#it's very under the surface yet you can still palpably feel it pouring off him

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 8

A/N: Is it time for some much need talking? Hmm....perhaps. As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: drug and alcohol mentions; slight language 

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

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You drifted in and out of sleep that night, waiting up several times due to the jolt of a startling nightmare. At first you almost forgot where you were or what was going on - why were you asleep on the couch? But it hit you like a ton of bricks; Frankie Morales was currently asleep in your bed. 

A few times throughout the night you’d gotten up and stretched your stiff bones and wandered to the bedroom door, opening it just a crack to peek inside. Each time, Frankie was fast asleep with Daisy next to him. It caused you to relax a little, knowing that he was okay, and you needn’t worry about an overdose or anything like that. But it didn’t ease the pain of seeing him again or knowing that he was struggling with an addiction...or something.

The universe had put an odd situation on your plate. 

Once you couldn’t sleep any longer, and had gotten tired of lying on the couch, which it had turned out was not an ideal sleeping situation, you made your way into the kitchen to start breakfast. You weren’t even sure what to do really, but it was a bit of normalcy to offset your otherwise shaken up routine. 

As soon as you started the coffee, something that was an absolute necessity, you’d left messages for your clients apologizing for the early call and canceling their appointments due to a last minute emergency. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind. As the coffee percolated filling the kitchen with warmth and the delicious smell, you reached into the fridge and started pulling eggs, bacon, and other items to make breakfast with. Grabbing a bowl and a pan, you quickly settled on pancakes, wondering if they were still his favorite. He’d always loved them when you were younger and on more than one occasion had your little date nights ended in a small 24-hour diner, where’d he chow down on them. 

The memory made you smile,  as you recalled one particular time when he eagerly topped off his pancakes with fresh fruit and whipped cream, which had gotten on the corners of his mouth. You’d reached over and wiped the whipped cream away, licking it clean from your own finger. It seemed like yesterday, even though it was so long ago. 

Sighing, you pushed the memory away and carried on preparing the batter and throwing some bacon into the oven. As soon as your coffee pot signaled that it was done, you grabbed your favorite mug, followed by another and poured the black coffee in. You finished yours off as you liked, topping the other off with a sprinkle of cinnamon. It amazed for a mere fraction of a second just how well you still remembered the things he liked. But your amazement was quickly cut short when you heard a quiet throat clear from the opposite side of the counter. 

“H-hi,” he said quietly, almost tentatively as he seemed to look anywhere but your eyes. You took the cup you had prepared for him and set it down in front of him, motioned for him to take a seat at the bar. 

“You look like hell,” you commented as he sat and clutched the steaming cup between his hands. He made a small sound of agreement as you turned back to your pan and poured some batter in, “I made it how you used to like it....I presume it’s still the same?”

“Yeah,” he said as he put the mug to his mouth and took a long sip, “thank you.”

“Mhmm,” it was a small, noncommittal sound as you focused your attention on the pancakes and eggs. Daisy came over and you offered her a treat before getting her into the backyard and preparing her breakfast. The tension in the air was palpable and you could see that Frankie was eager to say something. But he didn’t dare to be the one that broke the silence. Gods knew you were just as eager to say something, a lot of things honestly, but all of that could wait for now.

Once everything was finished, you grabbed two plates and piled them high with a spread of items, topping them off with some fresh berries on the side. Daisy had been a good girl, clambering between the two of you, so you offered her a piece of bacon and a few berries, which she eagerly took and ran off with and  into her bed to eat. 

Handing a plate to Frankie, you set down your own, as far away from him as possible at the small bar. It didn't create a huge divide between you, but the point came across loud and clear.

The two of you ate in silence for some time, the only sound in the kitchen was the scraping of utensils and a few small huffs from Daisy. She gave you an almost pathetic look a few times, and you just rolled your eyes at her. You knew she wanted to be out and in the company of others; once she'd overcome her initial fear of people, she thrived in attention.

"Oh hush," you told her before passing her another strip of bacon, "we'll go for a walk later, good girl. Or maybe you can go play  with Eddie."

Frankie remained silent as he watched you, doing his best to keep a smile from stretching across his features. But you were too quick and caught him staring.

"I've been bringing her into the office with me every day," you explained, "she likes being around the people and they often find just as much comfort in her. It's a win-win really."

"Hmm," he commented as he shoved another bite in his mouth, "office? W-what kind of office?”

"Yeah," you said softly, "I, ugh...I'm a therapist.” 

He caught your eye and offered you a slightly confused look. Never once had you ever mentioned wanting to be a therapist. In fact, you had wanted to avoid anything you had once deemed similar to your parents as a big no. Coming from a surgeon and a doctor wasn’t a far stretch from a therapist. When the barista at the coffee shop had referred to you as ‘doctor’, he had envisioned...many other things. This was very similar to things you had proclaimed you'd never wanted to be, "oh. I thought you wanted to be a zoologist. That’s what you always wanted to...study animals. UCLA-"

"Yeah," you cut him off sharply, "I did once. In another lifetime. I had to make decisions back then.. Ones I didn't think I'd make or have to make. I thought things were going to play out in a very different way but the joke was on me, right? So, here we are. I'm good at my job and it just...worked out."

"But do you like it?" he asked tentatively as you narrowed your eyes at him. No one ever really asked you that...it was just sort of assumed that you did, or if you didn't, that didn't matter one way or another..

"What does it matter, Francisco? A job is a job," you almost snapped at him, "but yes. For the most part I enjoy my job. I'm glad to be helping people that need it.”

"It just didn't seem like something you wanted to do..." he trailed off softly.

"Well, I also didn't think I'd go to college alone and have to make an entirely different series of choices. I didn’t think you’d just leave me and go into the military - and you were going to leave me in the dark about as long as you could. Remember that?" you knew it was a dig, the lowest of blows, but in that moment you didn't care. Things had ended a long time ago and at the end of the day, it didn't matter anymore, "because I do. So yeah, my life plans changed. But you know about that just as well. How did that work out for you?!"

You hated yourself in that moment, and as soon as the words left your mouth you wished you could take them back. You hated how much venom was lacing your words, how angry you still were with him. It was twenty years worth of pain and hurt bubbling to the surface all at once. And yet - the look on Frankie’s face was enough to make your heart break. Sighing lightly, you tossed the fork onto your plate and slid out of the bar stool. Tears were prickling at the back of your eyes as you held up your hands in surrender, lips trembling slightly. You tried to slick past him, but he reached for your arm to try and hold you back, "honey-"

"I gotta go," you said, pulling out of his grasp as motioned for Daisy to follow you. Nervously looking between the two of you, she trotted over and perked up slightly when you grabbed her leash, "I-I'll be back. I’m sorry.”

You dashed out the door as swiftly as possible, letting it shut softly behind you as Frankie stared at it, a heavily, weary sigh escaped his own lips. Setting down his own fork, he pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry. He wasn’t mad at your words, or the spite you still held for him. If anything it made him hurt just as much. He’d always been confused on why and when you finally decided to cut your ties with him, but he never blamed you. If the roles were reversed he might have done the same. But he’d never hated you for it. He could understand why you did what you did. He was just Frankie after all, he wasn’t worth waiting around for you. Just because he’d never let you go, didn’t mean he expected the same of you.

Standing up, he picked up his own plate, followed by yours and brought them to the sink. Turning on the tap, he set everything under the warm water to soak before quickly deciding to just clean up the kitchen then and there. It was the least he could do. Frankie carefully put everything away, making sure everything was going into what he was sure were the proper spots before loading the dishes into the empty dishwasher. He stopped himself when he reached for your empty coffee mug, holding it delicately in his large hands as he examined. It was a soft yellow, covered in little flowers and beehives and bees. A forlorn little smile crossed his features as he decided to hand wash the mug, drying it with the utmost care before putting it away in the cabinet.

The whole process to getting everything clean again took him some time, but by the time he was satisfied with his handiwork you still weren’t back from your walk with Daisy. It gave him pause to wonder if he should just head home or if he should wait for your return. Eventually he decided to opt for the latter, figuring it would be rude to just run out on you. If nothing else, he’d thank you for the help from the previous evening and then leave, but a smaller part of him hoped that you’d ask him to stay. To talk. There was a lot to talk about after so many years. 

And yet - there was nothing. The relationship was done. Ended. Nothing. 

He went back down the hall to straighten your bedroom up and gather his shoes, but he trekked slowly, taking a moment to study all the pictures on your walls. Some of it was more or less generic artwork, some were photos of you with friends and family over the years. He had admired each of them, how you had changed from the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with to the still beautiful woman he was infatuated with. It was amazing to him that you still looked the same after all this time - the same soft eyes, the same sweet smile, the aura of kindness that seemed to follow you everywhere. He was nothing like he once was, not in his mind anyway, instead of ragged and worn out. A sight for sore eyes.

Shaking his head to himself, he finished the walk back to your room and began to tidy up, making it a point to keep away from anything that looked personal. But in his keen attempt to make your bed, he accidentally knocked over what liked a journal from your nightstand. Groaning at his carelessness, he picked it up and attempted to set it back, but instead,  a couple of photographs fell out of it. He swooped them up and curiosity got the better of him as he studied the pictures intently.

They were of you - you and him. 

One of them was from one of the winters you shared together, the two of you were bundled up in thick jackets and scarves, Frankie’s old beanie on your head, with the skating rink visible in the background. You both looked so young, so carefree, so happy. You were smiling for the camera but his eyes were slowly focused on you, the grin on his face speaking volumes. 

The other one was from Halloween, and the two of you were dressed up as Morticia and Gomez from the Adams Family. Your feeble attempts at costumes had been laughable, but the joy in your faces was undeniable. This time he was smiling for the camera, an arm wrapped tightly around, but you were looking at him as though he was your whole world. 

You had kept the photos after all these years. He let out a long breath before tucking them back into the journal and setting it back on your nightstand. As he finished making up the bed and slipping his shoes back on, he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Daisy’s footsteps. She eagerly nudged open the door and wagged her tail at him, trying to get his attention for pets. 

"Frankie?" your soft voice reached his ears as he gave Daisy a nervous look before slipping out of your bedroom. He stood in the hallway, nervously twist his hat in his hands as you stood at the other, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Hey," he softly as you just nodded. The two of you stood there for a moment, silently staring at each other. When you didn't say anything he started walking down the small way, "I should go..."

But before he could slip past you, you reached out and grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly firm, but gentle, manner. He turned and gave you a confused expression, "stay. W-w should talk...instead of just running every time we see each other."

"Okay," he agreed as you gave him a momentary smile before leading him outside, to the small little backyard sanctuary you had created. It was crisp and cool, the promise of fall and new hope with the changing season lingering in the air. Daisy was close at hand, bringing out a toy to play with as sat down at the patio table, Frankie taking a seat at the other end of the table. It was silent for some time before you finally mustered up the courage to talk to say anything.

"I'm sorry for earlier," your voice was quiet but Frankie heard you loud and clear, "I shouldn't have exploded like that at you. It wasn't fair."

"'S okay," he insisted. In his mind he deserved a lot more than just a few angry words. A new silence loomed over you as you watched your dog run around play, easily keeping herself amused.

"I was supposed to get married," you blurted out suddenly and Frankie's attention was hyperfocused on you, his deep brown eyes trying to decipher every expression, "in a few weeks actually."

"Oh," he said casually as he if hadn't noticed that you weren't sporting the huge engagement ring you had been wearing when he first ran into you again, "I-I figured...the ring and all."

"Yeah," you said with a scoff, looking over at him and rolling your eyes dramatically, "was going to. Completely dodged a bullet with that one."

"W-what happened?" he wouldn't deny that the fact that your engagement ended instilled a small sense of hope in him, "if you don't mind me asking..."

"A lot of things, honestly,” you shrugged lightly. It wasn’t a complete lie...there were a lot of factors that ultimately led to your decision. The fact that Frankie had appeared out of the blue, out of nowhere, was just another incidental happenstance that seemed to jog you into making the decision. But you weren’t about to admit that to him...not yet anyway, “I basically realized I was unhappy...that he was everything I never wanted and the life I was leading was the one I had wanted to avoid for so long.”

“Oh,” he completed quietly as you threw up your hands in exasperation, more at yourself than anything else. It was just…a hard situation. It wasn’t easy for anyone and with Frankie right there next to you it was hard not to picture a life with him. What would it all have been like if he had been the one?

“I was becoming...became everything I hated,” you laughed dryly at yourself, casting a quick glance over at him as he was watching you intently, “all those things I said I never would be. I ended up being them. I ended up as this quiet, pathetic excuse of a woman that just did what everyone told her to do, what everyone expected of her. I became the model daughter my parents always wanted - working in what they deemed a proper job, never speaking out of turn, marrying the successful lawyer, never straying from the line. And then...I just realized...this isn’t me. This was never me. It’s not who I’m meant to be. I knew that if I went through with that wedding and everything that came afterwards I would never be happy again. Despite the years of self loathing, I couldn’t do that to myself.”

Frankie was listening intently as you seemed to work this out within yourself as the words poured out of your mouth. He knew exactly what you meant, and at the end of the day, he was proud of you for being able to make the decisions you needed to for yourself, “so you just called it all off?”

“Yeah,” you dabbed at the tears that pearled up and slipped down your cheeks, before laughing lightly. In the moment, it had been a bold, dramatic move, one that you considered almost worthy of a cinematic masterpiece, but looking back on it, you had probably seemed like a mad woman, “basically. It was the day of my last dress fitting and it just...hit me. I was with the dress maker and her niece and they were asking me all about my fiance and asking me if I was excited and how in love we were and everything. And it hit me then and there - I couldn’t do this. So...I bailed and left. Called it off an hour later. You should have seen the poor things! Oh Frankie, they looked so surprised, but they understood. I paid for the dress and I told them to donate it to someone that deserved it.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed out as he pictured the scene. You caught his eye and the two of you started laughing together. Gods, in that moment, it was easy, so easy to just laugh and not think about anything else. It still felt so effortless with him, even despite everything that happened between the two of you, “you just did that!”

“You know what they say about mad women, Frankie,” you teased, taking a moment to collect yourself. Looking back on it now it was funny, but in reality...it had been a harsh end to your previous life and a bumpy start to your new one, “but...at the end of the day it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t marry Chad and just be Mrs. Wadsworth forever.”

“Chad? Wadsworth?” Frankie couldn’t help but snicker at the names as you nodded before hanging your head, giving him just a glimpse of that smile that always made him weak in the knees, “oh honey, you should have known from the name alone.”

“I was a fool,” you admitted with a dramatic sigh, “a self righteous fool. At the time it had seemed...right.”

“Did you love him?”

“I-I suppose I did,” you said softly, “at one point or another. I don’t know where along the line it just ended up as routine and just me going through the motions but obviously it did…”

“I’m sorry you had to do through all of that,” he said quietly as you shrugged. It wasn’t his fault...that was all of your own doing, “how did your family take it?”

“About as well as you'd think,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep more tears from flowing worth, “you know them, Frankie, they’re the same as they’ve always been. At first it seemed like my mom understood, and she seemed to care, but by the next day it was like a flip had been switched. They had seemed to side with Chad and somehow none of feelings were relevant. And all of the friends we’d had basically decided that I was the bad guy. So it kind of...left me to figure things out on my own. Luckily, I do have a few really good friends left. They helped me out a lot...even to find this house actually. Things could have been a lot worse...they were rough but they’re getting better.”

“Still,” he almost whispered at you, “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. You don’t deserve it.”

“Such is life,” you looked at him and offered an almost teary smile, “but about you? Did you ever get married or anything?”

“No,” he answered quickly as you tried to ignore the small skip of your heart. He tapped his fingers against the glass top of the table for a few moments, “there was never really...anyone else.”

“Really!?”

“Nope,” he was almost nervous as he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I was in the military for a long while...overseas, special ops...never really had much chance to worry about that kind of stuff back then.”

“What about when you got out?”

“There were a few here and there,” he admitted quietly, “nothing serious, nothing that lasted more than a few months.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to be surprised. For some reason he had struck you as the type that would have settled down...the type of man that would almost yearn for domestic bliss. Little did you know he did exactly that, just not with anyone that he encountered so far. 

“Yeah,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “it hasn’t been much of an exciting life.”

“Surely it must have been,” you insisted, “special ops? That sounds like it be one adventure after another...but it was the military…”

“I was glad to get out when I got out,” he insisted and you could tell there was a lot more he wanted to say. But he tensed up lightly and you weren’t going to push him to tell you anything. If he wanted to, he would, but as far as you were concerned he owed you nothing. And yet...a small part of you hoped he did still want to open up and confide in you.

“What...what do you do now?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he stated simply and pointedly looked away from your eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the expression in them, to know if you suddenly thought him to be much lower, “it’s nothing much but I-”

“It’s brilliant, Frankie,” you insisted, quickly cutting him off and causing his head to whip in your direction, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “you had always had a knack for stuff like that - it never made any sense to me, but you? You always had a sharp mind.”

“I was a pilot too!” he eagerly told you, and you could have died at the excited expression on his face, “in the military and…”

“And what, Frankie?” you asked, noticing the rapid change in his mood, almost as if he hadn’t meant to tell you quite that much. He stilled for a moment before looking away, “Frankie?”

“And for a while after that for private individuals,” he almost murmured, “but umm...n-not at the moment.”

“Okay,” you replied, telling him in that one word that he never needed to go past what was comfortable for him, “Frankie, I’m glad that things worked out for you...really.”

He just nodded, and gave you a weary look before silence fell over the two of you again. You pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them, watching as Daisy sniffed everything before bringing her ball over to Frankie. He gently took it from her and tossed it across the yard, repeating the action several times over before she grew bored of it and went to follow around a squirrel. 

After some time, you cleared your throat, deciding that now was as good of a time as any to lay everything out on table. What was the worst that just happen? He would get mad, you would get mad and then he left? It wouldn't put you in a worse position than before. There was literally nothing left to loose, and you'd hate yourself if you didn't at least tell him. If nothing else, you would get it all off of your chest.

"T-there was another reason I called off my wedding..." you admitted and slowly shifted his gaze back to you, "umm, everything kind of...I realized how unhappy I was and that things weren't right after...after running into you. That day at the coffee shop when I spilled coffee all over myself."

Frankie tried his best to keep his expression neutral but it felt like a swarm of butterflies had just been released into his stomach. He was trying not to read too much into your words but he was loathe to deny his excitement. That meant you had felt it too; he wasn't wrong in thinking it was just him. He looked at you to go on, making a small sound in his throat, "I-I remember..."

"It set off...something," you said softly, "and that's what caused me to realize everything else."

"If nothing else, I'm glad the spilled coffee led you to realizing that you deserve better...that you deserve the world..."

"I...I never stopped loving you," the words shot out of your mouth before you could do anything to stop them and Frankie's jaw dropped and practically hit the floor, "seeing you made me realize that...there was never anyone else that I could ever love because they weren't you. Even after everything that happened, all this time, it always came back to you."

"Honey bee," the nickname flowed easily and you didn’t bother to correct him. You liked the way it sounded, you had missed it even. It was so much better than sugar plum, which still made you cringe to even think about, “you…”

“I know,” you said quietly, bringing your hands up to your face as you tried to hide and  make yourself feel smaller. You hadn’t, not in a million years thought you would see him again, let alone admit this to him or yourself, “I just...the more I thought about it, especially with Chad, I kept comparing everything to you. Even if I didn’t admit it out loud to myself, that’s one of the main things that it was. It was always you.”

“I-I don’t understand…” he said quietly, “you never...I called you and you never called me back. I thought...I thought...why?”

“I know,” you admitted, “I just...I couldn’t, Frankie. You left me and I hung around waiting for you all the time. My life revolved around waiting for to call, or email, any little hint from you. It wasn’t healthy - I was missing out on so much, because I was always waiting around for you. I couldn’t do that anymore, to wait to hear from you from an hour once every two months whenever you got the chance? It wasn’t fair to me or you. So I just...decided not to anymore.”

“But I-I came back,” he said meekly as you shrugged lightly.

“When? How many hours was your life devoted to the military? How many years were you gone for the majority of the year? It wouldn’t have been fair to me to have to wait for you, and it wouldn’t have been fair to you either, to only get to see me once in a while. Wasn't it easier to just not have to worry about it?” you tried to rationalize it to yourself and him at the same time. But as the words left your mouth you wondered if it had been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier, maybe you would have been happier if you’d tried to make it work...but now you would never know. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily as he leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his tired eyes, “I don’t know...but I do know it was hard for you.”

“You left me Frankie,” you said softly, trying not to cry again as you thought back to the day you had discovered that he was leaving for the military. It had been the worst day of your life back then. It still was to this day, “we made all these plans, our future, and you left me.”

“I did what I had to do back then,” he said softly, and while you never believed, even back then, you knew he had his reasons. You knew that the choices he made for all calculated and thought out - he was never one for rash decisions, “the choices I made helped become the man I am now. And look where you needed up - a therapist. A successful therapist. That counts for something, right?”

“I know....I know you did. I understand that now. A small part of me still thinks I would have rather have been with you, Frankie,” you said softly, turning to face him and resting your head on your knees, “even looking back on everything now. I wish you would have let me come with you -”

“So what?” he almost snapped and you jumped slightly at the sudden change in his voice, “you could have been some military wife that’s never happy?”

“I would have been happy with you!” you retorted with just as much edge as he had given you, “I would have been happy if I got to be anywhere with you. You were my everything, Frankie, and that never changed.”

“You would have been alone half the time,” he sighed heavily, “and I never...I never wanted you to have to worry if I was dead or alive or if I was coming back at all.”

You remained silent as you mused over his words. He had a point...if you had been with him, when he was overseas, you would have been wondering every minute of every hour if he was alright or not. That was a fate almost as cruel if not more so than what you were put through. 

“I wanted you to have a chance at happiness,” his tone softened as he looked at you with big brown eyes. They were full of emotion, holding so many things inside of them, “without me you had a shot.”

“I thought I did too,” you agreed, your lips trembling effort to keep from crying. Gods, you felt like you had been crying more recently than you had in many years, “turns out we were both wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“In some ways I wished I’d just gone with you anyway,” you shrugged and he made a small sound. You were both stubborn fools in your own ways, “in some other ways I wish I never met you.”

It felt like his whole world stood still as he cautiously met your eyes. Now those were words he never thought he’d hear you saying. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before stumbling over his words, “w-what? I thought…”

“If I had never met you, I never would have missed you,” you explained, “I never would have gone through the heartbreak of you leaving, of loving you and looking for you in everything and everyone else, never finding you. I would have been…”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Yeah...but I’m not,” you concluded, “because if I had never met you, I would have never been loved by you, or gotten to love you. I never would have...discovered how to be myself. You showed me that it was okay to be different from my family, to be my own person. It worked...even if I got lost along the way and things changed. At the end of the day, it was you. And just when I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life, you came back. Out of all the times. That-that has to mean something right?”

Just like that every piece of his heart that had felt like it had hardened and decayed over the years seemed to come back to life. His heart started racing in his chest as he stared at you, long and hard, and you stared back with just as much ferocity and intensity. You were thinking the same thing he was - the timing, you both coming back together, it couldn’t be for naught. It just couldn’t. The universe was a strange and wondrous thing, but maybe...maybe this time it was getting it right…

“M..maybe…” Frankie stood up as you tried to collect your thoughts and slowly strode over to you. Extending his hand slowly, he held it out to you and you stared at it for just a moment, contemplating taking it. Taking his hand was a lot more than just the simple action of taking his hand, you were both well aware of that fact. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let him help you to your feet, and you stood directly in front of him, “Francisco.”

His large hands found your face, his touch gentle and saccharine as you relished in the feel of his soft, yet calloused skin on yours. Your lips parted slightly as he traced over the highs and lows of your features, making it a point to commit this version of you deep into his mind, just like he had twenty years ago when you were younger. His thumb swiped along your lower lip and your body was practicing screaming for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“You are still as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you,” he whispered, inching incrementally closer and yet not close enough, “honey bee, I loved you then and I never stopped. I will never stop.”

“Francisco,” it was a soft plea as your hands found his wrists, gripping onto them tightly and vowing to never let go, “please.”

Please kiss me. Please don’t ever leave me again. Please just love me. 

It was so many things all in one simple word.

“May I kiss you?” he leaned in and his lips were practically ghosting over yours, his breath warm and sweet. You nodded quietly before closing the almost nonexistent gap between your bodies, weaving your arms around his neck as his hands found purchase on your hips.

It was slow, sweeter almost than honey as he kissed you, and you allowed yourself to get lost in him. If you thought kissing him back then had been amazing, this was that and then some. Every part of him melded perfectly against you, an ease to your movement like neither of you had to think or even try. It was like it had always been meant to be. In some ways, you supposed it was. It was always supposed to be you and your Frankie. 

“I love you, Frankie,” you murmured against his lips when you parted for a breath of air, “it was always you.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[fanfics-with-coffee]

Dabi and Bakugou rarely got along but when they do, it's to double team you. You had been riling them up every time you entered the bar but never let them get any satisfaction, until you agreed on Dabi's dumb challenge. Drink the Blowjob shot the way it's suppose to be had, from between their legs and using no hands.

