#and he was suddenly acutely aware of the fragility of life and worried about the safety of his living loved ones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

belettewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Listen to the melody

In which Jaskier finds a puppy, immediately adopts him, and Geralt becomes the “dad didn’t want a dog//dad and the dog” meme. Oh, and some self-esteem issues from a certain white-haired witcher that lead to some hurt until they finally talk to each other.

cw: the dog gets hurt but I promise he’s fine.

Around 8k words, link to AO3 here!

And a big thank you to @potatofu-art for giving the dog his name! Go check their blog, you won’t regret it (no seriously, do it, trust me)

Geralt and Jaskier had met again when the cold breeze had been replaced by a warmer one, when trees were starting to wear bright green leaves again and fields were blooming with small and fragile flowers.

A few months had past, spring leaving in favor of a warm summer, and they had not parted ways yet. It was something that they usually did, because sometimes Jaskier needed to go to a bardic competition that took place where Geralt would never be able to find a contract, or because Jaskier was requested to play somewhere Geralt would never be able to follow. It wasn’t really parting ways, actually it was more Jaskier leaving, but Geralt told himself that it was something he was fine with. The bard did find him again after, or Geralt did, and they would start traveling together again, Jaskier sharing gossips that Geralt pretended to care about.

He was… fond of Jaskier, and that was why when the bard stopped following the path that would lead straight to the village they had planned to spend the night in, Geralt stopped to wait for him.

The sun hadn’t set yet and wouldn’t for at least an hour, but cicadas were already singing around them, the luminosity dim even though night hadn’t fallen yet. They were just at the edge of the town, and so they had time.

Geralt turned around to see what Jaskier was doing; surely the bard had found a flower that he deemed worth picking, and-

Jaskier wasn’t on the road anymore. He had jumped in the ditch by the side of the road, and was currently cooing at something. Now that Geralt thought of it, he could hear two heartbeats in that ditch.

“Jaskier?”

He didn’t draw his sword – there was no need – but readied himself for whatever he would find. He walked closer to the ditch, trusting Roach not to run away; the mare snorted but didn’t move.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s just – can you hold him for me while I get out of here?”

Geralt looked down. The ditch was quite deep, Jaskier would no doubt stain his doublet to get out of it, as he had his boots when he had jumped in it: a layer of mud covered the bottom of the ditch. But that was not the part that interested Geralt at the moment; not, what made him pause was what Jaskier was currently cradling to his chest – a puppy.

It was not a small one; his legs, covered in mud as the rest of his fur, showed that he would grow into a big dog, the kind that kept herds of sheep in the mountains – not the kind that was left alone in a ditch by the side of the road.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his tone impatient, and Geralt reached out without thinking about it, taking the puppy in his hands.

It squirmed a little but let itself be carried. Geralt put it on the ground next to him, and helped Jaskier to get out of the ditch.

“Thank you, dear,” Jaskier smiled, before his attention returned to the dog. He squatted down to take it in his arms. “The poor thing wasn’t even making a noise,” he said, his smile turning sad, “and he’s shaking. He must have been in here for hours – why would anyone do that?”

Geralt looked at the puppy. His long brown and black fur was in a poor state, hairs matted together by the mud.

“He’s missing a leg,” he stated, and Jaskier frowned.

“And?”

“And people don’t want dogs with only three legs,” Geralt shrugged. It was stupid, but humans often were.

Jaskier’s eyes somehow got even sadder, and Geralt felt helpless. He didn’t want Jaskier to be sad, but there wasn’t anything that he could do to make humans stop being prejudiced against things that weren’t how they expected them to be.

Then determination shone in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt suddenly felt afraid of what he would say next.

“We’re keeping Butterscotch.”

“We are not keeping him- you gave him a name?”

Jaskier scratched the dog behind his ears, and the puppy closed his eyes.

“Well it’s not as if anyone was going to,” the bard replied, and Geralt suddenly felt extremely tired. “Besides, I found him. I get to name him.”

“We can’t keep him,” Geralt said again, because it was something that Jaskier needed to understand.

“But he’s helpless,” Jaskier almost pouted, “and you said it yourself: people won’t want him. I am not going to leave him here all alone, ready to be eaten by wolves.”

There weren’t any wolves in the area, but Geralt decided against saying it. And of course they wouldn’t abandon him like that.

“His previous humans didn’t want him,” he said instead, “we can find him another family.”

The puppy yawned, which was the most noise he had made since they had found him, and tried to lick Jaskier’s chin. The bard smiled at him, a fond thing, and Geralt suddenly couldn’t tell Jaskier that a young dog wouldn’t survive on the path for long and that they couldn’t exactly afford to feed a puppy on top of their needs.

“No,” Jaskier said, still holding the puppy in his arms. Fuck, but he was cute. The dog – Butterscotch – tried to lick him again, and Jaskier laughed.

Fuck.

They were now doing what he had no choice but to call puppy eyes at him.

This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea – a dog would need care and attention, and Jaskier’s life was chaotic enough as it was. And of course, dogs didn’t exactly like Geralt. Neither did other pets; cats avoided him like the plague. He didn’t want an animal to be near him all the time – that would cause it distress, and Geralt knew that Jaskier would choose to leave sooner than he usually did.

But one important thing that Geralt couldn’t push aside was that what he wanted most was Jaskier to be happy, be it by his side or on his own.

“He can stay,” he finally conceded, trying not to let it show that at this point there was nothing he would be able to refuse Jaskier. “For now,” he warned pointlessly, acutely aware that the dog would be with him on the path until Jaskier decided that he had had enough of following a witcher around.

He turned away, warmed up by the smile that was currently lighting up Jaskier’s face. He tried to hold onto that happiness when the thought that Jaskier would leave inevitably came. They started walking again, Geralt leading, Jaskier right next to him.

“We’re going to have so many adventures together,” the bard said to the dog that he was still holding in his arms, “and we’ll have a fantastic time. But for now, Butterscotch, let’s go back to the inn and get you a bath. I’m sorry to tell you, you poor thing, but you absolutely need it.”

***

Traveling with a dog wasn’t that much different. Butterscotch was a silent one, never barking at birds or other dogs, which was a relief; the last thing Geralt needed was a small animal broadcasting their location to every single monster around. Even if Butterscotch wasn’t exactly small anymore.

They had found another town and had decided to stay there; Jaskier had performed at the tavern, earning a fair amount of coin, and they had retired for the night when his set had been over.

Geralt was already under the covers, watching with half-opened eyes as Jaskier was getting ready to go to bed. His boots were already by the bed, his doublet folded nicely on the table.

Butterscotch put his front leg on the bed, near Geralt’s face, and currently sniffed him. His whiskers were tickling Geralt’s nose, and he glared at the dog, who – tried to lick Geralt’s face. The witcher resisted the urge of hiding himself behind the cover.

"He's not sleeping on the bed,” he warned.

“Of course he is sleeping on the bed, we'll need the extra heat. And he's adorable, Geralt, how can you say no?”

The so-called adorable dog was currently making puppy eyes at Geralt, as if he had understood what was going on and was trying to convince him too.

“Because he'll get fur everywhere, and my pants and armor are already covered in them.”

Because that sounded petulant, he added.

“The inn will charge us double.”

Jaskier sighed, but Geralt knew he had to win this one. If he didn’t, then the dog would just take a bad habit, and they would end up regretting it when he would be fully grown. The puppy was already bigger than when Jaskier had got him and it seemed that he was not going to stop. He looked like a shepherd dog, and Geralt wondered how the fuck he had ended up in the small town in which they had found him.

In which Jaskier had found him. Butterscotch was Jaskier’s dog, not theirs.

“But he’ll get cold, and lonely, and he’ll think I don’t love him-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted his friend before it turned into a proper lamentation and it was too late, “the d- Butterscotch loves you already, he follows you everywhere. He won’t mind sleeping on the ground, especially since dogs like him are used to sleeping outside.”

“You’re- you’re right. And we’re right here, it’s not as if he’ll miss us!”

It’s not as if he’ll miss you, Geralt thought. I don’t think he cares much about me.

It was already a miracle that the dog could stand being near him. They usually ran the other way, but this one was surely soothed by Jaskier’s calming presence, always here to talk to him or pet him, or even carry him – Geralt had told Jaskier that he would regret it when the dog would be older, but the other man had ignored him.

“Hear that, Butterscotch? No sleeping on the bed for you. But you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

He heard Jaskier whispering to the dog for a few minutes, and let himself smile, knowing that the other man would never see it. It was nice to see Jaskier so happy; Geralt had given him some coins so he would be able to buy a brush for the puppy, and the way Jaskier had smiled still haunted him.

He heard more than he saw Jaskier slipping under the cover, yawning.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he whispered, and Geralt hummed his reply.

He discovered in the morning that Butterscotch had slept on his bag, successfully shedding fur everywhere. Jaskier had gone downstairs to get them breakfast, so he allowed himself to say to the dog:

“You’re a menace, little one.”

Butterscotch wagged its tail and nudged Geralt’s hand. Well. You couldn’t win them all.

***

The wind was howling outside, the sky was getting darker, and people were hurrying to get inside before the night fully settled. However, Geralt and Jaskier were too busy arguing to notice that.

“I’m telling you, Jaskier, you have to stay here for this one. It’s too dangerous.”

They had been arguing – calmly discussing – for a good ten minutes about Geralt’s next hunt; the witcher didn’t want Jaskier to come with him because it was too dangerous, while the bard absolutely wanted to come because it would “make a great song”. Geralt tended to disagree – he couldn’t exactly see the appeal of songs describing him fighting against monsters.

Plus, the fight would take place in a forest, at night, so it wasn’t very likely that Jaskier would be able to see anything, and extremely likely that Geralt would have to end up running for his bard’s life, because the other man was too busy taking notes to notice his surroundings. Though the night would prevent him from taking any notes, as would the rain that the dark clouds were announcing. There really was no point for Jaskier to come with him.

“Well what I am telling you is that-”

Butterscotch whined, effectively interrupting Jaskier in whatever he was going to reply.

They both looked down at the dog who was laying at their feet, his ears back on his head. Jaskier squatted down to take him in his arms.

“You’re going to regret that when he’ll be older,” Geralt warned, as he did every time Jaskier went to hold the puppy. Jaskier was strong, but not strong enough to hold the eighty pounds that the puppy would one day weigh. Somehow, Geralt knew that he was going to have to hold the dog when he would want to, and the thought itself was enough to tire him.

“We’ll see,” Jaskier replied like he did every time. “He doesn’t like when we’re fighting,” he added, showing the puppy to Geralt, who barely resisted the urge to pet him. Butterscotch’s ears had perked up now that Jaskier was holding him, and he and the bard made quite an adorable sight, not that Geralt was ever going to say that out loud.

It didn’t seem like Jaskier was going to change his mind soon, if the way he was frowning was a good indication of it. If the wind, the rain threatening to fall, and his possible demise weren’t enough to deter Jaskier from following him, it was time to change tactics. Jaskier might be the bard between the two of them but Geralt too knew how to wield words, though he didn’t choose to do it often.

“We can’t let him here,” he said, shoulders open as a proof of sincerity. Because he did mean it.

“I’m sorry?”

“Butterscotch. You can’t leave him here all alone. He’s still… young, it’s too dangerous.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Geralt, who felt like he needed to go on if he wanted Jaskier to actually yield.

“He might get injured, I won’t be able to defend the both of you.”

And between you and him, I would choose you. Even if you’d hate me for not saving your dog.

Jaskier’s face seemed to fall, but he nodded, reaffirming his hold on the dog.

“You’re- yes, it would be safer for him.”

“For you,” Geralt insisted, because it was something that he needed to say. Butterscotch was a means to an end here, a way for him to make Jaskier stay in their room instead of running to his doom. And if it meant protecting the puppy, well. It was as they said, with the birds and the stone.

Geralt clumsily patted Jaskier on the shoulder before turning around to check if he had all he needed. It was easier than to see how his friend was looking now, his eyes too sad for Geralt’s liking. But it was something that he would do again – Jaskier’s safety was more important to him than what the bard actually thought about him.

He glanced at his things, quickly scanning what was in his bag: potions, a shirt that Jaskier had insisted had to be there, the stick that Butterscotch had given to him – wait.

He took the stick out of his bag, deciding against throwing it away, not because it was something that Butterscotch had given to him, but because… because. He could feel his swords against his back, their light weight a reassurance that everything was going to be okay – that even if he didn’t make it for a reason or another, Jaskier and Butterscotch would be safe here.

“I’ll go now,” he said to Jaskier, who had put the puppy back on the ground and was currently taking his lute out of its case. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Be careful, dear,” Jaskier replied, barely taking his eyes away from his lute.

Butterscotch tried to follow Geralt as he walked towards the door, and the witcher had to quickly close it to prevent the dog from escaping. He heard a whine coming from inside the room and Jaskier’s soothing voice who tried to calm him.

Shaking his head, Geralt walked downstairs, ignoring the way hearing how sad the puppy was made his heart clench.

Jaskier was reading when Geralt came back, thankfully uninjured, though damp because of the rain that had finally started to fall. The bard was already under the covers, his lute safe in its case, papers safely tucked away in his bag. A single candle was lighting the room, and Geralt was left once again to wonder about Jaskier’s powers. Could he see in the dark? Maybe that was why he had wanted to come with him despite the night.

“You’re back,” Jaskier smiled at him, not closing his book. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, putting his bag and swords down. He had already cleaned them, knowing that Jaskier would already be in bed and not wanting to disturb him.

He started to unbuckle his armor, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was currently sleeping on his side of the bed.

“Is Butterscotch-”

“Sleeping on the bed? Yes, I think he is. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Geralt sighed.

“I thought we had agreed not to let him sleep on the bed.”

“I know it’s going to teach him terrible habits, but you were away and he was looking so sad-”

“It’s unsanitary,” Geralt said, finally getting out of his armor. Quickly changing into a new shirt – one that wasn’t full of fur –, he woke the dog up by petting his head. “Hey,” he murmured, trying not to think too much about why he was so gentle with him, “get off the bed.”

Butterscotch slowly stood up, stretching and yawning, but finally jumped off the bed in one smooth motion. He immediately went near Geralt’s bag, curled up into a ball, and promptly fell back asleep.

“Hmm.”

“See? He listens, he’s well-educated,” Jaskier said, closing his book and putting it away.

“He was afraid of what I might do to him,” Geralt retorted while getting under the cover. “I don’t think that counts as listening.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, his face growing serious.

“Butterscotch isn’t afraid of you, Geralt.”

“He obeys me because he sees me as a predator. He’s afraid.”

“Is that- Geralt, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Didn’t you hear him when you left? He was sad because you were leaving without him.”

“You’re disillusioned, bard,” Geralt snarled before blowing out the candle. To think that a dog – that anyone, really – would miss him when he was gone was beyond stupid.

Jaskier stayed silent, the only sound in the room the deep breaths of the dog.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he finally said, his voice small.

Geralt didn’t reply, too busy hating himself to notice how Jaskier’s breaths became more irregular, how the air suddenly smelled like salt instead of them.

Butterscotch kept on sleeping, undisturbed.

***

Geralt hadn’t known how to apologize about that incident so he didn’t, and they kept on moving across the continent for a few weeks, Butterscotch still proudly walking beside them, following Jaskier or staying near Roach who, the traitor, seemed to like the dog just find, never minding when he walked near her.

Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the incident either, so Geralt simply thought that it had been forgotten. He hadn’t made any other remarks after that, and Jaskier hadn’t tried to pretend that the dog loved them both equally when they both knew it was a lie.

It didn’t stop Geralt from thinking back about that night and the day that had followed, how Jaskier had talked but not really talked, how it had seemed more like a defense mechanism than a true desire to share every thought that came across his mind.

Butterscotch hadn’t been allowed to sleep on the bed again after that night though he kept on trying, and Geralt was left to wonder how exactly the presence of a dog had changed their dynamics so much. Or maybe, he thought as he watched Jaskier braiding a flower into Roach’s mane, maybe it didn’t change them as much as it revealed that they had already changed. Jaskier was getting older, and though it didn’t show, Geralt knew that the time for him to finally settle down somewhere would come.

He had mentioned the coast, once, how he would have liked to go there when he would be older, and Geralt knew that it was only a matter of time before Jaskier would leave him, taking Butterscotch and all the happiness in Geralt’s life with him.

But it was not something Geralt had control over; still, he couldn’t help but think about it, about when Jaskier would eventually leave, when he would be all alone on the path once again. He had forgotten how it was to truly be alone. Even when he and Jaskier got separated during the year, he knew they would find each other again. But to know that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him anymore would change the colors of the path from bright and lively to dull.

It was difficult not to think about it right now. They were sleeping outside, in the woods, because the weather was nice and they were too far away from any villages anyway. They had set camp early and the night had just fallen on them. Jaskier and Butterscotch had left for a walk, as they always did on evenings, and Geralt had stayed behind, as he always – no. That was not true. He should stop thinking like that.

He added another log to the fire, and sighed. He could hear them still, Jaskier walking on twigs and Butterscotch running around, but he felt… lonely. Which was ridiculous. He never used to feel like that before.

They were coming back, just in time to eat the rabbits that Geralt had been cooking. He had made sure to add spices to Jaskier’s part.

Butterscotch ran straight to him, his lack of a front leg not deterring him. He stopped right by him, and Geralt petted his head. The dog had surely smelled the rabbits, which would explain why he was letting Geralt pet him. Or maybe – but no. Dogs didn’t like him.

“He whines when you’re not here, you know,” Jaskier said as he sat down next to Geralt. “Which was cute when he was small, but now – I swear, he’s always silent when you’re near but when you’re gone? Gods, the only way to soothe him is to give him one of your shirts.”

That would explain why he kept on having dog hair on his stuff even when they had been safely packed away in his bag.

"Hmm," he replied, trying to ignore the way the dog wagged his tail as he pet him. It meant nothing.

He stopped petting Butterscotch to take the rabbits out of the fire, and the dog nudged his arm.

“He didn’t like how you stopped petting him,” Jaskier remarked, an amused smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, but resumed his previous task. Butterscotch sat down and put his head on Geralt’s tight, who tried his best to refrain the wave of affection that overtook him. Maybe – maybe the dog trusted him, after all. Maybe Jaskier had been right, the other night, when –

He quickly glanced at his friend, who looked the other way when their eyes met. Great.

Geralt hated it, hated the way they were right now – but he couldn’t say anything. It was too late. He should have apologized right after his outburst. But Jaskier had acted as if everything was fine the next morning and it had been too easy to follow his lead, to not think about what he had said, how it might have hurt him.

“We should eat,” he said, if only to break the silence. “And maybe – you must have a song or two, for after,” he added hesitantly.

Jaskier’s face cleared up, a sparkle of mischief lighting up in his eyes. It made Geralt want to smile.

Instead, what he did was take his share of the food and eat it slowly, giving as discreetly as possible pieces of it to the dog that hadn’t left his side. If Jaskier saw him, he didn’t say anything; he was talking about the latest gossip in a court whose name Geralt had forgotten.

Listening to his laugh as he recounted the misfortune of some nobles made it a bit easier to forget that this, that them being together and sharing a meal, was not something that was meant to last. Jaskier played soft tunes that Butterscotch fell asleep to, laying down at Geralt’s side, and Geralt closed his eyes. He never wanted the moment to end.

***

The day had been nice; the weather had been kind to them, the sun warming the streets of the town they had decided to stay in because Geralt had taken a contract there and because the inn looked “just perfect for me to perform in, Geralt”. So they had rented a room, Jaskier had given the innkeeper his word that the big fluffy dog that was with them wouldn’t hurt anyone and would keep silent, and they had spent the rest of the day preparing for their respective evening activities.

The fight wasn’t one Geralt was worried about, and it went without much problems. Jaskier and Butterscotch had stayed behind, as they did most of the time now, and Geralt had tried not to think about it too much. Because that was what he had wanted, right? But he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a sign of Jaskier’s soon departure, a proof that Jaskier wasn’t interested in staying with him anymore. It scared him, and the fact that it scared him scared him even more.

He managed to refrain from sighing wearily as he opened the door. He was ready to eat whatever was left of supper and to go to bed, because hopefully his dreams wouldn’t be plagued by thoughts of Jaskier and Butterscotch leaving him.

“Geralt!”

His name, said with so much angst and worry, made Geralt almost drop everything he had been carrying – namely, his swords and his bag of potions. Eyes wide open, suddenly perfectly awake, he all but ran to Jaskier, worried out of his mind. The last time he had seen him, Jaskier had been working at the table of the room, happily humming, the dog laying at his feet, playing with one of Geralt's shirts.

Now Jaskier was standing beside the door, eyes full of tears, while Butterscotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Jaskier, breathe,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “What's going on?”

Jaskier grasped Geralt's arm, his grip almost painful.

“I- it's Butterscotch. He's- he's not doing well, I brought him to the town's apothecary and they said to come back with payment, but I don't think I have enough coins and I don't even know if he'll be okay and-”

Geralt put his bag down and gathered his friend into his arms – to ground him.

“-and I don't usually panic but you were late and- oh, Geralt, what if something happens to him?”

That was exactly why Geralt hadn't wanted the dog to stay with them. Not because he was a liability and another way to waste coin – but because this exact situation could happen. Because loving a being as fragile as Butterscotch was the best way to end up hurt. He tried not to think about Roach, and the Roach that had been there before.

That also was why he had tried his best not to attach himself to Jaskier. Because the bard would die one day, and it was easier not to have friends than to have to face the pain of losing them. Though that line of thought had been cut short when Jaskier had casually said that he couldn't exactly die, and though Geralt didn't exactly know how that particular thing had happened, he couldn't say that he didn't like it. Now the only thing that would stop him from being with Jaskier – as a friend − was the bard deciding that Geralt wasn't worth his time and affection anymore, which would hurt too, but Geralt comforted himself by thinking that at least Jaskier would be alive.

“I have money,” he said at last, not knowing how to comfort Jaskier who was crying in his arms. “We should go there, and listen to what they say.”

He had no idea what had happened to their dog, but it must have been bad if Jaskier was in such a state. The bard loved so freely, it was sometimes worrying.

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded, “Yes. Do you think- do you think we should bring him his shirt?” he added tentatively, sniffing.

“I don't know when my shirt became his, but yes,” Geralt tried to joke just to make Jaskier smile, to bring back the spark in his blue eyes.

It worked, somehow, Jaskier smiling thinly, eyes still brimmed with red. How long had he been crying, alone?

“Come on, Jask. No need to stay here when they need us there. I have enough money, take the shirt, and we'll see how our dog is doing. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you're right, yes, I- I'll tell you what happened on the way.”

They left the room without looking back, and Geralt, worried about Jaskier and about the dog that had somehow forged a way into his heart, let Jaskier take his hand. He needed the comfort, Geralt thought, and it wasn't hurting anyone. And there was nothing that he could really refuse Jaskier – the mere presence of Butterscotch into their life was proof of that.

Their brown and black dog was in a poor state, his breaths laborious and his eyes glassy.

“I gave him something against the pain”, the apothecary explained, “but it's going to take a few more days until he'll be fine again.”

Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand.

“But he is?” the bard asked, his voice hoarse, “Going to be fine, I mean.”

The apothecary smiled.

“Yes, worry not,” they assured. “Make sure he doesn't eat anything like this again, though.”

As Jaskier had explained to Geralt on the way to the edge of the village where the shop was, he had taken Butterscotch outside for a walk right before the night had fallen, because he had planned to spend the evening playing for the townsfolk and the day was just too beautiful to resist a short stroll.

Since the dog didn't need a leash, Jaskier had let him wander around, keeping an eye on him but not worried. Nothing bad had happened, but right as they were going back into their room, Butterscotch had eaten something that had been left right in front of their door, and had started whining soon after. Jaskier had dropped everything to run to the town’s apothecary, Butterscotch in his arms, worried out of his mind and not even thinking about who could have done it.

It made Geralt's blood boil with rage. He could understand people being prejudiced against him, not liking him and fearing him. But to think that someone had willingly tried to poison his dog – it made him feel furious and guilty. What if they had decided to hurt Jaskier instead?

“We brought him something,” Jaskier said, taking out the black shirt that was covered in fur, “Can he have it?”

The apothecary sent a knowing look Geralt's way but smiled at them. Jaskier hadn't let Geralt's hand go.

“Of course. I can keep him here for a few days, if that's alright with you.”

Geralt could feel Jaskier's hesitation, though he didn't know what caused it.

“I have coin”, Geralt told them, and he felt Jaskier relax next to him. “It's not going to be a problem. Please just... make sure he doesn't suffer too much?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand again, and Geralt squeezed back to let him know that everything was going to be alright.

“I will,” they promised, “He's lucky to have people as loving as you two are.”

“He's... good,” Geralt said, not really knowing how to answer that. He glanced at Jaskier, only to find that the bard was already looking at him.

“Thank you for taking care of him so late in the evening,” Jaskier yawned, and oh, right, it was well into the night at this point. Geralt hadn't even realized. “We'll be on our way,” Jaskier added, and Geralt took it as his cue to give the apothecary the amount of money they had asked for. “Thank you for taking care of Butterscotch, we'll be back tomorrow to visit him.”

They bid their goodbyes and walked back to their room. Jaskier was silent on their way back to the inn, which was weird but understandable; he seemed to be thinking about something, his scent betraying his sadness and his anxiousness. And if Jaskier's hand found Geralt's again, well, neither of them was going to comment on that.

***

“It's weird, not having to tell him not to climb on the bed,” Geralt remarked a little while later, as they were both trying to sleep, candles blown out a few minutes ago.

When Jaskier didn't reply, he opened his eyes to look at him. Jaskier avoided his eyes, and Geralt frowned.

“I'm worried about him too,” he said, “but they said he was going to be okay. You should try to sleep, Jaskier. It won’t change anything if you stay awake.”

Jaskier sighed, a sigh so sad and so full of anguish that hearing it made Geralt's chest hurt.

“I know, it's just- you aren't going to leave him here, right? After he's well again? Because I know we're both just liabilities to you,” Jaskier went on without caring about Geralt's stunned silence, “But this was my fault and he shouldn't be punished like this – because between you and him I don't know which one I would be able to choose, because choosing you would mean losing him and I think I would hate you for that, but choosing him would mean losing you and I- I can't afford to lose you, Geralt.”

To say that Geralt didn't know what to fucking say would be an understatement; he went for the thing he was the most familiar with.

“What?”

Jaskier sat up and so did he. He cast Igni absentmindedly, thinking that it was a conversation for which they needed to see each other clearly and not in the darkness of an unlit room. It was a mistake, though, because seeing Jaskier's desperate look in the light made Geralt feel... he didn't know what the feeling was, but it was not a good one.

“I mean,” he tried again, “Why the fuck would I leave him here? He's our- I mean, your dog, and you love him, why would I- I would never do that, Jaskier, I-”

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, what do you mean you're both liabilities?”

“What I mean,” Jaskier said, “and don't you dare deny it, is that I know I don't bring much to you, and that Butterscotch at best amuses you sometimes. And-”

“I love him, Jask,” Geralt interrupted. And I love you, he didn't add.

“Oh,” Jaskier replied, clearly not expecting such an answer. “Well, that's-”

“And you’re not liabilities,” Geralt went on, because that was something that he needed to say, that he apparently should have said sooner if Jaskier was able to say it with so much confidence.

“Geralt, you need to feed him, I’m useless in a fight, and I mostly make you end in problems which you would have been able to stay away from if you had been alone.”

That was… true. Not that Geralt cared.

“Jaskier, you don’t- I was alone. And you decided to be my – friend,” he managed to say, trying not to show how much it scared him to say it out loud, lest Jaskier denied it, “and I don’t mind paying for your dog, or for our food, it’s- it’s how I can take care of you. So. I don’t mind.”

He was the one trying to avoid Jaskier’s gaze, now. The mutations made sure he wasn’t able to blush, but boy did he feel like he was. Eyes cast to the side, he tried to say the last thing he had on his mind, because it felt like it mattered.

“And I- I’m happy that you’re here. On the path with me, I mean. And you’ll be welcome for as long as you want. But you don’t have to feel- obliged to stay,” he choked out, because now that it had been said, Jaskier would surely leave, no matter what he had told before. Geralt thought of the coast, of a blue-eyed man laughing on a beach, throwing a stick for his dog to fetch. “I know you’ll want to leave, and when that time comes I’ll make sure to bring you to safety, not because I don’t think you couldn’t handle yourself but because I know I- I know I would want to- to travel with you one last time.”

Silence fell on the room, but not the right kind of silence. It was not a comforting one, not the kind of soothing silence that seemed to wrap you in a hug, the kind that felt like balm gently applied to a burn; no, it was an burning one, a silence so loud that it hurt, and Geralt found that it was hard for him to breathe. He had said his piece, and now Jaskier knew.

The flame flickered and shadows danced around them, and he found himself wishing that it had been a windy night, because at least that sound would have filled the silence that was suffocating him. Geralt was still waiting for Jaskier to reply something, anything, to yell at him or to let out a relieved smile that would mean Yes, finally, I am free, but Jaskier’s face was completely blank and Geralt didn’t know what that meant.

“Or- or if you don’t want that,” he scrambled to say, suddenly understanding why Jaskier was always talking to fill the silence, “I wouldn’t accompany you, I don’t want you to-”

“Is that why you’ve been so odd lately?” Jaskier interrupted him, frowning, his blue eyes clear despite the low luminosity. “Because you think I want to leave?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, not daring to speak too much when Jaskier was finally saying something – and wasn’t that ironic.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, and the seriousness in his voice almost made Geralt shiver of anxiousness, “the only reason I would leave would be if I wasn’t wanted anymore. Which, if I’m being honest” he added, lips stretched in a bitter smile, “was what I was thinking was happening.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, and to Geralt’s horror he saw tears making their way down his face. He ached to tenderly wipe them out, but knew he couldn’t.

“Jaskier-” he said, suddenly desperate to get the words out, to make this right, to make them right again, “about the other night- when I snapped at you because you said that Butterscotch liked me- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

His friend sighed. It was a tired sigh, a weary one.

“That’s the thing, Geralt – you never mean it,” he smiled, but his smile was as happy as his sigh had been. “But whether you mean it or not, your words, the very few of them that I’m blessed enough to hear – they hurt.”

Geralt could only stare helplessly as Jaskier went on, tears still streaming down his face.

“You are my most precious friend, Geralt, and that’s why I have- why I didn’t say anything. Because you mean well, you’re a good person, and just being around you makes me – it makes me happy, Geralt, to be able to care for you, to give you the few things I have, because with you everything is just – better. And in the end,” he added, wiping out his tears with the back of his hand, “in the end the way I feel when I’m near you is worth the pain your words put me through. You are worth – everything, Geralt of Rivia.”

