some mistakes in the paper sheets for the club. You better get there now and I have things to do," Kevin stood beside Fugo and waited for you.

"I will go there once I finish my lunch," you glared up at Kevin. Narancia was also glaring at Kevin. "She didn't look like she was busy which is unusual," Kevin insisted. Kevin's demand irked you and you rolled your eyes. "Fine," you groaned as you packed your lunch back up. Narancia complained as he clasped your arm. "(Y/N), you don't have to go." Narancia's puppy eyes striking your week spot but you couldn't say no to the class president. "I'm sorry, Narancia but I have to. I will see you back in class when this is over. Ok? No worries," you gave Narancia a reassuring smile and stood up. Narancia's eyes were narrowing at Kevin. Fugo noticed this and observed him carefully. So then, he could step in if Narancia was to burst out.

You headed to the teachers' office and prepared yourself. Kevin was walking on the corridor of the old, abandoned school building. He just needed to grab some stuffs from there. He was on his way until he saw a group of people in a class. He pulled the door open and shouted, "Students are prohibited to come here withou-," he saw an adult looking like a street rat handing a bag wrapped in tape to a student. "YOU! Outsiders are prohibited here too and state your busines -" Before his sentence ended, —wham!— his unconscious body fell onto the dusty floor with a thud.

Narancia tried his best to keep his serenity but something clicked in him. He threw his orange juice and stood up. "That motherf*cker!! $&j#fc;h-e)g£sv%y!!!" He cursed as the bottom of his shoe stamped upon the poor lunchbox. Noodles flat under, the sauce splashed across the concreted floor, the plastic scattered into pieces and his shoe fouled by the mess. Fugo noticed the buzz in his pants pocket and reached for it. Checking the ID, he then picked it up. "Pronto."

"Damn it!" Narancia exclaimed as he rubbed his shoe on the clean surface of the floor. "They're always trying to steal my (Y/N) away. A*sh*les!" Narancia kicked the air and his feet yeeted his shoe. Narancia was too furious to pay attention to Fugo or his talk. He then let out a frustrated sigh and hopped. "Yes. We'll take care of it. Arrivederci," Fugo hung up and shoved the phone back into his pants. He then reversed his direction back to Narancia who was putting on his shoe again.

"Narancia," he calmly called him to see his fumming face almost as if a tomato. "They're making a move now. Gior- Boss want us to take action. Bruno said he will send the info in 5 minutes," Fugo's sentences were short but held engrossing mystery in them. Narancia's face was dark and occupied with a wide grin which would inject a chilling trepidation to everyone sane but Fugo wasn't bothered. The thought of finishing an order perfectly enraptured Fugo as he couldn't wait to spend more time with his beloved who was in a cage. "Go fetch (Y/N) after this," Fugo shot a smirk and encouraged Narancia. The two boys communicating with their eye contact. You who thought Fugo and Narancia were normal teenagers and not knowing anything about their past, didn't even notice the foreboding gift future has in store for you.

When you entered the club room, you couldn't find Kevin anywhere. "MuMu, have you seen Kev anywhere? I need him to check these sheets," you asked a girl who was filling in forms. "Ah! He went to that old building in the west. He said he needed some files from class B," she answered and you smiled at her. "Thank you!" You replied and headed to there. Looking over the papers in your fingers again. "This will be fine. I guess...," you spoke to yourself.

Narancia and Fugo were checking out the rooms at the ground level. They entered the 5th room when you entered the hall. You then zigzagged and stepped on the first step of the stairs. 'Class B. Huh. That would be third floor.' You thought to yourself and rubbed your temple. "Wait. This building has three stairs. Right? What if I miss Kevin? I can't let it happen! I must hand in these today," you talked to yourself and hurried your steps. "Nothing's here too," Fugo looked up to Narancia. He was squatting and checking for footprints or any sign of their target were here or the packs since the info showed they stored some in here. "Let's move on," Narancia replied as he head to the stairs.

You arrived on the third floor and everything was a mess. There were plastic bags, dry leaves and dusts. You looked up to the sign on top of an entrance. It read 'E' and you moved on to get where you wanted to be. When you passed through class D, you heard something. You stopped in track and paid attention to it. It was as if something was being beaten. You backed to the wall and approached the back door of the third room. You sneakily opened the door a bit and peeked in. A strange scent hitting your nostrils.

There was a group of students and some people in normal attire. Smokes surrounding their heads. Cigarettes in between of their fingers. Some were staring down at the centre. You followed their gaze. A fist rose and fell like a tsunami. You couldn't see who was the victim since the desks and some males blocked it. You keeled for a better view and in between legs, you saw a familiar male with burgundy hair. Blood rivering down on his lips and chin. His nose all red. His face swollen.

You questioned why he didn't fight back and you covered your mouth. His fingers bending back in. Blood stained on his white sweater. Two knives attached to his belly. You started to tremble and your breath hitched. You wanted to step in and help Kevin but it would be around 15 against 1. You don't even stand a chance.

You gotta get out of there fast and affirm the teachers. When you raised your head back, the door swung open with a creek. You looked up like a cornered prey under the gaze of a predator. To meet with a pair of eyes staring down at you. A grin sent chills down your spine. You didn't waste any time and sprang for the escape. The shadow behind you chased you down. You were pulled back by a hand wrapping by your waist. "HELP-!" Your mouth covered by a hand.

"Did you hear that?" Narancia glanced at his friend who didn't turn away from his staring towards the ceiling. "Hear what?" Narancia had a confused expression. Fugo then looked at Narancia. "Narancia, call out Aerosmith. They might still be in this building," Fugo commended him. "Okay?" Narancia raised an eyebrow and spread his arms horizontally. "Aerosmith!"

You were struggling against two males. The others were staring or laughing at your inadequate struggles. You kicked, wiggled your body out, punched and did everything you could but nothing seemed to work until you remembered a method. You kicked the male in front of you where the sun don't shine and curved in your spine to smash that nose with the back of your head. The grip around you loosened. Your feet trying to be your life saviour, betrayed by a hand grabbing on one. Your face came in to kiss the floor. A crack rang in your ears and a light flashed before you. You tried to get back up but restrained by a pull.

You rolled around and punched anyone who was in sight. Your hand captured in a grip but you used all of your force and took your hand back. Your other hand reached something and you grabbed it. Panic swung your hand and —Shluk!— crimson liquid spattered. A glass shard deep in the throat of a student. Blood trailing down from his mouth and nose. He choked out and a daub of red landed on your cheek, soon to roll slowly to side. Your eyes went wide. You brought up your hand to wipe the burning sensation on your nose and hide that glup. You were stunned. Your brain tried to reload what you just did but errors delayed it.

Tap, tab, tap, dab, dap, dab, dap, swissh, dab, swissh, dab, dap, zwish, dab, dap, zwish, Dap, zwish, Dab, Dap, zwish, Dab, BAM!

The door swung open, brining you back to reality with a flinch. Your head spun and you saw a ray of hope along with two boys. Narancia's scanning fell upon you as soon as you goggled him. Your nose red. Blood smeared on your philtrum, upper lateral subunit and upper lip. Your obscured tears failed on you. The look in your eyes begged him to save you. Your lips quivering. Your quietened sobs emerging. "What the f*ck!?" A wrongdoer swore out loud and they prepared themselves by picking up some chair, wood stick, spiked bat, and pocket knives.

"Na-Narancia...," You ran towards him but your legs gave out and you crawled. Clinging on his leg. He crouched towards you. Holding your trembling hand in his. Your poor body shaking like a leaf. Tears streaming down on your exquisite cheeks. Your state in this situation and a murmur of your voice turned on the insanity inside him. "Fugo, I will leave (Y/N) to you," Fugo took over his role and supported you to stand up. Narancia's face was hard to read when you glanced at him. Narancia stood tall.

Your back leaned on the dirty wall. Your breath hitching and you hugged onto Fugo tightly. Burying your face in his chest. Snivelling all your emotions out. Screaming were heard in the distance. Fugo patted your back and separated you by your shoulders. "(Y/N)?" He called your name and you looked up at him. "I need you to stay here and not going anywhere. Ok?" he waited for your answer. You nodded while sobbing. He set up a reassuring smile and left you there. You sat there and wiped your tears away. When you glanced at Fugo, you saw him walking into that room.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE S*HT!! YOU SHOULD GO DIE IN A S*HT HOLE, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING B*TCH!!" The dead hooligan lied flat under Narancia's shoe. Narancia's breathes were hitching, and veins were popping out on his forearm and the back of his hand. Blood painted the wall and floor red. The pool under his shoe sticky and thick. They deserved it. No one and by means that, not even a single soul is allowed to hurt his perfection whom he worship daily. Anyone who left a scratch on (Y/N)'s body will be left with a missing limb but made her bleed more than a drop? Haha. Ya gotta be kidding about it.

Fugo stopped him in track. "(Y/N) need you now. Go. I will take care of them," Fugo's hand on his shoulder, giving Narancia a proud smile. Narancia stepped back and cooled himself down. Fugo took out a glass bottle and a handkerchief. He opened the cap and enclosed the lid with the handkerchief. He then turned them upside down. Soon to be back in their position. He handed the handkerchief to Narancia. "Here. Take this just in case." Narancia took it and in a split second, there was a wide, merry grin on his cheeks. He put it in the skirt pocket. "Yea! Thanks, Fugo!" He exclaimed gleefully and ran out of the class with a jolly behaviour. Fugo chuckled at Narancia's usual behaviour and put the covering back on.

Of course. You must be waiting for him all this time. You need him like he needs you. You sinning his thoughts and nights. You who was defenceless. He who was resistless to you or your beguiling body. His hands not wanting to depart from your skin. His lips brushing softly on your throat. He was addicted to you. You who spellbound him, lured him in, ensnared him, planted a seed called possessiveness in him, seized his obsession only to yourself and inveiged him to come swoop your fragile soul from this heartless world. He's your knight in shinning armour after all.

"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice. Your sugary name cloying him more and more. He was drunk upon the bewitching splendour of your beauty. Your voice ripping his stability bit by bit. His body towered you. Trapped you between his torso and the wall. You were in a daze. His tranquil smile avenging your cruel actions towards him. His loving gaze hypnotising the poor prey.

You turned your head to the source. A breeze revealing a dazzling boy to you. "Narancia!" You called your friend's name as you eyed him up. He who bathed in his enemies' blood. You wiped your tears again as you stood up. Observing the boy before you in terror. "I killed them for you~ (Y/N)♡," his voice sickeningly sweet. His usual cute smile inverted into a nightmare with blood staining on it. "Thi-This is wrong. So wrong...," you choked out. His eyebrows raised with disbelief. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)? This is the right thing to do! They hurt you! You are a perfection and I'm your guardian! If anyone try to corrupt you, they are devils and it's my duty to get rid of them! Hehe," he chuckled lightly. As if taking out the fire of life was nothing more than a joke to him.

"Naranci-" you were cut off. "I love you~" The grin not dropping from his face. "W-Wha-What?" You asked again not because you didn't quite catch it but because you didn't get what he meant by that. "I love you♡" An adorable giggle rumbled down his chest. "Wha- N-No! Liste-" you tried to speak again. "No? You don't love me?" The wretched look gushed down your throat like a blazing lava. Guilt's hands tightening around you throat. "No. No. That's not-" Your panic dragged and chucked you down the cliff.

"Then what do I need to do to make you love me back, (Y/N)?"

You stopped. You legitimately stopped. He wasn't trying to hear out what you had to spill. He wasn't even trying. It seemed as if he won't give up or drop that subject. No. He wouldn't and you have had it. You took a sharp breath in. Your legs spun and took a step farther away from him. Your back getting smaller and alarm bells rang loudly in his head. Your direction fixed on the stair. He pulled you back by your wrist and made you face him. His hand sneaking around your waist.

"Let me g-" your lips sealed with his. Your heart jumped like a rabbit and your mind reset itself. If you were just an innocent civilian, he wouldn't do anything to you but remember that time you helped him with that winsome smile? Remember that time when you let him rest on your lap? Remember that time you held him tight in your sleep? You have given him those blushes, those smiles, those giggles, those restless nights with only you in his head, those hushed moans and those vivid dreams. You have stolen his only heart and tried to flee with it. Did you think he was that stupid to let you go after everything he went through for you?

A white silk between the two teenagers sparkled under the orangy ray. The sun slowly dying on the horizon, letting his lover breathe and shine in the darkness with her small sparkling fairies. Your breathing uneven. Unable to leave his dusky purple soul. He fed upon your candy as his right hand flew up to cup your cheek. His thumb swinging left and right. Your cheek dough under his fingers. Your life like a droplet of rain in his palm.

His touches varied into needy ones. His desire asking for more as his lips once again sucked the life out of you. His tongue burrowing into you. Your hands constraining him away from you. Your head trying to break away from his grasp. Your brain sending red flags in your view. Your anxiety lining tears on your lower eyelashes. Your lung shrieking for the oxygen you needed. Him devouring on your sobs.

Your leg swung back to aim whichever part of his leg you can reach. —Wham!— he groaned and reached for his luckless shin. You didn't waste any time and hurtled wherever you can but far from this pitiful boy. Your legs wanting to give out under you but your brain forcing them not to. Your heart ringing in your ears. The stairs blurred in your vision.

You set your foot upon the second floor and aimed to make a U turn to descend more. Coincided with a yelp, your flimsy body was tugged back by a hand wrapping around your chest. Your nose and mouth were covered by a hand, linked with a cloth. Due to the intense exercise you had, you respired a small amount of chemical with a gasp. The sharp smell made you press harder into his chest, gratifying him more.

Your fists hitting his hands, pulling them away. Your body twisting in order to be freed. Your tears messy on your cheeks. Your limbs faltered. Your muscles relaxed. Your soul doors pulling the curtains. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your consciousness fell into the dark abyss. Pulling you along with it. A word echoed in the void.

"𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮."

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizzare adventure vento aureo #jojo vento aureo #jojo golden wind #jojo #jojo fanart #jojo part 5 #jojo narancia #jojo fugo #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere narancia x reader #yandere prompts

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greenornaments · 4 years

Note

58. “I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you.” :D

Oooh, thank you so much for this prompt! This takes place post-Ch. 2, they’ve defeated Pennywise and Eddie didn’t die or even get attacked. Enjoy! ^_^

———————————

Richie can’t stop himself from thinking about it; the crippling terror he’d experienced under the clown’s hypnotic spell as he helplessly watched Eddie get impaled above him, unable to do anything but watch, scream, and listen to the deafening cries inside his own head of NO, NO, GOD NO, NOT EDDIE, TAKE ME INSTEAD, PLEASE….

It’s not real. None of it was real. He knows this from the moment he awakens from the Deadlights, dazed and disoriented as Eddie looks down at him and exclaims that he’s done it, he’s killed It, and Richie gets that surge of energy and strength he’s always heard about mothers getting when their child is in danger. It’s enough to propel him to grab onto Eddie and roll both of them out of the way just in time to miss the clown’s vengeful claws. The six of them make it out, fleeing from the house of horrors one after the other, grabbing onto each other in relief and shock as they watch Neibolt crumble into the ground and become nothing more than a bad memory.

And he can’t stop thinking about it. While they walk the quiet streets of Derry in the early dawn. When they reach the quarry, which is now sporting a large sign warning against the diving they’d engaged in so many times as children without a second thought. When they blatantly ignore the sign and dive in anyway, with Eddie grabbing onto his hand before they take the plunge. While they’re swimming around in the opaque water and Eddie is playfully splashing some of it in his direction, the smile on his face more beautiful than all the stars in the sky combined. Especially then.

What would I have done? He thinks to himself as he laughs and splashes him back. If the clown had gotten him and he was gone, what the fuck would I have done?

He’s still thinking about it later that night, as he’s standing in the shower of his rented room at the Derry Townhouse, letting the hot water run over his body and cleanse him once and for all of the scourge of Pennywise and all the misery It had wrought over him and his friends for their entire lives. He’s letting his mind wander, turning over long buried memories that have been barreling at him full force ever since he stepped foot inside Jade of the Orient and saw Eddie for the first time in twenty-seven years, but which he hasn’t allowed himself to fully process until now. Now that he has nothing else to do but think.

He thinks about that summer, of quarries and clubhouses and lazy afternoons spent in a hammock; he thinks about movies and videogames and ice cream; of days spent riding bikes through the streets of town and of hot, still nights reading comics together on Eddie’s bed while trying not to wake up Mrs. Kaspbrak.

He thinks back further, to school trips to the apple orchard, where he and Eddie would pool their pocket money together to share a turnover that Richie would always make sure to take the smaller half of. He thinks of chilly winters; of snowy days spent building snowmen in Richie’s front yard before going inside for piping hot mugs of hot chocolate.

And he thinks back even further still, to the first day of kindergarten, when he was a tiny, nervous ball of anxiety who started crying the minute his mother left, until a brown haired boy with wide eyes as dark as his hair came up to him, smiled, and offered him some dried peaches from a small bag he took from the black fanny pack around his waist.

Fuck, he thinks, the long forgotten truth hitting him as his mind lingers on the R+E he’d carved into the kissing bridge on that long ago summer day. You’ve gotten yourself into a fucking emotional mess now, Rich. You dumb fucking asshole. You shouldn’t have come back here. None of you should have. Forgetting was better, it was always fucking better.

He heaves a sigh and turns the water off, shivering as he steps out of the shower and towels himself off. He’s just finishing putting on fresh clothes when he hears a knock on his door. It’s probably Mike wanting us all to go to brunch or some shit.

He crosses the room and opens the door. It’s not Mike.

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, even as he’s squeezing past Richie and entering the room anyway.

“Well, since you so politely asked for my permission,” Richie quips, watching Eddie sit on the edge of his bed. He’s also changed his clothes; he’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a plain black sweatshirt that says Tri-State Insurance across the front. It’s a very basic outfit that shouldn’t be and truly isn’t anything special, yet somehow on Eddie it manages to make Richie’s heart thump ever so slightly harder.

Get a fucking grip on yourself.

“To what do I owe this most honorable visit?” Richie asks as he leans against the wall and tries to look like he hasn’t just spent the past half hour reliving every single moment of pining he’s repressed for years.

Eddie looks suddenly uncomfortable, like he’s unsure now of why he’s there. “I… I wanted to talk to you. If you have a minute.”