(This is a re-post from my AO3 work)

Genre: Smut, just smut, Bar!au Characters: Bakugou x reader x Dabi

The neon sign glared down at the people on the street, illuminating everyone in a bright red light. You basked in the light, surrounded by your giggling friends as you made your ways through the crowd of people. This wasn’t your first time in the light and you knew it wouldn’t be your last either. Best bar in the whole district, the whole city even if you asked any lady leaving the place. But you did agree, if you were going to have a drink anywhere then Valor would be it. If you could be so bold then you’d even call yourself a bit of a celebrity at the place. Everyone there knew who you were and knew how you took your drinks. So you often brought your friends along so both brag and give the place some extra income.

After some shuffling of bodies and holding your friends hands you made it to the front of the people, right up to the entrance. You smiled at the bouncer and he smiled right back, showing off his sharp teeth. He was suited up like usual, the suit pants and white button up fitting well around his crossed arms and muscular chest. His bright red hair was spiked as usual and his face was now highlighted red from the neon sign.

“Good evening, ladies! What can I do for ya?” Kirishima asked as if he didn’t know what you wanted, looking behind you to see the awed looks of your friends as they obviously checked out the cutie in front of you. You placed a hand on your hip, pulling the coat you were wearing a little closer to you to keep the cold out.

“Oh you know, just wanted to show my friends this really nice bar i’ve been visiting.” You said with a coy tone, looking around you as if you didn’t know the layout. You made eye contact with the blondie guarding the other door, the black streak in his hair reflecting the red light. He winked at you with a grin before looking over your friends, clearly curious. But he quickly needed to go back to his queue and checking ID’s so the line wouldn’t be held up for too long. Kirishima followed your eyes while nodding, humming in fake curiosity.

“Is that so… Well why don’t you ladies head in then and order something then? Show them why you like it so much, eh?” The redhead looked past you and at your friends, giving them a charming grin and wink before looking at you again. He took a step to the side, making way so your whole group could enter. You gave him a pat on the arm and mouthed a ‘Thank you’ while you walked past him. He just nodded and watched the rest of your friends also walk past him. As you enter the bar you’re met by the warmth first of all. The bodies filling the place was heating up the whole room but you didn’t mind, it was actually very welcoming compared to the cold outside. The second thing that hit you was the music playing through the speakers. While it was soft the music was obviously from the weeks top lists, the beat of the songs being felt through the air. You started peeling your jacket off of you, eyes scanning over the environment. The whole place was dimly lit, the only bright lights shining being the ones under the bar and behind the shelves filled with alcohol. There were the occasional lamp used to set the mood in the place but they were never at full power. The interior was mostly black with details in gold and the dark wood surfaces. Fancy.

You walked confidently to the wardrobe section, smiling at Momo as she took your coat and handed you a number plate that you placed in your handbag. Your friends did the same but you stopped paying too much mind to them, they could handle themselves and you knew the place took care of their customers so you had nothing to worry about. You had something more important in mind. Eyes locking onto the bar you quickly found a spot you could sit down at, miraculously.

You searched the space between the bar and quickly found one out of the two people you were looking for. The tall young man was pouring a beer from the tap while having eye contact with a girl leaning on the counter, smiling at him. He looked mildly amused, raising an eyebrow as she kept talking. He responded to her, his bright red eyes illuminated by the bar lights but you don’t know what he said. You didn’t particularly care either, most of the girls kept repeating the same conversation subjects. He dragged a hand through his blonde hair but it didn’t do much to deter the spikes from forming again while he handed the girl the glass with a smile. You noticed he had shaved the undercut shorter since last time, it looked much neater and clean cut tonight. He was as always dressed in the bartender outfit, the bright red button up and black vest. You could see from your seat that the top buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned, obviously revealing parts of his collarbone and chest. He had yet to notice you but that was about to change.

While you were staring at one of your favorite subjects the other had found you before you had the time to find him.

“Back again, huh, dollface?” The hoarse voice welcomed you back to the bar and you already knew who it was. You smiled and turned your face to notice you were mere inches from the owner of the voice. He was giving you lazy grin, the movement of his mouth extenuating the port wine stain birthmarks around his mouth and going down his neck, the thick tattooed on stitches between his normal skin and the birthmarks still in view. You two stayed like that for a moment, daring each other to move away first. His warm breath hit your lips when he huffed and leaned back, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Placing his hands on the counter he made you feel trapped in his presence. You looked at the tattoos covering his arms, full on sleeves creeping up under his rolled up shirt. Finally you met his eyes again, those bright blue eyes staring down at you. You could see the fading scars on the birthmarks under his eyes, a probably long story you had only heard bits and pieces of. Apparently he had gotten in some trouble and the guys had threatened to cut his eyes out and almost did too. He always jokes about how lucky he is to still have sight or he would never have been able say he’s seen an angel. And if you were the angel then it was no doubt he'd be the devil. With the multiple piercings you've seen glimpses of in the light and the jet black hair playfully sticking up everywhere, you wouldn't be surprised if he revealed himself as an incubi.

“Indeed. I mean, I know I can’t be gone for too long without your ego getting too big, Dabi” You smirked back at his lazy grin, watching his hands move to make you a mojito. He chuckled and looked down to measure the content of your glass, nodding in joking agreement.

“You’re not wrong, the girls around here are easy when you look as good as me, you know? Gets boring after a while. But you… You’re fun Y/N.” He points a black straw at you before putting it in your drink and placing it in front of you. You keep the eye contact going as you pick up your glass and take a sip from it, the refreshing sweetness filling your mouth. The tension was palpable and it had been like this every time you hang out here for a long while now. Everytime you were there you’d tease him and play hard to get, only giving him enough to hold onto the hope that maybe one day you'll be another notch in his belt. Never accepting his dumb bets yet never saying no. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oi, if you two are finished eye fucking each other then maybe emo boy here can get back to work?” The tension was broken by the voice of dear blondie who had left the conversation with the girl and come to join you and Dabi. Bakugou didn’t look pleased as he glared at the taller man and defensively placed a hand on the counter to the right of you, making Dabi lift his own hand from the spot and releasing you from his almost hypnotic hold.

“It’s called goth, hot shot. And I was working, can't you see I provided angel here with a drink?" he motioned to the drink in your hand which you helpfully raised to show the truth of his statement, smiling sweetly towards Bakugou the whole time just to annoy him. He looked at the drink for a short moment before giving it a look of disgust and making eye contact with you again, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"You should keep yourself to your simple fucking shots, you can at least make those right. Leave the actual drinks to the actual…" Bakugou looked Dabi up and down before staring him in the face. "Bartenders. We don't need to pretend we know what we're doing unlike you extra." The two had started to attract a small crowd, some girls because they thought the two men were attractive and some because they actually wanted to know what was going on. You just sat there calmly, this wasn't their first dispute in front of a crowd nor your first time having a front row seat. Dabi didn't move a visible muscle and instead just stood there with a deadpan glare, watching as Bakugou prepared another mojito. All you could see was his chest rising and falling in an even pace.

When Bakugou finished the drink, with some flare of course, he placed it in front of you. It was neater than your first one, a lime slice delicately placed on the rim of the glass together with a mint leaf as garnish. During the time it took to make the drink Dabi had already sighed and poured himself a shot, downing it when your glass had hit the table. He knew he wasn't supposed to drink on the job but he also knew there wasn't anyone that was gonna stop him. Bakugou ignored him and instead took to watching you, impatiently waiting for you to try his obviously superior drink. And so you did, taking an equally big sip as you took from the first one, you knew how picky he was.

"Well… While I appreciate the thought and concern you have, Bakugou, and it's true that your drink was served better… They taste the same. And I'm pretty sure I'll get just as drunk from either." you place your final verdict, eliciting a laugh from Dabi and a look of something akin to horror from Bakugou. Dabi slung his arm over Bakugou's shoulders, leaning heavily on him as a smug grin crept onto his face.

"What was that now again, hot stuff? Didn't need to pretend huh? Sure, sure… Well if I'm better at shots then I am at drinks then I must be a master at them, so how about we have one?" The tattooed man asked, standing up again and pulling up his shirt sleeves again. As he started on those, pulling out three shot glasses for each and every one of you presumably, you looked towards your favorite blonde who had crossed his arms and was bitterly staring at your two drinks.

"Do you want me to pay for both, or do I get one for free?" You smiled at him, sipping on the drink made by him just to appease him a little. While you didn't have as obvious of a sexual tension with him there had been countless moments where you were sure he'd been so riled up he would've taken you on the bar itself you allowed it. The hot headed man might be smooth in front of the ladies coming and going, it's part of the job, but you liked to get just a little too close. A little too on the edge for him to truly be in his element. And it frustrated him to no end. Yet now he just shook his head in vague defeat.

"No, obviously not, why the fuck would you pay for both? And since we made a crowd take both, just don't you fucking dare tell Iida we're drinking shots while working." he gave you a serious glare while you just laughed and nodded, obviously promising to not rat them out.

In the next moment you had three glasses put before you and Dabi once again joined the conversation. You examined the shots and realize what was going through the blue eyed man's head. The whipped cream at the top was the biggest clue but the shit eating grin he was wearing didn't help his case either. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms, watching Dabi closely, waiting for his excuse this time.

"Well since you're getting drinks on the house then maybe you owe us a little something. You always decline my challenge with a smug fucking smirk on your pretty face but now I find that you have few excuses, princess. C'mon, for poor Bakugou whose ego you crushed." Dabi patted Bakugou's chest while staring at you, ignoring Bakugou's futile protests. You watched them, glanced at the shots and then looked back up to them.

The light shone from behind them, illuminating them and reflecting off the glasses you were drinking from. Both their shirts had unbuttoned buttons and you had a clear view of parts of their chest, further enticing you to accept Dabi's challenge and maybe show them who's got who wrapped around their finger. You soak in the view for a second before unraveling your arms.

"Well you still haven't issued the challenge, Dabi, or what's in it for me if I win."

"Or lose, Angel. I want you to drink the blowjob shots the way they're supposed to be taken. From between our legs without using your hands. If you don't spill anything then I'll pay for your drinks for the rest of the evening. If you do spill… Well I'm sure we can agree to a fitting punishment when we get there. And you can't spill anything from either of them, deal?" This wasn't the first time Dabi had challenged you, nor were you the first person he'd used this tactic on. You'd usually hear Bakugou complaining that he'd found the two making out in the backroom afterwards, even if the other participant had won. But this time he involved someone else too and well, the look you're imagining Bakugou having during it might just be worth it.

"Pay for my friends drinks too and we have a deal." you informed him on your condition as you stood up, knowing that you'd have to move to find a better fitting spot to do this, away from too many peering eyes. Dabi didn't respond and instead just grinned and grabbed two of the shots, following you out from behind the bar. Bakugou took a second to debate if this was a good idea or not but watching you walk away, your hips swaying enticingly managed to convince him. "Fuck it…"

You knew exactly where you all could get out of the spotlight and moved over to a corner with a booth. You sat down on the end of one of the couches, watching the two men arrive after you. Bakugou had grabbed the last shot and was cautiously looking around for anyone watching you, or a co-worker noticing their absence. Dabi on the other hand had his eyes on you, placing one of the shots he was holding besides you on the table, towering over you. You just looked up at him and smiled. He grinned back before grabbing a random chair from one of the other tables, dragging it so it faced you.

Dabi didn’t hesitate to sit down, spreading his legs apart so you could see the pants straining against his crotch. With one hand he placed the cream topped glass between his legs on the seat, the other arm he leaned the elbow on the back of the chair. His muscles were tensing up under the red shirt as to keep the position and you could just imagine what was hiding underneath. He cocked his head to the side and gave you a shit eating grin, lifting an expectant eyebrow at you.

“Well, dollface?” You made eye contact with him and an involuntary shiver went down your spine going straight to between your legs. You didn’t expect it to affect you this much this quickly. Free drinks sounded really good at the time but now you’re not even sure you’ll be able to stay long enough to enjoy them. Yet you couldn’t give up before you’d even started.

You didn’t dare respond to him and instead hid the rush of blood to your face with a smug smile, straightening your back. You dragged your hand through your hair to pull it back before you bent down, keeping eye contact with those blue eyes. If he was going to try and mess you up then you could at least try and do the same. He had moved his hand from the glass and had instead placed it on his thigh besides your head. You opened your mouth and glanced at the glass to make sure you got it. Before you took it into your mouth you made sure to lick the cream off the top, looking up at him through your lashes.

That got a reaction out of him. The grin he was so proudly wearing dropped and instead he stared down at you with his mouth slightly agape. It looked like he was already breathing heavy and you could see him clench his hand in the corner of your eye. Proud of your work you grabbed the shot glass with your mouth and threw your head back, downing the shot in one go. You gracefully grabbed the now empty glass and then slammed it on the table. You removed some of the cream that had gotten on the corner of your mouth with the knuckle of your finger.

“Next.” You said, confidence dripping from your voice. If the music wasn’t blaring through the speakers then you swear you could’ve heard Bakugou swallow nervously. Dabi just chuckled and stood up but before he had fully turned around you could see the outline of something in his pants, pushing against the fabric. You ego only grew at the sight.

“Your turn, hot stuff.” Dabi patted Bakugou's shoulder, pulling him from his hypnotised staring at your lips. He quickly realized what he had been doing and looked away, not ready to admit to his actions. Despite that he still walked over and sat on the chair.

He mimicked Dabi and spread his legs as well, his pants also straining on his crotch. Even in the dim light you could see that something was pushing against the fabric in his pants as well. Your gaze fell to it and your mind was about to start wandering if Bakugou's hand hadn’t gotten in the way when he placed the shot. Unlike Dabi, Bakugou wasn’t as confident and had a difficult time knowing where to place his hands, deciding in the end to just cross his arms. The action just made the muscles on his arms even more visible. He didn’t dare make any eye contact Once again you could feel your body react, your breathing slowing and becoming heavier but you were hoping they didn’t notice. But with your luck, Dabi must’ve. But you didn’t let him say anything as you just smiled again and leaned down. Bakugou was still not looking though and you just couldn’t have that. So you took your hands and placed them on his inner thighs, grabbing onto the surprisingly muscular meat.

You felt him jump slightly and snap his head to look at you. You just looked back up and smiled, giving him a wink. Bakugou would argue that it was just the red lights but you knew he was blushing mad. You decided to cut his suffering short, afraid that if you turned him on any more it’d start to be painful in those tight pants of his. So you opened your mouth, ignoring the obvious hard on right in front of your face and took the glass into your mouth. But as you pulled back up you heard Bakugou mutter something under his breath.

“Fuck, babygirl…”

His voice had been strained and quiet but you caught it in the middle of all the noise surrounding you despite him trying to cover his mouth with his clenched hand. And you lost it. You choked on the shot and had to grab the glass from mouth before your could down the whole thing. You coughed and placed a hand on your chest, trying to regain your breath. You placed the half empty glass on the table beside the other two. Bakugou shot out of his chair to make sure you were alright but didn’t quite know what to do.

“Shit…” You mumbled, realizing what had just happened. You lost. You looked up at Bakugou who was still worried about you choking while Dabi was closing in from the side. His grin was already giving away what he was thinking.

“Well well well, angel. You talked so big yet couldn’t take a little dirty talking. Cute. But what should we do with you now? Bakugou?” Dabi had snaked an arm around Bakugous shoulders once again, caging you in between the two men. Bakugou just looked at him confused and disturbed before it clicked in his head what he was talking about. He just grunted and looked back down at you, something had shifted in his eyes and they weren’t as innocent as they had been before.

“Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t prepared for the tone of voice from the blonde. Your heart began beating quicker as you started to form an understanding of what you had gotten yourself into. Dabi just grinned and took a step back, motioning for us to “go ahead”. You looked to the table and saw the last shot and decided to down it too before standing up. Bakugou didn’t take a step back though and you hit his chest with your own, looking up at him surprised. You felt his hot breath against your face and his stare made you weak in the knees. His hands grabbed your waist and without a second thought he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulders.

You yelped at the sudden motion and saw the whole world start to move as Bakugou turned to head out the backdoor. Dabi soon joined your view, casually strolling behind you two, chuckling at the sight.

“Your place is close to here, right?” Bakugou asked, glancing back at the taller male who just nodded.

“Yup, third floor in the building just across from here.” Dabi took the lead and Bakugou followed. You just clinged to the back of Bakugou's vest, trying to see what was happening in the front and hoping not too many people saw you in such an embarrassing situation. But you couldn’t help but feel that maybe it didn’t matter, maybe what was about to happen was worth the embarrassment.

“I swear to god if the apartment is filthy or you haven’t changed the bed sheets since your last fuck buddy I’m taking her and leaving.” You watched the stairs as Bakugou went up them, still carrying you. One hand firmly planted on your ass, either to keep your dress from riding up or just because he wanted to cop a feel. As he finished his sentence you two stopped and you could hear a key turning in a lock and a door opening just after.

You weren’t put down until the door had once again been closed and you were all in Dabi’s apartment. And even then you didn’t have a moment to take in your surroundings as Bakugou blocked your view, grabbing your chin gently. You looked up into his eyes once again, meeting his deep red ones with your wide ones.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you opened those pretty lips of yours.” He muttered, eyes glancing down at your lips and then up again. Wasting no more time he pressed his to yours and you almost couldn’t believe it. He was pressing firmly, almost as he was afraid it was a dream he’d wake from, tilting his head to the side as his hands found your neck. You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment and moving your hands over the shaved part of his head. That’s when a third pair of hands joined in.

“Don’t forget that this is a punishment, angel, not a prize.” Dabi whispered in your ear, his hands going down your front, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up, exposing your panties. You gasped at the sudden movement only to have Bakugou use it to his advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth and brushing it against your own. Your sounds were muffled as Dabi used one hand to cup your boob, the other sneaking down to feel you through your underwear. You knew he could feel your wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, so cute, you’re already wet… At this rate you’ll have to problem taking both of us.” You heard him muse as he looked at you from over your shoulder. You couldn’t respond thanks to Bakugou's invasion of your mouth and only whimpered. Dabi chuckled at your predicament and instead of trying to help you just made it worse by slipping his hands underneath the hem of your panties instead. Sliding two fingers between your nether lips he found the bundle of nerves placed between them. He didn’t even hesitate to start drawing slow circles around your clit.

You had to pull away from bakugou, putting your hands on his chest to keep him from going back for round two too quickly. You were panting and letting out small whimpers, unable to look at his face. He stared at you confused before realizing what the other man was doing and how it was affecting you. The two made eye contact with you in between them, Dabi never relenting on his assault on your bud.

“Oi, don’t you have a better place to do this then your hallway?” You heard Bakugou speak above you. His hands moved to your waist and then your back, pulling you closer to him defensively.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to move to the bedroom so don’t blame me, hot shot” Dabi finally pulled his hands out of your underwear and you took a deep breath of relief from the constant stimulus. You legs were quivering from the assault on your senses and the sudden lack of it. But before you could truly calm down you were pulled from Bakugou's warm embrace and into Dabi’s arms instead as he started to lead you away. You could hear Bakugou’s hurried steps behind and the rustling of clothes.

You moved through the small apartment and to a bedroom. The double bed was made and you were about to go sit down, give yourself a break. But as soon as you moved towards it a hand grabbed your arm, looking back at the owner of the hand you saw Dabi shaking his head.

“Remember what I said before? Punishment, not reward, babygirl.” You felt your stomach sink but ironically also fill with butterflies.

“Help her out of that dress and underwear, will ya, hot stuff?” You were handed over to Bakugou who looked about as confused as you. Dabi went and opened a cupboard and you heard the clinking of metal from it as he searched it’s content. He hummed in satisfaction as he placed a bottle on top of the cupboard and then something that glimmered in the light coming from the window. At the same time Bakugou had done as he was told, pulling the dress higher and higher and with your help it had slipped right off. The bra was quickly unclasped and thrown to the side as well just like the panties had been. You could feel his red eyes look you up and down, watching the newly exposed skin as if it were gold.

“Here we go… Hands in front, dollface.” Dabi sauntered back to you two and without thinking you obeyed, holding out your hands in front of you. He grabbed your wrists and soon the sound of something clicking shut filled the room. You looked at your wrists and saw handcuffs now hanging from them. The black fur was kind to your skin though and they weren’t too tight so you couldn’t complain. But you still stared in awe at them, as did Bakugou.

“Ain’t too tight? No? Good. Then get on your knees.” A simple hand on your shoulder had you falling to your knees without second thoughts. You began to wonder what these men had done to you.

As you were down there you watched Dabi unzip the black pants which had been getting tighter and tighter the further the three of you had gone. He dropped them to the ground and you watched as if hypnotised by the tent formed in his underwear. You could hear him chuckle above you, amused at your wide eyes stare. He did quick work of his underwear as well, fishing himself out of them with practiced skill. He was semi hard already, a tuft of hair at the base of his slim cock. He lazily started to work himself to full mast while watching you.

“Liking what you see, I take it. Good. I can see your mouth salivating already, why don’t you taste it?” You looked up at him for a split second before looking at his cock again which he’s let go already. You almost timidly pull on it, opening your mouth to take him in. You swirl your tongue over the tip before taking more and more into your mouth. You close your eyes to focus, letting him slip further down your throat. A hand carefully grabs the back of your head and grabs a handful of your hair. He’s impatient, probably from the build up at the bar and start to set a slow pace which you follow. You feel the tip of his dick drag across your tongue and the back again as the pace speeds up. Soon he’s set a reasonable pace and you open your eyes again to look up at him.

He’s panting and watching you closely, his eyes half lidded by now aroused he is. The sight makes you even hornier and you feel that you need some release yourself and move your hands down to your own crotch. But nothing slips past Dabi's watchful eyes and he speaks up before you can do anything about your own arousal.

“Hey, we didn’t tell you you could touch yourself. Why don’t you do something productive and jack Bakugou off instead? He’s been drooling all over you since you started bobbing your head like a good girl.” You looked to the side and saw Bakugou, he had pulled down his pants and underwear without you even noticing, even his vest was gone and shirt unbuttoned as he worked his own manhood. You two made eye contact and you reached out with your handcuffed hands. The blonde sucked in breath from between clenched teeth and took a step closer, letting you take over for him.

The three of you kept this up for a bit, you bobbing your head on Dabi's dick while he controlled your pace with his hands while your own hands were jacking off a panting and cursing Bakugou. You had lost track of time until Dabi pulled out of your mouth, your spit covering his shaft and your own chin. The lack of fullness had you desperately looking up at Dabi who was visibly trying to restrain himself. At the same time you slowed your hands movements, bewildered by the sudden pull out.

“Shit, don’t look at me like that, dollface, or I might just finish in your mou-” He was cut off by Bakugou grabbing your head and pulling you to him instead, taking full advantage of your open and confused mouth. He was much rougher than Dabi, instead of pacing you he was face fucking you, keeping your head still as he pounded your throat. But the moment only lasted so long as even Bakugou had to pull out as to not cum down your throat and cut his playtime short. You sputtered and coughed after the sudden invasion but was ultimately sad he had stopped.

“Sorry, babygirl but I had to know how your mouth felt wrapped around my cock.. It just looked so inviting and I couldn’t stand you looking at juts him like that.” Bakugou confessed, looking down at you, panting after the sudden burst of energy.

“I was wondering when that explosive personality was gonna play part in this. But enough foreplay, get her on her feet..” Bakugou helped you up, holding onto you so you wouldn’t fall. He pulled you up to his chest and slipped a hand between your legs. Now it was his turn with you and his fingers were much thicker than Dabi’s had been. He didn’t dwell too long on your clit, only playing with it a second before traveling deeper. By now your juices had stained your thighs and he had no problem slipping two fingers into you. Despite the roughing up he had done to your face before he was now slow and calculated in fingering you, pushing in and pulling out in deliberate movements. You were desperately needing something more and ground your hips into his hand. He paid you no mind as his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking on it so he knew it would leave marks. There was nothing you could do but moan and sigh, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.

You two were soon pulled out of your little bubble by the sound of chains falling. You opened your eyes and saw Dabi pulling on a chain from his ceiling. He noticed your staring and just smiled lazily, giving you a come hither motion with his hand. You could feel Bakugous hesitation but you were soon let go, his fingers slipping out of you. You stumbled forward to follow Dabi’s instructions. When you got close enough he pulled you to him by your handcuffs and raised them. Another click and your handcuffs were stuck to the chain, your arms raised above your head. Dabi took a step back and examined you, seemingly proud of his work.

“There we go, angel… Now the fun can really begin.” He stepped in close again and kissed your lips briefly. Then he left you standing there in the otherwise cold room. He went back to the cupboard and grabbed the bottle he placed there before. While he was gone Bakugou had once again snuck back to you, figuring out just what he had planned. He stood in front of you without saying a word, just watching your chest heave. Then he bent down and grabbed the back of your thigh. And then the other. Standing back up he pulled you with, lifting you up into the air and keeping you there, spread legs presenting everything to him. He looked down and then back up, grinning and leaning in close to you.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you, babygirl? I’m gonna pound into you until you can’t think of anything but my cock in your pussy. How many times I’ve imagined pushing your face down on the counter at the bar and taking you right then and there, letting everyone see what a good fucking looks like. And I bet you would’ve taken it, wouldn’t you? Like a good girl you would’ve begged me to make you cum. Let’s see if you beg like my mind thinks you do.”

You were speechless. The words coming from Bakugou were something you wouldn’t have expected yet he was growling them to you as if he’d practiced it before hand. You swear you would’ve come right then and there if you didn’t know you’d be punished for it. He didn’t make it any easier when he pushed his thick dick inside of you, slowly but surely pushing himself to the hilt.