How had they arrived here? How, after years spent traveling together, could Geralt have been so blind about how he made Jaskier feel?

To learn that he had caused so much anguish and pain to the person he loved the most was making Geralt ache. His first reaction was to dismiss what Jaskier had just said about him, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“I-,” Geralt tried, tried to be honest and to show more than just aggression for once, “I don’t think of myself that way, so it’s difficult for me to- to think that anyone would. Especially-” he gulped, fighting to get the words out because it felt like if he didn’t, he would lose Jaskier for good, “Especially someone as- as- perfect as you. And it was easier to just dismiss it and push you away than to think about how much – how much I care about you. Because caring about people is – dangerous. Gives them power over you, gives your enemies something to use against you.”

Jaskier was looking at him, hands on his tights; he wasn’t crying anymore, but tears were threatening to fall once again. Geralt hopped, prayed, that it wasn’t because he was hurting him again.

“But you have to know that-,” he started, then stopped because he didn’t know how to say it. “I- I don’t know how to tell you,” he finally admitted. “It’s- like- despite how dangerous it is, I- I let myself care about you, and I- I don’t regret it. I will never regret it, Jaskier, because you are – a blessing. You are a beautiful, perfect thing that my hands don’t know how to touch without breaking it.”

He ached to reach out, to take one the hand that he had been holding earlier.

“So it’s- it’s easier to-”

He had no choice but to say it, hadn’t he? He couldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore, he wouldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore – though was it a lie, to keep the truth silent? He was being a coward and he knew it, but being Jaskier’s friend was better than to confess and to lose his warmth entirely. Though he had been a bad friend to the bard, and – well.

“It was easier to act as if it meant nothing than to admit that I love you,” he mumbled rapidly, afraid that his courage would fail him.

Now that the truth was out in the air, he didn’t dare to glance at Jaskier. What would the look on his face be? Disgust? Pity? Or, somehow worse, just a blank look, synonym of the doom of their already fragile relationship?

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, and his voice sounded teary but the sadness from earlier had disappeared. “Is that how you’re thinking? That love is a – liability? That loving me is a liability?”

“That’s how I used to think,” Geralt corrected him, “before I realized that I was wrong. And that’s why – that’s why Butterscotch scares me. Because he’s young, but he will die, and I know that it’ll hurt and-”

“Darling,” Jaskier interrupted, moving on the bed to be sitting next to Geralt, their tights pressed together. Geralt could hear his heartbeat, knew that the other man was nervous, but the closeness felt like acceptance and maybe, maybe, requited love. A hand found his, and Geralt squeezed it without thinking. “Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, “Why do you focus so much on what is going to happen? It prevents you from enjoying life, darling. Butterscotch will die one day, yes, and I know that it will bring me pain, that it will hurt us both. But is that all that you’re thinking about when you see him playing in the dirt? When he sleeps soundly next to you? When you hear a song, darling, do you think about its last notes or do you listen to its melody?”

“I-”

“I’d be a hypocrite,” Jaskier’s voice dropped lower as if he was sharing a secret, “if I didn’t admit that when we meet up in spring, I can’t help but think about the day we’ll go on our separate ways, because it might be the last time I’ll see you. But then I- I force myself not to think about it, because at least six months of the year will be spent next to you, next to the man I love, and-”

“You love me?” Geralt interrupted him, turning his head to look at Jaskier. His red-rimmed blue eyes had never looked more beautiful.

“Of course I do, Geralt, how could I not?”

Jaskier dropped his head on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt didn’t know where their conversation was going, didn’t understand what had just happened – he had been this close to losing Jaskier, had felt the bard closing off, and now they were next to one another, Jaskier’s hair tickling his cheek.

“So that means I- you- forgive me?”

Jaskier stayed silent, but didn’t draw away.

“Yes,” he finally replied, and Geralt frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness,” he started, squeezing Jaskier’s hand when he felt that the other man was about to say something, “but I will do my best to deserve it. I will – I will be more careful with you, Julek,” he swore.

They stayed silent for a bit, but this time Geralt didn’t feel as though he couldn’t breathe. The room around them felt more welcoming, the orange light from the candle warmer than it had been earlier.

“What does that mean for us?” Jaskier asked, and he sounded – hesitant, but hopeful. It was a question easy for Geralt to answer, because he had always been better at acts than at words.

“It means that we’ll stay as long as Butterscotch needs us to, and then we’ll go on with our travels. Maybe we’ll stay near the coast, there are always villages that are in need of witchers there. Butterscotch will go play in the water and I’ll complain when he’ll shake himself, but I’ll give him treats when you won’t be looking.”

A pause, then.

“But he still won’t be allowed to sleep on the bed.”

Jaskier snorted, and Geralt felt relieved beyond measure.

“For now, though,” Geralt added, “I think we should sleep. I did just come back from a hunt, after all, and it is quite late in the night.”

“My poor, dear witcher,” Jaskier smiled, and Geralt tried not to let it show how much it pleased him to be called Jaskier’s until he remembered that actually showing how he felt was important, “you must be exhausted. No kiss for you, then, only resting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier who was looking at him, mirth lighting up his eyes.

“I’m not that tired,” he objected, and Jaskier chuckled.

“Aren’t you? Then I guess I could be convinced to kiss you goodnight.”

Their kiss wasn’t mind-blowing. It just – was. Jaskier’s cheeks were still damp from his crying and their kiss tasted a bit like salt and the angle was weird, but Jaskier sighed in his mouth, a happy sigh, and Geralt found out that he couldn’t wait to do that for the rest of their lives.

Soon they would leave this place and travel, and Geralt would get more injuries and Jaskier would write more songs; but he tried not to think about it, and found it not so difficult to focus on the moment when Jaskier kissed him again.

It was a short kiss, a chaste one; it was a promise for more to come, for sunny days spent in laughter and gloomy evenings spent next to each other, for arguments and reconciliations, and for a life in each other’s company. Just him, Jaskier, and their dog – and Roach.

#Geraskier #The Witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #no beta we die like cpge students #so this was NOT the fic I was planning to post first #but turns out what's even better than writing to avoid studying #is writing DURING your mock exams #as in #why write about Hobbes when you can write about Geraskier

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catxsnow · 5 years ago

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NIGHTMARE SECRETS D.W.

Summary: Damian’s been having nightmares and you just want to help, that leads to a learning more about him than you ever expected.

Damian is older, like late high school age

Warning: Nightmares, swearing, older!damian

A/N: Damian deserves all the love in the world

GIF not mine

Word count: 2.8k

Damian Wayne was the kind of person that didn't believe he had time for romance.

Between his nearly full time job as Robin, as well as attending high school - only to which his father demanded - he didn't think he would have time for anyone in his life. Dressing up for dates or making the time to spend with someone was never going to be on the top of his priority list.

In fact, he thought that his brothers were dumb to think that they had time for another person to protect. Dick was with Barbra, Jason wandered between women and couldn't find the right one to settle with, even Tim was with Steph. Damian truly believed that they were selfish to prioritize a single person over a whole city.

That was, until he met you.

Damian met you when he was forced to do a group project in one of his classes. The two of you got paired up and he offered to bring you to his home to get it done - the sooner it was finished the better. So, that evening you drove up to Wayne Manor wondering how the hell you were so lucky to get partnered up with him.

The two of you worked in the library for hours. While Damian was purely focused on wanting to get this done at the beginning of the evening, he found himself wanting to spend more time with you, to drag out this project just so he had an excuse to see you again. You didn't act like many of the girls at your school, Damian saw raw, genuine happiness radiate from you.

As days went by, he found himself constantly stealing glances your way. He'd ask to join you for lunch until finally gaining enough courage to ask to see you outside of school.

Damian suddenly started to understand why his brother's enjoyed dating. He understood wanting more of this feeling that filled his entire body when he saw you. Damian craved that feeling, he needed it - and thanks to you, he got it.

You were just as entranced with Damian as he was with you. You saw past his sometimes cold exterior and began to see the real him - the him that never got to shine while he was with the League. You saw how much he loved to read, no matter the time or place. How much he loved animals and how much he enjoyed painting.

Damian was a hidden treasure within the piles of coal.

It didn't take long for the two of you to starting dating. What followed next, was nothing but harassment from his brothers - particularly the oldest one. Damian would get endlessly teased for finally caving to a relationship after everything he said. You couldn't help but sometimes join his brother's in their bugging.

That night, you were over at the manor. You and Damian were both working on some homework until you finally had enough of it. Damian was dragged out of the study and up to his bedroom where the two of you were curled up on his bed watching a movie. Alfred even brought you up popcorn and drinks.

Damian never appreciated affection before. He didn't see the purpose of hugs or human contact but now? Now he couldn't get enough of it. Damian craved the warmth you radiated, especially on cold nights when you were miles away from him. Having you cuddled into his side was exactly what he needed.

His hand stroked up and down your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. Though his hands were rough and calloused, he always seemed to be overly delicate with you. After the harshness that he delivered to criminals at night, he feared he would break you with a simple touch.

"Dami," you mumbled. Your head was tucked into his chest and wished to never leave his embrace. These past months of dating him had shown you a side of Damian that you never expected to see. He was gentle, despite his rough exterior.

"Yes, beloved?" Damian kissed the top of your head. You didn't know about his second life, and he planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. Without knowing he was Robin, you worried about him already. Adding that extra stress on top of that? Damian couldn't do that to you.

"Did you want to talk about last night?" You stayed over Friday night with him and had no intentions of staying Saturday as well but somehow he had convinced you otherwise. You had the odd sleepover here and there - mostly when your parents were out of town. However, last night, Damian had woken in the middle of the night from what you presumed to be a nightmare.

Sweat drenched his skin and he was breathing heavily. You woke up from his abrupt movement of being in his arms, to him suddenly jumping out of bed. Not sure if you were dreaming or not, you watched him pace back and force by his bed side until finally looking at you and holding you once more.You heard him whisper something, but it was a language you couldn't understand.

All you knew was that Damian left soft kisses on your skin and held you to his chest the rest of the night.

You wanted to bring it up to him that morning but it hadn't happened. Throughout the day you figured that if he wanted to talk about it, he would. It was chewing you up wondering if he was okay and what could have been so bad to put him in shock like that.

"No," Damian tensed. He was acutely aware of how you were tracing the raised skin of his scars over his shirt. Months of being with him had you nearly memorizing where every flaw of his skin was. You never questioned where he got them from or why, but that didn't make you worry any less about them.

Damian grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers. He didn't want you to worry about things that were in the past, things you couldn't change.

For some reason, you were hurt by his abrupt answer. Did he not trust you enough to speak about his feelings? Or was it that he was hiding something from you? Damian seemed to pick up on you sudden change of mood and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

"It is nothing to worry about," Damian tried to comfort you. You nodded your head, scared that if you spoke that your voice would crack from the tightness in your throat. "My childhood differed greatly from yours. I was raised differently and that has affected me since being in Gotham. I promise you, you did nothing wrong."

"I worry about you, Damian," you sighed. This time, you sat up on the bed, no longer leaning against him. You wanted him to know that you were being serious right now, that this matter had been something you always worried about. Damian often woke from nightmares, he was usually better at concealing it when he was with you.

"I know, beloved," Damian cupped you cheek. "I never wish to burden you with my problems."

"That's what being in a relationship is about," your chin wobbled and you had to bite your lip to make it stop. "I want to help you but how am I supposed to help when you never fully let me in?"

Damian kissed you. He kissed you with compassion and hope that one day he would be able to tell you these things. You could nearly feel his emotions radiating off of him as he brought you back in for another. When he broke off the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes sealed shut to ground him back to reality.

'I love you' sat at the tip of your tongue but never made it out. As much as you wanted to tell Damian how strong your feelings for him were, you feared what he had in response.

I would hold you in my arms every night if I could.

But he couldn't bring himself to say that to you. Not while he lived a dangerous life as Robin. Not while he risked his life every night. He couldn't bring himself to confide in you when you would get heart-broken. Damian cared about you too much to drag you down into the crime-fighting life that he was in.

You had been peacefully sleeping that night when Damian started tossing in his sleep. At first he had just rolled away from. Then his limbs started twitching until they were violently grasping at the sheets, at you, anything that was near. The bed you shared began to get warm and you could feel the sweat drench Damian's skin as he rushed against you.

He was having another nightmare, just like the night before. You tried to wake him by calling out his name, which hadn't worked. Carefully, you grabbed onto his shoulders and gave him a little shake. Damian's eyes popped wide open and on instinct, he had flipped you over and pinned you to the bed with his forearm against your throat. It wasn't enough to cut off your air way or hurt you - but it sure as hell scared you.

Upon realizing that it was you below him, Damian released you from his grasp and leaped out of bed. He was horrified that he had come so close to hurting you. One wrong move and he could have broken you. Damian cursed at himself aloud in the same language he spoke the previous night - Arabic.

"Fuck," Damian called out. His bare feet padded against the floor as he shook his head. Never in his life had he been so angry with himself for being so careless. You weren't like Dick or any of his siblings, you were fragile. This violent, horrendous world that he lived in wasn't meant to include you.

"Dames," you barely spoke above a whisper. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him move. "You need to talk about this, please. If not to me then someone. I can't keep seeing you like this, seeing you in pain hurts me. I can't keep holding my tongue about worrying about you anymore, it isn't fair."

Damian sighed, his pacing stopped and he sat down beside you. You could see his hands shaking in his lap and grabbed onto them in hopes to bring it to a stop. He tried to rip his hands away from you but you only tightened your grip.

"It's nothing to worry about," Damian tried to assure you. It didn't work, in fact it only angered you that he wasn't willing to take care of himself. Damian deserved to be worry free and happy as much as he didn't want to accept it.

"Bullshit," you reacted. "This is ridiculous, Damian. You're obviously not okay. This is two nights in a row that you woke up from a nightmare I can't even imagine how many you have when I'm not here. I'm not putting up with this anymore - I want you to be happy but you can't until you’re willing to help yourself. Fuck, Damian - I love you. Please... please just, I want to help."

You had said it, the L-word. A phrase that hadn't yet been used in your relationship but now was as good as time as any to tell him. You hoped that maybe if he knew how much you truly cared about him that he would open up to you. You wanted Damian to know that you would carry every star into the sky just to see him smile.

Damian sat next to you, his heart rate rising at an unhealthy rate. He was just being able to understand these emotions and how to react with them, but love? Love was something he wasn't sure he was ready to conquer, at least not with anyone besides you.

"Dames."

Without a second thought, Damian tightened his grip in your hand and abruptly stood up. His body language told you to follow him - to which you did. Damian dragged you out of his room and down to his father's study. You hadn't been in the room very many times, though it was beautiful.

Damian paused in front of the old grandfather clock. He stared at his reflection within in the glass for several moments before opening the panel and pulling one of the dongles. A click echoed through the dark empty room and suddenly the clock opened away from the wall.

What the hell is going on?

"Do you trust me, beloved?" Damian asked you. His hand was outstretched to yours and his stood on the first step of what appeared to be a long case of stairs. It was darker down there than in the room and you shuddered at what could possibly be hiding down there.

"With my life," you answered, placing your palm in his. Damian lead you down the long narrow staircase until you reached the bottom. Lights flickered within the space, illuminating the giant room. However, room didn't seem to be the right word - a cave of sorts. Damian stood at the entrance, watching you roam around.

Computers were scattered in front of you but that wasn't what caught your eyes. The expensive, high tech car that only one person in Gotham ever drove: Batman. The infamous suit of Batman and Robin was hung in glass cases and a wall of their weapons and gadgets.

You were in the batcave.

"What the fuck?" You turned back to Damian. "This is..." You couldn't even find the words that you wished to say. Everything that you were seeing was completely unexpected. You were in awe.

"You wanted me to open up about myself," Damian joined you. The two of you stood directly in front of the Robin suit. "This is it," he gestured to his suit. You looked between the red, green, and yellow material and back at you boyfriend. He was Robin, Bruce was Batman - the rest of his siblings too.

"Holy shit, Damian," you breathed out. The scars, the nightmares, his ridiculous reflexes, it all made sense. Without another thought, you cupped his face and brought him into a kiss. Damian pulled you closer by the hips and deepened the kiss. Your bodies molded together and you never wanted to break free. "You're Robin."

"Yes."

You understood why he never wanted to tell you. Knowing his identity put you in danger. You couldn't even imagine the terrible things he had seen out on the streets of Gotham. Horrible flashes of news reports and papers crossed your mind, all of them about times that Batman and Robin did anything or every time they got hurt.

He put himself out there every night and you couldn't think of anything more braver. Damian was truly a hero, inside and out. He was your hero before knowing this secret and he always would be.

"This is incredible," you were still in complete awe. "You trust me with such a big secret?"

"Yes," he repeated. "I love you, (Y/N). You taught me how to fall in love, to appreciate the small things in life. You brought a light to my life that I never thought I would ever be able to see. So, of course I trust you with this, beloved."

You could feel tears in your eyes at his words. Damian never spoke of romantic sayings to you. He showed his love with actions but hearing him say this? It made you realize how much you truly did love him. He was everything you needed in life, and more.

"You never run out of surprises, do you?" You tried to laugh. The pad of Damian's thumb wiped under you eye to make sure that no tears would remain on your cheek. He knew these were happy tears yet he still never wished to see you cry. Certainly not because of him. Damian kissed you once more. "Fuck, do I love you, Damian Wayne. I should have said it sooner."

"And I, you," Damian smiled at you. The genuine happiness he felt with you never competed with any other feelings he had. "I'm sorry that I had to keep this from you for so long, you deserve the truth."

"I don't deserve you."

Damian shook his head. It was the opposite, he didn't deserve you. Damian never felt good enough by your side, not while knowing all the bad things that he had done in his life. But you? All you could see was the good in him, the good that helped the innocent who couldn't help themselves. You saw the bravery and selflessness in him.

"You deserve the world, my love."

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne oneshot #damian wayne x reader #older!damian #dc imagine #dc #batfam imagine #batfam x reader #batfam #fluff #robin #robin imagine #older!damian imagine

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kyra-bane · 4 years ago

Text

the old guard - kinktober day 2 - dream a little dream (of us)

rating: explicit

pairing: joe/nicky; andy/quynh (background)

extra tags: angst and fluff; 5+1 things; hand jobs; intercrural sex

word count: 3885

read on ao3 or keep reading below

Dream a Little Dream (Of Us)

Andromache of Scythia

Yusuf has been travelling with the Frank for almost a year.

In that time, they have formed a fragile truce, learnt enough of each other’s languages that they can communicate, and have managed not to kill each other for, now, a little over a month.

All in all, things are going better than they were when he woke up on the battlefield, a sword still half impaled in his chest, but there is a long way to go.

This constant living, it worries the Frank – Nicolò, he ground out one of those first few days; not that Yusuf ever uses his name – but that only proves to annoy Yusuf further because he does not wish to admit to his own doubts, does not wish to share any other quality with this man.

They are travelling still, crossing through grassland, and they have settled into a routine; despite Yusuf’s dislike of him, the Frank builds a fire each night and they lay out their bed rolls on opposite sides and, Yusuf has to admit, on the occasions they have been attacked, he has always been first to his feet, cutting down enemies before Yusuf even has his scimitar in a tight grip.

The Frank mutters something tonight, as he settles down to sleep. He never turns his back, so Yusuf rolls onto his, staring up at the canopy of stars above. It is not often that he falls into despair, now, but tonight he does: Will he have to travel with this ungrateful Frank forever? Will there be a day, someday, when the sight of him does not make Yusuf’s stomach twist unpleasantly, does not remind him of the stink of blood and bodies and a battle that cannot, will not, be justified?

Will they be the only two, at the end of time? The thought makes his chest ache. To live a life so closely tied to a person he can barely tolerate – maybe time will cool his temper, soothe some of the hurt and, maybe, one day he might feel forgiveness – but for now, he cannot.

He falls into a fitful sleep, the dream at once alien and all too familiar. He has had similar dreams this past year, where he has felt as though he has seen someone he should know. Yet he has never quite seen them; they are always just out of reach.

Tonight, he finally does.

She is tall, the woman, with long hair that cascades down her back as she swings around, the axe in her hands taking down one man, then another. Blood splatters across her face and she never slows; she fights in a way that Yusuf has seen in very few men – and never in a woman.

The image changes and she is at a feast, laughing with the men, a woman kneeling by her side who looks up at her as though she hung the very stars themselves, and when there is a lull in the conversation, this dark-haired stranger kisses her admirer, to the appreciative laughter of the men.

One more change; she is riding, alone, but she meets another rider on an outcrop – another woman whose face Yusuf cannot quite make out, only the sight of her feels familiar to him, also. They speak a language Yusuf has never heard, in low, warm tones, and maybe he will not be alone at the end of the world, after all.

Yusuf startles awake to find the Frank already sitting up, stoking the dying embers of the fire. He has dark circles under his eyes, Yusuf notices, and he wonders why he did not notice before.

“Did you see her?” the Frank asks, in halting Arabic.

“Yes,” Yusuf answers, in the Frank’s language, because despite the fact that they have spent a year travelling through lands where the Frank should have had more practice, Yusuf clearly has more of a talent for it.

“What did you see?”

“She was fighting. Feasting. Meeting a friend.”

“Ah,” the Frank says. He looks sad.

No.

He looks as though he has seen something terrible.

“What did you see?” Yusuf asks and he is sitting up, now, leaning closer without meaning to.

“Her death,” the Frank says. “I dream of it every night.”

Yusuf does not know what to say to that. He knows the Frank is always awake before him, but if he dreams of that every time he closes his eyes, then he really must be getting precious little sleep.

Against all his wishes, the first seeds of sympathy begin to sprout.

“I am glad you do not,” the Frank says, almost a whisper, and Yusuf frowns.

“Sleep, Nicolò,” Yusuf replies. “I will still be here, when you wake.”

***

Quynh

It is not long after his first dream of the two women meeting that Yusuf dreams of the second woman properly. She is smaller than the first, built slighter, but he sees the way she moves, fast like a viper, and decides that he cannot wait to meet her.

His and Nicolò’s relationship has improved these last few months; Yusuf calls him by his name now, most of the time, and Nicolò seems more inclined to share information about himself.

It helps that he seems, at heart, to be inescapably kind and small demonstrations of that gradually chip away at the cage Yusuf has built around his heart; he still does not feel as though he will offer Nicolò forgiveness – if it were even his to offer – but knowing Nicolò as he does now, he thinks he will not ask.

They fight before sleeping, most nights, training bouts and scuffles, because of course they can die, but Yusuf would still rather avoid it, wherever possible. He spent his youth fighting with other boys, too, wrestling, and he understands what can happen when there are two bodies in close contact, regardless of feelings, but the first time he pins Nicolò and feels him hard against his thigh, he is awash with a sudden jolt of want, and Nicolò scrambles away quickly and does not talk to him for two days.

So, most of the time it is combat training, with a bout of wrestling when Yusuf is feeling daring and there has been time enough in between for Nicolò to have forgotten about what inevitably happens.

They still sleep across from each other, either side of the fire, and Yusuf faces Nicolò too, before he falls asleep.

The dream he tumbles into captures him immediately. He sees the first woman, the warrior with her axe, but she is not the focus. The other woman has her pushed back into their bed rolls – they are on the move, like he and Nicolò – and is kissing down her throat, over her breasts. Neither of them seems to be in a hurry, both in tune with one another; the warrior parts her legs and the woman smiles against her skin, buries her face there.

Yusuf wakes, breathing hard, straining his leggings, and Nicolò is staring across at him, his eyes dark and glittering in the night.

Yusuf is suddenly, acutely aware of what he could do. He could round the fire, crawl over Nicolò and he is sure Nicolò would give him anything he wanted. He could roll over and go back to sleep and they could both pretend this never happened.

He lets out a shaky breath and smiles. It does not appear to dissuade Nicolò any.

“Did you dream of them?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolò nods. “They are…” He trails off, shakes his head, sighs, and finally says, in the saddest voice Yusuf has ever heard, “They are in love.”

The hurt of it curls in behind Yusuf’s heart, in that small, special place he has had no reason to acknowledge – and still, consciously, does not.

“They are,” he says, blood cooling. “I hope we will have a chance to meet them soon.”

Nicolò nods, although he seems less enthusiastic. “As do I.”

***

Lykon

Yusuf’s dream of Lykon is, of course, very different to the ones he first had of Andromache and Quynh.

It has taken them, in the end, a very long time to find each other. So long that, despite the dreams, Yusuf has all but given up.

He and Nicolò have become friends, more than friends, although it is all still very new and he knows one misstep may just destroy the fragile love blossoming between them. He knows this even though Nicolò insists it is love, whispers the words against Yusuf’s skin over and over as he learns how to take him apart.

Then they find Andromache, Quynh, and everything they know, about themselves and each other, is suddenly thrown into a very sharp contrast.

Andromache reveals the truth: they can die, and stay dead.

She says it when they are all drinking around the fire, a few weeks into their time together. Quynh has her head resting in Andromache’s lap; she has been no less affectionate just because they have two other people with them now, though Yusuf supposes that if he saw what she and Andromache were doing, she has certainly seen what he and Nicolò have been up to.

“Lykon and I were together for a couple of thousand years,” Andromache says and she takes a long pull of the jug before passing it to Quynh, who drinks while keeping one of her hands on Andromache’s thigh. “He went down in battle. Until then, I thought we would live forever.”

“He was injured?” Nicolò asks, leaning forwards, and there is something almost frantic in his gaze.

“Yes,” Quynh says because Andromache’s eyes are shining, though Yusuf doubts they will see her shed a tear. “He simply… stopped healing. Did not get up again.”

“So we do die, in the end,” Yusuf says. “There is an end, after all.”

“You sound so excited by it,” Nicolò says, his expression drawn and Yusuf shakes his head.

“Not at all, habibi,” he replies, because he may not be certain about the strength of their love but he knows it can survive this. “I simply am glad to know it, for sure.”

They turn in early that night, Andromache and Quynh on one side of the fire, Yusuf and Nicolò on the other. Quynh is tucked tight against Andromache, wrapped around her tightly, and Yusuf presses along Nicolò’s back, sighing only when Nicolò’s breathing evens out into sleep.

He follows not long after and, when his dream begins, he knows it is not real. He has had too many that are, for that, and since, he has dreamt of Nicolò, of his life left behind, of current and past fears.

Tonight, he dreams of Lykon.

He does not know the man’s face, of course, but he sees Andromache, and Quynh, and the man – the figment his mind has invented – fights with them, ever as fierce, ever as powerful, until, suddenly, he does not.

He crumples when the spear hits him, falls, and the others are screaming and Yusuf is scared, in the way a person only is when they are dreaming, because he wants to help but he cannot–

He wakes to the sound of Nicolò’s voice and buries his face in his love’s chest. Nicolò rubs his back, holds him tightly, and when Yusuf realises it was only a dream, he lifts his head.

“I saw him,” he murmurs. “Did I wake the others?”

“No,” Nicolò says. “You saw who?”

“Lykon. Not Lykon, of course, but a man I believed to be. I saw him die, Nicolò…”

He fears it because he saw not only Lykon, but Nicolò too, and he realises he cannot stand the thought of them being apart for even a second – at least, in terms of their death.

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says and he kisses away Yusuf’s tears, brushes his lips over his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. “Yusuf, cuore mio, I am here. Wherever we go, we go together.”

“Promise me,” Yusuf says, because he needs the reassurance here, in the dark.

Nicolò, to his credit, does not hesitate. “I promise,” he says and Yusuf kisses him because he does truly love this man, enough to believe that he will do everything in his power to either cling to life until Yusuf can join him, or to follow on right after.

“I love you,” Yusuf says and Nicolò breathes a sigh against his skin.

“And I you.”

***

Sébastien “Booker” Le Livre

Yusuf has had many names, by now. He is currently going by Joseph, he and Nicolò – now Nicholas – and Andromache – Andrea – are in Europe and it has been several centuries since they lost Quynh.

Andromache is not over it – she will never be over it – but they have managed to coax her back into doing what good they can, what with the world still turning and wars raging everywhere.

They are in the Austrian Empire, sharing one small room between the three of them, and the night that Sébastien dies, they all wake at once.

Nicolò is the first to get his wits about him, although Andromache looks, simply, sad.

“What did you see?” Nicolò asks.

“He appears older than me,” Yusuf says. He is already digging around in his things, trying to find a sketchbook. He has an image swimming in his mind; a strong jaw and sad eyes – he thinks the man is French, fighting in this bloody war he believes to be endless.

He will believe it even more, now.

“We should find him,” Nicolò says and Yusuf draws, coaxing details from Andromache she clearly does not want to give.

He knows why. The prospect of a new member to their unnatural club has them thinking of the member still missing, the one they cannot be certain is still alive.

Yusuf sucks in a breath and snaps the end of his pencil.

“What is it?” Andromache asks. Nicolò turns to face him.

“He will dream of us,” Yusuf says. “Do you believe he will dream of her?”

Andromache swallows, her lips trembling; they have seen her cry, now, and much more besides – she raged at them when they finally convinced her there was nothing more to be done. Yusuf still doubts he will ever set eyes on Quynh again.

“We must find him,” she says and Yusuf agrees.

Except, a few days later, he dreams of something new. A woman, blonde hair falling in soft curls around her face; children, who look upon their newest brother wish pure adoration.

“He has gone back to them,” he says into the crook of Nicolò’s neck one morning, and Nicolò hums in agreement. He left behind nothing, he has told Yusuf, when he headed out for the crusades. Yusuf had a wife but no children, and back then, it would have taken him months to return; and with all the doubt and fear he had around his new ability, it was not something he had even considered.

Sometimes, he does regret it. Sometimes, he thinks Nicolò had more at home than he lets on, but has chosen to forget about it to ease the pain.

“We must leave him be,” Yusuf says when they enter the Kingdom of France. “Speak to him, maybe, but then leave him to do as he chooses.”

Andromache is angry; she thinks this is her only chance to retrieve Quynh and Yusuf does not doubt he would react in much the same way, should he ever find himself in her position.

“When they discover what he is…”

“It is his choice to make,” Nicolò replies, ever so softly. “He will have been dreaming of us and we should find him so that he knows he is not alone, but… Yusuf is right. If he wishes to have more time with his family, then who are we to take that from him.”

He does not say Quynh has been down there for centuries, if she is still alive; she can wait a little longer, but they both know Andromache still hears it.

They meet Sébastien weeks later. They find out Quynh still lives. They leave him with his family.

When he eventually joins them, years later, Yusuf thinks he carries more pain than Yusuf has ever felt and Yusuf decides to do his best to do right by their newest brother.

***

Nile

“She needs us,” Nicky says, and Joe sees the moment Andy gives in.

“I’ll handle the retrieval.”