“Just a minute, I have a hot date with your mom I’m gonna be late for.”

“You do realize my mom is dead, right, asshole?”

Richie swallows down the next joke he was about to make. He actually hadn’t remembered that in all the chaos. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting Eddie’s for the first time since the other man burst into his room. Eddie gazes back at him for the briefest of moments before he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Just… look, this isn’t gonna be easy for me to say,” he begins, opening his eyes back up and focusing them on a vague spot on the wall somewhere to the left of Richie. “But it’s going to bug the shit out of me until I say it, so I’m just going to bite the bullet and fucking go for it, and you don’t even have to respond, I just want to get it off my chest.”

Richie’s stomach drops, and he starts to wonder if he’s done something to piss Eddie off since they’ve reunited. Like, unintentionally. The basis of their entire friendship has always been him playfully trying to get Eddie mad, but Eddie has never really been angry at him. He doesn’t think they’ve ever even had a real fight. But there’s always that seed of doubt, and Richie quickly goes back over every interaction they’ve had in the past couple of days. Did he get mad about me making fun of his job? Maybe I made too many mom jokes, I honestly forgot she’s dead. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have made those comments about his wife, but come on, he told me himself that their marriage is on the rocks and he’s been emotionally divorced for a long time, so how mad could he possibly-

“Earth to Trashmouth, are you listening to me?”

Fuck. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. What’s on your mind?” Richie asks, clearing his throat and trying to do the same to his mind as he focuses back on Eddie, who takes a deep breath and begins speaking.

“Richie… back there, in the sewers, when… when the fucking clown had you in those Deadlights, I knew I had to do something to save you, cause no shit, right, you’re one of my best friends, so of course I did, but… but for some reason I also kind of felt like… like you being attacked by Pennywise was a personal attack on me? Sort of? Like… fuck… all I could think of was how I froze up when that spider fuck was attacking you, and how I had to make up for that, but also how… Ugh… I don’t know how to phrase this,” Eddie whines, rubbing a hand over his face as he focuses his eyes back on the wall, avoiding eye contact with Richie.

“It’s like… if it was any of the others up there, of course I would also try to help them if I could, but it wouldn’t…. it wouldn’t feel like so much of a personal thing, if that makes sense? The clown getting you, specifically, just really pissed me off. And when you dropped down I was so worried about you, like, were you ok? Were you hurt? I thought back to when we were kids, you know, when Bev was in the lights and Ben had to kiss her, and I thought… is that what you needed, too? Was I going to have to do that? But then you woke up and I was relieved, Rich, I was so relieved, but I was also… I don’t know… disappointed. I was actually disappointed that you didn’t need a kiss to wake up, and god, Richie, ever since we got out of that fucking house that’s all I’ve been able to think about. Why it is that I was so, so disappointed.”

Richie’s heart is pounding now, the steady thump of its beat echoing in his ears as all of his blood rushes to his head and makes him feel dizzy. Is Eddie saying what he thinks he’s saying? He can’t be, this isn’t real, it’s a dream, he’s still in the Deadlights and he’s going to wake up any second and they’re still going to be in that godforsaken sewer.

“Richie.”

“What?” Richie barely manages to choke out as Eddie finally makes eye contact with him. Every part of him is bursting to come out and say what he’s been holding back for days, for years, but he’s terrified.

“I don’t know how else to say this, but I… I think…”

“Eddie, I love you.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, and the minute they do his stomach flips, waves of nausea threatening to make him let loose right there on the bedroom floor, but somehow, using unimaginable strength he doesn’t even know he has in him, he manages to keep himself just barely under control enough to not completely ruin this moment.

Eddie blinks, his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of crimson. “Say that again?” He says it in a shocked whisper, his eyes wide as saucers as he looks at Richie in disbelief.

“I said I love you,” Richie repeats, finding it easier to say the second time now that the worst is over. He might as well let it all out, there’s no going back now. “I do, I love you so fucking much. I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you. And that’s all that’s been on my mind since I got that fucking phone call from Mike. That’s what went through my head as soon as I saw the number pop up on my phone. You.” He feels his cheeks growing hot from the adrenaline and pure relief of that crushing weight coming off of his chest.

Eddie’s shoulders are heaving with the intensity of the breaths he’s taking as his dark eyes bore into Richie’s. The next thing Richie knows, he’s watching Eddie get up off the bed and cross over to him, stopping close to him but, agonizingly, not even remotely close enough.

“Say it again,” he demands, his eyes flashing.

“I love you.”

“Again.” Eddie is slowly closing the space between them.

“I. Love. You.”

“One more time.” He’s practically pressed up against him now, and Richie is about 80% sure he’s about to actually faint.

“I’m in love with you, you little shit-“

His words are cut off by the gentle press of soft lips against his, and his brain short-circuits and goes completely offline. It’s so much, it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s Eddie, it’s literally everything Richie has ever dreamed of, it’s the moment he often stayed up for entire nights fantasizing about, it’s what he always assumed he would never experience, and here it was, as real as the press of Eddie’s warm, breathing, very much alive body pinning him against the wall.

Their lips part and they look at each other, breathing heavily. Eddie’s eyes are blown black, his lips are cherry red and his cheeks are scarlet. He’s so close that Richie can actually feel the thumping of the other man’s heart against his chest.

“I love you too, asshole,” says Eddie, smiling before crashing their lips back together.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing #it chapter 2

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terapsina · 5 years

Text

the ones that seek and find (six years in the relationship of harry and luna)

My first actual Harry/Luna fic for @lunaaaalovegreat who wanted me to write something for them. Here goes nothing.

summary:

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony,” the biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third year.

A third year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

/or/

By chance of fate Harry Potter meets Luna Lovegood in his second year instead of his fifth. It doesn’t really change anything for the magical world at large but it changes quite a lot for the young witch and wizard themselves. Here are six glimpses into their relationship from the moment they meet until the end of the war.

--- ao3 ---

--- i. - Year 2, January ---

The wizarding world is vast and magical and filled with wonder. And at the end of the day, most of its fate comes down to chance. In this way, it is not at all unlike the muggle world.

Four little boys share a compartment on a train and spend the next seven years becoming the terrors of Hogwarts. Two decades later a mountain troll wanders into a girls’ bathroom instead of some abandoned classroom and so forges a lifetime long friendship between three first years.

And a year after that a twelve-year-old Harry Potter doesn’t feel like going back to the Gryffindor common room to be gawked at by the few people in even his own House who think he opened the Chamber of Secrets. Instead, he goes wandering around the castle, the soles of his feet skidding against the stone floor of the hallway and mind filled to the brim with flashes of resentment.

There’s tittering laughter of more than one person coming from around the corner from Harry and he stops in his tracks as soon as he hears it. There’s something a bit cruel about that sound, something colder than amusement. Something familiar.

Slowly he leans forward to get a glimpse of whatever is waiting for him, what meets him is the sight of a blonde first year with a blue tie, she’s being cornered against the wall of the hallway by what looks to be three of her own housemates. There are wands in their hands and mean looks on their faces.

Harry’s jaw clenches in reaction but for a moment he doesn’t yet know how to proceed.

And then the girl speaks in a voice so serene he almost thinks he’s misread the situation. “We’re gonna be late for Charms.”

He wavers in place, considering if he should just turn around and leave before they notice his presence. But no, he knows what those jeers mean and he knows what bullies look like.

“You can go when we say you can go, Loony.” The biggest of the bullies says and pulls up her wand higher, now pointing it directly in the girl’s face. Harry doesn’t know the bully’s name but thinks she might be a third-year.

A third-year who looks about ready to cast a spell at an unarmed first year in a fight that’s three to one. He thinks he’s seen quite enough.

“Hey,” Harry yells to startle them and pulls out his own wand, “leave her alone!”

“Mind your own-” The girl who had been about to cast starts saying and then almost jumps out of her skin alongside the other two bullies when they turn to see him, looks like the Ravenclaws believe he’s the Heir of Slytherin too. Great.

“I said,” he glares at them “leave her alone.”

For a moment they blink in mute shock, then they scatter like frightened rabbits with a fox on their tails, and despite how that was exactly what he wanted them to do something twists in his stomach. He hates that they’re afraid of him now like he’s actually responsible for releasing the monster that is petrifying other students.

He avoids looking at the girl left behind, almost afraid that the young witch he just tried to help will look just as frightened. But when he looks at her she’s just staring at him with a calm look, head tilted a bit sideways and blinking slowly.

“Hi. I’m Harry.” Harry says, suddenly a bit uncomfortable under that wide-eyed stare, so without knowing what else to say he stares back.

She has messy pale blonde hair falling across her shoulders and down her back, it doesn’t seem to have been combed today, - or possibly the day before that as well. There’s a necklace of tiny pine cones in a strange rainbow of colors hanging around her neck. And she’s staring at him through wide-open eyes, it would almost make her look surprised but the look in them is as serene and measured as it had been when she’d been facing the bullies a minute before. Finally, he notices her holding a stack of books to her chest, each of them seems to have some kind of flower stuck between the pages and hanging over the bindings.

Harry’s not entirely sure what kind of an impression the picture she makes leaves on him but there’s something very loud and strange and interesting about it.

“I know.” She finally says after that extended pause and what were they... oh right, he’d introduced himself. “Everyone has been talking about you, they think you’re the Heir of Salazar Slytherin.”

“Oh.” He mutters, his mood souring again.

“But of course I know that you’re not.” She tells him absently like she hasn’t noticed his reaction at all, or like she has but knows not to focus on it. Harry can’t quite pin her down.

“You do?”

“Yes, it’s quite obvious, Salazar Slytherin was an elf and you’re not an elf, so you can’t possibly be his heir.” The girl says. “And I’m Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood.”

Harry stares at her, eyebrows furrowing. She might be the oddest person he’s met yet - well she would be if he didn’t know the headmaster, - but he’s still inexplicably relieved by her words. It’s nice to know someone outside of Gryffindor believes him too.

Even if that someone is making his head spin a little in confusion.

“What did they want with you anyway? The other girls.”

“Oh, they’re just infested with Wrackspurts,” Luna tells him.

“Wrackspurts?”

“They’re magical creatures that float through the air and get into your head through your ears. They make one quite confused.”

Harry’s not sure if he believes that, he thinks he’s right and they’re just bullies. But then again he doesn’t really know all that much about the magical creatures that are or are not real, so he doesn't think it would be right to dismiss them as fantasy either. After all, he hadn’t known about House Elves before he met Dobby either.

“You said you were late for class?” He says once he realizes he doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Yes but there’s a shortcut through there,” she says and points to a spot that looks like any other spot on the far left wall “I have a few minutes to spare.”

She is however starting to look a bit antsy, arms squeezing the books closer to her chest, so he guesses she really is going to be late and is just being polite now.

“I could come with you, make sure you don’t run into any more girls with... confused heads.” He offers.

“That’s very nice of you, Harry,” Luna says, smiles at him, and starts walking toward that wall, he belatedly notices that she’s also only wearing one shoe on her feet.

“What happened with your shoe?” he asks, a suspicion already very present in his head.

“Oh, the Wrackspurts hid it. It’s okay though, I’ll find it eventually, I always do.”

The Wrackspurts need a lesson in manners and Harry wonders if he can get Fred and George to help him give it.

Luna stops by the wall and before he has time to wonder if there really is a shortcut there Luna has leaned forward, hummed a quick tune he can’t quite identify and the wall is quickly transforming into a doorway.

He follows Luna all the way to Flitwick’s classroom as they chat about things Harry only halfway believes exist. But later after they’ve parted ways and he’s back in the Gryffindor tower being slaughtered in chess by Ron, he realizes it was the first time since he found Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail on that wall that he forgot about being Hogwarts’ pariah.

It was kinda nice, making a new friend. He wonders if tomorrow during breakfast he might find her for a quick chat in the Great Hall.

--- ii. - Year 3, November ---

It’s the evening after Harry finally fully managed to escape the Hospital Wing, and it’s been almost a week since the Quidditch game that ended up introducing his broom to the Whomping Willow but Harry still can’t stop mournfully staring at the broken remains of his Nimbus 2000.

It seems so stupid to feel like crying because of a broom but it was the first brand new thing that really belonged to him that he loved. It was his in a way that nothing else has ever been before. And now because of some Dementors, it’s nothing but kindling for the fire.

Not that he could ever bring himself to burn it - not that he’s allowed to anyway, the broom is interwoven with so many charms that setting it on fire would probably make it explode or something. He wishes he was just allowed to keep it at the bottom of his school trunk but apparently it counts as a safety hazard and the school needs to dispose of it safely.

So here he sits on the seating around the Quidditch pitch, the splinters on top of the blanket in front of him, with Ron and Hermione on his right and Luna on his left, waiting until he can bring himself to turn them in to Madam Hooch so she can do whatever it is they do with old and broken brooms.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione tells him and reaches past Ron to pat him on his shoulder.

He nods at her in thanks but can’t quite hide the pained grimace that follows it.

“Yeah Buddy, I’m really sorry.” Ron echoes her and gently bumps his side with his elbow.

“It’s okay,” Harry says past the Bezoar stuck in his throat and squares his shoulders to begin getting up, it’s just a broom, he should stop acting like it’s the end of the world.

“Hey, Harry?” Luna finally interrupts him for the first time since they sat down almost fifteen minutes ago, she’d been sitting quietly beside him the entire time, her elbows occasionally touching his own as one of them moved. He was just leaning forward to start wrapping the splinters back into the folds of the blanket but at her voice, he stops to look at her.

She’s got a thoughtful twist to her head like she’s considering an idea she’s been musing over.

“Yeah?”

“Can I take that piece of the handle?” She asks pointing at one of the larger remaining pieces of his Quidditch broom.

“Why?” He asks and is echoed by the voices of his two best friends asking the same question, each of them with a slightly different inflection. Ron sounds gobsmacked. Hermione, exasperated. And Harry just curious.

Luna doesn’t answer any of them, just keeps staring at him in that assuring and very calming way she has.

“Sure?” He finally tells her and passes her the splinter she had pointed to.

Luna takes it from his hand with a smile and jumps forward for a quick hug before skipping away. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stay in place, watching her leave back towards the castle.

“That girl is so strange,” Ron tells him, a flabbergasted look on his face.

“I know,” Harry says with a grin. That’s why he likes her.

“Ready, Harry?” Hermione asks after letting out a long sigh, Harry knows she doesn’t really know how to react to Luna, they’ve been friends with her for a year now and he knows that Hermione doesn’t dislike Luna, that for the most part, they get along okay, but that sometimes she kinda drives Hermione a little crazy.

And Harry’s never going to say it, he’s not stupid, but he sometimes thinks it’s good for Hermione to be left wrong-footed as her logic crashes against Luna’s irregularity. It pulls her out of her head when she gets so stuck in obsessing over her schoolwork that even Ron and Harry can’t quite manage to make her come up for air.

“As I’ll ever be.” He says, putting away his musings and finding himself suddenly better prepared for what he needs to do as the three of them finally head off towards the broom shed.

---

It’s about two weeks later that Luna finds Harry in the library and drops in front of him a little red parcel decorated with doodles of lions and snitches he’s pretty sure Luna did herself.

“What’s that?” He asks, picking up his head from the books on the Patronus Charm he’s been going through on Professor Lupin’s suggestion.

“A holiday gift.”

“It’s not really Christmas yet?” He says but takes the package into his hands anyway.

“I know. But I finished making it and Daddy and I are going to be in the Norwegian Forests looking for Heliopaths this Christmas, and it seems rather cruel to make an owl fly that far with a package. So, happy early Christmas, Harry.” Luna says and sits down on the other side of the table from him.

He slowly unwraps the package, not wanting to tear up her little drawings, and feels something in his chest tightening and warming up unexpectedly as soon as he finds himself looking at a miniature carving of his Nimbus 2000. It’s even painted the same colors as his broken broom.

“Wait.” Harry flings up his head to look at Luna, realization dawning. “Is this why you wanted that piece of my broom?”

Luna nods seriously at him and looks directly back, face filled with honesty and voice as genuine as he’s ever heard it. “It’s really sad to need to throw away something you love. I thought you’d like to keep a part of it, even if it’s only a piece of woodcarving.”

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry tells her, eyes filling up with the sort of tears he’s almost not too embarrassed to shed.

--- iii. - Year 4, December ---

He leaves Cho in the Owlery, his face flushed with mortification and feeling like he’d like nothing better than for the earth to swallow him whole.

The pretty Quidditch player turning him down stings a bit, - alright, a lot - but that’s not really why he’s running away, he doesn't think. It’s just, well, he’d been trying to pick up enough courage to ask Cho to the Yule Ball for ages and now he doesn’t think he’ll be able to summon up any kind of will to ask anyone else. And as one of the Champions, he’s not allowed to go by himself, which honestly sounds like a lot more attractive option.

So once he’s back in the castle he titters in place, unable to decide where to go now. He could go find Ron so they can simmer in misery together but that won’t really save him from whatever Professor McGonagall will do to him if he doesn’t find a date for the first dance.

Which leaves him with a very narrow list of other options. Really it leaves him with only two.

And Hermione will definitely roll her eyes at him for waiting until the last minute instead of dealing with it months ago when the ball was first announced, so he decides his best bet is to head toward the Ravenclaw common room instead. He just hopes he’s fast enough not to accidentally run into Cho again.

“What can’t talk but will reply when spoken to?” The knocker asks once he’s walked all the way up the spiral staircase.

“Don’t know.” He says and ignoring the indignant squawk of the bronze eagle uses it to knock on the door.

After about half a minute the head of some upper-year Ravenclaw comes into Harry’s line of sight past the edge of the door, the boy rolls his eyes and vanishes just as quickly. Harry just sighs, used to it by now.

A minute or two later Luna comes out to meet him.

“Hey, Harry. What’s up?”

“I need your help, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, I was gonna go down to the lake to paint something in a bit anyway, we can go together if you want.” She offers.

The lake is all the way on the other side of the castle from the Owlery so he nods and waits as she goes back into the common room to grab her art supplies and a set of warmer robes. Once she’s back, her warm Ravenclaw scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and her fluffy Pygmy Puff earmuffs - a gift from Ginny for her last birthday - on her head, he follows her down the stairs.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief once they’re outside and haven’t run into either Cho or Cedric, - who he at the moment doesn’t quite feel like seeing either, even though he does like Cedric.