You were pulling yourself up on the chain involuntarily from the pleasure entering your system. Arching your back you felt your back hit something warm. Another hand joined on your body, one holding onto the underside of your thigh. Then something cold hit the small of your back and running down your ass making you gasp and clench on Bakugou’s cock.

“I see you two started the fun without me… That isn’t fair but I guess it wasn’t your fault, was it (Y/N)?” Dabi’s voice was behind you and you tried to look at him but your arm was blocking you from turning your head. His other hand suddenly appeared, clearly lubed up and pushing at your other hole. You naturally clenched up more and hear Bakugou curse in front of you.

“Shh no no babygirl, relax… You trust us right? We’ll make it feel good, I promise you’ll be cumming and screaming our names in minutes if you just… relax..” Dabi’s soothing voice calms you down and with some effort you managed to calm your muscles enough to let Dabi’s fingers enter. He praised you as he starts to pump one finger in and out of your whole, then two. It’s clear he’s done this before and knows exactly how to work your buttons. Bakugou wasn’t patient enough to wait for that long and was slowly pulling in and out of you himself, one hand having moved to have his thumb rub circles on your clit. Not enough to make you cum but enough to make you relax more.

Soon enough Dabi was able to scissor his fingers in your ass without you wincing in pain. He pulled out and used his now free hand to help hold you up after having lubed up his own dick. He started to push slowly, the head of his cock slipping into you and you gasp and arch your back again. He stops for a second, looking to make sure you’re still alright before he starts pushing again. Soon he’s pushed himself to the hilt together with Bakugou filling up your pussy. You’ve never felt this full and it did feel amazing, both men pushing at your most sensitive spots.

“See? I told you. Now let’s show you what it means to take two men at the same time, dollface. You’re gonna love it.” He whispered the last part in your ear and your eyes widened as they started to move. What started out in synchronised thrusts soon derailed as they picked up pace. Both of them pushing in and pulling out of you at whatever pace worked for them. Bakugou made sure his thrusts were deep and made you feel full as he sheathed inside you while Dabi was much more erratic and quick, stimulating and pounding the sweet spots of your inside. And their moaning, sighing and groaning was mixed together with your own noises as you all chased your releases. And they came quick

“D-dabi… Bakugou…. I’m about… to.. to cum... “ You managed to get out between moans and you hoped the two men heard you. Luckily they did as they both slowed down much to your own dismay.

“Is that so, angel? You’re gonna cum on our cocks as we pound into you, huh?” Dabi asked teasingly from behind you but Bakugou had other plans.

“Beg for it, babygirl. Beg. for. it.” Every word was emphasised with a thrust of his hips and you whimpered. You couldn’t help but hesitate as you looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely serious, his eyes glazed over and primal. But your need for release was greater and won over your own embarrassment rather quickly.

“Please… Please let me cum. I need to cum, I’ve been needing it since t-the beginning. Since I sucked your big cock, I’ve never been so horny. Fuck, please? Please pound i-into me until I can’t think of anything else, I wan’t you two to fill me and fuck me and and fuck shit, please.” You rambled on and on, trying to convince the two men to let you cum while your head felt fuzzy and you couldn’t think straight. You could see Bakugou’s grin grow on his face and he sped up his pace.

“Good fucking girl, begging like that…. shit… Alright, we’re counting down from 10. You can’t cum… until we reach 0.” You felt them both ready themselves to destroy you in those last 10 seconds and yet you didn’t care, nodding your head desperately.

“Good. 10”

They started, with a newly regained energy they went back to their quickest pace, no mercy this time. But you didn’t mind, you head went all fuzzy again and you got a far away look in your eyes.

“9”

“8”

“7”

“6”

“5”

One of Dabi's hands moved from your thigh and started to rub your clit again. You felt his grin against your shoulder and you cried out.

“Little more, babygirl. 4”

You felt the orgasm approach you like an oncoming train.

“3”

It wasn’t fair, none of this, you realized. But why did it turn you on so fucking much?

“2”

“1”

“Come on, (Y/N), cum.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement then that as you let the tidal wave hit you. It washed over you and made you spazz out, closing your eyes tightly as the two men didn’t stop. They became even more erratic in their movement and even quicker to pound in and out of you. As the white light flashed before your eyes you felt them cum too, filling you up yet they still moved. They both went quiet, trying to keep themselves from buckling under their own orgasms. Dabi’s fingers never stopped rubbing your clit.

Your orgasm had come and gone yet they didn't’t. Fucking. Stop. You were desperately whimpering and trying to pull away from the two but there was no way you could from your position. So you took it. Dabi’s fingers were rubbing your over sensitive clit and the two were like wild animals in heat as they kept fucking you. You didn’t know how but you didn’t care either, another orgasm was on its way way quicker than you had anticipated.

It hit you again and tears spotted your eyes, the electricity going through your body and making you shake once again. Only then did the two seem satisfied, slowing themselves down to a halt yet not pulling out. There’s was a moment of just silence apart from all of you panting and catching your breath from the whole ordeal. Then you started laughing

It was quiet but you laughed, exhausted. Soon the two joined in with their own quiet chuckled.

“Shit… That was really fucking good. Didn’t expect to have this good of a fucking time with this loser” Bakugou looked around you to give Dabi a look before looking back to you. He paused for a moment before he leaned up again, giving you a gentle kiss. You felt Dabi take his turn to leave a hickey on your neck as you kissed Bakugou but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hot stuff. Thought you knew I was the best fuck in this whole damn place. Apart from angel here, of course” Dabi responded after he let go of your neck, happy with his work.

“So… Whose up for another shot?”

[wafflesetc]

Chapter 19: An Unexpected Meeting (previously)

Claire Beauchamp is a second year medical student. Due to many late nights with her clinicals, and studying for her pharmacology class, she’s at wits end. One Friday night she decides not to join Joe Abernathy and her other friends out at Church, their local hangout spot, but instead winds up in a dive bar close to her flat with a very nice whisky selection. In fact, one of the best one she’s ever seen. When the bartender calls her ‘Sassenach’ and pours her a double, Claire gets a feeling in her chest she’s never felt before.

A/N: I *know* it’s been... A while. I could give you every reason under the  sun why it has been that long. My excuses are valid and reason enough, I still want to apologize for the lengthy delay. I never intended to go a whole year between updates. I promise it won’t be that long again. The revival of this fic is long owed to @happytoobserve​ who has been one of its biggest cheerleaders since day 1. To @walkinginland​, @kkruml​, and @missclairebelle​ who held my hand during this process of getting my legs back with these two, I owe you indefinitely.

And most importantly, to the readers who even after A YEAR are still excited for what is in store for these two, I hope this was worth the wait. 

ALL MY LOVE, WAFFLES

PS- This is a bit angsty. I just ask that you trust me, okay?!

“Joe, I will call you… Later.” I crossed my arms and gave my friend a knowing glance, one he’d seen before and knew I needed space for a bit. 

“Ok, Lady Jane.” He gave a nod in the direction of John and found his way out of the building. 

I took a breath and turned my attention to our guest. “There’s a courtyard just outside the building. Is it okay if we talk there? I have another class in about 45 minutes.” 

“That is fine.” He agreed. I gestured towards the doors and we slowly made our way.

“How are you?” John asked, politely. I could feel he was trying to ease the palpable tension between the two of us. 

I was trying to be pleasant and cordial, but whatever reserve I had would quickly fade away.  “All things considered, I am doing just dandy.” We rounded a corner and I sat down on the first bench that I saw. “Finals are coming up soon, Jamie’s healing just fine, and I have an amazing opportunity in Paris.” 

“That’s wonderful.” John said earnestly as he sat down next to me. “I’m really happy for you. I must apologize for coming to you while you’re in classes… But this is rather time sensitive.” 

“I have one question, first.” I closed my eyes and took a breath. “I think you owe me that much.” 

John stifled a laugh and put his hand on my knee. It startled me for a moment, but after a quick glance at his face I could tell how honest he was trying to be. “I have turned your world upside down, basically overnight. I think a question is reasonable.” 

“Does Jamie know?” I could feel the tears rising to the surface. “Does Jamie know about William?” 

“No.” John took a breath and released it. “As far as I know, he doesn’t.” There was a sincerity in his voice I couldn’t point, but something in me knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I am going to need you to elaborate on that one.” I was being honest. The last bits of strength that I had were hanging by a few fine threads, ready to be cut at any moment. 

“Jamie and Geneva… They went to high school together. Their families were very fond of each other. My future father-in-law granted the Frasers the land that Lallybroch thrives upon. Jamie comes from a good family and has a good head on his shoulders.” 

I turned my face towards him to find him looking about the courtyard. There were a few students sitting on benches and blankets, presumably studying, however they were all scattered on the opposite side. We were alone in many respects, no one to hear or interrupt us. John stayed silent for a little while. I could see the small film of tears in his own eyes. Surely, whatever he was about to say was going to change things for me.

“But unfortunately, we are all human at one point or another and make mistakes.” He sat back and looked around the garden once more, staying silent for a minute. I could tell he was gathering his thoughts, trying to tell me a story I wasn’t sure I even wanted to hear. Carefully trying to thread together a story that was neither his nor mine, yet that we had been somehow woven into.

“Isobel did not go on at length, but the summer before they were going away to university is when it happened. Geneva never gave her family the details, and when her parents realized what was going to happen in a few months' time, they sent her to England to live with her aunt and uncle.” 

I wiped a tear and waited for him to continue. The reality of what he was about to tell me started to sink in. Those fine threads were about to be cut, I could tell. I didn’t want to cry over a past that was not mine, but Jamie’s past was putting kinks into our future- a future I had planned with him.

“She stayed there and raised him, but about three years ago the crash happened and Geneva died.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It put a small smile on John’s face. A sense of relief flooded through me, I did not want to dislike this Geneva, but another woman who knew my Jamie, intimately, well I was not prepared to handle any issues of jealousy. Was it selfish and morbid I was relieved I didn’t have to meet or try to measure up to the mother of his child, but also regretful over the fact the poor boy had lost his mother? Probably, but having lost my own mother as a child, I knew first hand how hard it was, and no child deserved that sort of pain. Nonetheless, it didn’t make the current circumstances any easier and I did think I was allowed to  be a bit selfish when it came to my future. 

“She left the care and trust of her son to Isobel- but at the time Isobel was still young herself, finishing university with plans of graduate school. Their aunt and uncle were rather fond of William, so they allowed him to stay with them. England is all William has ever known, and he is very attached to Edith and Mark.” 

I must have been crying more than I knew because John handed me a tissue. 

“Shall I continue, or is that enough?” I saw a helplessness in his eyes. This news was life changing for me, yet in many ways it had been for him too. 

I sat motionless, not knowing what to do or say. I didn’t know what I wanted but something must have urged him to go on. 

“Mark fell very ill last year, and he isn’t doing well. That’s when Edith contacted Isobel asking what they would want for William, should something happen. Life has a funny twist of fate….” He let out a small laugh at what I presumed was his so-called twist of fate.

“Because Jamie and I met during our years at university- I had no clue he was acquainted with the Dunsanys. Isobel and I met during graduate school, and when I mentioned a story with James Fraser, her mouth dropped. She told me about William only a few months ago though, and that is when I started trying to call Jamie.” 

“And now, I’m pulled into your so-called funny twist of fate.” My words were short, and I could feel something brewing in my stomach. 

Truth was, I wanted to like John Grey. He seemed to be an honest, respectable man. It wasn’t his fault for the events that had happened in the past, yet he was here and seemed to be wanting to talk about this, even before he told Jamie. This was all confusing in so many different ways. This- John Grey- a long time friend of Jamie’s, was really someone from my boyfriend’s past I was sure I’d enjoy his company, but given the current circumstances, I didn’t like the news he was bringing me. My reading on him was all over the map. 

“Yes, you are.” John gave me a soft smile. “I’ve been coming to Edinburgh for business lately, and I knew I would find Jamie here. We talk, not all that often, but we are old friends. Always able to pick up where we left off.” 

“Mhmm.” It was all I could muster. Mentally and emotionally, I was just drained. This was too  much for one conversation, but I had to try to hold myself together. Just for a little while longer at least. 

“I had wanted to tell him the first time I was in town but when we met, he was so excited to tell me about something that had happened to him…” John reached across and took my hand in his, giving it light squeeze. 

“It was me, wasn’t it?” Jamie and I had happened quickly. I hadn’t been looking for a relationship, especially after Frank and I had ended just shortly before. Yet Jamie had fallen into my orbit and was something that held to me like gravity. He had seamlessly fixed himself into my universe and just fit. Even I had a hard time explaining it to anyone.

“It was,” John smiled at me. “I had never seen him smile the way he did when he said your name. And when he started to tell me about you he’d never been so proud of anything in his life. Even his bar. Claire…” He gave my hand a firm squeeze this time and smiled so wide I knew that deep down whatever he was about to say he meant it with every fiber in his being.

“I hope I am not about to overstep a boundary, especially because we don’t really know each other, but Jamie loves you and is planning his future with you in it. Whether you are aware of that or not- I have seen it in your eyes you feel the same way. The news of William will rock the foundation on which he has lived his life since his parents died.”   

“Yes, it will.” I agreed. 

“It’s complicated, in many ways. And Geneva should have told him, or my future-in-laws should have too. But I think they all wanted Jamie to live his life rather than doing what was right at the time. It stunned me when Isobel told me about it, so much so, I questioned whether or not to continue with the engagement…”

“But you did.” 

“I did, and I do not regret my choice. When Jamie told me about you, I made a vow to myself I would tell the two of you together, so he had you to ground him. But I am glad I told you first. I think it would be best for you to know so we can tell him together.” 

“Together.” I whispered either to myself or to John, I didn’t really know. “You want to do it together so I’m there to comfort him, right?

“I think I have taken up enough of your time, and I have surely given you something to digest.” 

I laughed at that, and I saw a small purse of his lips. 

“Yes, I have.” He chuckled at the look on my face, “But Claire… I am telling you as a long time friend of Jamie’s, you either stick with him through this or don’t. He has already lost so much in his life. I cannot stand for it to happen to him again, so whatever you choose to do, I hope you make a wise choice.” 

“What do you mean?” I felt the pit of anxiety raising in my stomach. 

“I told you he sees a future with you. If you don’t think you can handle whatever relationship William is to have with Jamie, then you should leave him now. Don’t help him through this and leave him later… He… Would never recover.” 

With that he stood and handed me a piece of paper. “Here is my number; Jamie doesn’t know I’m in town yet. I made reservations for dinner for you, me, Jamie and Isobel for tomorrow night. You can tell him on your own if you’d like tonight since it appears you have a glass face, or we can tell him tomorrow...But please, think of what you want with him, with whatever choice you make.”

John gave me a small bow and left me. I felt the buzz of my alarm going off alerting me that class was starting in ten minutes. I wouldn’t be going. The last thing I could do was sit in a lecture hall and pretend to be interested in pharmacology.

Hastily, I reached into my bag and typed an email to my professor.

Dr. Glassman, I have had a small family emergency arise. I will not be making it to the lecture. I will get notes from Joe Abernathy and follow up with you after the next class. 

Claire Beauchamp 

The whoosh of the email sounded in my ears. I shoved my phone back into my bag, rising to my feet. 

I had already made my choice. Long before I had even known about a man named John Grey. 

Jamie had told me we had room for secrets but not for lies. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he had no clue what was going on. Jamie was an intuitive man, so I knew he could sense John had life changing news for him, but what the news was, Jamie surely didn’t know.

I didn’t know how I was going to tell Jamie or what my plan was, but I knew he would be seeking my forgiveness for this- for all of it. Truth was, I’d give it to him. I’d already forgiven everything he had done and everything he could do long before today. 

For me that was no choice, that was falling in love.

[minstrivia]

; way down in bed stuy | m.

— a/n: this is my fic for the spring fic exchange gifted to the lovely @taendrils. enjoy babe xx

— pairings: jeon jungkook x reader

— genre: smut, light angst?

— word count: 5k+

— warnings: asphyxiation, rough sex, possession!kink, oral sex, edging, shameless infidelity, drug use/abuse (we got acid up in here. don’t do it kids), voyeurism, do people actually fuck in the rain like is that a thing?, unprotected sex cause like who wears a condom in the rain, smh who fucks in the rain tho, creampie, clearly he has a fat cock who do you think i am, dirty filthy talk, this is filth, morally i should be ashamed, i am not

— summary: as a final farewell you fuck your sister’s unbelievably attractive knave boyfriend that you definitely do not have feelings for...again.

This time you decide Jungkook is…pitiful.

You tell yourself that’s why you’d allowed him to approach you the way he did, his clothes tightly clung to him like a second skin, obsidian black hair that would normally adorn a disastrous fluffiness flattened to his head in a way that falls beneath his eyes in clumped spikes, and his skin flushed with a keenness that you’ve become way too accustomed to. He is palpably pitiful today—at least, more than usual. The temper surrounding him is a sombre stench, and the impromptu choppy slew of texts that had followed the silence of a missed call had been telling enough. So, when he’d stalked over to you, you’d expected it; expected his clumsy shoves at your shoulders, his incoherent rambling as his large palm haloed your wrist in a grating vise, recklessly jerking you behind him as he cantered fleet-footed, itching to reach his destination. And you’d counted on finding yourself stumbling, bereft of logical dispute, back to him—always back to him, everytime.

“Need you.”

“Jeon, what—”

Jungkook’s eyes are always glassy as they lure you in, drab dilated pupils seeking answers you won’t give (not now anyway) not when he’s hot, so fucking hot, his skin scorches yours perversely in a way that’d have you concerned if you didn’t know any better. But you know, you know he’s long consumed the insipid paper taste of acid and you’re getting the lusty aftershocks, the slated crest that befalls once the opiate has branched and ignited the blood in his veins—the peak of his trip, that’s when he comes to you, when he’s riding the most rhapsodic moment and he ‘needs’ to take you with him. You’ve gotten used to it too, letting him have you whenever and wherever he wants and you’d be more chagrined by the way you’re pinned up against him inhaling his suffocating musky scent of cinders and shorts on a merry go round smack bang in the middle of a children’s playground, if it weren’t for the steady retreating daylight. And the way he’s touching you—definitely the way he’s touching you, his hands wayfaring restlessly like they can’t decide where to perch, yet nevertheless, it’s vicious and fervent, earnest to make itself known, tips of his fingers cumbering at times and the amble thrums a sinful eagerness down the length of your spine.

“S’pretty,” he mumbles, lower lip sweeping across the washed plane of your collarbone as he does so. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, way too pretty, you know that? Tell me you know that.” His timbre is imploring, grasp that bit firmer like he’s afraid you’ll bolt from his arms—like you’re the only thing grounding him to this cruel reality, and you’re ashamed that you like it so much, ashamed that when his eyes descent pleadingly as he stares up at you, you feel that dulcet rush of empowerment, the one that voices how rapidly you could dismantle his treasured ego, how quickly you could make him beg and he would, he’d beg so tragically.

But it isn’t what you want, not now, not ever, so you give. “I know Kook.” Your fingers comb within the thickness of his tresses, the dampness making it weightier than it’d normally be as you rake it away from his forehead. “I know.”

You can categorise being with Jungkook when he’s like this into steps, advances that flow seamlessly into the other, and you’ve been doing this far too long not to know when the change comes, when something veers in his manner, morphs on his features and he’s feeling with an altered strain of vigour. This part though—this part is always your favourite. His sweetened tongue pampering you with enticing endearments and psychedelic compliments that have you reeling in want, in being wanted; it pours out of his mouth with zest, jumbles and clusters of vulgar curses and words that would put the both of you in trouble if anyone else were to overhear. And that’s when you think you hate him the most, when you have your flashes of clarity, fading out of the cosmos of everything Jungkook and sharpening to your surroundings. The rue frets at you then, a restless irritation manifesting at your nape his lips can’t chase away, and a spat formed to cut right at the pike of your tongue—it’d be futile though, because no matter what you say, you can’t blame him and selfishly you can’t blame yourself either. You blame circumstance, Bed Stuy, irrefutable attraction. That’s what you’re calling it, ‘irrefutable attraction’. The hours you occupy enthralled in the ardour of his steamy touch, intoxicated and heated whilst he consumes you in that gradual tack that makes you oh so delirious, your very own narcotic because that’s what he is—a vicious addiction.

Admittedly, you’d known from the start. When Irene had first brought him home, boozed-up on cheap spirits, mousy giggles bubbling up her throat as they tried and despicably failed to evade the wooden floorboards that had protested and groused under their ungraceful teeters; you’d been there to witness it all. The cringeworthy display of your elder sister, an arm slung around his shoulders as she hung carelessly off her ‘new boyfriend’, looking clammy and dishevelled as ever in her slurred greeting. And him, he’d seemed fine—later you’d realise he’d substituted the tart flavour of liquor for the earthy spiced mary jane—but then, he’d seemed in better condition than the wreck beside him. And something about him enticed? intrigued you, his magnetic stare studying you daringly, drawled speech bordering on mischievous and his smug smile, boyishly plagued. Too attractive, you’d thought. He is damningly way too attractive. His stunning features lost on the destitution of the neighbourhood, when instead he deserved to be plastered on posters, screens, billboards—still does. Except now you know he can also be so much more with the melodious voice you’ve had the privy bliss of hearing, that is so much foreign to his natural low huskiness, you’re sure he could sell out arenas, tour the world and leave this place and its memories behind for good. Like you want to. Like you are.

“God, I want you so fucking bad.” Jungkook’s hands finally root at the tapers of your waist, fingers splayed out possessively as if he wishes he could be touching everywhere at once. “You’re better than her, so much better than her.”

And there, the admonition of your vicious addiction. It had only meant to be a one-time thing, and even then was too much. But you’d given in—like you always do—give, give, give, playing into his wily wishes, and you weren’t drunk, and he wasn’t drunk, and it had been so so fucking wrong but you’d been curious, unbelievably curious; tumbling hastily into the unlit bar back storage room at your sister’s 21st birthday bash with her boyfriend in tow, his erection rock-hard and insistent on your thigh, mouth sucking and teeth clipping harsh mauve onto the surface of your skin and it had been way too easy to forget where you were when he fucked you, legs wrapped low on his hips, hiked up on the wall, hands clutching desperately at his nape for stability as he pounded into you brutally without falter. You liked what he had to offer, liked the way he dominated you in every way, liked the thrill of being in the arms of someone older, and it just felt right. It still feels right, in the moment at least, everything clicks and it feels like in some cruel twisted fate you’re meant to do this—meant to be with him.

“Jeon just—” You grasp at the base of his shirt. It’s cold out, not cold enough to have you shivering in seek of warmth, but cold enough to want his body nearer and it’s raining, previous heavy downfall simmering down to a softer spring rain. Regardless, it’s done most of its damage anyway, glazed you both over with fresh rainwater and his shirt has your palms feeling clammy; somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware this isn’t a good idea, but it’s far back and you’re here. “—please.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook smirks haughtily, supple lips steamed on your skin and his breath warm with a choppy chuckle. This is how it always goes, your concise breathy pre-exchange on words of confirmation because he knows, you know, and you just both know. So, you allow yourselves to mould without inhibition, when he gives you what you want and you provide what he needs. Later, you’ll ask what’s on his mind—even though you’ve got a strong idea—and he’ll ask what’s on yours (you’ll never tell), but for now it’s mindless, a primitive yearning for sex and all it’s gluttony.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby, fuck you like you want,” He rasps, creeping his wanton touch teasingly up your upper leg, palm grazing the soft flesh and hiking your skirt with the rise. “You’d like that huh?”

You croon mindlessly into his touch. “Hmm—” Your eyes flutter to a gentle close, the pads of his fingers alighting your nerves as you stable your rousing pants. “Gotta get me wet though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He glances up at you, eyes wide and imploring framed by full wispy lashes, his teeth capturing his bottom lip cheekily when he cocks an eyebrow up. “Want me to eat you out?” He asks. “You’d like that?”

“Hmm…yes.”

“Yeah?” His breath fans over the tender pulse on your neck and you’re gorged with zeal at being so close to him. “Want to get my mouth messy with your pretty pussy?”

You nod heedlessly. “M’not getting my knees wet and dirty to suck you off though.” And you know it’s unfair, you know that he loves when you’ve got your lips wrapped around the thick girth of his cock, kitten licking at his slit and his fingers burrowed into your hair as he forces you to take all of him with fierce breaths through your nose. You know he craves the feeling of your nails digging crescent moons into his thighs, always too daring, too close to brandishing him with your telling mark. But you want to take this time, give less and take more, and you think that’s fair on you.

He chuckles gruffly like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his eyes trained on yours with something sadistic flickering past when he speaks. “Don’t have to, Irene beat you to that.”

You still instantly. “Fucking hell Jungkook,” you mutter with a pissy huff, throwing your head back as you glare at the clouded skies, the downpour of sleet dribbling jarringly onto your face. And you have half the mind to shove him away for that comment alone, in fact, you should but instead you retire to a overtaxed, “S’not even funny Kook.”

“Sorry.”

He’s not sorry. You know he’s not sorry. The mischievous drawl of the apology is far from meaningful and you hate it. “You’re a fucking prick.”

“True. You want to stop?” He asks, slowly sinking to his knees in that teasing way he does so, balancing his weight as he makes the floor seem further than it is with a smug smile. And when his knees collide with the metal, your leg is quick to leave stability, draped over his shoulder as you find footing with the other. “You know I will if you say the words.”

“I—” You sigh. You don’t. Of course, you don’t. “No just- just fucking continue.”