It is better that way, Joe thinks. After everything that has just happened, he wants to keep Nicky close – and two of them would be spotted. Booker seems to almost argue with Andy, for a moment, but Joe thinks little of it. He is just scared, unsure; he has had his own dreams, of course, but has never been on this side of them.

They make it to France and Joe dreams of her again, of Nile, sees flashes of her marine friends, of the man who sliced her throat. He is already fascinated by her, Nicky too, though Nicky does not speak of it.

“Do you think it is a good idea, Andy going to fetch her?” Booker asks when they reach the safe house.

Nicky shrugs, goes off to drop their stuff in the only bedroom.

“Why would it not be?” Joe asks.

Booker shrugs. “She’s so young,” he says. “So beautiful. Do we really need to drag her in now?”

Joe is half-tempted to tease Booker a little, because he has never expressed that he believes anyone beautiful – not ever – but he lets the desire fade.

“Things are different now, Book,” Joe replies quietly. “She is in the military. We might be dragging her into our danger, but she is in danger there, too – people saw her die, and now she is fine. It only takes one more mishap to reveal her true nature, and then she will have no one who can keep her safe.”

Booker hums. He will not meet Joe’s eyes; he looks terribly sad.

“I hope you are right,” he says and Joe laughs, claps him on the shoulder.

“We will all be fine, Book. Come, let us get things ready here. The game is on tonight, you know.”

Booker rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, yeah,” he says and his amusement washes away almost all the melancholy in his eyes. “I know.”

***

Yusuf “Joe” ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib

Nicky, sometimes, is sad he never had a chance to meet Joe through his dreams.

He wonders what that would have been like, if another had killed him on the battlefield, and Nicky had spent the years getting to know him through flashes of images, of feelings.

Still, sometimes he dreams of Joe anyway.

Like tonight. They have their own room, for once, Andy and Nile bunked up in the other, and when Nicky closes his eyes, he falls into the dream headfirst.

It’s Joe, everywhere, his hair cropped shorter like it was once in Damascus, and he bites his way down Nicky’s chest, stopping every so often to throw him a bright grin. It is one of those dreams that Nicky cannot control; Joe has moved, suddenly, to take Nicky’s cock in his mouth, fingers slick and teasing at his rim; then his fingers are sliding deep and there is no need for adjustment, no discomfort, because Nicky is ready for him, skin hot and prickling and he needs him…

He wakes with a start, a moan caught in the back of his throat. He feels hot all over, his cock tenting his boxers and he eyes the clock with no little distaste.

He fell asleep two hours ago, by the looks of things, which means his idea of waking Joe is terribly inconsiderate.

One touch will probably be enough to get him off, though leaving the bed might wake Joe as well, and Nicky would never lie to him about this – so then Joe would ask why Nicky had not woken him and Nicky does not want to get into their recurring low-stakes argument that Joe is not getting as much sleep as he should at the moment, what with all their worry about Andy and Nile and Booker…

He turns his face into the pillow and bites down – and promptly starts when a hand, not his hand, slides below the waistband of his boxers.

Joe scrapes his teeth over the back of Nicky’s neck, takes him in a sure, familiar grip, and Nicky is so keyed up that it only takes a handful of strokes before he comes, gasping into the darkness around them.

Joe chuckles when he’s done, moving his hand to grip Nicky’s hip as he presses open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck.

“When did you wake, hayati?” Nicky grumbles.

He feels Joe’s smile against his skin; Joe rolls his hips and he feels his hardness, too.

“Hmm, I think some time in the middle of your dream,” he murmurs. “I thought you might spend before waking, in truth.”

Nicky wriggles back against him and Joe starts to roll his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a little more moving around as they both push down their underwear and then Nicky lifts his leg, Joe’s cock sliding between his thighs.

It’s slick and messy and Nicky reaches back to grab Joe’s hip even as Joe wraps an arm around Nicky’s chest, tight as a band.

“I dreamt of you,” Nicky says. “Of Damascus, when you had me on that bed for a day, made me come over and over again just on your fingers…”

Joe moans against his skin, gives him a full-body shudder, but he’s still moving. Nicky touches the head of his cock, when it pushes between his thighs and Joe moans again.

“We could try that again, sometime,” Nicky says. “Whenever we go back to Malta. Except, I want to do it to you, this time.”

Joe chuckles. He’s breathing hard and Nicky knows, from that alone, that he is close.

“You have far more patience than me, my love,” Joe says. His voice comes out strangled. He’s beginning to lose his rhythm, chasing his orgasm, and Nicky turns the idea over in his mind.

“I bet I could keep you on the edge for hours,” he says, lets his accent thicken a little because he knows Joe likes it. Sure enough, he moans. “Either that or really test our limits – I bet I could make you come ten times or more.”

“Nicky,” Joe says and Nicky never tires of hearing his name – any of his names – being said that way.

“Are you close?” Nicky asks, even though he knows. “Do you enjoy it, using me like this? Maybe we could try this one day – you could tie me up and use me however you liked and–”

Joe moans and holds Nicky tight as he comes, burying his face in the back of Nicky’s neck. They remain that way for a while, until they’re breathing in sync again.

Nicky cleans the mess from his thighs with his boxers and then turns, tangling his legs with Joe’s.

“Love you, babe,” Joe murmurs, sleepy and sated and happy. Nothing else can reach either of them in this moment and Nicky kisses him softly.

“Love you, too.”

#the old guard #the old guard fanfic #the old guard fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #fanfiction #fanfic #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #andy x quynh #quynh x andy

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proudgodot · 4 years ago

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Gratitude

I was not initially planning to post about this, given that my unfortunate tendency to over-share has caused me quite a bit of grief in the past, but the truth is that I simply couldn’t resist this time. Typically when I am overcome by an uncontrollable desire to post it is because I am desperately in need of attention or validation, so much so that I can’t actually remember a time when I posted because I was genuinely eager to share something. It was always out of some perverse and misplaced sense of obligation, but it finally feels as if that burden is lifted. While I was writing this post, it was because I felt a genuine…. pride over something I had accomplished, something I genuinely wanted to share with the world. When I chose the name of this blog I didn’t earnestly expect that I would ever feel anything other than shame about myself… it seemed more an ideal than an actual plausible prediction. I’m just so relieved my wish came true.

Anyway, I suppose that is quite enough navel-gazing for the time being… I can only imagine my followers have probably had enough of that to last a long and fulfilling lifetime. I reckon it’s time to move on to the actual story.

As most of you well know, following the dramatic events of the Kristahlia drama, I suddenly found myself with the new responsibility of parenthood. There are certainly aspects of my new lifestyle that have been difficult to adjust to… principle of which is that I am supposed to serve as a sort of role model for these developing and damaged boys. I have never been particularly aspirational, in fact you would be hard-pressed to find someone as underperforming as me. Although I was prone to overcompensating for such things, always desperately trying to prove that I was capable of as much as the bare minimum, looking back I see that I grew too comfortable with those low expectations. When it registered that as a caretaker I would suddenly have to perform a sort of excellence, not for the sake of my fragile ego but for the betterment of these children… I was immediately overcome by a painful inadequacy. However, as our first week together progressed, I came to realize that in certain regards all of us were personally inadequate, and it was for that very reason we had taken on this responsibility together. Although I certainly had my short-comings, that wasn’t something unique to me, and over time we all began to coordinate better and help manage each other’s weaknesses. I was somewhat surprised to learn this was not only true of the adults, but the children as well. The dynamic we developed as a family was rather symbiotic… I found that regardless of age we all had something to offer each other.

Regardless, I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to keep my found family as distant as possible from my most severe personal issues. My past was something I felt I had to resolve independently, no matter how tempting it was to once again depend on the people in my life to solve my problems in my stead. That is why when I made the decision to start looking into Anton’s whereabouts, I never spoke a word about it to my housemates.

Facebook made finding his account incredibly easy, distressingly so in fact. I became acutely aware of the possibility that he might have been recommended my account numerous times over the years and had consciously chosen not to send me a friend request, which although completely understandable still hurt immensely to imagine. Perhaps my hopelessly romantic dream to reconnect with the man was unrequited, and would be rejected with extreme prejudice if vocalized. Eventually, however, I managed to muster up the courage to actually inspect his profile. I discovered that after our quarrel six years ago and his subsequent transferral Anton had moved back to his hometown in Ann Arbor to complete his degree in art and design. Since graduating, he had been working as a freelance artist and animator… he often posted about how proud of his projects he was, and it was reassuring to see his enthusiasm had not diminished in the slightest over the years. One detail about his profile that immediately jumped out at me was his relationship status, which was currently set to single. Despite myself, I immediately felt a small flicker of hope ignite within my quickened heart. Upon further investigation, it appeared he’d been involved in several relationships over the years that had ultimately ended in failure, although the circumstances were unclear. I only hoped he hadn’t made a habit of dating unappreciative losers…

I managed to quell my anxiety briefly and force myself to send him a friend request, which almost immediately filled me with a sense of mounting dread. My anticipation wasn’t even allowed much time to simmer, because mere minutes after I sent the message I was notified that it had been accepted. Instinctively, I slammed my laptop shut and jumped out of my seat, forgetting that I was incapable of standing up so quickly without losing all feeling in my legs and face planting into the floor. I instantly regretted not taking Addy’s advice and getting that checked by a doctor, because soon enough the entire family was in my room gathered around my body and asking questions with varying degrees of concern and amusement. Although I had wanted to keep my activity a secret, at that moment I was swept away in the drama, and so I began to mindlessly rant about the situation.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but soon enough there were six pairs of hands all frantically scrambling for control of my keyboard. While I laid incapacitated on the floor, my friends had taken it upon themselves to respond to Anton’s messages, each expressing their own thoughts from my account in randomly alternating orders depending on who had managed to prevail in the wrestling. It seemed that Iara maintained the upper hand most of the fight, although it was admittedly difficult to tell over the frenzy at times considering my limited view from the floor.

Eventually, the chaos subsided and everyone turned to look at me with beaming smiles on their faces, some more devious than others. I immediately began to worry that they had sabotaged me somehow, be it in light-hearted jest or in an earnest act of betrayal, and so I asked them nervously what exactly they had done. For a moment it seemed they were trying to contain their excitement, but it didn’t take long for them to erupted into an uproarious celebration, complete with victorious chants that Anton was coming to meet us in person this evening!

I didn’t know how to react. All at once a tempest of conflicting emotions completely overpowered me… and I mean that quite literally. I knocked out cold, and when I finally woke up I discovered that not only had Kyler been trying to shock me awake by applying Takis to my tongue, but that the situation had not miraculously resolved itself. Although everyone else had mostly settled down, my mind was whirling a mile a minute with all of the things I had to do to prepare. I had a whole bucket list I needed to accomplish before I was comfortable standing in front of Anton again… and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t possibly get everything done myself over such a brief time. To my surprise, I didn’t even have a chance to put my reservations aside before they had already agreed to help me based off of my panicked listing of errands alone. Despite my reluctance to involve my new friends in the more turbulent aspects of personal life, it seemed they were actually eager to get involved themselves… I discovered that my problems were not an inconvenience to them, but rather something they were excited to help me work through.

The first obstacle I had to overcome was also the hardest… that being that I had never properly apologized to Gabriella and Lana for my dishonest and frankly abusive treatment. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t have the words to express my remorse or that I hadn’t processed my guilt, but that Gabriella’s parting words to me specifically informed me not to contact her and I didn’t want to once again disrespect her wishes. However, after some words of encouragement from the family, I managed to write a relatively concise three thousand word email taking responsibility for my past actions and wishing the couple well. As I was writing this post, I actually received a response from the two telling me they appreciated my apology and were glad to see I had grown into a more mature person. Apparently they have just finished settling into their cottage and are now doing better than ever. Lana even expressed an interest in meeting Addy and Iara in particular sometime… I suppose it’s a sapphic thing. I’m just glad that they’re finally living the happy life they deserve without being held back by backwards men.

My email took longer to type then I had expected, and although I certainly can not regret pouring my heart into the message given its importance, it did mean that we had to pick up the pace with the rest of the bucket list. Kyler took this quite literally, speeding at what must have been 100 miles per hour towards the mall despite nearly giving me a heart attack and my insistence that he not set such a bad example for Chris and Klav. We actually ended up getting pulled over, but luckily Iara managed to scare the officer away with her signature scowl. The next few hours were a frantic rush of errands, all focused on helping me actually express myself without the burden of repression. There were moments when it was a struggle, such as when I nearly hyperventilated in Claire’s before they pierced my ears, but ultimately I am immensely satisfied with the results. The most fulfilling moment was finally getting the tips of my hair bleached white to match my new profile picture. Chris actually got his hair dyed alongside me, changing his style from pale blond to black and white to reflect his new kin. It was incredibly rewarding to accomplish this alongside him… I had never been the subject of anything but disappointment from my parents, so it was an incredible feeling to be able to experience that absent parental pride for myself, even if it was with a different perspective.

By the time Anton was forecasted to arrive, my appearance had been upgraded to better reflect my current sense of self… all that was left was for me to get in the right mindset. Luckily, my family was perfectly eager to act as my own personal “hype beasts,” as Kyler put it. They offered excellent emotional support in the half-hour we sat in the den patiently awaiting his arrival, especially Addy, who really took my mind off things by offering to play me in a game of chess. I lost quite handedly, but for once I don’t have it in me to be a spoilsport. When we heard that fateful knock at the door, they all immediately ran into the nearest closest and shut themselves inside to give us some space, but not before giving me a final set of encouraging thumbs up. I hesitated for a moment, questioning once again whether I was really ready to take such a big step in my life. My hand paused, hovering over the door knob uncertainly… until I heard the faint sounds of Steely Dan’s Come on Eileen coming from inside the closet, accompanied by the muffled sound of Klav’s giggle. Reignited by the familiar sounds of my favorite musicians, I swung the door open with a new and uncharacteristic conviction.

And there he was… I was immediately captivated by just how strong his presence was. My memories hadn’t done him justice… it really was like I was in the presence of an angel. I was comforted by certain familiar aspects of his appearance, such as his golden brown eyes that glistened like stars, his long curly hair with its comforting strawberry aroma, and his signature checkered scarf that he had been consistently wearing for almost decade now… but what really excited me were those new features. Normally I am turned off by change, but I was positively breathless as soon as my eyes wandered to the golden butterfly tattoo on his exposed shoulder. I felt as if I was going to faint for a second time in one day.

I couldn’t find the words to express the depths of my emotion no matter how hard I searched my impassioned soul... there were no words strong enough. Instead I just cried, and wordlessly he accepted me into his arms… just like he had on that life-changing night all those years ago. I finally told him everything I had so obstinately refused to say during college… that I was gay, that I was in love with him, and that I was sorry. Although I was openly weeping, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relieved in my life.

Eventually, he managed to pacify me… and so I was able to explain to him the entire story of the Kristahlia drama. It was difficult to explain that I had managed to go from discoursing with these teenage kinnies to adopting them, but he was as understanding as he ever was. He was so excited to meet my family that he even brought his cat Apple all the way from Michigan just to introduce her to them. I don’t think I have ever mentioned this publicly, but when Krissy died I had to take her dog Diogenes in myself, and I was surprised to find that the two animals got along perfectly. It really did feel like the entire house was accepting him... it was as if this was meant to be.

Since Anton had gone to all the trouble of making the ten hour drive to Iowa, he suggested that we might as well all hang out together in Cedar Rapids over the weekend. I suppose it’s a date... I must say that I am looking forward to it, as are the others. I know I didn’t deserve to be accepted by him again just because I spent a few hours shedding tears and profusely apologizing, but for once I don’t feel guilty that I have received something I don’t deserve. I just feel... an overwhelming gratitude for the opportunity.

I am certainly still inexperienced at this whole family business and have accepted that I will inevitably make some mistakes in the future, but I don’t think I’ve done too poorly for a first week, if I do say so myself. I am truly grateful to all the people in my life who have supported me through my journey, who have taught me that it is possible to rely on others without being a parasite and to be relied on without shouldering the entire burden.

To my partners, my friends, my children, and my love... from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

#sincerely adam

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upstartpoodle · 5 years ago

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Not Alone

Rating: T

Relationships: Dwight & George (platonic), past George/Elizabeth

Summary: A rewrite of the scene in 5x04 between Dwight and George at Elizabeth’s graveside, as requested by @ticketybooser.

***

The gloomy, labyrinthine corridors of Trenwith were filled with nought but echoes and draughts, and to the mind of Dr Dwight Enys as he climbed to the top of one of the old house’s many staircases with no small degree of trepidation in his heart, it seemed that the grim quiet of his surroundings was made all the bleaker by lone figure standing at the window of the little room to the end of the passage, staring down at the sunny driveway below. Dwight paused in his approach at the sight, steeling himself for what was undoubtedly to be a long and difficult day, both for himself and, more importantly, for his new and most unexpected patient. For what he would have to do today, he would need great strength—strength enough to support the both of them. Without that, any treatment he tried would surely fail.

After taking in a few deep, calming breaths, he headed towards the open door to the room, slowly, cautiously, making sure that his footsteps could be easily heard. He saw the line of the figure’s shoulders tense at his approach, shrinking nervously in on himself. George Warleggan—or more properly, now that he had been knighted by the King, Sir George—he thought with a sad sigh that he was barely able to bite back in time, may once have stood in that very room, surveying his ever-growing kingdom. Now though, huddled there as he was, in nothing but a thin nightshirt and his silk dressing gown, hair in disarray, skin as white as candle wax, he far greater resembled a ghost haunting its place of death than the baronet, peer of the realm and man of considerable fortune that he was. Or perhaps, now, had once been. It was an almost intolerably cheerless sight, but Dwight forced himself to endure it—what help would he be, after all, if he could not even face his own patient?

“George” he said quietly as he came to a stop beside the ailing man. He was mindful not to stand too close, keeping firmly to the opposite side of the large windowpane, but George remained rigid and wary at his presence nonetheless, watching him out of the corner of his eye with a timidity that seemed ill-fitting on the face of a man who had once seemed to him to be utterly indomitable. It reminded him of the way a wren might watch a cat prowling too close to its perch, cautious and ready to flit away and hide the moment he was given reason to.

“What was he doing here?,” he asked. His voice was high and thin, with a nervous edge to it which Dwight had become all too well acquainted with in his time treating the man, and which caused him no small amount of displeasure to hear. His hands, the doctor noticed, were balled up into fists, knuckles kneading anxiously at the low windowsill as he stared down at the spot which Ross Poldark had recently vacated, a deep frown drawn between his brows. “Ross? Why was he here?”

Dwight loved Ross dearly, despite his past (and indeed present) foolishness, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but curse his friend for his poor timing. He had observed in his patient a tendency to swing, in varying extremities, between two moods—one being an acute agitation and distress, and the other an equally alarming melancholy, the grip of which seemed to be nigh unbreakable. The account he had been given on his arrival at Trenwith had suggested that George had started out the day quite calmly, but it was clear that Ross’ sudden appearance had triggered some measure of the former mood in him.

Of course, both were concerning at the greatest of their extremes—in the case of the first it tended to surface as a panic so severe he seemed to lose all sense of what surrounded him, and in the second as a worrying, silent emptiness, where it was almost impossible to encourage him to speak or respond or even acknowledge that they were there at all; either way he was trapped within his own mind—but this distress, however mild it might have been compared to some of the incidents Dwight had witnessed, concerned him. He had taken the news of his patient’s relatively placid mood as a sign that he might be well enough to start the long and arduous process of confronting the delusion which had lodged itself in the man’s mind. Cary Warleggan was impatient to see his nephew returned to his former self, and his frustration with George’s continuing insistence that Elizabeth was still alive and well despite Dwight’s treatment was hardly something which he had shied away from sharing with—or perhaps more accurately taking out on—the good doctor. As quickly as Cary wished him cured, however, Dwight knew that it would take great delicacy and care, not force, if he ever wished to succeed in bringing George back to himself—especially so considering the wounds, both physical and mental, that had been left behind by the brute that had previously attended him. As such, he couldn’t help but worry that the step he had planned to take today, when compounded with the added stress of Ross’ arrival at his home, might, instead of guiding him onto the path of healing, cause him to regress.

“There was something he wished to discuss with you,” he said, truthfully. There was no point in trying to evade the question—even in the thrall of that pervasive illness, George was just as single-minded as he was when well, and attempting to obfuscate would only cause him further upset. “A matter of business.”

“Business?” The word was echoed as if it were completely foreign to him, as if he hadn’t taken his father’s provincial interests and turned them into a veritable empire, as if that same empire hadn’t once all but consumed his waking life before Elizabeth, before all this. It was a stark reminder of how thoroughly broken he had been—hollowed out until there was barely anything left, the remains shattered into pieces—and Dwight was once again struck by how insurmountable the task that lay before him seemed. Even if he could mend him, he doubted he could put him back together in the same shape he had been before.

“He wanted to make you an offer,” he replied gently as questioning eyes turned to face him. “For Wheal Plenty, to my understanding. There was a bad accident there—a collapse—and your uncle made the decision to close the mine.”

“And he was sent away?” George turned away from him and back towards the driveway, almost as if he were expecting to see Ross turn around and come riding right back up towards the house. He hadn’t stopped kneading at the windowsill, his movements more restless and troubled than before.

“Yes. Now is not the time for such things.”

“But he will come back!,” George cried suddenly, almost explosively, had it not been for the frantic quality of his tone that spoke far more of distress than of anger. “He will always come back, precisely where he is not wanted! Why can he not let us be?!”

Dwight swallowed a sigh. He knew well enough that a frank and honest answer to that question, to which he could only provide the vaguest of speculation, would do little to help or comfort his suffering patient. Instead, it fell upon him to nip this agitation at the bud, to find some way of soothing his stress over the situation before he could upset himself too greatly.

“I shan’t allow him to bother you, George,” he said, keeping his voice calm and low. “Nor will your uncle. He shall keep him away if I am not here to prevent it.”

George let out a strangled sound which might have been intended to be a laugh. There was a slightly hysterical note to it that only served to make Dwight more concerned.

“He didn’t keep away that man, nor the girl,” he retorted—from a previous conversation he had had with Cary, the doctor guessed that he must be referring to Ralph Hanson and his daughter, the former of whom seemed to be lingering about Cornwall in general and the Warleggans in particular like a bad smell. By contrast to Dwight, his voice was high and panicked. “He didn’t keep away the other doctor. He let him in and then stood by and allowed him to—”

He cut himself off abruptly at the mention of Penrose. Dwight straightened up, alert. George had not once spoken of the man to him, nor, as far as he was aware, to any other. True, he was not particularly loquacious in his current state—especially when the severest of his melancholic moods had him in its grasp—and their conversations, if not entirely one-sided, tended to be kept rather simple on his patient’s part, but he had noticed that that particular topic, should it be brought up, was met with anything from straight refusal to discuss it to outright panic. As such, Dwight had taken care to steer clear of talk of the man in the hope of preventing unnecessary distress when he was still so fragile—far too fragile to face those memories head on.

Unfortunately, while that decision may have reduced such risks in some ways, it did little to quell the damage those memories did when they did surface—which usually tended to be at the worst of times, at the smallest of things, or else when he was sleeping. Only a few nights’ past, he had received a frantic summons to Trenwith in the small hours of the morning, informed upon his arrival that George had, confused and panicked upon waking from some nightmare, somehow managed to barricade himself into one of the rooms on the upper floor of the house and was both refusing to come out or to let anybody else in. Dwight had spent what had felt like several long hours sitting in the corridor outside trying to calm him down and coax him out from the other side of the closed door. By the time he had managed to convince him to let him in, he had been thoroughly incoherent, having wound himself up to the point of utter exhaustion, but the few muttered, fragmented phrases Dwight had caught upon taking him back to his bedchamber to rest had spoken well enough of what—or rather who—had been the source of the trouble.

While his reaction now was not so severe as it had been then, however, it was clear that the thought of the man—and in particular, the prospect of his return—was causing him no small measure of distress. He had shrunk even further in on himself, shoulders hunched, head bowed, his messy curls tumbling across his crumpled brow and into his wild blue eyes. There were tears pooling in them, Dwight noticed, but, stubborn as he ever was, he refused to let them fall. A muscle in his jaw, tightly clenched, ticked at the effort, his whole form trembling slightly as he fought to bury down the flood of emotion that was threatening to consume him. It was, in many ways, a reminder of the man he had once been—private, closed-off, determined to hide the part of himself that was human and vulnerable behind a deep, impenetrable wall of haughty aloofness—but to Dwight, it indicated that George, despite his quiet tolerance of his care, did not entirely trust him—not enough to prevent him from trying to control and mask that vulnerability in his presence, however unsuccessfully. That did not greatly surprise him. After all, he suspected there had only ever been one person whom he had ever trusted with such things, and she was well beyond being able to aid her ailing husband.

To gain that trust, Dwight knew, would take a lot of time and patience, but in the meantime, it was clear that his all too fragile charge was in need of kindness and reassurance. He reached out carefully, making sure that George was able to gauge his intentions—he had discovered fairly quickly into his taking on of the man’s case that sudden touches were liable to cause him panic. His fingertips came to rest on the other man’s biceps, mindful not to grip. George gave an odd start at the touch, his nervous little movements coming to a sudden stop. He made no move to pull away, however, and after a short moment, Dwight, ever so gently, encouraged him to turn about to face him. He obliged, rigid and trembling, but his arms flew up to his chest, keeping the doctor firmly at arm’s length, when he tried to coax him a little closer. There was surprising strength in the gesture, for a man who seemed so frail and unwell, yet Dwight could feel him shaking beneath his palms, whether from the effort of it, the fear of some form of reprisal, or perhaps a little of both, he did not know.

“He shan’t return here, George,” he said softly, feeling the smooth silk of his dressing gown underneath his touch as he ran his thumbs up and down his arms in a slow, soothing gesture, trying to calm the man’s quivering. “I shall see to that. I shan’t allow anyone to hurt you whilst you are under my care.”

At this, George’s eyes, which had been fixed firmly on the floor, snapped up to his face, wide and confused, searching. There was something in his gaze—something so raw and wounded that it almost hurt to look, but Dwight forced himself to meet it, so that he might see the truth of his words in his own eyes.

“Why?,” George whispered. “You’ve every reason to hate me. Why would you…?”

He trailed off, unable to finish his own sentence. He looked so lost, so helpless in the face of his assurance, as if the thought of being shown care was completely alien to him. Dwight frowned, careful to keep his own sadness from showing upon his face. He understood why George might think it, but he did not hate the other man—had never hated him, not like Ross did. That feud, as far as he understood, was deeply personal on both sides, and rooted all the way back in their childhoods. On Dwight’s part, it was true that he had never been particularly fond of George, and that Ross’ enmity with the man had often put them in opposition, but he had never harboured any true dislike of him. Despite the distance there had been between them, he had seen enough of the way that George had acted in the presence of Elizabeth and his children to know that he was not the unfeeling monster Ross liked to imagine he was. Ross, he thought, seemed to have forgotten long ago that George was a human being, flawed and imperfect as the rest of them, just as capable of feeling love and loss and hurt, and no more deserving of the pain that had been inflicted upon him than any other. Dwight, however, had not. How could he, after all, with that wounded, fragile creature, so unlike the man he had come to know over the years, stood before him? And more importantly, what kind of man would he have been if he had turned away and allowed him to suffer alone, without aid or care or hope of recovery? No, he could never have brought himself to be so cruel. Not for anyone.

“Because you are my patient,” he said, honestly, “and it is my responsibility to see to it that you are kept safe and cared for whilst you recover. I shan’t do you any harm, and nor shall I allow any to be done to you. That, I promise you.”

George stared up at him at the admission, wide-eyed, uncertain. For a moment, Dwight thought he was about to say something, but before he could speak, there came a little cough from the doorway, and with a slight start, he shrank right back into his shell. Taking care to mask the frustration he felt at the intrusion, Dwight turned around to see Trigg, the footman, standing by the door with his usual air of inscrutability, face studiously blank as he regarded the doctor and his ailing employer. Dwight raised his eyebrows at him quizzically.

“Yes, Trigg?,” he asked. “What is it?”

“Forgive my interruption, sir, but Mr Warleggan said that you had given instructions that you would be out for the day,” came the obsequious reply. “I was told to fetch Sir George so that he might be made ready for the outing.”

He felt George shift under his gentle grip, manoeuvring himself so that he was partially shielded by Dwight’s arm. Whether it was the appearance of Trigg himself that had caused this reaction (Dwight knew that the man had probably played some role in Penrose’s treatments, even if it had been little more than fetching and carrying the necessary supplies, and that he had definitely played a role in forcibly sedating him on at least one occasion before Cary had turned to him for assistance—that confession he had drawn from the elder Warleggan like blood from a stone some days ago), or else any number of wild thoughts about what “readying him” might mean, or even the prospect of leaving the house, he did not know. Likely, he suspected, it would be a mixture of all three.

“Thank you, Trigg. If you could allow us a little privacy for a moment, we shall be with you presently.”

With a neat little bow of the head, Trigg disappeared promptly from the doorway, but his departure did little to soothe Dwight's charge. The expression on George's face was one of deep anxiety, and once again, the doctor privately cursed the man's interruption. It was not the way he had wanted to introduce the prospect of leaving Trenwith to his patient. He had known, of course, that there would be no way to wholly avoid worrying him—Penrose's cruel treatment had left George disposed to worry about anything and everything, to the point where even coaxing him onto the lawn for a little fresh air had been a struggle at first—but he had hoped that, had he been able to introduce the idea gently by degrees, he might have kept the man's distress to a minimum. That, however, was clearly not to be, and he would simply have to make as best of the situation as he could.

“What did he mean?” George's left hand, which had been placed flat on his chest to keep him at arm's length, had found the lapel of his coat, and was clutching at it with white knuckles. There was a suggestion of that wild panic in his voice that he had only just managed to tame, eyes flicking towards the door where Trigg had been moments before. “What do I need to be made ready for?”

His expression was so crumpled with bewilderment and distress that, for a moment, Dwight toyed with the idea of leaving the outing for another time. George was already very fragile and he did not want to cause him too much strain—his aim was to mend him, after all, not break him. He was sure that Cary would protest—he wanted the delusion gone as soon as possible, ostensibly due to concern over the family's reputation and secretly, Dwight suspected, because he hadn't the slightest idea of how to care for his nephew whilst he was in such a delicate, dependent state. Unfortunately, this meant that he tended to mishandle the situation. Cary thought of the illness as he might have thought of an infestation—some foreign thing that had lodged itself where it shouldn't and had to be forced out like rats from a hole. Dwight, however, was more inclined to think of it as a cage, an iron fist which had him trapped in its grasp, unable to look to the future, to move forward. The longer the delusion remained, the tighter that fist would squeeze, until he shattered under the strain of it, broken and beyond the reach of any who might be able to put him back together. For that reason alone, Dwight knew that it would be unwise to put it off. He could delay, again and again and again, and each time he might think to try and tackle it again, George would be no less fragile for allowing the delusion to linger. No, it would be best to face it now, so that he might begin to heal.