They cast a pair of warming charms and he drops to sit beside her on the ground, there are a few minutes of comfortable silence while he watches her setting up her workstation. Not that it can really be called that, Luna likes to put all her paints around her in what looks like the randomest of orders while the canvas rests on top of her crossed legs.

He’s never quite been able to understand how she doesn’t get uncomfortable within five minutes. But he’s seen her rest like that for hours at a time as she paints whatever comes to her mind so he’s stopped thinking all that much on it by now.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Harry?” Luna finally asks as she uses a spell from her wand to start mixing up three kinds of blues together with some pink.

He opens his mouth but no sound seems to want to come out so he decides to change the subject instead. “What did you want to paint, anyway?”

“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack.” She says and looks at him, waiting and clearly not at all fooled.

Harry’s fingers start twitching in his lap.

“I tried to ask Cho to the ball but she’s going with Cedric,” Harry says in what seems almost one breath. “And McGonagall will kill me if I don’t get a date because the Champions are supposed to open the dance.”

“Alright,” Luna answers but doesn’t turn back to her work, clearly aware that he hasn’t gotten to his point yet.

“Will you go with me to the Yule Ball, please?” He rushes out and then blinks, surprised, he was just going to ask her if she knew anyone who didn’t have a date yet but now that the words are out he realizes this is the perfect solution. Luna is his friend. Going with Luna will be fun and he won’t spend the whole evening with someone he barely knows. The only other girl he could say that about would be Hermione, and he’s not stupid, Ron might be an oblivious idiot about it right now but Harry knows that if he asked Hermione his best friend would kill him. “We can go as friends.”

“I don’t really have a dress robe.”

“Oh.” He says, disappointed.

“But I guess Daddy can send me one of Mom’s old ones, I think I have enough time to alter it to fit me if we hurry,” Luna says and looks at him, a measuring sort of look on her face like she’s considering how serious he’s being. Then she seems to nod to herself and smiles at him. “Alright Harry, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you. As friends.”

And Harry smiles back at her, for the first time kind of excited about going.

--- iv. - Year 5 - April ---

Since the latest number of Educational Degrees, the number of detentions Umbridge has been assigning to students has grown. But until now he’s only noticed some of the upper years with bindings around one of their hands as evidence to the same kind of lessons she’s been failing to teach Harry all year.

But that remains the case only until Harry turns a corner on his way to the Room of Requirement one day to set up for the latest DA lesson and runs into Luna and a crying first-year Hufflepuff. The boy is clutching his hand to his chest while Luna’s kneeling on the ground in front of him and trying to calm him down.

“It hurts,” Harry hears the boy sniffle.

“Luna?” He says and then to make sure he understands the situation adds - “Did Umbridge-?”

“Yes,” Luna says in a voice that he’s not sure he’s ever heard from her, it’s sharp and cold and furious.

Harry gets the feeling.

He wavers in place for a moment uncertain of what to say or do to help the upset little Firstie calm down, or even if he should just go find someone better equipped for it, - like Hermione or a Professor, - but then decides to follow Luna’s lead and joins her on the floor in front of him.

“What’s your name?” Harry asks as gently as he can manage.

“Billy Wardyworth.” The boy whispers wetly.

“Can you show me your hand, Billy?” Harry asks, starting to rifle through his pockets for something that could help - he hasn’t left the Common Room without it since his own detentions started getting bad, - and grimaces once the boy does. The skin is swollen red, there’s no blood or visible words yet but he can tell just by looking that Billy hadn’t gotten away with just a few lines.

He pulls out the little bottle of Murtlap Essence that Hermione made for him and quickly unscrews the top. “Here, this should help.”

Luna seems to understand what he’s doing because she takes out her wand to cut away the edge of her sleeve with a spell and as soon as Harry’s done applying the soothing solution on Billy’s skin takes over to wrap it securely around the boy's hand.

“Better?” Luna asks once she’s done too.

Billy nods, still sniffling but starting to wipe the tears from his face with his unhurt hand.

“What happened? I haven’t seen Umbridge forcing that sick quill on anyone younger than a fifth year.” He asks Luna now that Billy is starting to look a bit better. Not that he thinks their High Inquisitor is doing it out of any kind of moral standpoint, his guess would be more along the lines of her being aware that it might be the thing that pushed the rest of the teachers over the edge into just killing her.

The feeling McGonagall has been projecting is certainly that the only reason she hasn’t already is because getting sent to Azkaban would leave her students entirely unprotected.

“You know she’s been reading all incoming and outgoing mail right?”

“Yeah?” he says, it’s why he hasn’t written Sirius anything in ages.

“Billy’s dads didn’t.”

“What did she read?” He asks, his stomach sinking with a bad feeling but Luna doesn’t say, just shakes her head angrily.

“Papa got bitten last year,” Billy says, eyes on the floor and pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Dad was just letting me know everything went okay during the full moon so I wouldn't worry. He’s been doing it every month.”

And Umbridge is the one who drafted that anti-werewolf legislation that Sirius told him about. Of course, she’s also the kind of person who would take out her hatred for the boy’s father’s very existence on an eleven-year-old.

Harry starts cursing but when Billy flinches Harry’s insides twist in guilt at realizing how the Firstie might have taken it.

“I’m glad your dad is okay,” Harry says, trying to fix it and once Billy looks back at him hopefully he for good measure adds -”Umbridge had no right to do that.”

“Thanks.” The boy says.

Harry and Luna share a look and slowly get to their feet.“Come on, Billy.” Luna says, extending her hand to help the boy get up too. “I’ll walk you to Professor Sprout, I’m sure she’ll figure out how to make certain Umbridge can’t give you any more detentions with her.”

Harry catches her hand when she starts to turn. “Want me to come along?”

“No, we’ll be alright,” Luna says, squeezing his hand and smiling a bit weakly at him. “You’ve got stuff to set up.”

“Okay. Stay after?” He says vaguely, not that he thinks Billy would tell someone about Dumbledore’s Army but they did all sign the scroll. And he’s not at all enthusiastic about finding out exactly what kind of spell-work Hermione did on that parchment.

“Alright,” Luna says and then leaves, the little boy tucked against her side.

--- v. - Year 6 - July ---

The funeral happens on a cloudy Monday morning. Harry’s head feels like it’s moving through sludge or maybe through something more sticky, like toffee made by Hagrid.

He barely notices the world around him, though somewhere at the back of his mind he’s aware that to his right Hermione is crying in Ron’s arms. That Luna’s head is tucked into the hollow of Harry’s neck and her hair is tickling his face with the breeze from the wind. That somewhere behind him Ginny is squeezed between Fred and George who showed up this morning in the company of the rest of the Order. That Neville is standing there too, pale-faced and strong-jawed with hands around himself and tears running over his cheeks.

Harry himself isn’t crying.

Harry’s mind is too full of what he needs to do now to cry. And whenever a flash of green lights up in his mind, whenever he sees Dumbledore pleading and then falling, whenever he sees Snape killing him, the grief in his chest gets burned up by rage.

But he knows he doesn’t have time for that either.

He needs to find the Horcruxes and destroy them and he doesn’t even know where to start. They’re at war now. He knows that technically they’ve been at war since the end of last year, or even since Cedric died in that cemetery in what now feels like lifetimes ago. But now that Dumbledore is dead it’s really, truly here in a way it hadn’t been before.

And the idea that it all now rests in his hands is crushing.

But he has no choice, he’s going to need to find a way to do it, to kill Voldemort. To save his friends. To save everyone.

He barely hears the service. Barely notices as it finally ends and everyone gets up and starts walking back for the castle or out towards Hogsmeade.

He does notice it as Luna pulls on his elbow to change the direction of their steps and head for the lake. Harry lets her guide him, exchanging a last tired look with Hermione and Ron when they stay on their path.

Minutes later they’re alone, watching the play of wind against the surface of the water when Luna speaks.

“You’re not coming back to Hogwarts next year.”

“No.” He says, not at all surprised that Luna knows that, she doesn’t know about the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that he has to destroy but she’s the most observant person he’s ever met, she’s probably read his plans in his face.

“Okay.” She says.

He looks at her and feels his heart starting to hurt as soon as he does. Through the past year he’s started to notice his feelings for Luna changing, Merlin they might have been changing even longer, maybe since before he asked her to the Yule Ball in his fourth year. He just knows he’s almost said something a hundred times by now only to chicken out at the last moment. Because he cares about Luna so much and he doesn’t quite know how to risk their friendship on what feels like the most terrifying gamble ever.

And now that he can’t because it wouldn't be fair, he wishes he’d taken at least one of the opportunities that had come before.

He wishes he knew what she would have said.

“But Harry?” Luna says, staring up into his eyes. Her own eyes, wide and full to the brim with a kaleidoscope of thoughts.

“Yeah?” He asks, a little breathless. Her eyes are so beautiful.

“After you’ve done what you have to. When it’s possible. Come back then,” she says and he knows she’s not talking about Hogwarts. He’s not sure exactly what lays behind her words, and it would hurt either way right now so he chooses not to linger there and just nods.

Then Luna smiles sadly at him, and leans in to place a quick kiss on his cheek that leaves a line of burn from the spot on his skin straight into his heart and then hugs him so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. His own arms clutch around her like he’s afraid to let go.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Luna whispers into his ear.

“Goodbye, Luna.”

--- vi. - Year 7 - May ---

“We did it,” Ron exclaims in dazed shock. Like it hasn’t really hit yet. Harry looks at him and then has to look away because there are tears in his eyes and behind the shock, there’s the avalanche of grief just waiting for Ron to slow down enough to be buried in.

Fred is dead.

So are Remus and Tonks.

They did it. They won, Voldemort is finally dead, his Death Eaters have been defeated and they’ve won the war. But the Great Hall is filled with dead kids and dead members of the Order and somehow the price feels too high. He knows the price was always going to be too high and yet now that he has space enough to let that truth crash into him he doesn’t know what to do with it.

So he doesn’t, instead, he wraps one arm around Ron, the other around Hermione and then they hold each other up long enough so that they’ll be able to stand on their own. Even if only just for a few more hours.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, - tears of grief mixing with tears of relief, Hermione’s hair in his face, and Ron’s hand squeezing his arm, - before he notices that they’re not alone. That there are three more survivors by the window behind them.

But finally, he notices them, Neville, Ginny, and Luna, the trio who held up Hogwarts while Harry, Ron, and Hermione were hunting for a way to save their world. The people who years ago went with him into the belly of the beast trying to save Sirius.

He can’t believe they all survived. He’s so glad that all six of them survived.

He smiles at them and laughs. Suddenly so giddy he doesn’t even know what’s coming over him.

“Hey,” he chokes out and then suddenly their hug grows by three and all of them are giggling like they’ve been hit by overpowered cheering charms. They’re all bloody, injured, and dirty with sweat. And they’re alive, and it’s over, and it hurts but it’s also the best feeling ever and Harry hasn’t felt this free in- maybe ever.

There’s tears running over his cheeks and a smile on his face and he doesn’t know what tomorrow looks like.

---

Turns out tomorrow is cold and windy and the sunrise by the lake is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a year. The sky is red and golden and blue and purple all mixed together.

They’d all spent the night at Hogwarts. Not all of them having anywhere else to go, many of their homes having been compromised and destroyed and burned down months ago. It was so strange, sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory after so long as if nothing had changed, except that there were adults, - even parents, - down in the common room.

Harry had woken up first and restless he’d left before anyone else was even stirring.

Now he’s by the very edge of the lake, his back to the destruction of much of the castle and eyes on the sky. Admiring something he hasn't had time or heart to look at in what feels like years.

When she comes to join him he doesn’t feel surprised. It almost feels like he was waiting.

“Hey, Luna,” he says as soon as she drops beside him and slides her hand around his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. He slips the fingers of his hand through hers and smiles when she squeezes their palms together.

“Hi, Harry,” Luna says, toeing off her shoes and socks, - each a different color, he notices, his heart clenching at this reminder of Dobby - and sticking them into the water.

Her head is warm against his cheek and his mind snags on the memory of the last time she was in his arms. Not yesterday when he had arms full of friends and Luna was just one of them but before that when he was regretting never having said anything, never taking any of the opportunities handed to him.

This feels like another of those moments.

And this time he decides to be brave.

“Luna?” he says and turns his head to look at her, their faces only inches apart when Luna turns her own head too. “I-”

Words fail him but slowly he picks up his free hand and tucks her hair behind her ear, carefully so that it doesn’t snag against her radish earring and lingers there.

Luna’s mouth twists into a little knowing smile that’s hard to misinterpret and then she leans forward and all Harry has to do is finish breaching the distance before his lips touch hers and his mind comes to a slow gentle stop.

Luna’s lips are warmer than the sunrise he’d just been admiring. They move slowly against his like she’s exploring this feeling alongside him, or like she’s searching for proof of one of her strange creatures and the answer is somewhere inside him.

His heart beats slow and steady but also impossibly loudly in his ears. And his entire world narrows down to Luna’s lips against his, Luna’s hand in his, the side of Luna’s face against the palm of his hand, and the softness of her hair between his fingers.

A lifetime later when they pull away from each other and the world slots back into place he doesn’t feel any different. He’s still exhausted, and a bit lost and mourning for far too many friends but he’s also just a little bit less alone.

“Thank you for coming back, Harry,” Luna says and moves back into his side, chin resting against his shoulder.

He smiles.

They stay like that for a minute and then Harry finds himself wondering out loud what he hasn’t let himself consider in his head. “What are we going to do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Luna asks, voice measured and thoughtful.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I do either,” Luna says. “But won’t it be wonderful to find out?”

He thinks about that. About how until now he’d only known that he either had to kill Voldemort or die trying when he didn’t know what he’d do after the war because there was no ‘after the war’. Now his future is wide open and he has no idea what he wants to do with it but he does have choices, - chances, - in front of him that he didn’t before.

He could join the Aurors like he planned even though it no longer feels like as attractive an option now that he’s spent so long fighting. But he could. Or he could think more about Hermione mentioning once during DA how he’d make a good teacher. Or he could join Luna if she still wants to go off exploring the world and finding new magical creatures. It might be nice to take a vacation away from Britain.

He could play professional Quidditch. Or help the Weasleys fix their home. Or get to know his godson. Or help Hermione find her parents.

The future is just a hand’s reach away now and it all looks so amazing.

“Yeah,” he muses aloud and pulls Luna closer, “it really will be.”

#lunarry #luna x harry #harry x luna #luna lovegood #harry potter #hp fic #lunarry fic #fanfic #mine #otp: nargles in the mistletoe

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jackdaniel69nice · 4 years

Text

Ninjago OC’s

I don’t really make ocs unless it’s plot specific but here are a few I have because it’s oc day I guess (this got so long I’m sorry)

Side Characters

Brody Grey and the Oppenheimer gang

Description: mid 20s, tip-dyed black hair (color is subject to change but he likes red), likes to wear tie-dye and anything from the 80s, average adult male height, Gay

Personality: overdramatic but with a rational head, energetic and likes to tease, gives good advice and father figure I guess?, love of reading and writing, can be flirty and cocky at times

Backstory: Was disowned by his parents when he came out and has had to make it on his own, Theater major at the Oppenheimer and successful too, was Cole’s roomate (they didn’t get along at first)

Plot Purpose: Cole-centric backstory exploration, Brody and co. reveal a lot about Cole’s past to the other ninja (more about the emo depressed grieving version in the pilots) and helps him come to terms with it, Also tell them you’re gay Cole, yeesh. The other friends are important to expanding the other ninja like Alex (non-binary, quiet, goth, Violinist) helps Jay deal with that he’s trans and coming out of the closet, Persila (bi, short blond, actor, excitable conspericy theorist and fandom queen) Probably figures out Jay is Cliff Gordon’s son, Melissa (lesbian, singer, Mom, sweet thing but easy to anger and holds a grudge) Was the first one Cole latched onto in the group because she reminded him so much of his mom [there are other things too with Nya and Kai and Zane but I don’t feel like elaborating more now], ANYWAY Jay takes Cole to see a musical and recognizes Brody (who he hasn’t been in contact with since he left) and they talk after the show leading down the road of all Cole’s old college friends meeting the ninja

Random Facts: He’s dating Vinnie and NO ONE CAN STOP ME, he’s sorta supposed to be Cole’s foil (where Cole is blasting My Chemical Romance and AC/DC he’s blasting Boogie Box High and SOS Band), he’s a mash of all the other ninjas personality’s not gonna lie

Tony Tabloid

Description: 12-14ish, shorter side but gets a major growth spurt when older, short black/brown hair, missing tooth, classic news boy hat that’s to big for him

Personality: Bright young boy with plenty of street smarts, will talk your ear off, full of himself and would fight anyone or anything no matter their size, very energetic but with a cool attitude

Backstory: Orphan at Walker’s Home (Jay’s rich and built an orphanage cause he’s nice like that) in Ninjago city, was on the street since young age, ex-thief, turned around at Walker’s though and now is head of the Ninjago city newspaper delivery (probably knows Nelson)

Plot Purpose: All the ninja seem to have a child that gives them advice at one point or another so here’s Jay’s, Jay has the rights to the Star Fairer enterprise (unknown to the other ninja) and when Lloyd mentions they should make new movies but can’t he goes about making it happen, he makes it all seem like he’s uninvolved but somehow gets them vip passes to see the movie in action (he says it’s from his ex-acting career connections), Tony is playing the younger version of Fritz’s son (our main character) in flashbacks, Jay is the one who got him his “gig”, he ends up revealing a lot of stuff Jay would rather keep hidden and probably almost dies doing something stupid and Jay has to save him

Random facts: Tabloid obviously isn’t his real last name (not sure wheather he chose it himself or people just started calling him that) it’s obviously related to his work, speaking of work he wants to become a journalist or reporter when he grows up, Jay gave him one of his smile buttons and he put it on his hat, I like to think in the future he gets adopted by Brody and Vinnie

Fievel Schmidt

Jay’s old friend, knew him before he transitioned, I mostly only use him in movie!verse BUT..., in show his mother is a mecahnic who buys parts from Ed and Edna, boyfriend ran off so she’s a single mom, the walkers always take a weekly trip into ninjago city to trade and sell so she’s a regular, Edna takes Jay and Fieval to the arcade and does grocery shopping, unfortunately his mom got seriously injured and can’t do mechanics anymore so they lose touch, plump and short, very sweet boy

Next Master of Sound

I feel like everyone forgot Jacob died in season 4 so here’s a reminder, he never had any children so it went to a random kid, little girl, Long black hair, she accidentally killed her parents when she caused their house in her small village to collapse from crying and activating her powers, selectively mute from fear of her own voice, Cole adopts her, becomes a next gen ninja I guess?, the only time she uses her power is when she sings (which Cole taught her to do)

*Witch doctor, Percy

Male, Lives in the Departed Realm, takes care of it sorta?, knows good magic, hangs out with whisps, helps the ninja (usually Cole) get home by telling them about a portal

Old Man

Grocery market clerk from ignacia, payed off hospital bills for Kai (14) after Nya (10) had an allergic reaction to perfume, Kai had work for him moving veggies and such for several months (got to keep some food though)

Snake Fam

Venomari lesbian who lives in the woods with her wife and 3 adopted kids (one is human), she (her kids) rescue one the ninja and bring them home to heal up so they can go save the others

Tagalong

Jay’s cat he had growing up...Not gonna talk about her right now [if you know, you know]

Villains

Felicia Blake

Scientist obsessed with trying to understand magic and elemental powers, thinks she can figure out how to channel elemental power like the First Spinjitzu Master did, very confident, only concerned with progress and no concern for individual life, ends up capturing Jay and experimenting on him :(

*Ali

Referenced in the Amulet of Ali which channels pure evil/dark magic, was the first sorcerer ever and basically made magic, was banished to the realm of madness and gained power there bringing back his learnings to ninjago, he wrote the book of spells which clouse and and garmadon studied under Chen (which is how garm knew the realm would give him power), Probably killed by Libber (previous EM of lightning) who sacrificed herself to stop him [but did she really kill him?!], Clouse gets the amulet from Borg Tower which boosts his power and now him and Jay have to duke it out like their previous versions did

???