“Bit bossy for someone that wants their sister’s boyfriend’s tongue on their cunt, don’t you think?”

“Jungkook.” You spit his name out in clamant warning, it’s subdued but callous and your brows cleft bitterly because he’s the only one daring enough to make jest of this, pointing out exactly why what you’re about to do—what you’ve been doing is wrong. And even though you’re glaring down at him, eyes full of thunder and lips pulled in a sneer, his cheeky grin refuses to waver, stubborn enough to resist until he hears what he wants, like the fucking teasing imp he is. “Christ.”

You puff out a laborious breath, chest heavy with tiredness because that’s what you are tired, drained by this sneaky tirade and just being with him. That’s why this is it, this is the last time. “What d’you want me to do? Beg?”

He shrugs, “Would be nice.”

You scoff. You don’t know what you see in him. You don’t. Okay, you do. You do and it’s stupid—so horribly stupid because it’s wrong. It’s wrong that you notice the way that he smiles when he’s happy—really happy, not the stoned gauzy content. No. It’s the happiness he gets when he’s slaving away on a piece that he’s sprung inspiration on and for so long it’s sounded battered and sullen and lost and then it just fits, after late nights of heavy grunts and rapid tapping, everything comes together and it’s rejuvenating and yellow and warm. And sometimes you see it for yourself when his nose scrunches cutely, the ends of his lips tugging into something big, teeth all for show, the front two slightly bigger than the rest in a way that is so so endearing and you can’t help but relax into a smile yourself. And other times he’ll call you at incredibly odd hours, and you’ll be so groggy with nothing but sleep clouding your mind but then you’ll hear his voice, unapologetic and soft, needing to urgently share his triumph with you—no one else but you—and you’ll imagine his smile, so vividly you’d see it right in front of you and suddenly, suddenly sleep is the furthest thing from your mind.

It’s unfair that you think he’s misunderstood, that the ink that paints his skin in intricate designs is his armour and that it’s beautiful and that really you wish you could rest your head upon his broad chest, fingers twirling delicate, drawing over the kaleidoscopic garden of flowers that lies just beneath his collarbones as the sun sets and rises and sets again, streaking your bodies with a shimmer of gold before cooling it with a midnight breeze. And you imagine there’d be something playing in the background, muted and mellow, a playlist of his, the more romantic ensembles, making you feel cushy as he’d hum soothingly along, gentle palms floating over the length of your spine, duvet only coming up to his hips, your entangled legs covered beneath and it’d be so serene, his embrace warm and you’d feel it—feel his love.

It’s intrusive that you think his eyes never say exactly how he feels, that the chocolate orbs glimmer, wrathful and edgy, eluding to more than he tells; wanting someone to dig, wanting to be stripped layer after layer, wanting to be seen, to be called out blatantly on his shit. You see it because you recognise it, the same wretched storm that rocks hazard in his pretty orbs weigh the same as the ones you see in the morning, when you’re looking at the mirror and willing yourself to get by another pointless day because there’s something unknown waiting in the future however near or far; and it’ll be the reason you sigh in ease and say, ‘well done, you did it’.

It’s wrong that you insist that you don’t harbor something beyond platonic for him, that your skin doesn’t prickle with a potent green when he’s touching her in front of you, someone who is so blatantly wrong for him—not that he’s any right for you. He’s not. But he could be, he really fucking could. You don’t love him. You think away from here, away from this dump, away from the perils that swirl him further down into this never ending rabbit hole; you could love him—maybe. It’s so wrong to even think so, because when you look at him, pelts of rain dripping from the ends of his hair and down the curve of his patchy blush cold-pinched cheek, his eyes lustily hooded and his steely touch tightening at your thighs, urging you to speak. You realise he won’t change, not for you.

“Please.” You say, a defeated plea for him to drag you into his spinning orbit and make you a part of it for a while, the little he can provide. “Want to feel you on me, want you to make me feel good, please.”

“Hmm, so pretty baby, so good for me.” You’re unsure if he’s talking about the sight he’s uncovered when he pulls your panties to the side or the words that have spewed from your mouth, but either way you allow his words of praise to sooth your balmy skin. “Look at you so fucking pretty for me.”

Your thigh bounces on his shoulders when he moves in closer, his pointer and middle finger, coldish and coarse as they spread your lips apart and when you chance a look at him, you catch the way his tongue sways across his lips, eyes hooded as he stares—stares at you like you’re a fucking treat. And you love it.

“Jungkook.” His name is airy now, soft and lingering in a lustful plea that’s almost non-existent.

“Uh huh, I got you,” He says. “Always got you.”

You don’t have much time to dissect what his words mean nor do you have time to think about being leant up against the centre metal pole when his tongue delves into you, flat and wide, a torturous slide of wet heat over your exposed cunt; so erotically that the buzz of pleasure rises instantly, the impulse going straight to your head and you want more, you need more. And suddenly, you’re hyper aware of his every movement, his mouth cooling your heated cunt with a steady blow, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit, teeth scraping lightly against the nub before he sucks it into his mouth drawing a needy curse from your clasps.

“Fuck, that’s good.” Your fingers place naturally on his hair, nails carding through it insistently as his mouth works wonders, knowing exactly how to drag shivers through your veins and have you open-mouthed as you swing your head skyward. His palms massage at your hiked thigh roughly, jerking you slightly forward in his attempt to delve deeper, causing your other shoe to slip on the wet metal, hands flailing instantly to curl around a nearby extended pole for stability. “Shit.”

He hums guttural, a growl that crawls from the back of his throat that you perceive as a form of agreement and the intensity of the vibration electrifies you. Sinful and hungry, it’s become entirely clear that Jungkook hasn’t got the slightest regard for holding back, his tongue laps at you sloppily, gaze dark and attentive looking at you in a way that itches until you’re forced to peer down and the sight has you releasing a loud broken indecent moan. His lips are dark and wet, and it’s obscene, so fucking lewd the way he slurps you up, his tongue flicking, twirling, slipping between your slit, only his tip, never pushing too far as to tease you and have you whimpering for it, which you are. With his nose pressed flat against your mound, drawing your clit into his mouth, tugging gently at it; you are delirious.

“Jung—oh.” Your fingers tighten at his roots as the words choke up in your throat and your hips rut forward acutely, because you ache for more, it hurts the way you ache for him, a rampant fire fusing in your abdomen and pinching at your waist, always wanting more and more and more of him. And he knows it.

He pulls away languidly, mouth dragging slow from your clit in his release, the vulgar soppy pop enhancing and accompanying his pornographic actions. “Taste so fucking good,” He slurs. “So so pretty, look at you, my pretty baby.”

His fingers trace where his mouth has just been, roaming delicately like he’s trying to familiarise himself and he’s quiet, unnaturally so, murmuring to himself as your chest rises and falls, your heavy breath the only disturbance to the peace. Your teeth dig anxiously into your lip, wondering what his lack of comprehensible words and his careful touch could mean, you can bet that you’ll come to the same conclusion; nothing, all of this means nothing and you’re thinking too deep into it like you always do. You don’t imagine his brain can form too complex thoughts at the moment, taken over by the primal base of needing to fuck and being clouded in dope. So, you feel it, feel the slimy glob of saliva that he expels from his mouth, you feel the way it dribbles filthily down to your fluttering hole and the pad of his finger catches it before he presses into you and you’re gasping sharply at the intrusion.

“Ohh….yeah.”

“Need to stretch you out,” he says, his finger dragging and chafing across your walls torturously, as you suck him in with every languid pull. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers, gonna be fucking delicious around my cock, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah? Fuck, you got me so hard baby.”

His finger is thick, so fucking thick and long that you feel him so wholey, when he slips another finger in, your hole stretching barely to accommodate the extra width, pumping them out in a quicker succession that has you trembling and keening. His thumb pressing between the lips of your cunt, flicking fast across your clit as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, curling them to brush against the barrier of your walls; driving you closer and closer to that steep-cliff edge. He’s got you completely at his will like this, persistent and vigorous with the way he’s pleasuring you and his words only send you reeling further. “You’re so fucking hot like this, almost ready to take my fat cock.” The sounds are downright obscene, moist squelches that follow the drag of his fingers and ring continuously in your ears. He’s got you like this, so wet, so ready, so desperate, teeth bruising at your lips in the hopes that you can curb the volume of your moans, fiery curses and the shameless whines of his name. “I should really use three fingers huh…you’re so tight, but you like it don’t you, little fucking slut loves it when it hurts.”

A strangled noise bubbles at the back of your throat as the term shudders through you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Close?”

“So so close,” you breathe.

He hums contentedly and before you know it everything's amplifying, the stress of his thumb increases to vigorous rubs, fingers pumping you raw, fast and rough, he’s shoving and jerking in and out of your cunt. And you’re sizzling, your skin is sizzling, the downpour of spring rain does nothing to cool you down and instead sinks and perspires like steam. Your eyes are screwed permanently shut whilst you feel it—everything, his insistent thick fingers, his breath fanning over your thigh arising goosebumps from the flesh, the fact that you both must look like a picture to passerbyers and ceasing to give a shit. Everything is too much and yet not enough. “Need, need—” You jolt.

Nothing. “Fuck.”

The feeling of emptiness crashes too suddenly when he pulls away from you completely, dismissing your oncoming climax, drifting you into a harsh halt that has you shivering, limbs rattling uncontrollably and gasping laboriously for air to fill your lungs. Briefly, you wonder if this is how it must feel for him, when he’s coming down from a high and sinking into reality, the dizziness, the numbness, the cold that invades you like violent waves. It makes you crave, crave for more, another sinful taste, to return to the overwhelming heady feels of beautiful pleasure. And you get it. His touch does nothing to calm you, searing in their trail to land at your waist, clasp persistent at tugging you closer and resting his forehead against yours.

“Christ Jungkook, that—” Words fail on you, fumbling at the tip of your tongue in the depth of the haziness surrounding you. It’s at this point that you know you’d do anything to have him, to prompt him in completing the wreckage he’s caused. “—that.”

His chest must be blooming in pride at your appearance, flushed and glazed wet, knowing he is still to make a mess of you. “You need time?” He asks, and his voice plays distorted and far in your ears, like he’s miles away from where you feel him.

You shake your head hastily, hands clasping the sides of his face to ground you from the shudders of elation. “No—no, fuck me now, like it when I’m sensitive.”

“God, you’re so fucking good.”

His mouth crashes against yours and there’s nothing tame about it, nothing that flutters at your heart, and releases butterflies to cause ruckus in your stomach. It’s raw and it’s carnal and it’s thrilling enough for you to understand why you love it, your teeth clacking together, lips squashing and merging, as he kisses you chaotically; messy licks into each other’s mouths, heads ducking and lolling about as you push and fight for dominance, his teeth, sharp and purposeful, sinking piercingly on your bottom lip until you submit. He draws blood and the tang of iron on your taste pallets has you feeling heady. His kisses, unloving and brutal, are still as ever breathtaking. And they travel, fleeting across your skin, curving at your jaw and making home in the nook of your neck. He pulls at the elasticity of your skin, scraping and sucking at it and your hands make work at his trousers.

“No marks.” You rush out in haste, yanking his trousers and boxers down. “No marks—Fuck.” You’ve got a leg wrapped around his waist, hands locked behind his neck when he sinks you onto his cock, mushroom head stretching at your hole painfully and it burns, supine heat that inflames your insides because his cock is so fucking big that no matter how well or not he preps you, your walls will always quiver at the girthy drag. “Fuck, you’re so big, oh my god.”

“Take me so well though—” His mouth is pressed at the crevice above your collarbone as he hums, bottomed out inside you, and waits. “—tight little bitch taking every inch of my cock.” Jungkook doesn’t listen to you though, never does, his mouth plucks and draws out marks of his stake on you that are always a pain to excuse. But you’re too far gone to care, all you can feel is him, so full of his cock that nothing else matters.

You clutch at him tighter. “Move, move, want you to fuck me hard Jungkook, make it hurt.”

The sensitivity of having him inside you hits when you feel his cock twitch at his words, you feel the rapid tiny sway, pressing him deeper and your breath hitches shakily. “Yeah. You want me to fucking ruin you, show you who you belong to?”

“Yes.” His cock slides out, the forceful resistance leaving you aching until it’s only the tip left and he’s bottoming out again, rocking slowly. “Yes—oh, fuck Jungkook, please.”

“You like that?” He grunts. “Like when I fuck you slow, when I make you feel every fucking inch of my fat cock.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

The pace is agonising, leaving you feeling almost barren for moments that last too long. He’s fucking you deep, dragging out every single second, every inch so you feel it, so that it takes over and you’re mewling and whimpering pathetically. His hips slam into yours, lodging his cock, pressing it further and you’re drowning in it, like this it feels like forever, like you could be stuck in his arms and you wouldn’t mind it one bit. Have him biting at your skin, fingers bruising on your body, have him loving you. The thought itself is daunting, how much you want it, and it’s unfair he’s giving you this teaser, plunging his cock into you unhurriedly almost as if he wants this to last as well—almost. Not enough. “More,” you beg, the intensity is burning at you and you might just fall apart if he continues at this. “Please need more.”

He chuckles. “Always want more, don’t you? want me to fuck you fast, fuck you and own you like a pretty slut.”

You nod. Yes.

“Fuck, turn around.”

It’s quick now and the excitement of that roars at you, as he swivels you around, bending you over, stomach pressed up onto a metal bar and your legs spread behind you. There’s no restraint, and he’s thrusting into you without prior warning, hands tight on your hips as he begins to pound into you, how you’ve both wanted it. “Ah yes yes yes.”

He’s hammering into you, frantic and possessive, his cock filling you out and keeping you blissed as he brushes at your cervix, prodding, probing, adrenaline unwavering. And the sheer brute force reminds you exactly where you are, the merry go round you’ve been perched on, lurching at his actions, swinging you around in a way that makes you dizzy as the scene around you blurs. It’s unhygienic and filthy, the rain that falls causing the sound of your skins slapping together just that bit more raucous, and your skin feels murky with the mixture of your sweat dribbling down your face.

“Fuck, your cunt is so fucking good.” His palm splays at your stomach, the other prying at your wrist forcing an arm behind your back, as he re-adjusts himself, never ceasing up on you. “All mine, you take cock like a fucking slut, just for me huh.”

The whimpers tremble at your lips and your back arches away from him and it’s maddening. He’s got you so under his control, your thoughts are clouded with nothing but him, and he’s fucking you so so good, it hurts. “Fuck I— ngh, yes. All for you.”

“I know. My. Pretty. Slut.” His words are punctuated with steely thrusts, stealing your breath and choking you up with every one.

Your body is trembling, and you can feel the way the tension tightens in a loop as he continues to fuck into you with vicious intent, you’ll feel him tomorrow, you know it, feel the weight of his cock inside you, feel his balls, heavy and full slapping against you. His fingers reach to press at your neck, clenching tight and pushing further and further, you itch to scratch at his grasp and give you back the breath that he’s taking from you, the blood pounds at the back of your neck as you struggle and struggle and he pushes further. You’ll feel it and need him again, like a drug. When you’re so heady, you match his wavelength, floaty and submitted to the throes of hedonism. And the comedown is like a bullet train, the crown of his cock angling to hit right there, the spot that has you screaming his name as the loop snaps and you lose your breath. Everything is white noise, humming and buzzing as he chases the peak of his orgasm, cum released into you, string after string and he holds you. His arm loops beneath your breast holding you back onto his chest, tight, unwilling to let go.

“Don’t go.”

You won’t. Tomorrow, you promise. Tomorrow.

all rights reserved ©️ minstrivia

[sugar-petals]

Cinder | pt.1 ➝ pjm

↳ sequel to cygnet (m). 

¬ pairing: Jimin x Reader

¬ words: 7,417

¬ summary: Two and a half years later. The Black Forest. After your separation from the Prince of Bavaria, you have found and won back his lost sword, Cinder. The blade leads you on a trail behind robbers who you suspect have abducted the Prince. 

¬ genre/warnings: bavarian prince!jimin, historical, thriller, rated r, action, graphic violence, gore/body horror, angst, hurt & comfort

¬ a/n: Paintings in the separators by Rubens.

The man falls over with a dagger in his heart.

Seconds later, Anna reaches down to withdraw the hilt.

She remains stern. Austere.

While blood keeps soaking through the man’s grey shirt, heavy raindrops start to ruffle the current of the nearby river. Friedrich is all neigh and trot tonight. He looks impatient standing at the bridge. His black fur wets down almost entirely. No other horse would volunteer to ever tread this area.  

When the rain begins to permeate the air entirely with a heavy earth-like scent, Anna boots the lifeless body into the creek. A gush of clear water from the river’s edge suffices to rinse off her blade. She stuffs it back into the casing at her belt almost right away.

Meanwhile, the pour from the sky has become relentless. Anna misses the south of France. Germany is no good when it comes to stable weather. Not at all. Still, she remains focused.

The maiden heads over to the bridge for adjusting Friedrich’s saddle until she is somewhat content with how it sits. The horse is jittery, completely drenched at this point.

It’s a solemn day.

Churning, the river sweeps a few crooked branches down its current while the water surface becomes increasingly agitated by the downpour. After three whistles and two claps, Anna decides to linger at the waiting spot herself to listen for a sign. And there it is. A reply.

Three whistles. One clap.

In a heavy gallop through the mud, fervid Gretchen storms toward the creek. Her mane, dark like hickory, leaves a dense spray of rain on your vest. You keep the leather reins wrapped tight around your gloves. Maybe there is another horse who would volunteer to tread this area.

Once you stop at the bridge, Anna greets you with a tip of her hat, earning one from yours in return.

“Clap louder next time, Milady. It was barely audible.”

“My bad. Started when the wind came.”

“The whistles were pretty good anyways,” Anna pats Gretchen’s flank. The horse’s breath goes slower by the minute.  

“Couple of Duke’s chambermaids taught me last week,” you shrug. “They always use it when picking berries at the mill.”

“Friedrich’s ears went all stiff when you did it,” Anna goes on to caress her own horse’s head. His ears are still upright either way. Either of your Warmbloods had been tense all day. They feel what you feel.

You barely nod looking around with a squint to your eyes. Mud everywhere. Steep rock. More branches. The rain keeps trickling down the back of your vest.

“Where is the guy with the grey shirt?” 

Anna’s face scrunches up.

“Down the creek. Got carried away pretty fast. Disgusting smell.”

It's almost guaranteed.

“That’s washed away by now,” you say, gazing down the current. “Robbers don’t have palace etiquette. The Duke is big on sanitation.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“We’ve been catching dust at Castle Altfried for too long. I'm not used to this either.”

Admittedly so, you can hardly stand the wind and ride with a stable posture. It's almost embarrassing. By comparison, Gretchen is remarkably steady underneath you. Anna does notice.

“Was there a problem with Steinburg?” she asks, and concern laces into her words.

You shake your head fast, making excess rain drip from your hat.

“No, I couldn’t find him. Gretchen isn’t fast enough yet. We’ve never practiced riding on boulders.”

The maiden hums.

“Right. She’s used to gentler paths.”

“But at least you got rid of this one,” you point toward the red patch next to the creek’s bank a few meters away. “Good job, Anna. You threw a dagger at him, didn’t you.”

“Guy was busy picking his nose and peeing into the water.”

“Really?”

“Aimed straight at the chest when he noticed me and wanted to aim his gun.”

You laugh at the image forming in your mind.

“What an idiot.”

“I think— He was guarding something for Steinburg around here.”

You look around the barren area a second time. A few pine trees in the distance make the landscape at least a bit more inviting. But yet again, you note how much you hate the Black Forest during storms.

And either way.

It's hard to suppress the feeling. The denial, and the desire.

You wish for Jimin's body close.

Right now.

The memory still feels palpable. It’s painful in your chest.

“Not the most hospitable place."

Gretchen, as if nodding along, moves her head.

Anna affirms quickly in reply. “Must've been something important to guard, he was clad in arms, Y/N.”

You understand. As expected of Steinburg's lackey.

“We’ll search the caves over— there,” you indicate toward the cluster of hills and rocks west of the creek. “I get a feeling the robbers are hiding something in those.”

Anna sounds a lot more disgruntled at that.

“Milady, we don’t know how sloped they are. We don’t have a lamp!”

Nothing are you more acutely aware of. Even spending the upcoming night without any lighting will be hard. But what can you do but lie to yourself.

“Don’t care,” you seize Gretchen’s reins tight anew. The horse responds immediately by turning west. “It’s the only spot the grey shirt guy could guard. And if there’s nothing, at least we can escape the rain. Our horses can rest for a minute. They’ll thank us later.”

“Still don’t like the caves.”

“Come, saddle. It’s a good rest. We worry about the light when we’re there. It’s not like we just race inside.”

“Fair enough.”

Anna, after tilting her hat to let some accumulated water drip down, proceeds to climb on Friedrich’s back.

You vow to be careful when Gretchen clatters ahead through the muddy area.

The entrance is cluttered with pebbles and debris from what appears to be the remnants of a prior, heavier storm. Chunks of branches, earth. And even more rocky ground. Wetted down everywhere because the rain has even fewer mercy than Anna when she throws a dagger.

Still, you feel the longing in your chest. There isn’t much that really helps you distract yourself from it. Not in a landscape as barren as this. All you can do is soothe Gretchen with some corn from your vest. It’s a bit mushy, but a swordmaster’s horse could care less. She’s seen rougher days. At least you find it a little amusing to watch Gretchen munch and shake her mane around. The entrance spot makes for good shelter. But still, you make sure to adjust the bow on your back.

Half a minute later, you shift in the saddle to observe Anna gaze and grope about the walls of the cave on either side before she returns. You stuff the corn back into your vest when you see her expression being much graver than before.

“This place is strange, Milady,” she says. “I can’t tell why. There’s something... ashy on the walls.”

“Ash?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. But it’s not steep as you thought, right.”

“Not really.”

That's good. Very good, in fact. You let Gretchen circle about the area a bit now. 

Ash on the walls. It really does seem peculiar.

The more you try to find the marks she is talking about, the more you wonder about the ground. Something is even stranger about it. So you look down closer leaning from your saddle, indeed making out some odd, elongated imprints and shapes.

“Anna, look at this!”

“Yes, Milady?”

The maiden already hurries over.

“I think there are footprints in the mud all around the entrance, I’m not sure. It could just be grey shirt guy’s. They don’t look like yours.”

You point beside where Gretchen stands with you on her back, waving her tail from side to side. Never is she as nervous. Not even when the Duke’s clarion players and knights march up every weekend at the Castle, playing their most intricate of songs while reeking like foul wheat. A nightmare to a horse. But even that won’t compare. 

Anna crouches to twirl her gloved fingers through the mud. After a few seconds of investigation from all sides, she comes back to where you stand farther inside the cave.

“Those are traces other than grey shirt’s, Milady.”

“And?”

Her expression turns far too dark for your taste once more.

“They’re from heeled shoes.”

Jimin’s.

“What!”

“We have to go in deeper.”

Silence. You peek toward the inside of the cave. No lamp. No clue.

No time, either.

“Shit.”

“Gretchen and Friedrich can’t stay at the entrance,” Anna points at the horses. “If Steinburg or the other two robbers show up here, we’re done for.”

“They’ll send one of them to search for grey shirt guy. It’s two against two.”

“We can’t think about that now. The horses will lead the way.”

“Didn’t we just worry about having no light whatsoever, Anna?”

“They’ll fit through there, the cave’s tall. Gretchen has great sense of smell. Her first.”

“Let’s just hope there’s not a wolf or a bear in there.” 

Eventually, you unsaddle, then take the bow and quiver from your back; strap both around Gretchen’s side at a height convenient to seize an arrow from. The rain keeps getting stronger.

Anna guides Friedrich toward the right slant of the entrance.

“Milady, I’ll always throw a knife for you.”

Her words are small a solace.

Your heartbeat feels louder in the cave than the rattling breath of the horses. Cygnet’s sheath rests in your left hand ever so firmly, cool, but wet from the rain. On the other side of your belt, tapping against the side of your hip with every step— Cinder, untouched. The wall of the cave feels brusque under your right palm. Anna glances back at you.

“We’ll have to rely on Gretchen in a few meters.”

“I don’t know if she’s ready.”

You’ve been riding around all day to scan the forest for any sign of the robbers or the Prince. Gretchen’s exhaustion is audible enough in her breath. You can be fortunate Anna encountered at least one of the robbers.

“The ground is even until now, we might be lucky.”

Might. And that's the problem.

“Maybe I can whistle while we still have a bit of daylight. If there are animals inside?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“This is the last spot where we stand a chance, Anna.”

A flash of surprise in Anna’s eyes tightens your grip around Cygnet.

“So you'll lure them out by whistling? I never thought about this.”

You don't want to imagine how the two horses would react if a wolf was in there. But there's no choice. The image of the heeled shoe's trace is too compelling inside your mind.

Jimin is here. And he needs your aid.

“I’ll do it.”

Friedrich, ears alert as ever, shudders, then sways from one hoof to the other when you bring two fingers to your lips. A long echo reverberates through the cave. It takes half a minute until the whistling sound ceases. It is so eerie that your legs seem to freeze.

“The cave is huge,” Anna trembles. She looks times stiffer. “The Prince could be anywhere.”

“Fucking hell...”

“There must be several caves branching out down there where it gets dark.”

All the more space for wild animals to get cozy.

Friedrich’s nostrils flare up, and he tilts his head towards Anna. He’s always done this being riled up before tournaments and lance games. You exhale, allow your eyes to trace the rock surrounding you. Calm, calm. 