“I had intended to take you out today,” he said, keeping his voice calm and measured. “To St Sawle Church.”

George frowned, his brow upturned in worry and confusion. He was tugging slightly on Dwight's lapel. The doctor allowed it without comment. It was more for comfort than a means of getting his attention, he knew.

“Why?” came the agitated enquiry after a long pause. Dwight was careful to keep the frown from his face as he contemplated what he should say. He'd no wish to lie to George, but to tell him the whole truth would do nothing but ensure his complete refusal to come, and to say nothing at all would lead to naught but suspicion and mistrust.

“There is something I need to show you there,” he said. “I cannot promise you that it shall be pleasant. In fact, I suspect it shall be painful and difficult, but what I can promise you is that, once it is done, it should help you get well again.”

At that, George's expression crumpled. The panic, gradually fading from his eyes, was being replaced by a look of resigned despair. It occurred to Dwight, suddenly, that he had probably been given such platitudes under the brutal care of Dr Penrose.

“Must I go?” The pleading note in his voice was almost childlike in quality, but the desolate look in his eyes told Dwight that he didn't really believe he had any sort of choice in the matter, and that was a state of affairs that the doctor could not allow to stand as it was.

“I shan't force you to,” he replied carefully. “Look at me, George, look at me,” he added, his tone coaxing and gentle when the man refused to meet his gaze. “I promise you that if you wish to remain here today, then that is what we shall do. But I urge you, if you wish to recover, this cannot be avoided for long. It may be hard, but what is easy is not always what is best for us. All I can ask is that you be brave.”

Had a passing stranger seen this moment, they would likely been surprised to learn that before them lay the very same man who had once stood against an armed mob with naught but a handful of men and a few firearms in order to defend his family, but Dwight thought he saw a shadow of him, however faint and brief as, after several long moments of stillness and silence, he gave a short, sharp nod, his jaw clenched tight. Dwight smiled at him encouragingly. Good, at least there was something of him still in there.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now come, it shan't do for us to keep Trigg waiting, shall it?”

***

With a great deal of time and effort, they had managed, between them, to coax George into some warm clothes suitable to ward against the autumn chill, and outside the door of Trenwith and into the carriage. The journey to St Sawle Church was not a long one, and could, as a general rule, be easily traversed on foot by a reasonably healthy man. For George in his current state, however, Dwight thought that a walk or ride there, where they might encounter all manners of people with whom the thought of interacting could well be distressing for his frail charge, would perhaps be too taxing, especially considering that he had no idea what state he might be in on the return journey. What he intended would be stressful enough for his patient without adding extra sources of worry along the way.

The carriage slowed to a stop outside the church in barely any time at all, jolting the both of them as it came to an abrupt halt. Dwight turned his gaze towards George. He was dressed neatly enough in his usual clothing, but, with his head bowed, staring forlornly down at the hat clasped tight in his gloved hands, he looked no less fragile and unhappy in his Sunday best than he had in his nightshirt and dressing gown. They hadn't been able to do anything about his hair, which was still a disorderly mess of tangled curls. He wouldn't let anybody near it—at least, not without descending into a sharp, intense panic from which it was extremely difficult to calm him down. He had had similar reactions before to touches to his shoulders as well, and his wrists, and from this, Dwight suspected that it was related in some way to Penrose's rough treatment. He knew from experience, after all, how easily the smallest of things could dredge up memories of that kind. In the end, he had simply told Trigg to leave him be. George had looked so pathetically grateful at that that it had almost shattered his heart to see the once proud man fallen so low.

“Come, George,” he said, standing from his seat and moving to open the carriage door. “We have arrived.”

George did not move, save for his nervous kneading at the brim of his hat. It was only until Dwight had alighted from the carriage and had turned about to wait for him to follow suit that he shuffled carefully along the seat and made to step out onto the path below. He was a little unsteady on his feet, and he staggered slightly, unbalanced. Dwight's instinct was to grab hold of him to stop him from falling, but he forced it down—he'd no wish to distress the man with any sudden touches. Instead, he confined himself to a slow, light touch at his elbow, waiting until he had righted himself to withdraw.

“Thank you” George murmured, after a long pause. Dwight gave him a slow nod of acknowledgement in reply.

“It is not too far now,” he said. “Are you ready?”

George's eyes flickered from the ground upon which they had been fixed, up to the church, and then down to the myriad of gravestones surrounding it. From the apprehension in his gaze, the doctor suspected that, somewhere beneath the delusion, he knew exactly what it was that Dwight had brought him there to see.

“I-I don't—” he stammered.

“I will be beside you the whole time,” Dwight reminded him gently. “I shall be here to help you. It is just a little further.”

George tore his eyes away from the graves to meet his gaze, lost and afraid, but nevertheless, he followed in Dwight's footsteps as he began to lead him into the churchyard. Their pace was slow and unsteady, and Dwight had to keep checking over his shoulder to check that George was still behind him. He took care to send him the odd word of encouragement, coaxing him carefully on when he faltered. It was a relief, he thought, to see the churchyard nigh empty, for he knew that his charge, whilst in his right mind, would have hated to be seen in such a state.

It was just as they rounded the corner of the church to where their destination lay that George slowed to a stop, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to go any further. He had spotted the gravestone. They were close enough to make out the name it bore, and it had been enough to halt George in his already slow, unsteady path. He looked lost and bewildered, clutching tight at the brim of his hat like a frightened child. It seemed as if he did not know whether to go backwards or forwards, whether to approach, or to run and hide and forget.

“A little further,” Dwight said, trying to keep his tone gentle and encouraging. When George made no response, eyes fixed firmly on the gravestone ahead, he knew that words would not be enough. He lifted his arm, offering it to him to grab hold of. “Take my arm. This will not be easy, but it is a necessity.”

The movement was enough to tear George’s eyes away from the grave. He gazed down at the proffered arm, timid and uncertain. Dwight kept carefully still, waiting. A long moment passed in which neither of them moved, and he thought George might reject the offer, but then, with some trepidation, the ailing man crept forward, hand reaching out to clutch faintly at his elbow. The touch was barely there, feather-light against the fabric of his coat.

“Come,” Dwight said, with an attempt at an encouraging smile. “Just a little further.”

The going was slow for such a short distance, but eventually they came abreast of the grave, slowing to a staggering stop when George could go no further. Dwight felt his patient's grip at his elbow, barely noticeable before, tighten like a vice.

“But I-I saw her only yesterday” he protested. His brow crumpled in confusion and distress as his eyes fixed on the name on the stone, then onto the date below it. His voice was faint, a slight tremor to it as he desperately tried to make sense of the sight in front of him.

“In your memory,” Dwight replied, slow and quiet. He knew that George would fight against it, that his mind would twist and turn to find ways of denying it, and so he, in turn, must remain calm and patient if he stood any chance of guiding his charge towards the truth. “And memories should be cherished, but not mistaken for what is real. However painful that is.”

George shook his head. Letting out a wounded little noise that Dwight just barely heard, he drew back, almost imperceptibly, caught between the urge to back away from the grave, and the strange transfixion the sight seemed to have over him.

“But I – It-it can't – She isn't – ” It seemed as if he could barely form a coherent thought, his distress was so great. He turned to Dwight, wounded and bewildered, and the doctor felt his grip on his arm lessen as he pulled away. “It must be a lie, a trick. She cannot be – Why would you show me this?”

Dwight let him retreat, but he kept a hand hovering just above the man's bicep, so that he might take hold of him if need be. George was in a deeply fragile state, and he worried that he might collapse, or else do himself some injury trying to get away, should it become too much for him.

“Because it is the truth,” he returned, gently. “A painful and difficult truth, but the truth nonetheless.”

George let out a pained whimper which sounded like a half-attempt at the word “no”. He was still shaking his head in tiny, jerking little movements, his eyes fast filling with tears which he refused to shed. Dwight stared at him sadly. It was not enough, he knew, to simply tell him it was so. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and took George's hand in a gentle grip, waiting to see if he would pull away. When he did not, Dwight tugged at it lightly, trying to encourage him to step forward.

“Come,” he said. “Just a few more steps.”

George stared at him with wide eyes, now frantically shaking his head. He had realised what Dwight wanted of him, and he stood firm, refusing to move.

“No.” At any other time, there might have been considerable force behind his refusal, but as it was, it came out more like a plea. His voice shook, though he made no attempt to remove his hand from Dwight's grasp.

“Just a little further, George,” he repeated, running his thumb soothingly over the other man's knuckles. “You've come this far already. I need you to be brave for just a little longer.”

George stared into his eyes, jaw clenched so tight in his fight to hold back his tears that Dwight wouldn't have been surprised if it shattered. Then, after a long moment, he bowed his head and allowed himself to be guided forward, his gaze fixed firmly on the movements of their feet. It was only a few steps before they were inches away from the gravestone itself. Carefully, Dwight took the hand cradled in his own and placed it atop the stone. He could feel it shaking beneath his palm.

“You can feel it, can you not?,” he said, gently. “You can see it. Does that not make it real?”

“But—” George's eyes flitted over the stone, as if trying to take every detail of it in, to find some tiny thing which might prove it to be a lie. “But I-I saw her. Many time's, I've seen— Why must it be that she is the lie?”

“They cannot both be true,” Dwight reminded him softly. “You know that.”

George shook his head. His grip on the headstone was so tight that Dwight was sure his knuckles must be bone white behind his leather gloves.

“She shouldn't be—,” he gasped out, and there was a vehemence to his words that was only slightly dampened by the unsteady, lost look shining in his eyes. “This shouldn't be—”

He could not finish the thought, lips drawn tight in a trembling line, breath ragged as he fought to contain the emotion that was threatening to overcome him. Dwight, however, caught his meaning well enough, and he looked away across the path leading up to the church, his own jaw clamped about a sudden rush of feeling. Elizabeth should have been alive and happy, with her family, not dead and buried beneath their feet, but if there was one thing he had learnt in life, it was that death did not care about “shoulds”. It was a brutal lesson—one which he had learnt battling both people and disease—but never had it been cemented more in his mind than when he had walked up that very path, rain pouring down upon him, Caroline trailing behind him, beyond tears, and a little coffin cradled gently in his arms, as if its inhabitant were merely sleeping, and the slightest jostle would have disturbed her. Oh, how desperately he had wished for that to be true then, but he had known no amount of wanting would bring Sarah back.

“If there were any fairness in this world, Elizabeth would still be with us,” he murmured. He was glad to hear that, despite the dark turn of his thoughts, his voice came out quiet, but strong. “But wanting it does not change the fact that she is gone, no matter how strong that want is.”

George, who had seemed almost frozen in place as he listened to his words, tore away from the grave, almost as if he had been burnt, as he whirled abruptly around to face him. His pale eyes glistened in the autumn sunlight as he met Dwight's gaze with a desperate, almost feverish intensity—pleading, though for what, the doctor was not sure either of them entirely knew.

“Sh-she could have— She needn't have—” He stumbled, trying to find the words for a sentiment he could barely express. “If she hadn't had the child— If I hadn't—”

He spoke the last words with such pain that he could barely choke out another sound, his hands, which were now clutching at the brim of his hat so tight that it looked as if he might crush it, shaking violently. There was a maelstrom of emotion in his eyes, each to greatly entangled to even begin to set them apart, but if there was one that shone through, clear as day, it was guilt. In that moment, it seemed so powerful that it might well crush him into dust. Dwight felt his throat constrict as he met the man's gaze. His thoughts flashed back to the vial he had found on Elizabeth's dressing table that awful night—the vial to which he suspected, though could scarce believe the purpose of. Should he tell him? But no, he couldn't, not here, not now. George was not ready to hear such things, and even if he were, Dwight doubted that vague suspicions would do anything to help him. Once he knew the truth, perhaps—if he ever knew the truth—he would ensure that his patient knew it too. If nothing else, for better or for worse, George deserved to know exactly why his wife had died.

“There is no fault here,” he said. He prayed that time would not make a liar of him. “Loss, but no blame.”

Given the thoughts that were rushing through his head, the platitude sounded weak to his own ears, and it was clear from the expression on his face that, no matter how reassuring he had tried to be, George did not believe him. He turned away from him, back to the gravestone, eyes fixed once again on the elegant inscription before him. With one trembling hand, he reached out, barely touching the carved “E” of her name as he traced the shape of it with the tip of his finger.

“She will be cold down there,” he said, and Dwight could hear the tears that he was still stubbornly holding back thick in his quivering voice. “A-alone in the dark. She was afraid of the dark.”

It took all of Dwight's willpower not to jolt at his words. George barely seemed to realise what he was saying, but to Dwight, it was proof. Proof that the memory—that one horrible memory that he had tried so hard to push away that he had crumbled under the strain of it—was not buried so deep as to be lost completely. Beneath the comforting lie that he told himself, he knew. He remembered. All he needed to do was get him to face it.

“She told you that, do you remember?” he asked, careful to keep his voice as calm and measured as it had been before.

For a long time, George made no response. He was busy tracing the letters of Elizabeth's name. Despite his ongoing battle, a single tear seeped, unbidden, from the corner of his eye and trailed down his hollow cheek, but still, he refused to let the rest follow in its wake.

“I held her hand” he said eventually, so quiet that, for a moment, Dwight thought he must have imagined it.

“Yes” he replied, just as softly. He watched his patient carefully, hovering close by to support him if need be. He didn't like the way he was shaking, as if the strain was becoming too much for him.

“I— She—” It was no longer just tears which were making George's eyes look misty, his gaze losing focus as he started to fall into the memory. He swayed dangerously, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “She was cold— I-I can't—”

Dwight caught him deftly before he could crumple in a heap on the grass below them. Too soon, he thought. George wasn't ready to face that memory—not yet, not here. He would have to confront it soon enough, but now...he had done enough for now.

“It's alright, George,” he murmured as he staggered against him, his breathing too fast and too shallow at the sudden touch. “It's alright.”

That, he thought, was the closest thing to a lie he might have said, but what else was there to comfort the man? He adjusted his grip so as to keep him upright, and though George flinched at the movement, he seemed too overcome to push him away. Strain and exhaustion had quashed what vestiges of his pride remained, and he allowed himself to slump against the other man, one hand gripping tightly at the lapel of his coat.

Dwight let him lean against him until his breathing slowed and his trembling calmed. He glanced about him over the top of his head, glad to see that they were still alone in the churchyard. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable his patient currently was, and how much it would have alarmed him, in his right mind, to risk being seen in such a state. They should return to the carriage, he thought, but he wasn't sure George would be able to make it so far without having time to compose himself.

“Come,” he said, gently encouraging George to right himself. “I think we had best get inside the church.”

George pushed himself upright, but he did not let go of his lapel, still tightly clenched in his gloved fist.

“Is there more?” he asked. His voice was hollow, and his gaze was directed towards the floor, rather than his face.

“No.” Dwight shook his head firmly. “It is over now. I simply wish for you to sit down and rest for a little while before we return to Trenwith.”

George made no reply, his eyes, still fixed firmly on the floor, suddenly full of a kind of empty despair which reminded him, despite the bright sunlight rather than the dim gloaming, and the safety of the ground rather than the edge of the cliff, all too much of the occasion which had started all this. Once again, he knew that it fell upon him to lead him away from that despair.

“Come” he said again.

Slowly, carefully, Dwight shifted so that his arms were rested protectively around his shoulders as he began to lead him in the direction of the church. Despite the padding of his coat, he felt no less bone-thin than he had in nothing but his nightshirt on the clifftop, held fast to keep him from falling. He wondered why it had never truly occurred to him before that George was really a rather small man, slight of build and short of stature. But then, he supposed, he had—or had once had—such a presence about him, such a formidable force of personality, that one barely took notice of the fact. Well, there was none of that now, he reflected grimly as he glanced down at his fragile charge. All of that—all his strength and stubbornness, all that rage and ruthlessness—had been gutted from him, leaving nothing behind but that poor wretched slip of a shadow in his arms. He thought back to the day he had first seen George, back during—good God—Julia’s christening, all those years ago. He had understood why, then, underneath his velvet coat and neat hair and pretty smiles, Ross had found such a formidable opponent in him, why he was a man whom most did not dare cross. How greatly all their lives had changed since then.

The church was blessedly empty as they staggered inside, and Dwight praised the lord for small mercies as he guided a trembling George to the nearest pew and encouraged him, wordlessly, to sit. The man sank down onto the bench, spine bowed as he buried his face in his hands, like a willow forced to bend its boughs before a strong wind. He made no move, not even the slightest acknowledgement, as Dwight came, cautiously, to sit beside him, but his shoulders were shaking violently, and with an unpleasant jolt, the doctor realised that he had finally, finally begun to cry.

Time ticked on, the silent church filled with nothing but the sounds of the wind outside, the scrabbling of starlings in the eaves above them, and George's quiet sniffles, muffled behind his hands as he tried, in vain, to mask them. Dwight was not sure how long they remained there—the doctor and his weeping patient, neither saying a word to the other—but after a while, he noticed a slight lessening in his charge's trembling. Slowly, he reached out and pressed the flat of his hand against the small of his back. He half-expected the gesture, just as he had the offer to take his arm, to be shrugged off, but though George let out a startled little noise at the contact, he made no move to withdraw from the touch, save for an almost imperceptible twitch.

“I didn't show this to you to be cruel,” Dwight said. Quiet as his voice was, it still echoed strangely about the walls after so long of silence. “I know that it is painful, and pain is powerful, but it is also needful. It reminds us that we are alive. We cannot avoid it, nor should we try.”

For a moment, George made no move, no sound, and Dwight begun to wonder whether he had heard him at all, lost in the harsh grip of his grief as he was. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head from his hands, face pale and wan, his eyes very red. He did not turn to look at Dwight, but instead stared straight ahead of him, unseeing.

“If this is being alive,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion he could no longer repress, “then why should I wish to live?”

It took all of Dwight's willpower not to inhale sharply at his words. As much as he might wish to be, he was not surprised by them. How could he be, when he had been the one to pull him away from the cliff edge that had so nearly been the end of him? If anything, he had dreaded them. He was painfully aware that, though he had prevented him from falling that evening, George was still teetering on a precipice which he might tip over at any moment. For that was what the delusion was, Dwight saw—a poisonous comfort, a gilded cage which kept him from tumbling into the abyss as much as it prevented him from turning away from it. With that strange security which he had been clinging to beginning to break down, it would be his, Dwight's, duty once more to keep him from falling over the edge.

There was something different this time, however, something which gave him pause. The way he had asked whether it would matter if he fell, that time on the clifftops, had been bleak and despondent, the words of a man resigned to the thought that his life was not worth living. Now, however, it was less despairing and more beseeching, as if he desperately, genuinely wanted—needed—an answer to that question which he couldn't seem to find within himself. He needed a reason, Dwight realised, a reason to keep on fighting. In a moment, his thoughts flashed, unbidden, to that terrible time in the aftermath of losing Sarah. He wondered, if there had been no Ross, or Demelza, or his dear Caroline, if he would have been inclined to ask that very same question.

“You still have your children” he said, quietly, gently. Thinking of Sarah made him think of Ursula, and of Valentine. Ursula was too young to know what was happening, though Dwight thought from the nature of her cries that the strange absences of her papa had not gone unnoticed. Valentine was even more affected, all too aware of the cloud that had descended over his home and family, of the loss of his mother, and of the fact that he was fast losing his father too. It was a harsh reminder that it was not just the life and soul of one man that depended on his aid and success. More than ever now did the fear of failing weigh on his mind.

“My children.” The words were soft, barely audible. Still, George stared blankly ahead of him, the quality of his gaze a little glassy, but there seemed a little more light in his red-rimmed eyes. It was a response, of sorts, and thus encouraged, Dwight continued on.

“Elizabeth may be gone,” he said, “but she lives on in them. They have already lost their mother. They need their father more than ever. For their sake, if not your own, you mustn't give in.”

“My Valentine, my Ursula.” He still had that faraway look in his eyes, but Dwight knew that he was thinking on his words. For all his faults, George loved his children. If their need was not enough to bring him back from the brink, he doubted anything else could.

“For them, you must at least try to keep fighting,” he continued, the hand on the small of his back travelling up to rest between his shoulder-blades. “And for Elizabeth as well. She wouldn't wish to see you so lost. For her, you must try to find yourself again.”

This time, George finally turned to face him, eyes shining. He looked adrift, like a ship that had lost its anchor to the depths of the sea, afraid of falling into dangerous currents that it could not steer away from.

“I don't know how.”

The admission was small and faint and frightened, so unlike the man he had come to know, but Dwight thought that, somehow, it was one of the most brutally honest things he had ever said to him. He reached out, taking one of George's hands carefully in both of his own.

“All I can ask is that you try,” he said. “I shall be there to help you. You are not alone anymore.”

George stared up into his eyes for what seemed like an age, then down to their joined hands. After a long moment, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Dwight smiled, sadly. It was no wonder he had fallen into despair, with nothing and no one for company but his own misery, guilt and his unfeeling old uncle pushing him forward until he broke. Now, however, it would be different. It would not be he—Dwight—who left the vulnerable man lost amongst the waves. No. Whatever happened, whatever stood in his way, he would make George Warleggan well again.

#poldark #poldark fic #dwight enys #george warleggan #poldark s5 #poldark au #scene rewrite #fic #mine #my fic #fic request #fic prompt #ticketybooser #tw suicide mention

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aqvarius · 5 years ago

Text

peaches and cream - ayumu shinonome

warning: mature/nsfw content

–

I can’t believe this is how it all goes wrong.

It starts with her graduation and her surprisingly touching valedictorian speech, and then the rest of the day passes by so quickly and so slowly all at the same time. I take her to dinner and do that whole hotel key in the bouquet trick but even though it’s a good restaurant, I can barely taste the food as I watch her eat. Whether my sudden ageusia comes from nerves or excitement, I can’t tell. Then all of a sudden, we’re in the hotel room and she’s sitting on the bed in her bathrobe, a ball of fizzing energy.

One minute I’m kissing down her body, the next I’ve shut myself off in a bathroom while my first and only girlfriend sits outside. On a bed. Naked.

The moment that made me choke plays in my head over and over like a TV replay of a sports match. I’m watching her so keenly, stroking her body all over, undressing her and letting the silken fabric of her lingerie slip from her smooth skin, trying to deduce what she likes and where. She’s shivering under my touch, flushed and needy, gasping for more. So into it that she can’t even pretend to play coy, she’s fully caught under my spell.

Then, she moans that one word that sends a shot through my heart. “Instructor…”

Suddenly I’m struck with a cold fear. A terrifying scenario runs through my head: one where I’m not good enough, can’t satisfy her, and she leaves me for someone else. For Miyayama. Her Dream Team. I pull myself from her warm, inviting body and apologize, leaving her looking tiny and vulnerable sat in the middle of that large bed with a sheet wrapped around her.

I’ve never had any problems separating emotions and sex before. I’ve never had any trouble sleeping with women I didn’t care for and would have been happy to never see their faces again. I’ve never had any performance issues, nor have I ever had any problems with pleasing women. But the thought that she might only feel the way she does towards me because of my title sends a pang of anxiety so acutely into my body that a bitter taste floods the back of my mouth. My mind spirals as I remember that awful dream of mine where she chose to leave me because I couldn’t satisfy her, and then I recall Miyayama’s bold confession and his confidence in declaring that he’ll always be waiting for her with open arms.

When I finally pull myself together enough to leave the bathroom, I see her curled up on the bed, so hurt and fragile. She’s obviously pretending to be asleep – I’ve watched her sleep enough to know what she’s like when she’s really sleeping – but I can’t draw the courage to say anything. Instead, I stew in my anxiety, chest so tight I wonder if I might just cry.

–

Things are awkward between us for days. I see her only once in the next week, when she pops by the instructor room to pick up some of her old study notes from my desk. Just one look at her and I’m practically salivating. She leans over to grab the files from my desk and out of the corner of my eye, I can see down the front of her blouse. She’s wearing a rather functional plain white bra, but her creamy cleavage is revealed, and it spills forwards alluringly when she bends.

As she turns to leave, some papers spill from files that haven’t been closed properly and she gasps, flustered, quickly dropping onto her hands and knees to gather them. If it wasn’t already there, my mind would fall right into the gutter, seeing her in that position. Her skirt is riding up slightly and the backs of her toned thighs are right there in front of my eyes. The peachy shape of her ass looks so inviting, and the slight peek of inner thigh makes me dream of having my face right there between her legs, kissing and licking at the sensitive skin. This is so typical of her – she’s absolutely useless at seduction operations, and yet she’s so tempting when she’s not trying at all. Her hair falls forward as she ducks her head and it exposes the skin at the nape of her neck. It provokes an unusually animalistic response in me; I’m struck by the need to mark that skin as mine.

Right then, Soma breezes into the room, looking down at my aide in what may as well be doggy style position. There is no doubt anyone walking in can see right down her top. An amused smile rises to his face and it makes me burn with irritation.

“Do you need help there?” he asks her with a suggestive laugh, his eyes flickering downwards for just a second, and she looks down at herself and immediately sits up on her heels, cheeks hot, pressing her blouse close to her body.

“N-no!” she yelps, obviously flustered, and grabs the last few scattered papers before standing up, rigid like a soldier. I just sit in my seat, fuming that she’s responding exactly the way Soma wants. Even if it wasn’t for a master manipulator like Soma, she’d be too easy to read, too obvious. Too fun for others to play with when she should be mine.

“Instructors,” she mumbles in an awkward farewell as she leaves the room.

I should get back to work but I can’t stop thinking about my girl on all fours, about her flushed cheeks, her lithe body, her milky cleavage, the half-lidded bedroom eyes that she probably doesn’t even know she makes, the way she trembles just from my touch, how pillowy and pliable her lips are and how they would feel wrapped around my –

Oh, fuck. I can feel my pants tenting.

This is so mortifying. I feel like a teenager popping a boner in class because his crush walked past.

“What’s wrong, Ayumu?” asks Goto, and I realise that I’m staring down at my crotch, hands balled into fists on my keyboard. A line of empty spaces runs across my screen and comes to an abrupt stop as I quickly remove my hands from my computer.

“I’ve heard tensing your thighs can help,” Soma offers, sounding extremely entertained as he sorts through his documents. He’s somehow aware of my predicament and I flush crimson. “Or just imagine Narita in a speedo. That should do it.”

That last suggestion clues Goto in and his face reddens almost as much as mine. It’s common knowledge in Public Safety that Soma is a force to be reckoned with, but I’m cursing him more than ever in my head as I shift awkwardly in my chair. He snickers as he grabs his file from his desk and leaves the room with a mild yet teasing “Good luck”.

Goto coughs awkwardly and looks back down at his work, and I slump my head forward onto my desk. When she texts me to invite me to Sachi’s place a few nights later, I’m all too eager to see her again.

–

The incident at Sachi’s is somehow shocking and soothing to me, both calming all my insecurities and stoking a flame of arousal in me. All my worries fade away with that one declaration she makes, that she wants to be my home. That she loves everything about me. Now that she’s melted away my worries, I can feel my desire for her more acutely than ever. Not only that, but I’m driven by an urge to show her how attractive she is, how much I want her, to pacify the stormy seas of her worries like she’s done mine.

I look up from whatever junk I’m mindlessly scrolling through on my phone to keep my mind occupied when she pads into the room nervously fiddling with the collar of her pyjama top. I can see a lacy lilac strap peeking through and it’s driving me crazy. I want to unwrap her like a present and savour every part of her. She smells incredible, like peaches and cream, and it makes me desperate to lick her all over and devour her nectar.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not going to be able to go easy on you tonight,” I warn as I work the buttons on her pyjama top open. She swallows as I push her down onto the bed, but her eyes are filled with the same clear conviction as when she professed her unconditional love for me. She trusts me. She wants to be mine.

I reach for her, pressing my lips against hers in soft, teasing nips. Her neck tilts upwards when I pull back, obviously wanting more, but I shift my body downwards, kissing down her body. I said I wouldn’t go easy, but I can’t help wanting to ease her desire out slowly, savouring each and every reaction. I draw my tongue between the valley of her breasts, finally enjoying that cleavage that’s been teasing me in and out of my dreams for so long, and then lightly suck on their rosy tips, feeling her hands press needily into my scalp in response. Then I lower myself even further, lingering on the hollows between her ribs, then down further, further, further.

Her smooth legs tremble gently around me as I press more kisses to the junction between her thighs and her hips, licking soft swirls on her velvety skin. Finally, my mouth makes its way to right where she wants it, and she lets slip a soft moan that makes my heart pound.

“Shinonome…” she whispers as I let my hot breath fall right there, and I’ve never been more glad to hear my name in my entire life.

I eat at her, circling my tongue in a point around her, pressing it flat and dragging, using my lips and jaw and the lightest graze of my teeth, testing out every technique I’ve ever learnt as if I’ve learnt it all just for her. She cries out when I dip my tongue into her and lick upwards and I keep at it, tasting how sweet she is, how wet she is just for me, until her breathing turns shallow. As much as I’d love to have her thighs clenched around my head as I bring her to orgasm with my mouth, I pull back. We have the whole night to learn each other’s bodies. For now, I tear off the clothes that are keeping me from feeling her more fully.

Her cheeks and ears are dyed the loveliest hue of pink when I look down at her and I want to feel the warmth of them against my lips, and more. Taking the sight of me in with her eyes, she runs her hands over my skin nervously, and then she turns even pinker when she asks me, shyly, “Do you want to, um, sex me up?”

My sexy, goofy girl. Doesn’t she know I’ve wanted this for years?

“I do. I want you so badly. I want to feel you, all of you. I want to make every inch of you mine. I have to have you.” The words spill out from where they’ve been held up in my heart for so long. It’s such a relief to admit to her and the way her gaze deepens with so much love is the greatest reward I could ever have asked for.

She leans up to kiss me and pulls back to stare into my eyes, her own glazed with need. We kiss each other, the urgency picking up as we gasp into each other’s mouths. My girl’s hands naturally find places on my body that I didn’t even know were sensitive, and I’m so hard it’s almost painful. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more. My hand skims down her body, drifting up her inner thigh with a ghostlike lightness. She feels so soft and so warm, it’s taking all my self-control not to just take her right there and then and plunge myself to the hilt in her wet heat. I can tell that this is what she wants too; her back is arching and her hips are tilting upwards towards my hand wantonly as I stroke her, sliding one finger and then two into her. She sighs over and over that she needs me, but it’s only when my hand is creamy with her desire and she’s writhing below me that I finally decide to give us both what we want.

Reluctantly pulling away from her, I reach for my wallet and fumble to pull out a condom, but she grabs my wrist, blushes prettily and mumbles, “I’m on birth control.”