Someone had to make Mr. E, I wonder who?, Jay took Echo back to Cliff’s flat to live after skybound and fixed him up, he might of done a few to many upgrades though and someone saw this as an opportunity, he was attacked while Jay was away and barely got away hiding in the secret room, unfortunately Jays blueprints were stolen (unknown to him) and the rest destroyed, Jay took Echo to the his parents but after seeing Mr. E he’s worried, now someone is throwing out new nindroids based on his designs and they are still searching for Echo, this mystery person plans to build an even stronger nindroid army to sell, prove they are a worthy inventor, and maybe take down the ninja along the way [do partially sentient multicolored nindroids based on the ninja count as ocs?]

*subject to my whims and could change to fill similar plots

#ninjago #ninjago oc day 2020 #ninjago oc #Brody Grey #Tony Tabloid #dont worry once i figure out how to draw cats ill tell you all about Tagalong #she gets her own post #Tagalong

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asoftervirge · 4 years

Text

Of “Love” & Murder - (5/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: The Tragedy of Roman Scarlet

RATING: M PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Remus, mentions of Lovecraft & his Racism, Alcohol, Singing, Musical References, Flirting, Kissing, Touching, Implied/Referenced Smut, mentions of Murder CHAPTER SUMMARY: Roman tells Virgil his backstory on how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And here we’re introduced to Roman! :D Again, from here on, the content warnings are heavier than the previous chapters, so please take care of yourself if you decide to keep going! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

Patton blinked in astonishment while the figure continued to smile gently at him.

Was— Was he dreaming, or was this actually happening?

A soft giggle breaks him out of his shocked state. It was a very melodic sound, and despite the surprise that was currently surging through his body, it somehow put him at ease.

“What’s the matter, darling?” the voice called to him, almost amused by Patton’s shock. “You happen to look quite pale. Paler than the man who lives here, and he happens to wear quite a lot of foundation.”

Backing away slightly, Patton tugged at his sweater nervously. “You…Who are you?”

The person— ghost? vision? hallucination?— gave him a sparkling smile. It almost made him blush. “You don’t remember who I am?” he asked. Patton was confused by this. “Perhaps you should get a closer look. Come, come. There’s no need to be shy! My face is a familiar sight for many of my adoring fans, especially if they who went to Storytime.”

If they went to the bar? Patton became a little more confused, but he did as Roman asked and stepped closer, albeit shyly. With his smile still bright, Roman moved his head about to give the confectioner a glimpse of his profile. As he did so, baby blue eyes widened in sudden realization.

The sharp angles and high cheekbones. The ruby red lips. The hourglass figure. The curly auburn hair and reddish-brown eyes. There was no mistaking who this was anymore.

“Wait,” he breathes out. “You…You’re Roman Scarlet.”

“So you’ve remembered.” Roman smiled wider. “I am, indeed.”

Patton looked at him in awe. This was the famed Scarlet Rose who Remy and Thomas gushed about so much. The one whose photographs hung on many of the lounge’s walls.

Though he looked very different from both the painting here, and the photograph that he saw at Storytime. Instead of a beautiful, glittering red dress, it was a three-piece suit. A suit that consisted of a cream blazer with a yellow shirt underneath, along with white dress pants and black boots. Red and gold patterned designs decorated his attire in various places. And a red-colored ascot was wrapped around his neck.

Nonetheless, he was still very handsome as he was beautiful.

“I-I…” the confectioner didn’t know where to begin. “How— How are you here? How am I able to see you like this?”

A sad smile now came to Roman’s face. “I’m here to warn you,” was all he said.

“Warn me?” Patton echoed confusedly. “About what?”

Roman didn’t say anything. He kept his head down, gazing at his clutched hands that sat upon his lap. The confectioner noted how his nails were colored the same as his lips. His eyes held a bevy of emotions in them: bittersweetness and a little bit of mournfulness.

“Ms. Scarlet?”

“It’s Mr., actually. Oh, don’t look guilty, dearie, it happens.” Roman reassured as he saw Patton look bad for accidentally misgendering him. “I’m just,” he shook his head. “It’s not the most pleasant thing to look back upon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No,” the former thespian said firmly, suddenly, causing Patton to look surprised. He corrected himself, using a much more calmer tone, “No. I need to warn you of the Cruel De Vil that lives in this house.”

Patton let out a noise and nodded. “Take your time, Mr. Scarlet.”

“Call me Roman, please,” Roman tells him with a faint tug of his lips. “And…I suppose I should start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.”

Patton nods again, waiting patiently as the former thespian takes a deep breath.

“As I was growing up, I always wanted had a passion for singing and dancing,” he begins. “All types of music would play from either the record player or Mama’s radio.” A faint smile traced his ruby lips. “My parents always encouraged us to follow our dreams in the same way my grandparents did them when they first came to America so many years ago; and I’ve stuck by that ever since. I remember putting on little performances for my family after dinner or whenever we had guests come over; I remember how joyous I felt whenever I received applauds or cheers from my audience. That only fueled me to aspire acting unlike my brother, Remigio, or Remus as he likes to be called, who pursued literature…albeit of the more…horrific genre. Think Edgar Allan Poe or, even worse, H.P. Lovecraft.”

Patton shivered, an ugly feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Roman agreed with his sentiments.

“Don’t ask me why my brother would want to affiliate himself with a notorious racist,” he scoffed with a small eye roll. “Once he read The Call of Cthulhu, by the head of Nessie, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. All of his works had some form of cosmic entity, or encryptic language, or some reference to a cult that always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

The confectioner grew a little bit sick.

“Now where were we?” Roman mumbled to himself as he lost his train of thought. “Ah, yes! My life story, not my brothers’. When I was in high school, I started joining drama clubs, classes, and performing at my local theater. My first ever performance was Teen Angel in Grease; it was a small role, but I immersed myself in it. So much so, that I started grabbing people’s attention from the get-go. I then stared in My Fair Lady, Annie Get Your Gun, and a couple small name plays.”

“However, my biggest chance came through when I got the parts for two big productions: Captain Von Trapp in The Sound of Music, and Romeo in Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.” Patton could see Roman’s eyes light up as he talked. “It was these roles that could show people that I was serious about acting, that I wanted to be more than a celebrity in my community. And boy did I wow them! I made them laugh, I made them cry, I stunned them with my acting. Nobody could have that more so than me, and I did it.”

“That was when I was scouted by a talent agent in the audience. He told me with my voice and my talents, I would become star on the Great White Way.” Roman shook his head, almost like he still couldn’t believe it. “And I took the leap of faith, and thus, Ramon Alexandre de la Rosa became Roman Scarlet.”

“Why change your name?”

Roman shrugged. “I had to appeal to the Americans somehow. No one would remember someone with a Spanish name like mine. Besides, a lot of us celebrities changed our names in order to reach fame.”

Patton nods. It made sense. “So how did you end up performing at Storytime?”

“About a year or so after it opened. I wanted to go back to my roots of performing for small audiences. I was performing in Hamlet when I met Alejandro Reyes and Thomas Sanders. We had dinner that night and the rest, as they say, is history. I started performing there on the weekends when I didn’t have a show.”

“And that was how you met Virgil?” Patton dared to ask.

Roman grew silent. Then chuckled emptily. “Yes,” he said finally. “That, was how I met Virgil. Or rather, how Virgil met me.”

…

One of the first things Virgil saw upon entering Storytime were a bunch of excited people clambered near the stage and its runway, faces aglow by the spotlights as they yearned to see their Prince. As he moved towards the bar, he took a closer look at the steady stream of people; it was a remarkably varied group— a mix of skin colors, genders, ages, along with sexual and romantic orientations mixed together. The air was thick with excitement as they continued to fill the lounge like sheep or cattle.

He casually slid onto one of the barstools, back against the bar and elbows resting on the counter; he reclined languidly, crossing one leg over the other.

Virgil looked around and also noticed some performers in scantily-clad outfits, sequin sparkling as they swayed their hips, going up to the bar to order some liquid courage. The fingers of the musicians drummed against their instruments, creating a low, thumping bass noise as they tested them and got them ready for the show.

“Hello, there,” a kind voice spoke from behind him. “Can I interest you in a cocktail?”

Casually, almost nonchalantly, Virgil tilted his head back so he was staring at the bartender from upside down. They were looking down (up?) at him with kind eyes and a pleasant smile, in his hand was a cocktail shaker.

Virgil thought a moment then nodded. “One espresso martini, please.”

The bartender nodded as he prepared his drink. He mixed vodka, simple syrup, coffee liqueur, and freshly brewed espresso together in the shaker with ice. He strained it into a chilled cocktail glass, garnished it with espresso beans before sliding the glass to Virgil.

He took a long sip of his drink, the taste of vodka and coffee hitting his palette pleasantly. He looked at the bartender and nodded, signaling that he did a good job. The bartender smiled wider and then moved on to making cocktails for the other patrons that walked to the bar.

Sipping again, Virgil blanked out any of the noises surrounding him until he caught wind of two very familiar looking people near the far-right corner of the bar. One having dark brown hair with lavender dye, the other having burnt orange hair; the both of them were chatting about something, but what, he didn’t know.

Remy’s golden brown eyes met his for a split second. He whispered to Toby before pointing to Virgil. This caused him to force a smile and nod cordially, receiving a wink and a blow of a kiss back. If he were honest, he was glad they didn’t motion him to join their conversation, otherwise, he would’ve just hissed and made sarcastic jabs at them.

Then the lights flared dramatically; all who were still standing quickly made their way to any open seats available as a man appeared on stage.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, and all of our beloved guests here at Storytime, please welcome the star of the hour— Ms. Roman Scarlet!”

The audience broke out into the loudest of applauses as the starlet’s name was announced, though they quickly quieted down as the lights dimmed and a singular spotlight shone against the thick velvet curtains.

“You had plenty money 1922,” the voice crooned as a long, smooth leg appeared onto the stage from the small parting left open. Then the curtains slowly drew back as the instruments picked up to her voice. “You let other women make a fool of you…”

Virgil sat up a little, looking slightly fascinated.

Red-painted lips twisted up into a sultry smile as they strutted over to the piano, leaning against it in a suggestive manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?”

She then sauntered across the stage to the cheers and hollers and whistles. Her red sequin dress had a long slit that left little room for imagination. “Get out of here and get me some money too?” Roman stops to raise their long leg up, running the skin of her foot along the jawline of a lucky patron. You could almost swear they were nuzzling it.

“So, this is the illustrious Scarlet Rose that charms people to their knees, hmm?” Virgil notes as he takes another sip of his martini glass. He says this as if he doesn’t know who Roman Scarlet is, but everyone in the city knows who they are.

“Yep.” A voice rung from beside him. He looked to see Toby and Remy eyeing him with teasing looks that really made Virgil want to hiss and growl at them. Toby smirked and took a swig of his whiskey.

“And ain’t we lucky people to watch this bombshell every weekend, sugar?” Remy lowers their sunglasses and winked at him before taking Toby by the arm and leading him to a more secluded part of the lounge.

When they left, Virgil turned back to the stage. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her toned and slim figure; muscles shifted visibly as she prowled, blowing kisses and winking at the captives surrounding her.

“You’re sitting there wondering what it’s all about. You ain’t got no money, they will put you out,” Roman’s fingers carded through her hair, tousling it in a flirtatious manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do? Get out of there and get me some money too?”

Roman then strides down the runway, one hand sliding down her belly and resting on her hip. “If you had prepared 20 years ago, you wouldn’t be a-wanderin’ out from door to door,” She reached down and ran her free hand down the side of a lucky patron’s face. They kept their eyes trained on her as their mouth hung agape. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” she crooned as she slid her fingers away from their chin.

They nearly fainted.

She then hops onto one of the tables, heels clicking against the wood. Some of the patrons volunteered their hands for Roman to take as she steps off the table. “Get out of here and get me some money too?”

Virgil watches as she moved away from the stage and runway, the thickest part of the crowd and over to the bar. “I fell for your jivin’ and I took you in,” The bartender slid Roman a dry martini with a couple of olives. “Now all you got to offer me’s a drink of gin,” He watches with an impressed look as she slams the martini down the back of her throat, then popping both olives in her mouth.

The bartender takes the glass and Roman smiled sweetly at them, leaning in to kiss their cheek. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” She looked over to her left and wiggled her fingers at Toby and Remy when she saw them. “Get out of here and get me some money too.”

Finally, her passionate eyes finally met the stormy eyes of Virgil Nyx.

A cheshire grin appeared on her face as trailed her hand across Virgil’s back, fingertips gently scratching at the back of his neck making him grown more and more intrigued. Then she was moving in front of him, both hands moving from Virgil’s back to his shoulders. She slid her hands underneath of his trench coat, touch blazing even through his thick turtleneck.

“Why don’t you do right,” she purred, now wrapped her arms around his neck as the audience whooped in delight. As she straddled him by a leg, Virgil felt the flames of her presence burning brighter. “Like some other men—”

Roman squeaked as Virgil instantly pulled her onto his lap, now sitting on him completely. She was warm and solid there as they were pressed chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach. The raptured audience’s breath hitched along with Roman as they all saw this sudden and dramatic interruption of the song, but none of them minded; in fact, they were equally drawn to the mysterious man boldly challenging their starlet.

Her heart hammered frantically against her chest as she felt skinny, calloused fingers tickle her back, seeing the smirk in his eyes as she squirmed on top of him. Whether she was squirming closer or further away from him, Virgil didn’t know, but he enjoyed watching such a composed performer crumble from his touch.

Virgil leaned closer until their noses nearly touched, breath brushing each other’s lips. Despite Roman knowing they were in a room with a mass crowd of people, all clinging onto to her every note, but in that moment, with the spotlight shining on both their faces, they were the only two people in the building.

“— D-Do~…” Roman finished the last note with a small stutter as she slid off Virgil’s lap, quickly trying to bring the sensual look on her fact to no avail.

The drums, followed by the bass, and finally the piano sounded the encore of the song as the Scarlet Rose strutted (more like scampered) back to the stage. The spotlight faded entirely, and the curtains swung closed, Roman’s last not echoing through the showroom.

There was an crescendo in applause as it died, not really wanting to break the enchantment, but wanting to scream their love at their diva. A few claps, followed by more, then it became a roar or feral howl that couldn’t be tamed by the band’s random playing during intermission.

As the spell broke over the audience, many of them went over to the bar to refill their drinks while others went and chattered to other patrons; and there were those that grabbed others to drag them to rooms outside of the lounge (probably to either smoke, make out, or have a quickie.)

It was during this time that Virgil turned in his seat and casually ordered another espresso martini. The bartender (who he learned was named Thomas) smiled and complimented at how he made Roman flustered like that; apparently it was a rare thing to do. Virgil hummed and sipped his martini, silently shooing Thomas away, who complied and filled even more drinks for patrons.

Perhaps five or more minutes later, the piano started up in a jazzy, ragtime tune. The crowed swarmed back to the stage, runway, and any empty seats as Roman sauntered back onto the stage with a less flustered face.

She got into position in front of the microphone, long fingers wrapping around it suggestively. Virgil turned back to the stage as Roman started singing another tune: “All that Jazz” from Chicago. Even he, who wasn’t all that much of a purveyor of the glitz and glamor of The Great White Way, could see the appeal— though this might’ve had more to do with the actual performer than the performances themselves.

Roman held the audience in the palm of her hand for another four more songs after that. She toyed with them playfully as she danced and swayed her hips in that very provocative dress and her high, alluring voice raising goosebumps on fevered skin.

Eventually, the final song, “Nowadays/Hot Honey Rag,” also from Chicago, came to a crashing halt and Roman stood on the stage, damp with sweat and grinning triumphantly. A model shotgun was in her hands and a red top hat was on her head.

“Thank you, ladies, lords and non-binary royalty!” She blew a kiss, gathering bouquets and individual roses in her arms. “Thank you for another wonderful night! I’ll see you again next weekend!”

The curtains fell to thunderous applause, yet Virgil cancelled it out. He stood up along with the audience as they gathered their belongings; then discreetly walked backstage as they now prowled the lounge. Dark grey eyes narrowed and scanned the halls at the other performers, backstage crew, costume designers, and makeup artists scuttling about. Finally he caught sight of a glittering gold star with the cursive ’Roman Scarlet’ underneath.

Making sure no one was looking, he opened the door with a single twist. Walking inside, he closed it with the faintest of clicks. His eyes grew intrigued and wicked as he glanced over the dressed-down starlet.