Stay calm.

“You said that the place is strange earlier, didn’t you.”

“Yes, what about it, Milady?”

You let your hand cup over the cragged stone surface on your right. Only a few meters and the cave will be too dark to maneuver like this.

“All those blemishes you’ve seen on the wall. I mean— Those could indicate the way.”

“I’d guess so,” Anna leans sidewards to inspect the walls before her.

“I’ve seen two ash blotches earlier. Here’s none. Yes. They appear in certain distances. I’m sure those are marks. Not random spots.”

They did look like stains made by torches, almost. Dark, grimy.

“That would make sense.”

“Say— If the cave has several branches, the robbers need the marks to find the way.”

Anna gulps. Her voice sounds hoarse now.

“The ash at the entrance looked pretty worn. Didn’t it.”

“So did the other two,” you withdraw the hand from the wall. “The ashes aren’t here since, well, recently. They applied them a long time ago.”

“I know what you mean.”

“If these are the robbers’ headquarters—”

Far around the corner, a dim light emerges.

Yellow, awfully bright in contrast to the surrounding dark walls. The horses flinch, as do you. Anna looks completely debilitated.

Only seconds later, someone shouts. It’s a deep growl. Haunting.

“Jakob, is that you?”

You know who it is. The voice.

It can belong to only one person. 

The increasing alarm in Anna’s face tells you she understands, too. The yellow light keeps on approaching. She points to the saddles. But you’re frozen. Another shout.

“Hey! Jakob? Told you to guard the entrance, not to come inside. Why did you take the horses here? I can hear them!”

Steps. The light creeps up the walls further.

Jakob, you realize, was the robber in the grey shirt. 

You've anticipated it. Both of the horses squeal in fear, then scurry to turn. Holding onto Gretchen's reins is a useless endeavor. Brushing past Anna who promptly falls, they race toward the exit, with Friedrich heading for it first.

Gretchen second— 

Carrying both your bow and arrow with her.

Goodbye, headshot from a safe distance.

You rush toward Anna. The voice reverberates inside the caves again.

“Hm? What’s going on there, Jakob!”

The tone comes close enough for you to estimate its age. Mid thirties. Not approaching fourties yet. A heavy Swabian dialect. A man.

“Answer me!”

Teeth gritting, Anna still winds on the ground of the cave, grabbing her ankle. With a sinking heart, you realize that she twisted it. You've seen this type of injury in tournaments all too often.

By now, the walls are half illuminated. The steps around the bend of the cave are firm and significantly faster. Anna tries to get up using her other leg, but you prevent it by passing down your hat into her arms. 

“No. Stay here.“

“Milady!”

“Anna. There is only one way to win such a battle.”

"Y/N..."

"I won't be a fool again. Keep an eye on the horses."

“Yes, master.”

He is as bulky as the salesman Meier described to you at Castle Altfried, selling his molded fruits.

Bearded, two meters tall, and a putrid smell preceding him. From his fur jacket’s top left pocket, a silver shine emanates in the candlelight of the lamp.

Jimin's edelweiss necklace.

“You! Must be the harlot the Prince has been pleading for all night.”

A crooked sneer. Rotten teeth. He stomps towards you with taunt written all over his face.

“Erich Steinburg.”

He laughs. Disparaging.

“Haven’t heard that name in four years. Four! You want to know how they call me nowadays?”

“You don’t sound like I have a choice.”

Steinburg bends one knee, leaning forward to put down the clattering lamp. You realize he does it to admit you a fast glance at the hefty weapon fastened to his back.

“The Axe of the Black Forest. But I don’t lumber.”

His massive arm, the circumference perhaps a third of Gretchen’s neck, reaches back. It slackens the grip of the double-bitted blade out of its leather straps. Your heart rate pounds like a kettledrum inside either of your ears. His axe looks even more massive now that he grips it.

“I see you don’t enjoy a battle of honor, Steinburg.”

His gaze falls to your belt.

“Huh! I don’t swordfight against harlots with nimble sword sticks.”

Steinburg spins the axe in the right palm now, giving you a 360° view of the heavy blade. It’s almost twice as large as his head.

“I used to fight with unfair means some time ago as well.”

“Givin' that up'll cost you your life, I’m afraid.”

Ghostly, seemingly by itself almost, Cygnet slides from its sheath. It feels different after it rained every time. You balance, listen to the blade, tilt— until finding the right way to grip.

“I will beleaguer you regardless.”

Again, it is Cygnet doing its work without much of your help. Albeit scaring you, it finds a way to arrange itself in the beginning stance of any battle you have lunged into.

With the difference that there is nothing mock about it. 

Steinburg comes to trot closer. His steps are dull on the cavern's ground. The surrounding smell is so repugnant that you feel like turning your stomach inside out.

“It really is a stick. Don’t even get ten mark for that.”

“You think?”

“I’ll have great fun slicin' your corpse. The Prince will watch. Get good ransom for him, later.”

“You can try. Cygnet has slain men larger than you.”

"Too ambitious, harlot!"

The axe comes down with a vehemence that makes Steinburg’s arms bulge out a third their diameter. Cygnet’s blade first wavers, then glides off under the blow. You let go of the handle, drop to your knees. All to evade a diagonal swing of the axe aimed at chopping through your shoulder.

Centimeters left to Cygnet lying on the ground way past your reach, Steinburg’s own weapon engraves itself. There is no way you could retrieve your sabre. It did not last a single blow. The axe is far too massive. Steinburg is stronger than most knights at the Hohenzollern brigade.

But he is not first in line.

You stay kneeling and count to five while he draws back the axe again for another strike under tremendous efforts. It's one of the heaviest weapons you have ever seen.

5, 4, 3... 2.

A fervid pierce. So brute, you feel the shock sting through your entire arm. Steinburg first wavers— then collapses on the cave floor howling. 

No second strike comes down precise. The axe has fallen from his grip before touching the ground.

His trousers turn carmine, then wine red around the spot where you rammed Anna’s dagger into his loin from below. 

Femoral artery. 

Pricked. 

Right. 

Through.

“Fool.”

Steinburg bawls out, winding on his stomach.

“What have you done!”

“This is no lance game, fucker. You kidnapped the Prince of Bavaria.”

You scramble up from your kneeling pose. A quick reach toward your belt. Unsheathed in a second.

Another spill of red. Cinder drills into the robber’s back, burying half its golden blade in flesh. He screams again. You plunge it down until the grip, and anchor it fast in his rib cage.

“My only honor will always be to protect the Prince. My sticks are just a tool.”

“You—!”

The blade through his lungs already shortcuts his breath.

“Deal with it. They call you Axe? Can’t even handle a little dagger.”

“Who, who are you!”

You shake your right arm to relieve it from the strain it took to place the knife into his loin.

“First in line of all swordmasters from East Prussia to Rhine's End,” you reach to the floor to pick up your lost sword, sheath Cygnet. It did not last the first blow, but its blade remains intact. “Bodyguard to the royal family of Bavaria. Any last words?”

“You’ll pay. You’ll pay for this.”

“Already did. 210 mark. Fucking expensive."

"What are you talking about!"

"Spent the other 39 I had at the Altfried town inn on some delicious asparagus before I met this guy Meier. Was well-invested money. You can still have it if you want. Isn’t money all you desire?”

“What?”

The cave’s ground already sticks with a pool of red under your feet.

“Wait a second. Here’s your payment.”

You take a deep breath, as close to him as possible. Inhaling every last bit of the foul scent. Lean down. Cough up. 

And puke all over his face.

Three whistles and claps reply from the entrance of the cave. You wave the lamp back and forth. Seconds later, you hear hooves. Gretchen speeds toward you. Friedrich follows, with Anna on his back.

“Are you alright, Milady? Is the Prince alive?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Steinburg isn’t."

"You made it!"

"Don’t look at him for too long. And hold your breath.”

You nod your head toward the corner of the cave where Steinburg’s feet protrude from.

“Oh God!”

“Gretchen shouldn’t smell that, we ride past quick, alright. Take care of your foot when we do.”

The maiden’s eyes wander to your hip, scanning.

“Where is Cinder? The sheath is empty! Is it damaged?”

“The Prince will retrieve the blade himself when we return.”

You pull yourself up Gretchen’s saddle and spur. After passing you your hat, Anna follows.

“And the dagger?”

“Crotch. Thank you for lending me.”

“Crotch!”

“Not thrown like I thought I would. I’m not as good at it.”

“You’ve stabbed Steinburg up close?”

“I did.”

“Just what did he wield?!”

“You’ll see in a second.”

The horses pass the corner of the cave. You don’t have to spur Gretchen to go faster. She tramples over the stock-still pair of legs blocking the way deeper into the cave. Steinburg did bleed out fast. Bones crack. Anna keeps her nose covered with the inside of her sleeve.

Once you reach the next ashen mark on the wall, Anna removes the sleeve and huffs out.

“Steinburg had an Axe?”

“And he was two meters tall. Just like the farmers at the creek said. I think we owe them something for pointing us towards the cave.”

Their advice could not have been more priceless.

“Let’s just hope Steinburg didn’t hit the Prince with this thing.”

“He didn’t,” you shake your head, still lightheaded. “The robbers want to go for ransom. They get more when he’s alive than dead or lethally injured.”

“Right. You said the same happened at the Hohenzollern brigade. I mean when you started there as commander, Milady.”

“Yeah, that case was similar. Someone tried to abduct the Duchess Walthilde.”

“Did the kidnappers succeed?”

“No. She was unscathed. One of my soldiers had retrieved her before it was too late.”

Another ash mark passes, guiding you into a narrower cave tunnel. Either horse goes slower, but you still have enough space to fit through.

“Really?”

“But the Duchess didn’t take it well. It haunted her for years. And that’s my only fear with Jimin. I don’t want to imagine how he ended up here. It’s been so long.”

At the entrance of the lacuna, Anna picks up a heeled shoe. It is unlike the one you’ve seen Jimin wear at the ball because it is so defiled with mud, with its sole torn off. 

However, looking at the red heel, you know it is his.

“They will think Steinburg is back when they see the light. We have to watch out for other robbers in there,” Anna puts down the damaged shoe. If you didn’t already, you would start to feel nauseous at the mere sight. Stepping forward with cygnet drawn, you illuminate the lacuna. Anna limps behind you.

The cave room is filled with stacked, empty barrels. Some for gun powder, others for beer. All out of stock. You’re not surprised why Steinburg would have needed the ransom. You lift the lamp more only to spot piles of ammunition and large chunks of wood. There’s a fireplace with ashes and leftover chicken bones. It’s what they used to create the marks.

Gretchen and Friedrich stay at the entrance, with either you and Anna hoping they would stay still for once. The image of the shoe won’t leave your mind. 

The sheer panic alone slows your steps.

After climbing through the pieces of wood, you already reach the end of the barrel front, sighing out.  

“They’re all out riding. I don’t think Jimin is here either. Fuck.”

“If they were here and heard your fight with Steinburg, they would have come out anyways.”

“Yeah, the lacuna isn’t far away from the spot where we fought. The echo is stronger here, too. They would have been alerted.”

The cave room is considerably warm, and large minus the empty stocks now that you think about it. An ideal hideout.

“They use cowardly long distance weapons,” Anna comments, browsing the scattered materials on the rough ground. She picks up a few of the pistols and investigates them from all sides. Only few of them seem to be loaded at all.

“I’ve become cowardly as well,” you gaze back to the horses where your bow and arrow are. How many ludicrous straw men they have shot at Altfried Castle. You can only laugh at yourself.

“No, arrows are practical,” Anna shakes her head, turning the pistol upside down, then shaking it back and forth. You can hear what she means. “But these guns right here are loaded with everything but real powder or bullets.”

They use spikes and all sorts of metal bits, rattling inside the weapon.

“Amateurs. It won’t even fire properly. You can tell they’re broke. And that is cowardly.”

“God. You would think someone like Steinburg would amass tons of money.”

You sway the lamp towards the barrels.

“Tons of mediocre beer, you mean.”

Anna scrunches up her face.

“That’s why he smells so damn bad. I don’t know how you could stand that up close, Milady Y/N.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Your stomach still feels uneasy.

“The wimp really was that rotten.”

“His aim was rather poor as well,” you say. “Jimin might have been lucky. What I saw was not the monstrous Erik Steinburg the peasants were talking about. He bled out faster than a cow.”

“Maybe that was a bad idea. We could have forced him to tell us where the Prince is.”

“It seemed like he was keeping him around here to me. Unless they were trying to lead us into a trap.”

“No,” Anna shakes her head. “With the grey shirt guy dead, and Steinburg? They missed their opportunity. And as we said. They’re amateurs.”

Your voice turns dark.

“They did manage to kidnap the Prince, at least.”

Silence.

“Probably when he was sleeping. You can’t defeat the Prince of Bavaria awake. With these guns in particular. It was a nighttime thing.”

“That’s how they took his sword, you mean?”

And only days later, they sold it to Meier. It makes sense now.

“Yes. We have to keep searching.”

She puts down the pistol, adjusts her hat. You turn to shed light on the other corner of the cave where a particularly large wall off barrels towers. Again, you raise the lamp.

“Maybe we find something there, Anna.”

As you sheath Cygnet and shove one beer barrel in the stack to the side to create an opening, you see a moving shadow. Anna yelps out. 

You retract your hand, four barrels come tumbling down to your left, making both of you jolt backwards. The lantern almost drops, but you manage to keep hold of it. The horses neigh at the entrance.

Now you see where the shadow came from.

Two bats flatter up to the ceiling of the cave room.

“My heart just stopped, Milady! Oh shit!”

Anna props herself up on one of the barrels that fell down. She still holds her foot. 

You gaze upward to see the two small fuzzy animals nestle together between rocks, shielding themselves with their wings from the light.

“They’re harmless,” you soothe. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them. We have some bats in the basement of Linderhof Palace as well—”

Suddenly, Anna tugs at your sleeve.

“Milady Y/N! Look!”

You turn.

“What’s wrong, Anna?”

“Behind the beer barrels!”

You flinch.

An opening. 

Now you spot it, too. The four barrels that had fallen had revealed another hole in the wall, seemingly a tunnel. You scurry to squeeze through the stacks right away.

“He’s in there. He’s in there! I know it!”

Jimin.

Finally.

You are sure.

The dim tunnel is much smaller than the initial cave way, barely fitting a horse if it would ride through. Anna hurries right behind you, following the light, with you trying not to graze against the moist walls of the tunnel with Cygnet. At this point, you know that any person other than Jimin with the wrong intent would have an advantage coming from the lacuna, following you into the hole. You don’t want to think about it.

The lamp glints up. At the end of the tunnel’s first bit, you step into a wider space.

“An interval!”

You scan the area. All dripping wet rock. And colder. Less space. And in a far corner—

“They have more barrels over there.”

“We have to follow the tunnel!”

A few meters in and you realize that the cave walls become even more narrow. Gretchen wouldn’t fit through anymore. And by the flicker on the wall, you realize. You’re in trouble.

“The lantern!”

Its white candle has almost reached the very bottom of the attachment. You look back, then forward, to see how far you’ve come, and how far you can go. An actual tail of the tunnel is still not visible. Anna rummages inside her vest.

“It’s not the best time to pull out a snack!”

“Milady.”

A candle stub. She’s picked it up at the fireplace, or where the ammunition was.

“You gem!”

“Quick, exchange them before there’s no fire anymore!”

The end of the tunnel is not a true end, but a slight depression that ends in a furrow. With the new candle in place, you can gawk far enough down the hollow, and curse yourself. Of course.

“There’s no way Steinburg would have even fit through the majority of the last meters! For fuck’s sake, we’re dumb!”

“It doesn’t even branch out, look!”

She’s right. The tunnel is a dead end. With Jimin nowhere near. If they find you now, you’re done for.

“Back, quick! Back, Anna!”

The walls are not even broad enough for a proper strike of Cygnet. Not a centimeter there to dodge a slice either. And every pistol shot: Not even an amateur would miss.

“Shit!”

Running is hardly possible. Anna’s foot looks dangerously slanted with every step. The candlelight threatens to go out if you do, swaying around the fluid wax too much around the wick and flame. 

Cygnet regularly scratches against the cave wall, carving dents into its sheath. You curse more when Anna almost falls because of the wet ground. Helping her find balance again with a tug at her shoulder, you see that the interval room is already back in sight.

Still too far inside the tunnel. 

When you reach it, Anna fully trips. You crouch down to pull her upward by her arms that you hear it.

A thudding noise. 

No, a knock. 

Two times. Three times. You almost black out with the shock and fall down next to Anna. The thudding continues.

Those aren’t bats.

But human noises.

Echoing. Echoing. Echoing.

You can barely unsheath your blade that the knocking turns dull. Cygnet remains stuck inside its casing. Your arms are heavy. The gnarly feeling in your stomach gets worse.

It doesn’t stop.

More thuds.

You raise the lantern to brighten up the tunnel.

“They’re not here yet. We can still hide. Get up! Come on!”

Both of you scramble off the floor. Anna’s shirt is ripped up at the waist. 

The knocks turn louder, and slower.

“Come over, Y/N!” Anna limps toward the barrels, opening the very first one in sight. She climbs inside with the lid in her right hand. “Give me the lantern, I put out the candle! The robbers will see the light!”

Ceasing knocks. The horses are raucous at the entrance of the lacuna. Your state of panic rises even more. Everything within your mind screams.

The lantern fades out with one blow. You can hear Anna place the candle container at the bottom, then, feel her grab for your hands to pull you inside. Within a matter of seconds and one foot in, you realize that the barrel is too small for both of you.

“Take another barrel! Fast!”

You drag your foot out, then grope for anything to hold onto in the other direction where you believe another barrel to stand. Anna closes the lid of hers, making you flinch before you realize what she did because of the sound. 

Finally. A wooden surface underneath your fingertips. Fumbling, you realize that the barrel you found is decently large. Ripping off its cover strains your arms, but you manage to get a foot inside, careful, then another. You detach Cygnet from your belt, stuff it into the barrel, then crouch inside and pull the lid in place overhead with trembling arms.

And then you sit.

Exhale—

There’s a breath that’s not yours. 

Deep and heavy.

Right before you.

You’re scared stiff. No movement.

Until your mind catches up.

The robbers have been waiting for you inside the barrels.

And Steinburg—

Was just a ploy.

A savage blow toward the other end of the barrel with your fist. Miss.

You kick your legs forward. The first passes the aim, the other tangents what you believe to be a torso. But still, no hit. The barrel shakes. Another strike, this time, with your elbow. You can’t land it. It goes into nowhere.

Now you understand that whoever is at the other end crouches.

A lunge. You quickly make out where the body is, clamp it between your legs. You seize at it with the last bit of force left in your arms. Shake.

And realize it’s bare skin.

With a familiar scent.

Whimpering emerges from below you.

Then, a sob.

You let go.

The knocking came from the barrel. This very barrel.

“Jimin!”

Sniffles. Heavy breaths. You feel your way to the spot where you believe his head to be.

“Jimin, oh my god!”

His wet face melts into your palms. Yes. It is Jimin. You would recognize him at the end of the world. 

But something—

Obstructs his jaw. You grab at the back of his head. A heavy piece of cloth, fixated around his head like a gag.

“I get this off, I get this off!”

Tugging at the knot doesn’t help. It’s tightly bound in place. Your hands, feverish, search for Cygnet inside the barrel. You loosen the hilt only centimeters out of the sheath as not to draw out the entire blade. This time, it works. Your sword has never been more intuitive when you fell down with Anna just minutes ago and it wouldn’t react at all. But now it does.

“Don’t move!”

You glide the exposed edge of the sabre across the back of his head to cleave the piece of cloth at its surface. By the ripping sound, you know that it is cotton. The rest of the gag opens with a tug through either of your hands pulling in opposite directions. Once loose, you toss away the cloth and cup his face.

Between cries, a hoarse, almost nonexistent voice.

“You came,” it murmurs. “You came...”

It breaks your heart. Jimin’s tone is so faint.

You feel his hand at your knee. Reaching down to grab it, you realize that his hands are bound, too. It is the same fabric you remember from countless fights. The neckerchief.

It comes off with an abrupt tug of your digits clawing into the knot.

Jimin’s hands close around you while you bow down to kiss his forehead. Under your thumb, his lips and chin feel coarse and dry. The hair you bury your nose in is soaking wet with sweat and your tears.

No trace of your hands goes without feeling a sore spot on his body. Where once his coat of mail led firmly, you can feel his ribcage. You can’t stop crying.

Loosening the remaining ropes on his body leaves another hot tear on your face with every knot until the shackles are wide enough for you to get his legs out. Much like his torso, not one layer of clothing protects them from the cold of the barrel.

“I thought it wasn’t real.”

His words are nothing but a whisper.

“What, Jimin?”

“I heard your voice in the cave. I’ve had all these dreams.”

“Jimin, I’m here. We heard your knocks. I’m here. We’ll get out of here now. Hold tight.”

You wrap one arm around his waist, so lithe, you fear it breaks. With the hilt of Cygnet, you smash upward to tilt the lid off the barrel. It comes down tumbling. You attach the sword at your belt again as swift, no, as far as the darkness of the room permits.

One leg out, you exit the barrel first, then lift Jimin over the edge, leaving behind cut ropes, cloth, and the neckerchief. 

He must have dropped at least a fifth of his weight. No second passes that your hands do not grip on him. He keeps on wincing. You caress his upper back with a flat palm.

“We’ll go home soon, Jimin. It’s over. We’re home soon. Steinburg is dead. I’m here now.”

“Is, is dead?”

Another whimper at your neck. You curse yourself for saying his name.

“Anna came with me. She’s in the other barrel. I’ll call for her and get her out slowly, okay.”

Anna audibly limps close before you, almost crawling alongside the cave wall. Jimin, encased in the embrace of your right arm, cries into the shroud of your vest that you gave him.

“They’ll find us,” he weeps. “They’ll hurt us!”

“They can’t. I’m here.”

You can hear Anna curse meters before you where the cave way broadens.

“My ankle,” she groans.

“We’re not leaving you behind.”

Her voice is so serene now, it makes you feel even colder.

“You have to.”

“Stop that.”

Jimin leans crouched at your chest. His voice is almost a whisper.

“You said you had horses.”

Anna halts, as do you. Same thought. Of course.

“God fucking dammit.”

“We have.”

You cover Jimin’s ears, then whistle. Loud.

A noise emerges. Friedrich's hooves clatter in the distance.

“I’m sorry. I reek of vomit.”

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him upwards, until he is settled on Gretchen’s back. It has taken ages to saddle up yourself. The cave is so dark, not one spark of light seeps through the rock and earth. Jimin clings tight to you leaning back, seated sideways on the horseback.  Shuddering.

“I shouldn’t have left Castle Linderhof this way.”

“Jimin. Neither you nor me can change that now. But I’ll fix this.”

Gretchen starts to trot forwards, followed by Friedrich. You duck as not to hit the tunnel ceiling with your head.

“That was so stupid,” Jimin grits.

Seizing the reins tight, you remember the flock of peasants that you encountered following the creek.

“The blame belongs to those who spread news that you were running from the Palace by yourself without a horse. Where did the robbers find you?”

“It was an ambush. I don’t know where it was. It was nighttime.”

He’s shivering. Gretchen goes a little faster.

“We figured.”

“They put a gun to my head.”

Jimin falls silent, and you bring, as well as holding the reins permits, an arm around his upper body.

The noise of Gretchen’s hooves resounds much louder now. Friedrich’s, too. You’ve reached the lacuna.

Which slowly begins to illuminate from where its entrance locates.

Once she sees it, Anna violently tugs at Friedrich’s reins to make him turn. The light comes closer. Voices become audible. Jimin freezes in your arms. The bats at the ceiling crawl further into the fissures of the cave room’s dome.

You glide your left arm, around Jimin just seconds before, down Gretchen’s side. Reaching into the quiver deep, deeper, to bring out four arrows, then disjunct the bow from its joist. Anna wants to beckon you toward the tunnel opening, but you already draw the bow’s string tight.

“Y/N!”

“No going back. We’re playing my absolute favorite game.”

“What are you doing! Y/N! What—”

“The maidens at Altfried Castle would have found it quite amusing.”

Half the lacuna is tinted yellow by now, casting light on the bruises scattered all over Jimin’s face, neck, wrists, ankles, and chest. 

“Come back to the tunnel! Milady, they carry pistols!”

Anna is on the verge of entering the hole again.

“I could care less.”

“We have no chance!”

“It’s my favorite game. I just came up with it. Do you want to know how it’s called?”

“Y/N, stop messing around!”

While Jimin ducks forward onto the mane of Gretchen, you sort the four arrows between the fingers of your right, then align them on your bow. 

“It’s called the One-Each-Eye.”

Carefree and unimpressed by the weather, the beer barrel dances back and forth strapped somewhat loosely to the back of the carriage. Pine trees dancing alongside the way accompany the vehicle headed south. It’s still cold. 

Chewing on a bit of cabbage, Anna, for a reason mysterious to you and especially the carriage vendor, has made Friedrich and Gretchen sprint faster without a single click of the whip. Her foot is tied with a sturdy band that you purchased at the market two days ago with about the very last mark from Jimin’s stolen purse that Anna, brave how she was, had managed to retrieve from Steinburg’s belt.