I’m amazed that I have any blood left in my body anywhere but my crotch when my girl whispers those words. Dizzy from desire, I happily abandon my quest and reach for her again. It’s just the two of us now with nothing between us as I slide the tip of my cock up and down against her, occasionally pushing in slightly. She’s so wet and and tight and it’s almost unbearably hot inside her.

She whimpers my name pleadingly, undone with lust, and my heart leaps into my throat.

I feel like a virgin with how hard my heart is pounding and how tight my stomach is. Finally, I push into her and my heart almost stops. She lets out the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard in my entire life and my cock pulses in response. The pleasure is so overwhelming I have to take a deep breath and calm myself so as to not cum in her right away. It’s been two years in the making, two years of abstinence, two years of jacking off to fantasies of this very moment, and somehow the real thing is so much better than anything I’ve ever dreamt up. It suddenly hits me that this is the first time I’ve ever had sex with a woman I love – a woman who loves me back as much as I love her.

I take another breath to treasure the sight in front of my eyes. Seductive without even trying, her lashes rest heavily against the curve of her cheek. They flutter as she struggles to open her eyes against the pleasure when I start to move against her. I go slowly at first, caressing her gently, giving her a few shallow inches and then pushing deep, letting her feel my full length filling her up with each stroke, teaching her body how mine feels.

“Close your eyes,” I murmur, almost wanting to laugh at how cute she looks with her half-lidded, glossy eyes.

She shakes her head stubbornly, extracting her arms from my grip and sliding them around my neck. “I want to see your face…”

Something snaps in me when she says those words. I feel lightheaded and focussed all at the same time. Bending my arms down to bracket my forearms around her head, I lean down to kiss her hard while my hips pick up speed, thrusting into her at a punishing pace. Her legs tighten around my waist, crossing at the ankles, and her back arches in an attempt to draw her body even closer to mine, but every time my lips leave hers to give us time to breathe, her eyes remain locked on mine. She gazes deeply at me, like I’m one of those diagrams she’s so good at memorising. It’s as though she’s trying to drink me in and commit the sight of me deep into her memory. At this moment, I wish I had her photographic memory. I wish I could remember how she looks like this forever.

I reach between us to stroke at her while my hips roll against hers and it’s too much for her. Her nails dig into the back of my neck as she cries out against my lips, shuddering as her head tips back in pleasure. I can feel her pulsing around me and it takes me over the edge. I groan as I spill myself inside her, filling her up while she trembles and clenches around me.

My adorable girl. My sexy girl. My precious girl.

As she curls up into me, eyes glowing with bliss and love, I realise it doesn’t matter that I can’t remember this moment as perfectly as her. I know there will be so, so many more to come.

–

anyway i basically wanted to write ayumu and mc’s first time

but i also wanted to write ayumu just wanting mc so so much

so this is just 2.7k words of ayumu being horny for mc during the our graduation epilogue events

i added an extra scene tho for fun

#ayumu shinonome #her love in the force #hlitf #snow writes #hlitf fanfic #voltage inc #voltage fanfic #fanfic #voltage otome #otome game #voltage inc fanfiction #voltage smut

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scoobydoominuscoobydoo · 6 years ago

Text

I don’t trust myself when I’m around you.

FF.Net & AO3

Daphne can’t seem to stop biting her lip.

Barely even registering the sting until Freddie so kindly points out that her lip is bleeding; she manages to brush this off as being caused by the damn avalanche she survived just a few days ago.

She is currently lounging on the couch in the living room of the house the four of them share, the aforementioned blond sitting beside her.

He’s been spending the past couple of days since they arrived home trying to track down the love of his life, whom he was forced to part with in a garage sale. Daph didn’t see much point in reminding him that they had a perfectly fine stick shift sitting in their garage right now. The whole clutch/emergency brake fiasco has left him bitter.

Velma had only emerged from the home office maybe twice all day - both of those times being Shaggy forcing her to eat something before the wind blew her away.

Shag and Scoob had been known to just set up shop in the kitchen for most of the day. Saved a lot of back and forth from their bedroom to the fridge. Scooby had already somehow opened the door and was dragging out any leftover that was in sight.

Shag, on the other hand, was sitting at the kitchen table staring down at his hands.

Which was enough to tell Daph that his mind was racing.

All of this business with Vincent had dredged up bad memories for the both of them. The second Daphne laid her head down on her own pillow her mind was instantly plagued with the thought, “The 13th Ghost is still out there...”

And at that point Daph had abandoned the idea of sleep.

She can’t speak for Shag but she’s certain she’s seen the kitchen light on until the wee hours of the morning.

But this isn’t the thing that affects Daphne the most; she’d spent almost nine years thinking about that 13th ghost they never found. The thing that bothered Daphne was the feelings she had buried for nearly a decade.

She was in the dark, falling yet floating at the same time, never reaching the ground.

Someone was calling her name and she could hear the urgency in their voice, the worry.

Something rough and wet ran up her cheek and she was immediately back in the light, taking in a deep gulp of air. That worried voice calling her name let out a relived chuckle and placed a large hand on her shoulder, helping her sit up.

That was the first time Daphne had ever seen Shaggy cry on her behalf.

Not even turning into a werewolf and chasing him down the tunnels brought tears to his eyes.

She hadn’t forgotten any of it. Every little detail about that moment was imprinted in her mind and it was all telling her one thing.

‘He cares for you.’

‘You care for him.’

And the second that realization came to her, Daphne pushed it back to the furthest corner of her mind - praying that she’d forget all about it.

She wasn’t very good at doing that.

It didn’t take her all but a few hours to have her fingers tangled up in his hair while hoping that no canines or con-children or warlocks barged in on them.

For those few, blissful, months Daphne was absolutely giddy.

Every waking moment was spent with the boy she now knows she also cares about a great deal. Due to the constant entourage, physical contact was kept at a minimum; but even without the touching Daphne’s heart was full. Every time they did so much as hold eye contact for longer than five seconds she felt like her chest was about to burst.

‘What is this?’

She’d ask herself, already knowing damn well what it was.

But then the stress started to press down on them, and they found themselves being overwhelmed by the nightmares. No amount of embracing or kissing could calm it down.

They practically got down on their knees and begged Vincent to just let it be over, they were just kids and they couldn’t take it anymore.

Perhaps he saw how broken they had become, already fragile to begin with.

But when they returned to Coolsville, Daphne didn’t get the happy boyfriend and girlfriend lifestyle she had been dreaming of since she first kissed him.

Instead, he locked himself up in his room and didn’t seem interested in talking.

Not to her.

Not to his family.

Not even to Scooby.

Fred and Velma didn’t return from their camps for another several weeks.

Still, Daph kept calling, nearly everyday. His family had gotten well acquainted with her over the phone, always having to softly tell her that Shaggy wasn’t up to leaving his bed at the moment.

Which was every moment.

Of every day.

During this time boys would ask her out on dates, and while most of her wanted to say no, her prime reason for saying no wasn’t speaking to her.

So she spent her summer bowling and roller skating and eating Italian food, only to return home late at night and cry when the boy she wanted still wouldn’t come to the phone.

It was two weeks until summer came to a close when Shag’s mom said, “Oh yes he’s right here.... Norville! Daphne Blake’s on the line!”

“....Hi...”

The moment she heard his voice her heart nearly popped out of her chest.

“Shags!!! Oh my gosh I’ve been so worried about you!!”

She hears a soft chuckle and the corners of her lips go straight up; that chuckle outshines any date she went on in the past two months.

“Like, I’ve just been strapped to my bed at the ol’ Rogers’ Kook House.”

“Do - do you uh..... Do you wanna go get some burgers? Last week Ricky McMasters took me to this new little joint that make these cool veggie burgers.”

“Are you for real?”

“100% sweetheart.”

The excitement in his voice is causing her face and ears to go warm.

“Sign me the hell up!”

And so they met at the restaurant and ordered, they talked and laughed and Daphne found herself hardly touching her food.

It was when she made a grab for his hand that things finally went wrong.

He dodged, locking eyes with her as his cheeks went red

“Shag.. wha- what’s wrong?”

She schooches her chair closer.

He moves his further back.

And then he looks down at his hands on the table.

It’s silent for a few moments and Daph realizes she’s absolutely terrified.

Mainly because she knows what’s about to happen.

After he sucks in a deep breath he begins, still looking down at the table, “”Daph... those months we spent... together were some of the best months of my life.” Daphne smiles.

“Same here.”

He licks his lips before continuing, “And, during all of that I was convinced I was ready. Ready to stop holding my breath and just love you.”

Her heartbeat drops to her stomach. How long was he in love with her? How long was she in love with him?

Shag’s fingers begin to clench around the tablecloth, “Vincent was promising us that he’d take care of the last ghost and all I could think was that I got a whole summer left to be with you.” She wants to say ‘Me too.” But doesn’t wanna interrupt him.

“But then,” His voice is going soft and she can tell he’s trying to be gentle, “When we did finally get home the nightmares didn’t stop. The fear that something was out there and after me - after you - didn’t go away.”

Finally, he brings his gaze up to her and those brown eyes leave her so weak, “How could I deal with all of this, cope with and get it under control and love you at the same time? I’m seventeen for fucks sake. I still brake at a yellow light and get an allowance.”

Suddenly, she get’s it.

All those dates and all that crying had been her “coping” of sorts but had she really gotten anywhere waiting day after day for Shag to pick up the phone?

He can probably see the tears welling in her eyes because he leans forward to whisper, “Just.... give me some time. Could be a week could be a month, hell, it could be a year but maybe when I’m ready... we can try this again. Without ending up as each other’s therapy dogs.”

She giggles and feels a tear roll down her cheek, “Yeah, “ she sniffles, “I’d like that.”

Now she was leaning over him as he tapped his fingers against the hard wood of the table.

“Having fun?” She says softly, he looks up at her with a smirk.

“Just peachy Miss Blake.”

“Well I am just glad to hear that.” She pulls out a chair and chuckles as their banter picks up an exaggerated Southern drawl.

They sit there for what seems like forever just giggling and looking at each other before Daph musters up the bravery to break the quiet, “Nine years huh?”

And even though it is the most cryptic and simple phrase, Shag’s face goes beet red and she know he understands what she’s saying. Because only Shaggy Rogers could understand something as basic as two words implying so much more. It’s then that Daphne knows shoving those feelings down to the back of her mind hadn’t stopped a thing.

If anything, they’ve grown, matured and are much more powerful.

Maybe sixteen year old her had wanted to only wait a week but now she was thankful to have grown into this love she holds for him

Now she wonders if he’d let her kiss him, and would she ever bother to come up for air?

Or would she just let herself suffocate, only able to comprehend the shape of him?

He rubs the back of his neck, acutely aware of her biting her lip, “It’s funny... like before all this craziness with Farmer Morgan I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go to that same burger place again. Like, they’ve got a whole menu of veggie burgers now. I hear they have one that’s just a stuffed mushroom! Doesn’t that sound fucking extraordinary?!”

As his eyes begin to sparkle and his lips flap, blabbing on about food, Daphne reaches up and grabs either side of his face, bringing them nose to nose.

He lets out a soft gasp, Daph’s heartbeat is pounding around in her head, “If I say yes, will you finally kiss me?”

His face is red again and she is 100% sure her’s is even worse.

“Keep in mind I will say yes regardless of what you-”

Shaggy doesn’t even let her finish the sentence, only letting give out a soft “Mmph!” in surprise.

Nine years in the making and Daphne can definitely say it was worth the wait.

#The jo bros album dropped and its got me in a romance mood #i'm trying to write more over the summer but college admissions are taking up more time than they should #plus work and all that fun stuff #but if yall have requests i'd write them lickity split #scooby doo #shaphne #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #curse of the 13th ghost #shaphne fanfiction

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ahgastae · 6 years ago

Text

Penny for Your Thoughts?

Jinyoung x Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Fluff

Word Count - 5.3k

Warnings: you know what? i think i did pretty good on the swears this time. so unless you’re allergic to sweet, tooth rotting cuteness, i have no warnings for this one!

Quick A/N: bolded text is spoken/heard in korean! also, i changed this up a bit from the intro/headcanons for story purposes, and i hope that isn’t a problem.

Unlike most people in his system, Jinyoung has a love-hate relationship with the voice inside his head. No, not the nagging little voice in the back of mind telling him to strangle Yugyeom, but the actual voice invading his thoughts. The voice belonging to his soulmate. Now, Jinyoung is truly grateful for the perks of his system, like ‘meeting’ his soulmate before their fated encounter. But, sometimes, hearing her in his head makes it all the more harder for him to wait.

Jinyoung sighs blissfully, letting the stress roll off his shoulders as he finally sinks into the practice room couch. He loves comebacks as much as the rest of his group, but none of them are exactly fond of the exhaustion that comes with them. Jinyoung’s gently eyes close, basking in the small moment of peace. They don’t come around very often, considering his groupmates’ personalities, and he cherishes the few he gets. His mind toes the edge of consciousness, teetering on the brink of sleep when-

“Jinyoung-ah!”

That didn’t last long.

Jinyoung’s eyes flash open, just in time to catch Jackson leaping towards him without warning. He grimaces when the older male lands across his lap, legs splaying along the end of the couch. Besides him, Jaebum snickers under his breath.

“I think you almost got five minutes this time,” Jaebum remarks, amusement written on his face. Jackson smiles widely, wriggling around in Jinyoung’s lap to get comfortable.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed.”

Jaebum shrugs, “It’s just something I do to keep myself occupied. That, and it’s always amusing to watch them try and wake you up.” Jinyoung glances around the room, realizing his remaining four members are all watching him, and they’re all simultaneously trying to hold in laughter. He rolls his eyes, but can’t hide the small smile on his lips. Really, he’s not surprised. He would be shocked if they didn’t try to mess with him while his eyes were closed. But that still doesn’t stop him from pushing Jackson off of his legs.

Jackson whines when he hits the floor with a dull thud, “Hey! Is that how you treat your elders?”

“The only thing elderly about you is how fragile your bones are.” The room breaks into giggles, and only intensifies when Jackson mocks pain, clutching at his chest as he flops down dramatically.

“Wounded!” He cries. “Wounded by own blood! I raised you on my back, Park Jinyoung!”

Jinyoung smirks as he rises from the couch, “And that will be your downfall.” He acts out removing a sword from its sheath, pointing the imaginary blade at Jackson’s chest. “Any last words?” Jackson locks eyes with him, chest heaving theatrically. The room is silent, the five other members all waiting with bated breath. Jackson does not disappoint.

“Wang Gae... Park Gae...”

Jackson collapses with a grunt, limbs spread out all around him. Immediately the room erupts once more. Bambam and Youngjae rush forwards, feigning tears and sorrow for their fallen friend. Jinyoung turns around, pointing his ‘sword’ threateningly at the last three members.

“Have you anything to say?”

Mark and Yugyeom quickly shake their heads, faces growing red from laughter. Jaebum chuckles, hiding his smile behind his hand. Jinyoung nods triumphantly, and returns his weapon to his sheath.

Then, amidst the loud laughter and dramatic sobs, he hears it. A sound he’s grown to become quite accustomed to. One might even say he’s fond of it. The light giggle flashes through his mind in a second, and then it’s gone just as soon. Jinyoung’s heart swells in his chest, although he can’t tell if it’s from adoration or embarrassment.

At least she enjoyed his performance.

I bite my lip, staring down at my notebook as I try to hide the smile on my face. I know he has a penchant for theatrics, and I find it really endearing that he does, but I really wish he would wait until after my professor’s lecture on cognitive functions.

It’s not often that I find myself popping into my soulmate’s head. In fact, for the most part, I try not to. In the beginning, my soulmate was a pretty private and reserved person. He didn’t like me barging into his head at the most random of moments, and I understand that, but it’s not exactly like I had any control over it at that time. I didn’t even know I was in the thoughts system until the day I had the weirdest out of body experience of my life.

People always ask what it’s like to have a direct link to my soulmate’s mind, and, honestly, it’s fucking confusing. That link can vary in strength, and sometimes changes on a day-to-day basis. Most days, it’ll be a streamline of thoughts, like a phone conversation. I’ve been told it’s the main way those of us in the thoughts system communicate with our significant others, but it took awhile before I wasn’t the only one talking.

“Why are you so intent on killing Yugioh?”

The question escaped my mind before I could stop it. By then, I knew that wasn’t the name of the tall friend he always wanted to strangle, but it never failed to entertain him when I got it ‘wrong’, so I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Moments later, I felt the familiar feeling in the back of my head, letting me know he’d heard. Usually that would be the most I got, so imagine my surprise when he actually responded.

“The little shit keeps eating all my chocolate. It’s what he deserves.”

I smiled, trying hard not to let my excitement show too much. That was the first time he purposefully communicated with me, and I was over the moon to see some progress being made.

“Ah, a capital offense, I see. Off with his head, then.”

Then he did something I never expected, at least not because of me.

He laughed. And I swear my heart was sold from that moment on.

Nowadays, it’s more common for him to reply to me when he gets the chance, and it almost feels like we’ve become some sort of weird, long distance friends. That’s probably something strange to think about my soulmate, but I still hesitate to bring up anything that might make him uncomfortable, or draw himself away. The last thing I want is for him to feel trapped inside his own mind.

Other days, there’s only subconscious feelings, like a sudden craving for strawberries, or a tinge of intense, yet unexplained frustration. I once snapped at a friend for breathing too close to me, despite having no idea why I was so bothered by it. It was odd, sure, but it wasn’t my strangest day, either. That title is reserved for moments when the link is the strongest.

The connection between two individuals in the thoughts system is believed to be strongest when one or both of them experiences exceptionally powerful emotions. In times of exhilarating excitement or crippling sorrow, the bond is so strong, they say it’s possible for the two souls to partially merge. What does that mean, exactly? Well, it’s a little hard to explain.

The first time it happened, I was fourteen, and my best friend, Rory, had just told me they were moving. Granted, they were only moving about an hour or two away, but I swear it felt like my entire body went cold. I’d known them since elementary school, and I couldn’t imagine how my life would be without them. My heart just snapped, but when it did, it felt like something else was put together.

One moment, I was blinking back tears, looking into my friend’s eyes, and the next, I was in a small room with mirrors lining the walls. Except the person staring back at me in my reflection wasn’t me. A young boy, probably close to my own age, stood frozen in the mirror, jaw hanging open in shock. I glanced around the room, acutely aware of his head turning in the reflection with my movements. There was no sign of Rory, no sign of the park we were sitting in, no sign of me.

My chest began to feel tight as I soon realized I had no idea where I was, or even who I was. How was I supposed to figure out how to fix it if I didn’t know what it was? I couldn’t just run up to a stranger and say I somehow switched bodies with a teenage boy I don’t know. And if I was there in his body, did that mean he was in...?

In the midst of my thoughts, a hand landed on my shoulder, jolting me out of my concentration, and effectively scaring the shit out of me. I jumped, instinctively elbowing the person behind me, and throwing their hand off as I stepped away. I heard a pained groan, and turned around to find another boy, clutching his stomach and swearing under his breath.

“Jinyoung, what’s the matter with you?!”

When he spoke, I knew it was in a language I couldn’t understand, shouldn’t have been able to understand, but was somehow able to comprehend.

“I-I don’t know who you’re talking about.” It was weird to hear a voice that wasn’t my own come out, even if I recognized that it wasn’t my mouth saying those words. It was even weirder when I realized I responded in the same language he was speaking.

The boy sighed as he stood up straight with the roll of his eyes, “Seriously? I didn’t expect you to be one for jokes like this.” He took a step towards me, but stopped when I took an equal step back. “Jinyoung-ah, are you okay?”

I tried to respond, to tell him that I’m not ‘Jinyoung’, that I’m definitely not okay, but something in my chest broke, and, suddenly, I wasn’t in the mirror room anymore. I was back on that park bench, Rory gripping my hand tightly with a worried expression on their face. It took a few hours for my parents to finally calm me down, and an even longer time for me to understand what the hell had happened to me. Why I had suddenly found myself in a random boy’s body, and why (as Rory would later tell me) he found himself in mine. At the end of the day, I came out of that situation with several confusing revelations.

One, I am in the thoughts system. My soulmate and I are connected in arguably the deepest, most personal way; through our thoughts. Two, ‘soul-swapping’, as they’ve termed it, is a rare event that can occur between two soulmates in the thoughts system. It’s what happened that day, and could happen again at just about any moment, given the connection is strong enough. And, finally, ‘Jinyoung’ wasn’t just some random boy. He’s my soulmate, and I’ve been trying to find him since that day.

“Miss L/N, care to join us back in class?” My psych professor’s voice abruptly breaks me out of my memories. My cheeks burn as I realize I’ve been zoned out for a good twenty minutes, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Shit. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I’ve been warned multiple times to stop it. Professor Kim stares me down from the front of the classroom, and I shrink under his gaze.

“Sorry, Professor, I was just...”

“Lost in your thoughts?” A couple giggles sound from around the room. I glance down at my notebook, biting my lip. Why do I keep doing this? I literally cannot afford to be kicked out of the international study program. Not when I’ve come this far to find him. “Miss L/N?”

I look back up at Professor Kim, trying to ignore the burning in my face, “I’m sorry, Professor Kim. I promise I’ll pay attention from now on.” The professor nods, turning back to the board and resuming his lecture. I pick up my pencil with a sigh, forcing myself to focus, and keeping in mind why I came here in the first place.

Two years ago, I sat in my cramped dorm room, quite literally bored out of my mind.

“Hey, Jinyoung?”

“Y/N? What aren’t you asleep yet?” I scrunched my eyebrows, glancing out my dorm window at the, very much, daylight sky.

“I’m...not tired yet, I guess.” It wasn’t uncommon for Jinyoung to say things like that, to get the time of day wildly off. It was part of what lead me to believe he must have lived somewhere far away, in a time zone where perhaps my day was his night.

“You should go to bed soon. Not getting enough sleep is bad for you, and you need it for your classes.”

I scoffed. Jinyoung practically knew my life to a T, yet I knew next to nothing about him, except that his name was Jinyoung, he was around my age, and that he lived in South Korea. I only found out about the last thing when I realized that the foreign language that I suddenly became fluent in during soul-swaps was, in fact, Korean. Other than that, he doesn’t like to share very much about himself, even though he had been talking more and more over the years. Honestly, it was kind of irritating.

“Jinyoung, how come you won’t tell me about where you live?”

“What do you mean? You know I live in Korea.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, but I have no idea where in Korea. And you didn’t even tell me that, I figured it out myself.”

“Why are you so interested suddenly?” I hesitated to respond, eyeing the pamphlet sitting on my nightstand. A number of my classmates had talked about stumbling upon their soulmates while studying abroad, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the same would work for me. I only needed to know where I had to go.

“I just...” I struggled to find an excuse. “I just want to know more about you. You know so much about me; where I live, what I’m studying, who my friends are. I worry sometimes that I really am only talking to a voice inside my head.”

Jinyoung went silent, and I was scared that I had gone too far. While I wasn’t technically lying about sometimes thinking he wasn’t real, it felt wrong to not tell him the truth behind my curiosity. Then again, every once in a while, I wonder if his response would have been the same, had I told what I was really planning.

After a few harrowing minutes of silence, Jinyoung finally responded.

“Seoul. I live in Seoul.”

I hum to myself as I push open the door to my dorm. I somehow managed to keep my mind in my own head for the rest of the day, but I now have a sudden craving for chocolate, and I have a feeling my own taste buds aren’t to blame. I trudge towards the kitchen, licking my lips as I remember I have a few candies stashed away in the back of our fridge. With any luck, I’ll be able to finish them off before my dormmates get home.

My hopes are quickly dashed, however, when I enter the kitchen to find my two roommates, Jieun and Soojin, have not only returned early, but are currently sitting on the counter, munching on my chocolate. My eyes narrow, and I drop my bag onto the floor with a resounding thud. Both girls’ heads whip towards me, shock and guilt written on their faces.

“Y/N! You’re home early!” Jieun smiles forcefully, attempting to subtly move the bag of candy behind her.

“And you look really pretty today, unnie,” Soojin adds. She hops off the counter, and outstretches her arms for a hug. I dodge out of her reach, and snatch what’s left of my chocolates out of Jieun’s hands.

“Yah!”

“Don’t you ‘yah’ me! These weren’t yours in the first place!” I pop a candy in my mouth, sticking my tongue out at them.

Soojin’s lips drop into a pout, “We just wanted to have a little, unnie. You always buy the best sweets.”

“Quit trying to butter me up,” I point a warning finger at her. “You took my candy without asking, and now you get to face the consequences.”

“What consequences? Are you going to give us the silent treatment?” Jieun laughs. “You wouldn’t know which way was up without us showing you around Seoul.” She jumps off the counter, opening the fridge, and pulling out what I assume is tonight’s dinner. Soojin giggles, covering her mouth when I fix her with a small glare.

“Excuse you, but I think my Korean has improved a lot, thank you very much.” Jieun and Soojin share a look.

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” Jieun teases. “That must be why you came home from the store with dog shampoo the other day.” Soojin erupts in laughter, giving Jieun a high five as her body shakes with glee. It’s my turn to pout, crossing my arms indignantly.

“I thought the dog was just another one of those cute brand characters!”

Jieun laughs, patting my head when I furrow my brows, “’Thought’ being the key word.”

“Speaking of thinking,” Soojin interjects as she takes a seat at the table, gesturing at me to follow. “How were your classes today, Y/N?” I sigh, going to pick out another chocolate when I realize the bag is now empty. I guess Jieun wasn’t kidding when she said there weren’t very many left. Tossing the empty candy bag in the trash, I walk towards the table and plop down in the chair across from Soojin.

“Same old, same old,” I hum, resting my chin on my hand. “I kind of...zoned out in Professor Kim’s class.”

Soojin quirks a brow, “Zoned out, or zoned out?”

“The second one.”

“Unnie, not again!”

“I know, I know! I don’t mean for it to happen,” I sputter. “It just...does.”

“Is Professor Kim the one who demands everyone speak in Korean, even though the class is for mostly international students?”

“Uh-uh,” Soojin shakes her head. “That’s Professor Song.”

“I thought she was the one who always extends due dates.”

“Guys!”

Jieun glances at me from her spot in front of the stove, “Oh, sorry, Y/N. We were just talking about the professors.”

“I know what you guys were talking about, I just...” Soojin reaches across the table, laying a comforting hand on my forearm.

“Y/N?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, “I guess...it’s just getting to me a bit, you know? I can only spend so many years abroad with the costs and the credits I need to graduate, and it’s starting to feel like I’m not going to accomplish what I came to Seoul to do.” I shake my head, trying to get rid of the tingling feeling in the back of my mind. “It’s frustrating knowing he’s here somewhere, but having no idea if I have any chance of finding him.”

“Don’t say that!” Soojin cries. “You’ll absolutely find him! That’s the whole point of soulmates, after all!”

“I hate to admit it, but she’s right, Y/N. You came all this way, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” Jieun shrugs. “Besides, how many Jinyoungs can there possibly be?”

A frown etches itself across Jinyoung’s face. He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop on that conversation between Y/N and her roommates, but he did, and now he can’t get it out of his mind. How could he have not realized it sooner? In hindsight, he supposes there were quite a few things that made should have made it fairly obvious. Like how her sleep schedule suddenly became a lot more aligned with Korean Standard Time. How she hasn’t talked about her college friends for a while now. How her optimism is slowly declining as the efforts of her international search continue to be fruitless. Jinyoung wants to beat himself up for not noticing it before.

Y/N’s looking for him. She’s been looking for him. She came all the way to Seoul...for him. He briefly remembers the short conversation they had months ago, where he finally shared where he lived. She’d been curious for so long, he could feel it, but he was worried that revealing too much about himself would lead to her finding out who he is. That he’s not just Jinyoung, her soulmate. He knows how stressful being with an idol can be, and he reasoned with himself that he didn’t want to subject her to that.

But now he knows she’s out there, and even closer than before. She’s here, somewhere in Seoul, desperate to find him when he’s given nothing but the vaguest of clues. Jinyoung realizes that his idol status is not why he’s afraid of meeting her. He’s just afraid. Ever since he first discovered he is in the thoughts system, back when he was fifteen years old and just became a trainee, he has worried if he’ll ever match up to the idealized version she has of him in her mind. Y/N doesn’t know it, he promised himself he wouldn’t tell her until they really met, but he’s been falling for her since the day she first asked why he wants to strangle a certain maknae.

Jinyoung decides then and there that neither of them are going to wait much longer. He’s tired of only imagining what she looks like, dreaming about how it would feel to have her in his arms. He’s going to start putting in as much effort as she is, beginning with ‘persuading’ Jaebum to finally end practice for the night.

“Jaebum hyung,” Jinyoung calls for the leader’s attention. “I think that’s enough for today.” Jaebum raises a brow, and opens his mouth to respond when one of the maknaes beats him to it.

“Ah?” Bambam grunts from his place on the floor. “How come Jinyoung hyung gets to decide when practice ends? I wanna go home, too.”

“Because I don’t drain his pockets whenever we got out to eat.”

“That’s debatable,” Mark scoffs. “Remember that time at the karaoke bar-”

“Jinyoung’s right,” Jaebum interrupts. “We’ve been here long enough, and it won’t do any good to be sleep deprived tomorrow.” He glances at the exhausted members, all in various states of tiredness. “Let’s finish for the day.”

Sighs of relief ensue around the room, as everyone collects their belongings and slowly start to filter out the door. Jaebum is the last to leave, and Jinyoung sends him a nod of thanks as he exits. A feeling of determination is set in his chest, and he hopes he’s not too late to catch Y/N before she drifts off to sleep.

Jieun’s question sticks in my mind, plaguing me as I lay in bed that night. Yeah, there might not be a huge number of Jinyoungs in the world, but that doesn’t necessarily make my search any easier. I know enough about my Jinyoung; what he likes and dislikes, his mannerisms and habits. I like to think I’d be able to recognize him fairly easily. Unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily mean I know what he looks like. The few times I’ve gotten a look at my soulmate have been during the few times we’ve soul-swapped, and that started to happen less and less as we’ve both matured. Not that I necessarily want them to happen, considering how damn disorienting they are, but what Jinyoung currently looks like as opposed to the last glimpse I got five years ago would be a great help.

I groan, running my hands down my face in an attempt to drown out my restless thoughts. This is so not what I want to be doing at ten minutes past midnight.

“Can’t sleep?”

His sudden appearance immediately sends a feeling of calm through my limbs. A smile ghosts my lips, as I close my eyes, and let my arms fall to my sides with a sigh.

“That obvious?”

He chuckles, “Just a little bit, yeah.”

I stopped trying to understand why I hear Jinyoung’s thoughts in English years ago. I just chalked it up to another weird quirk of the universe, and learned to be thankful of the mental translator between my mind and his.