Roman’s sequin dress and boa were hanging on a mannequin in the far right corner of the room, which was decorated in red wallpaper with golden details. The furniture— a couch, fainting chair, and vanity seat— matched the seating in the lounge, also red velvet cushioning. Four lamps darned the walls to give it extra lighting even with the lights from the vanity table. Speaking of the vanity, makeup ranging from palettes, lipsticks, and polishes were scattered about its surface along with playbills and pearl jewelry. A giant bouquet of red and pink roses lay on the floor by the actor’s feet, next to her red heels.

The star herself was sitting in front of the mirror, wiping any remnants of sweaty makeup off her face and reapplying it. Her curly auburn hair glowed in the lighting, and her skin looked a little shining from being on stage. Covering her body (or barely) was a long, red chiffon robe with a silk ribbon tied loosely around her waist, attached to the sleeves and bottom were red feathers that looked identical to the white ones on her boa.

In the silence between them, Roman was quietly humming a tune: “What’s New, Buenos Aires” from Evita.

Virgil smirks faintly as he shuffled across the room. And as the final bars of the song were hummed, he finally addressed her, “Roman Scarlet. I’ve heard so much about you before I came here.”

A squeak, followed by the dropping of something. (A palette? A compact mirror? Virgil didn’t know and frankly didn’t care.) Roman turned around to see the amused man standing behind her. “Y-You?!” she cried out in surprise. “H-How did you get in here?!”

“Door’s unlocked,” Virgil motioned to it. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, I’m finally pleased to make the acquaintance of someone of your caliber.”

Roman blinked, a flattered blush dusting her cheeks. “I-I thank you, truly,” she tells him. “But I’m not that special, for I am only an actor. Nothing to shout about, only a person enjoying their passion.”

“But you’re more than that,” Virgil insists, sitting on the arm of the couch. “When you act, you take us away from the squalor of the real world.”

The surprised expression on Roman’s face quickly disappeared, eyes lighting up in an excited manner. “A man who also knows Andrew Lloyd Webber?! Are you trying to tempt my theatrical heart?”

“Depends,” Virgil shrugged, raising a cocky eyebrow. He moved closer to the actor, pulling out a dark red rose tied with a black ribbon out of his trench coat. “Is it working?”

Roman takes the rose, breath hitching as their fingertips brush each other. She observes the richly colored petals before smelling it. She’s been given all sorts of roses throughout the years, but never one like this. “I believe it might be.”

Virgil smirked. “Good.” He rested his right ankle over his knee. “I must say, you have quite the voice, Ms. Scarlet. Or is it Mr. now?”

“It’s Ms. Scarlet currently. And thank you again for your praises.” Roman says, her newly painted lips twist into a smirk of her own. Her eyes grow half-lidded, allowing Virgil to see her sparkling red eyeshadow. “So,” she coquettishly crossed her legs. “What brought you to Storytime, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

Roman hummed. The name sounded very enticing in her mind. “You seem to be of the dark and gloomy type who doesn’t enjoy the nightclub scene. Again, what brings you here to flirt with a someone like me, hmm?”

“Well, I just so happen to remember some old friends who come here regularly, Remy Moerani and Toby Hallows.” That wasn’t completely true, as Virgil had only met them once or twice while still working at the bookstore. He would barely call them acquaintances, let alone friends. “But I personally came to see the beautiful rose performing at this establishment.”

A bright blush came to Roman’s face. “O-Oh come now!” she squeaked, averting her eyes from Virgil. “Y-You’re just being charming!”

“I mean it.” Virgil moves so he was directly kneeling in front of the vanity seat. His fingers carded themselves in her curly auburn hair, causing her breath to hitch again. His hand moved to where it was now caressing Roman’s cheek.

His thumb lightly ran across her bottom lip, the smooth and glossy lipstick coating his calloused skin. They parted obligingly. Dark grey eyes met reddish-brown ones; ones were sharpened in concentration, while the others were widened in anticipation.

Then, in a blink of an eye, Virgil kissed her.

Roman melted into the kiss the second their lips met. Her long, delicate fingers entangled themselves around Virgil’s neck and in his hair. In turn, he could feel the other man’s trailing magically down her body, causing her to squirm and writhe deliciously in his arms.

It was like an explosion— unrestrained and all-consuming.

As quickly as it started the kiss broke, and when Roman was about to whine and complain, she felt lips marking her skin. Fang-like teeth grazing against her sharp jawline, rapidly-beating pulse point, all the way down her hourglass figure.

Biting her reddened (and newly smeared) lips, she looks down at Virgil with hazy eyes as he touches her in a way she’s never been touched before. His faded hair tickled her skin as his kisses got lower and lower; she whines at him tracing the hem of her red, lacy panties before resuming all the way down her thighs, legs, and to her feet. Her fingers gripping and loosening against the arms of her chair.

“Wh— What are you doing…?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Virgil looked up at her with seductive eyes as he kissed all the way back up her leg and thigh, nipping occasionally. Roman gasped sharply, wanting to throw her head back and let herself be immersed in this tantalizing pleasure, but she kept her gaze on him. “I’m tempting your theatrical heart,” he continued, smirking. “Or better yet,” He kissed the hem of her panties before tugging them in his teeth. “Your body.”

Roman whimpered and felt herself growing weaker. “V-Virgil~” She really wanted him, but she was worried since, well, they were in her dressing room and not her apartment in the upper part of town. “W-We’ll get caught—!”

“Well, if someone decides to listen in…just tell them we’re playing patty-cake.” He tells her sitting up, unbuttoning and unzipping on his uncontrollably-tight leather pants.

Roman gulped and nodded, sighing happily as she was pulled into another searing kiss. Lips messily attacking each other, and hands roaming and groping each other. The balls of her heels were pressing hard into the small of his back.

She could feel herself slowly growing weak, weak for Virgil Nyx, weak for what he was doing to her, weak for the fire growing ablaze in her belly. She was pressed closer and closer until Roman couldn’t think of anything but heat, skin, pressure, pleasure, Virgil.

Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

Her hands flew to his turtleneck and trench coat, yanking and tearing them off his body. As she did this, Roman could feel him undoing the ribbon around her waist then swiftly taking off her panties.

The first moan ripped from her throat after a few agonizing minutes of kissing, touching, and prepping each other. Her nails begin clawing and scratching Virgil’s back as he rocked his hips in and out of her, panting and groaning lowly against her ear.

Any members of the show or crew that were backstage blushed and gossiped amongst themselves as they heard pleasured cries, deep grunts, and lewd praises/comments.

(When Roman came out of the dressing room and made her way to the lounge— fully dressed and with a bright blush on her cheeks— reactions to her varied. Most giggled while some dared not look at her in the eyes, others coughed awkwardly and some even wolf-whistled. Her friends were no different. Toby snorted into his whiskey glass, Remy cackled and slid her a screaming orgasm, Alejandro sighed and made his way to the stage, while Thomas shook his head and tended to other patrons.)

…

Patton blushed furiously as Roman giggled. He didn’t expect the ghost to give him such…details about his love life with Virgil, even if he glossed over some things (which he was grateful for). Then again, he suppose it came with the territory of being some so sensational like Roman, and mystifying like Virgil.

“Oh, I apologize, darling.” Roman said with an apologetic look. “I don’t mean to make you redder than Dorothy’s shoes, but it’s something I can’t help. Virgil was…well, quite the tempestuous lover,” A thrill went up his spine, a blush appearing on his own cheeks. “Just one little touch in the right place and he made me weak in my knees~” A blissful sigh.

“S-So uhm…” The confectioner said a little suddenly, growing redder. He didn’t know how to continue in the conversation in the first place! “H-How did you remain so close with Virgil?” he asked lamely. “D-Did he keep coming to Storytime or—?”

Roman snapped out of his lovestruck trance and moved over to the dresser. Patton didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden chill come through the room. He returned with a beautiful white picture frame with golden embossing on it, the stand out of it was the photograph of Roman and Virgil.

Baby blue eyes stared closely as he inspected the details. Auburn hair tickled a pale cheek as they curled into each other’s sides, arms linked with one another.

Virgil looking surprisingly handsome. His hair was actually kept out of his eyes and more violet than what it is now. A distant smile was on his face that was half-turned towards the camera. His attire was also fancier than his usual trench coat and turtleneck; he was wearing a wine colored button up, black suit pants, a lilac vest, and purple tie. He was also wearing dark eyeshadow and purple lipstick.

Roman also looked very beautiful, lovely even. He was wearing a white, lacy mermaid gown that fit snugly on his body. The detailing on it was also lined with gold, from the bodice, to the sleeves, and all the way to the skirt. His signature red makeup painted on his face. A thin, lacy veil was adorned on his hair attached to a sparkling little tiara. In his hands was a giant bouquet of red roses.

They were standing in front of Storytime, surrounding them were Thomas, Alejandro, Remy, and Toby. All of them had varying expressions on their faces, but they all had one thing in common: happiness.

Written on the bottom right corner of the photo, in bright red ink were the following words, a red heart encircled around them:

‘Virgil + Roman February 14th, 1975’

“He became my husband.” Roman says, confirming everything Thomas told him. “We were married on Valentine’s Day.” He looked at the photograph, his face softening as he recalled that day. “It was magical. The most happiest day of my life. Everything seemed so wonderful back then. Like nothing horrible was going to happen.” His expression then turned sad, almost bittersweet. “How foolish and naive I was.”

Patton look at him. “What do you mean?” he asked in confusion. “What happened?”

Silence.

Then something Patton wasn’t expecting at all.

“He murdered me.”

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Moxiety #Prinxiety #Of Love & Murder

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coffee-mugz · 5 years

Text

Institution of C1-SAS || Chapter 4

TW: child abuse, mild panic attack.

Note: unedited

Masterlist

Chapter 3

Monsters.

Declyn never really thought about those words much.

Sure, they were those big scary things, things that were unknown, things that people fear. They were the big, bad guys in all those stories he had read in the past.

But, he could never have thought that that word will apply to them. Never in a million years. He never thought there was even a way for them to become a monster.

He was sure he'd never become one. He wouldn't become one, neither would Remus, and Virgil would never ever become one. He would never let any of them become monsters, not ever.

The intense hatred that boiled up inside of him that day was too much. He ended up beating up a few more pillows, all of which were now destroyed and laying on the ground. Though, it never satiated his thirst for something else. He needed something, something soon. He just...needed to feel better.

The day after that, too, he ended up bottling up his anger once again. He was in a bad mood, a terrible mood. He was glad that Remus and Virgil gave him his space that day. He didn't want to hurt anybody, but at the same time he needed something to force his anger onto. The pillows weren't sufficient at all, just another waste of points.

He needed something, anything that wasn't held close to him. He needed- he needed something. "Truth" an eerie voice whispered in his head.

His thoughts became silent in an instant, like that one moment somebody shatters a glass in a loud room. That voice was the loudest thing he heard at the moment. It resounded and echoed in his mind for a few seconds, leaving a trail of...a feeling of guilt? Why...why would he feel guilty? There was nothing to be guilty of.

He was making sure nobody turned into a monster- why would he feel bad for protecting them? Unless...it was something he knew- at least subconsciously- that he couldn't prevent.

He had truly thought there was no way he would willingly become a monster. There was no way he could become one? How could he become this huge, scary monster that hides under beds? What could they possibly do to him? To them? What could they do to Remus, and what about Virgil? He was just a baby... they couldn't do anything to him.

He underestimated what they dared to do to him. He underestimated, believing they couldn't do anything to them. He didn't believe it could happen...until it actually happened.

Today was the first day he and Remus were called into separate rooms with no say, almost a week after Talyn's incident. But, what bothered him the most was the fact thay they couldn't choose.

He was brought into this sickeningly white room, where a lone man was standing. He told him to let him see his snakes in a low, commanding voice, and Declyn's face turned into a frown.

He had adamantly refused to let out one of his snakes to a stranger he had never met. He was tall, bulky, and covered with scars, but he didn't scare Declyn. Not at all. "There were scarier things in the world," he had told himself whenever he felt somewhat nervous. "I'll see scarier things later on, so I shouldn't be scared of something like this."

It was something Remus said to him, minus the stutters, when he was nervous about talking to other people (people from lower districts). He remembered hearing something similar years ago, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. So, he had always kept this quote close to him, in case that memory resurfaces.

So, yes, the man didn't scare him at all. Not even when he threw a punch to his stomach, which left him on the floor, gasping for the air that was knocked out of him. His stomach flipped, but he forced it down.

He was yelled to stand up. He ignored him.

He got kicked in the stomach.

He was told to stand up again, and he refused once again.

A hard kick was delivered to his side.

This cycle continued and continued, until Declyn's entire body ached and hurt. Bruises covered his entire body, and adrenaline shot through him as another kick was delivered to his back. He coughed, feeling the sting of the boot scraping off a layer of his skin. A few tears formed in his eyes as he attempted to shrug off the intense pain coming from his new wound. It didn't work, and Declyn ended up getting a kick to the leg.

If this is what training was, Declyn hated it.

That afternoon, Declyn was in bed. He was huddled up in both his and Remus's blanket, facing the corner as always when he has a bad day. He faintly heard the door open and Remus's loud footsteps, then the unusually quiet shut of the door. Declyn figured Remus must've thought he was sleeping.

"Dee?" The boy whispered to him, and Dee tried to turn to his direction, only for a burst of pain to hit him. He hissed, trying his best to tense up his muscles and stop the pain coming from his scraped, bruised back. It didn't work, not at all, and now Declyn had to push through the pain of relaxing his tense back.

"S-Sorry," Remus quietly mumbled, and placed bottle, looking oddly like a sippy cup, next to Dee's face. Lily, who was wrapped on top of Declyn, flicked her tongue at the drink.

"Ho-Hot Coca. Make the p-pain go 'way. I dwink t-too." Remus then sat on the bed, holding his own cup of hot chocolate. Talyn must've made it, Declyn silently thought. Remus can't even open the fridge without breaking something, nonetheless the microwave.

"The te-teacher got one-man. Loo-Look." Remus hurried to push up the side of his shirt, nearly spilling his hot chocolate. Declyn felt his adrenaline rush once more, seeing the drink so close to spilling on his bed.

Soon enough, his focus shifted from the anxiety-inducing tilted cup towards Remus's right rib cage, wincing as he saw a giant bruise there. It looked as if he was hit with something, not just kicked like Declyn.

"P-Pain go 'way. No-No more pa-pain. Why Dee hu-urt?" Remus asked, carelessly dropping his shirt down and taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Declyn only shook his head, gritting his teeth at the thought of Remus being hit with a bat- possibly even something worse. It just...knowing Remus got hurt and...knowing he can't do anything- like a useless, redundant person- just didn't sit well in his stomach- or his mind.

There's also the fact Remus isn't in pain anymore. It was a bit weird since the bruise had already turned purple and yellow. It hasn't even been a day since they got back, but Declyn brushed that lingering question away as he had a sudden realization.

Virgil.

What will they do to Virgil?

He's just a child...but so is Remus. They couldn't possibly hurt him, too, right?

A brief scene of Virgil getting hit on the head flashed in the back of his mind. It was a terrible thing to think about, he didn't want to think about it. But- but...

His eyes darted to the door of his room. Ever since he got back, he hadn't heard Virgil. Not a peep, cry, or even sound came from his room. That usually meant he was sleeping, so Declyn originally discarded that idea. But now, almost 5 hours had passed, and still, not a soul could be heard.

Declyn hurled himself up, shocking Remus as he spilled some of his hot chocolate on the floor. A burning sensation could be felt his back, but he ignored it and tried to grit through it all. He unwrapped himself from his cocoon and ignored Remus's questions. He had to- he just had to see Virgil.

Declyn shot up to his legs, eyes and mind still locked onto the door as all other noises were disregarded. He opened the door, maybe a bit too harshly as he watched it bounce back after hitting the wall, and ran towards Virgil's room not 5 feet away from him.

He grasped the doorknob tightly in his hand, twisting it so fast it almost hurt his wrist, and shoved the door open. Time seemed to slow down, painfully so, as he examined the room.

The bookshelf? Empty. Virgil was not playing in it like usual.

The play may? Empty, not a single toy placed on it.

Closet? Also empty- Virgil hated going near it, so he was 110% sure Virgil wouldn't be hiding over there. But most importantly...the bed...

Declyn slowly paced himself towards the bed, every step full of caution. Truthfully, he didn't want to know if Virgil was in there or not. He didn't want to think he could have been taken away and hurt. He didn't want anything to happen to Virgil. If only he'd taken notice earlier, when his bruises ached less.

Every step hurt as he came up to the crib, only to power down and see...

Nothing.

The crib- the crib was empty. Not a blanket or pillow- or even Mr. Bat- the stuffed animal Virgil loves. Where- where?

Declyn felt his heart race again. He just got a friend! He just had one. If Virgil had been taken away- if Virgil-

Declyn choked out few sobs, trying desperately to keep the tears in. He crouched down onto his knees, covering his eyes. He had never cried, not once during his stay in the Institution. Crying was bad. Crying meant he was weak. His parents didn't want him to be weak- he can't- he CAN'T cry. He's strong! He has to be!

He felt a small poke on his shoulder and looked up abruptly. He saw Remus there, seemingly also on the verge of tears, with a small Virgil in tow playing with his hair. Virgil was...here...

"De-Dee not we-weak!" He heard Remus say, his voice shaking. "Dee bery st-strong! Me and-and Dee pro-protect VeeVee! VeeVee he-here!"

Declyn stared in silence for a while, his mind drifting off. That's right- Remus was here. Now that he realized it...Remus had never let anything bad happen to Virgil. Whether it was lack of attention or something like food, Remus made sure Virgil was happy. So did he. Both of them helped Virgil. Both of them...

Declyn quickly wiped away his tears, hoping Remus hadn't seen him. "I'm sorry..." he mumbled out, standing up. He reached his arm out, gesturing for Virgil to come to him, which he did, and held Virgil close to himself. The extra weight caused his arms to ache, and only now did he register how painful his back felt. But that can wait a little while more...just a little.

"Both of us will protect Virgil." Declyn said, looking back at Remus as he held out his pinky. Remus knew what thay meant instantly- a pinky promise! He hadn't made one since...since his brother...