Inside the wooden chassis, the pattering rain is loud enough to disturb your sleep, but gladly, not Jimin’s. The Prince dozes with his mouth half open, and, at least in your imagination, with a giant woven scarf tucked around his neck. At least a blanket from the family at the mill covers him waist-down, scraggly, but clean and thick enough to do its job. The pair of linen shoes that they had left are far too big for him, at least three sizes. Every other hundred meters, a rock on the path makes the wheels judder. However, Anna is clever enough to subtly maneuver Friedrich and Gretchen around the chunkier stones and scattered bosk.

The wind is relentless, and you brood. The forest landscapes passing by look dizzy under the rain. Saying goodbye to the Duke through a herald had been hard enough, but necessary. The youngster at the mill, Meier’s son, had accepted your hat as payment and assured he would reach Altfried Castle in half an hour with your letter to the Duke in his rugged vest. The message reading a farewell—

And that Cinder had returned to its rightful owner.

Looking at Jimin’s hands, blotted purple at the wrist upward, makes you want to cry. When he wakes up during the next rocky bit of the path, you have to stop yourself yelling out of the carriage to scold Anna. The surrounding meadow still hasn’t dried up properly, so you realize that avoiding this bit of the road by going over grass is not an option. 

Jimin still has dark bags under his eyes. The soup at the mill had brought back some rosy life to his cheeks, but they still look so haggard, so taut and scratched, with stubble all over, that you find it hard to recognize him. 

The sky turns grey and pale with every minute that the carriage plunges deeper into the forest terrain. South, south. Never looking back. You grope for the quiver stored under your seat, look for the apple that Meier had given you at Castle Altfried, and hand it to Jimin.

“The doctors will take care of you, okay,” you lean toward him, and tighten the vest around his chest to withstand the wind. “We’re back home soon. Maybe even one day.”

Chewing at a corner of the red fruit, Jimin looks outside the carriage with glossed over eyes.

“I’ve been dreaming again,” he says.

“What was it about?”

“There was a festival. I don’t know. A kind of fair. We were dancing. I thought about this all the time.”

A little smile plays around his lips. His eyes are candid.

“We will dance, Jimin. I give you my word. I promise we will dance.”

The vehicle continues to rumble down the path with your words, and the horses speed up.

Three hours later, two sturdy knights, the Prussian emblem stuck to their coat of mails, open the carriage from either side.

— to be continued —

Thank you for reading. Stay tuned.

Do not repost, translate, or modify my works. © submissive-bangtan 2017-2019. All rights reserved. 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Living a Boring Lie (Pieces of the People We Love, Part 3.)

Series description: Not many people had the chance to see a vault or to mean anything in the world of Pandora. Will a hardly built relationship in the loneliness of the desert have the potential to change anything in the world of anarchy and chaos - or will the friends try to murder each other?

Part summary: Against your better judgement, it was now obvious that taking Scooter in wasn’t that bad of an idea - yet one radio transmission was all it took to change your entire life around. 

Series warnings: A lot of guns, violence, reader is a tough badass - not a vault hunter tho. They’re badass and don’t give a fuck. And Scooter is a dumb bitch, as always. All Psychos and Fanatics are various Vine references - oh, what luck that reader can understand them since she is friends with Bandits.

Word count: 4 K

Tagging: @notaliteraltoad​

Series masterlist:  H E R E

Series playlist: H E R E

Boys, just as you asked them to, drove you right to your lonely shack in the desert. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it wasn’t resolving just yet either. It was a few years back when you found it just standing in the middle of nowhere, knowing immediately that this beauty was your dream home. It was far away from any possible trouble happening on Pandora, you didn’t even know that the Eiridium cracked Pandora’s surface open until you’ve heard the wild news on the radio and even after that, you needed to see it for yourself before you told yourself “Yep, this fuckery had totally happened”. Other than that, it was far away from anything alive - there were no Skags in the proximity of your house, no flying fuckers, no people in sight; it was surely the loner’s paradise if you will.

Swiftly, you opened the main door and invited him to the ‘everyday room’, as you called it. It was the living room, kitchen, dining room, and hall all mashed up together. The only other room inside the house was your bedroom and a small bathroom and a toilet. With a vague movement, you’ve shown Scooter the old couch and took all of the excessive clothing you’ve had on. With too much of a noise, you put your shotgun on the table, and then, you took out a small glass to pour yourself some vodka. With irony, you’ve given Scooter a toast and kicked every drop of the liquid inside your throat.

“Take the couch and if you’d like to have something to drink, the water pipes should be still working. Or pour yourself some vodka for all I care.” - And with that, you took all of your things and carried them to your room. How comes you didn’t notice that it was already this late? It was almost midnight. You’ve realized how tired you were at the exact moment you took a good look at your bed. As if your brain just realized how incredibly all of your muscles hurt, you literally fell to your mattress, taking the clothes along with falling asleep. It was strange, knowing that you weren’t alone in that. That night, you’ve been half-asleep and half-awake; your ears were listening to every sound - for quite some time, you could hear deep breaths and light snoring. Yet as soon as the sounds have stopped, you’ve had a nice, long sleep. The house was strangely when the dawn rolled around.

You were still laying on your bed, the blanket was half fallen off your thigh, your hair was completely messed up. Honestly, you looked like a hot piece of garbage. It could almost be considered a peaceful morning - until a loud bang ripped your ears apart. Something exploded. Something fucking exploded near your house; there was a high-pitched noise going on repeat in your eardrums. A feeling of dizziness was making you feel sick as you tried to pick yourself up for a few seconds. The smell of scalds was in the air and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d just find a motherfucking huge hole in the living room’s wall. As you finally stood on your feet and could tell which side is right and left, you searched for the shotgun. Thankfully, you’ve seen only one of these. When your head stopped spinning, you’ve walked out to see what was happening. At first, you’ve been going through hundreds and hundreds of scenarios. Did the COV attack on your cabin? Or could it be Walrus’ men from Ham’s Creek? What reason would they have to attack you? You haven’t tried to fuck anyone over in the last few years as far as you could recall, so no-one had a particular reason to attack your house just simply out of the blue. Out of boredom? Yes, you could see that someone would’ve done that out of boredom.

There was no more time to think about the reasoning behind a simple grenade blow. In fact, there wasn’t time for anything - you hadn’t a moment to put any kind of pants on or to, at least, wear a coat for fuck’s sake. No, you simply burst into the cold desert dawn in a tank top, panties, and with a long shotgun in your hand. The night could’ve ended merely an hour ago. Sun was still barely above the horizon, the huge massifs of rock were still covered in shadows and some kind of a mysterious mist. First, you made sure that your gun was ready to shoot before you turned your gaze to non-other than Scooter himself. That crazy-ass of a man was sitting on one of the power line columns with a screw he stole from your small workshop situated in the corner of the living room. With horror written in your eyes, your mouth had opened as you watched him out there. Was he about to kill himself? - “What the hell are you doing out there? Just don’t… Don’t just jump down, will you? I don’t want to have a bloody fucking porch. Just climb down, come on, man. Do you want to talk it out, maybe? I’m not the best at this kind of stuff, but I can take you to see Pintley. Do you realize that suicide is not the solution here on Pandora? I mean… If you want to really die, I can take the small chip out of the nape of your neck, and then you can have a nice little harakiri.”

The man was looking at you at first, leaning his elbows to the top of the column as he twisted the screw between his fingers. Then he smiled, waving down on you. - “Ya funny in the mornin’, I tell ya, man!” - The tone of his voice was joyful and happy, so… Maybe, suicide wasn’t what he was trying to do. As you realized that he’s not about to jump down, you’ve calmed down and started to think it all through. He was sitting on top of the electric power line… In that case, could the electricity straightaway just burn his damn ass? You had a New-U ten seven miles away from your home so, if the electricity would burn him until only ashes and black goo would remain after him, he would still be respawned not too far from where you were standing. Technically, if you’d like to help him get burned, all it would take would be just one round and one gunshot… Quickly, you stopped yourself from thinking about hurting someone. Not to let the ice-cold mask slip, you just stood there without any emotion inside, just as if you just died from the inside. Then, Scooter started talking again.

"I am not tryin’ to kill myself, man. I am just tryin’ somethin’ out and I want to repair you Catch-A-Ride station since it’s kinda my thingy." - Scooter explained calmly. Oh, Catch-A-Ride, yes, that was "kinda his thingy" since it was his and his sister’s business. To be exact, it was the only car business running on the entire planet. But why on the world was he climbing up on a column that was at least twenty feet high? Then, you finally noticed what had exploded - there was a fucking crater just not even two feet away from your door - it was the exact place where the mysterious thing had blown up. Since there was anyone other than Scooter, it was almost blatantly obvious who had thrown the fucking explosive.

"And why… The fuck… Is there a huge ass hole just two feet away from my door? Were you trying to kill me? In my sleep? Very cavalier-ish, that’s all I’m going to tell you. Wow." - The irony in your voice was almost palpable, just like the spikes coming out of your eyes. Did you really think that he’s trying to kill you? Yes, you fucking did and you weren’t about to give him any of that for free. But… Scooter didn’t seem to care about any of that. In fact, he seemed not to give the slightest fuck about your bad mood. It was probably just his sunshine aura that was making him blind. He completely ignored your furrow and wide-open eyes and leaned even further into the wooden construct under his arse.

Once more, you looked up and shot your gaze right to his eyes. He was raising one finger, pointing at you. - "Man, I dunno what ya been doin’ here, but ya had a Torgue grenade stuck in ya power line, rippin’ one of the cables out, ya see now? Since ya power line is powerin’ the station, that was the reason why the machinery was not workin’. Thank me later, alligator." - As he finished the sentence, the corners of his lips turned into an even bigger smile. With a dumbfounded expression, you looked at the man. Deat. Fucking. God. Wasn’t this dumbass a treat? Wasn’t it amazing to have him at your home? Wasn’t it a delight, to have him around?

No. Not it fucking wasn’t a delight for you. For him? Maybe. And you hated every second of sharing your personal space with a burning passion. It sucked shit if, you had to be honest. Even though he didn’t have the opportunity to try to make you talk, you could simply tell that he’s into conversations. The man surely liked to laugh, to have normal human interactions, and just the simple feeling and acknowledging of the fact was making you nervous. To say the least, it was disrupting your anti-social loneliness in the middle of the desert. And now, when he was just sitting there and poked around with the damn screw. Because of said screwing around, you were expecting to be grateful for having him at your place. You wanted to shoot something so badly you were about to cry. Just because you wanted to act like the adult one in the situation, you straightened and screamed the first thought which came to your mind.

"Um, um, um... Yeah! Fuck you, man! I can’t even use grenades." - Then, you turned on your heels and walked back home, getting ready to go to sleep once you'd reach your bed again. For Scooter, the conversation clearly wasn't over as he started to yell at you once your back was turned to him.   "And what is my motivation behind killin’ ya, huh? I’m not a hunter or a monster or cannibal, man. What the hell would I do with your corpse?" - He yelled back, but the only thing you did was that you showed him your middle finger. After drinking a whole glass of milk to sleep better, you laid back in your bed.

But not even an hour after this little situation had passed by, another loud bang sounded through the neighborhood. This time, you opened your eyes immediately and looked into the ceiling. One of your eyes was ticking as you tried to get it all together. The dude was a stranger, right? If you'd drag him somewhere, no-one here would be searching for him, right? Everyone already thought he was dead, so if you'd kick him out and let him wander around the desert until he'd get him killed... You surely wouldn't be to blame, right? This time, you took your time with dressing up as you furiously mumbled various things you could start yelling at him once you'd run out of the door. Although, you still decided to go with the weakest ones you came up with. "Ok. That’s it, Scooter, that's it. I thought you’ll at least be a quiet roommate. That you'd magically disappear one day. That would leave to me, living my life just like I did before you respawned. But you just can’t help it, can you? You're here for the first literal day! And what are you up to? You talk, talk, talk, and smile, and you're being all friendly and... For the love of God, go pack your things or… I'm… About… To... Shoot... you?” - The last words were uttered as a whisper as you stopped with the yelling.

Sure, your throat was ready to go on with the daily dose of yelling, but something different had taken your breath away. The Catch-A-Ride ramp had a runner parked on top of it, and that meant only one thing. The station was repaired and working. For a second, you were staring at the car, then at Scooter, and then you turned your attention back to the car. Scooter was standing right next to it with a wrench in his hand, giving you and a shit-eating grin. "Ya were sayin’, cupcake? I'm afraid I didn't hear ya." - It didn't escape past your radars that his voice had n impressive amount of irony in it, but that wasn't the thing which had blown you away. The car itself was... A miracle. You weren't able to make it work for such a long time and it took Scooter merely four hours to get it going. A working car. Who would've suspected that such simplicity could make your life so much easier? A car whose motor was running meant that you didn't have to wake up before sunrise every morning, it meant that you didn't have to go such distances on foot.

"Nothin'. Forget I was saying something." - For a moment, you looked at him in a way he'd describe as 'different' - your eyes didn't look like two about-to-be-shooting laser guns, there wasn't a furrow in your face and you seemed to be a nice person for once. Sure, it lasted for a mere second, but it was there. Scooter had seen it. That was all that mattered to him to determine you're not as much of a pain in the ass as you tried to present yourself to be. There was something into you, but obviously, you weren't used to letting that side of yourself out as much. It existed, tho and Scooter was immediately out of his mind racing about ever surreal consequences in which he'd be able to achieve anything like that - instead of that, he decided to rant about the cars. Normally, if he'd realize that a woman might be... Nice, he'd start saying so much bullshit that someone like you would blast him through the roof of your house with your shotgun alone. So, at that place and that time, he decided not to start a random rant.

"Also, ya had an old ass system there, so I looked into that as well. Your system was last updated a longer time ago than the time I've died and that’s sad. Man, cars are like unicorns - you need to take care of 'em. I re-uploaded ya an old cloud file into the system, with the… Ya know, basically everythin’ ya should need in here. Bandit technicals, those flyin’ thingies from Elpis. All is set up and ready to good.” - The man stood up next to you, patting the car with his palms gently. - "Now, when we're friends again, Cowboy... Wanna try those beauties, huh? I’m pretty hungry." When you turned your head at him, his face had a huge, naughty smile on it. At that moment you, gave him a naughty smile back, being on the same wave as he was. Now, you could hunt down at least four skags in half the time - that meant more money and more time. Sure, Scooter still wasn't your favorite human being on the whole planed and he still was invading your personal space... But he had a few good traits in him.

Neither of that hadn't even matter, since not even an hour later, you were both boosting the living shit out of your brand new Light Runner. Scooter was yelling at the top of his lungs meanwhile you sat behind the steering wheel, laughing. Damn, did it feel good to be driving a car again. The adrenaline was running wild in your bloodstream as you cut the sharpest turns with the machine. It felt good to simply step on the pedal and to feel the car rushing forward. Neither of you felt the rush for quite some time and damn, didn't this make both of you feel alive for a moment. Now, you sped directly from a pretty high cliff, jumping down into a canyon. Now, the screaming got even higher-pitched as the car fell on the ground with a loud thud. Scooter started laughing as well once he caught his breath. It was nice to see someone was enjoying Catch-A-Ride, the thing he had created, as much as you did.

As you drifted along the endless desert, your favorite hunting playlist was blasting through the silence broken by the howling of your car's pneumatics and the loud roaring of the engine. As you turned the engine off and got on your foot so you could actually hunt the skags, Scooter surprised you as he stayed in the gunner's seat on his own - saying he's just going to watch you from the distance. And boy oh boy, did he got a good view of... Everything that was going on. Well, it was hard to decide whether he was a bit too turned on or if he was worried for his dear life. When you only shot at the skags, it was cool. But once one of the skags tried to jump at you from the behind and you caught it by the throat with your metal arm, Scooter realized that he might be in danger. You literally threw the animal on the ground, stepping on it to hold it down as you shoot the brains out of its skull. By the time four huge skags were tied up on the body of the car, you decided it's enough. Scooter condescendingly agreed with you, still having everything fresh in his brain. Quite dramatically, you drove your car directly to Hell’s Cauldron and stopped in front of Pintley’s pub with the smile of a winner as you got out. To finish everything, you put your huge hat on your head, dragging the bags with skags in.

"Top of the mornin’ to ya, lads." - You patted one of the local’s back and threw one of the dead bodies directly in front of Pintley. - "Here you go, freshly hunted, not even grilled at this point. Today, I’m taking only forty dollars for one. That’s almost charity work.” - You winked at Pintley, walking out to get the other one as Scooter walked in behind you, playing with his cap in his palms. That day couldn’t be more awesome in your opinion - you got paid almost two hundred dollars in cash and both you and Scooter even got a free drink out of Pintley. In the afternoon, Blindy and Rayray came to have a drink with you and to chat for a bit. Yet, every nice day usually goes to shit at some point, right? Why would this day be different?

The BUT of your day came by in the evening, just as you crawled on the rooftop of your cabin and swung your legs from the edge of it, looking at the stars. Scooter asked you for some cabled - he quite literally tore one engines out of his Bandit Technicals and planned on upgrading it, toying around in your kitchen - letting you be alone, which was nice too. BUT, here it comes, not even half-hour from that, your radio came to life. You turned your head to the machine because it stopped playing your favorite song. Now, you've been listening to one of the psychotics rants of the who-the-fuck twins. Carefully, not to drop your bottle of beer, you supported yourself on your elbows as you sighed tiredly. Fuck those guys. Why did they always choose the worst time to hit you up? Goddamn assholes, these two kids.

"Hello, hi, hey. Your favorite god-queen and god-king are talking to you right now! And we need you, right now! We need you to group up because the Maliwan ships are on their way? What are we doing, you might be asking? Oh, I'll tell you! We're about to attack the vault thieves because they’re trying to take OUR. VAULT. AWAY!” - The annoying voice of Tyreen Calypso could be heard nice and clean, just as if she was speaking right next to your fucking head. That girl was the worst and cringiest cult leader you’ve ever seen or heard. Sure, you could perfectly understand why she was a cult leader, but she wasn't a good one, ah-ah. You'd be a much better leader. At that moment, Scooter walked out of the house and gave you a concerned look.

"Ya hearin’ that bullshit?" - He mouthed in your direction and you nodded, turning the volume up.

"So, if anyone has any info on what they’re doing, give us a call! If you won’t… Well, don’t even think about the things I, the God-Queen you all know and love, am about to do to you! So see you all at Athenas. And don’t forget to like, share, and obey! Tyreen is ouuut!” - The annoying voice finally finished. What you didn't like tho was the gaze Scooterboy was giving. He was just looking as if he expected you to be agitated because of the news. As you still stared at him back, Scooter pointed at the radio, making you curious about what he had to say. Why would this radio message be somehow important? Tyreen and Troy were hunting someone’s throat every other day and each time a message like this reached you, it was about someone different. What were the news then? Should you be… Terrified or something? Ridiculous. That bitch didn’t cross your way once - why would you cross hers?

What Scooter said had left you dumbfounded for the following minutes. You stared at him, he stared back at you and both of you listened to the thing - "Man, I think these vault thieves are my friends.” - Scooter muttered out. At that moment you truly weren't far from shitting yourself. All it did for him was to hear about some vault thieves and he was ready to go. He was all set up to contact his friends, to find them, and to travel across the galaxy just to see them. Scooter was all set up to go on a suicidal mission. And now, there was this bit you didn't like at all. It was almost 90% sure you'd be forced to help him with all of this. Ever since the last evening, Pintley determined you to be Scoot's babysitter. Damn, you knew you were in for a treat (a long-ass argument if you will) as you looked on the car stand just a few yards away.

Sure, you didn't have much of life on Pandora - while other people on other planets were having families, kids, good lives, and jobs... You were just a skag hunter, really. You had very little to lose, maybe even less than that. But this wasn't any of your business. Any of that was your business. The VHs were not your friends. Scooter was the dude you saw once. Your place was here, in the endless loneliness of the desert, on your own and alone. Yet as you looked down on Scooter, you knew you better take him to Pintley's pub to discuss a plan. And if you'd decide to leave yourself out of that, Pintley would cross your name out of the pub's list of habitues - and for your information, your name was the only one on the damn list.

And sometimes Blindy's name was written there as well.

[mellicose]

Like a Stone

A Doctor Who/Tenth Doctor one-shot

Rating: Mature, for strong sexual elements

Word Count: 6200

Warnings: none

Summary: After centuries of silent desire, the Doctor and his companion finally walk into an adventure that gifts him with a way to bridge the physical gap between fragile humanity and the Timelord race.

NOTE: I want to reiterate that this is *my personal headcanon* on why it might be that the Doctors were so restrained around their human companions, even though sometimes there is palpable chemistry. (Nine/Ten x Rose come immediately to mind)

Although I wrote this with Ten and an unnamed companion, it is sufficiently vague about the physical description that you can put any Doctor/companion combo in its place and it wouldn't ruin the story. Whatever pairing gets your heart racing - feel free to imagine them finally getting fully acquainted.

She bit her lip to center herself.

I can't help it. I can't help it. I can't-

A low, vibrating moan escaped her mouth as her questing fingers massaged a particularly sensitive spot. It was all sensitive, to be honest. Her clit was sore with her desire, but she had been very good at hiding it under the guise of fascination.

Her eyes rolled to the strange Gallifreyan clock by her bed. The two gold rings were nearly aligned.

It was two minutes to tea and contemplation.

She sat up and slid two fingers inside herself. Maybe she could finish, but it would have to be in precisely less than 120 seconds, since the Doctor was punctual. She spread her legs and leaned into her own hand, moving her hips in shallow thrusts. Her breath was short.

He would come. He always comes. He-

Comes-

She thought of him, brow beaded with sweat. The way he bit his suck boy lower lip when he was thinking up a plan. She could almost smell it on him, mixed with the ever-present scent of honey.

Cleverness.

He didn't know what he did to her. And he could never know. She refused to be a foregone conclusion. She wanted to be the one who resisted despite his obvious beauty.

She leaned forward, bouncing on her tightly bunched fingers. She was almost there. She riffled through cherished images in her mind.

Him licking his lips. Giving her that wicked half smile when he was two steps ahead of the rest. Him bending over the console, pants riding into the tight cleft of his-

He knocked softly. Said her name.  Her eyes darted to her clock. The two rings were one.

“Coming, Doctor!” she said, rolling out of bed and wiping the wetness from between her legs and her hand on her sheets. She put on a sundress, blue with pink flowers. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She glowed, but it could  be chalked up to youth.

She opened the door smiling.

He didn't quite smile back as he walked past her and into her room in the TARDIS. Well, she had rooms – a small library, a greenhouse, and a lab in addition to her living quarters, but he never ventured there. He gifted them to her after their adventure on Wyklan-theta, where she foiled a plot by a race of genetic interlopers way worse than what he fought with Martha.

She loved biology. And genetics in particular. But that was neither here nor there now.

He sat on her vanity chair and adjusted his specs. The amber of his eyes was magnified by the glass. Her arousal was still very much on the surface. She looked away.

“I have a very special tea for you to sample tonight,” he said, setting down a lacquered tray on her vanity.

“No Earl Gray?” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and smiling down at him. Her scent wafted up to her. She hoped it would not be recognizable to him.

He gave her a long look. “Could you go to the console room, get me my other glasses? These are Captain Jack's,” he said, taking them off and rubbing his eyes. “Apparently, he's doomed to live his endless lives quite far-sighted.”

“I'll be right back,” she said, refraining from asking why, since he wore glasses as a fashion choice. She ran up the quickly shifting ramps and into console room. She stopped short, giving it an affectionate look. The heart of the TARDIS, his only true mate in the universe. She would never admit it, but she was the slightest bit jealous. Their adventures would end. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a while. But the TARDIS would remain with him, always.  

She ran her fingers along the warm, pebbly columns that seemed to hold the room up. It was his room. A bit grungy, but in its heart, there was beauty. She saw his glasses by the console screens, grabbed them and ran back down. Her thighs were slippery, despite the fact she had wiped carefully. It was getting harder to hide her desire.

She burst into her bedroom. He was standing over the tray. He looked over his shoulder. His brow was beaded with sweat. His lips were parted. The tip of his tongue darted from his teeth to the center of his top lip, a lightning fast gesture she caught with hungry eyes.

“Doctor.” It was not questioning. She held up his glasses.

He turned and gestured to the chair. “Please, sit.” She obeyed and handed him his specs. He put them on the vanity and leaned against it.

She looked up his long legs and up to his face. “Your suit. It's new.” She smiled. It was blue, but the stripes were a different color.

“It's old, actually.” He crossed his arms. His hair, which had been customarily spiky when he first came in, was flatter with the heat. He looked more approachable. Her fingers twitched to run through it, feel the dampness of his sweat.

She wondered what it tasted like. Was it as sweet as he smelled?

She focused, and his eyes were on her face. A drop of sweat rolled down the column of her neck and disappeared between her breasts.   

“It's getting hot in here.” She wiped wetness from the back of her neck. Again, he gave her a fathomless look, and bent to pour. The liquid was palest green in the white porcelain cups. It steamed, giving off the faint scent of flowers.

“This is a very, very special beverage,” he said, handing her the bowl. “It is almost impossible for any entity in the universe to acquire, but the Empress herself gave me a kilo of the precious leaves.”

Her brow was dripping, yet she bowed her face over the bowl to take in the sweetly scented steam. “So it's not even from from my galaxy?”

“No. But I promise you, it will not hurt you.” He finally smiled at her. Her toes curled on the carpet.

She pressed the bowl to her lips. The liquid touched her tongue, but she withdrew. “Tell me more about the Empress, and her special tea.”