“What are you doing up this late?” I ask.

“Thinking about you.”

“Jinyoung.”

“Okay, okay,” He laughs. “I just got out of practice. I was thinking about you, though.”

“Why are you practicing so late? It’s not good for your health.” I furrow my brows, realizing I sound just like he did a couple years ago.

“Maybe I like it when you worry about me.”

“...Seriously?”

He sighs, “I’m...preparing for something big at work. After it comes, I’ll be able to rest as much as I want.”

Something in the back of my mind tells me that’s not true, but I don’t mention it to Jinyoung. This isn’t the first time he’s had ‘something big’ coming up, yet he refuses to tell me anything he actually does at work. I keep having to remind myself that even though we’re soulmates and have been talking to each other for several years now, we don’t actually know each other, and I’m not entitled to that information. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Did...did you really come to Seoul to find me?”

My heart stops. How did he...? I never told Jinyoung about coming to Korea. He’s always so private, I didn’t know how he would react if I did. How did he even find out?

Then I remember the feeling from earlier, the one in the back of my mind during my conversation with Jieun and Soojin.

“This little shit was listening in.”

“I’m being genuinely honest when I say I didn’t mean to.”

“‘Didn’t mean to’? Jinyoung, that was a private conversation!”

“And I apologize!” He stresses. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I...”

“Actually, wait, don’t answer it. I don’t want to do it like this.”

“...Jinyoung? Are you okay?”

“Y/N, how far away are you from Gyeongui Park?”

I tug my jacket closer to me in a vain attempt to fight off the chill night air. What the hell is Jinyoung thinking? What the hell am I thinking? It’s almost one in the morning, now is not the time for me to be wandering around Gyeongui Park, half an hour away from my dorm. I sigh, plopping myself down on a nearby bench, and staring up at the starry sky.

Jinyoung stopped responding shortly after I left the dorm. I have no idea what he’s doing, or why he wanted me to come to Gyeongui in the middle of the night. He seemed nervous about something, and, to be honest, I can’t tell if the rapid thrumming in my chest is his or my own. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes to collect my thoughts.

I’m sitting in a park, by myself, in the wee hours of the night because a voice inside my head told me to. A small laugh bubbles past my lips. God, I sound like someone straight out of some cheesy romcom. Or a B-rated horror movie. Jieun always tells me I would be the one to die first. I wonder if the murderer would go easy on me if I told them I’m waiting here for my enigmatic soulmate.

Suddenly, my ears pick up the unmistakable sound of gravel crunching under shoes. Someone’s getting closer, and my chest tightens at the realization. I try one last time to reach my soulmate.

“Goddamnit, Jinyoung, if I get stabbed tonight, I’m going to haunt your ass for the rest of your life.”

The footsteps stop. All I hear is the sound of my own breathing, and my heart thumping against my ear drums.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice gasps. “Shit, this is not the way I wanted this to go...”

My eyes flick open, and I realize why I recognize the woman’s voice.

It’s mine.

I stare incredulously at my own face as my mind struggles to process what’s happening. If my body is there, then who...? I glance downwards, and everything starts to click into place.

“Jinyoung?” I ask tentatively, shiver running down my spine. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung sighs, and I try to ignore how bizarre it sounds hearing my own voice. “I...don’t really know what to do right now. This isn’t how I wanted us to meet for the first time.”

“Not in our own bodies?” He looks down, kicking at the dirt on the ground, and sullenly nods his head. He juts out my lower lip in a small pout, and I can’t help but laugh.

Jinyoung immediately perks up, “What are you laughing at? Our first meeting is ruined! Years of waiting for this moment, and we don’t even get to see what each other look like! How are you not upset?”

“Jinyoung,” I start, gently grabbing his (my?) hand, and leading us towards the nearby bench. “This is pretty weird for me, too. I’m speaking a language I don’t understand right now, and looking into my own eyes. It’s just freaking bizarre.” I take a deep breath, softly squeezing my hand. “But I honestly don’t mind. I don’t need to stress about a perfect first meeting when I already know you’re perfect for me.” Jinyoung’s gaze drifts down to our hands, and he slowly intertwines our fingers. There we go.

I blink, and suddenly I’m staring down at my hand, my own hand, being tightly gripped by another. My eyes trail from our joined hands, up his arm, until they finally meet his. A warm feeling spreads through my chest, and I bite my lip to stop the smile from stretching across my face.

“Hi,” I whisper, giggling at the way he beams at me.

“Hey, there.” I tilt my head in confusion. Is this the weird translator’s work?

“How are you...?”

Jinyoung chuckles under his breath, “I have some...friends that are fluent in English, and when they found out my soulmate is absolutely horrendous at Korean,” I lightly smack his shoulder with my free hand, and he laughs before continuing, “I was forcefully enrolled in express classes.”

“I’m trying my best!” I insist, remembering the conversation I had with the girls earlier this evening. It’s strange, really; that feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a couple hours. Jinyoung tugs on my hand, drawing my attention back to him.

“You know, you still haven’t answered my question.” My brow furrows as Jinyoung moves closer, eyes sparkling with something I can’t pinpoint.

“What do you mean?”

“You came all the way to Seoul just for me. I didn’t realize I was that important to you already. I must be pretty damn special.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes playfully, “Says the one who caused a soul-swap because he was so nervous to meet me.”

“Really? Because I seem to recall that happening because someone thought I lured them to the park to be murdered.”

“You were listening, you little shit!” I exclaim, and Jinyoung smiles, leaning towards me. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“Maybe because I was too busy thinking about how to tell you I’m in love with you.”

I fall silent, watching the corners of Jinyoung’s lips turn up in amusement. His breath fans delicately across my face, forehead coming to rest against mine. My eyes remain locked in his gaze, and I start to feel warm despite the chill of the late night air. After what feels like an eternity, Jinyoung finally closes the distance between us. Our lips softly meet, and for a moment, I forget we’re sitting in a public park in the middle of the night. Jinyoung’s kiss is sweet, but passionate, his hands coming up to gently cradle my face between his palms. My eyes flutter closed, and I realize that I would sit on this bench with him forever if I could. Unfortunately, people aren’t built for that, and our lungs do eventually need air.

When we finally break apart, I feel lightheaded. Jinyoung’s eyes are bright and loving, and I can’t help but smile at him glowing under the moonlight.

“I love you, too, Jinyoung.”

oh, my god! hi! it’s certainly been a while since i posted a written piece like this, and it feels pretty good to get back into it! i took a break from writing prose for a bit to focus on my school work, and the semester’s coming to an end soon (which means finals) so i can’t necessarily say it won’t happen again. that said, i will try my best to keep writing and get more out.

if you liked this, and maybe want more got7 soulmate!aus, or even if you just want to see more of my stuff, i have links in my blog description to my most recent works and my entire masterlist! thanks for reading! -aly 💖

#jinyoung x reader #park jinyoung x reader #got7 jinyoung x reader #got7 x reader #got7 soulmate au #got7 fluff

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pendragonshoard · 6 years ago

Text

Riley’s Davekat Fic Rec Masterpost

Long post under the cut...

Davekat, Pre Retcon:

Paint the Roses Red - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck highschool AU

You can't love someone else, and you can't expect someone else to love you. Not when you can't love yourself. It takes a special kind of person to make you understand what that means, though, and an even more special person to help you embrace yourself. Sometimes, if you're very, very lucky, this person will find you all on their own, and they will never really know about the spell that they cast on you because you were too busy working your own accidental magic on them.

The Morning Dew Betwixt Thine Thighs - NSFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

You had thought he’d been so adamant about you coming over after school today to ask you out. And instead he gives you a fucking dick in a box and you tell him to take off his pants. Fucking great. Wow you suck.

Two Characters Encounter Alternate Versions of Themselves Doing Things and Then Proceed to Build up Amounts of UST Before Getting Over Themselves and Getting Their Acts Together. - NSFW - Meteor Fic - Multichapter - Complete

Instead of taking the bait, you store your sickles in your specibus and punch him instead. He catches that too, and forces you back against the table, knocking your book clean off the top, and pressing you into it fiercely. His sword is away too. Fucking how is this your life?

The next thing you know, his knee is between your thighs, pressing against your sheathe and nook, and you have a mouthful of Strider, pulling your hair. Your bulge tries to wriggle out, but the pressure over the sheathe is too much, and it's nearly painful but a humiliating pain and it's so perfect you moan and chitter into Dave's mouth, and he bites your lip

Lousy Stupid Goddamn Pretty Troll Boy - NSFW - Oneshot

John introduces his best human friend to his best troll friend. Maybe the three of them sit down to watch romcoms, maybe they're just hanging around a lab in the veil, but whatever the circumstance, Dave has trouble paying attention to the conversation at hand. Karkat is good looking and distracting and it's just not fair. Naturally, he begins distracting Karkat while John's talking. Little touches, lip licks, etc. Karkat gets flustered, Dave is thrilled, John is oblivious. It turns into a competition to see who can flirt the most without alerting John to their UST-fueled game.

Improvidence - NSFW - Series - Complete - Meteor Fic - Post Game Speculation

Oh, I Miss the Kiss of Treachery - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you would be damned if you were going to miss the Grimdark concert because of a cold.

In which Dave is the lead singer of a band, and Karkat has front row tickets.

Gray and Red - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Soulmates AU - Humanstuck

The flower—the flower, it's . . . it's delicacy and strength. There's an imperceptible fragility to the boldness of the color. It looks loud, out there and brave, it looks like passion and heat, but a cooler, more human kind of heat. It's striped with a paler version of itself that emanates an ethereal kind of refreshing springtime feeling. It is, to put it in a nutshell, fucking beautiful. In which you only see color once you meet your soulmate, and the first color you see is the same as your soulmate's eyes.

Finally Out - SFW - Oneshot - Post Game Speculation

The beta kids are released from the juju after a long time. Dave wants to see Karkat and is worried about him. After being gone so long.

Midnight on the Demon Patrol - NSFW - Multichapter - Updating - Demon Summoner AU

Fighting fire with fire is okay in theory but Detective-Summoner Dave L. Strider figures trying to summon corporeal demons to the mortal plane to fight other demons is likely to backfire spectacularly. Sadly for him his inner Knight gets the vapors at the thought of letting anyone else play guinea pig.

Yup, he is totally hogging the demon. What could go wrong? (Oh no, Dave, why did you have to think that.)

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures - NSFW - Oneshot - Heatfic

Karkat starts his heat cycle and Dave becomes more culturally aware. Best bros or not, desperate times call for desperate measures. Screwing your best friend? That's definitely a desperate measure.

Wherein our resident ornery troll spends about a bilunar perigee doing almost nothing but examine the specifics of his relationship with our favorite coolkid (the krabby 2 dope remix) - NSFW - Oneshot - Sequel to “Lousy Stupid Goddamn Pretty Troll Boy” - Karkat POV

You are Karkat Vantas, and you’re pretty sure a certain human is burning up your lifetime supply of chill. Not that it was a substantial amount to begin with.

Not Friends - NSFW - Oneshot - Sequel to “Lousy Stupid Goddamn Pretty Troll Boy” - Dave POV

You're still Dave Strider, and you're pretty sure a certain troll is burning up your lifetime supply of chill.

Dave has convinced himself that the thing he has with Karkat is about lust and only lust -- yet when the curiosity of his his closest friends forces him to examine it in more detail, he's acutely uncomfortable with what he finds.

Closeted - NSFW - Oneshot - John POV - John sits in the closet while they fuck basically - Onesided johndave

PWP AU Where John Is A Prankster But His Prank Lands Him In VoyeurLand.

I Don't Know What I Want - NSFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

It's two AM and you aren't sleeping.

Dave Strider's Stupid Fucking Jawline - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

“So Karkat has a crush on Dave,” Jade says.

You and John both choke on your ice cream. “Where the fuck did you hear that load of garbage?” you demand.

---

Generic high school AU. Dave's jawline is really distracting and Karkat does NOT have a crush on him (shut up, Kanaya).

I Just Wanted You To Marry Me - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

It's Dave and Karkat's 4th year anniversary of dating, and Dave knows he's ready to take the next step.

Curiosity Killed the Cat - NSFW (in the second part) - Series - Complete - No SBURB AU

Paper Hearts - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

This Valentine's Day just might be worse than all of the previous ones, because someone had been leaving you a paper heart every day for two weeks, and you STILL had no idea who it might be.

Status is Green, Captain Vantas. All Thrusters Go. - NSFW - Oneshot - Meteorfic

The first time you'd ever tried to fool around with Karkat, you'd gotten your hands onto his hips and then stopped because he'd started doing that thing where he breathes too fast then feels sick and gets dizzy and has to hide in his room because suddenly being around people makes him feel trapped. The second time it was you who'd backed off, wondering if he'd think you were some disgusting scrawny alien with too many scars and not enough wits to avoid earning them. He'd just pulled you against his broad chest and fallen asleep curled almost protectively around you. You couldn't look at him for a week. This time, so far both of you are still a green for go.

Post Retcon:

Your Interpersonal, Intergalactic Relationship: A Beginner's Guide - SFW - Oneshot - Meteorfic

A beginner's guide to playing hopscotch, overcoming internalized homophobia, and falling in love with your alien best friend.

Disclaimer: results may take up to three (3) years to appear.

Albinos, Deaf Baristas, and Nosy Friends - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

Your name is Karkat Vantas, you're deaf, and you work at a coffee shop with your best friend, Eridan. Also, some asshole named Dave is way too attractive for words and you can't seem to get your shit together enough to ask him out.

Ambigram - NSFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

His lips are soft and sweet. They taste like mint and wax and you find it kind of funny that you can separate the taste of his chapstick from the taste of his mouth. With him hovering over you for a change, he’s quick to take charge, tongue dipping down between your lips. You have yet to figure out if he’s naturally a total top or if he’s trying to compensate, but either way it’s adorable; you love it.

You love him.

Damn.

(Sequel to The Morning Dew Betwix Thine Thighs)

To Defy Gods and Devils - SFW - Oneshot

You're a demon, and he's an angel, and you suppose it was always bound to end like this, ironic or not.

Sugar and Spice - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck

You remember the first time you really realized you were fucked up.

You were five. First year of kindergarten, miserable as all fuck. The teacher told the boys to line up on one side of the room and the girls on the other. You don't even remember why. You just remember the result.

Within, Without - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

Dave just wants to be left alone. What's the point of anything when what's broken can never be completely fixed?

This is the story of Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas, on the longest journey of their lives.

Transstuck Davekats - NSFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

[Davekat have a sleepover]

I'll Write On Your Cup (Until You Ask Him Out) - SFW - Oneshot - No SBURB AU

"Yeah, well, that means your bestie over here has been writing pick-up lines on my cups for a month, acting like it was you."

---

The one where Karkat and Dave are oblivious idiots and you have to be the one to set them up. Obviously.

Sxyvaan - NSFW - Series - Complete - No SBURB AU

Karkat is a singer with a gorgeous voice and an affinity for simplicity. He’s got a gift for words, a love of classic things (like his ancient VW Beetle), and a truly magnificent temper, and he’s fluent in eighteen foreign languages. Dave is an ace at literally any instrument under the sun, with a master's degree in classical composition. He’s got a stupid-ass poker face, an unbelievably tiny apartment (which he rarely lives in anyways), and a truly magnificent collection of stringed instruments, and he’s a ridiculous idiot. How the fuck they ended up starting a rock band is a mystery to all.

How they made it to number one, on the other hand, is a mystery to no one.

Don't Forget the Sun - SFW - Multichapter - Discontinued but honestly still a very good read

Karkat Vantas always accepted the fact that he was not going to live past nine sweeps. It was just a certainty of his sad, miserable life. At least, that was until his friends found out and decided to hatch a plan to get him out of the Alternian empire. A plan that actually worked.

Now, he was stranded on an alien planet, at the mercy of some strange creature that was either trying to help him or going about some freaky ritual of flirting with your food before you eat it.

Also, aliens have sunglasses.

He was better off dying on Alternia, wasn't he?

The Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater - SFW - Oneshot - Meteorfic

Knitting, it seems, is one of the most dangerous skills that one can acquire. You lose sleep, your fingers bleed, your relationships crumble, you have to fight every iteration of Sollux Captor for the right to--

Why are you laughing? What, you think I'm kidding?

Of Heaven and Earth - SFW - Multichapter - Discontinued but again still a very good read

Dave Strider is part of an organization that eradicates evil creatures that kill humans for food. No one knows where these spirits come from, only that the sooner they are destroyed the better. That is his mission right now, to hunt down a weak new spirit before it can kill anyone and grow stronger.

Karkat Vantas is fucking dead, and if that wasn't horrible enough, now he's being hunted by some sword wielding maniac. At least there seems to be others like him in this world to help him adjust to this mindfuckery.

I spy - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Part 1 of a series - No SBURB AU - Rosemary in the sequel

You're just trying to get home, have a peaceful trip, stay as calm as a troll like you can until you get back to your moirail. All that shit. You didn't expect to make any lasting connections on the train, especially ones that live in your area. You definitely didn't expect to meet anyone quite like Dave Strider. Apparently the universe likes to prove you wrong.

Somehow after that train ride, he fuses himself into your life. Another stubborn fucking barnacle with an uncanny ability to inconvenience you at every possible moment. Even while sleeping. But somehow, despite all the trouble, you still feel like he has the potential to make your life infuriatingly better. And you definitely can't act on it or let him know. Definitely.

Perspective - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

ORIGINALLY TITLED: In which Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas are Bored as Hell and Eventually Grow Close to Each Other in Multiple Ways

Karkat wants nothing more then to be entertained, Dave can supply that entertainment.

A story of friendship turned crush between my favorite dorks.

Act one: complete Intermission one: complete Act two: complete Intermission two: complete Act three: complete

We Could Be Wonderful Together - NSFW - Multichapter - Updating - Humanstuck

There comes a point in every man's life when he must ponder the merits of marrying his best bro and roommate of ten years. Or maybe that's just you. Yeah, actually, it's probably just you.

Don't Tap On The Glass - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic - bonus smutty sequel

When Dave makes two terrible mistakes in the space of 24 hours, he finds himself dealing with them in a body that's not his own.

Astronomy in Reverse - SFW - Multichapter - Updating - No SBURB AU

Dave and Karkat are intergalactic pen pals, originally paired together for an extra credit school outreach project. Now, three years of correspondence later, they're best friends... and Karkat is finally immigrating to Earth.

how...did you tell your friends - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Earth C

Unfortunately, you don't fancy your brother's suggestion on how to break the news to John... There's no other way out of it, you're going to have to just tell him.

Thirteen And A Half Mixtapes - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck

"What is it? What is it?" Nepeta presses right up against his shoulder to get a better look. "It's a cassette." Karkat is dumbfounded, "Where the shit do you even get a cassette?"

"Is there a note?"

"No, nothing." He checks the packaging one last time. There's not even a return address.

"Any idea who would send you a cassette?"

"Fuck if I know." Karkat says, "Definitely not John or Jade, though I guess Jade might have access to one. But she would have covered it in stickers or something, not just left it blank. Sollux would have sent a disk, if anything. He'd probably have just emailed me a file instead of going to all this trouble anyway."

"Well, whoever it is, they really don't want you to know that it's from them." Nepeta is inspecting the tape, "This is crazy. This is like..." Suddenly, her big, brown eyes seem to light up, "This is just like a rom-com! A mysterious tape... From a lover!"

tank time - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck - Part 1 of a series

>User: Karkat Vantas Objective: Sabotage any and all customer attempts to purchase a live pet from the undermanaged retail hell you call a job.

>User: Dave Strider Objective: Obtain a cat before your sister's birthday next month.

Match: begin.

In Name and In Deed - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Dragon Rider AU - Part 1 of a series

“Two brothers face off for the year title in the relay division, against the infamous Scourge sisters all the way from ALTERNIAAAA! Watch these athletes defy the ODDS and the WIND as Ruby and Gold stand up to Turquoise and Aquamarine in a STUNNING show on the beach at mid-afternoon!” Or so the poster had advertised. Yeah right.

OR:

The story of the recovery of one Karkat Vantas, Colonel of Her Majesty's forces, after losing close to a fifth of himself in the war.

So It's Going - SFW - Series - Complete - Retconned No SBURB AU

The kids wake up on earth with a couple very... unique issues. Oh, and eventually there are trolls

Hard To Stay And Watch You Walk Away - SFW - Oneshot - Meteorfic

I thought too hard about scenes that happened in the GO timeline that we never saw the retcon version of and then this came out. The "will we still be able to be best bros" conversation re-imagined for post-retcon. Somehow Karkat is even more insecure. Also I always wanted Rose and Karkat to talk in canon so hey have a bunch of them too, thanks.

Dave Mutters to Self and is Gay - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

"Alright, bite the bullet here Strider, admit it to yourself. The first step to healing is acceptance. Or at least the last step of grief. Maybe? Why does everything gotta be an AA program, handing out steps left and right. Except instead of all admitting that we're middle aged men with an addiction to getting sloshed and beating our wives it's more 'Step 1: have homolust thoughts. Step 2: freak out. Step 3: who the fuck knows. Step 4: acceptance."

What.

“Hey wait shit is someone here?”

Fuck you said that out loud.

Red Ties - SFW - Oneshot - Soulmate AU - Humanstuck

Dave Strider's eyes never turned the color of his soulmates. With his rare eye-color, there's next to no chance they simply share an eye color.

One day he meets Karkat Vantas.

The Eurydice Suite - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - No SBURB AU

Dream-sharing. A highly illegal little industry in which agents delve into people's dreams and unearth their deepest secrets and memories. And the Strider-Lalondes are the best in the business.

Until Dirk Strider gets his fool ass trapped within the confines of his own subconscious, with his Auto-Responder playing malicious prison warden. To save him, it's going to take a team of the world's most talented dreamers to save him.

Backed by the token rich friend, lead by the surliest extractor ever bribed out of retirement, haunted by the shade of the l8est and gr8est agent in the biz, and on the run through a dangerous tiered dream in a hostile mind, it's going to take a miracle to pull this one off.

Oh Orpheus, sing to me all night...

You're So Fucked - NSFW - Series - Complete - Humanstuck - first part of series SFW

[Dave and Karkat reunite at a DnD campaign due to mutual friends. Shenanigains ensue]

For Who Could Ever Learn to Love a Beast? - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Beauty and the Beast AU

Karkat is just having an awful birthday. It's raining, cold, and he has finals tomorrow. Literally the only thing that could make it worse would be if some witch from six hundred years ago decided to come cast a curse on him that would make him into some ugly horned monster until he could find true love. If true love is even a thing.

Helter Skelter - NSFW - Oneshot - Post Canon - 2 Daves 1 Karkat - exactly what you think

Dave gets a visit from Future Dave, and between the two of them, they give Karkat the night of his life. Over and over again.

A Bump in the Road - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck - this will give you a toothache

After earning his Master's degree in education, Karkat can't find a teaching job, so Kanaya gets him a job as a toddler teacher at a daycare, much to his chagrin. Dirk is his quietest and most behaved student; in fact, Karkat has never heard him speak, and he's curious. What kind of person could raise such a child? And just how long will Karkat's patience last in a room full of two year olds?

Here We Pokemon Go Again - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck - Part 1 of series

Karkat and Dave meet at a Pokestop while playing Pokemon Go.

Karkat is a 25 year old teacher on summer break who really likes Scythers. Dave is a 23 year old (not so) secretly nerdy DJ who really likes Karkat.

OR Wherein Karkat and Dave meet, catch Pokemon, and maybe fall in love.

Coming To Terms - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have skeletons in your closet. Literal skeletons and a metaphorical closet. There's a lot to come to terms with.

In Which Dave has Abs, Karkat has a Nice Ass, Jake Wears a Binder, Dirk Has to Socialize, and John Wields the Power of Balloons - SFW - Series - Updating - Humanstuck - Multiple Other Ships

Also known as "When the fuck does John Egbert find time to fill balloons with shaving cream?"

Also also known as "Despite the title there's going to be a fuck ton more characters."

All I Can Taste Is The Sugar In Your Hair - NSFW - Oneshot - Post Game

Trickster Dave is a god damn treasure and no one can tell me otherwise.

Some scenes from the Rosemary wedding, but really, this is about Dave being high on cherub candy and really, really, really wanting his boyfriend to fuck him. (Not intended to be dubcon, but if you have issues with altered mental states or pushy partners in the context of an established relationship it might be not great for you! Take care.)

In Contrast - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - No SBURB AU

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are a mutant, a freak of nature with red blood, which is frowned upon. You have been safe for many sweeps, but now your eyes have betrayed your blood color and you have beem practically exiled onto an alien planet. It's a suicidal mission that only your superiors know about, and not one of your friends do.

You are captured and taken into captivity, where you are tortured for information and studied like a caged animal because your species is alien to these...To these humans. These awful humans with their needles and weapons of torture, trying to hear you scream and decipher a language out of it, to see how you react to blood of animals.

Eventually one of your friends hears of your capture and gathers a rescue team, but you have fallen for one of the humans there.

Now your friends don't trust you either. You have affiliated yourself with the humans who have tortured you, and they don't know if you are a friend or an enemy. Everything is so mixed up and screwed that you feel like vomiting your own blood.

Midnight's Son - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - No SBURB AU

Dave Strider's father, a prominent detective, is tasked with infiltrating the Midnight Crew. Dave, worried about his father's safety, decides to do a little undercover work of his own and tries to befriend the boss's son, Karkat Vantas.

If I Lose Everything In The Fire - SFW but its not finished yet so - Multichapter - Updating - Pacific Rim AU

The Kaiju - or Horrorterrors, as the trolls call them - first invaded Earth through a transdimensional rift at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Serving the Condesce in her quest to add Earth to the Alternian Empire, these monsters have terrorized humanity for twelve years. With the help of rebel troll factions and the adaptation of Alternian mind integration technology - The Drift - the Interspecies Defense Program has fought back as the last line of defense between the Kaiju and Earth.

Karkat Vantas was a Jaeger pilot, fought for freedom in the Assault on the Breach that brought trolls to Earth. The loss of his co-pilot left him bitter and full of rage, but desperate times have lead to him being recruited to join the fray once more.

Dave Strider is the best and brightest the Interspec program has to offer. Jaeger Restoration Project Head, highest simulation score on record, and younger brother of the Deputy Marshal - except he's not allowed in a Jaeger.

Nobody expects them to be Drift Compatible.

If I lose everything in the fire, I'm sending all my love to you...

Flight Recorder From Viking 7 - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - No SBURB AU

Dave Strider is a way-too-lonely transport pilot assigned to a high-pay low-stakes mission over the Christmas holiday. He's got a blistering hangover, a conscience full of nightmares, and an angry copilot. All he needs now is a nice bout of feeling worthless and-- well would ya look at that, he's got that, too. Time for takeoff, Houston, the water's just fine.

Or: In which Dave Strider discovers a modicum of self worth while stuck on a trip through foreign space, with a short, irritable, and annoyingly attractive troll as his only conversational partner for the next two weeks.

i'm at the combination dunkin donuts & urgent care - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

Karkat Vantas is convinced beyond a doubt that his neighbor is some variety of murderer, until they actually meet in person. Highlights include blood at the laundromat, Dave's weird obsession with candles, and a box of shitty swords.

I Love Cheap Thrills - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Part 1 of series

You’ve been trading memes with an international pop sensation, and your drunk ass had no idea.

Classic.

Disengage - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

In which Dave attempts to confess his feelings to Karkat through a mirror and ends up enlisting the aid of the Mayor upon realizing that mirrors do not, in fact, talk back

IN WHICH TWO SETS OF HUMAN BROTHERLY BONDS ARE ESTABLISHED, SEVERAL CORRUPT INSTITUTIONS OF MORALITY ARE IDEOLOGICALLY DEMOLISHED, A DOG WITCH USES GOD POWERS TO MESS WITH EXQUISITELY CAREFULLY PLANNED INFRASTRUCTURE PLANS FOR SOME TREES LIKE A JACKASS,-- SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Post Game - This one is just as much dirkjake as davekat

--APPROXIMATELY A BILLION FUCKING CONSORTS AND CHESS PEOPLE, ALONG WITH A LOT OF USELESS GOD MODED LAYABOUTS ARE LEAD TO SUCCESSFUL COLONIZATION AND ESTABLISHMENT BY A SUCCESSFUL AND COMPASSIONATE LEADER, AND LONG-SUNDERED SOULMATES TORN APART BY FEAR AND DEVASTATING, MIND-BOGGLING STUPIDITY ARE REUNITED AT LAST BY A WISE, COMPASSIONATE BOSS / GUIDANCE FIGURE AND HIS LOYAL, EFFICIENT RIGHT-HAND MAN. THERE ARE AT LEAST THREE CRYING SCENES, TWO KISSES, AND OVER TEN TOTAL MINUTES OF REAL-TIME DESCRIPTION OF LONGING GAZES AND TENDER HUGS. 2 RESOUNDING ENDORSEMENTS OF BELOVED MUNICIPAL OFFICIALS. PRIMERS ON HUMAN/TROLL INTERSPECIES ROMANCE.

THIS TEXT IS SUGGESTED SCHOOLFEEDING MATERIAL FOR ALL REASONABLY GROWN HATCHLINGS GAZING OUT ON THE BLIGHTED WASTELAND OF THEIR PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS, WISHING THEY WERE DEAD, AND DESPERATELY YEARNING SOMEONE WOULD CLUE THEM IN ON JUST WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

RATED 8(17)+ AND UP.

You Do Not Disappoint. - NSFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck

He's still staring at you, his milky red eyes are eerie, red in a different way to yours, yours are so brown they look a bit ruddy in some lights. They suit him, and there's so many ways you want to worship his body that he'll sneer at you for. This is just sex Vantas. Get your head in the game. And then when he's riding you he'll smirk down at you and say 'Wildcats' as you finish, and ruin it. You can't have nice things, because Dave isn't inherently nice. He's enough for you though.

It's not so bad. - SFW - Oneshot - Humanstuck - this one is just so sweet ok

A simple 'good morning' can turn into 'we'll get through this together'.

M.C. Escher that's my favourite MC - SFW - Multichapter - Updating - Part 1 of a series - Soulmate AU

Dirk has a plan, when he's 18 he's going to take Dave and get him the fuck out of their terrible lives and start over. Until then being the barrier between Dave and Bro is his only job, his soulmate is just going to have to wait goddamnit. Dave has a plan, it involves getting internet famous and not going gay, easy right? Karkat also has a plan, to repeatedly track down his dumb as rocks soulmate and get him to actually talk to him for fuck's sake.