"The three of us forever. Nobody else. We'll protect each other." Declyn said, waiting for Remus to give him his pinky. He noticed Remus look a bit...guilty, but the next second he brightened up and slammed his pinky next to Declyn's.

"Pinky Pwomise!"

Virgil laughed, grabbing the two fingers with his entire hand. Declyn smiled at him, knowing that Virgil may have accidentally sworn to protect them even though he was a baby. He wouldn't hold Virgil up to keep it, though.

He heard Remus start to laugh, and he himself let out a chuckle or two. Virgil joined in, giggling as he tossed and played around with the two of their pinkies.

That's right. Just the three of them. That's all Declyn wants, is for the three of them to stick together.

And luckily, his wish was granted.

(Hey! So after this chapter, there's a major time skip. The first 4 chapters is to just establish their (the dark sides') backstories. Now, we'll be getting on with the main plot that I have planned out. I'm thinking of creating a new blog for this, but I might wait until more people enjoy this story.

So, asks are now open to Virgil, Declyn (Deceit), and Remus! That's right, after the next chapter (or even right now) you can ask them anything! The ask feature will be important since many different views of the story and character traits/background/feelings will not be revealed in the main story~ so ask away as many times as you want! I don't care about spam (until a certain point), NSFW questions, or really anything. Who knows? Maybe you guys can even change the original story line if you try hard enough.

So thank you everybody who followed through the prologue!)

Chapter 5 (WIP)

Masterlist

#deceit sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders #Institution of C1-SAS #gay couple #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: panic attack #tw: pain #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic

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leftenantsparkles · 5 years

Text

and we kissed (as though nothing could fall)

Summary : James Barnes went to war. He lived it—survived with all his limbs intact and his heart still beating… But Bucky never came home. [ao3]

Pairing : Bucky x Femme!Reader ; background Bucky x Reader x Steve

Rating & Warnings : Rated M for canon typical violence, fanon typical language, and intrusive thoughts. Buckle up for a little smut, a lot of angst, and some smutty angst. 18+

Notes : This a meditation on grief and memory that I wrote for the incomparable @youngmoneymilla’s 5K challenge. I also wanted to write some Jewish!Bucky, so I’m pretty hyped with how this turned out. I hope you enjoy and a big congratulations to Eliza for this well deserved milestone!!

Prompt : Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever // Then we can be heroes just for one day Heroes // Gangs of Youth

Word Count : 7060

It plays in his head like a night at the pictures back in the day—twenty five cents a head, if you can believe that. The shadow looming inside the ticket booth greedily takes the coin as the door parts moments later.

He’s not even sure how he finds his seat. All he knows is that he’s out of the cold.

When the film reel whirs to life, he can’t imagine how he could’ve gotten it more wrong.

Bucky can feel the biting chill as he watches the Howling Commandos wait for their train, his eyes narrowing on the cable meant to carry them all across.

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?”

Steve follows his gaze. “Yeah, and I threw up?”

“This isn’t payback, is it?”

“Now why would I do that?”

Phantom voyeurs jeer in anticipation beside him. All he can do is sit there with them in silent agony, same as he has every other night. He’s locked in the memory… there’s no changing it now.

You come onto the scene with worry on your brow and a curse under your breath.

Even exhausted in a war zone, you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen. Your hair is a mess, already spilling out of the pins you’d only just put in that morning.

“Need some help with that, Agent Sunshine?”

You look to him, momentarily distracted from your panic. “What’s that?”

He nods at your hair and you sigh. The ghost of a smile catches as you fish the errant pins out.

“All this damn hair’s a menace,” you tell him pointedly, handing them over. “You boys are lucky like that.”

“C’mon on, doll. You an’ I both know if you cut it all off today, you’d be hard pressed to find somethin’ else better to whine about tomorrow.”

A shrug. “Well you’re not wrong…”

Turning away from that smug face, you catch a glimpse of Steve and Gabe on the radio sifting through static. Every uttered sound out of that thing put you on edge… It made your skin burn and your throat close up.

He pulls you from wreckage of your mind, those deft fingers working you over. Teasing you. Healing you.

“There’s no shame in sittin’ tight, you know.” His voice is low in your ear—his words just for you. “We’ll be quick. In an’ out. You won’t even have time to miss us.”

He concentrates his efforts on pinning down your locks. The silence is forgiving as he gives you the space you need to collect yourself.

“Who said anything about missin’ you?”

His eyes wrinkle a touch as he beams down on you. All the affection and hope someone ought to feel for another person… There was a time you thought you could drown in it.

This is the last time he would see you alive. He’s watching you like he doesn’t know.

“I’m serious. Stevie an’ me…”

He trails off when the warmth of your palm blooms over his cheek. You surprise him, turning before your time with a playful roll of your eyes.

“You boys ain’t never been quick a day in your life.”

He leans into your touch, a sharp inhale filling his lungs.

“Ain’t no shame in it,” you agree with a solemn nod. “But walkin’ away from a fight? Not my style, Sergeant.”

He holds you there with him for a beat, lacing his fingers with yours.

He turns your hand in his own and kisses it so tenderly…

And before he can blink, the moment’s gone.

Steve’s passing off T-bars to everyone, laying down parameters of the mission.

“Alright, this is a very short—very fast train. We’ve got a ten second window, tops. Mistime it, you’re a bug on the windshield.”

Dugan raises his watch and taps the face. “Better move it, bugs.”

Bucky scratches at the wooden arm on the seat, his shaking fingers begging for purchase as he watches you disappear down the cable after him…

He watches you board, watches those bastards get the jump on you.

He’s helpless as a hole is blown out the side of the train. You pull him to safety, shoving him from the danger.

He watches you fall.

He watches his lips wrap around your name as he screams for you to come back to him…

He wakes on his own, throat still aching over forty years later.

On the nights Bucky can’t sleep, he’s in the lab. It beats just laying there. Staring at the ceiling and praying things are gonna be different by the morning doesn’t do it for him anymore.

He comes here to use his hands—to think. There’s a sterile tranquility when he gets his groove going. So when he’s got some company in there with him, he knows it.

“What are you doin’ home, kid?”

“I could ask you the same, you know.”

The younger Stark pushes off of the door he’s leaning against, coming closer to inspect his Godfather’s handiwork. His voice moves around the lab in what feels like an endless stream of questions.

Was it another one… How bad was it tonight… Is there anything I can do…

It’s not right and he knows it’s not fair… but every lingering syllable is an itch under his skin. He just wants to be left to his own devices so he can scratch himself raw.

Bucky’s eyes narrow on the wire transfer he’s got going on as he tenses over his workspace.

“Really not a good time, son,” he warns. “I’m sorry… Just not the best for company.”

Tony sighs, more than a little disappointed. “Whatever you say, Howard.”

He takes a breath. Bait or no, that shit smarts.

And the poor kid almost looks guilty. Hopping off the bench, he shuffles out of the lab. Bucky stops him before he can get too far, though. He doesn’t even have to get up to do it.

“Your old man ever tell you about Azzano?”

“Azzano…” he echoes. “Italy, right?”

Bucky nods, attentions back on his project.

“During the war?” Tony asks tentatively.

“They ran experiments on me—pumped me full of… fuck if I know, somethin’ else.” He shrugs, “I mean, it sure as shit wasn’t what Erskine had gone and gave Sonny an’ Steve.”

Tony’s quiet for a beat, brows furrowed trying to make sense of the unfathomable. “Then what happened?”

“Steve happened. He brought us home.”

Moments pass in silence. Just a man and his tools clashing with metal, tiny sparks flying contained.

It’s a good while before either moves to break it.

“Dad only ever really talks about him when he’s been drinking… Sometimes he’ll namedrop if I’ve been an extra disappointment.” Tony looks down at his shoes, kicking at some lint on the floor. “Then Aunt Peggy’s out because I refuse to make her cry again.”

“Why not just come to me?” Bucky tries to hide the hurt in his words. “Not enough of a leading expert for you, Mr. Stark?”

“I don’t know… Deductive reasoning?” he asks rhetorically, almost contrite. “Figured you didn’t want to talk if you can’t even tell me what’s eating you up at night.”

Shit.

He puts down his tools and peels his gloves off in an inelegant snap. Bucky gestures for him to sit so he does, scrubbing across his face.

“You’re not gonna find any of this in the history books, alright? So don’t go runnin’ your mouth to impress some so and so.”

“Lay it on me,” Tony challenges.

“What do you want to know?”

“What happened?” He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Why did he crash the plane?”

Bucky’s eyes shoot to the ceiling, a little laugh on his breath. Tony frowns.

“You don’t have to talk if it’s too painful.”

“No, no. You stop that,” he waves him off. “This is what they call a teachable moment, right?”

“So what happened?” he says again.

“When Steve went down… Man alive, Tones. I can tell you, I’ve never been more angry at another living soul.” He scratches at his jaw, shaking his head. “So he’s on the comms, hollerin’ out the words he knows are gonna be his last—some shit, like he didn’t have a choice?”

He was hurt and tired and so, so furious. He just wanted to take him home and leave the war behind… Maybe take him over his knee for scaring him so bad, but he never got the chance.

Steve had to play the hero and save everyone.

—C’mon, Stevie… I just lost my best gal. You really gonna make me go at this all alone over you, too?

Bucky looks at his hands, hoping for answers—begging for release. These hands of his that could’ve done more for the people he loved.

“We were partners,” he says, devastated. “If he had a deathwish, he should ah’ told me. But he just—he left before I could have a say… He died alone when I could ah’ been right there with him. How is that right?”

“No.” His voice is thick and Tony has to shake his head. “It’s not.”

His gaze returns to the boy, remembering who this was all for.

“There’s always a choice, Tony. Don’t you forget that.”

After the war, he doesn’t leave service… Not right away.

He was tired. He just wanted to go home and see his Ma, have a good cry… But there was still work to be done.

He toured with the Commandos some, but it was never the same. They knew it. He knew it. But they got the job done—that was all that mattered.

No one acknowledged that a quarter of their team was missing in action.

No one breathed a word about their hopes or their fears—all of them united by trauma, but forever alone to it…

No one talked about the fact that Bucky had barely aged a minute since V-E Day.

Then came the day they couldn’t hide it anymore. The day the Commandos retired.

It was at a pub in London that they had their long goodbyes. He remembers the night so vividly, their glasses raised high as they toasted eulogy after eulogy… Didn’t make a lick of difference to anyone how much time had passed. Memories flowed in tandem with the booze in their glasses.

Time had made superstitious men of them all. They didn’t want to chance bringing anything more than their wrinkles and pains home with them.

“For Cap… Cap and Sunshine,” Dugan starts off. “For getting all of us sorry bastards into this mess all those fuckin’ years ago.”

Echoed sentiments erupt across the table.

“To Cap and Sunshine.”

And for the first time since you died, he felt like he could breathe… Like he didn’t just dream you up and lose you in the night.

Steve was real. You were real. He had loved you… You and Steve, Steve and you… Bucky loved you both.

Sometime’s you gotta take the loss with all that love. And it hurts.

But he couldn’t bare part with you.

If his choices were suffering while remembering and moving on without you or Steve, he’d choose you every time. There were times the pain was so bad it was almost blinding. But he needs those reminders. He needs to know that it really happened, that it was real.

And it was. What you had together was real.

They all went home to their wives and mothers—shame buried on the other side of the war, heavy embraces slung around the necks of their brothers in arms.

He went home and kissed his Ma. He had that cry. And for a while, he was done… There’s a part of him that knows it was never going to last.

Peggy sought him out, offered him a position at the organization she built from the ground up.

She brought out her sales pitch. She called him James and told him it’s what you would have wanted—but he doesn’t even know if that’s true. You’d been gone so long, the years apart far outweighed your time together. He doesn’t know what you would have wanted.

He still jumped at the opportunity with such an urgency to leave.

Before SHIELD came to collect him, he was living in a purgatory of his own making. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the ghosts in his head. Not when his life expectancy was so up in the air.

With nowhere else to go and no better reason to say no, Bucky paired off with Howard for a minute. He lived in his guest room, worked in his lab… He put as much distance between himself and Brooklyn as he could stomach.

And it was good for a time. That is, until Howard found himself in the family way.

It’s an amicable separation. He was even able to maintain lab access with 60% of profits off any future patents. So, you know, not too shabby for a shayna punim from The Borough.

Between grad school and work, he kept himself fairly busy through the sixties and seventies. By the time the eighties rolled around, the money was so good he got himself a studio in DC so he might live out his sleepless nights in some semblance of comfort…

They send him where there’s a need for his skill set. He doesn’t go digging. He doesn’t ask questions. Bucky can only keep his head down and pray for world peace when praying for rest might just be too tall of an order.

The dream starts the same as any other. He pays the toll. He finds his seat. But when the film comes alive, it’s a far cry from the bitter cold of the Alps.

The scene laid before him is soft and so damn warm… The room is flush with the pastels of a Parisian hotel ravaged by time and circumstance. Building’s probably just as gone as everything else, he expects.

His breath catches as you slowly fade into view—tangled in silk sheets, limbs akimbo with lips smeared red and bruised by kisses. It’s a sight he thought he’d have to die to see again.

There’s an old record on in the background. The needle crackles as one song bleeds into the next, but he knows it’s not quite right. You look on with a lazy sort of hunger, almost breaking the fourth wall with him…

You hum softly as you watch him, watching you.

Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien…

Bucky watches a gentle touch trace the slope of Steve’s nose as he sketches you both on the bed. His fingers. His touch.

…Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal… Tout ça m’est bien égal…

Without even thinking, his legs are moving of their own accord. The seat snaps shut behind him as he makes his way towards the screen… He’s all too desperate to bridge the gap that separates you.

…Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien…

He watches himself kiss a trail down the column of your neck, staining your skin something filthy with whatever shade of lipstick he stole from you. When he finally disappears under the blanket, you arch into his touch. Your brows are knit as you palm the sheets in search of purchase.

…C’est payé, balayé, oublié, je me fous du passé…

Bucky’s hand spreads against the wall of screen, the fragmented projection washing his skin with yours.

…Avec mes souvenirs j’ai allumé le feu… Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs…

He wants more than a wash—what he needs is a damn soak… With all the red on his ledger, he could easily drown himself in the sight of you just to feel clean.

…Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux… Balayé les amours avec leurs trémolos…

He rests his head on the wall. His eyes fall shut against the sounds of the three of you together after so long… A merciful lullaby. A soft epilogue.

…Balayé pour toujours… Je reparts à zéro…

He wakes mid-flight, somewhere over the Adriatic Sea. The year, 1989.

You feel closer today than you did yesterday. But there’s a mission on and he can’t afford to think about it just yet.

If he wavers, he dies.

He’s been tracking a top ranking assassin for years now with next to no leads. Bucky has yet to see him in the wild. Some dispute their very existence.

Up until recently, the intelligence community’s been keeping mum on the subject. Months of radio silence.

It started small, just a murmur at first. Then it picked up traction on the underground servers. Hardly a hit on the guy, but it’s enough to tip SHIELD off.

His flight’s en route to Berlin. What they’ve got is a source going into witness protection in exchange for information. Simple extraction, in and out. No time to get in his head about this.

Bucky won’t stop until he’s silenced the fist of HYDRA.

He digs a carton of Whitehorse and a lighter from his pocket—

And maybe the thought should scare him… the desire to end a human being. It should bother him.

—he lights up, really breathes it in. His shoulders drop the slightest amount as he shuts his eyes on the exhale.

Should.

The illusive fucker he’s been after might not have been the one to end your life, but they were sure as shit about to return the favor.

If he dies in the process, that’s just as well. He wants to be with you. With Steve. A good rest never hurt anyone.

He looks out the window with another drag in his lungs. However the lampshade swings, events are already set in motion. There’s nothing he can do now but wait and see.

Bucky clocks his witness from outside the restaurant. She sits on a stool at the bar, hunched over her drink as she keeps to herself.

It’s a slow night, almost dead. There’s no one around to bother her. Still, the girl’s clever enough to speak out… She’s gotta know there’s a target on her back.

So he pops his collar and lowers his shades, heading inside. He nods at the bartender, already fixing him up with a shot. Bucky hands him a fist of cash for the drink and his discretion. He’s been with SHIELD for some time now, he’s good people.

Taking a seat two stools over, he keeps his eyes forward.

He doesn’t say a word until they’re alone.

“Wunderbares wetter heute.”

[Wonderful weather today.]

This is the point where she would give him the go ahead… She’s no spy, but she’s hardly a civilian either. It’s one of the simpler codes on the memory…

But still, she says nothing.

“Ich kenne… Es ist nicht so toll,” he offers apologetically. “Das Letzte, was ich tun möchte, ist, deine Muttersprache zu schlachten.”

[I know, it’s not great—the last thing I want to do is butcher your mother tongue.]

Silence.

“Wenn es sich nicht um eine Zumutung handelt, ich könnte Englisch sprechen, wenn Sie lieber.”

[If it’s not an imposition, I could speak English if you prefer.]

Eyes fixed beyond the bar, he makes out a lull of her head from his periphery. It’s the most she’s given him since he sat down.

Definitely a start towards building trust.

“I know you’re probably scared,” he says under his breath, lifting the glass to his lips. “Hell. I’ve been there, myself.”

He downs his drink. Winces a touch.

“But you work with me here? I swear to you—together? We will work this out.”

He sets his glass facedown with a firm tap.

It hits him like a ton of bricks when he spots her virgin shot seated shoulder to shoulder with his own.

Her glass has been full all along.

He turns slowly, reluctant to look on the dead woman beside him.

“Shit,” Bucky sighs. He beats his palm against the top of the bar… “Shit!”

That’s where her fingers rest, idle as the rest of her. Defensive wounds sheath her knuckles like a pair of lace gloves.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, just wanting some goddamn peace for a change.

“Fuckin’ fuck,” he hisses.

Her eyes are heavy lidded and locked on nothing. He closes them with a shaking touch, wishing he could have done more for the woman.

He hangs his head. “I’m so sorry…”

There’s a moment.

And then… bam.

She’s spread across the bar with a bullet in her before he can even think what to do with the body.

Fuckin’ sniper.

He stands at attention. He follows the direction of the shot—past the shattered glass, over the neighboring businesses. Another lands by his feet and this time, he’s prepared.

He spots the fucker on the roof, reloading their gun. They wisp from one spot to the next, donning a sexless uniform in head to toe black. There’s a silver glint where their other sleeve should be.