Want more? Click here, or on the link above!

Don’t be afraid to heart/comment/reblog/give kudos - it makes my fingers fly!

[jalenmara]

HUGE thanks to @notpmahalem for the moodboard-- I feel like I’ve made it into the big leagues or something <3 So beautiful. The newest chapter of Snowstorm - On Ice! after the cut. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few weeks flew by in a blur. Although no one said it out loud, when she and Jon showed up to the arena the day following their catastrophic rehearsal with hearts light and open, the sense of relief from their coaching and management team was palpable. Dei had even tried to pry the details from her (for she was discerning in the extreme, and knew that something had to have happened), but for once Dany was close-lipped about what had transpired between Jon and her. She was still raw from the unfolding of her heart to him, and had no desire to invite more people into her state of vulnerability.

Thankfully, Tyrion was more than happy to distract them from their burgeoning questions and feelings for each other. After all, they had a World Championship to win. With their Skyfall program needing to be re-worked completely into a short program, and Dei’s new Free Skate looming on the horizon, they had their work cut out for them. The days were long and hard, and more often than not, the entire group retreated to Bronn’s to unwind after the long and grueling days.

Also, more often than not, Dany would find that she and Jon were the first to the arena in the mornings, and the last to leave the comfort of their home away from home in the evenings, almost as if the hesitance to be away from each other for longer than a few hours had seeped into their very beings. It was the little things-- Jon showing up daily with tea from their favorite coffee shop, Dany purchasing a particular favorite rawhide bone for Ghost that showed just how familiar and ingrained they had become in each other’s lives. Their relationship now easily transcended that of partners and friends, and lay somewhere in the murky netherworld of “other.”

Neither felt the need to point it out, as if the other would be spooked if they addressed the phenomenon directly, but as the days and weeks went on, they found that the other’s presence in their own homes had become a constant as well. Their early mornings in the arena together led to carpooling, and the carpooling led to “Well, do you want to come in to warm up for a moment?”, and the warming up led to long talks over tea and wine and dinner and everything in between.

Jon proved to be a constant font of surprise as well. From the first moment he had invited her into his home, Dany was surprised at the changes since her first (and only) visit. Previously, the feminine touches had been overwhelming, the ghost of Ygritte’s presence lurking in every corner, but now…

The rainboots were nowhere to be found, the porch cleared for winter, and the garden was bare and waiting for the new growth of spring. Indoors held a warmer, more welcoming quality. Gone were the formal white lace curtains and doilies, a modern touch of abstract blown-glass art (similar to the rose he had given her, she had noticed) taking the place of the knick-knacks that used to cover every surface. When Dany asked about the redecorating, Jon simply shrugged. “It’s time.”

And he continued to surprise. No more than two weeks after their late night heart to heart, Jon appeared one morning with a pristine new contract, the same as before, but with one key difference-- all clauses about them being alone together were mysteriously missing. Dany could feel her cheeks heating as he held the door of his jeep open for her, waiting until she had climbed into the shelter of warmth before he handed it to her.

“Have your lawyers look it over if you want, but it’s much more…” He paused, his eyes on the road instead of her, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “...standard.”

Dany could feel her heart thrumming in her chest. She hadn’t asked for this, although by now they had broken the particular clauses to which he referenced several times. She simply tucked it into her bag, trying desperately to ignore the butterflies fluttering nervously in her stomach. “I’ll get it back to you by the end of the week.”

“No rush.” he replied easily, his smile breaking through the clouds of his expression like beams of sunlight in a storm.

Dany also found herself grinning at him stupidly, knowing that at last, they were positioning themselves for something great, something that could last forever, something that would be better than any legacy she could build on her own.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dei’s Free Skate was a work of art. While their Skyfall program was all rough edges balanced delicately on the blade of sensuality, the Free Skate was everything their short program could not be. Open, light, romantic. Two sides of the same coin, but deeply illustrating the longing, the want, and the ease which encompassed every bit of themselves as they skated and cared for each other.

And yet, nothing physical had progressed beyond the occasional hug and kiss on the cheek, both of them straddling the edges of professionality. Dany felt herself slowly burning up from the inside out. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could not make the first move, even though it was her habit. She had studied Jon for long enough to know that while she could lead a horse to water, she couldn’t make him drink.

And so she waited. Her heart in his hands, and in her throat. It went against all of her modern feminist sensibilities, for she longed for nothing more than to greet him in the comfort of her own apartment with a glass of wine and a command that he take off all his clothes and ravish her in ways she had only dreamt of up until now.

But no. She knew instinctively that that if she were to do that, all would be lost. She was no longer the person who barged in and took what she wanted for her own with little regard for the feelings of others. She had been down that path before and both times had ended in madness. Perhaps this time, she could learn the art of patience, the sensation of savoring the smallest touch, the slightest spark of joy in a whispered word, the deep guttural feelings of want as the waiting, the longing, grew and lengthened.

So instead, she took a page out of Tyrion’s book, putting all of her feelings into her skating. She did her best to show Jon in all but words the true surface of her heart-- the nooks, crannies, wounds, and scars of it, now entrusted solely to his capable hands.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dany didn’t often think of Boston as a large city (she had lived in New York for a time after all), and so often found herself surprised at the modern conveniences it offered. She had been convinced that there would be no direct flights available from Logan International to Shanghai Pudong, but Jon had simply laughed at her for her ignorance. Her breath still caught in her chest at the sight and sound of it, his luscious bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried (in vain) to temper his response to her.

Tyrion more than happily set her straight, relieved that numerous flights were not needed to travel to China and back, and that he would only have to endure one monster, marathon flight of 15 hours rather than a number of puddle jumpers to larger airports and planes to get them safely to their final destination. As they boarded their flight, Dany easily fell into her role of caretaker for Tyrion and got him settled with his face mask, water, and instructions to the flight crew to wake him for any and all beverage services. Finally, leaving him to Davos’ tender mercies and care, Dany consulted her ticket once more to check her seat assignment, instinctively searching for Dei.

...only to find that Dei was lodged between Jorah and Grey, which meant that… Jon quirked an eyebrow at her playfully as he stood to help her with her carry-on, taking it from her shoulder and lifting it easily into the overhead compartment. “Window or aisle?” He asked, sweeping his arm out over their row, offering her first choice.

Dany bit back a grin as she threw a pointed look at Dei who steadfastly ignored her and continued to pour over the safety booklet with Grey, pointing out the various nearby exits. “Window.” she breathed, settling into the seat and pulling her seatbelt over her lap, snapping the buckle into place and situating it low across her hips. “You can’t see the magic of the skies from the aisle.”

Jon snorted. “The ‘Magic of the Skies’, eh? You might have to walk me through that one.”

“Oh, it won’t be hard.” Dany smiled at him before turning back to the window, making sure that the shade was fully open. “Do you not like flying?” she asked, wondering if in her desire to not make her interest so obvious, she had missed a key component of her... partner. She knew that Tyrion hated flying, and that he often self-medicated his way across oceans in an attempt to sleep through the longer flights, but Jon-- She never got the impression that Jon feared much of anything.

“It’s not my favorite thing in the world.” He admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. “But, once we get up in the air, I’ll be fine. Take-off is the worst.”

“Oh Jon, no.” She breathed. “Take-off is the best… That’s the epic battle that ignites the magic. Only those who have fought gravity and won can ever truly enjoy the beauty of flight.”

He leaned his head back against the headrest, the warmth in his eyes telling her that he was thoroughly charmed by what she had to say, albeit skeptical. “Epic battles and magic, huh? I think I’ve been missing out by sitting with Davos for all of our flights up ‘til now.”

Dany shivered under his gaze, reaching up to adjust the vent blowing cool air directly on her. “Well, stick with me Snow. I’ll show you wonders you have never seen.”

“I don’t doubt that at all.” His response was whispered, almost missed, and Dany could feel her cheeks heat. Before she could respond, the flight attendants walked through the cabin for the safety demonstration, and then the captain’s voice was on the intercom, asking the flight attendants to prepare for take off.  

Jon gripped the armrests, the tension in his hands and face obvious. Dany laughed lightly and pried the hand closest to her off the upholstery and threaded her fingers through his own. “Stick with me, kitten.” She said teasingly. “I’ve got you.”

Jon cracked an eyelid and peered at her suspiciously, his fingers tightening around her own by reflex. “It’ll go better for both of us if you let me concentrate right now--”

“It’ll go better for both of us if you close your eyes and just listen to the sound of my voice.” She whispered, leaning closer to him and resting her head gently on his shoulder, his hand firmly caught in her own, and her head resolutely turned toward the window as she went on. “Did I ever tell you that I actually wanted to be a pilot when I grew up?”

His head bumped hers as he shook his head. “You might have skipped that before now.”

“Before my parents died, before it was just Viserys and me, we were always traveling. Mum and Dad always had a million engagements to go to, the Targaryen ‘legacy’ needing do be upheld, don’t you know. Viserys hated flying, it eventually got so bad he had to be sedated for every flight, even the short ones. But me…” She paused to take a breath, her fingers gently stroking Jon’s, hoping that he would relax under her ministrations soon. “I love flying. The speed, the rush… the freedom.”

The plane rumbled around them, coasting out to the runway, a hush falling over the passengers as each settled in for the long night ahead. “We flew so often when I was growing up that my dad actually knew most of the pilots on our usual routes. Sometimes, they would bring me up into the cockpit for a while and let me watch them. Pilots are the bravest of humans. And only the bravest reap the best rewards.”

A jolt, and Jon’s grip on her hand tightened. Dany smiled and brought her other hand up to gently rub his forearm, soothing as best she could. The plane was picking up speed, and Jon’s breath hitched in his chest. “This is the best part, Jon.” She said softly. “Gravity doesn’t want anyone to fly-- she despises birds for defying her, and now humans too. But flight is a gift…” The rumble around them increased. “Gravity fights to keep us grounded, she’s a jealous mistress who doesn’t want to share the wonders of the sky with those of us who would know its secrets. She wants to keep us small, and timid, but we--”

The noise was growing ever louder, and Dany leaned closer, her lips now brushing against Jon’s earlobe, struggling to be heard above the rattling of the plane. “Now, we fight. We come together, building speed and purpose, knowing that the beauty we are about to behold is greater than the tethers of our fear keeping us grounded.” The plane tilted as the front wheel left the tarmac, leaving only the rear wheels clattering on the pavement behind them.

“The last vestiges are always the hardest to shed, the last of our fears to leave behind, for there is no room for fear in flight. Only hope. The ground wants to hold us prisoner, but the sky--” The plane lifted off completely, surging upwards in triumph as Jon gasped quietly beside her. “Oh, Jon. They sky calls for us. And we must answer.”

His eyes flew open, the grip on her hand firm as he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. “And so we will.” He said quietly, sending Dany’s heart soaring even further into the heavens.

“So we will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Ladies and Gentlemen- Welcome to our live coverage of the 2015 World Figure Skating Championship! We’re thrilled to welcome you to the Shanghai Oriental Sports Center in Shanghai, China. I’m your host for the evening, Scott Hamilton, and I am joined once more for our Pairs Skating Free Skate coverage by none other than former World Pairs Champions, Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand!”

Ellaria’s laugh rang out over the sound waves. “Ah, Scott, You are a dear. Thank you for having us back! It is a delight to be here, and to be surrounded by such new and burgeoning talent.”

“That’s not all that ‘burgeoning’, my love.” Oberyn smiled, and leaned closer to his paramour, her hand firmly captured in his own as he lifted it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “We have had quite a thrilling few days here in the arena.”

Scott nodded. “So true. So far China has put up a strong showing, proving once more than home ice advantage is no myth. Both teams of Han/Sui and Tong/Pang performed admirably in the Short Program, and now sit in second and third respectively.”

“Don’t count out the Canadians either.” Oberyn intoned. “Radford and Duhamel sit in first place after the Short, and are poised for victory once again, fresh off their National Championship just a few short months ago.”

Ellaria tittered a gentle laugh. “Oh, my love. When will you learn?”

“Learn?” Oberyn shot her a dark glare full of promise.

“Yes, learn.” Ellaria’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Snow/Storm is not to be counted out by any stretch of the imagination. Their Skyfall program was certainly a crowd favorite.”

“Ah, yes, the crowd’s favorite, but not the judges.” Scott was quick to point out.

Ellaria nodded sedately. “To be expected-- their programs have been in flux since the US National Championship. Those who follow our sport will recognize that the Skyfall program used to be their Free Skate, although I hear that choreographer Dei Naath has cooked up something equally as showstopping and spectacular for tonight’s showcase.”

“I should hope so.” Oberyn snorted. “This isn’t child’s play.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Scott said brightly. “Stay tuned folks, Snow/Storm kicks off our final group for the Free Skate, next!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They huddled in the Green Room as a team. Neither Dany nor Jon had said a word all morning, each retreating into themselves a bit as they repeatedly walked through the program, their only communication that of their hands as they reached for the other, going over every skill and move under Dei’s watchful eye.

“Remember-- grace, elegance, height, skill.” Dei droned on. “I want your lines long, your steps light. Jon, I want to think she’s going into space, you’ve thrown her so high. Dany, your landings have to be soft, everything you do needs to be buoyant, lifting the both of you as high as you can go.”

Dany nodded rotely, her mind a whirl. After years of training, they were finally here. National Champions in their own right, poised on the brink of something life changing for them both (if they were to gain the international spotlight). A win here today would mean an invitation to the ISU Grand Prix event in the fall, and more notoriety that she or Jon had enjoyed ever before. Making an international name for themselves could only help in her long-term goals, which definitely included PyeongChang in 2018. But first, she needed to concentrate on the skate in front of her, and on her partner.

He was like a man reborn. Gone were the nerves that seemed to haunt him during Nationals. Instead, it was she who seemed uncharacteristically nervous and trapped within her own head. She folded her trembling hands in front of her, clasping them together so tightly she knew there was a chance of bruising tomorrow. She just wanted to do well. Dei had choreographed a beautiful program, the haunting music of La Terre vue du ciel by Armand Amar, staying with her for days, creeping into her dreams. Dreams which always concluded with Jon folding her into his warm embrace--

No. She couldn’t think about that right now. She owed it to them all to concentrate, to bring the best of her, the best of them both to the forefront of her mind, and to pursue this victory with all of her dogged strength and tenacity she had nurtured over the years. She glanced at Jon, who reached for her hands, bringing them between his own and rubbing briskly, before unclenching them and weaving his fingers through her own.

Tyrion stood before them, watching warily. He had seemed excited to see their growing bond at first, but lately, Dany didn’t know what had gotten into him. Scowling, sighing, and generally displeased with them for reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend. “You’ve got an uphill climb ahead of you.” He said sternly. “Digging yourself out of fourth with two Chinese teams in your group will be difficult--”

“But not impossible.” Jon broke their unified silence with a promise, an edge of warning to his tone that Tyrion picked up on immediately.

“No.” He murmured. “Not impossible, but this is no longer child’s play. You must be perfect. There is no more room for error.”

Jon’s grip on her hand tightened as he glanced down at her, the warmth and determination she saw in his gaze firmly mirrored in her own. “Then we won’t leave any.”

“Final group to the ice, please. Final Group to the ice, please.” The announcement rang out over the intercom, and the sudden swirl of cacophony deafened her, her mind blank except for the steadfastness of her partner, grounding her beside him.

There was a whirl of last minute well wishes, hugs, and kisses as they removed their skate guards, Davos and Dei full of warm pride, even Jorah and Grey cracking through their stoicism with slight grins of encouragement. Tyrion reached for her hand briefly, giving it a gentle squeeze, and a small, sad smile before nodding and bowing over her hand. “Your Grace.”

She shot Tyrion an exasperated smile and a narrow look of warning before she and Jon stepped out onto the ice, leaving everyone and everything behind. They didn’t look at each other as they swept around the ice, taking a full lap to acclimate and settle into themselves, shaking loose the nerves.

“The first skaters in this final group represent the United States of America. Dany Storm, and Jon Snow.” At Jon’s brief squeeze of her hand, she spun out, turning in his arms to look up at him just once, her eyes blazing and her breath catching at this sight of his determined gaze before turning her back into his chest, both arms gracefully extended on either side of her, their fingertips touching ever so slightly.

Today, they didn’t need words. The music said everything that they were unable to say. The gentle chords of the piano and strings elevating them into each other, folding them together as they moved and flowed across the ice. She reached for Jon, putting all of her longing and need into her grasp, as he moved just out of reach, the gentle chase across the stars lifting them together-- the call of the air, of freedom begging her to join them.

His hands, sure and strong, went to her waist in preparation for their first throw, and suddenly she was airborne-- flying, spinning, a delighted laugh falling from her lips as she threw herself with abandon into the program. His hands again on her waist as he caught her, bringing her down to the ice as gently as if she weighed no more than a leaf on the wind. The crowd erupted into applause, and she knew at his grin that this was the beginning of something truly inspired.

The next throw was even larger, all of Jon’s power on display as he threw her as hard and as far as he could, trusting her to harness his strength, control all of the speed and strength he had gifted to her as she floated through the air, her landing soft as a cat’s, the ice calling her to the home she had found in his arms. She chased him across the ice, his expression begging to be caught, for her to find all of the cherishment she lacked within him.

His hands guided her softly through a series of lifts, his quiet strength on full display. Not showy, not flashy, but just so solely Jon she felt her heart tug in her chest, bursting with pride that they could be this for each other, the softness of their gazes falling upon the other with exquisite gentleness and care. Together, they opened the windows to their souls, carrying the audience along with them on the gentle breezes, their power building with the music, the driving beats and rhythm guiding them through the spins, jumps, and step sequences.

Finally, the gentleness returned, and Dany once more found herself in Jon’s arms, completely wrapped up in him, gathering her strength and courage for the more intimate lifts, nuzzling herself into the crook of his arms as together they fought gravity to a draw. Finally, they reached the end, Jon on his knees under her, lifting her to the heavens, wonder and awe alight in his eyes as the last strains of the music faded away, the crowd’s cheers a vague sensation as he lowered her to the ice.

Dany’s hands went to her burning face, overwhelmed by the fire in Jon’s eyes. Her skates went out from under her and she slid to the ice on her back, when suddenly she felt Jon’s weight over her. She looked up at him, and didn’t know if it was victory or desire burning in his eyes, but she knew that he was a hair’s breadth from pressing his lips against her own, World Championship and crowds around them be damned. Her own lips parted is surprise as he gathered her to his chest, and for one glorious moment, Dany thought she actually could give in to all of the delightful longings that had been crawling over her for so long. As he lay on top of her on the ice, Dany couldn’t help but think about how his hands had already mapped every portion of her body (professionally, of course) and now, oh how she longed to find out what he could do without it, to find out the delicate strength in the snap of his hips.

Jon pulled back, his hands in her hair supporting her head, his eyes searching hers for forgiveness, or permission, which she didn’t know, but then suddenly, she had buried her head in his shoulder, the weight of the ground binding her to her trepidation once more-- the freedom of the skies just out of her grasp.

Sound returned, the applause of the crowds washing over her like waves as Jon pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her, lifting her from the ice in a delighted hug, a laugh falling from his lips and covering her like grace. “We did it!” He whispered, leaning close to her as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“We did.” She whispered back, sweeping out to take their bows and coming back to him as he led her to the Kiss and Cry to await their scores.

Their entire team was beside themselves with joy, Dei’s arms wrapped around Grey as she jumped up and down in excitement, Tyrion and Davos both beaming with pride as they settled in for the scores. The wait was interminable, the only constant Jon’s hand in her own, the unheard whispers of hope and promises as the seconds ticked by, until finally-- a season best for Snow/Storm and a score of 159.31. Enough to catapult them far enough into first place that no one would be able to catch them.

In the Green Room once the rest of the scores had been announced and the dust settled, a bottle of champagne appeared and the newest World Champions toasted their success, their team, and most of all, each other.

“To Dei!” Jon crowed, the lightness in his eyes almost as intoxicating to her as the champagne swirling through her system as he thrust a glass skyward in salute. “May every program she choreograph be as successful on the first try as this one!”

Dei smiled. “To Jon and Dany-- without whom my programs would never see the light of day!” Their group cheered raucously, and Tyrion finally tapped on his glass for attention.

“To always pursuing your dreams. The trifecta is within your reach, my dears! First Worlds, and then the Grand Prix. Next stop, Madrid!”

Dany laughed and tapped her glass against Jon’s. “To us.” She breathed.

Jon wrapped his arm around her waist and clinked his glass to hers in return. “To us.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

[pellucidthings]

Doctor Blake Fic: Let These Words Answer

Hello, shiny new fandom! I wasn’t sure I’d have time to write here just now, but then I had a LOT of Jean feelings after 5.05 (didn’t we all…), so here we go! Rated T, 1900 words, canon compliant. Beta thanks to @gabolange, who never fails to make me a better writer. Remaining mistakes, superfluous commas, and stubbornly-held errant sentence constructions are all my own.

Summary: She lets everything else drop away, and it’s only the two of them, alone in this quiet room, with their physical wounds that will heal. She holds his hand, the two of them together, scarred and healing.

On AO3 and beneath the cut.

**

The room is quiet. She watches Lucien’s chest rise and fall steadily, and she feels his pulse thrum under the warm skin of his wrist. She lets herself breathe again, matching her breath to his, lets her own heart start beating once more. Her mind is processing only single words. Alive. Here. Mine.

She always half expected this, deep in her subconscious. As long as she’s know him he has barreled around heedlessly, and she has worried and told herself not to, and tried not to remember what it feels like to be left behind. She feared the worst from the moment Charlie came in the door tonight, his face ashen. He called her Jean and took her arm like he thought she might stumble, then gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as he drove too fast to the hospital.

No one questions her presence there. The trauma doctor reported to her immediately, and the ward sister waived aside the rules about visiting hours. If all the gossip made them know she belongs here, she will manage to be grateful for it.

Lucien wakes, jokes about his injury, sleeps, wakes again. Their friends hover, though by now it is deep into the night. Charlie and Matthew try to take her home again, but they don’t actually expect her to come.

She watches him sleep. Her burned wrist is throbbing, and she holds onto that pain. It is simple, contained. She lets everything else drop away, and it’s only the two of them, alone in this quiet room, with their physical wounds that will heal. She holds his hand, the two of them together, scarred and healing.

**

On the third day they let her bring him home. They were both getting restless in the hospital, and though she’s been grateful for the nursing staff’s help in keeping him contained, she’s also weary of the accompanying furtive glances and whispers. Charlie, Rose, Matthew, and Alice have loitered each day in the hospital corridor. Other friends—Bill and Ned, Cec, even Patrick Tyneman—have visited. Surely most of Ballarat knows by now that Lucien was attacked. No one from the church has come at all.

Charlie, Matthew, and Rose have been cooking, she discovers. Not just for themselves but to stock the freezer, to save her having to do it for a few days. She tries to be grateful, but for the most part it just reminds her who isn’t checking in or bringing food.

The church has always been the backdrop to her life. Not always a comfort but certainly always a force of stable continuity. The ritual of the liturgy, the smell of incense and bread, the familiar creak and thump of the kneelers, the low din of restless children whispering over the mass. And ever-present, the community: visiting, baking, gossiping, helping. She knows, of course, that people she has known all her life are now uncomfortable around her. She has seen the looks during mass, has heard the conversations that go silent as she approaches, has understood the meaning behind even her closest friends’ excuses to avoid her. But she never quite expected this palpable, sudden absence.

Sometimes you bend to the church, and sometimes you want it to bend to you, she said the other day. You want it to bend, but it doesn’t.

She moves into Lucien’s room after they come home from the hospital. It isn’t entirely deliberate. The first evening she sits with him, and when she starts nodding off in her chair he shifts in the bed, raising the covers on his uninjured side. She toes off her shoes and climbs in with her clothes on, burrowing into his warmth, careful to avoid his bandages.

“Stay,” he whispers into her hair as he wraps her hand in his and holds it over his heart.

“All right,” she whispers back.

The next evening she dresses for bed and goes to his room instead of her own. The day after, her dressing gown and slippers find a new home in his closet. They’re not exactly advertising this to Charlie and Matthew, but neither does she feel like she wants to hide it.

Lucien has been pushing his limits all day, before turning petulant in his exhaustion. He has made a mess in the kitchen, nearly pulled his stitches out, and twice she had to pour out the whiskey he knows he shouldn’t drink. She’s exhausted, annoyed with him, and so very tired of holding everything together behind the bravest face she can muster.

The events of the past week play back in her head. The untenable options for the divorce. Rose’s pregnancy fears and then palpable relief. Lucien in the hospital bed. Father Emery telling her to make a choice. Every time she thinks she is approaching her breaking point, she finds a new reserve to take on the next challenge, but it can’t last much longer. 

When Lucien starts banging on the piano while Matthew is trying to watch the television, she puts him to bed. It’s early yet, but she convinces him with the promise of joining him. He settles to his book, and she curls into his side, pretending to read her own. All of the frustrated energy that has been coming off him all day is gone; instead, she is the restless one. Lucien can tell how bothered she is, she realizes, now that they’re here together, quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, finally. He is still, waiting for her.

She does and she doesn’t want to talk about it. They’ve promised each other honesty, and he deserves hers. She also has no idea how to explain what she is feeling, the layers and the contradictions. She closes her book and his, takes his hand and traces the veins. His other arm holds her close, and she thinks about how long and how much she has wanted him.