Ever After - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Mind the tags - Humanstuck - Royalty AU

The job will be nearly impossible. Karkat Vantas - as skilled an assassin as he may be - has never been assigned such a high risk target. But the pay drives him to accept. He will kill the heir to the Dersite throne, and live like a king for the rest of his life. It should have been straightforward and emotionless. When he meets a peasant on the street and gets attached, however, he begins to question whether or not the risk is worth it when all he needs is Dave.

Who Are These Douchebags? - SFW - Series - Updating - Meteorfic - Post Game

Linked stories about douchebags being douchebags.

Doc Scratch's School for Supernaturally Gifted Adolescents - SFW - Multichapter - Updating - Humanstuck

One minute you get a mysterious message from a man who types all in white like a jackass, and then the next thing you know you're being whisked away to a mystical school for kids with superpowers. If you weren't Dave fucking Strider, this sort of thing might bother you.

A Stunning Tour De Force - NSFW - Oneshot - Earth C

"A triumph." -Dave Strider, about getting his dick sucked for the first time

They're definitely dating - SFW - Oneshot - Meteorfic

She realizes that Dave and she had been holding hands during their entire conversation with the trolls, and idly wonders what they thought about that. Probably just that they were clingy siblings.

Time Displacement: Side A - SFW - Multichapter - Updating - Post Game - Part 1 of a series

After the events of the game, Dave wakes up in a universe that is familiarly unfamiliar. Sburb didn't happen, all their guardians are alive, and Bro is...different.

Knight of Blood (finally) - SFW - Oneshot - Post Game

Ascending? Post-game? It's more likely than you think.

The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You've Known - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Part 1 of a series

There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Slow burn, shifting perspectives; romance really isn't the focus here but it'll still play a significant part; extra content warnings will be posted with each relevant chapter.

two for mirth - NSFW - Multichapter - Updating - No SBURB AU - Part 1 of a series

“Now about that gift I got you, remember how you’ve been all wistful about your concupiscent quadrants? Well I got you something to fix that.”

“What,” Karkat said blankly. “Gamzee no, tell me you didn’t get me sex toys.”

The good news is that it's not sextoys

The bad news is that it's a person.

Off Court - SFW - Multichapter - Updating - No SBURB AU

Your name is Dave Strider, and a hospital wasn’t the setting you had imagined when you thought of seeing your twin again.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and having Terezi drag you around her weird human legislacerator training probably wasn’t the worst way you could spend the rest of your sweeps.

And then you meet him.

A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas, Featuring A Multitude Of Illustrations By Your Esteemed Authors, As Well As Tips For The Aforementioned Wooing - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Meteorfic

Kanaya, because she's a saint, makes you a list.

The list is entitled "A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas" and features a multitude of illustrations in purple pen.

"So we're doing this," you say. Your mouth threatens to twitch into something dangerously smile-shaped.

"Yes," says Kanaya. "We are making this happen."

"Hell yes."

Just A Thing We Do - NSFW - Oneshot - Post Game

“Apparently, you inspired him to try initiating amorous… activities… over these stupid devices!” Karkat waved his phone at him, punctuating the accusation. “Do you actually just casually proposition Dirk while he’s busy with other people?!”

Jake shot him a wide-eyed look, freezing halfway through shoveling a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He slowly lowered his hand, blinking rapidly, eyebrows furrowing behind his glasses. “I -- well, what’s that to any of you, exactly?”

(Or, as I have been calling it, The DaveKat Sexting Fic. ENJOY)

Turnt Heck Godhead - NSFW - Multichapter - Complete - Part 1 of a series - Post Game

Dave Strider is feeling different. Really, everyone is. Steps seem to carry more weight, voices seem to echo more, bodies seem thicker and more full of life and comfort. Something is changing here, on this new planet, in this new universe. The cans of the town seem more real than the buildings of society ever did. And sometimes if you close your eyes and listen there is something like a chorus, or an echo, from a place where things are different--but not by much.

All at once, the feeling becomes too much to ignore, and Dave needs to find out what's happening. But doing so means coming face to face with his old sprite, now become something totally unbearable and unfathomably graceful and self-assured. And now it seems Dave's curiosity may awaken in this new being a hunger...

A hunger for the illest beats ever dropped in the history of paradox space. Beats that could change Dave, and all of his friends, in ways they could never have expected.

Welcome to Davepeta and Jasprose's grand venue: Good drinks, dim halls, chill beats and comfy bean bags The Turnt Heck Godhead is open for business as long as you're open to the feelings it can cause.

Meditation - SFW - Oneshot - Teen Titans AU

"Order is good. It’s balanced. Don’t think on the fly. Don’t try anything funny. You’re not that thing anymore. Not that person you mean. Can’t afford to freestyle. This isn’t a spotlight solo on stage. Don’t start swinging when you can’t afford it. Don’t you dare start swinging.

Focus. Zone in. Zoom in. Focus."

In which Dave attempts to meditate and things end badly.

Book Covers - SFW - Multichapter - Complete - Humanstuck - Part 1 of a series

Karkat has had a shitty life and has had to bust his ass for everything he has. He has no patience for spoiled, delusional, lazy people and this is exactly what he thinks Dave Strider is. They get paired up together for a project in their college English class and when Karkat accidently learns that Dave is fighting to keep custody of his younger brother Dirk, he learns that he may have been completely wrong about Dave and shouldn't have judged a book by it's cover. A story of two damaged boys coming to each others rescue and growing as people. <3

#homestuck #davekat #davekat fic rec #fic rec #definitely not all of them but this post is long enough as is #long post #My posts

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royal-writer · 5 years ago

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Confession

“how many love admissions do you need, Tiffany?” “yes.”

---

A friend had told her once never to be careless with her heart. She could never grasp the drifting sorrow ringing in their words, or the woes of their wandering eyes. It never made a difference to her. While others could lack a merciful heart, her own was always overflowing with it. The world wasn’t always kind, but she could be.

He made her more reckless. More impulsive than all the rest. Years of travel and hundreds of faces she passed, and suddenly the shade of indigo that painted his eyes was the first color she’d ever seen. It was unnerving. How could someone so filled with promise and amiability loathe themselves so much? For every step she took towards comforting his weary aching soul, he took two steps back. He was determined to despise himself and be despised.

In the end she had to run to keep up with him. Never once did she realize that for the first time, she was racing towards something and not away. Never understanding what the consequences could mean.

She struggled with indecision. His hands twisted in hers, the rough calluses of his palms and curling fingers unbearably gentle as he held her steady. She’d forgotten what steady felt like. She’d forgotten in the hollow emptiness that had taken refuge in her lonely soul what it was like to be warm. She’d forgotten the feeling of home which was a synonym for so much more.

Regardless of the butterflies in her stomach, she couldn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t dare.

But he was patient. Waiting with a silence more suffocating than soot and ash.

She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips with her faraway gaze seeing nothing in the horizon for her. “You are a nobleman, born of class and greatness,” she muttered. “I am born from nothing.”

He had the nerve to laugh. Even strained and husky, it was a beautiful sound.

“I am stripped of my title, and therefore as much a commoner as you are,” he corrected her; voice softening as he continued, “I am worth no more than you because of my heritage. And you did not come from nothing. That’s like saying those who came before you were nothing.”

Unconsciously, she winced. It was like being struck by common sense. She had personally thrown her ancestry; and more importantly her mother, under the carriage with that statement.

“You forget what I am, then,” she countered.

“I don’t care that you’re a Yuan-Ti, Essätha. That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change my feelings towards you, and it doesn’t change who you are.”

“I’ve stolen things before. Hurt people. I’ve…”

He squeezed her hands as her voice wavered, speaking in a hush, “You’ve done what you’ve had to do to survive. Who am I to judge you for that, with all I’ve done?”

Her voice wanted to rise in objection, but she bit her tongue. The only mistake he’d ever committed was a sin he bore heavily on his shoulders all his life. A child’s frightened accident. A young man who only wanted to escape. He had one hard stare lingering in his shadow most of his life, and now had another taunting before him.

But it was not a subject she enjoyed bringing up; dragging him back down into that crater that she took so long to help pull him out of. Sometimes he still sank back quietly in, and there was nothing she could do but offer a hand he wouldn’t take. She waited though, as long as it took for him to reach out and allow her to guide him back out.

She avoided the abyss by throwing another curve-ball at him: “People are going to say things.”

He scoffed. “Why would I care what anyone says? Aren’t you the one who said something akin to: ‘the only voices that matter are the ones we allow in our lives’?”

“M’lord,” she mumbled weakly. She felt helpless. Frankly, she was shocked too at his endless persistence.

He shivered in response to his title mouthed from her lips so softly. She could just barely feel it through his hands wrapped in hers. The grip he held on her loosened gradually.

“You doubt my authenticity?”

He sounded hurt and disappointed. She hated that wounded tone in his voice; and she hated even more that she was causing it.

She exhaled in a lengthy breath. “It’s not you that worries me, m’lord Amon,” she whispered, gazing to the front of his jerkin now. “I’ve… I’ve never committed to anyone in my life. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want my misdeeds or what I am to cause you judgment. I don’t want the darkness follows me to entangle you-”

“Essie,” the nobleman gently shushed her, quieting her ramblings. The pull of his voice was the moon, and she was the tide reaching for him.

“Those are assumptions. You’re trying to see the worst out of a situation that might be,” he swallowed; his voice thickening, “… beautiful. Something precious and new. And I, for one, don’t believe for a second that you; so full of light and kindness, would sabotage what we could have together. As… us.”

“If you don’t want me, tell me now,” he almost begged with hoarseness lacing his pleading. “If I’m not part of your future; something you seek, someone you dream about when you lay your head to rest, tell me now. I don’t want to pursue you if you aren’t willing. I don’t want you to grow loathing me for wanting. I would rather call you a friend, and be satisfied with having you in my life in some way, then to make you uncomfortable. If now is not the time you envision, I can wait as long as you need me to.”

“I couldn’t go on this life not expressing how I feel about you. You are a remarkable woman; strong, sweet, and determined. When I’m around you, I feel more whole and happy then I’ve felt most of my life. I’m charmed by your humor, awed by your grace, and enamored by your beauty; inside and out.”

“It fills me with pride to have walked alongside you on this journey, and I pray there’s much more to come. It amazes me that someone as gentle as you could care about someone like me, but I’ve never been so humbled and honored. Being with you has given me the will be be brave; as brave as you. I’ve never felt more sure of myself then when I say that I love you, Essätha. And I would be over the moon to prove to you, each and every day, just how special and cherished you are to me, if you’ll have me.”

Her heart hammered against her ribcage rapidly. His admission was sensitive and thoughtful, and made her inside quiver and melt. She was overcome by the sensation of weightlessness, or how the world seemed muffled like she had stuffed her ears to quiet it. Her head rang, her hands felt clammy, and she was acutely aware of his eyes on her.

He made her feel wanted, but it was more than that. When he spoke, he was assured in himself. Confident in his affection, comfortable in his touch and how he handled her. She was not just any maiden, and she was no damsel, and he treated her as neither. She was respected, and treasured, and listened to. He believed in her when she doubted. He longed for her bubbly joy and witty jests and smile in the same ways she craved his own.

She loved him unconditionally, but could she be enough? Was he worth it, putting her fragility on the line for him?

Her nobleman whispered her name once more, gently and filled with devotion. He was the tide now, and she was daring to step her toes in by raising her eyes. Directly into the ocean she tumbled; struggling, trying to catch her breath as the tenderness in the depths of his gaze pulled her down. Deeper and deeper she succumbed, motionless, unsure if she should struggle or allow finality to claim her.

Her lungs dragged for air. The air was warm. His smile was small but endearingly considerate.

She accepted the vastness of the ocean surrounding her; a safe and reclusive fortress. She accepted the sunlight filtering high above, the ripping water, the currents, the seagulls and sealife. She accepted the ebbing of the world around her. Never quite the same; rapids and torrents but also lulling peace. A sandy bottom. Hurricane storms breaking out overhead and sunny days. The wash of vulnerability swimming over her.

How good his hands felt, secured around hers. Hands she trusted. Hands she admired.

“I love you, m’lord Amon,” she whispered, holding his gaze now and cradling his hands. “So much. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anymore, more than I thought capable of loving; sometimes so much it’s overwhelming.”

His broadening smile distracted her as she continued, “I’ve never wanted someone in my life more than I want you. I’ve never felt so sure of someone’s loyalty, or more sure in what you say is true.”

“I am still learning,” she admitted with twinges of fear and sheepishness. “I will make mistakes. And if you are willing to be as patient a leader as I know you to be, then I have faith when I ask you to be soft with me, and my heart. I love you. I love you deeply as the infinite of space and time itself; or should either have an end, I love you surpassed those, too.”

“And I would be the happiest person to ever exist, to be able to call you mine,” she declared, tightening her hold upon his grasp to finalize her words.

Her nobleman sighed, and it was magic. Relief mixed with hope. In the tangle of their hands, his hold on her increased.

“I have been yours alone for quite some time now,” he rasped. “You laid claim to my heart long ago.” He swallowed; a nervous jump in his throat. “Your words sound a lot like a ‘yes’…”

Curling her lips into a smile at his caution, she nodded. “It is.”

He dropped her hands suddenly, and seized her into his embrace. A wheezing breath escaped her in surprise. His face in her hair, his fingers latched into her shirt, the smell of his cologne invading her lungs. He was everywhere all at once. Anchor and storm. Remedy and chaos. Beautiful salvation and whirlwind adventures. The tickle of his beard brushing the side of her neck as he nuzzled himself against her, buried his heart safely inside her own chest for safety and she too in return, tucked hers in a wedge behind his own ribcage where it would be guarded by a ferocity stronger than any dragon.

If this was love; true, untarnished, and gentle, she hoped it would never leave. He could be hers, and she could be his, forever.

#royal writes #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #the answer is all of them in every way possible

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katieskarlette · 7 years ago

Text

Before the Storm: A Reaction Post

I just finished binge-reading the latest WoW novel, and I have thoughts. Quite a few of them, actually. So here goes.

Short non-spoilery version: Game tie-in novels are never going to be high literature, but for what it was, I really enjoyed this book. I know Golden’s name has been mud around this neck of the internet lately, so this probably isn’t a popular opinion. The contrast between Anduin and Sylvanas as leaders--and as people--was interesting to see, and the questions about how the living and the undead can (or should) interact were incredibly poignant. There was only one significant lore development (at the very end, regarding a new variety of undead) that is easy to catch up on via a quick summary, so it’s not a mandatory read to understand Battle For Azeroth. But as a character study and a fleshing-out of the world and how various issues stand going into the new expansion, it was a enjoyable read. If you’re a fan of Anduin, Sylvanas, Genn, Calia, or goblins, definitely check it out.

Spoilers (as well as a mention of real-life death/grief) below.

I think sometimes fandom marinates in an echo chamber and, because of how seldom new canon material is released, we assume that because Blizzard isn’t releasing a weekly short story they’re letting unresolved plot threads dangle and fester. Sometimes they do, granted, but there were an awful lot of things addressed (or at least mentioned) in this book that fandom has been wondering/worrying/complaining/speculating about:

The leadership void among the Darkspear. The impact of losing so many soldiers and supplies in the war with the Legion. What’s been going on in the Undercity while Sylvanas is away doing Warchief stuff. The fact that none of the Horde leaders have families. The reaction of the Cenarion Circle to their losses in Silithus. The unpopularity of Gallywix among his own people. The confusion and cross-faction misunderstandings about the disastrous battle of the Broken Shore. The tension and lost trust after Genn Greymane and Admiral Rogers’ shenanigans at the start of Stormheim’s storyline. Moira’s son not being a baby anymore. The unresolved issues between Moira and Magni. Velen’s grief over his son. The fact that Tess and Mia Greymane exist. Theramore. Calia’s claim to the throne of Lordaeron. The long-lasting impact of the Cataclysm. The mixed opinions among the Horde about the way the goblins terraformed Azshara. Kalec and Jaina’s relationship. Lore from the priest order hall. And yes, the fact that Anduin needs an heir.

I’m not saying all these things are settled or developed, or handled in ways I necessarily agree with, but it’s good to be reminded that Blizzard hasn’t forgotten about any of these elements. (Wrathion, on the other hand... Sigh. Don’t get me started. Suffice it to say he’s not even alluded to in the book. Onyxia does get a passing mention in relation to how her scheming impacted the Wrynns.)

Anyway, moving on to the main theme of the book: life, death, and all the corpse-gray areas in between.

It was hard to read sometimes because of how raw the emotions were and how hard the questions were that it asked. I’m not sure that it would have the same impact on someone who has never grieved the death of a loved one, but for me it was quite emotional. I got misty-eyed in several places.

I found myself imagining what it would be like to see my much-beloved grandmother (who, by the time she died, was as hunched, emaciated and discolored as any Forsaken, although that’s not how I try to remember her) standing across a field from me. To be able to speak to her again, tell her how much I love and miss her, to tell her what I’ve been doing in the last fifteen years...yet to see her as a withered, pungent, unnatural husk, to know she’d been denied the rest of the grave... Faced with that choice, I don’t know how I would react. I’m glad I never will--for a lot of reasons!

The book never said that Anduin imagined himself facing either of his parents under such circumstances, but I’m sure he must have. (I mean, not that there was anything left of Varian to turn undead, but hypothetically speaking.) Anduin’s a very empathetic person, and his own grief over his father was still so raw. It certainly affected Genn, who I thought was written very well.

I’ve never been a fan of the Forsaken, because their dark, mean-spirited, nihilistic outlook and the corpse/bone aesthetic don’t appeal to me. (It doesn’t in other contexts, either. Give me cute jack o’ lanterns and chubby-cheeked ghosts for Halloween decorations, and skip the plastic tombstones and cardboard skeletons, please.) This book gave a lot of insight into what it would be like to be undead, without the need for sleep, cut off from any living friends/relatives, with a body that’s slowly wearing out without the ability to heal or do physical therapy, knowing that you are repulsive and smelly to others, making the most of second chances while also perhaps yearning for the peace of true death, and being acutely aware of how fragile you really are. It made the Forsaken more sympathetic and (excuse the pun) fleshed out.

I was also quite pleased to see acknowledgement of Forsaken who aren’t emotionless, gibbering eeeevil. My lone, seldom-played undead alt, a lowbie priest, is that kind of a character: holding onto the Light even though it now is painful to use, and refusing to stoop to being a monster just because she’s a walking corpse. That wasn’t a viewpoint that was really highlighted in canon before. (Of course, that means my little priest would be out there on the Arathi plain with a bunch of black arrows sticking out of her right now, so...)

I was disappointed that the book never mentioned Anduin bringing Elsie’s body back to Stormwind to bury beside Wyll. I’m going to assume he did, because geez.

I still don’t know where they’re going with the new Light-infused variety of undead, but we’re not really supposed to. It’s just a teaser and cliffhanger. There’s a lot of story potential, anyway. We’ll see. I’m glad they didn’t remove Calia from the story completely, at least.

Speaking of cliffhangers, if that adorable gnome/goblin couple didn’t survive, I’m going to be majorly bummed out. It was also interesting to know that goblins and gnomes can get married in canon. Presumably other cross-species relationships can be made legal, too.

Anyone who’s emotionally invested in the Menethil dynasty has sure had a rollercoaster of ups and downs lately. Yay, Calia’s finally in game! Noooo, she’s not interested in claiming her throne! Yay, she’s interested after all! Nooooo, she’s dead! Yay, she’s...undead? And she's totally cool with the idea that Lordaeron belongs to the Forsaken? (Which, I mean, it does, but it’s surprising to have her think that. So many forum threads about this stuff suddenly became obsolete...) And there’s a slim chance that her daughter is either undead or still alive out there somehow? WHAAAAAAT?

Oh yeah, she secretly got married to a footman, had a kid, escaped the Scourge, lived in Southshore for years under an assumed identity, and then presumably lost her husband and daughter when the town got Blighted (yet she’s okay with the Forsaken???), but we didn’t see the bodies so heaven only knows what plot twist could come of that.

On one hand (the Watsonian one) it’s a tragic, awful thing for her to have gone through and I felt really bad for her. On the other hand (the Doylist one), did she really need more tragic, awful backstory? No. No, she really did not. It seemed like overkill, which makes me suspect they’re seeding a plot thread for the future. Meh. Hey, if she lived in Southshore, did she know the Rogers family? Would Admiral Catherine Rogers recognize her as whatever her fake identity was?

On a related note, you’ve got Anduin who in the past was always like, “OMG noooo don’t compare me to Arthas!” and now is like, “Okay, Calia, I’m officially adopting you as my new big sister.” Oh, the irony...

I should address the rainbow-striped elephant in the room: There is no LGBTQIA+ representation in the book. Anduin is specifically mentioned as having been attracted to the female dwarf Aerin, and he expects to fall in love with a woman someday. Personally, I‘ve headcanoned him as bi, perhaps leaning a bit ace, while always expecting Blizz to have him marry a woman. I do sympathize with those who had hoped that he might be canonically gay, and I strongly agree that Warcraft badly needs more representation in that regard. In this book alone, it would have been so easy to have that blacksmith bringing a helmet as a gift to his long-lost Forsaken husband instead of friend. But we also need a major Warcraft character to be unequivocally LGBT. It’s way, way past time. Get on it, Blizzard.

[Edited to add: I almost forgot, another kind of representation I wish they had explored was that of physical disability. As convenient as Anduin’s Magic Lie-and-Bad-Idea-Detecting Bones are, why couldn’t he have had some negative lasting effects of being crushed by the Divine Bell? Chronic aches, maybe a limp at least? Loss of a limb, even? There is a narrative to be explored there, and as someone with a close family member who suffers from chronic pain and limited mobility it would be refreshing to see that kind of thing addressed.]

Moving on, I’ve never cared for Valeera Sanguinar that much, but I did like how she’s set up as Anduin’s super secret spy. I wonder if she gets to wear pants now.

Big ol’ meanie Sylvanas made Baine and Anduin stop being pen pals. *pout* I loved how Magni called her “lassie,” though. That takes balls of diamond, to be sure...

Speaking of the banshee queen, I tried very hard to read between the lines to see what their long-term plans are for her. Just because the last line of the book is Anduin proclaiming that she’s beyond saving, that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to try to pull off some kind of redemption arc. If anything it just draws our attention to the question.

Is Anduin right? A big part of his plot arc lately is how he’s finding his way, making mistakes and learning from them. Could he be wrong about Sylvanas? He saw potential for good in Garrosh that never developed, so it’s not impossible that he could find compassion for Sylvanas someday...if she shows remorse and a desire to change. And that’s an “if” bigger than the sword sticking out of Silithus.

I didn’t see any signs of her wrestling with her conscience. If anything, the emphasis on how some Forsaken do still have feelings (besides hatred, bitterness, and anger) condemned her all the more by comparison. Yet she does regret Vol’jin’s death, and she did respect him. And her feelings were definitely hurt by her sisters’ responses to her, and you have to have feelings to have them be hurt. But her lack of remorse for any of the vicious, heartless things she does, combined with her new penchant for killing her own people, doesn’t bode well for her to have a change of heart any time soon.

I also kept a close eye on Nathanos. In his short story they made a point of saying that his senses were sharper with his new body, and that he felt a pang of regret for the first time since his death. That could simply be an indication of his renewed state, or it could be a tiny sliver of foreshadowing that he’s not 100% on board with Sylvanas’ plotting. Then again, that was set before Legion, and he spent all of Stormheim frantically trying to find her, and worrying about her, and just generally not being remotely subtle about how much he cares for her. Heh. Then again, he can care about her (in whatever way the undead feel such bonds, that is) and still think she’s going too far with her ideas about the valkyr, raising more Forsaken, keeping them up and functioning indefinitely without the release of true death, etc. Interesting potential for conflict there, as well.

I don’t know that I even want to see a Sylvanas redemption arc, but it’s fun to try guessing what Blizzard has planned. And such a plot twist would alleviate some of the “Didn’t we just do this same ‘overthrow a bad warchief’ plot with Garrosh?” syndrome, and allow them to keep around one of the franchise’s most recognizable characters.

I was also relieved to find no evidence that Anduin is being corrupted by the Old Gods, Azerite, or anything else. He’s true to himself and the Light, as always. I appreciate characters who stubbornly insist that there is good in (almost) everyone, despite living in a world that does its best to beat that optimism out of them. It’s not blind idealism or naivete; it’s faith and its own kind of strength.

Sylvanas and Anduin are fascinating foils for each other. The stark contrast between a young king who is still finding his place and a bitter, scarred, centuries-old queen, someone who comes to understand that death is not always the enemy versus someone who digs in her heels and refuses to accept it, someone who wants his people to be happy versus someone who kills them for not agreeing with her... It’s intriguing.

Was it the best book ever? No. Did I enjoy reading it? Yes. Is it absolutely necessary to read in order to understand the story going into the next expansion? Nah. Would it have been a lot better with Wrathion in it somehow? Of course. ;)

And that’s my two cents. (Er, well, judging by how long this post got, more like $2.50.)

#Before the Storm spoilers #Before the Storm #BFA spoilers #rambling about wow

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infireation · 7 years ago

Note

Can i request 16 and 84? with whoever comes to your mind :)

16) “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”84) “The key is under the mat.”

Happy Belated Birthday to this beautiful boy.

Your mind was restless, your body tossing and turning at every hour, or so it seemed, the street light shining through your bedroom window taunting you through the blinds.

His smile, his laugh, his vivacious attitude that was always so full of life; you could not shake this feeling, this giddy top of the world feeling mixed with utter dread that was taking over you, all because of one impulsive kiss.

Jung Hoseok has been your friend for as long as you could remember, back to the days of elementary school when he was the only one who ran to your aid when you fell from the swings, pecking your elbow when you realized you had scraped it.

“My mom always told me kisses make everything better.”

He smiled so wide and so bright, that you almost forgot about the pain all together.

Or the time in middle school when you found out you had to get braces, hysterically crying on his shoulder, dreading how awful you would look, complaining about how nobody would like you anymore (even though almost everyone in school had them). You knew you were being foolish, but you could not stop yourself.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” he said, his arm hanging around your frame, hugging you close. “I’ve got braces, what does that say about me, huh? What, you don’t like me anymore?”

He shakes you slightly, indicating that you look up at him, the black bucket hat he was wearing shadowing his eyes and his lips protruding into a frown. You shook your head, placing it back onto his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I still like you.”

He flashed his large grin, the metal contraption taking over his teeth, and yet you still could not help but smile back.

“Then stop being so silly. If I can handle them, you certainly can.”

You could never forget the time in high school when he asked you to the winter formal, catching you off guard, claiming that “nobody else was as good of a dance partner as you”. When in reality, the way you saw it, was he was too afraid to ask anyone else, despite the line of people wanting him to. Sure, Hoseok was filled to the brim with confidence, but when it came down to it, he was just a boy with a soft, fragile heart.

With you he felt comfortable, with you he felt like himself.

That was the instance that really got you to thinking, with his arms wrapped around you as the music played slow, keeping in time with his steps. You could smell his cologne that you had smelled a hundred times before, but something was different now. You could feel the blush creep up onto your cheeks when he held you close, his breath brushing across your skin as he spoke.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he muttered, pulling you closer towards him. “You can relax, Y/N.”

Normally you would be able to, but everything about that night felt out of the ordinary, having felt the shift in the atmosphere, in the aura surrounding you two and it scared you.

You braved a smile, finally recognizing what had overcome you, realizing that you liked your best friend as much more for the first time in your entire relationship, and it was that feeling that has never left your mind since.

Fast forward to a few years later, Hoseok telling you he was going to begin training to become an idol, all of his hard work at dancing finally paying off. You watched as he tore himself down, his body worked to the bone. You supported him wholeheartedly as he debuted, watched as he grew and became so successful that he could not ever express and reciprocate the amount of gratitude he had, so thankful for every moment of this crazy ride, and he was never more appreciative than when you were by his side.

Herein lies the problem; Hoseok had invited you to come to his studio that night, excited to show you what he had been working on, making you aware that you were the only one to hear these songs save for the producers and himself. Not even Namjoon nor Yoongi has heard anything yet.

“I’m dying to know what you think.” he sat in his desk chair, black beanie on his head, barefaced and glowing, the sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled over his hands as he leaned into his palms, his elbows resting on his thighs. He was staring at you, inquisitive, nervous, waiting on bated breath as the song finished, the melody still echoing in your ears even though it was no longer booming through the speakers.

You were silent for a short while, contemplating the words to say other than “amazing” “spectacular” “wonderful”. Hoseok deserved more than such simple praise, and he was looking for more too, he always was.

“I sincerely think that this is the best work you’ve ever created, Hobi.” his eyes lit up, but you could still see the hesitation in his face. “I’m serious, I mean it.”

He smiled with a shy grin, not taking every word to heart, but he acknowledged it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, turning his chair back around to face the desktop screens. “But what do you think about this bridge right here? Doesn’t something seem off? The flow doesn’t feel right.”

No, nothing felt off; but you humored him.

“How so? The lyrics, the hook?” you stood up and walked over to him, placing your hand on the back of his chair. Hoseok glanced up at you, biting his lip as his eyes flickered back to the screen, fingers toying with the mouse.

“Here, take a listen.” He abruptly stood up, gesturing for you to sit in his chair, placing his headphones securely over your ears and reaching over you to hit the spacebar for it to begin play. You could smell his aftershave, the musk tingling your nose, a faint blush forming on your cheeks at his proximity. He remained close, only leaning back enough to view the screen properly.

The bass vibrated in your eardrums, your eyes closing when his voice appeared on the track, trying to listen as carefully as he acutely wanted you to. You did not know what you had to look for, this was definitely something more for his producer or the members to figure out, but he did not want anyone else, he only is asking you; so you do the best that you can, hoping it would alleviate whatever stresses he has.

The flow was impeccable, as far as you were concerned. The way his lyrics blended seamlessly with the hook and the addictive drawl to his words, losing yourself in the titillation of it all. Hoseok was a master at his craft whether he liked to believe it or not, and he never failed to surprise you more every day. It made you immensely proud to be his friend.

Then suddenly, it stopped. The music was gone, and only the silence of the studio remained. You could feel his breath on your neck, the hairs on the back of your own creeping up as the warmth swept over your skin. Your hands remained steady on the headphones, the only constant allowing you to keep calm. The energy in the room felt suffocating.

Finally after some seconds, you removed the headphones, twisting in the seat to face him. Hoseok was mere centimeters away from you, so close that the mint scent from his mouth overwhelmed you. It was hard to breathe, your heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“So, how about now?” He spoke barely above a whisper, his eyes scouring your face, recognizing and taking in every detail, until finally focusing on your lips.

“Uh,” you stuttered, unable to speak a complete sentence. “I honestly can’t find anything wrong.”

He sighed as your words trailed off, and you felt the short puff of breath, watching as his eyelids fluttered closed. His head hung low, and your gaze diverged all over him, around him, not sure of what to do.