Bucky tucks inside an alley and jumps to the fire escape. Up and up and up, and he’s finally able to make sense of it. He crouches low, watching the figure slip through a door on a rooftop two buildings over.

He takes off running after them. Screams from below hit his ears as attention draws to the scene he’d just abandoned.

Once the buildings are cleared, he has to catch his breath before passing through the door—he draws his side piece, swings it open.

It’s a long hallway with doors lining either side and he has to strain to hear it. Faint sounds in the distance, something metallic… footsteps rushing down stairs, three at a time, maybe four… He finds the door leading to the stairwell and gives into the chase.

Down, down, down, ‘til he reaches the bottom.

When he opens the door, he’s met with a gun trained on him and it’s only reflex that has him tossing his gun to disarm them… He’s wanting in time and patience at the moment—ain’t enough going around to spare on a goddamn standoff.

Bucky pushes his assailant until their back meets the wall with a grunt. They kick his chest, he catches their calf and shoves them a beat harsher than before.

He moves to rid them of the balaclava masking their identity. But they double down, blocking his arm away in a sweeping motion… knocks their heads heads together, too. But Bucky catches on quick, pulling on a generous amount of exposed hair.

A whine—sharp and feminine. The sound pierces his ears like a freezing tub of water on a cold winter’s night.

He uses this window to take the mask. He rips it clean off.

She turns… His face falls… Time slows—

“Sunshine?”

“Who the hell is Sunshine?”

—and he chokes.

You raise your metal fist and flex it around the target’s throat, neutralizing the threat.

“Who the hell is Sunshine?”

His response is a garbled mess of broken syllables and dangerous looks.

You back him into the rod at the center of the boiler room you’ve found yourselves in. You could have moved him with your flesh hand with what little resistance he was showing you.

Fuck it. This intel might just prove to be useful.

You release your hold on him.

“Answer me, American,” you order him.

“American?” He coughs out, touching at his neck. “You were born in Chicago, you big asshole!”

“I have no business in Chicago.”

He’s rendered slack against the pole.

“Fuckin’ A,” he nods in realization. “So I’m gone, too. Is that it?”

“Don’t make me hurt you, American.”

His face twists in anguish.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes. You know me.”

You slap him. “No. I don’t.”

“The fuck did they do to you?” his voice is so small, you wonder if he knows he spoke the words out loud. “Sunshine—”

—Need some help with that, Agent Sunshine?

You grimace. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what I’ll call you ‘til the sun goes dim and the sky turns black.” He looks up at you, his eyes defeated. He swallows. “It’s your name.”

“Stop it,” you warn him.

When he looks as though he’s about to advance on you, you push him back against the pole. You step away, desperate to put some distance between the two of you.

“Sonny, please. This isn’t you.”

Your fist slows his approach, but he just keeps coming for you. You need to shut him up.

Shutting your ears to the noise, you shake your head. “You don’t know me.”

“We can beat this.” He grinds his words with mortar and pestle—it’s a desperate plea on his tongue with emotion you don’t give yourself permission to name. “We can beat them.”

An animalistic scream wretches its way out of you, your eyes hot and itching as you rage at him. You throw yourself onto the target, locking him in place with your thighs.

You strike him. Again and again and again, until you’re both leveled. And he lets you do it, he lets you hurt him.

Something twists inside you. He won’t last much more of this. You’re sure he’s thinking the same.

“Fight back…”

And still, he refuses you.

He aches to touch you. That much is obvious. Even as his body bleeds by your hand, it’s all he wants just to have you here with him.

You don’t understand him, this man at your mercy.

You don’t even know him… You’re sure it’s only his face you’ve seen before and it’s barely that. His hair is longer than the man from your dreams. He looks battle worn… Lost.

Nothing like the charming soldier who stole your heart when you had your wits about you… Your head’s pumped full of code and strategy as the serum corrodes your veins, but you know this man. You know his eyes.

Try as they might, they could never burn them out of you.

Blood mars his mouth and cheeks as he lies on the ground. He watches you on his back, looking at you like you meant something to him… like you mean everything.

You find yourself drawn to those pouting lips, wanting nothing more than to abandon the mission and get some answers out of them.

That’s when you hear it.

…Quand il me prend dans ses bras… Il me parle tout bas… Je vois la vie en rose…

Visions of this man invade your senses as music plays from a distant memory, not made for you.

…Il me dit des mots d’amour… Des mots de tous les jours… Et ça me fait quelque chose…

His tongue is inside you as another man holds you in check. This man, blond hair with faraway eyes, wipes the sweat from your brow, whispering filthy nothings in your ear. He holds his head against your own as you chase your release.

…Il est entré dans mon cœur… Une part de bonheur… Dont je connais la cause…

Your charming soldier emerges from between your legs, so smug. He drags the back of his hand across his face, smearing his stained lips even further.

…C’est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie… Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie…

You flush as you come back to yourself.

Is that what these are—

—what they’ve been?

Overcome, you pull back from the blow… Your metal arm leaves behind a crater in the naked slab of concrete where his head would be if you weren’t so weak.

Your flesh fingers curl around his bruised face, forcing him to meet your eyes. You narrow your gaze on him, fury and shame building up inside of you. “Stay the fuck out of my head…”

“Oh, Sonny.” He frowns. “Not me… ‘M not the one in your head.”

You sink down onto his chest, head resting uncomfortably on his tac vest. Your training takes over when you feel fingers at the small of your back and you’ve got his wrists pinned, seconds later.

There’s a charged beat between these bodies, the pair of you a panting mess.

“So what’s it gonna be?”

Your head tilts to the side in silent curiosity.

He breathes into his aches and pains and he’s almost smiling at you. “Still wanna kill me, doll?”

You shut your eyes, worrying at your mouth. You can’t concentrate when you know he is who he says he is.

“Still weighing my options,” you fire back.

A pained nod. “How’s it lookin’ on my end?”

You can’t concentrate when you still don’t know… When you know enough to know his eyes, but can’t place the rest of him.

You roll your hips over him like it’s an answer… You’ll tell yourself all sorts of lies later about centering yourselfand gaining control of the situation.

Чушь собачья.

[Bullshit.]

He betrays the mission, same as you… Betrays his countrymen, same as you.

But at the end of the day, you’re the one on top of him.

You work him over because you want to.

You fuck him because you want to watch him come apart—

—sleep with him because you want to dream…

And when the night is through, you leave him bloody and broken outside the remote home of a civilian doctor because you’re not ready for this to be over.

The sounds of a German broadcast tickle his ears as he comes to. Bucky doesn’t open his eyes just yet. It’s all he can do to lie there, focused solely on his breath, repeating his mantra over and over.

…To die, to sleep—to sleep, perchance to dream, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…

He slept like the dead. Nights like these are even worse than the times he’s powerless to save you. A night without you is a day without the sun.

“I know you’re awake.”

It’s a voice that puts ice in his veins and a heat in his chest.

You’re on the chair, sat beside the bed in a flannel top that doesn’t fit you right. Your hair is short—shorter than he’s ever seen it, resting just below your chin. You’ve got a split in your lip and a bruised look in those eyes focused intently on him.

All this on, and you’re absolutely gorgeous.

“Last time I saw you, you threatened to cut it all off.”

Self consciously, your fingers go to your hair. He’s so sore, every move is working against him. His hand meets yours and he’s so, so gentle.

“It suits you,” he says.

“I don’t remember,” you admit softly.

He pulls back with a sigh. “That’s ‘cause it hasn’t happened yet.”

You watch him, so confused.

“What are you talking about?” you ask him carefully.

“This.” He gestures around the room, so tired he lets his eyes fall shut. He scrubs a hand across his face as he struggles to find the words. “The dream.”

You’re stunned to silence.

“This is a good one, y’know… Can’t say I’ve had this much free range before. Not this side of the century, at least.”

“This isn’t a dream.”

He has to laugh at that. Otherwise he’s gonna make himself sick later with liquor and tears. “Says the spider to the fly…”

“You think I’m lying,” you say, almost hurt. You know you’ve no rights to his trust. Doesn’t stop those stabbing pains from gutting you from the inside out.

“Can you tell me I’m asleep right now?”

You shake your head fiercely. “No.”

“Then yes.”

There’s a huff on your breath as you push up from the chair to pace around the room.

“Unless what you’re saying is true and I’m not sleeping…” he starts.

“You’re not.”

His face falls. His head sinks back onto the pillow, resigned as he stares at the ceiling. If this is his Hell, he’s gonna at least make himself nice and comfortable.

“So I’m dead, then.”

He wants so badly, so desperately, for this to be real. But if it’s real… that means he’s gotta take it all with him.

Last night.

The mission.

The fucking train.

If this is real, that means he left you. He left you in the cold, bleeding and dying, waiting for some fucker to pick you up and make you a human weapon.

He left you when he could have saved you.

So, yeah… He’s good with being dead for now and it’s a blessing when you don’t argue.

You’ve got your arm crossed over your chest as you stare out the window. It’s the first time he gives himself permission to look. You’re not wearing it now, but he knows it won’t be long before you put the arm back on. It looked so heavy when he saw it up close—felt heavy when it was beating his face in.

Bucky has spent so long praying you back to life. He went back to Temple every Friday for you and Steve, both. He said your names. So many times, in so many words…

But he never wanted this for you.

“Who was she?”

The question pulls Bucky from his reverie. Those three little words dry his throat and force him out of the delusion.

“You called me Sunshine. Who was she?”

He’s not ready… but Steve would have his hide to make you wait so selfish like this. You’ve suffered enough.

A number of shaking breaths later and he’s finally talking.

“I’m a lot older than I look, same as you. I went to war. And Stevie…” God, where to start with Steve. “Well, he wanted it, too. He needed to be with the fight. That I’d ah’ been there with him was a happy accident. Kismet, y’know? The army needed bodies but they just weren’t taking him. And it’s not just that he was small, which he was.”

Bucky smiles remembering his little love… then he looks at you, remembers that you can’t. And then he wants to cry all over again. He doesn’t. Just a little sniffle and the clear of his throat because this is what you need from him right now.

“But he had health problems, y’know? Probably would ah’ taken a shorter list to write up what wasn’t wrong with him. So they said no. Figured he’d ah’ been more trouble than he was worth.”

“Then what happened?”

“He’s a persistent little shit’s what happened. Got himself in too deep with some government types, and they made him big,” he says like that’s a thing that happens to people. “You were the agent assigned to his case. The SSR gave you the last of the serum before they sent you in to keep tabs on him, paradin’ you around as a USO girl.”

It’s quiet for a beat. And then you laugh.

“I can’t even dance,” you simper, more than amused by the idea of yourself in those little outfits singing about freedom.

“Can’t claim to have seen you in action, doll. ‘M afraid that was before my time.”

“And when was that?”

“When Steve saved me. You both had a nasty habit of doing that.”

You don’t understand his words. Just last night, you were trying to end him… But there’s that name again and curiosity wins out, clawing at your throat like a mad dog for scraps.

“Is he the other man?” you ask, incredulous. “The man from my dreams?”

“Depends.” He shrugs on the bed, scratching at the shadow on his jaw. “What sort ah’ dreams you been cookin’ up in that head of yours?”

You stall, feeling a surge of insecurity. You hate how vulnerable this man makes you feel.

“Did you ever take me to Paris?”

Hand in his hair, he looks you over as your face starts to heat. It’s a long while before he speaks. When he does, you almost regret saying anything at all.

Almost.

“See, I wasn’t sure last night. But now I know you’re trying to kill me.” He lays his head back on the pillow, spent.

“What were we?”

“We were together.” His voice breaks on the word. “We were in love…”

You shake your head. “That’s not me. I’m not that girl anymore.”

He frowns, mood effectively sobered for the day.

“No.” In that moment, he looks so sad for you. “Not anymore.”

The radio clamors for his attentions again and he nods at the next room over. “They talking about us in there?”

Your lips twitch as you cross the room. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Seriously,” he presses. “It’s not like we have a mutually exclusive extraction plan here. They gotta have Commie APB after us. Why are we sitting ducks right now?”

You go to turn up the radio—of course he wouldn’t know, he’s been asleep…

“The Wall fell last night. No one’s coming.”

He blinks at you, shocked as you leave. “What?”

[…and therefore we have made the decision today to institute a regulation, which permits every resident of East Germany to depart the country through any border crossing of the GDR…]

You cross the room to sit next to Bucky on the bed.

“What will you do?”

“Do?” You cock a questioning brow in his direction. You’re so wiped you kick your feet up before realizing that puts you fully in bed with him. “I wasn’t aware that anything needed doing.”

“Can’t imagine your higher ups are gonna be too happy with what happened here,” he points out.

“Nothing happened. I completed my mission.”

You say it so cavalier that you can feel him staring at you. Disbelief radiates from his spot on the bed.

“They’ll never be happy,” you deadpan, slinging an arm across your face. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“You sayin’ you’d lie for me?” he asks, unsure.

“I’d lie for me… There’s a difference.”

“You do that a lot in your line of work?”

A knowing smile betrays you. “As much as any other woman today, I’d like to think.”

“You thinkin’ ah’ going back so soon?”

Who said anything about missin’ you—

You lower the arm and crane your neck towards the window. “We’re holed up here until the press dies down. You want to take advantage, be my guest. That’s not my style.”

—Ain’t no shame in it… but walkin’ away from a fight? Not my style, Sergeant.

He must hear it, too. You make out the hitch in his breath as he sits, worked up and shaking so bad… You reach out for him, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

“You really don’t remember. Do you.”

That it’s not a question when he says it breaks your heart.

“Fragments… Bits and pieces,” you say weakly. “I remember feeling the warmth of two bodies next to me. It helps… It gives me something to hold onto when they try and clear out those defective parts that tell ‘em no.”

“Ever enough to walk away?” he asks, all too hopeful.

You look down at the hand wrapped in yours as you burn stars and stripes over his skin with your touch. He already knows your answer.

He shakes his head into your neck. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You place a deft kiss onto his shoulder without even thinking. All you want to do is soothe this broken boy… give him anything he wants. Not because he’s asking for it, but that he’s showing it’s possible at all.

“You could render me unconscious,” you offer. “Just knock me out. Then I’d have no choice in it.”

“No.”

“If they see that I’ve openly defected, there’s nothing stopping them from coming after us. We’ll never know peace.”

“No,” he argues. “There’s always a choice. You’ve had enough ah’ that taken away from you in your time.”

He puts both hands at either side of your head. You’re eye to eye now, there’s no other option than giving him his say. “If we do this, we accept the consequences…”

You shut your eyes and think of Paris. You savor it.

It’s a good dream, you think to yourself. The best so far…

“Besides… You asshole’s are always savin’ me. Let me wear the tights for a bit and play hero for a change, yeah?”

Your stomach burns. Your heart aches. Tears prick at your eyes as you try and picture this life they had, this life of love. It’s a life your very existence spoils like a plate of fresh fruit turned to decay.

Wasted potential and bygone promises. That’s what his life with you on the run will be. And he’ll do it all.

He never said it was for you.

“You must have really loved her… Your Sunshine.”

He stares at you like he doesn’t know all that you’ve done… As if the only answer to a question never even posed should be so natural, so glaringly obvious.

“I love you, dummy.”

Damn him.

You collapse beside him as much as you can collapse in a bed. You press his forehead into your own, all of the tension leaving your body in one foul swoop.

You’re left behind a quaking heap of emotion, tears clouding your vision.

“I’m so tired,” you cry out.

Those fingers thrum soft against your scalp, his calloused thumbs flexing to dry your cheeks. He drops a kiss on your hairline and holds you close. What remains of the broadcast lingers in the background—the last vestiges of an old world adapting for the new, just like the wavering of a chrysalis ripe for rebirth.

“Listen to me,” he whispers against your temple. He rakes your hair back as he goes. “Listen. You don’t have to fight anymore. I’m gonna make this right and I’ll spend the rest ah’ forever makin’ it up to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. His promises should scare you—

You look up at him. “Together?”

“Together… Forever.”

—but all you can feel is the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart.

He’s alive.

You both are.

Silence falls around you as your breathing steadies in his arms.

…I, I will be King… And you, you will be Queen… Though nothing will drive them away… We can be heroes just for one day… We can be us just for one day…

#eliza's 5k challenge #youngmoneymilla #bucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #marvel fanfic #mine #also on ao3 @happhys #can you tell i miss the hoe-t3??#my fics

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lysung · 5 years

Text

Wabi-sabi (part 1)

Genre: angst, fluff (in the upcoming chapters :))

Pairing: Minsung (Jisung + Minho)

Words: 2,750

Summary: Wabi-sabi means imperfect or incomplete beauty. This is a central concept in Japanese aesthetics, which comes from Buddhist teachings on the transient nature of life. A pot with uneven edges is more beautiful than a perfectly smooth one, because it reminds us that life is not perfect.

Han Jisung and Lee Minho are two average high schoolers who have differences in common; two of them are being from the other high schoolers are being a part from the LGBT community and too thoughtful in an unhealthy way, besides many other things society would see as "flaws". After accidentally knowing each other through Twitter, they eventually became best friends but both of them still had colorless and monotone lives outside internet, until that, someday, one of them is about to get beaten up for being LGBT and the other one defends a random guy from getting beaten up by one of his best friends.

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, depressive thoughts

A/N: hello! i'm alexis and this is my first au :) i know this blog is supposed to be a fluff imagines blog, but i've been feeling like writing some ansgt lately. i hope y'all don't mind it ^^ i've worked hard on this since it's my arts homework as well, so i didn't have all the time to write this, but i did write it on my pace and, honestly, im still a bit unconfident about this one. if this gets a great reaction, i will definitely continue this asap ❤️ i hope you enjoy and please leave a heart and/or reblog, it would help me a lot and make my day 💕

=================================

Legend says that, as soon as you’re born, you get a red string tied to your finger, connecting you to someone you’re destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The string may stretch or tangle but it will never break.

Han Jisung always found the Universe majestic but crazy at the same time. Isn’t it weird how everything happen as it wills? Or, maybe, would it be They? Who is in control of the universe, if there’s someone with such power? Would they be God? But who is God, actually? Is there someone above God? — This kind of thought dominated the teenager’s mind every once in a while and, when it did, it would always keep him up at night. The thought of living his own life but, actually, being controlled by a divine existence, would scare him sometimes.