“I was pregnant when I got married,” she says, not entirely sure why this, of all the things weighing on her, is what comes out first. She feels his slow intake of breath, imagines him thinking, calculating dates between her marriage and young Christopher’s birth. “We lost the baby,” she explains before he can ask. “We were nineteen, pushed into the whole thing before we were ready, and then there wasn’t even a baby after all.”

She imagines what he might say if he were a different man. Why did you never tell me? Why did you sleep with Christopher before you married him but you won’t sleep with me? How can I fix this?

“Jean,” he says. Just her name. No questions and no pity, and she loves him for it.

“I’ve been thinking about all of that lately.” She won’t betray Rose’s secret to explain why, but she suspects this all would have come back to the surface regardless. “We moved on from it, of course. The boys came along quickly, and we grew into the promises we’d made to each other. The happy times mostly outweighed the unhappy ones, especially in those years before the war. But sometimes I still felt so guilty.”

When she was still a girl, God took her daughter from her. Of course, she didn’t really believe it was a punishment, not in the sober light of day. Her God is loving, not vindictive. Yet the guilt weighed upon her, and the years added more. Christopher’s death. Her failures with Jack. Her different failures with Christopher, Jr. For a long time, she spent her sleepless nights fearing that she would have been a better wife and a better mother if only she had started out with more care. When she was still a girl, she was reckless, and in various ways they all suffered for it.

Lucien kisses her hairline and pulls her tighter to him. This time, she thinks, she is not being reckless. She’s walking straight into this sin, knowing and committed. She brings his hand to her lips, kisses his fingers. The fear has been there for days, a bitter taste at the back of her mouth that she keeps trying to push back. She almost lost him, and that, too, could be a punishment.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, Jean,” he says.

“Mmm,” she responds, searching for the words. “Of course it wasn’t my fault. My baby girl. Christopher’s death. Even this.” She gestures with their joined hands to his injury. “But we still look for meaning when things happen. And the church is very good at cause and effect. ‘The wages of sin is death’ and all that.”

“But surely it isn’t the only option for understanding the world?” he suggests. His lips against her temple quirk into a smile. “Cause: you are brilliant and beautiful and the most extraordinary woman in the world. Effect: I am therefore madly in love with you and awestruck every day that this is real.”

She laughs then, a little, and cranes her neck around to kiss his jaw, then his mouth. “It is real,” she marvels.

Cause: she will marry Lucien Blake, and she also can’t see her resolve not to sleep with him until they are married outlasting this endless purgatory of an engagement. Effect: she will be—she is—happier than she has been for so many, many years. Also effect: she will live for the rest of her life, unrepentant, in a state of sin. Both prospects make her feel what she can scarcely put into words. It is breathtaking, agonizing, freeing, glorious, terrifying.

Lucien walked away from the church when he was a boy; of all the things that haunt him, this, at least, does not. She thinks of Eve Neville, defiant even in the face of death. Of Audrey Young, trading a church that no longer suited her for another that did, as though God changes with the season, like a dress or a hat. She doesn’t know if they’re brave or foolhardy. Did their decisions also feel like this?

Real: the warmth of this man by her side, the beat of his heart, the taste of his lips. Also real: the body of Christ dissolving on her tongue, the echo of her prayers, the comfort of the sacraments.

“’Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh,’” she quotes, mostly to herself.

“Hmm?” Lucien asks. His voice is drowsy.

“Cleave,” she repeats. “To cling together, but also to break apart. I always thought it was such an odd word.”

“I love you,” he says, as though it’s an answer to some question she doesn’t know how to ask. Maybe it is.

She has made her choice; she knows that. He holds her, and she is split apart and made whole.

[soap-brain]

Enterprise

@bottomkirk i wanna say something witty, but i’m completely done for. here it is. i made this. i shall sleep now

There are a hundred thousand words for that split second when you realise that everything is going to shit. Each ‘fleet captain has their own. There have been a hundred thousand papers written on the stress that comes with being a captain, especially in these situations. Each ‘fleet captain has to deal with it on their own.

It’s a sickening lurch of your stomach, your body suddenly turning ice cold, lungs turning to cement and you start sweating, suddenly aware of your whole body - and only your body - and then reality comes crashing back in, the bright, blinking lights from every station, the blaring of the red alert, the knowledge that the lives of four hundred and thirty eight people rest on your shoulders, and you can feel your knees buckle.

Jim has been there before, all too often. Lives always depend on him, and he doesn’t know whether he really deserves this position, he’s going to fail them all, they’re all going to die and-

It’s a split second, dragged out into the eternity of one single heartbeat, when they realise there’s no way out now, and everybody has their own surrender thundering through their bones.

It’s different, this time. Because Krall attacks and the whole ship seems to rear up, roaring a loud, voiceless, desperate sound of wanting to live. No.

She doesn’t. Jim looks at her bridge one last time. I’m going to miss you, he wants to say, touch her walls one last time, let her go gentle into the good night, say goodbye. Training kicks in, as it always does, the only thing that kept him working at his highest capacity in those last seconds, years, minutes, days that his ship has been getting torn to bits, his crew killed or worse, thrown into the abyss of space, dying instantly.

Training straps him into the Kelvin pod, training won’t let him think of Spock, of Bones, of Uhura, of Scotty, Keenser, four hundred and sixty eight people, most of them unaccounted for. All of them.

No, she says again as he hits the button that jettisons his Kelvin pod. No. I let it come to this. It feels like she’s really there, really talking, but that’s only the adrenaline, nothing more. Ships aren’t sentient, as much as assigned ‘fleet crew like to pretend.

It’s Jim. Jim let it come to this. Four hundred and thirty eight people, and the beaten up hull of his ship free falling onto the strange planet beneath him. And he’d wanted to leave, be free of her confining walkways and rooms and nowhere to go, the accumulating glitches and things being misplaced, a space so big and yet so small, the malfunctions, the swish-swoosh of the doors that seemed to have a mind of their own sometimes, Scotty swearing up and down that she was alive, the whispers in empty hallways nothing more than air rushing through the piping system, weird echoes maybe, odd, but nothing to worry about.

He looks at the disc of her and he’s twenty-three and in Iowa again, staring through mesh fence at her, the tiniest bit of longing fighting against don’t deserve not good enough will ruin her. 

He got her. Against all odds, against everything he believed, somehow the universe aligned to grace him with this ship, a goddess among the queens of the black expanse, perfect in every way, deserving the world. And he wanted to leave her, and now he is and he ruined her, watching every happy memory he ever made, watching his whole universe free fall and burn up in the atmosphere of an uncharted planet like a discarded soda can. He’d stopped loving her somewhere along the way between everything and York Town, and now she’s dying, drowning, burning up, crashing. She’d loved him back so fiercely, and this is what she got for her trouble.

(I’m putting the rest of this under a cut, not only because it’s pretty long, but also because I want to trigger warn for a reference to cannibalism and Tarsus IV, also mentions of death later on.)

He lands with Chekov, thankfully, and that gives him reason not to fall into introspectiveness further. Where is Spock when you need him? Where is Spock, period. Bones. Where is anyone, everyone, someone who can take over and make this right again, who doesn’t kill everything they touch, not like Jim, and he shouldn’t fall into this depressive pit again but it’s everything he can think of because he failed them. His crew. Four hundred and thirty eight people, his mind supplies, and as far as you know, all but one are dead.

     “Vat do ve do now?” Chekov asks, and Jim wants to kiss him because somehow, that makes training kick back in and they scan for survivors and there’s a blip right next to them and it means something to do and that’s the best thing that could happen to Jim right now.

Chekov clips his phaser on a bit too enthusiastically, but they make their way through the trees. After ten minutes of walking in silence (and Jim isn’t that kind of captain, usually; he loves chatting with his crew, wants them to feel safe and happy with him, wants them to like him, wants to give them a voice, an ear, a shoulder to cry on if needed; wants to be their friend), they’ve lost sight of their escape pods, and the eerie sounds of an unknown forest on an unknown planet in an unknown part of the universe gets to Jim. They’re all alone. He never much liked forests as a kid, the Waldeinsamkeit pressing in on him sooner rather than later, constricting his breathing and forcing him to walk slower, check that he really is alone and there isn’t something else there, too. Chekov is in front of him, alternating between the scanner and the nonexistent path in front of them, there are birds (or other life forms) chattering and squeaking in the foliage, alien sounds surrounding them, and Jim realises that they might be the only ones left, him and Chekov, on this entire planet, because maybe this isn’t Krall’s base and maybe - 

It was a trap. Jim almost stops dead. Of course it was a trap. The alien, she knew of course she knew, she must have, and Jim’s so sure of that now, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

Maybe her people need to eat, too, his brain supplies, and vivid images of a crop failure and the panic that followed, the atrocities, the death rise to the surface of Jim’s mind. He tastes bile in the back of his throat because he’s always had an overactive imagination and the looks on his crew’s face as they - as Krall - as his people --

     “Ve’re almost zhere, keptin!” Chekov says, and Jim is so, so grateful.

A rosé head with a slight reptilian look shows through the trees, and Jim jumps past Chekov, ripping his phaser from his belt, thumb flicking the switch to kill and he shoves it in her face, demanding an answer. She knew.

She panics, explains with some bullshit lie that he can see right through, Chekov’s agitation almost palpable, vibrating through the air. He doesn’t understand, maybe doesn’t see it, but he’s always been a bit on the naïve side.

Jim tries, really tries to see past the red clouding his vision, so he pretends to believe her, holstering his phaser, and it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. There’s something in her eyes, now, that he wished he’d seen before, some kind of harsh cruelty that’s less alien to Jim than he wishes it were.

They make for the ship - or what’s left of her, anyways. She’s ... she’s looking bad. Abandoned. Betrayed. It’s a bit of an eyeopener, really, because god, Jim loved her. He loved her so much, and he’d forgotten that. And now she’s, well, gone.

Jim keeps running his hands over her walls when they’re inside, trying to keep her, her spirit, the home she’d given them, him, with him for a while longer. When had beaming up to her from an away mission or planetside shore leave stopped feeling like coming home? Why had she ever started to feel like an obligation instead of a gift, a vision of - of who he could be. Jim Kirk, semi-homeless drifting repeat offender, or Jim Kirk, pioneer, captain of the finest ship in the ‘fleet.

He thinks of it again after they’ve just escaped the ship flipping over. It’s starting to rain. The canopy above them is still holding off the worst of it, but Jim knows they’ll need to find shelter sooner rather than later. They’re both exhausted - Altamid’s atmosphere is just different enough to make everything a bit more strenuous, and then they’ve also both been awake for far longer than their bodies like, at least half of that time in situations of extreme stress, and it’s not like they passed a branch of Fontana’s anywhere here. Jim could really go for their calzones right now. Or a coffee. God, a coffee. It’s really unlikely they’ll ever taste coffee again, unless Starfleet sends a rescue operation that manages to defeat Krall and find all of them. 

Chekov veers off to the side, following a reading on his tricorder, and Jim follows him without a question, his tired body protesting the change in direction only momentarily. Yeah, he’s starting to feel the bruises of his fight with Krall. He almost runs into his navigator when he stops, crouching down to examine the stream he found.

     “It eez water, sir!” Chekov exclaims. “Regular H2O, completely drinkable and very purified.” He wastes no time ducking his head and drinking.

Jim takes a moment longer, because now that he’s not moving anymore, he doesn’t feel like he’ll ever do so again. His joints protest as he kneels down as well. The water is refreshingly cool, tastes a bit mossy, but maybe that just means there are extra calories in there, which they sorely need. Jim drinks his fill and then begins cataloguing his surroundings. They need a place to sleep or at least rest the night. There’s what looks like a tiny cave between a massive tree trunk and several large stone formations a few meters away.

He reaches out to nudge Chekov’s shoulder. “Found a place to spend the night. We need to rest and think of a good plan in the morning. We can’t scour the entire planet.”

It starts pouring just as they make it over to the shelter. It doesn’t look like there’s enough space for two grown men in there, but Jim has slept outside in the rain before, so he’ll be fine. He motions for Chekov to go in first and then crawls in after him. The ground is mercifully dry and there is enough space to stow their legs. A gap between the stones and the tree lets some rain through. 

     “I’ll take first watch,” he says, more out of reflex than anything else. He needs time to think, and he knows he should talk to Chekov, make sure he’s alright, take care of him, but he can barely breathe. Shock is probably setting in, and he’s cold and getting wetter by the minute. Some primordial fear sets in as well, telling him he’s going to die here, today, tomorrow, in a week, his ship broken, crew gone or dead, nothing left. He’s hungry, too, but the roaring of the wind and the rain through this massive, massive forest cloaks the growling of his stomach. Bones, he thinks. Spock, Uhura. Sulu. Scotty. Lieutenant Yasha, Ensign Ro, Doctor M’Benga, Nurse Phillips, Nurse Tripp, Junior Lieutenant Barrows, Yeoman Xe’ - Jim’d made it a point to know everyone on his ship by name, their favourite foods, shows, animals, colour, hobbies. He knew them. The first family he ever had. There’s a bruise forming on his left side, hip to just below his pectorals, spreading over his entire flank and probably half his back, too. He leans against the dull pain of it, forcing muscles to respond that beg him not to. He needs to stay awake, through the white noise around them.

He thinks of the Enterprise, thinks of her last minutes. She hadn’t wanted to go. It’s a bit stupid, maybe, but maybe Scotty is right. Maybe there really is something, some ... some kind of sentience in that ship. Jim stares at his knees. It’s ridiculous. Ships aren’t - they’re not - they’re objects, thousands of tons of steel and plasteel and tritanium and wires and electricity. They’re not alive, they don’t think, they’re machines.

And yet. And yet. There’s something about the Enterprise, a kind of presence that’s hard to explain. Jim can count on one hand how many people have hugged him, really full body hugged him in his entire life, and those sleepless nights aboard the Enterprise, when he’d grab a blanket and a padd and try to will away the nightmares in a tiny nook of tubing system, the humming of her engines in his ear - it’d felt like a hug. Like she was, against all logic and reason and science, a living being, sentient, feeling.

She was so beautiful. She’d shown them so much, been so faithful, so strong. Jim’s head falls back and he tells himself it’s raindrops that are rolling over his face. The worst thing is that he wanted to leave. God, why did he ever want to leave?

He remembers the mission when he lost her, him and Bones chasing over red sand between white trees, Spock’s voice from that volcano, the briefest glimpse of the Enterprise from the Narada, the weird sizzling sensation of beaming when their half quant spin stabilising neutraliser had been off by two degrees, that time everyone believed Spock had been turned into a cat, and the look on Bones’ face after he did an incredibly successful fifteen-hour-operation on the five year old daughter of the Horissian ambassador, and the stars, the stars on the bridge and through the windows and the shimmering of the transporter that time when ---

     “Keptin? Keptin!” 

Jim startles and chokes on his own spit.

     “Are you alright?”

Jim drags a hand through his wet hair. God, but he’s freezing. How long was he out? “’m fine, don’t worry. Think I dozed off. Sorry.”

Chekov settles back against his stone, and they’re silent for a while. It’s still raining steadily, but they’re not yet sitting in mud.

     “Are you alright?” Jim asks after a while, voice wavering only a little.

     “Yes sir!” Chekov’s response is too bright.

     “Are you alright, Pavel?” Jim repeats, gently. God, he’s only twenty-five.

     “I... ve...” There’s a pause, and Jim can hear him exhaling a harsh sigh. “Ve vill survive zhis, right? I mean ... ve vill go home, yes? Hikaru will see Ben and Demora again, and - right?”

Jim’s throat tightens painfully. What on Earth can he say now?

     “I - I’m sure that,” he clears his throat. “That if we don’t return, Starfleet will send - will send someone after us and trace us back here.”

     “Zhen zhey vill be destroyed, too.”

     “Maybe - maybe not.” It doesn’t sound convincing. “We’ll think of a way out of this. Maybe see what we can salvage from the Enterprise. We should maybe go back to her, see what we can find. Maybe someone else landed close to her.”

     “You zhink zhere are ozher one’s that survived?”

     “Sure! Why not?”

Chekov’s teeth glitter in the few rays of moonlight that make their way into their hideout. “Zhat eez a comforting zhought.”

Jim smiles too. “Yeah, I bet - I bet lots of people survived. So many smart heads, I bet there were all kinds of awesome ideas how to survive. And - and considering, considering how close to the impact zone we evacuated, it’s likely there are others very close.” He doesn’t really believe that himself - if there were others, they would have found each other, but then again they haven’t checked for any kind of signs from their environment, so maybe, maybe they’re not the only ones left out here.

A droplet of water sneaks past Jim’s jacket and settles ice cold on his clavicle. He already has goosebumps all over, and he kind of wants to check the time. There’s no telling how long they’ve already been sitting here, helpless, getting colder and wetter by the minute.

     “Do you believe in God?” Chekov asks after another long, rain filled silence, so softly Jim barely hears him over the thunderous rain in the huge forest and the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

     “God? No, I don’t think so. It sounds comforting, but it’s not quite up my alley. I believe in - I believe in people, maybe, and that they - that we’re a very resilient species, all of us space-goers. Do ... you believe in God?”

     “I used to.” The ‘I don’t anymore’ is plain as day.

     “We’ll get out of here, Pavel,” Jim promises. “We’ll find the crew, and we’ll bring them back to York Town. In the morning, we’ll try to find some food, and then we’ll ...” We’ll what? Go back to the Enterprise, a burned out husk, devoid of life, and do ... what? Walk miles and miles through the forest for a chance at finding someone, anyone? “We’ll think of something,” he says eventually. “We’ll figure something out. But we need to rest first.”

     “I vill take vatch.”

     “Nah, I’m good, Pavel, don’t worry about it.”

     “Vizh all due respect -”

     “We’ll both sleep, then. I doubt there’s anything in this forest.” That’s one of the most idiotic things Jim’s ever heard himself say.

     “Keptin -”

     “Don’t make me make that an order,” Jim says gently, and Chekov sighs. They don’t talk anymore, and Jim can feel himself drift off again. He hates to admit it, but he’s scared shitless. 

They spend a very cold and restless night in their little shelter. Jim is plagued by nightmares. Not surprisingly, but damn, there were some things he hadn’t wanted to see again.

He was a bit closer to tears than he thought he’d be when they find Scotty with his new friend the next morning, and they end up in a weird but good threesome hug. Both he and Chekov are completely dry after that weird trap they ran into, and then the first thing Jaylah does is offer them food, which she has an ample supply of in the ancient ship she wants to leave this planet with.

They scan for survivors next and sure enough, they find Spock and Bones, Spock badly hurt but nothing Bones can’t at least jury rig, and then once they’re fed, too, Bones pulls Jim into a bear hug and doesn’t let go for a long, long time. 

     “Thought you were dead,” he admits into the padding on Jim’s shoulder, and Jim’s fighting the tears with all he has. The world is clicking back into place a bit again. “It’s gonna be alright,” Bones says, and Jim doesn’t care that he should be the one reassuring people and being a captain, because as long as he holds onto Bones he knows it’ll be alright.

     “I know,” he says, and he’s not choked up at all. “I know. I got you, Leo. I got you. We can do this.”

Spock is next, and it’s weird because Spock is obviously in pain, and they don’t hug much usually, or at all, and Spock smells different, but it’s Spock alright, and Jim knows that with Spock and Bones at his side he can do anything.

A whole eternity later Jim sits on a cot in York Towns medbay, finally allowing himself to shut down. He’s safe, his crew (those that made it) are safe, Krall is defeated and he got to watch Sulu physically fall to his knees to hug Demora with Ben wrapping himself around them, there’s M’Benga who just spat curses at every other doctor who wanted to come close to Spock now bent over his patient, Uhura having moved aside but still holding on to her boyfriend’s hand, and there’s Bones, who, by the looks of it, just won his shouting match with another doctor about who gets to treat Jim.

He waves five different whirring gadgets around, muttering to himself and making notes on a padd.

     “So, the good news is that once I get my hands on a dermal regen and five minutes, you’ll likely be pretty again. The bad news is that you managed to catch the only strain of Hepetonolia flu that they don’t have a hypo against on this base, meaning you’ll get all the effects, likely starting tomorrow.”

Jim tries to smile, but he’s not sure his body is responding anymore. He catches a tech handing a regen over to Bones, and then the haze sets in properly and he’s not sure what’s happening anymore. At some point they cross a plaza and there are doors opening and closing, but their first meeting also replays itself in Jim’s mind, over and over, and seeing Bones again on Altamid, and then darkness takes him.

He wakes up slowly, the really good kind of becoming aware again after a sleep that your body has been craving. There’s cotton in his brain and someone is breathing comfortably close and he’s not alone. The sheets smell fresh and crisp and the mattress is good, the blanket fluffy and warm and the light not yet invasive.

He wakes up a second time when his bed partner moves, and the world is still dipped in the fuzz of sleep.

The third time wakefulness comes sharper with an insisting pressure in his bladder. Jim tries to wait it out, but his body is insisting, and so he rolls out of bed, feeling stiffer than he’d feel at ninety years. 

He relieves himself, and as he’s washing his hands he looks into the mirror and, wow. He looks ... tired. His face is mercifully unbruised, a half forgotten memory of Bones waving a regen around swimming to the surface of his thoughts, but his eyes tell a whole ‘nother story.

On his way back to the bed he strips his shirt and pants off as well, jacket and boots already gone somehow, discarded on the floor, and he falls right back into bed, wrapping himself into a cocoon of blankets like his bed partner, and he’s sleeping again.

The fourth and final time he comes back to consciousness it’s because someone is nudging his shoulder a bit ungently.

     “Jim, damnit, wake up.”

     “B’n’s,” he slurs, lips stretching into a lazy grin.

     “Yeah it’s me alright, and I’m starving. C’mon, kid, wake up.”

Jim pushes himself up onto his lower arms, whole body groaning in protest, eventually sitting up slowly. Bones looks just as done as Jim feels, hair standing up in all directions because it refuses to lay flat without gel, black shadows under his eyes and slightly unshaven.

     “I only got one key to this room, and if I don’t get any food within the next ten minutes, I think I’m going to faint.”

     “I need a shower,” Jim says absently, noting again how Bones’ hair is sticking up all cute.

     “A quick shower.”

     “A quick shower,” he acquiesces, slowly tumbling to his feet and making his way over to the head again. A quick sonic later he tugs on his survival suit again. It’s dirty and probably smells, but hey, he almost died a couple times in the past few days, so some leniency is in order.

Bones slumps against the wall in the turbolift, closing his eyes. He’s looking pale and done for, just like the two of them would look after finals during the academy.

The way they load up plates with food first and get a table second is probably not proper, but with a bowl of cereal, a second bowl of fruit salad and a plate of sausages, scrambled Zhetu eggs, hot Mmnmne, four slices of toast, ham, herbal quark, a muffin, three bits of goat cheese, olives, a croissant, chocolate jam, an apple and two glasses of orange juice, Jim already behaves improperly and just like Bones feels like he’s starving, so who cares, really.

They’ve only just managed to sit down and spread their loot over the table and stuff their faces for the first time when a waiter comes over and offers them coffee, and Jim generally makes a point of flirting just a liiiittle bit with every waiter, but he reckons it doesn’t work as well when he almost has food falling out of his mouth.

He turns down the post for Vice Admiral that same day, especially since the plans for the Enterprise-A have come through and man, he can’t think of a better thing to do than take to the stars again, with the Enterprise humming around him and his family. His family.

Spock not-smiles when Jim tells him the news, making a convoluted sentence to express that he’d be overjoyed to continue their mission, and they start building the new Enterprise immediately. Now that Starfleet knows how to build ships that big, the work is progressing with warp speed, and it’s only after a month that he and Spock set foot inside her for her first inspection.

And - it’s not what Jim expected. It’s not the Enterprise. She looks exactly the same, but she’s not. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, like someone poured ice into his guts. He toothily smiles his way through the inspection. Sure, she passes all the tests and there’s nothing wrong with her per se, but ...

Like a corpse, his mind supplies. Just the wrong side of inhuman, not alive, dead, stiff, cold. Part of him wants to throw up a bit at the unbidden memories it evokes, the other part of him wants to throw up because he can’t spend another two years inside this, this empty hull, this cold robotic shell.

But he can’t turn her down now.

So instead he watches, for another five weeks, watches the fine tuning, the final assembly of the hull, the last bolts and screws being tested and double tested and triple tested, and then his crew is boarding again, skeleton forces only, but they’ll get new people at their Earth flyby, and Demora and Ben Sulu, who’ll go home with the Enterprise, they’re there too, Demora barely being able to stand still because she can’t wait to see the bridge, and then finally, finally the bridge crew is boarding as well, Demora dancing her way to the turbolift, and there are smiles all around and maybe, maybe Jim can stand this cold, emotionless hunk of metal with his family at his side.

The chair feels almost familiar, except he never sat in this one before, but the buttons work just the same.

     “Mr Scott, ready to initiate the warp core?”

     “Aye sir, ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jim smiles. His family. “Start her up. Let’s see what she can do.”

The crackle of a starship being started up is something you hear about in the academy, but it doesn’t prepare you for the sudden bolt of static lacing the air, and they all collectively gasp in a breath, but there’s something else, too, something Jim recognises from sleepless nights in some nook in the tubing, from beaming up after a stressful away mission, from waking up and instinctively knowing where you are, that you’re alright, that she’s got you. This ship is the Enterprise alright.

Welcome back, she says. I missed you.

And Jim’s heart skips a beat. 

     “Mr Sulu,” he says. “Take us out.”