“At least I can always count on you to make me feel like I’m invincible.” he whispered, raising his head to look at you again, the look in his eyes shifting to something you couldn’t describe.

It appeared to be a long time before either of you spoke again, the both of you staring at one another, drawn to each other like a moth to a flame, not cognizant of how close you shifted until you felt his soft lips upon yours, his bottom lip capturing your own with an idle pressure.

Your eyes were shut tight, your body swirling with emotions and your limbs stiff from the shock, this unexpected kiss something you had been fantasizing about for who knows how long, and it was finally happening, but you couldn’t relax.

It didn’t feel right. Not like this.

You pulled away swiftly, turning to face the other way, your fingers lingering on your lips that still felt warm, tingling. You stood up, Hoseok justifiably confused at your actions, avoiding his eyes as much as possible as you gather your belongings and head for the door.

“Y/N, wait, please—”

You did not even give him time to finish your sentence before you shut the door and left the building.

Now here you were lying in bed hours after it all, contemplating every word you have ever said, every action you have taken in your entire friendship with Hoseok, worrying for the worst and apprehensive that you had ruined everything for good.

Startled from your thoughts, your phone was ringing next to your head on your nightstand, Hoseok’s name flashing on the screen. You hesitate, not sure if you can even talk to him, even though he is the root cause of all of your troubles at this moment.

You suck it up and take a deep breath, sliding your finger across the screen, speaking in a hushed tone, “Hello?”

“Y/N,” Hoseok sounds breathless, and you can hear the noise of the city in the background, in spite of the time of night. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The sound of his voice calms you, allowing you to breathe a little more normal. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

You heard his sigh of relief, chuckling to yourself.

“Do you mind if I come over?”

There it was again, the racing of your heartbeat.

“The key is under the mat.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he talked, “Trust me, I know. I’ll see you in ten.”

You nodded even though he could not see you, powering off your screen when he hung up. You stared at the ceiling in the dark, trying to gather yourself before you pushed the sheets away, sliding on your slippers and making your way into the kitchen. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, filling it with water and igniting the flame, setting up two mugs of chamomile tea on the counter, leaning against it as you waited patiently for it to be ready.

Crossing your arms over your chest, your eyes wander around the kitchen, thinking to yourself how it needs a good cleaning tomorrow, mindlessly making a checklist in your head as the sound of the ticking clock in the corner echoes throughout the room. You were trying to distract yourself, but it was not doing any good.

Minutes passed, the steam beginning to form from the spout; it would not be long now. You fixed your stare upon it, absentmindedly hearing the click of the lock on the front door, Hoseok stepping inside as the kettle roared to life, the high pitched tone seeming so loud in the small space. You could hear his footsteps, his slippered feet shuffling on the carpet and onto the kitchen tile, the chair scuffing on the floor when he moved it to take a seat.

You approached him with a small smile, handing him the second mug which he accepted happily, placing it on the table after taking a sip. You kept yours close to your lips, allowing the heat from the tea to warm your nose.

You could feel his eyes on you, but they were not alarming, they were observant. Simply watching you as you moved, seeing the tea move down your throat as you swallowed, his lips tilting upwards as you crossed your legs in a nervous habit.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began. Your eyebrow furrowed as you placed your mug down, giving him your full attention now. “For what happened earlier.”

Ah, so he regrets it.

“It’s fine, Hobi. We were caught up in the moment, it didn’t mean anything.” You picked your mug back up, hiding your frown behind the rim.

It was his turn for his brows to furrow, his hands rubbing the fabric of his jeans on his thighs, nervously leaning forward. “Do you really mean that?”

You almost choked on your sip of tea, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense, his body radiating such agitation that it was practically infectious. You did not know whether to nod and agree, or to speak your mind truthfully.

With Hoseok, honesty was always something he was set on, and he expected the same out of you, considering the closeness of your relationship. You have told everything, been through everything with each other that it seemed foolish to do otherwise.

Alas it was much harder to speak about something when it pertained to the condition of your heart.

You could not be as transparent as you wished to be.

“Because I have to tell you, it sure as hell meant something to me.”

You felt your heart stop. You were frozen.

“Y/N, I wouldn’t have let it happen if I didn’t want it to.” He took the mug from your hands, placing it on the table as he took your fingers and intertwined them with his own. “Please, look at me.”

His last words were a whisper, and you could feel a tear escape. His thumb rose to caress your skin, wiping away the warmth upon your cheek. “I was apologizing because I thought you were offended. I thought I had scared you.”

You laughed, taking hold of his wrist as it still cradles your cheek, “If anything I scared myself.”

He looked at you, confused, and it caused you to take a deep breath. It is now or never.

“I love you, Hoseok. I’ve loved you for so long, and it’s been eating me up inside that I couldn’t tell you. So when you kissed me I just…” your eyes drifted to the side, glaring at a minuscule crack in the wood on the table. “I panicked. I couldn’t handle it.”

Hoseok remained silent, looking at every part of you, from the top of your head down to your bare feet on the floor. You were so beautiful to him, and here you were confessing something he has wanted to hear for years, let alone beating himself up for not saying anything sooner.

“Can I kiss you?”

He was abrupt, and it took you off guard, but before you could even speak he placed his lips onto yours, your eyes fluttering closed. Hoseok lifted himself out of the chair to stand above you, pulling you with him as his fingers grazed your jaw, his head tilting as he deepened the kiss.

Your arms wrapped around him, sinking into his touch, allowing yourself to succumb to every feeling he was providing. It was electrifying, sending shocks of vehemence throughout all of your limbs, tickling your heartstrings and expelling in waves.

Hoseok keeps you close as he pulls away, the hand which cupped your jaw skimming your skin and making its way tenderly into your hair. You reveled in the sensation. He smiles, appreciating the dust of pink that warms your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, kissing you softly one more time. “And I love you too, so much.”

Hearing him say those words, ones that you had always dreamed of, felt like nothing else in the world.

“I do have one question that has been gnawing at me for years,” you spoke up, Hoseok’s hands sliding down to rest at your hips, swaying you gently as he hummed in acknowledgment, prompting you to continue. “Why did you ask me to the winter formal, when you could have taken anyone?”

Hoseok’s eyes went wide before he broke out into a joyful laughter, head thrown back as his mouth opened wide. Once he settled down, he pecked your forehead, your nose, the apples of your cheeks before finally settling on your lips; but before he kissed you, he mutters along your skin.

“Because I was in love with you, even then.”

He captures your sigh of surprise, and you willingly give in, melting into his embrace.

If someone would have told you that the boy who kissed your bruising elbow as a child would become the love of your life one day, you would have laughed in their face.

If someone would have told you that the very same boy with the smile as bright as the sun and the heart made of gold would love you back? You would have told them they were crazy.

However it was true, it was all true, and that in and of itself was a wonderful, ludicrous, miraculous marvel, that you will never tire of hearing.

#jung hoseok #jhope #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #noonanet #100 ways to say i love you #bts fluff #hoseok fluff #hoseok x reader #reader x hoseok

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glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 7 years ago

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[24] Glitch in the System - Spaces Between

By E. Broken bridges happen. _

When they returned to the mansion that next morning, Akande spared them no moment of peace to resettle: Sombra had a pile of intel to analyze, and Widow was almost immediately sent off on another surveillance mission. They hadn’t even finished unpacking and she was gone.

It felt like ripping a band aid off a wound that hadn’t healed yet. They were too fresh; too fragile to send back into chaos, and while Sombra missed Widow terribly, she also knew that this was a feeling she’d either need to accustom herself to or seal herself off from. For the first time, she was worried - legitimately and truly concerned for someone other than herself, and while Widow was good, no one was perfect. Sombra was suddenly acutely aware of the danger the sniper walked into every time they set out on a mission, and that worry threatened to consume her.

Instead, she dug into her work, shifting her focus from internal moping to hyperproductivity. It felt good - a return to something she knew, something that had been her companion for far longer than any person, and was certainly less difficult to manage. After two full days, barely sleeping and scraping sides of the deep web even she found repugnant, she returned to Akande with some of her best work yet.

Akande was silent as he scrolled through the data she’d mined on the contacts he’d given her.

“Good work, Sombra,” he said, nodding in approval, filing the data away for who knew what purpose. He had his own motivations and Sombra was content to let at least a little of Akande’s endgame remain a mystery so long as it didn’t interfere with hers.

“Are you surprised?” she asked, smirking. Akande, for all his oversight and machinations, still didn’t grasp just how good she was. Some day it would be to his detriment; right now it was simply an opportunity to gloat.

“No,” he replied, steepling his fingers. “Just glad to have the two of you back.”

“Glad to be back at it,” Sombra replied, nurturing a familiar sense of self-satisfaction as she excused herself from the room and went on about her morning.

Widowmaker, apparently, returned the night before, but Sombra didn’t realize until they ran into each other at the coffeepot. Sombra had filled the basket that morning, so the brew was exceptionally dark and extremely strong.

“Good to see you in one piece,” she said, smiling warmly at the sniper. What she’d actually wanted to say was “I see you’re back, want to do unprofessional things to each other in the attic?” but at 7am it seemed presumptuous even to her. “How was your grand return to Talon duty?”

“Unremarkable,” Widowmaker said, her tone impassioned as always, but lacking even the small spark she’d fostered back at the chateau.

“You wanna blow this joint?” she asked, leaning against the counter, close to the spider without touching her. They hadn’t really discussed life after the chateau aside from the occasional joke or rueful recognition that their honeymoon was over. It occurred to her now, over the most awkward cup of coffee she’d ever had, that perhaps they should have.

“I have work to do, Sombra,” Widow sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “As do you.”

“Right, sure, but it’s not going anywhere. We could go, I don’t know - get gelato or something.” She reached out to touch Widowmaker’s arm, and to her surprise, the spider backed away from her.

“It’s the middle of December,” Widowmaker replied in a chiding voice Sombra hadn’t heard in over a month. Back before the shift in their relationship, she’d coded that tone as a challenge; a hilarious call to arms to push the surly sniper out of her comfort zone.

Now it just felt like a slap.

Sombra dropped her arm to her side. “Or not. That’s fine, too.”

Widowmaker frowned, looking conflicted and as though she were about to speak when the sound of footsteps called both their attention elsewhere.

“Morning,” Gabe announced as he walked into the kitchen, his arrival as ill-timed as ever. Widowmaker looked between him and Sombra, her expression unreadable.

“Morning,” she said, grabbing her mug and walking from the kitchen. She looked back once, gaze landing everywhere but on the hacker, before heading back upstairs.

“Hey,” Sombra said, glaring miserably into her mug. Data was so much less fucking complex than relationships.

Gabe was silent, regarding the coffeepot suspiciously before turning his eyes back to Sombra. Far from his usual disdain, he seemed concerned. “Are you two, ah,” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are we what, Gabe?” she asked hotly, acutely conscious of the faded red welts, courtesy their last night at the chateau, still gracing the line of her collarbone.

“Okay,” he asked, unfazed by Sombra’s curt response. He stepped past her on the way to the cabinet to pluck a mug from its depths. He took his time doctoring his coffee, stirring the hot liquid, adding his customary dash of milk until it was light brown and almost a drinkable temperature. “Are you okay.”

Sombra was caught off-guard by the man’s interest, eyeing him warily before judging it to be sincere. That fact coupled with her pre-existing discontent neutered any snark before it had a chance to come out of her mouth, leaving her bereft of her usual snappy comebacks.

“I don’t know,” she said simply, sipping her coffee and immediately scalding her tongue. “It’s rough coming back to reality, I guess.”

Gabriel snorted and Sombra bristled instinctively, but when he leaned against the counter beside her, holding his mug in both hands, his posture was supportive, not mocking.

“I don’t think she’s ever had a vacation,” he started, looking across the kitchen in thought as he spoke. His calloused hands were too big for the mug, making it look comically small in comparison. “Not in ten years.”

“That’s readily apparent,” Sombra said, smiling back on their time at the chateau. “I swear she’d have shot at a dust bunny if I hadn’t hidden her rifle.”

“I hear you nearly had an altercation with some local teens?”

“Narrowly avoided quadruple homicide. When I’m the voice of reason in a situation, you know things are bad.”

Gabriel chuckled, offering her a sardonic smile. “You’re smart, Sombra. Too smart, sometimes, and I’m not entirely sure I trust you.” Sombra looked at him askance, uncertain where this conversation was headed, but Gabriel cut her off before she could reply. “But you’re good for her, and I think she needs it.”

Sombra opened and closed her mouth several times, uncertain how to respond to such a candid admission from the grizzled man. “I - thanks,” she settled on finally, lacking more complicated words at that moment. It wasn’t as though they’d been subtle about it, but she still felt strange talking like this with Gabe.

Gabriel, it seemed, felt no less comfortable by the situation, and after a moment of silence, cleared his throat and pushed away from the counter. As he headed out of the kitchen, he paused as he stepped over the threshold to look back at Sombra. “Just give her time. I’ve never seen her...happy before.”

Sombra bit back a caustic remark about how that was his fault in the first place, opting instead for a casual shrug of agreement. “Yeah,” she said, avoiding eye contact to look down at the polished wood floor. Gabe stood a moment longer before turning to leave Sombra alone with her thoughts.

Despite the unfamiliar sense of confusion she felt, Sombra made it a point to at least try and reach out to Widowmaker. She did what she could to drag the spider from her lair, but Widowmaker was either absent, unresponsive, or so deadpan in her responses that Sombra had nothing to work with. It was like staring back in time at the creature she had been before their casual flirting had become a natural intimacy, and it took Sombra the span of a week to accept the fact that it hurt.

Eventually she gave up and took Gabe’s advice, giving her space, and letting time do what it did best. It wouldn’t be the first time Widowmaker had snubbed her affections. It was just that, this time, she actually cared about receiving them.

As was customary whenever Sombra felt uncertain about something, she dove back into her work. She hacked everything, from personal dossiers across organizations - the intel she dredged up on Satya Vaswani in particular was just deliciously intriguing - to banking records for international corporations. Unsurprisingly, corruption was a theme across almost every lake of data she dredged, and before too long, the catharsis of watching other people be horrible to one another wore off, leaving her tired and uninspired. Humans were so predictably terrible; so easy to predict.

Everyone but Widowmaker.

Swiping away her console, she gave in for the night, logging what useful intel she’d found and instantly forgetting the rest. The world would still be corrupt in the morning. She had much bigger fish to fry, and much smaller regrets with which to lull herself to sleep.

As she changed into her pyjamas, Toulouse meowed plaintively for her attention, and she knelt down to offer it to him in an effort to shed some of her malaise.

“You miss your spider?” she asked him as he purred and pressed against his hand. He’d grown so much in the short time she’d had him, from a scrawny stray into a lanky, healthy adolescent with big paws and a more agreeable attitude than a cat had any business exhibiting. Toulouse flopped down on his side, paws kneading gently against her knee.

“Yeah, me too,” she said, smiling ruefully down at the purring ball of black and white fur. Giving him a final pat, she pushed herself to her feet and crawled into bed.

As her eyes began to close against the beckoning of sleep, she heard the sound of her bedroom door opening quietly, soft footfalls against the wooden floor making their way to the other side of the bed. A moment later the mattress beside her depressed softly and a single, cold arm wrapped itself around her waist.

She waited what felt like several long minutes, until Widowmaker’s breathing fell in time with her own, and she was certain she was actually awake and not dreaming.

“Widow?” she said, staring into the darkness before her, the only illumination the neon ambient glow off her computer.

The spider murmured against her shoulder blade, incoherent but affirming.

“I swear to god, if you snub me for a week ever again I am going to hack your visor with the least compelling porn I can find.”

The sniper’s cold lips smiled against her back, and Sombra felt her grip tighten around her.

“I will not,” she said. Then, softly, “I am sorry. I - I still forget how bridges work sometimes.”

“It’s cool,” she said, and after a brief spike of concern dissipated, realized it was true. Grabbing Widow’s fingers between her own, she closed her eyes and smiled. “We’re good.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #sombra x widowmaker #widowmaker x sombra #sombra #widowmaker #amélie lacroix #olivia colomar #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fandom #fanfic #glitch in the system #glitchfic

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btsreactionsandtexts · 7 years ago

Text

Please Me

Summary: You’re an ER doctor, on the way home from work one morning you are tackled to the ground by a scared man. The catch? He is a rabbit-human hybrid.

Fic Type: Oneshot (Possible Series)

Pairing: Jungkook x Female!Reader

Genre: Smut, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,202

Warnings: Sub!Jungkook, HybridAU, Sexual Themes, Mentions of abuse, Mentions of sex slavery, and profanity

AN: So, here is this fic. If this is well received I am willing to turn it into a one-shot series with alternating female and male readers, I am also open to suggestions of which animals to do for each member. Also credit to @seokvie for the HybridAU inspiration (Seriously, everyone go read her fic Kittens got his tongue) and credit to @jeonjagiya for formatting and storyboarding tips on her blog -Admin Cat

Walking home from a long graveyard shift at the local hospital was bad enough especially when it was this late. You tended to be more on the paranoid side, worried that someone was going to grab you and psycho murder you. Which is why when you worked the graveyard shift, you made sure to drive to work instead of walk. Though, that plan flew out the window when your engine block cracked. Not only were you going to have to drop one-thousand dollars to replace the damn thing but, it would take a week for the thing to be fixed. That’s why you were walking home at four in the morning long after the clubbers went home and too early for businessmen to be attending work. You lived in what corporate monkeys called a “rejuvenation project” loosely meaning; over-priced apartments in a shitty neighborhood. You walked past several of those old factory warehouses on the way back to your apartment. Normally, there was the occasional creepy clanging noise or cat yowling.

Though, you never thought you would have seen something like him before in your life. The boy scrambling out of an abandoned warehouse, practically naked and scared. He crashed into you nearly knocking you off the sidewalk. His clothes were tattered, a pair of running shorts and a ripped t-shirt. You were maybe a block from your studio. You wrapped your arms around him on instinct making sure his arms cradled your head upon impact with the sidewalk. You let out a gasp; the wind being knocked from your lungs.

“Please, don’t send me back,” was his cry as he scrambled off you and towards the brick wall of a building. “Please, Please, Please, I’ll do anything!” You lifted yourself up and crouched beside him. You wondered if you should call the police, he could have been a kidnapped victim. That was your first thought, until you noticed something you missed in the initial scuffle. While the man was covered bruises and cuts, the most shocking thing to you were the pair of rust colored rabbit ears atop his head. He looked at you in a manic state, chest heaving. His jawline was sharp and facial features soft. He did kind of look like a rabbit.

“Okay, calm down,” you cooed you held your hands in front of you. You didn’t want to scare him any further than he was already. “You’re hurt, we should take you to a—“

“No hospitals! They’ll track me there.” He shouts and you are at a loss. You could take him to your apartment, you had a first aid kit there. You worried your lip, concerned about the trembling rabbit-man.

“Then come with me, I need to make sure you aren’t injured elsewhere.” You hold a hand out for him and he eyes it suspiciously. You try to be as patient as you can and are relieved when he takes it. Staggering the rest of the way with you to your studio. It is pretty plain, you can’t afford more than a one bedroom, one bath apartment. You unlock the front door and shut it quickly. He sags against you and you hurry him to your couch, grateful you got it at a thrift store. You move across the small space, heading past the kitchen to the small bathroom to grab your first aid kit. He sits on the arm rest of your couch, looking around quickly. His ears twitched as he took in the sounds of you moving around. You reemerged after washing your hands. You placed the first aid kit on your coffee table, slowly approaching him. You tilted his head to the side and examined him carefully. He had stopped shaking, which was good. You notice there is a string of numbers on the back of his neck. “What is 586-456-65?” You question after a moment.

“That is my identification number.” He stated, chin held high as you inspected under there for more bruising.

“Don’t you have a name?” you didn’t understand how someone could just be a serial number. They were people, he was a person. You lowered his chin and chewed your lip.

“Well, our masters are supposed to give us names once we are purchased.”

“Purchased?”

“Yeah, I was created for the sole purpose of pleasure.” He clarified, smiling gently at you. Was he a sex slave? If he didn’t have a name that must mean he hadn’t been purchased and the idea of that… selling another human being— he wasn’t even a human being. The idea made you sick to your stomach.

“So, you’re a…?”

“A hybrid. I was created with the best qualities of a rabbit. Stamina, Speed, and the ears tend to make buyers more interested.”

“Those are real?” You knew in the back of your mind that they were, but it was still a shock. You were however glad that he was talking to you, that he had calmed down significantly. You put a band aid over the bridge of his nose, he had a small cut there and then you placed another on his cheek.

“Mistress, are you going to send me back?” he asked after a moment, his brown eyes held glimmers of fear and anxiety. You closed the plastic container of first aid supplies and walked towards the kitchenette. You couldn’t send him back. He would just be bought and sold, used for nothing more than sex and that bothered you. It made you feel dirty.

“Call me Y/N, not mistress.” You corrected and set the box down. “You can stay with me, but I am not calling you by your identification number.”

“What should I be called?”

“What do you want? You get to pick your name.” You suggested. You wanted him to begin the process of becoming a more independent person. He needed that autonomy,

“I like the name Jungkook.” He smiled at you and you noticed how large his front teeth were. He was pretty cute.

“Jungkook it is.” You returned his grin and sat down in the armchair across from the couch. At least you were off work tomorrow.

“Y/N what do you do for a living?” Jungkook asked sliding closer to you. He could not help it. He felt this overwhelming desire to be close to you. Now that you had decided to keep him, his body was programmed to care for you, to please you. “It must be a stressful job, you’re very tense.” He pointed out. You suddenly became acutely aware of how tense and sore your muscles were.

“Oh, I am a ER Doctor.” Yawning, you stretched your arms over your head and groaned. Jungkook placed a gentle hand on your knee and you stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“I want to help you relax.” Jungkook looked utterly confused by your hesitance. Were you rejecting him? Why would his mistress reject him? You shook your head and walked to your hall closet where you kept extra blankets and pillows. You were way too tired to process any of the information Jungkook had given you tonight. Instead, you opted for sleep. Jungkook followed at your heels. The warmth of his skin was overwhelming even through the tattered shirt he wore. Tomorrow… er later today, you would have to find him clothes, also you needed to ask him what kinds of foods he ate. You were dog tired and all you wanted to do was remove the scrubs on your body and shower. Maybe pass out. You placed the pillows and blankets onto the couch and ran a hand over your face.

“You need to get some sleep, later I am going to get you some things to make you more comfortable.” He nodded slowly, he then began to strip in front of you, first shucking the white shirt off his body and exposing rippled muscle that you would have never imagined appearing on someone who had been in a warehouse for god knows how long. Startled, you turned away and quickly scurried to your bedroom. Once the painted wood closed behind you; you collapsed against it. No man, human or not, should ever look like that. No! You couldn’t think of him that way. That disregarded what he went through. What he could have gone through. He was a person not a piece of meat. You shrugged your scrubs and tossed them on the floor next to the dirty clothes hamper. You had been meaning to take your laundry to the laundromat, but with all the double shifts and graveyards at the hospital you had no time. You unclasped and tossed your bra to the floor and flopped down into your bed with a groan.

It had now been eight months since meeting Jungkook. The first few nights he slept on your couch, plagued by nightmares of beatings. He would crawl into bed with you, most of the time naked and you learned quickly that you too needed to stop sleeping in just panties. Now he slept in bed with you regularly, leading friends to believe he was your boyfriend. He kept his ears covered most of the time and you were grateful. You worried that if anyone saw them… you feared they would take him away from you. The mysterious organization that he ran from. The once timid rabbit-man had blossomed into a doting[CN1] and amusing companion. Jungkook liked video games and movies. He liked to eat strawberries and especially loved lettuce wraps and shredded carrots. He did eat meat on occasion, but he typically preferred veggies over meat. He tended to leave dishes out on the kitchen counter instead of washing them, which bugged you to no end. He knew how to make you laugh and liked to run warm baths for you and he tried his hardest to cook for you. Jungkook liked it when you had your friends over and tended to be on the competitive side. It was good to see that he was less skittish.

Jungkook was still as eager to please you as when you first got him. However, you treated him as if he were fragile. One night you came home to the sound of him in the shower, groans leaving his lips. Concerned you cracked the door, it hadn’t appeared to you that he had fallen. You were instead greeted with the sight of his back turned to you, it was clearly obvious what he was doing. You kind of understood where he was coming from, ever since his arrival, you had not been able to get off. That’s right. Eight months, Eight long… dry… months. In truth, you were a bit envious of him. It was easy for him, easy for Jungkook to just shower and be done with it. It was harder for you, harder because you worked so much. He was sweet and kind. You wouldn’t deny that you thought of Jungkook often, but you refused to take advantage of him.

“You look tense.” Came the sly voice of one Kim Taehyung. You stood at the nurse’s station, looking over the chart of a ten-year-old boy, he came in presenting with abdominal pain, fever, and vomiting. You figured it was appendicitis, which meant you needed to get a hold of the general surgeon on call. You had just paged for general when the spry brunette walked over to where you were standing, he slid a cup of coffee over to you. “Boyfriend not satisfying you?”

“Not my boyfriend and I am plenty satisfied, thank you.” You didn’t even look up from the chart. He scoffed. You flipped the chart shut and took a sip of coffee, finally eyeing Taehyung in the eye. He had a satisfied smirk painted across his lips and you fought the urge to wipe it off his face. You leaned back on counterspace eyebrow arched.

“I mean, you aren’t fooling anyone Y/N, you bitched out that intern the other day for no reason other than forgetting to grab a specific kind of suture kit,” He began “One only you prefer.” Taehyung nudged your hand with his pen. Okay, that was unfair. Taehyung on numerous occasion had bitched out several interns. The only reason he hadn’t been doing it lately was because he was sleeping with your favorite intern: Park Jimin. You roll your eyes at him and go back to looking at charts and discharge forms.

“Do you have an off button or is sucking dick the only thing that could get you to shut up?” You quipped and he gasped in faux distress. You didn’t need to deal with this. You reached for your cup but before you could, Taehyung grabbed the sweet caffeine from your reach.

“What I giveth, I taketh away.”

“Taehyung, please give it back.” You whined and he shook his head.

“Coffee is reserved for my friends, now as your fellow attending I demand you go home and get laid.” Taehyung declared, swinging the sweet relief of coffee in front of your face.

“Tae, it’s not like that…”

“Do it. Your shift ends in an hour.” He set the cup down in front of you to attend to another patient, making thumbs up at you as he left. You handled a few more patients before heading home. You headed out to your car, wondering what Taehyung expected you to do. You worried about it all the way back to your apartment. You wondered what Jungkook was doing, your question was answered when you entered your apartment. You make a beeline for your bedroom when you hear the sound of him moaning again. You can no longer deal with it anymore. You open the door quickly, letting it knock on the door jamb with a thunk. Jungkook stops for a brief moment and you look at him in all his naked glory. His chest is covered in sweat and his skin is flushed however, the ears on the top of his head are what your eyes linger on. They are twitching madly. He whines as you gaze over him, cock twitching under your gaze.

“Please, please touch me.” He keens his hand tightening in the sheets. You are in we at the sheer will he is displaying. “Y/N please.” You think to yourself, why does he deserve to be touched? The man who gets off every time he is alone. The man who has denied you pleasure for eight months. So, you stand against the wall, eyes watching him as he slowly drags his fingers up and down his cock with his left hand, his right still twisting into the sheets as hard as he can. You quickly remove the scrubs off your body, your bra next, though you do leave your panties on. You walk over to the bed slowly, a lion stalking its prey as cliché as that sounds.

“Why?” You question, fingers dancing across his ankle and up his leg.

“What?” He flinches away in surprise at your touch. You continue to move your fingers up his right leg. A whine emerges from the back of Jungkook’s throat and you feel wetness grow between your legs.

“Why should I touch you?” You repeated, you knew that you were technically touching him but, you weren’t touching him where he desperately needed you to touch him. He lifted his hips up and you tried to keep the façade up. You wanted very desperately to wrap your hand around his cock.

“Y/N, please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. I promise. I’ll fuck you so good. I’ll eat you out for hours. I have the stamina I promise.” It was strangely hot to see him beg like this. You closed your eyes and tried to keep your composure. You were satisfied with his answers though. You acquiesced his request by wrapping your hand around his cock. The sound that left him had you nearly coming in your panties. Jungkook’s hips lurch up into your hand and you finally begin to give into his and your desire. Jungkook is keening and gasping as you move your hand up and down his cock, making sure to twist your hand around the head of his cock every time you fisted upward. His hands are seeking purchase anywhere and you have to chastise yourself for the impatient thoughts running through your head.

“Jungkook, you’re doing so well.” You coo as you lean forward to press a kiss to his neck and up his jaw. He is moaning loudly and you press your lips over his to silence the moans while you shimmy your panties off your hips. He can smell your arousal and his cock twitches again in your hand.

“Y/N you smell so good.” He says after pulling his head away from yours.

“You better hold up on your end of the promise Jungkook, because I cannot wait any longer.” Normally, you would have drawn this out, made him work for it more. You couldn’t wait any longer though. Eight months with no sex and your patience was at zero. You forwent a condom, glad for once you invested in that arm injection. You straddled him slowly running the head of his cock over your slit before sinking down on him with a sigh. You hadn’t felt so full in years and you rocked your hips against him slowly. He continued to let out choked moans as you rode him, thighs burning from the exertion.

“Can I touch you?” Jungkook asked breathily, you nodded and his hands gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over and onto your back. You didn’t have it in you to be angry or to keep the façade up when he was fucking you this good. Your hands sought purchase on his shoulders as you cried out.

“Fuck, Jungkook!” you dug your nails into his skin and he relished in the pain. His fingers found your clit and he rubbed furiously trying to get you off as quickly as possible. Your walls clenched around his cock. The sensation of being so filled up, coupled with his fingers on your clit were electrifying. “You feel so thick, move faster, fuck me harder.”

“I’m going to come, can I please come?” While normally you would be disappointed and unamused by the fact that he was going to come so fast. Though you took into consideration that he had been so close to coming when you found him this evening. He was trying his hardest to do what you ask, to fuck you harder and faster. “Please, I can’t hold it anymore.”

His fingers pressed harder into your clit and you shuddered, tightening so hard around him. “Come Jungkook. Come for me.” His resolve snapped at those few words and he shot his load inside of you, stilling almost completely before collapsing on top of you.

“Y/N did you finish?” Jungkook asked, his sweaty skin sticking to yours. He looked up at you from the tops of your breasts where his head lay, his ears tickling the skin of your neck. You shook your head and he wiggled his nose in disdain. “I can fix that.” He slid down your body and nudged your thighs apart, head soon burying between your thighs and you gripped the silky brown locks of his hair, occasionally brushing his ears as you gasped and moaned.

#bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #namjoon #taehyung

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