But, the thing is: the Universe, be it "it" or "they", never did anything out of the blue. Everything happens for a reason; whether if we trip or fall, cry out of pain or laughter, fake or genuinely smile, nothing happens “just because”. And we live to grow up as individuals and learn each and every lesson “it” has to teach us, even the small and silly ones.

Laid down on his bed, Jisung, who strongly believed in such legends, turned off his phone and stared at his dark-ish room’s ceiling, slightly bright thanks to the street lights outside.

These thoughts were, once again, haunting him. All he could do was wonder 3 things: What is he supposed to learn? Why? And, specially, who is going to help him?

These thoughts were soon replaced by self depreciative ones as soon as he looked through the window and noticed the sun rising. He would soon have to be up to get ready for another monotone day of school. He turned around, his back facing the windows, closed his eyes and, one more time, tried to fall asleep. But, as time passed, his thoughts wouldn’t go away; neither his usual philosophical thoughts or the self depreciative ones. There were hundreds of voices screaming in his head – some were calling him, some sounded mad, you would be afraid if you could hear them too. And when he least expected, his alarm ranged, meaning not only it was time for him to get ready for school, but also that he lost another fight to his strong mind.

Later that morning, during class change, he noticed 3 of his seniors in the other side of the corridor. Changbin, Hyunjin and Felix were staring at him and laughing out loud; he tried to ignore them and got his material for Math class. Walking to his classroom carefully, trying his best to avoid them, but they eventually came to him and Changbin pinned him to the nearest locker.

"Where are you trying to go, you shameless fag?" Changbin, their "leader", said to his face in provocation.

"Leave me alone, Changbin. Mind your own busin-" The younger tried to say and break free from his strong grip, but failed and was cutted out by Changbin.

"What are you gonna do? Are you gonna run away? Huh?" The oldest said, the provocation never leaving his tone.

Jisung was speechless. The small anxious boy didn't know what to do — should he fight back? Say something mean to them? Run away? He was totally alone and lost; there was nothing he could do.

"What is going on in here?" A high-pitched voice echoed through the, now, empty corridor, and, right next to them was the school's principal, looking pissed off as usual.

"Oh, nothing, Mrs. Kang! I was just... just... asking him how he'll go back home after school, so that I would know if I should take him home or not, hehe! I love this guy, Mrs. Kang. You have no idea how much I lo-"

"Detention. The 4 of you. And, Mr Seo, I'll let you go this time but, if you ever try to lie to me again, it's detention for a whole week. No buts." Mrs. Kang said and left, cutting Changbin's excuse off and getting a sigh from each of them in response.

"Listen up." To turn back to Jisung was the first thing Changbin did as soon as Mrs. Kang left. "I will get you and teach you how to behave like a real man, annoying faggot. Wait for it." Changbin threatened again, looking deep in Jisung's eyes and left. He watched their figures get smaller as they walked through the long corridor, fear and regret as evident in his eyes than never. Changbin had something in his eyes that made Jisung even more confused and lost.

As soon as the group had finally disappeared, Jisung bursted to the school's restroom without looking back, not being able to hold back the tears. Poor boy wouldn't make it to Math today and he was very aware of it.

This was just a tiny bit of Jisung's daily life, but it always shattered his heart in a billion pieces. He wondered, how can people be this heartless? Why are people like this to people like him, who were just born "different"? What's so wrong in being different? In being yourself? In loving someone, not minding their gender identity? What did Jisung do to deserve to live in such a inhumane society?

What did people like him did for the universe to punish them like this? What did they do to deserve such pain?

Jisung eventually lost his hope on society and hated his mind even more for being so cruel to him. All these voices calling him out, calling him names and saying stupid things would never shut up. How great would it be if he had somewhere to scream freely, without fearing to be heard...

As he walked through a dark path in life, it only seemed to get darker. He tried his best to run away, but something was stronger than him, pulling him further into the endless darkness, regardless of how much he fighted back, until he couldn't fight anymore. That's when he gave up.

After two hours spent locked in the bathroom, including some time to calm down a little bit and reduce the swelling in his eyes at least a little bit, he finally left the restroom and safely got his stuff and went to his classroom, lowering his head to hide his swollen eyes.

And this is how Jisung spent the rest of his time at school: hiding himself from everyone, specially his eyes. No one should see his eyes, or else he would be bombarded with questions and feel even worse with people pretenting to be concerned.

When he was finally back home, his safe place, the first things he's done was locking himself in his room and throwing himself on his bed. It was a way too long day for Jisung and all he wanted was to sleep forever.

Hence he couldn't sleep, he unlocked his phone and tried to look for a calm and soothing song to sleep when he received a message from one of his favorite people ever: Lee Minho, a friend he knew through Twitter. They were like best friends; sending memes, using matching icons, tagging each other in random "love yourself" tweets and even writing sweet things to the other, just to remind them that they are loved and appreciated. It was the kind of friendship people either envy or ship. They would never stop talking to each other and Jisung would never find the exact words that can express all his gratitute for having such an amazing person in his life.

"hey, how was school today? did those dumbasses disturb you again?" Minho asked him in the most "Minho" way as always. Jisung's heart always skipped a beat whenever he would receive a message from him - he's one of the few people who actually worry about him and he loved this feeling.

"it actually sucked as always, but there's not much I can do about it anyways. and yeah, they did, that's why :(" Jisung replied, trying hard not to remind of what happened earlier.

"wait right there bub, i'll brb i will get some tickets to go to your city and kick some asses to mars" Jisung smiled at his reply. Ever since they talked for the first time, Minho's personality amazed Jisung. They were completely opposites, and that was the fun part - their differences made everything perfect.

Minho was, unfortunately, the only person Jisung told about Changbin and his "crew". He just couldn't gather the courage to tell anyone but him, blind by scenarios of his family's possible reactions.

"you're so weird" "i love you so much" Jisung replied and smiled as wide as he could. This kind of reply between them would be pretty common. Now, the question is: is it really a joke or not? Did they mean it, or not? They never even thought about saying this, but it obviously made both of their hearts best crazily fast.

"now that's a lie because i love you more" and tons of heart emojis and memes were shared.

They were each other's happiness, home, a safe place. It was incredible how each message would melt both their hearts. Happiness was endless whenever they would talk. "If only universe could make us live near...", Jisung said to himself. He just wanted to hold tight this bright light that had been brightening up the path Jisung was going through.

"hey, I didn't go to school today so i kept on reading about random facts and found out about a japanese legend that says that two people who are destined to meet are connected by a string tied to their hands and i thought of you" "you said you really like legends like this, so i was wondering if you knew about this one..." Jisung's cheeks began to hurt for smiling for so long. Minho makes him feel so loved, which is a feeling he's still not used to, but he wish he could feel all this in person.

"you're so adorable :( and yes i do know this one, it's one of my favorites!" "i wonder who's on the other side of my string..."

"if you're not gonna be on the other side of my red string then what's the point."

"i love you. i wish i could say this in person."

"i love you too bub and that's fine. some day this will happen, okay? we can and will make it happen. promise?"

"promise."

(...)

It was time for another monotone day at school. He would always know what was going to happen because it's been like this for a while now: he goes to school, sleeps in class, is bullyied, sometimes sleeps a bit longer and then, go back home. It's like he's stuck in a viscious loop - in the end of the day, he would always come back home with a sad expression in his face but he couldn't change this.

At school, waiting for biology class to begin, Jisung decides to try talking to someone. If he wants to stop avoiding people, he should be able to have short conversations with anyone. While talking to this girl who sits beside him about a test they would have later that day, a group of boys sat next to him and started to talk in a much higher tone. Jisung couldn't see their faces before they sat, but it was, surely, Changbin as his crew. Soon they started "talking" about gays and how they are ridiculous. Nice. What a beautiful place with sympathetic people, yay. Poor boy could barely focus in class because of all the noise they were making.

As his class ended and he was about to get his materials for his upcoming biology class, the same group of boys pinned Jisung just like the day before. He was shaking; it was happening one more time and he still didn't know what to do. Shaking under his breath, he didn't say or do anything. He wouldn't dare.

"Hello fairy, we're back." This was enough for Jisung to want to disappear. No, not these feelings again...

"H-hey... b-b-back for w-what?" Jisung asked, stuttering, in deep hopes it wasn't about what he thought.

"I told you we we would teach you how to be a real man, didn't I? And we'll do it now. You'll thank us later when you finally understand what being normal is." Changbin said, clearly trying to scare Jisung even more but, unfortunately, he couldn't get anymore scared. He could barely move or speak. He definitely gave up when he saw Changbin's fist in the air, getting ready to punch him, but another yell from the other side was calling for Changbin this time. His attention was divided between Jisung and the mysterious guy.

"What are you even trying to do?" The guy asked, trying to separate Jisung from them.

"N-no, it's not like that, I swear-"

"What is this supposed to be, then? I saw what I saw, and heard what I heard. So, you're gonna teach him how to 'act like a real man'? Because of what, he's gay?"

"Minho, what are you doing?" Changbin tried to reach him and grab his arms, just like how they would do when they were children, but, this time, Minho wasn't feeling like it. He completely understood what was going on and something must be done about it. He wasn't going to keep anything to himself in such moment, even if the one he's confronting is one of his best friends.

"First of all, he is a man. He's not 'less manly' than you, just because he like boys. Love is normal. Don't you even dare try to say it is not normal, or a sin, or whatever excuse you want to give." Minho kept on yelling and pushing Changbin and his other friends. It did hurt him inside, but he wouldn't stop. "You believe in God, right? Well, God wants you to respect His children as who they are. Also, stop acting as if 'gay cure' exist. You think beating a gay up will 'cure' him, huh? Well, this is not and will never be the right option, Changbin. He's done nothing wrong and there's nothing to be cured. You are the one who should learn to be a man. I thought you had finally understood me when we had that talk, maybe you really weren't paying attention at all, apparently. I can't with all this. You have absolutely 0 respect for people who aren't like you, and I won't stand this anymore. I can't do this. You will never change." At this point, there was a crowd watching Minho, their jaw dropped. He really thouched each of them deeply. Jisung could feel the pain and suffering in his voice. All he wanted to do was to hug him, if it means it would make Minho feel better, even if just for a while. He thought he is so brave for standing up for someone like Changbin because of a stupid dude he didn't even know. This is insane.

Maybe you can still have hope on this society, after all.

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fanficofpureimagination · 6 years

Text

I Of The Storm

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,622

Summary: Emilia Stark, I mean Zara, is newly a member of Hydra. Taken from her previous home with the Starks she struggles to understand and maneuver in her knew reality. One year after being taken she finally realizes her powers after the shock of seeing one infamous assassin.

A/N: I hope you guys like this series. It will start to enter the Marvel movies soon. I’d love feedback!

Part 1 - Origins Chp 1 ~ Who Are You, Really?

June 13, 1979

It’s quiet in the compound tonight. I can hear each creak and footstep that travels the barren concrete halls. Quiet like this can only mean one thing. The screaming can’t continue forever.. All those held in here. Broken, bent, remade anew. The torture must have succeeded or not.. Or maybe it is a holiday, but they don’t rest for holidays. Only when it is to make themselves appear normal to the public, and less incriminating to those that believe they hold a normal day job. Hydra doesn’t rest. Doesn’t stop. It’s only been one year since I was taken by them. They haven’t erased my old life completely.. not yet. Although I was unknowingly a spy, I was happy in my own way. The Starks were distant.. but Tony. I miss Tony the most. We would protect each other. Hold each other when it got bad. Mr. Stark could be mean sometimes, but never as bad as Hydra. Now I don’t have Tony to protect me. He needs me and I’m here alone in my cell. My memories fade with each day as they pick apart my brain. All I have gathered from them in those ten years. I just want to go home.. I curl up with my small blanket on my paper thin bed, and pray for sleep to come.

~~~~

“Silent night holy night all is calm all is bright.. Oh Howard, I think she’s asleep,” Maria looks upon her new adopted baby who’s finally drifted off.

“Thank God, I can’t stand that crying. I’m trying to work.”

“You’re always working dear.”

~~~~

“Do you ever think about the future, Em?” A young Tony asks the girl. They sit together under the covers a flashlight highlighting their features.

“You’ll be famous I know it. You can take us away from here.”

“I’m only eight. I have a long way to go.” The children laugh.

~~~~

“Please you’re hurting him!” The girl says to her father as he holds the boy up in the air.

“You’re so ungrateful! We should have never adopted either of you runts,” the man drops the boy and shoves the girl to the floor. Both hold each other crying on the ground.

~~~~~

“They never loved you! They were babysitting you until we were ready for you,” the man in red yells to the girl. “You belong here. Someday you’ll be a our champion. Our handpicked mutant breeding exercise. We made you! You are never leaving here!”

~~~~

“Stop!” I jump up in bed sweat dripping down my face. The dreams, the memories, felt so real. It felt like I was there again. My thoughts are interrupted as my cell door opens.

“Get up Zara, time for testing." Mr. Galkin grabs my arm and walks me to the testing room. The hallways are so long and cold they always make me feel even more alone.

‘Zara.’ My new name. The name they say has been waiting for me assigned at the moment of my birth. How long till it’s the only one I know. Emilia Stark will die completely and then will rise Zara the weapon.

Wake up. Workout. Train. School. Practice. Testing. Sleep.

Day in day out I repeat these steps from wake to sleep. I'm too young to train hard like the infamous Winter Soldier. When I am not training or doing school work I sit in my room trying to awaken my powers. They tell me it usually doesn't occur till puberty or by a rush of an emotion. They tell me if my powers don't occur at puberty they will have to push me harder. I don't know what my powers will even be how do I bring them about. I’m running out of time.

~~~~

"Dad! Dad! Tell us about Captain America. How strong and brave he was!" Young Tony of just six jumps up and down begging his father for more stories. Emilia Stark standing behind laughing in her eight year old sophistication.

"Tny, how many times are you going to ask? It doesn’t matter anyway he’s gone. He’s been gone."

"Shut up, Em! Dad tell me more!" Notable exhausted with his children Howard turns in his chair picking up Tony and placing him on his lap.

"He was much like you when he was younger. We worked to make him a soldier, a superhero, to fight all the bad guys..’"The sound faded away as Emilie walked to her joined bedroom with Tony. Superheroes never amused her they seemed to perfect, too happy. They were just pawns in a game they didn’t even know they were playing. Captain America a normal average man who now is dead. He was played and no he rots as the world goes on without a care in the world.

~~~~

After another long day wears on me, I’m eager to sleep away my pain. The training that leaves bruises and scars that will never heal. I lay in my bed tears forming I didn’t even realized I conjured. Then a loud noise jolts me to defensive position. The loud noise continues and I realize it’s not crashes, but screams. I creep up to my door and see someone forgot to close it. I've never been out of my room without being guided somewhere. I feel a sense of power in that moment. Men walk past me and I quickly sneak across the floor and into a room. My little bare feet slapping against the floor. I am finally walking, well sneaking, around free from anyone's guiding hand pushing me this way or that. I follow the eerie screams that echo throughout the facility. I make my way down the large hall. I pass a huge door at the end of the long hallway much bigger than me, even though I'm not that big. As someone slides their key card to open it, I follow behind silent as a little devil. Which is what Mr. Galkin calls me sometimes. I always take it as a complement. The door opens to a large lab with a round walkway surrounding a lower level beneath it. The man who entered before me walks down the set of stairs to meet the other men at the bottom. They all are wearing lab coats and are surrounding a table. I walk around the circle to get a better view of what they are looking at. My hand covers my mouth muffling the screams when I finally see. The Winter Soldier is laid out on a table blue to the face ice all around him. Why are they freezing him? Are they killing him?

"What are you doing to him!" I yell. All eyes up at me they signal for the guards to get me. "Stop hurting him!" I scream at them. I sit back crying and shocked. Suddenly the room shakes objects falling from walls moving frantically in the air. Could this be me? My emotions?

"Zara, come here. We aren't hurting him we promise." I stand turning to face the man by my side, with my hand I instinctively push it towards him. Even though I make no contact, he is thrown back. This is me. I have my powers. I can move stuff. I'm not useless anymore. I'm powerful!

Objects are everywhere. Things tossed and thrown. I even begin hovering in the air just above the ground. Then a sharp stinging hits me in the back. I pull out the object to see a small dart. Are they killing me, but I'm powerful now. My knees drop out from me and I fall to my face. Everything becomes fuzzy as the darkness surrounds me.

I wake up back in my room with the permanent cold walls that bind me. I sit up carefully leaning against my stone wall. "Zara follow me." I obey and am lead to the testing room.

"Hello Zara, I am Mr. Ivanov and I specialize in training powers. It seems you have developed the ability of telekinesis."

"What does that mean?"

"Well it means that you are able to move matter with your hands."

"So, I'm not useless anymore."

"No, my dear you are far from it you are very special to us."

"To Hydra you mean."

"Yes, exactly and we want to train your powers so that it can become stronger. Also the Winter Soldier that you were worried about he is perfectly fine." He begins walking and he waves for me to follow. "We want to keep him at his peak age. We don't want him stay awake. If we let him go he will grow old and be of no use to us." We walk to a secret room inside is a large standing cylinder tube and standing inside frozen is the Winter Soldier. "See he is only sleeping. When we awaken him he will feel as if he has just fallen asleep."

"Will you ever do that to me?" Fear takes over, but I push it away. I can’t show fear to these animals.

"We may need to when you are older. Now let's go back to my room." We walk back to the testing room and there is a table set up with different objects on it. "Now I would like you to lift one or all of the objects on the table."

I try and focus on the rage I had earlier and using my hand I tell the objects what to do but they don't listen. I can't be of no use to them I can't. I stop close my eyes and breathe again I focus harder I focus on the stethoscope slowly I lift it up, and in the air and guide it to my hands. Mr. Ivanov begins clapping. "Good. Now lift them all."

"I don't know if I can."

"You most certainly can and you will. Now lift!" I'm shocked by his anger, but I'm used to it by now. I focus again both hands out. I try several times and finally I lift all objects on the table and lay them back down.

"This is just the beginning of your powers Zara you'll see. You and I are going to have great time together.” A cold chill runs down my back.

Tag List is open:)

#fan fic #fic #marvel fic #i of the storm #hydra #winter soldier #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #the starks #captain america #steve rogers #fan fiction #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #infinity war

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